AN: All the reviews written for this story prior to 2015 are going to get increasingly jumbled up from this point forward, due to added chapters throwing the numbering off. Nothing I can do about that, oh well.

V½: Letters from Hogwarts

The day of Remus' eleventh birthday was far more eventful than anticipated: there came a rhythmic knock on the Lupins' front door right in the middle of breakfast, and Mrs. Lupin volunteered herself to go answer it while Mr. Lupin finished buttering a crumpet for Remus.

Moments later, a scream issued from the front room. Mr. Lupin ordered Remus to stay right where he was and Disapparated out—Remus, however, could hardly resist leaving his chair and flattening himself to the wall nearest to the hallway. He listened in with a pounding heart.

"There's a w-wizard standing out there!" Mrs. Lupin stammered. "R-robes and hat and everything—"

"Shit." Remus rarely heard his father curse; he knew instantly that this was a serious matter. "This can't be happening—no one should have found us—"

"Do you think—oh no—he could be here for Remus—"

"I am here for Remus," called a pleasant voice. "This is the Lupins' home, yes?"

"What do you want from us?" Mr. Lupin demanded, now speaking through the door. "I don't care who you are, you won't hurt my son—"

"I have no such intention. I am Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts. I've come to invite Mr. Remus Lupin to attend our school, if he would like to accept my offer. May I come in?"

"What?"

Crack. The wizard had Apparated into the house. Mrs. Lupin screamed again.

"I must apologize for my rudeness," said the wizard, bowing his head. "I'm normally a far more courteous person, I assure you, but you were about to use an Imperturbable Charm, were you not? With the practice you must have, Mr. Lupin, I was afraid I would not be able to match the strength of it with my own counter-charm."

"If you're truly Albus Dumbledore," said Mr. Lupin fiercely, "and you are as powerful a wizard as they say, then I have no doubt you could have managed it."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Ah, did I see the younger Mr. Lupin in the hallway just now?"

Remus skittered back out of sight.

"Sir," Mr. Lupin tried again, "I'm sure you understand why my wife and I find it hard to believe that you've actually come to—"

"Yes, I do understand, but what I have here—and I hope you will examine it very closely, if you are still unconvinced—is Remus' letter of admittance to Hogwarts. My predecessor may have felt differently on the matter, but I am of the belief that any young wizard deserves the chance of an education. Every young wizard—even if he may happen be a werewolf."

"Are you really the headmaster?" asked Mrs. Lupin, in a tiny voice.

"I most certainly am."

"You're not serious about this?" asked Mr. Lupin.

"Quite serious. Would you permit me to speak to your son?"

Remus' parents took a few moment to deliberate, though perhaps they had already realized there wasn't any stopping a wizard like Albus Dumbledore. Mrs. Lupin called out for Remus, who hastily straightened his clothes before presenting himself.

"Hello, Mr. Remus Lupin," said Dumbledore, extending his hand. He was an old wizard, his hair and beard both very long, and he wore the sort of distinguished robes that Remus had never once seen his father in. "I hope you'll forgive me for giving you and your family a fright."

"You're forgiven," said Remus. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaken hands with a person—had he ever?

"Thank you very much, Remus. May I call you that?"

"Yes." Remus met Dumbledore's gaze shyly. "You really want me to come to Hogwarts? I'm allowed?"

"Why ever would it not be allowed?" Dumbledore spoke as if he honestly could not think of a single reason. "I won't force you to go, Remus, as I know the prospect must seem daunting—but I think it would be a awful shame if you never had the opportunity, don't you?"

Remus could not have expressed what he felt just then with words. Remus J. Lupin, werewolf since the age of four, might still yet go to Hogwarts...

"It's not only up to him," said Mr. Lupin. Mrs. Lupin nodded vigorously. "We'll need to hear the details of your plan before we could even begin to consider it, Mr. Headmaster."

"Yes, yes, the details—I quite agree. Let's sit down and have a chat then, shall we?" Dumbledore surveyed the room around him, smiling serenely. "Ah! Remus, you wouldn't happen to be a fan of gobstones would you?"

It seemed he'd spotted the gobstone board still set up on the table. Remus looked down at his feet.

"I usually play by myself."

"Really? All by yourself? Well, would you care to have someone join you as your pupil? I've never had much skill at the game, I'm afraid—"

"Peter, Peter, come here!"

Peter pushed back his chair and came at once. As soon as he rounded the corner, he saw that his mother had burst into tears, and his father was cradling a letter in his hands like it was something very precious to them all.

"Peter," Mr. Pettigrew said, wetly, "this is your acceptance letter to Hogwarts."

Both Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew looked at Peter as though expecting him to start jumping up and down. Peter could only stare uncomprehendingly.

"Hog-whats?" he asked.

"Oh, that's right!" sobbed Mrs. Pettigrew, and she came forward to throw her arms around her son. "Oh Peter, we didn't want to get your hopes up… we never told you!"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," explained Mr. Pettigrew kindly. "It's the school where your mother and I learned how to do magic."

"It's a school?" Peter asked, frowning. Peter's parents had been telling him for at least a year now that he would be learning to use a wand at home, once he began showing proper magic ability. But Peter did have magical ability, and he'd known that for a long time, it was just that he'd only very recently shown he could do any in front of his parents...

"Yes. It's a school for witches and wizards… everyone gets their letter on their eleventh birthday, and—well, this proves it, doesn't it? You aren't a Squib at all!

"I can't believe it," Mrs. Pettigrew cried. "Off to Hogwarts...!"

His parents were clearly both happy for him, but Peter could only return a frozen smile. He felt that he'd only barely gotten over the shock of being an age with two digits, yet now he knew that his parents had been keeping an enormous secret from him all this time. Had they really felt so certain that Peter was a Squib, or very near to one? Knowing what his parents felt about Squibs, they must have been deeply ashamed of him until now.

It would be a long time before Peter could bring himself to feel entirely happy about this news.

Lily Evans was not at all surprised to have received her letter, though her parents certainly were. Mrs. Evans fainted dead away when she heard her daughter was a witch, and Mr. Evans opened and closed his mouth several times before declaring it all to be a prank.

"Oh no, I assure you it isn't a prank," said the cheery Ministry witch who had come to explain the wizarding world to the Evans. "I could show you a bit of magic, if you like, to prove it to you."

And once the witch had turned one of their armchairs into a goat and then back again, Mr. and Mrs. Evans decided they believed her.

"Oh Lily, isn't this exciting?" Mrs. Evans had said, fanning herself, willing herself not to pass out again. "We always knew you were different… now we know why!"

"I already knew I was a witch," admitted Lily.

"You did? However did you know, dear?"

"That boy told her!" blurted Petunia, from the corner. She had never been so ignored by her parents in her life and now wore a look of fury.

"What boy?" asked Mr. Evans.

"Just a wizard boy," Lily grumbled, and shot Petunia a look that silenced her.

Sirius was the last to arrive downstairs on the morning of his eleventh birthday.

"We've been waiting twenty minutes," said a much displeased Mr. Black, checking his watch. He was in his finest robes, the set that was all black with mossy green trim.

"S-sorry." Sirius meant to come sooner, but then he'd gotten all tangled up in his stupid dress robes and couldn't find his way out. He didn't understand why he'd been asked to wear them to breakfast in the first place, it wasn't like it mattered…

"No matter," said Mrs. Black. She pulled out the chair at the end of the table—the one usually reserved for Mr. Black—and Sirius sat down quickly, understanding the symbolic importance of this.

"Happy Birthday, Sirius," Mrs. Black said. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and smoothed his neatly trimmed hair.

"Happy Birthday," Regulus chirped.

"Happy Birthday," said Mr. Black.

"Thanks," said Sirius, but without any feeling.

Mr. Black ordered Kreacher to bring breakfast. The house-elf began magicking food-laden dishes onto the table and the others were allowed to fill their plates only once Sirius had chosen what he liked. For several minutes there was only the quiet clatter of silverware on china, everyone eating without a word.

"Your letter came today," said Mrs. Black.

"And a fine Slytherin you'll make," said Mr. Black, drinking deeply from his goblet. "Won't you?"

"Right," said Sirius. He took an unnecessarily large bite out of a muffin to keep himself from saying something to contrary.

"We'll be having guests over this evening, naturally. For your birthday party."

Guests, Sirius assumed, would primarily include Mr. and Mrs. Black's adult friends, and a great number of distant and unpleasant relatives. Andromeda would be invited too, of course, but had already demonstrated her ingenuity in escaping engagements such as these in the past. Sirius felt distinctly proud of her for it.

"I asked our cousins already about bringing their brooms," announced Regulus, apparently trying to make up for the enthusiasm missing in the voices of their parents. "We haven't got enough room in the back garden to play Qudditich, and Mum said Shuntbumps would be too rowdy, but Swivenhodge should be okay!"

"Just mind that another game of flaming Swivenhodge will not be allowed."

"Er—right," said Sirius.

"Too bad we haven't got enough room for racing either—I really wanted to see how fast the new broom is, too—"

"Regulus darling," purred Mrs. Black, "don't go spoiling your brother's gifts, now."

"Oh! Sorry."

Once everyone had eaten, and Kreacher had vanished their plates into the kitchen for washing, Mrs. Black now looked expectantly to her husband.

"Eleventh birthdays are very important in the Black family, Sirius," Mr. Black began, for what must have been the tenth time since yesterday. "Knowing that you have been accepted to Hogwarts, today is the day that we will formally name you as heir to the House of Black. Now, with your…" Mr. Black paused to wave his hand, searching for the proper word. "Recent behavior, your mother and I have had our doubts, but we're certain this is only a phase. Am I correct, Sirius?"

"Right," said Sirius.

"Orion, now would be an appropriate time to have him open his first gift, I think."

"Oh yes. Now would be an excellent time. Kreacher?"

Kreacher was already one step ahead of them. He waited silently at the legs of Mr. Black's chair, holding in his withered hands what appeared to be a slim wooden chest.

"Something the matter?" snarled Mr. Black. "Deliver it to him!"

The house-elf nodded silently and scurried over to Sirius instead. Kreacher lifted the chest, and Sirius took it from him before his father could complain that he was wasting more of his time.

"Thank you, it's lovely," said Sirius, more mechanically than ever. The chest was built from a dark wood and decorated with delicate carvings—Sirius thought that it might be useful for hiding some of his Slytherin themed things so he wouldn't have to look at them every day, in any event.

"What are you thanking us for already? We haven't given you a box. Open it, Sirius."

Sirius fumbled at the lock, and was quite impressed to find that inside the velvet lined chest was a beautiful, ancient-looking wand, its handle encrusted with diamonds. He'd never seen such a gorgeous thing in his life—was this the wand his parents wanted him to use at Hogwarts?

"You aren't to use it," Mrs. Black said, answering this question at once. "But it's yours now, as it was once your father's. This wand has been in our family for forty generations."

"Who's wand was it?" Sirius breathed.

"It is believed that it belonged to Sirius Black the First, your ancestor," Mr. Black said. "He was one of the very first Ministers of Magic, and it is said that he enjoyed the privilege of using this wand himself while carrying out the executions of Mudbloods. A common practice at the time, something that perhaps ought to have continued…"

"No fair!" cried Regulus, bouncing in his seat. "Mum, why don't I ever get anything cool like that—?"

"Be quiet, dear," Mrs. Black said, and Regulus went silent but still visibly vibrated on his chair.

"How do you like it, Sirius?" asked Mr. Black.

"It's great," said Sirius, a muscle working in his jaw. He had a terrible feeling that today would not be a good day.

"Mum! It's my letter from Hogwarts!"

Mrs. Potter gasped. Mr. Potter dropped his newspaper.

"We all knew it'd be coming today," said Mr. Potter, hastily picking the Daily Prophet back off the kitchen floor, but he still looked quite proud.

"Let me see it, dear," said Mrs. Potter, bustling over to his side. James handed her the letter and watched his mother smile as she read it over.

"Well!" she said. "Looks like we've got ourselves another Gryffindor in the making!"

"You really think I'll be in Gryffindor?"

"Of course you will," said Mr. Potter. "The Potter family's been in Gryffindor for generations."

James beamed with pleasure.

"We'll be needing to buy your school things soon, in any case, before the prices all rocket up in summer," Mrs. Potter said. She had always been very frugal, even though the Potter family had quite enough wealth not to worry about it.

"Could we go today, Mum?" James asked excitedly.

"Oh, honey, it's your birthday today, you don't really want to spend the day shopping, do you?"

"We can go today if he likes," said Mr. Potter. "I'm sure he'll be wanting his wand, I know I did. And how about we get him his own owl as well? It's about time we got him one."

"An owl? Cool!"

"Just so long as you'll write to us occasionally," Mr. Potter added, with a bit of a grin.

"You know I will, Dad," James promised, and he meant it.