Out of Desperation
by PiperPaigePhoebe01
Chapter One
August 15, 1976
Potter's Castle
"Hey, Padfoot. Come look at this."
James stared at the book on his bed. Sirius came up behind him and stared at the book as well.
"Moony, come look at this."
He did, bringing Peter with him. There was silence for a moment as they all stared at the book.
"Prongs?" Remus finally asked. "Do you even have a relative named Harry?"
James shrugged, shaken out of his trance. "I dunno," he said. "I might. But not one famous enough to have a book written about him."
Remus leaned forward and plucked the book off the bed. He read the cover once more.
"Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, by J. K. Rowling," he said aloud, flipping to the first page. "Maybe there's something in the verso page that'll tell us where it came from."
"The what page?"
Remus rolled his eyes at Peter. "The verso page, the page that says where it was written, when it was written, stuff like that." He scanned the page quickly, then clutched the book tightly. "It says it was published in 1997."
"But that's impossible!" Peter protested.
"Nothing's impossible in magic," Remus responded. "But—where would we get this?"
"Maybe it was sent."
"Who would send us a magical book from the future? And why?"
Remus shrugged. "I don't know. But maybe this Harry is a relative of yours, from the future, James. Maybe this book was sent here for a reason. It might tell the future."
Flipping the book over, he read the back summary.
"Harry Potter has never played a sport while flying on a broomstick," he began, ignoring James and Sirius' shocked gasps. "He's never worn a cloak of invisibility, befriended a giant, or helped hatch a dragon. All Harry knows is his miserable life with the Dursleys, his horrible aunt and uncle, and their abominable son, Dudley."
All four snickered.
"Harry's room is a tiny closet at the foot of the stairs, and he hasn't had a birthday party in eleven years."
"Poor bloke," James said sympathetically.
"But all that is about to change when a mysterious letter arrives by owl messenger: a letter with an invitation to a wonderful place he never dreamed existed. There he finds not only friends, aerial sports, and magic around every corner, but a great destiny that's been waiting for him... if Harry can survive the encounter."
Remus stopped reading and looked up at James.
"If this is a relative of yours, then he's wicked," Sirius said before Remus could.
James shrugged. "How can he be?" he said rationally. "I mean, he doesn't even know about magic, so he's probably a Muggleborn. If he was a relative, why wouldn't he know about magic?"
"I don't know," Remus said. "Maybe something happened to his parents."
"Maybe."
"Let's read and find out," Remus suggested, and Sirius groaned.
"Not more reading," he protested.
Remus ignored this protest, opening the book to the first chapter. Clearing his throat, he began to read.
Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
James rolled his eyes. "They sound like snobs."
There was a mumbled agreement.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.
"What're drills?" Sirius asked curiously.
Remus looked up from the book. "It's a sort of metal object used for putting holes in things. Now stop interrupting."
"Why would you want to put holes in things?"
Remus shrugged. "How should I know?" he said, and looked back at the book.
He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
"Ugh. What an ugly match."
"That Mrs. Dursley sounds familiar," James muttered, "but I can't remember where—"
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that someone would discover it.
"Of course," Remus muttered. "If they didn't have a secret, there wouldn't be much point in the story."
They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be.
"Hey! The Potters aren't good-for-nothing!"
Remus and Sirius exchanged a look. "What about your great-uncle Jerry?"
James paused to think. "Well, maybe some Potters are good-for-nothing. But I'm not!" And he puffed his chest out proudly.
The other three Marauders snickered until the story picked up once more.
The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
"A child like what?" Peter inquired.
"A magical one, probably."
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
Sirius snickered. "Just like Muggles," he said. "Can't see what's right in front of them half the time."
"Really," James agreed. "They can be intelligent sometimes—that tellyphone sounds rather ingenious—but they don't notice anything."
"You'd think they'd notice owls, though," Remus said. "I wonder why they're in plain sight. Normally they know better."
James and Sirius shrugged, and Remus continued.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.
All four of them rolled their eyes.
"Brat," James muttered.
"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house.
This time, they all made a face. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but trailed off at a sharp look from Remus.
He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map.
"But cats don't read maps!"
James sighed. "No, Peter," he said, "but Animagi do. Bet you six sickles it's McGonagall."
"Deal."
They shook.
For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight.
"Ha," James said. "McGonagall is a tabby cat. Pay up."
"Not yet," Peter shot back. "It might not be McGonagall."
"Oh, it is," James said convincingly, but simply plopped down on the floor and waited for Remus to begin again.
What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive—no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.
"No, but Animagi can," Sirius said smugly.
Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
"I will never understand how Muggles can be so boring," James said.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.
This time, James, Sirius or Peter didn't interrupt. This time, Remus stopped reading and stared at each of them.
"I don't understand," he said slowly. "Wizards aren't usually that irresponsible—I mean, there are rules and stuff against wizards going out in public wearing robes and stuff like that—the Ministry enforces them—so why would they risk it?"
"Something big must have happened," James said.
"It must be really big," Remus said. "Because why wouldn't the Ministry do something about it?"
None of them had an answer, so Remus returned to the book.
Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes—the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing a emerald-green cloak!
Peter snorted. "You'd think he'd know they're wizards. They probably know about magic, right?"
"Well, they don't seem like the sharpest quills in the bunch, Peter," James said.
The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt—these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it.
"Funny how Muggles try as hard as they can to ignore magic," Sirius said. "Even when it's right in front of them."
The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
"Funny how they change their mind so often," James added. "How do they do it?"
"At least their brains aren't as scattered as yours, Prongs," Sirius said.
"Hey!"
Remus rolled his eyes. "Can't you guys stop interrupting me for one second?"
James and Sirius exchanged looks.
"No."
"But go ahead, Moony," James added.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.
Remus interrupted himself this time.
"Something must have happened," he said. "Otherwise, there wouldn't be that many owls flying about, in broad daylight. The Muggles are getting suspicious."
"What could've happened?"
"Dunno," he replied. "Let's find out."
Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.
James snickered.
He yelled at five different people.
"How pleasant," Peter muttered.
He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.
"Wow, he certainly likes yelling," Sirius said.
"Maybe he should go to anger management classes," James suggested.
"Yeah!"
He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
"I doubt he needs one of those," Sirius said. "He's fat enough already."
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy.
"Well, they're magical, and he's dull as a rock," James said. "So it makes sense."
Sirius snickered.
This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin.
"Obviously," Peter murmured.
It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard—"
"—yes, their son, Harry—"
Remus frowned, looking up at the book. "Reckon this has anything to do with the owls?"
"They must," James said. "But how?"
"I dunno."
Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.
"Maybe these Potters are the same ones that the Dursleys are related to," Peter suggested.
"They have to be," Sirius said, "or they wouldn't be mentioned otherwise. Right, Moony?"
Remus nodded.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind.
"Again?" James asked.
He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name.
"That's true," James said. "Lots of people are named Potter."
He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry.
"Somehow, I doubt that."
Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her—if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...
"A sister like what?" Sirius asked.
James remained silent for once. The mention of Mrs. Dursley seemed to stir something in his memory, but he couldn't remember what. And her sister...
He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon—
"Can he ever concentrate?" Peter asked.
"Apparently not," James said.
—and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.
"How rude."
"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last!"
Remus dropped the book and met the gaze of three equally confused and shocked Marauders.
"He—he's gone?" Peter croaked. "He's really gone?"
"He must be—this book says he is—" James said.
"But how is that possible?"
"Can this book really be telling the future?" Remus muttered, eyes still trained on the words in front of him. "I mean, it mentions You-Know-Who—and it seems realistic—"
Sirius shook his head. "Go on," he said. "If it is—then we have to read more."
"It has to be telling the future," James said. "There's no other explanation."
There really was no alternate explanation. After all, it had appeared on their bed suddenly, by magic, without any prior warning. It proclaimed to be from 1997, and mentioned the magical world.
It had to be true.
And that meant Voldemort was gone.
A broad smile spread across Remus' face as he picked up the book again. Three more joined his as he continued reading.
"Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"
And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot.
"Well, I would be too, if I just found out You-Know-Who was gone," Sirius said, and let out a loud whoop.
Everyone murmured their assent.
He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.
Everyone laughed.
"How can you not approve of imagination?" James asked.
"I don't know," Remus said.
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve his mood—was the tabby cat he'd spotted this morning.
"I can't believe that the cat was there that whole time," Peter said.
"Well, it's not just a cat," James said. "It has to be McGonagall. Get ready with the six sickles, Peter!"
It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
"Another point for me," James said. "McGonagall's form has spectacle markings around her eyes."
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.
"Like that'll work," Sirius muttered.
The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.
James laughed. "McGonagall," he said in a sing-song voice. "Pay up, Peter!"
Seemingly sensing his defeat, Peter dug in his pockets and pulled out six sickles. He shoveled the silver into James' hand, who grinned and pocketed it. McGonagall's stern look was well-known to them all, after all, in both forms.
Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!").
"How spoiled," James grumbled. "If I ever have a son, I won't let him act that way."
Sirius exchanged a look with Remus and Peter.
"You? Have a son?" He let out a gasp. "Oh, the horrors!"
James shoved Sirius. "Stuff it," he murmured.
"James, that's not very polite," Sirius retorted. "Shouldn't you set a good example for your would-be son?"
Remus, playing along, shuddered. "To think of another Potter around!"
Not able to reach Remus across the circle they had ended up forming as they all sat down to read, James grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw it across the middle at Remus. He caught it deftly with one hand and continued to read.
Mr. Dursley tried to act normally.
"Well, that shouldn't be hard," James said. "After all, 'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were proud to say they were perfectly normal.'"
When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news.
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight—"
"No, really?" Sirius asked sarcastically. "I never would have guessed!"
"—there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise."
"Well, of course!" James burst out. "Because You-Know-Who is gone!"
And the idea made the Marauders all grin.
"Experts have been unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"How clever."
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
"Everyone in the wizarding world must be celebrating," Peter said.
"Of course they are, Pete," Sirius said. "Who wouldn't be, if You-Know-Who was gone for good!"
"I can't believe it," James said, almost to himself. "He's finally defeated."
"I just wish we knew when," Remus said.
"Maybe the book will tell us, if the book really does tell the future," Sirius responded.
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...
"I want to know about these Potters!" James said. "How are they related to this?"
Instead of answering outright, Remus shrugged and continued reading.
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er—Petunia, dear—you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
"That name sounds familiar," Remus muttered. "Does it sound familiar to anyone else?"
"Yeah, but I don't know where I heard it," James said.
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"Hey! Wizards aren't funny-looking!" James protested.
"Unless you're talking about that one girl, Hera Smith," Sirius replied.
James thought about that for a while. "Right. Unless you're talking about Hera Smith."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
"If they mean wizards and witches, why don't they just say it?" Peter asked.
"Because they're afraid," Remus said. "Remember how they said they couldn't bear it if anyone found out about the Potters?"
"Well, I don't think I could either," Sirius joked. "Those Potters. Can't even mention them around here without quaking in my boots."
James shoved Sirius. "You're not wearing boots."
"So?"
"So, the saying's useless!"
"No, it's an expression," Sirius said, proud. He turned to Remus. "See, I actually learned something from you!"
Remus applauded lightly. "Good for you, Padfoot," he said. "Now can I get back to reading?"
"Oh, yes," Sirius said.
"Go on."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare.
James opened his mouth to ask, once again, what was so bad about the Potters, but promptly closed his mouth at the expression on Remus' face.
Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son—he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Not any worse than Dudley," Sirius scoffed.
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there.
"I wonder why," Peter mused.
It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.
"...oh. That explains it."
Was he imagining things?
James snickered. "Of course not," he said. "After all, you don't 'approve of' imagination."
Could all this have anything to do with the Potters?
"Probably," Sirius said.
If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of—well, he didn't think he could bear it.
"Their medieval attitude toward magic is really annoying," James said. "Us wizards aren't that bad. Most of the time."
Sirius nodded. "They could at least say 'wizard'. It's not like the word is going to murder them or something."
"No, but there are other words that can," James said, and froze.
There was a moment of tense silence—why did he say that?—and then Remus resumed reading.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about him and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on—he yawned and turned over—it couldn't affect them...
How very wrong he was.
"Ha," Sirius said. "Now things are getting good! Er, better."
"Maybe now we'll figure what this is all about," James said. "I want to know who this Harry character is!"
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
"And she had been sitting there all day?" Sirius asked.
James grinned. "Sounds like our McGonagall!"
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground.
"He must have Apparated," James said.
"No, the book says he appeared silently, so he must have used a Portkey," Remus said. "Apparation makes a noise."
"Maybe he's so used to it, it was silent."
Remus shrugged. "Maybe."
The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
"Oh, McGonagall's aaaangryyyy," Sirius said in a singsong voice.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt.
"Dumbledore!" Peter cried.
He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
"Of course," James and Sirius said, just as soon as Peter said, in a tone full of triumph, "I knew it!"
"There wasn't anyone else it could be," Remus agreed. "But what is he doing in Privet Drive?"
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and murmured, "I should have known."
James grinned. "Dumbledore doesn't care if he doesn't fit."
"If he did, he wouldn't get anywhere," Sirius said.
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter.
"What would Dumbledore be doing with a cigarette lighter?"
"Merlin knows," Peter said, shrugging.
He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.
"Wicked," Sirius breathed. "I want one!"
He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.
The four teens stared at each other.
"Dumbledore's up to something," they said, at the same time.
"And McGonagall's with him, the old dog," Sirius said, grinning.
Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
"You know, I wonder why they call each other 'Professor,'" James said thoughtfully. "Shouldn't they refer to each other by their first names?"
"Tradition," Sirius said, waving a hand distractedly. "It's been like that ever since Hogwarts was founded, and hasn't changed. It's a gesture of respect."
James glanced at Sirius. "How do you know that?"
Sirius thought for a moment. "Well... Remus told it to me, who heard it from Marlene, who heard it from Alice, who heard it from Lily, who read about it in Hogwarts, a History."
At the mention of Lily, James grew slightly starstruck. The past year—ever since Lily had finally managed to break away from that greasy slimeball, Snape—Lily had grown closer to James, even though they still argued and they never brought up the OWL incident of their fifth year.
It took several snaps of his fingers to bring James back into awareness once more, but he finally shook himself, said "Oh, yes," and turned to listen to Remus.
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"Well, I'd look ruffled too if I had been waiting on a brick wall all day," Peter pointed out.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I'm never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"If I was her," Sirius declared, "I might be a bit offended."
"Good thing you're not her, Padfoot," James teased. "I doubt you would look good as a woman."
Sirius shoved him. "Yeah, well, neither would you. And I prefer to date women, not be them."
James and Sirius snickered.
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
James, Sirius and Remus all turned to Peter.
"What?" he asked.
"That's scary, mate," Sirius said. "You'd think you were in McGonagall's head, the way you realized what she was going to say."
Peter blushed, but couldn't quite think of a good comeback.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
"Of course!" James said, standing up. "After all, You-Know-Who is gone!"
And he proceeded to do a little jig around the room, which Sirius promptly joined. Remus and Peter simply alternated staring at each other in amusement and laughing their heads off at the two, until James and Sirius finally plopped down on the floor again, leaning against the headboard of James' bed.
"Continue," they said.
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"Oh, come on, Minnie," Sirius said. "Lighten up a bit."
"Yeah, You-Know-Who is gone!" Peter said. "We deserve to celebrate!"
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently.
"Of course you can't!"
"We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
At this, there was silence. They all remembered what had been going on for their first six years at Hogwarts, and would most likely continue going on. None of them would ever forget the first Dark Mark they saw in The Daily Prophet, or the tears as one Hogwarts student after another was told of their loved ones' deaths...
And it was getting worse. Attacks were growing more frequent, and You-Know-Who's zest for power was bringing him ever closer to Hogwarts, to the sanctuary of witches and wizards alike—and who knows how long they'd be able to fight him off? Dumbledore was You-Know-Who's biggest enemy, but—
Pretty soon, "fear" would not be in You-Know-Who's vocabulary.
Remus cleared his throat in the uncomfortable silence.
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads."
"Like she could ever lose her head," James muttered.
"People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on.
"What does Minnie want Dumbledore to tell her?" Sirius asked.
Remus sighed. "Shut up for a few minutes and I'll tell you."
"A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
And without meaning to, they all leaned closer to the book, as if that would give them the answer they were hoping for. Remus's voice was hushed, quiet, as he read the last few sentences, then grew louder as he read the words they'd been wishing for.
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore.
They all let out a whoop.
"We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"That's right," James cheered, then frowned. "Wait, what's a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
Sirius laughed. "Of course. Dumbledore's always been fascinated with Muggle sweets. He always has at least one type at the Opening Feast."
"Those peppermint candies were good!" Peter chipped in.
"So were the—erm, what did he call them?"
"Mars Bars!"
"Oh, yes—"
"Those were so good—"
"Maybe he'll have them at the feast again this year!"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone—"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name—"
Remus stopped. "Guys—"
"Just say it," James said.
It took a few tries, but Remus eventually got it out.
"Voldemort."
The response was instantaneous. Even though James and Sirius tried not to, they both flinched slightly, Peter nearly jumped up in fright, and Remus had to close his eyes before continuing.
Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
This time, they managed to control themselves.
"Of course," James said, "because you're Dumbledore, the only one You—Voldemort was ever frightened of."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know—oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
Peter was the only one to flinch. The rest of them stiffened slightly—they still hated hearing the name—but decided they'd better get used to this. Sirius mentioned this to Peter, who colored slightly and nodded.
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too—well—noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
James and Sirius choked. Remus grinned at the book.
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
"We're finally going to hear about what stopped Voldemort?" James asked, who had grown braver after hearing Dumbledore refer to You-Know-Who as Voldemort and was apparently going to follow in his footsteps.
"It has to have something to do with this Harry bloke," Sirius said.
"But he must be just a baby!"
James shrugged. "Moony, just continue!"
They all leaned in closer to the book.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—dead."
Everyone in the room froze.
James stared at the book with an expression of shock, awe and horror on his face. Sirius had looked, just for a moment, as though he wanted to congratulate James on finally grabbing the girl, but stopped himself as those words—"They're dead"—escaped Remus's lips. Remus himself looked as though he wanted to take the words back. Peter let out a squeak of alarm and stared wide-eyed at James, who finally managed to open his mouth.
"I—I'm married to Evans?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I marry—I marry Evans, but—but then I'm killed?"
"James—"
"How could this happen?" James asked. His voice wavered. "Lily—she doesn't even—she can't—and Voldemort turned up and k-killed us."
"I—maybe this book isn't accurate?"
James shook his head. "It has to be," James said. He looked shaken, but didn't say another word. There was nothing else to do but read on.
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
"Yeah, well, I don't want to believe it either," James said.
Except this book came for a reason, and it seemed to tell the future. It wouldn't have come if it didn't have a meaning—
James just hoped, deep down, that it was sent so that he could change the future.
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."
Sirius looked at James.
"It all makes sense now," he said. "The owls, the people in cloaks, the celebrations, the whispers—they're all celebrating because your son defeated Voldemort. See, James, something good came out of it!"
James shrugged. "How? How could they have killed us and not him?"
"I don't know," Remus said. "I don't understand."
"At least You-Know-Who's gone!" Peter added.
James nodded shortly and kept silent.
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's—it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"I—I thought it was impossible for anyone—anyone, except Dumbledore—to escape Voldemort," Remus said softly, awestruck. "James, how did your son do it?"
"I don't know," James said glumly, "considering I was probably dead by then."
"James—"
"Never mind," James said. "Just continue."
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
"I bet Dumbledore will find out what happened," Sirius said, "and find out how he was saved."
"I hope so," James said, who was staring at the book as though he could somehow change the words on the page—and in so doing, change his future.
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it.
"I've never seen McGonagall or Dumbledore cry," Peter said softly.
"I never knew they cared so much," James muttered. His humor seemed to have temporarily deserted him. "I can't believe this. Or—I can, but I don't want to."
"None of us do, Prongs," Sirius said.
It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge.
"My cousin, Andromeda, has a watch like that," Sirius said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "She said she'd give one to me for my birthday this year."
It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late."
"Hagrid?" James said. "What's he doing in the story?"
"I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"WHAT?" James stormed. "But how is that possible? I mean, my mum and dad—and my cousins—and what about you guys?" He turned to his fellow Marauders. "I mean, I'd leave him to Sirius or—or someone! Not those—those Muggles! They hate Harry!"
"And Lily would never let her son to go to Petunia; they hate magic!" Remus said. "She'd never allow it!"
"Maybe you never wrote a will," Sirius offered.
"But—but we must have!" James said. "Lily—she would have—if we had gotten married, in th war, she would have forced us to write a will."
Peter stared at them all.
"I'm confused," he said succinctly.
"You don't mean—you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.
"I couldn't agree more," James muttered darkly.
"Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
Judging from the looks of disgust on all four Marauders' faces, they all agreed wholeheartedly with McGonagall.
"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly.
James snorted. "Ha. Yeah right."
"His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."
"Okay," James said. "It's official. Dumbledore is off his rocker."
"A letter can't explain all of this," Sirius said. "And why isn't he with me? Or one of us?"
James shook his head. "I don't know," he said, "but this future is not one I want to happen anytime soon."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future—there will be books written about Harry—every child in our world will know his name!"
"Wow, Prongs," Sirius said, slightly awestruck. "I never thought your son'd ever be this famous."
"Well, he did defeat Voldemort," James said, and couldn't help feeling a little prideful.
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"
There was silence for a moment. Then—
"I suppose he does have a point," Remus said. "Living in the wizarding world would be too much for him. He shouldn't have to deal with all that before he's ready."
"But who says he has to live in the wizarding world?" Sirius asked. "Why can't one of us—or one of James' relatives—take him in and leave the wizarding world for a couple of years? Why does he have to stay with the Dursleys?"
Remus shook his head. "I've given up trying to understand Dumbledore."
"He must have a reason for it," James admitted grudgingly.
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"You think it—wise—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"Hagrid!" James yelled. "Of course! Hagrid's the one person I'd trust with Harry!"
Sirius gave him a look. "Except me, of course!"
"And me!"
"And me!" Peter chipped in.
James grinned. "Except you guys."
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless."
"That's true," Peter added.
"He does tend to—what was that?"
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
"Wicked," James said in awe.
"I want one!" Sirius added.
Peter, too, looked to be in awe of the motorbike in the book, but Remus frowned and asked, "Wouldn't it wake the Muggles?"
"Not that they'd see if it did," James pointed out.
If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.
"It's Harry!" James proclaimed, rather unnecessarily.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me."
Remus stopped reading.
"You have a motorbike?" Remus asked.
Sirius looked to be in awe. "I'm wicked in the future," he proclaimed.
Rolling his eyes at the look on James and Sirius' faces, he continued.
"I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"He has your hair, Prongs," Sirius said.
James couldn't help grinning. "I hope he ruffles it when he gets older," he said, ruffling his own. "And he should have Lily's eyes..."
His own eyes turned slightly dreamy, and Remus rolled his eyes.
"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"That must've been where he was hit with the curse," Remus muttered, "and where he deflected it."
"I wonder if everyone who deflects Avada Kedavra gets a scar like that," Peter mused.
"Well, we wouldn't really know, now would we, considering my son is the only one to have ever deflected the curse," James snapped, and Peter muttered an apology.
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground."
The Marauders couldn't help snickering.
"Well—give him here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the house.
James swallowed a lump in his throat.
So this was it.
His son—his future son—was going to live with Lily—his future wife's—relatives who hated magic. He was dead, Lily was dead, and even though Voldemort was dead too, there was no one to take care of his son.
It seemed hard to believe that he had a son, but it felt right—and the thought of him going to live with his Muggle relatives was almost too much.
"Could I—could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
Sirius laughed. "If that motorbike didn't wake up the Muggles, nothing will."
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles—"
"I can't stand it either," James said.
"Me either."
"Yeah."
"Same."
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
Even in James Potter's room, the faces were somber. Sirius was staring fixedly at a spot over James' head, Remus was staring at the words on the page as though hoping he could change them, Peter looked like he was going to cry, and James was—what was James?
Numb, shocked, grief-stricken, surprised... confused.
"How can they do that?" James asked. "Just leave him on the step like that and wait for the Muggles to pick him up?"
"I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing," Remus said, but he didn't seem like he believed it.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
Sirius snorted.
"How can they celebrate when they just left Prongs' son on the doorstep?"
"Well—Voldemort was defeated," James said tightly. "They deserve to celebrate."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Remus looked up from the book.
"What I don't understand is this," he said. "Hagrid said that he borrowed the bike from you, Sirius, but why didn't you come with him? I mean, I'm sure you cared about Harry, so why would you just leave him with Hagrid to go to his Muggle relatives.
"I—don't know," Sirius said. "Maybe I'm out looking for the Death Eaters?"
Remus nodded, but he looked rather confused anyway. His brow furrowed in thought as he read.
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.
She wasn't the only one in need of a tissue. All of the Marauders, surprisingly enough, looked as though they were about to cry. Remus' voice was tightly controlled, but he read on.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street.
"Wouldn't the Muggles notice if the street just suddenly filled with light?" Peter asked.
Sirius shrugged. "Like we say, Muggles don't really notice much of anything when it comes to magic, Pete."
"They're probably sleeping," James added.
He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
"And with that, Harry Potter was left alone, with no one magical to take care of him, and only his Muggle relatives for company," James said bitterly. "And in the middle of the night! Couldn't Dumbledore have knocked on the door or something before they left, so he wouldn't be left alone all night?"
"Prongs," Sirius said, "I'm sure he'll be okay. You don't have to go into father mode all of a sudden."
"I am not!" James protested.
Sirius grinned. "Yeah, you are!"
Remus hurriedly interrupted the impending argument.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen.
"But with James Potter's son there, astonishing things are bound to happen," Sirius quipped.
"They already have," Peter added.
Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...
"Spoiled brat," James said darkly.
He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!"
"And that's the end of chapter one," Remus said, sticking a paper in the book and setting it beside him.
There were a few moments' silence.
"I can't believe this," James finally said.
"Me either," Sirius said. "On the one hand, I'm happy that Voldemort was defeated and that Harry still lives, but I'm also sad that you and Lily died, and I don't know if this is even true t all. I mean, what if it's just fake?"
"It doesn't seem fake to me," Remus said. "I mean, it mentions the magical world—and seems to be accurate—and it seems to be sent to us for a reason. After all, magic tends to happen for a reason, right?"
"Yeah, but why was it sent to us?"
Remus shrugged. "Merlin knows."
James opened his mouth to respond, but Peter beat him to it.
"Maybe it was sent to change things?" he asked.
"What do you mean, Pete?" Sirius asked in return.
"I mean that—well, magic happens for a reason," Peter said, "and we were sent this book from the future by magic, which kind of makes it seem like this book was sent for a reason. And—if it was fake, why would it be sent to us? We wouldn't have anything to change, in that case."
Remus stared at Peter. "You know, I think you might be right." Peter smiled at the praise. "Why else would we get a book like this?"
James nodded, as did Sirius.
'So what do we do now?" Peter asked.
Sirius thought for a moment, then turned to James.
"I think we should contact Lily," he said. "She might not believe us—I didn't believe it for a second when I read that you married Lily either—but this has something to do with her too, and she might have an idea of what to do about it."
Remus frowned. "I don't think Lily would believe you."
"We can send her the chapter we read," James said, "but put spells on it so she can only read it. And when she reads it, she has to believe it. I'll write a letter and tell her where it came from and our ideas about it."
Remus had misgivings, but he didn't have a chance to express them, because James had jumped up and run over to the mahogany desk. And even though James was still unsure of the chances of not getting hexed into next Tuesday when Lily read the letter, he had to send it.
Because he knew the book was right. It told the future, and now it had to be up to them to change it.
Grabbing a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkwell, he sat down on his desk and began writing the letter that would begin the slow unfurling of events that would end up changing the Marauder's future—for good.
Not that he knew it at the time, of course.
Dear Lily, he began...
--
Author's Note: Phew, can you believe I wrote all ten thousand words of this chapter in two days? I know this seems like a typical "Marauders read Harry Potter" story right now, but that's only because I'm just getting started. Next chapter, things will start changing a bit. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and please review, telling me what you liked/didn't like/etc.? Thanks!