Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I own the idea and plot of this story. If someone else came up with this already, then I'll go ask his or her permission to continue this story.

Kudos to Silver Phoenix25 and my best friend (whose internet alias is a mystery), for beta-ing this chapter!

IMPORTANT NOTE: Okay, this is going to be a bit confusing, but please bear with me. Some people have changed places and or times, while others remain in the same roles as they were given in the books. As well, how some of the characters are related to each other will be changed, but hopefully nothing you would consider too drastic. Hopefully everything will be clearly sorted out, and I won't have to run from angry HP fans carrying torches and pitchforks, saying I ruined the book. Also, I haven't been in the Harry Potter section for a while, so if someone's already done this idea, please tell me. I'd hate to be a copy cat.

Enjoy, and R&R!

Cokeworth, 1991

James Potter was living in an orphanage. He would never have chosen this, and if it were his choice he would still be living with his grandfather in their remote country house. Forget the fact that his Grandfather had died three years ago, and wasn't able to take care of him from his grave. So, Social Services had come, clucked over the lack-lustre state of the house, and how the seclusion could leave the poor little boy socially handicapped for the rest of his life. They had dragged James out of the house, who had been screaming at the top of his lungs in protest, to the orphanage. James had been eight years old then. Now, he was freshly eleven.

He must have looked fairly normal, for he didn't stand out enough from the other boys to be taken home with the countless families that came to Oak Street Children's Home. His hair was jet-black, and very messy, standing up in every direction conceivable. His black glasses framed hazel eyes, and rested on a slightly long nose. James was skinny, and short, but none of this ever really bothered him, or kept him from trying to play football with the other boys. The only really distinctive feature of his was a thin, lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He had no idea where it had come from; he had had it since before his first memory. James had asked his Grandfather about it several times, but the old man seemed to become mysteriously deaf when questioned. It only occurred to James later that his Grandfather was avoiding answering.

While he was living in the country house, he never minded the fact that his parents weren't there. His Grandfather had confirmed that they wouldn't be coming back. But at the orphanage, he now had a permanent pang in his chest every time another little boy or girl would be taken away. He started to wonder what his parents were like, and what had happened to them. Now it wasn't enough that there was a possibility that a family might take him in. He wanted his real family, he wanted to be where they were, and be their son. James had told the nurses this every time they told him to dress up for the family that was coming that afternoon. They simply shook their heads sadly and said that they couldn't find his family.

That was what made James frustrated the most. They couldn't find a single shred of evidence of his existence, not even a birth certificate or a photograph. Worst yet, they couldn't find any information on his family. It was almost as if he wasn't meant to be alive.

"James, why are you so upset about your family?" Mishailah Dean, a fellow orphan, would ask when he slipped into a sullen mood. "Everyone here's lost their family, and they don't mope about it for as long as you have. Just try to get a new family that will love you."

"They do love me!" James would fiercely retort. He was sure that they loved him - period. They had to be the most loving, wonderful parents in the world. He had imagined something about both of their personalities, what traits he had inherited from both of them, and why they had left. Unfortunately, he couldn't think up a reason for them to leave him and still be alive.

So, James had spent three years at the orphanage, inventing ideas about his parents and denying any negative comment about them. It didn't help that the children had a rhyme about people who have been at Oak Street for three years or more.

If you're here for three whole years,

Here you'll stay 'til legal beers.

Naturally, the thought that he would be stuck in the whitewashed orphanage until he was old enough to live on his own (which was, like the rhyme implied, near the same as the legal drinking age) horrified him to no end. Yet he knew, deep down inside, that he was likely fated for it. There wasn't a soul outside the building that knew anything about him. So, undoubtedly, it surprised him when he got a letter on the hottest day of summer.

He was sitting under the large oak tree in the backyard, hoping to relish the shade and not be bothered for at least half an hour, when a huge tawny owl suddenly swooped down on his sanctuary. This surprise attack was greeted with a rush of unprintable words, and an expression of shock. The owl landed on the ground a foot in front of him, and held out his leg, which, curiously, had a letter envelope attached to it.

Unsure, he reached out and untied it. The owl gave a thankful hoot and flew off again, leaving a puzzled James and a suspicious letter. James flipped it over and noticed that the letter was addressed to him, there could be no mistake.

James Potter

Under the Large Oak Tree

Oak Street Children's Home

Cokeworth

Tentatively, James looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Apparently, a group of thirteen-year-old boys had lit the contents of a garbage can on fire, and everyone was fretting over the fire and scolding the boys. James was concerned at first, but he saw that it wasn't a large fire and they now had everything under control. He doubted they had even witnessed the owl's descent.

He ripped apart the envelope, and hastily unfolded the contents. What he saw shocked him.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at HogwartsSchool of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

James' first thought was that this was some kind of trick, and he glared at the people around him. But not one of them was meeting his gaze, or snickering behind their hands, or in any way acting as a guilty party of pranksters would. James then thought that the one who sent him this might be watching through the window, waiting to see his reaction. Yet there wasn't a single face peeking out of the glass panes.

He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. If it was pranksters, how could they train an owl, and how did they find one in the first place? There weren't any owls living near the orphanage, and it would be impossible to sneak one back from a field trip without being spotted by a supervisor.

Clutching the letter tightly, James jumped up and headed inside, searching for whoever was on duty at this time. He soon found a young woman surveying the playing three-year-olds with apprehension.

"Erm, Miss Ward?" James said, gaining the woman's attention.

"Yes, James?"

"I – er – got this letter," He held it out to her, "and I think that it might be a prank, or a trick of some sort." He watched her face fall as her eyes skimmed the page. She briefly looked at the other contents of the letter. Then she motioned for another passing supervisor to come over. James began to feel as if he was going to be punished, and immediately regretted his decision to show the letter to someone.

"McQuaid, look after the kids, I have to escort Mr. Potter to the Head Nurse," she instructed.

"All right," he said, looking suspiciously at James.

Miss Ward grabbed James' arm in a firm grip and nearly carried him down the hall. They arrived at a formidable looking door, or perhaps it just seemed that way to James, after all the times he had been put in there for deciding of his punishment for his latest deed. A metal framed nameplate at eye level on the door read:

Miss Taylor

Head Nurse

Still holding James by the arm, Miss Ward knocked briefly on the door and opened it.

A dumpy sort of woman looked up at them, blond hair neatly scrunched back into a braided bun, broad eyes accusing and intimidating.

"James, what did you do this time?" Taylor said knowingly.

"I –"

"He got a letter, Miss Taylor," Miss Ward said, placing it in front of the rotund woman. "It was just like the one you told us to watch out for."

This statement caused a sharp interested gleam in Taylor's eyes. James was nonplussed by now. This had to mean that it wasn't a vindictive kid at the orphanage. He watched closely as the Head Nurse read it twice over and held it up to the light.

After further inspection, she finally said, "Grendel, you're dismissed. I need to talk to James alone about this."

Doubtfully, she exited, leaving James alone with a woman large enough to swallow him whole. Of course, James wasn't in favour of this arrangement, but he could hardly just get up and walk out of the office without incurring the Head Nurse's wrath

"James, there's no doubt that you're confused about this whole mess," she said in what was intended to be a sympathetic tone, but she always did have trouble pulling off that aura.

James, seeing no other way to answer it, nodded.

"Did you receive this from an owl?" Another nod. "Well, I guess that makes it authentic."

"What? A school of witchcraft and wizardry? This has got to be some sort of joke," James blurted aloud. Taylor looked at him sternly.

"This isn't a joke, James. There really is a magic school called Hogwarts, and apparently, you're going to go there."

"You've got to be kidding," James concluded. This had to be a sick joke to get Taylor into it. Someone must really hate him.

"I never make jokes, James," she countered. "I've been here a long time, and I've seen all types of children come and go. I've had two other children get these letters before you."

"How long ago was that? Fifty years?" James said sarcastically.

"No wisecracking, James. I should have known that you would be one, too. With all the strange occurrences here, and you not knowing how any of it happened."

"You don't mean I'm a wizard," James said, mirth beginning to sound in his voice. He would have laughed, but past experience advised him against it. Miss Taylor could be extremely harsh in times of need.

"Yes, I do." James was starting to get a bit creeped out. Miss Taylor kept a straight face. She never lied. Not once. Could it be possible that this was true?

"James, remember the time when you were being bullied by the older boys, and you were so angry about it? Then, without any warning, all the glass and ceramic around you suddenly shattered, and you had no idea what had happened?"

James remembered the incident like it was last week. One minute he felt white-hot anger pumping through him, and the next minute the windows and the pots on display broke with no provocation. He hadn't been able to convince any of the nurses that he didn't know why it had happened. He had been suspended from all outings for a month.

"I believe that that was your magic showing through. Similar things have happened with the same students that got that letter."

James was still unsure of this issue. "So I can magically break windows? Is that it? Or are they going to refine my technique so I can break into houses?"

"James." That silenced him. "I'm not sure what they teach, but all I know is that if we ignore the letter, they'll send someone over to fetch you. We can't have the same thing happening again. They sent this great bear of a man last time, and the younger children wouldn't sleep for weeks. And when the press found out, it was a disaster."

"I've heard enough," James said, getting up. Miss Taylor slapped her riding crop on her desk, producing a loud CRACK!

"You'll stay here, Potter. I'll reply to them in a letter, and you'll wait right here."

"But the letter said you'll need an owl-"

The Head Nurse looked up at him. "I won't need an owl, I'm sending it with you."

"What?"

Ignoring the boy, she scribbled down a reply in her tight handwriting. She folded it, and handed the letter to James, along with the contents of his Hogwarts letter. Then she opened a drawer of her desk and withdrew a little pot. It contained some sort of odd powder that looked unusual to James. Miss Taylor grabbed a handful of it and threw it in the fireplace, replacing the reddish flames with green.

"What the -?"

"Get in, James," she ordered. "This stuff's called Floo Powder. The wizard who came here gave some to me the last time he picked up a student, so that we could send any witches or wizards we received to them. You just stand in there and say 'Hogwarts', and it'll bring you there."

James stared open mouthed at the Head Nurse, a bit of fear replacing shock. "I am not going deliberately into a fire. If you think you can get away with this-"

Miss Taylor rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm in a vice grip. James struggled, but it soon became apparent that her fat was disguising a large amount of muscle. She shoved him into the fire and shouted, "Say 'Hogwarts'!"

"HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS!" James shouted, out of panic more than anything else. He was utterly surprised when he instantly started spinning uncontrollably. His food was rolling inside him, and he was convinced he was going to vomit at any moment. He had a sudden flashback to the time he had put the stray cat in the glass-door dryer. The cat had spun around, and around…

All too quickly, he was lurched to his feet, the spinning had ceased. He stumbled out of a strange fireplace to what looked to be a room in a castle. James sank to his feet, waiting for the sickness to stop and to register the shock that he was not anywhere near Cokeworth. Only then did he realize that the fire hadn't hurt or burned him at all.

James was just getting to his feet, to have a good look around at the room when a voice addressed him.

"You'll be wanting to see the Headmaster, then, young lad?"

James looked up, but saw no one. His eyes narrowed; he could sense that there was something suspicious about the stone walled room.

"Over here!" said the voice. James whirled around to stare at the direction it came from. He was shocked to see a man in renaissance clothing waving to him from a painting on the wall.

"I – I…er…" James fumbled, but he was lost for words. There really was a magical school called Hogwarts! How else could this painting be talking to him? Unless…

"What are you looking for, lad?"

"A projector," James said, waving a hand in front of the picture, hoping to make a shadow from the projection. It didn't.

"If that's something a Muggle made, you won't find it here! Too much magic about for those contraptions to work." James gulped. He was beginning to believe Miss Taylor.

"Wha- whasamuggle?"

"A Muggle is a person who doesn't have magic, lad," the painting man provided, "and from the sound of it, you were raised by Muggles. Would you like to see the Headmaster? He could most likely explain things better than I can."

James nodded numbly, and was once again surprised to see the man move out of his frame and into another picture.

"Come along then, you can follow me through the pictures."

The man led him on what seemed like a wild goose chase. Up one stair, down another, through never-ending corridors. During this time James began to worry.

What was the Headmaster like? Was he nice? Evil? What if they found out he wasn't the person they were looking for? What if he failed at the school? What if this really did turn out to be a cruel joke, and he had fallen for it? What if-

"Here we are, lad," the portrait man cut in, pulling James out of his own head. "The password's lemon drops, just say it to the Gargoyle, and he'll let you in." With that, the portrait man slunk out of the frame, leaving James alone with a forbidding gargoyle statue facing him.

"Lemon drops?" he said, and it jumped aside, putting an ornate staircase into view. Starting to think that nothing would be what it appeared, James started up the staircase, slowly though, due to the breathless race to keep up with the portrait man.

He came to a door at the top of the stairs, and for lack of another option, he opened it and stepped inside.

It was the most interesting room he had ever seen. Little anonymous devices were at work, puffing little tufts of smoke now and then and making curious sounds. There were several portraits of what must have been past Headmasters, all fast asleep; some of them snoring. Numerous objects were placed on shelves, including an old tatty pointed hat. At the desk was an elderly man, who looked exactly like how James had always imagined a wizard. A long beard, spectacles, a flowing robe and a wizard's hat were all present in this man. When he looked up at James, he saw the wizard had twinkling, kind blue eyes.

"Ah, yes, James Potter, I presume?" he said. There was something about him that made James relax.

"Yes."

He smiled. "Have a seat. I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Hullo," James replied, finding himself smiling. All past worries were forgotten.

"You have a letter for me?"

James was puzzled for a second, then he remembered the note and his Hogwarts letter, forgotten in his clenched hand. "Oh! Here you are," he said, handing the papers to him. The wizard read them, smiled and looked back at James.

"I see you take after your father quite a bit, Mr. Potter."

James' interest was instantly raised. "You knew my father?"

"Yes," he said, sounding a bit sad for the first time. "I believe that is where we shall start. Or rather, where I should start to tell you about our world. The wizarding world."


James sat stunned in his chair. He, the scrawny boy with messy hair and glasses, was the only person in history of whom had survived the Killing Curse? And it was doubly surprising, because the person who had issued the curse in the first place had been one of the most powerful Dark Wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort? And his parents…

"God, I never knew what happened to them, and now I'm not sure if I wanted to know," James said quietly.

Dumbledore nodded sorrowfully. "I would have wished them a better death than they received. Your mother did not suffer from the Killing Curse, but your father was not given that mercy. He was hit with the Cruciatus Curse several times, and his body was never recovered from the ashes of the house. Harry Potter is assumed, most likely correctly, to be dead." Dumbledore shook his head. "Such a shame. He was an excellent pupil, and was indeed a good friend of mine. I didn't know your mother quite as well, but from what I could see, she was a wonderful person."

James was silent for a moment. His real parents sounded just like he had imagined them; kind, good hearted, and loving. But to know they had been murdered…If he hadn't known them, why was he feeling so hollow right now?

"I regret having you start your knowledge of the Wizarding world with such a tragic event, but it had to be done. On a lighter note, I think I shall send someone with you to do your shopping in Diagon Alley."

"What?"

"Diagon Alley. It is where you will be buying your school supplies," Dumbledore repeated.

"Would it be okay if I went to do my shopping alone?" James asked.

Dumbledore fixed him with a stare. "Are you sure? It would be much easier for you if you had a guide."

"No, I'll be fine," James assured. Dumbledore looked at him uncertainly.

"Very well then." He brought a fancy jar out of a drawer in his desk and held it out to James, who immediately recognized the contents.

"Floo Powder," he groaned. The Headmaster chuckled.

"I see you already know of this. I want you to take this jar with you. It has enough for three trips." Here Dumbledore took out James' list of school materials, and wrote some instructions on the bottom of it. He spoke aloud as he did so. "The first will be from here to Diagon Alley, to get your supplies. The second will be from Diagon Alley back to your orphanage, where you will spend the rest of your summer. The third shall be used no sooner or later than September 1st, and it will be from your orphanage to Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Train Station, but you'll only need to say Platform 9 ¾ when using the Floo Powder. You won't need to worry about finding the platform, because you'll be delivered directly to it."

"Why wouldn't I be able to find it?" James asked.

"Wizarding secrecy is of prime concern. We can't have Muggles stumbling onto magic."

"Oh, right." Dumbledore handed James back his list and a key.

"Once you get on the train, you can ask one of your fellow students how to get onto the platform normally. The key is for your Gringotts vault. Gringotts is the large white building on Diagon Alley, and it's the Wizarding Bank. Your parents left you a sufficient amount of money."

"Thanks, Professor," James said. He got up and was prepared to throw the Floo Powder into the fireplace when Dumbledore stopped him.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"The fate of your parents is a tragic one. They sacrificed themselves out of love for you. And while they are no longer beside you, they are, and always will be, within you." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again at his last sentence. James decided he liked the Headmaster.

"Thank you," he said, his heart lifting a bit. Then, bracing himself, went on another journey through the green flames. He then decided that this was his least favourite way to travel.


Diagon Alley had been so intriguing to James, that he couldn't resist the urge to check out even the shops that didn't have things that were on his school list. He had been in Gringotts, the Apothecary, Flourish and Blotts, Ollivanders, and Eeylops Owl Emporium. His favourite store of all, however, had to be a place called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

It was undoubtedly, as James discovered as soon as he had entered it, a joke shop. Filled to the brim with magical gags, pranks, and tricks enough to fill any boy's dreams. James felt as if he were in heaven. He loved pranks of all sorts and sizes, and was somewhat infamous for it at the orphanage.

No one was at the counter at the moment, but there was another boy who seemed to be around James' age, eagerly inspecting something called Canary Creams.

"Hello," James said. The boy turned to face him, and his face broke out into a large grin.

James could see the boy was dark haired with pale blue eyes, and had a cheery, mischievous look about him. Even though he was only eleven, his face held the promise of becoming very good-looking.

"Hi!" he said. "You new here?"

"Yeah," James said, finding himself smiling too. "I just found out I was a wizard today."

"Neat! You've been with Muggles this whole time?"

"Sure. You've been with wizards?"

"Yeah," he said, "my family is a load of prats though." He mimicked a high pitched voice. "If you dare mention those low-down idiotic Muggles once more, I'll send you straight to Azkaban!" He shook his head. "Bloody racist gits, the lot of them. Personally, I think Muggles are brilliant."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd like to be able to drive one of those moto-cycly things they have. But I wouldn't fancy being one."

"Why not?"

The boy gestured around him to the inventory of the shop. "Who'd want to miss out on all of this?"

James agreed with him.

"I'm Sirius Black, by the way," he said, looking at another item he had picked off the shelves, "who are you?"

"James Potter."

The reaction was instant – Sirius dropped whatever he had been holding, his eyes widened and he stumbled back a bit before catching his balance. He was now openly staring at the scar on James' forehead. "Wha – ha – what?"

James thought that if everyone else would react the same way as Sirius had, he'd rather keep his identity a secret.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't mean to shock you."

"Damn!" Sirius swore. "I was standing right by a bloody legend all along! I mean, you do know you're famous, right?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore told me when he talked to me earlier," James provided.

"Dumbledore came to you in person?!"

"No, actually," James replied, "I was just sent to Dumbledore. The Head Nurse at the orphanage told me I was a wizard. I thought she was mad, and then she threw some of that Floo Powder stuff into her fireplace, and then just shoved me into the fire and told me to say 'Hogwarts'."

Sirius laughed a little. "Bet that was a shocker," he said.

"It was. I thought she was trying to cook me. She's big enough to swallow me whole, after all." Both boys chuckled. Sirius seemed to be calming down.

"So," he said, a little hesitant, "do you…remember anything about – you know, it?"

James shook his head. "Not one little bit. I wish I could remember my parents, though. It would've made my stay at the orphanage a lot better."

"I thought you went to live with one of your grandparents?" Sirius said, "Your mother's father, I think."

"He died three years ago, and then Social Services found me and stuck me in the orphanage," James explained.

"That must be tough," Sirius said, "Can't imagine life without dear old mum, screaming at my back about proper wizarding pride." They both sniggered, but were rudely interrupted by a shrill shrieking coming from outside the store.

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

Both of them were so startled that they nearly fell over, and quickly jerked their heads to face the front of the store, to see a shadow through the translucent glass.

"Mum!" Sirius whispered, looking frantic. He dove to hide under a table. James, getting an ominous feeling from the figure, copied him.

BANG!

The door was slammed open before either one of them could hide themselves properly. A tall, thin woman which, from James' angle, resembled a vulture, strode angrily into the store, fuming. She bent down and snapped up again, bringing Sirius up with her from her rigid grip on his wrist.

"Mum, I-"

"Don't "Mum, I-" me!" she shouted, shaking him. "How many times have I told you not to even go near this place of scum! Do you know who owns this rat hole?!"

Sirius groaned. "The Weasleys, I know!"

"No, you don't know!" she shouted. "They're blood traitors, they are! Filthy Muggle lovers! What would your ancestors say if they caught you associating with these pieces of dirt?!"

"They're dead, Mum."

"DOES IT MATTER IF THEY'RE DEAD?" she bellowed, causing both boys to wince. "You've still got the family honor to uphold, boy! If you weren't my own son, I'd thrash you until you come to your senses!"

James, feeling more than a little sorry for Sirius, decided to try to help him. "Listen, Mrs. Black, he wasn't doing anything-"

"WASN'T DOING ANYTHING?!?!" Mrs. Black yelled dangerously, rounding on James. He suddenly felt very small. "He was only tarnishing his future and the Black reputation, and you call that not doing anything?! Who are you to dare interfere? Stay out of this! I bet you're just a nosy Mudblood! You probably lured him here in the first place! If I ever see you near my son again I'll-"

"Mum," Sirius interjected frantically, "it wasn't his fault, I just met him here!"

"You open your mouth one more time, boy, and I'll smack you from here to Kingdom Come!"

Sirius looked at James, and shouted, "Run, James! Run while you still can!"

James immediately followed his advice, dashing for the door just as two red-headed men came in from the back door, apparently the owners of the shop.

As James left he called back to Sirius, "See you at Hogwarts!" He muttered under his breath, "If you survive." James was now beginning to see his life at the orphanage as a heavenly paradise, compared to what Sirius seemed to have to put up with. He could still hear Mrs. Black's shouts from down the street. She had apparently rounded on the shopkeepers.

Shaking his head, he walked towards the little pub with the fireplace, the Leaky Cauldron. He had all of his school supplies, and he didn't quite want to wait around for Mrs. Black to leave the store. After all, there was such a thing as Armageddon.


When James arrived back at Oak Street, Miss Taylor snatched away his school supplies and kept them hidden in her office, much to James' chagrin.

"We can't have any of the other children poking around at the stuff," she said matter-of-factly. "One of the other kids got a warning from some official or other for almost showing the others his books."

She did, however, allow James to read his school textbooks (as was required) if he read them in a little, secluded room that was off-limits to all other children.

He would often spend his time dreaming about what Hogwarts would be like, how fun it would be to use magic, what the other students were like, and which house he would be in. He had taken the liberty, since he knew next to nothing about the school, to buy a copy of Hogwarts: A History at Flourish and Blotts, where he had read all about Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. The book was all right, and had some more dry information, but some of it was truly intriguing. James was especially pleased when he found some records in the Quidditch section.

Youngest Player: Harry Potter, 11 years, Gryffindor, Seeker, 1969
Fastest Snitch Capture: Harry Potter, 10 seconds, Gryffindor, 1975

If his father had played it, James was very curious to see a game of Quidditch indeed. The book did not explain the rules of the game, or much about it at all. There was just the Quidditch records, which had dates from only the past century.

He couldn't wait until he arrived at the castle, but he was also dreading the event as well. This was natural, after all, he had only found out about the magical world recently, he had no idea if he was any good at magic, and no idea about what Hogwarts was really like. He had read about it, of course, but that was never truly like experiencing the real thing. He also caught himself wondering if Sirius Black hadn't had his ears yelled off yet by his mother, and wondered if he would see him again. They hadn't talked long, or known each other well, but it would be nice to see a familiar face, even if he was a practical stranger.

James must have not realized the passing of time while he was daydreaming, because September 1st came faster than he anticipated.

Miss Ward had awoken him at around six o'clock, much earlier than the rest of the orphans. Still grumbling and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he took orders that she gave him straight from Miss Taylor: 'Pack whatever you want to take with you, preferably several changes of clothes, I've got your trunk and supplies ready.'

The nurse was still curious about the whole letter incident, and had kept on glancing back at him suspiciously. James barely noticed, he was more concerned about staying awake.

Miss Ward left him at the door of Miss Taylor's office, and the door was quickly opened to permit him through. The Head Nurse already had a fire going.

"It would be best if you left now, you could wait at the station for the train, and if it's already there, board it. This way we can explain to any curious kids here that you've been sent to a boarding school, and you won't be around for them to bother."

James still would have preferred to sleep in.

Taking out the Floo Powder reserve from Dumbledore, he cast it into the fire, and, bracing himself, took his luggage with him on another trip. When he came out, he had to clench his eyes shut and stand against the wall for a little while, re-cooperating.

When he had recovered, he surveyed his surroundings. The platform was mostly empty, except for a few workers chatting and drinking coffee. Near them was a scarlet coloured old fashioned train, a steam engine. James, feeling very out of place (not to mention lethargic), plucked up the courage to go talk to one of the workers. They seemed cheery enough.

"Erm- hello?" he called out, keeping a distance. They all looked up at him, and some of them grinned.

"You're a bit early, chap!" a raven-haired one said. "You're heading for Hogwarts, then?"

"Yes, can I go on the train?" James asked.

"Go right ahead!"

"Just make sure you get some sleep," a man beside him added, "you're right dead on your feet!"

"Thank you! I will!" James said, then clambered on and helped himself to the nearest compartment. He was excited about Hogwarts, but it wouldn't hurt to have a little nap…

Someone was poking him. James groaned and rolled over, but the poking became more persistent. Giving in, he opened a bleary eye, to be greeted with a familiar, reckless grin.

"Ahoy, he awakes!" said Sirius. He stopped poking him and put his hands on his hips. "We meet again, Boy-Who-Lived! You shall not escape this time!"

James smiled weakly. "Hello, Sirius."

"Boy-Who-Lived? As in James Potter?"

James sat up to spot a boy he had never seen before, staring at him in awe. He had watery, small eyes, and was very short. His nose was pointed, and there was something about him that reminded James vaguely of a rat.

"Who are you?" James said, yawning. Sirius looked at the boy.

"Oh," he said. "James, this is Peter Pettigrew, my new recruit. Peter, this is James Potter, the only man ever to escape my mother's wrath."

Peter stared at him.

"You're the – the – do you –scar?" Peter gasped. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting to meet him. James wasn't sure he liked this kind of attention.

"Yeah, I have it," he responded, raising his hair. Peter seemed even more rattled. Sirius looked at it casually, then took a seat.

"Wow," Peter squeaked, also sitting down. "I can't believe it! I mean, you're famous!"

"I never knew that until a month ago, actually," James said.

Peter looked slightly abashed. "I'm sorry. It's just that – well, it's not everyday that you meet someone that's famous, and I never thought that you would actually be talking to me…I mean, nobody talks to me, especially not important people…" James felt a little sorry for the boy. It was obvious that Peter had a particularly low self esteem.

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" James said with an encouraging smile. That seemed to cheer Peter up considerably. "How'd you two meet?"

"We met just now, actually," Sirius provided. "A git by the name of Malfoy was bullying him, so I gave him a right hook and took Peter with me. He deserves to have a bloody lip at the Feast, picking on little people." Peter looked at him. "No offense, mate, but you are a bit titchy."

Peter shook his head in a twitchy fashion. "How did you two meet, then? Aren't you supposed to be living with Muggles? In an orphanage or something?"

"I was shopping in Diagon Alley," James said, "and I met him in the joke shop. We didn't get to talk for long though, his mother came in and yelled at him."

"She yelled at you, too," Sirius added. Peter sniggered at that statement, then quickly caught himself. He didn't seem too eager to get them mad. Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "Laugh all you want, I won't stop you. I know I would."

Taking that as a hint that the boys weren't suddenly going to have a spasm and try to strangle him, Peter opened up a little bit. When the train started moving, they started a more detailed conversation. They talked for a while about what Hogwarts would be like and Quidditch (they explained a bit more to James about it), when a new person entered the compartment.

It was a boy of around their age, only he looked like he was much more stressed and exhausted. Dark bags lurked under his eyes, and his light brown hair seemed slightly withered. When he saw the compartment was occupied, his face scrunched up in frustration.

"Aren't there any free compartments?" he complained, holding onto the door frame for support.

"Why?" Sirius said casually. "Do you have some sort of extremely contagious disease?" The boy blanched, and Sirius quickly retracted what he had said. "Just kidding! You can sit here if you want."

"No, I – uh – wouldn't want to disturb you or anything," he said, glancing nervously around.

"You're not disturbing anything," James said, "We're just having a highly secretive and exclusive meeting about our world domination plans, that's all." Sirius and Peter chuckled, and even the boy flashed a grin.

"World domination, huh?" he repeated. James was pleased to see him sit down.

"Yes," said Sirius, "our organization is called-"

"The Marauders!" Peter exclaimed.

"Excellent idea, Petey old boy!"

James began the introductions. "Our members so far are Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and me, James Potter."

"Really?" he said, looking intently at James.

"Yeah," James said, not really wanting to dwell on the fact. "And who are you?"

"Remus Weasley."