The Marauding Memoir

Prologue

A strange woman dressed in strange clothing paced about a strange room. She was an average height, unnaturally pale, with long, curly black hair, and eerie grey eyes. Muttering to herself, she occasionally cast a glance at the only other thing in the room, a majestic desk, upon which sat a very antiquated computer.

She glared at it as if it were a rabid beast, poised to attack. "Bleedin' bloody Banshees! Or is it bloody bleedin' Banshees? Or – ah, eff the Banshees. I'll be burned at the stake and boiled before I figure out where the hell Sirius nicked you from." She heaved a great sigh and plopped down in the plush desk chair; a look of resignation upon her face.

Bloody goddamn hell. I don't quite know how to begin this, really. I mean, how does one begin to write a memoir. Honestly . . . it's quite difficult. Especially for one so horribly un-eloquent as myself. Well, I reckon I should begin with my name, ey?

Yes. Well, glad you agree. Anyhow my name is Tacey Clearwater. Yes, I am related to Penelope. She's my niece, but we don't have much of a relationship. You see, I don't really have much of a relationship with my family – what's left of my family, anyway – as they … well, they think I'm dead. Actually I'm in hiding. What's that? Where am I hiding? Can't tell you that, hence the whole 'hiding' bit to begin with.

What with … current events … I understand that it's necessary, but believe you me, I'm bored off my onion. Dumbledore told me to write an autobiography and I'm not quite sure if he was serious, (you can never tell with that man) but here I am. When this is all over first order of business is to straightaway plop this on his desk. And I hope he reads over this part specifically and chortles to himself as he always does, but I digress.

I suppose I should start with my pre-Hogwarts days. As far back as I can remember I have been tormented by some male. First my brother, Terrence, then none other than the infamous Sirius Black (eventually accompanied by James Potter, of course). My family and I originally lived in some all-Wizarding area in London, Grimmauld Place it was called. Now, compared to the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black' my family basically consists of Muggle-borns and Blood Traitors. Mind you, the Clearwater's started out as a respectable, wealthy Pure Blood family, but –after various marriages to some "un-respectable" people along the lines –we've lost the respect, but retained the wealth. So, while still monetarily on par with families like the Blacks, we weren't treated like one of them. Which can make all the difference when the aforementioned family lives next door to you. The sole person in the neighborhood who treated us normally was little Sirius Black. Of course that was after I had taken him down a peg or two.

Let me explain. When one has only an older brother for company for the first five or six years of one's life, one may become thoroughly tomboy-ish. In my case, much more than thoroughly. So, when a runty (albeit adorable) little boy flew into my backyard one day while I was playing with my brother's Silver Arrow and started throwing mud at me, I didn't take it so well.

I had been contentedly flying in languid circles, when suddenly I felt something gooey smack against the side of my head. I spun around, flinging mud off my face as I went. Assuming it was my brother I yelled, "You prat! Mummy said I could use your broom in the backyard -" My eyes fell on someone vaguely familiar; definitely not my brother. "Who are you?"

The boy with startlingly blue eyes and shaggy black hair flew over to me. "Sirius Black." came the haughty reply.

I stuck out my grubby seven-year-old hand. "Tacey Clearwater."

He looked down his nose at my hand and made a disgusted face. I, still encompassed by my childhood innocence, simply let my hand fall back on my broomstick. Maybe he had never seen grown ups shake hands before, I thought. "Why'd you throw mud at me?"

"Mummy says you have dirty blood. I figured a bit more mud can't hurt you," he said, then paused to inspect my brother's broom. "Is that a Silver Arrow? Anyone who's anyone has a Clean Sweep."

I looked down at the broom under me. It wasn't that old, it flew like a brand new broom. Not that I had ever flown a brand new broom. "It's my brother's." I said softly.

Sirius laughed meanly at that. "Can't even afford your own broom! Ah, it doesn't matter . . . what's a girl gonna do with a broom anyway?"

I glared at him. "Plenty of things. Fly . . . play Quidditch -"

His laughter cut me off. "Y-you-hoo," he managed to choke out. Then, took a deep breath, attempting to control his laughter, "You think you can play Quidditch?"

"Of course I can play Quidditch!" I exclaimed, bristling at his blatant mocking. Before I had not understood his talk of dirty blood, but this was Quidditch. This was territory I understood frighteningly well.

Sirius laughed again, although this time it sounded as if he was laughing at a puppy chasing his tail. "Girls can't play Quidditch."

I glared at him. "Then why are the Hollyhead Harpies all girls?"

"NO! Y-you're stupid!" he yelled, knowing I was right, and, in true childlike fashion, threw another handful of mud at me.

Even at seven, I understood that he was being a thickheaded bloke. But, for all my insight, I was still seven and I hadn't quite figured out how to deal with thickheaded blokes yet. So, I did the only thing that seemed natural. I threw mud back. Outrage was evident on his face as he slid off his broom, but it soon dissolved into enjoyment as the mud fight escalated.

When I finally beat him into submission, he said, "You know you're all right." Then he quickly added, "For a girl."

I smiled at him. "You're not that bad either. . . . For a daft boy."

He grinned the devilish grin that I would come to know so well over the years and stuck out his mud-caked hand. I took it firmly and the hand shake turned into a 'who can squeeze harder' contest, to be broken apart by my mother looking out back to check up on me. Amazed that one of the Black boys was lowering himself to my level, she stood speechless for a moment.

That one moment was all it took for Mrs. Black to finally figure out where her eldest son had slunk off to. "SIRIUS BLACK!" she shrieked, the tip of her nose just peeking over the fence. "What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing associating with that half-blood!"

That was all my mother needed to spring into action. "Excuse me! I'll have you know that while we may be half-blooded witches, we are full-blooded humans, and that should be enough to merit anyone's respect."

Mrs. Black sneered. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"You've bloody got it anyways." My mother practically spat and stormed back inside, muttering about how a good hex would do her right.

Mrs. Black stopped her own muttering and looked down at Sirius and I. Without a word, she levitated her son and his broom back over the fence. Before Sirius was completely out of my reach he whispered, "I'll owl you."

Once her son was safely on her pureblooded property, she looked down at me with disgust. "Get out of my sight."

I looked up at her in defiance. "I'm in my own backyard. I can stay here if I want to."

With that she shot a poorly aimed hex at me and disappeared behind her hedges and never said another word to me.

That night I was awoken by the sound of an owl scratching against my window. It was the letter from Sirius. The only line I remember from that letter was 'Maybe Mum was wrong about all of you.' I had no idea what he was talking about at the time, but I wrote back anyway, telling him that we could be friends (I'd forgive him for starting the mud fight) and that he could come over any time he wanted. I sent it back with his owl, then ran downstairs to make sure it was indeed alright for Sirius to visit.

Instead, what I found out was that my incident with the Blacks was the last straw in an on-going argument between my parents. I snuck up to my brother and asked quietly, "What's goin' on?"

"Dad wants to move, says it would be easier for us if we did. Mum doesn't, she says we'd be giving in to them." Terrence replied softly.

I slipped my hand in his. No matter how much we fought, or he made fun of me, or ditched me, or anything like that – he was still my big brother and he made me feel safe regardless of what was going on around us. "Terry, I don't wanna move." I said.

"I know, Tace. Me neither." he replied.

"No, but I just made a new friend. I told him he could come over sometimes, if he wants."

Before I could say another word, Terrence squeezed my hand tightly. "You mean Sirius Black? He was nice to you?"

"Well," I began, looking at my feet, "Not at first, but then I beat him in a mud fight and he said that I'm alright. And I said he's all right, too. And then he owled me and said that he thinks his mum might be wrong about us . . . whatever that means."

"Bugger. I suppose if we move, he can Floo over sometimes, if his mum'll let him. Better go tell our mum 'bout this." Terrence said, and gently propelled me forward.

So, I went on to tell my parents about my encounter with Sirius and they decided that the 'poor boy' was an average wizard trapped in a 'horrid, blood-obsessed family' and that wherever we moved to, he could certainly come visit.

That 'wherever we moved to' turned out to be Godric's Hollow. Right next door to the Potters, long-time friends of my parents. "These," my mother had told me, "Are the good type of pure bloods. Because they'll never hold it over you."

As it turned out they had a son my age, James Potter. Jamsie and I got along excellently from the first moment we met, and every moment afterwards we were together. We went to our first Quidditch game together, we went to Diagon Alley to buy our first broomsticks together, we pulled our first prank together; mostly everything we did was with each other. We even lost our bloody teeth at the same time.

As time went on, I introduced James to Sirius. Jamsie took a liking to him right away; such a genuinely nice bloke, James was. Together, James and I showed Sirius a real childhood in a real family. His time with us was the spot of normalcy that gave him the knowledge to realize that something was off with the way he was being brought up.

Merlin! I can still remember the first time James and Sirius met, a time beyond recollection for many. "You look funny." James said to the gaunt boy in front of him.

"Yeah? Well . . . so do you!" Sirius retorted. "Your hair's sticking up all over the place."

James laughed and ruffled his scruffy hair. "I like it this way."

I giggled and pounced on James, pulling him into a headlock and messing with his hair, shouting, "Like your hair messy, do you!"

Following my lead, Sirius joined in the fray. Finally, horsing around with friends as a seven year old is supposed to. From then on our playful relationship only grew, as James and I inducted him into our little pranking ring. Alright, I'll admit it wasn't much of a ring, it was just me and James until we decided that Sirius was cool enough. Needless to say, he soon surpassed both James and myself in creativity and cunning, although we all shared an equal amount of flair for it. Eventually, the joint Potter-Clearwater household was constantly beset by pranks from the aptly named Inseparable Trio of Trouble.

If you're looking to blame someone for Sirius's … er, penchant for practical jokes, you can most definitely point the finger at James and I and we will be unable to claim otherwise while under the influence of either Veritaserum or Firewhiskey. Honestly, no matter which potion you choose you'll get the same effect. If you ask me, I say just get all the Death Eaters in Azkaban drunk off their bloody arses, you'll get your answers and it'll be much more pleasant for both parties involved. But, I digress. What's done is done . . . and it's not my damned problem anymore. That is, of course, unless someone comes my way with a bloody jug of Firewhiskey looking for one of the parties responsible for opening the floodgate restraining the manic genius that is Sirius Black.

Anyhow, the years passed and James, Sirius, and I only became closer and the Inseparable Trio of Trouble only become more inseparable. And more trouble. Until that one fateful day in our eleventh year when that very specifically addressed letter written in green ink came to each of our respective homes. Naturally, we all expected it, but there was the chance (however minute) that one of us could be a squib. As it turned out, none of us were. Squibs, that is.

"I reckon we've got to go for it right away. Make our presence known, you know?" James said.

"Yeah. Right in the middle of the Sorting. Are you daft, Jimmy-boy?" I replied sarcastically.

"If he's daft, then 'ope for us is out the bloody window." Sirius retorted.

"Since when has there been hope for Sirius?" I said to James in a stage whisper.

"Since the day he decided to throw mud at you." James answered, poking me in the stomach.

"Glad I know where your loyalties lie." I huffed.

The three of us were casually arrayed about James's room, planning out when, where, and how we would start off our pranking career at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Sirius continued as if I had never spoken. "Tacey's right. We can't set anything off in the middle of the Sorting. It'd be too obvious. It's got to be the first week of school though."

"Definitely. Otherwise we lose credibility for not starting sooner." James said thoughtfully, ruffling his hair. "And mates, I hate to be the one to say it . . . but we need a better name."

"The Inseparable Trio of Trouble is a mouthful. And what happens if we recruit some new mischief makers along the way? Then we're no longer a trio!" Sirius agreed.

I shook my head at the two of them. Were they completely brainless? None of us had ever even performed a proper spell before. I brought this point to their attention. "Er – hate to burst your bubble, blokes, but we don't even know if we can do these spells." I said, pointing to a stack of books.

Before I can continue I must explain a little bit about the aforementioned books. Terrence had given them to me for Christmas the previous year and I had looked at him as if he had tentacles sprouting from his head for giving me – of all gifts in the world – books for Christmas. Upon further inspection, said books (Saucy Tricks For Tricky Sorts, Curses and Counter Curses,and Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks) were an invaluable present, as they gave James, Sirius, and I loads of ideas and jinxes that we would have never learned in school. To top it all off, one of the books – Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks, I think – isn't even in print anymore!

"We'll pull it off. None of us are completely mindless." James said, ever the optimist.

"Oh yes, between the three of us we can manage one full brain!" I exclaimed with false excitement.

"Stuff it, Tacey. Quit being a spoilsport." Sirius pouted.

I tossed a pillow at his head. "I'm not being a spoilsport! I'm being the voice of bloody reason!"

"Who needs reason! We're planning pranks here, woman!" James exclaimed as Sirius threw the pillow back at me.

"Alright then," I said slowly, a slightly crazed grin spreading across my face, "How about some exploding fruit in the corridors?"

James took on a similar expression. "Rotten exploding fruit in the corridors."

Sirius simply arched an eyebrow at us. "Is that the best you can do, lads?"

I glared at him.

"Lad and lass." he amended.

"You've figured out something better?" James asked skeptically.

Sirius shrugged. "A few well-aimed tripping jinxes, conjure up a flock of birds, and some expertly placed extra creamy peanut butter . . . and I'd say we're set in the history books of Hogwarts."

"And I assume this is all going on in one of the girl's loos, m'I right?" I sighed.

Sirius looked appalled. "Not just one of them!"

"Lads, lads – " James began, a bright and enlightened look dawning upon his face.

"BLOODY HELL!" I screamed, interrupting him, "I'M A GIRL!"

"No, no." Sirius protested.

"You're just a cool bloke with long hair." James explained.

"Whatever. As I was about to say: Why not set off exploding fruit in the corridors, thereby forcing everyone in said corridors into the loos which contain tripping jinxes, a flock of rabid birds, and peanut butter."

Sirius beamed at me. "Brilliant."

James, however, looked perplexed. "Can birds actually be rabid?"