Ottery St. Catchpole was a cold, dreary place in late December. The liveliness and bustle of Christmas had worn off, and the small town was dead silent, even on New Year's Eve. Most of the inhabitants were a few miles away at the sight of the fireworks, and those that weren't were too tired or old to make any stirring. Berms of dirty snow were piled on the sidewalks of the black cobbled roads, contrasting with the ghostly whiteness of the surrounding lawns.

A faint popping sound was audible as a cloaked figure appeared in the eerie glow of the street lamps. He strode down the lane, excitement in his step, and turned into a wooded drive. He couldn't suppress a shudder at the impenetrable blackness around him. The moonless sky and endless depth of trees were enough to spook anyone. He quickened his pace toward the cottage at the end of the path, a dim but cheery glow emanating from its windows. He ran the final few steps and leapt onto the porch, yanking open the front door and throwing himself inside.

Three figures were sitting around the living room, apparently in the middle of an intense game of chess, if such a thing existed. A thin, young man with wild black hair and wire-rimmed glasses stood up, grinning.

"Moony, what took you so long?"

The figure removed his cloak, revealing a much thinner and shabbier one underneath. "We had a burst of late Christmas cards, as well as New Year's mail. We had to put our long distance owls to London deliveries, we were so busy. I couldn't send you an owl, for obvious reasons."

James laughed. "Well, as long as you keep the job, it's fine with me." Remus smiled ruefully at his friend's painful awareness of his inability to stay employed.

"How's Lily?" he asked, redirecting the conversation.

"She's with her parents," replied James, "I think their lack of association with the wizarding world bothers her. She doesn't get to seeing them much. Besides, I've got good company right here. I was just about to beat Peter's guts at chess, until you interrupted."

"He was not," said Peter, mock offended, "see, I have you in check." Peter indicated a white knight that was looking greedily at James's terrified king.

"Sirius just moved that piece while I was talking so I wouldn't win again."

Sirius shrugged innocently and took a swig of butterbeer. Remus laughed, clear and long, which was something he hadn't done in a while. His work problems and medical condition combined tended to cause him unhealthily large amounts of stress. This celebration, though, should help him relax. This was a special New Year's; it was the first one the foursome had experienced outside of school. This was a welcome to adulthood celebration, and they had special plans for it.

Remus flopped down on the couch next to Sirius, enjoying the freedom of a house that was all their own. Wormtail didn't live with the three of them, because he needed to be closer to London for work, but he spent the majority of his free time intruding upon them.

"Oh, I almost forgot this," said Remus, pulling two bottles out of his pocket.

"What're those?" asked Peter, "I thought I was supposed to bring drinks."

"These are a traditional American drink called sassafras. My brother sent them to me for Christmas, said it was pretty good. I haven't tried it yet."

"I'm game," said Sirius, who had finished his butterbeer. He grabbed one and easily popped off the cap. He had scarcely sipped it, however, when he gagged and spit it onto the rug. "This is nasty! Why would your brother send you this?"

Remus shrugged, chuckling. James chided Sirius on cleanliness and made him vanish the stains on the carpet. Peter took this opportunity to illegally move his bishop, receiving dirty looks from the black pieces. The wind picked up outside, howling and rattling the shutters. Remus sighed with contentment, smiling at his laughing friends, appreciating their very existence. He would give his life for any of them, and knew they would do the same for him. They had had a special connection since they were eleven, and Remus had been terrified it would break when they found out what he was, but they had only grown closer. Sirius interrupted his thoughts.

"Did you get it? The pensieve?"

James nodded. "Bathilda was real nice, said we could have it for a week. She said she lends it to Dumbledore often and that it was no problem."

"It must be cool to have nice family friends," said Sirius dryly. Nobody responded. Wormtail was the only one of the three who could identify at all with Sirius's family problems, and all he could do was laugh nervously. Sirius could be downright scary at times.

"You've got us now, Padfoot. You don't have to worry about them anymore," said James, concern in his voice. Sirius smiled and everyone relaxed.

"It's almost nine, and if we want to be done in time for the fireworks, we should probably get started," Remus said matter-of-factually. He stood up and James pulled the pensieve from underneath the coffee table. He set it in between the four of them. This was where the special plans came in. They had decided a few weeks previous that they would treat each other as brothers, and brothers told each other everything. So they would each place their deepest, most terrible memories in the pensieve and live through them together, so none of them would ever have to suffer alone.

James volunteered to go first and with a little difficulty pulled a gossamer string of memories from his temple and dropped them into the stone basin in front of them.

"Here we go, then," he said, apprehensively, and plunged his face into the silvery vapor. One by one his friends fell beside him, until they all stood in a white room full of sunlight, apparently at St. Mungo's.


A young James, about eight or nine, sat silently in a chair beside the elderly man in the bed. He was sniffling softly, occasionally hiccuping.

"Who's that?" asked Peter quietly.

"My granddad," whispered the real James, his voice shaky.

The child James gasped suddenly, sitting up. Mr. Potter had opened his eyes and smiled kindly at his grandson. He put a wrinkled hand out, shaking with palsy, and mussed James's hair. The boy clutched at the hand and whispered, "Are you going to be alright? Will you stay awake now, and eat, and talk? You'll be fine, w – won't you?"

"I don't know, Jamie," he replied, with effort. "As much it hurts, everyone has to die sometime."

"That's what you said last time you were awake, two days ago, and you're still alive, aren't you?"

"Yes… Yes, but I don't -" Mr. Potter paused, searching for the correct words, "I don't think I'll last much longer, and I don't want you to take it too hard."

James wasn't having it. "You'll be okay, and you'll take me to see the Cannons' quidditch match, just like you said. And then I'll teach you arithmetic; I've just learned times."

Mr. Potter had fallen silent, looking out the window at the gorgeous day outside. James was openly crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks, still holding his grandfather's hand. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his loose sweater, blinking frequently behind his huge glasses. Mr. Potter began to speak again.

"Jamie, look, even if I'm gone, I'll still be with you. I'll be at the quidditch match, even, looking for you. And you'll see me again, someday, too. Do you understand?"

James nodded, and the old man could see that he did. With a sigh of relief, Mr. Potter leaned back against his pillows, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. The child looked at the floor, lost in thought. Several minutes passed uneventfully, though James's parents did come in and sit beside him. The clock on the wall ticked, and James lay his head down on his mother's lap, eyes drying. A hummingbird buzzed at the feeder outside the window.

The real James suddenly sobbed, his thin face traced with little rivers of sadness. Sirius, Remus, and Peter bunched around him, holding him, feeling his pain.

With a cry, the young James leapt up, and clenched his grandpa's thin wrist in his own small fists. He stared at the motionless figure on the bed, and then carefully set the arm down next to the body. He then turned to his mother, shuddering with sobs.

"He's gone, Mummy. He left." She picked him up and held him close, tears running down her own cheeks. No one needed ask how he knew.

The memory suddenly went dark, and the friends found themselves on the living room floor. Still holding James's hand, they sat silent, undisturbed except for the wind.

James was the first to talk. "Now – Now you know. I never told anyone, not even my parents, how much that hurt. I felt him leave, like he was saying goodbye, and I don't think I did understand until then. We were very close; he took to me quidditch games, to the play park, to get ice cream, to go hiking. That's partly why I always enjoyed quidditch so much. I knew he would be proud. And every time I ran off in the night to cause trouble, I had this secret fear that his ghost would appear and be upset with me for being a bad boy. It was irrational, but I missed him so dang much."

"It wasn't irrational, it was just cooped up feelings manifesting themselves," said Remus. "He knows that we all make mistakes." James composed himself and seemed genuinely relieved. Peter, seeing this, seemed anxious to go next. James collected his memories, and Peter swirled his into the pensieve. The four of them once again plunged into the shimmery pool, this time landing on the playground of a muggle primary school. A short boy with shaggy hair and a pointy nose was crouching next to a bench, invisible from almost all angles. He was reading a comic book, with colorful drawings of powerful men that seemed to have no weaknesses. Someone poked him in the back. He started violently, and turned to see two much older boys, sneering at him.

"Hello, Pettigrew," said blond one, poking him again.

"Let's play tag," said the second one, with dark hair. "We're it. GO!"

Peter went. Comic book abandoned, he sprinted towards the building, where teachers and safety lay, but the dark haired boy ran around the side of the play area, cutting him off. He turned, but seeing no where to run, dropped to the asphalt and curled into ball. The blond boy caught up and, laughing, kicked Peter's knees. The memory abruptly jumped forward to a similar situation in which the same two boys were holding him down and punching him. This continued for several minutes, jumping from occasion to occasion, all of them the same two boys. At last it settled on a sunlit day, where Peter was dragging himself home, a black eye stark against his pale skin. He pulled open the screen door, walked into a shabby kitchen and dropped his knapsack on the table.

"Mum?! Where are you?" He walked towards the stairs, and the faint sound of yelling could be heard over the buzzing of appliances. Peter rushed upstairs and stopped abruptly at the sight before him. His mother, a muggle, was cowering in the corner of a bedroom, pleading with his father to change his mind about something. Mr. Pettigrew looked furious.

"If the kid doesn't show some sign of magical ability in the next week, I am getting up and outta here!" He roared. "I wasted ten years on this marriage, and to get what? A chronically ill wife and a squib for a son!"

He turned to leave and saw Peter, who backed up in fear as he stormed out. His father ignored mih, however, and stomped down the stairs, muttering darkly. Peter went to his mother and hugged her.

"It's fine, I don't care if I have magic. We'll be okay."

She smiled weakly at him, and said relatively calmly, "Well, if he is going to leave, I'd better get a job. But more importantly, come here, I need to look at that eye of yours." The two of them left, and the memory faded.

As the foursome once again returned to the living room, James spoke. "Well, I didn't know how bad the bullying was, but you've told us about this before."

"It's not just that," Peter said, "I lied. I told her I didn't care if I had magic. I did. I wanted it so bad, so I could be strong enough to defend myself. Then when it did show up, and I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter, Mum didn't want me to go. She tried everything to keep me home, even taking my train ticket. After a few years she got used to it, but I could never help feeling like I caused that loneliness by giving her false expectations."

"Whether or not you caused it, you got your magic and she accepted it. You are what you are, Wormtail. You can improve yourself, but you can't always change." Remus spoke softly, comfortingly. Peter replaced his memories, a grateful smile on his face, while Sirius added his own worst memories to the pensieve. They four of them tumbled in.

They were standing in a spotless kitchen with a fire roaring in the grate, where a tired-looking black-haired woman was waiting. With a cloud of smoke, the flames turned emerald green and a tall, young figure tumbled out. The memory Sirius stood up, grinning, until he saw his mum.

"Where have you been? You are an hour past curfew."

"I was at James's. We were having a bit of fun to celebrate our O.W.L.'s. You believe in education, don't you?"

"Yes, but I will not tolerate you spending your time with those half-blood troublemakers and blatantly disregarding our rules."

"I'm sixteen, Mum. I should be able to make some of my own rules."

The woman sighed. "Sixteen is still a child. Go to bed now; I will talk over your punishment with your father tonight."

Sirius nodded and then asked cautiously, "Would you like to know how many O.W.L.'s I got?" When Mrs. Black agreed, Sirius grinned again and said, "Eight. That's one less than Remus and James and one more than Peter." At the mention of his friends, Mrs. Black glowered at him and he hurried upstairs. They followed him into his room, where he tossed his wand onto the desk and fell fully dressed onto the bed, asleep within minutes. The memory suddenly went dark. The whole room was in complete blackness and silence.

"What is this?" Asked Remus nervously.

"This is the next morning. I'm about to wake up and find the door locked and my wand missing. My parents cursed my room while I was asleep as punishment."

The four watched as vague shapes began moving around the room, speaking in muffled, unintelligible whispers and morphing between monster and man. Peter scooted closer to Remus, shuddering a little.

"What're -are those?" he stuttered, looking very spooked.

"Those are all in my imagination. I remember them as otherwise, though," said Sirius, without emotion. The friends continued to stand and watch, unaware of how much time passed. It could have minutes or months. Finally there was a click as the door unlocked, and boy came in, about fourteen. He turned on the lamps until they radiated a dim glow, and then approached Sirius, who was curled on the bed. Regulus reached out and touched his brother's shoulder. Sirius emitted a terrified yelp, and in one fluid motion rolled over and kicked Regulus hard in the gut. Regulus collapsed onto the floor while Sirius shakily asked, "Who's there?"

"Regulus, you idiot. Dad says you can come out now."

"You're real?" inquired Sirius, still wide eyed.

"Of course I'm real, now come downstairs and get some water before you get sick," Regulus ordered, annoyed. He grabbed Sirius's arm and hauled him up, half carrying his weak brother.

"How long has it been?"

"Three days, give or take a few hours. Can you see?"

The two boys left the room, while the real Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus stared after them, shaken.

"That's when you came to my house," said James slowly. "And why you were so thin. They didn't feed you in there."

"Of course they didn't. As long as I was alive, they didn't care."

The memory swirled and turned around then, leaving them now in crowded room full of well-dressed people.

"This," explained Sirius, "Was Narcissa and Lucius's wedding reception. For obvious reasons I did not want to stay."

Remus's eyes traced the younger Sirius as he meandered toward the back of the room and the open doors there. He avoided the disapproving gazes of his many relations, and finally, with a quick look around, slipped out. Sprinting across the patio, he disappeared into the maze-like hedges of the garden. The foursome hurried to follow as he jogged around corners, putting distance between himself and the house. After a bit he slowed down to a walk, and started to hum, a smile splitting his face. That was until he walked past the opening of a sheltered alcove, where two people sat having a very personal moment. Sirius froze, staring at them. Bellatrix and Rudolphus broke apart and stood up, eyeing him warily. He ran for it, but never made it around a corner. With a lazy flick of his wand, Rudolphus yanked him back, depositing him in front of Bellatrix's sneering silhouette.

"I didn't know you two were together," Sirius said conversationally.

"No one but Cissy and Rabastan does, and we intend to keep it that way," snapped Bellatrix. "Promise to not to tell anyone, and we'll let you off easy."

"Alright, I won't tell."

"Liar."

"I said what you wanted, didn't I? Can I go now?"

"Tell me, cousin, what you were doing out here, all alone?" Sirius didn't respond, so Bellatrix continued. "You were trying to avoid the lectures, weren't you? Tired of hearing all the rebuking speeches that never phased you anyway? Well I don't blame you. I hate being told what to do just as much as you do. However, I don't need to be told what to do, because I have my priorities straight and already do it. Since you have successfully escaped our relatives, I should make sure your time here is worthwhile."

She smiled and Rudolphus chuckled, momentary lowering his wand. Sirius took this opportunity and lunged at him, knocking him flat on his back. Then Sirius hightailed it toward the twisting hedges, but again Bellatrix yanked him back. Rudolphus pulled himself up and grabbed Sirius's arms, holding them behind his back. Though he was a bit shorter than Sirius, he was built like a pro wrestler and restrained the struggling teen easily.

At this point, the real Sirius leaned his head back, eyes closed, and inhaled.

"Crucio," snarled Bellatrix, holding the wand against Sirius's chest like a sword. The dark, empty night echoed with his screams, and his knees gave out, leaving him hanging from his bent arms.

James covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. Remus clutched the real Sirius's arm, and caught him as he fell. James and Peter came to assist him, and the three of them supported Sirius's limp shaking body. The screams continued for a minute and then stopped. Remus watched the two young adults stride away, arm in arm, laughing. The memory Sirius was trying to rise from the ground, but seemed to have lost all his motor skills. He lay there in the soft grass, lost in the labyrinth of hedges until the memory faded and the three standing and one collapsed fell back onto the living room floor.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Demanded James, equal parts hurt and sympathy visible in his watering eyes.

"It would only burden you. There was nothing to be done," said Sirius, all traces of emotion wiped from his face.

"No, it would have helped you. Just know that if anything like that ever happens like that again, we'll find out somehow, and it'll be better coming from you."

"Is that a threat?" said Sirius, his unbeatable good spirits returning. James smiled wrily, and looked to Remus.

The werewolf was not looking forward to his turn. He did not possess the ability to hide his emotions whenever he chose, and he was very afraid of breaking down in front of his friends. He immediately chided himself on the ridiculous thought, knowing it was good let his friends know how he was feeling. He pulled the weightless string of iridescent memory from his temple and placed it in the pensieve, then plunged his face into it. As his feet touched the ground, he took in his surroundings, the scene all too familiar. The tall evergreens surrounding the house, the full moon bright in the cloudless sky, the faint breeze that could be interpreted as either eerie or peaceful. The sound of laughter reached his ears, and he and his friends turned toward it.

A family of five was visible in the distance, meandering up the drive. Two teenage boys, snickering and whispering at each other, were walking in front of their parents, who were simply enjoying the peaceful night with their children. A younger boy, maybe seven, was skipping ahead of the others, jauntily singing an off-key Christmas carol. By the time he reached the porch he was far ahead of his brothers, crunching the gravel under his worn boots. He tried the door, and finding it locked, spun around to holler at his parents. But before a sound could leave his lips an enormous furry something leapt onto him, bowling him over onto the splintery planks. He screamed, kicking the thing, but it had its teeth clamped on his arm so his efforts were fruitless. The wolf's eyes glowed orange, and it pulled its mouth off his arm, preparing to rip open the child's throat. A bright red light streaked into its side, throwing it into the weeds, snarling. It prepared to pounce, but with a few more bolts of light, it fled into the forest, howling.

The mother picked up the bleeding, sobbing Remus and carried him into the house, laying him on the table and hastily waving her wand and muttering. The bleeding slowed a bit, but the wound didn't close or scab.

"It hu -hurts, mum," cried Remus. "Like fire."

Mrs. Lupin's brows furrowed and she turned to her husband. "But… it was a wolf. It wasn't a basilisk or anything venomous."

Mr. Lupin had gone very pale. "No… No, it couldn't be...What did it look like, Remus?"

Remus wiped his eyes with his good arm and spoke shakily. "It looked like a dog, but with big teeth. And its eyes were orange."

Mr. Lupin sunk into a chair, breathing heavily. One of the teenage boys had the sense dig out some floo powder.

"Would it be better to go by floo or apparate?" He queried, surprisingly clear headed. The mother, who had realized what had happened, responded relatively calmly. "There's too much motion involved in floo travel. We'll have to be careful not to splinch him, but I think it would be better to here until your father comes to get you." She turned to her husband, who rose to his feet and carefully lifted his son off the table. The mother helped support him and the two of them disappeared. The memory jumped ahead to a partially recovered Remus sitting in a white bed at St. Mungo's.

His parents were beside him, both of them looking anxiously at a healer who was seated nearby with a clipboard.

"We examined the blood, and it was hard to tell at first, but we think the effects will be pretty severe. He will probably be a werewolf."

The mother broke into sobs, while the father groaned.

"Will I have to go away? Do I have to leave you and Romulus and Pollux?"

"No, sweetie," said Mr. Lupin, "Nothing has to change." The healer looked warningly at him, silently telling him not to lie to the child. Then that the memory shifted to another night, back at the Lupins' house. An unnatural red mist sat heavily on the ground.

"What is this?" asked Sirius, uselessly trying to wave it away.

"It's just there because I was a wolf at the time," replied Remus, surprisingly calm. The presence of his friends was very comforting.

A young couple was coming up the lane, laughing. The man was an older version of one of Remus's brothers. He was saying something about travel and goodbyes.

A low growl drifted out of the darkness, and without warning a small but fierce wolf threw itself at him. He yelled and fell over backwards, cursing. The girl screamed, but whipped out a wand and quickly wrapped thin magical cords around the wolf's muzzle. It snarled and whined, but backed up, scratching at the ropes restraining its jaw. By this time Mr. and Mrs. Lupin had come running out of the house, worry written all over their faces.

"Are you alright?" gasped Mrs. Lupin. "We didn't have anyway of telling you that he got out."

"I'm fine. I just don't want him to hurt himself. Can't we get him back inside?"

The wolf, agitated by all the people, growled and fled back into the woods. The Lupins and the girl hurried inside, Mrs. Lupin throwing worried glances at the woods behind them.

"Poor boy…"

The mist faded as the memory sped forward to dawn, where a thin, sleep-deprived boy dragged himself up to the front porch. He tried the door, and finding it unlocked, staggered inside. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table, anxiously wringing her hands.

"I was so worried," she cried, standing up and smothering him in a hug. He leaned against her, nothing but exhaustion readable in his face. Finally the young Remus spoke.

"Did he leave already?"

She nodded. He sunk onto the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wiped his tattered sleeve across his eyes, but it did little good. He lay there and cried while his mother held and rocked him. Peter looked questioningly at the real Remus, who explained. "My brother. It was the morning that he left for America as an intern teacher. I never got to say goodbye."


Remus found himself back on the floor of their rundown cottage, at a loss for words. None of his friends seemed to have found words either. They sat in silence, but Remus sensed their sympathy. One of the lamps flickered out and no one made a move to relight it. After a while James rose and somberly clasped his hands in front of him.

"Well, now we can remember this night as the night we became brothers. I, for one, think we should say the oath now."

The others rose, eyes on James, as he continued his speech.

"We, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black hereby swear to protect one another in any situation, no matter how dangerous, with our own lives and all of our magical and non-magical ability, and to always comfort and help each other when in need."

"I swear."

"I swear."

The words were repeated around the circle until they had all spoken. Unsure how to end the formalities, James looked at the pensieve, but found no inspiration there, and so said, "Well… That's that, then."

Sirius laughed, and James grinned sheepishly. "We said it, didn't we?"

Peter unexpectedly picked up a butterbeer and proposed a toast.

"A fabulous idea, I think," remarked Sirius. "A toast to the marauders, and to our lifelong friendship." Remus took a hearty swig of butterbeer, the sweet, burning taste warming him down to his toes. At the same time, someone choked. His eyes flew to James, who was wiping his tongue on his sleeve. He had accidentally picked up the sassafras. The foursome laughed themselves to exhaustion, doubled over and shaking with mirth. Distant cracks were audible over the wind, and Remus leapt to his feet.

"The fireworks are starting!" With a crack he vanished, reappearing in a crowded clearing. His friends apparated beside him, faces to the sky. Bursts of light filled the it, spreading colorful patterns over the heads of the restless viewers. Children screamed with delight and adults whistled at this timeless pleasure, Remus among them. His hand subconsciously closed around Sirius's, who was standing next to him. The fireworks lasted a good twenty minutes, while the night around them grew continually colder and toddlers fussier. A frazzled woman with three small children bumped Remus and hastily apologized, her husband making feeble attempts at reigning in the youngsters. The couple directly in front of them seemed to have forgotten that they were surrounded by people and not in a private booth somewhere. At half past midnight most of the field was emptied, and the marauders, unable to apparate back unto their property, were forced to walk. Peter started singing the Hogwarts song, which James joined immediately. Never was there a more content, brotherly group as the foursome of Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew on January first, nineteen-seventy-eight.