A/N: Thank you! I am so happy people are actually reading it! (sniff) Katameran, sorry about the wait—I type slow. Dragix, I have fixed this chapter up just for you. I do pay attention to the details of Harry Potter, but it seems I've forgotten a few things. Thank you for pointing them out and not being nice. And the haunted thing—I thought that it would make sense if they just used a previously "haunted" house so that people would hear it and just say, "Oh, the ghost is back. Time dances on." And the chapter thing—I didn't see the second chapter the day after I posted it, so I thought that it didn't take. I fixed that. Anyway....

II: The Shrieking Shack

My Hogwarts letter came as a huge relief, despite my parents' assurances that Dumbledore would take a werewolf. Mum and I Flooed to Diagon Alley and got my stuff. I have never liked Floo Powder, but at least it didn't hurt as much as flying would have. I met a few first years in the shops. Among them were Sirius Black and Seve—Snivelly. I hated Snivelly right off, and that has never really changed.

A week later all of us went to London (it was my longest flight ever, and, Merlin, was my rear sore). Dad gave me a letter for Dumbledore. I was not at all curious about it; I knew exactly what was in it without the trouble of opening it.

Dad helped me pull my trunk on and I waved a glum goodbye. I dragged my trunk down the corridor full of students. People broke off in twos and threes, and eventually I was alone in the corridor. I plodded along and someone called my name from the compartment I had just passed.

"Oy, um—Remus! In here!" It was Sirius Black. I turned around and went in. He helped me get my trunk into a corner. There was a small boy with black hair sitting in the corner. He looked totally relaxed.

"I'm James Potter," he said. "You're Remus..."

"Lupin," I finished. "Hi." This all was very awkward, for some reason.

"Sit down before the train bumps and you fall," Sirius said cheerfully. He took his small black owl out of its cage. "This is Nimue."

"Good name," James commented. When'd you get her?"

We chatted about things like that for about an hour, and I really liked them. James was about as normal as a wizard got, and was very polite about things that made people uncomfortable. He was also one of the sturdiest people I've ever met—he would have tickled a dragon if he had promised he would do it. Sirius was tactless and stoic, but saw things others didn't. His parents fawned on his younger brother and generally called him a blood traitor, since Sirius didn't like the Slytherin influence on his family. Sirius was very glad that he was finally going to Hogwarts and wouldn't see his parents ten months out of twelve.

About five minutes after the food trolley came by, a small boy with thin brown hair and watery eyes came by. He wasn't quite repulsive, but he certainly wasn't pretty.

"'S up?" Sirius asked, looking a little bugged. He had been in the middle of a rather funny story about the time his mother had dropped her wand on the house-elf, Kreacher, whom Sirius also hated.

"Well, the prefects just came by, and one took my seat." He sounded a little whiny.

"C'mon in, there's room. So Kreacher turned green...."

By the time we got to Hogwarts, we established Peter, the not pretty one, as a bit of a whiner and a tag-along. He was melodramatic, a coward, had no sense of humor, was sharp as a razor, and as practical as salt. These were bad in combination. None of us really liked him, and none of us had the heart to make him go away. I often wonder where the practicality went.

If you know anything about first days at Hogwarts, I need not bother describing mine. It was quite normal. We were all Gryffindors, but the hat spent quite a while on Peter—probably trying to put him in Slytherin. He deserved it.

Pretty soon, we all knew what we were good at. James was flying lesson star, and got top Transfiguration grades. Sirius was good at Astronomy, to my consternation—I hadn't told anyone I was a werewolf. Peter was bad at almost everything but potions. I was good at Defense against the Dark Arts, but I said nothing of it. I didn't think it was because of any special talent—I just wanted to protect the world from beasts like me.

The proto-Marauders' first criminal act was simple enough—a first-year girl had had hysterics because Moaning Myrtle had screamed at her while she was using the toilet. We hid under James's invisibility cloak and teased Myrtle until she had a flying fit (literally) and decided to flood the bathroom.

Soon it was the full moon. The day before during break I claimed to have left my book in the library and went to McGonagall's office.

"Yes, Remus?" she said, glancing up from the homework she was grading.

"Well, it's the full moon tomorrow, Professor..."

"Oh, yes. I had been going to find you. Go down to the hospital wing and tell Madam Davison to show you what to do. I'd go at least fifteen minutes before moonrise."

I nodded. I wished I wasn't a werewolf.

"Very well. Off you go."

The next evening I told James and Sirius that I had to finish the potions essay due tomorrow—which I had quietly done during break. I didn't say where I was going. I glanced out the window. The sun was setting. I jogged to the hospital wing.

Madam Davison was waiting at the door. "You're here," she said, "I was just about to go get you. Follow me." She led me out onto the grounds. We went about a quarter of the way around the lake, then toward the forest. Madam Davison stopped me in front of an old, angry-looking willow that swayed, but not in the breeze. "Watch, and don't forget." She picked up a rock and threw it at the tree. The tree thrashed around, and I almost screamed. It was like it was trying to find and kill whoever had hit it with the rock. Its roots were throwing earth everywhere with a frightening creaking noise.

"It's a Whomping Willow," Madam Davison told me when it stopped. "Watch." She picked up a long stick and poked a knot on the trunk. Instead of thrashing around, it held completely still—it was rather disconcerting and scary. "Hurry! It won't stay long." We ran through the tree's territory to a small hole between two roots. She hopped in with more agility than I knew she had, and I followed. I met her at the bottom of a rough slide. We were in a hallway.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"You know that old, abandoned shack in Hogsmeade? No, you don't. Everybody thinks it's haunted. You'll see it from the outside when you're older. Now go down that hall." She pointed to my left. "The third door on your right is probably the best room—thick door, unfurnished. The moon's going to rise in a couple minutes, so I'd better go." She gave me a hug. "I wish this was easier." She left.

"Me, too," I whispered as I went down the hall.

I woke up in my room at eight as if nothing had happened the night before, but I had a couple more scars.