Sirius had gone down the stairs, and Mr. Potter shut the door. "James," he began, crossing the room and sitting next to his son on the bed, "you and I need to have a little chat."

"Look, Dad, we were just bored, and we wanted to do something exciting!" James protested, knowing what he was in store for.

"I get it, son, truly I do. I'm okay with you having fun at school, but you put not only yourself but Sirius and Peter in danger."

James shifted a bit on his bed, biting his lip. "I'm sorry."

"I've no doubt you are, my boy. But putting yourself in danger always ends in a smacking. You know that." Mr. Potter picked up the slipper.

"Daddy!" James was really beginning to panic now, he hadn't called Charles 'daddy' in over a year.

"James, don't make this harder on me. I really don't want to do this. Just don't argue, please, and bare your bum so we can get this over with." Mr. Potter didn't want to do this, and he was disappointed that James had made it necessary.

"You don't have to-" James started to protest, but he saw the pain in his father's eyes, and recognized how upset he was he had to do this. He shut his mouth and shed his robes, his jeans coming off shortly after. To preserve his modesty, James turned away from his father to take down his underwear.

Charles sighed, but pulled his son over his knees into the right position before smacking him with the slipper. Once. Twice. Three times. By the time Mr. Potter had reached the 20 spanks limit he had set for himself to keep things controlled, James was bawling.

"It's over, hush, son. You're okay. I love you so much." Charles hated seeing his son in such a hysterical state, and he pulled James to him for a hug.

"I won't g-go into the forest, again! I solemnly swear!" James hiccuped. His tears slowed, and he became conscious of the fact that he was sitting on his father's lap. Quickly, he dressed himself again.

"Alright, son?" Charles asked, ruffling the boy's hair as James buttoned his robes.

"Alright. I love you."

Mr. Potter smiled, satisfied that his job had been done. "I love you, too, James. I'll send Sirius up."

(Insert line break here.)

Remus looked out the window. His grandfather was over, having tea with Rose. Remus never spoke to his grandfather, since the man seemed to think he was a monster. Rose tried to put off having tea with her father as long as possible, but the man was a lonely widower, and he was insistent that he come have tea with his daughter every Tuesday afternoon.

Every time Gregory Everett came over, he eyed his grandson with distaste until Remus felt uncomfortable enough to leave the room. Gregory was not a bad man, not in the slightest, for how could he have been? He raised Remus's mother, and she was a wonderful woman. It was simply that Remus was a werewolf, and Gregory did not take that well.

FLASHBACK

"Remus, Mummy's going to go inside for a mo and get the tub started, okay? Stay right there. It's almost time to go inside, so start picking up your toys, please," Rose said to the four year old boy sitting on the lawn. He looked up from his toy blocks.

"Kay," Remus agreed, never one to argue with his mother.

"Daddy'll be home in a few minutes, Rem, and if you get your toys put away then he might have time to read you a story before bed." With that, Mrs. Lupin went into the house.

Remus begin to pick up the blocks, the thought of leaving the yard never crossing his mind. He knew better. It was just dusk, and the moon had risen in the sky. It was a full one, and Remus stopped for a moment to admire it.

It was then he heard the growl behind him, low, inhuman. Remus dropped the block in his hand onto the grass, frozen in fear. This growl was not one he had heard before, and he didn't like it. Slowly, Remus turned. Ten feet behind him was a fully grown werewolf, sharp teeth bared. Remus tried to open his mouth, to scream, to do anything. He willed his legs to move.

The wolf had shaggy grey hair covering his large body. Its eyes shone in the moonlight in a mad, hungry way, and, even at four, Remus understood that he was not in a good situation. The little boy remembered what werewolves looked like, for his father worked at St. Mungo's and bore witness to the terrible things these creatures could do. John took it upon himself to drill into Remus what a werewolf looked like, so he would be aware.

"Bad. Bad." Remus scooted back on his bottom, inching himself closer to the house.

The werewolf seemed to understand him, for it cocked it's head and sent him a piercing glare before it started to inch forward, too. Menacingly, slowly, the creature advanced on Remus. That was when the little boy found his voice, and opened his little mouth to scream.

The werewolf had bitten him, jumped forward while Remus was screaming and plunged his sharp teeth into the side of the boy's forearm. Remus's childhood ended that day. A lot of things ended for Remus that day.

END OF FLASHBACK

(Insert line break here.)

Sirius made his way back up the stairs after Mr. Potter had come down. "Go on up," the man had said, patting Sirius on the back before stealing a biscuit from the tray.

Reaching his best friend's room, Sirius knocked on the door. He didn't wait for a response, and he walked in to see James with his pants at his ankles, examining a bright red bum in the mirror. "OI!" James yelled, yanking up his pants and underwear with fumbling fingers and dropping the handheld mirror on the floor.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Sirius said, covering his eyes and backpedaling out of the room. He closed the door behind him and allowed his mate a few moments to right his clothing before knocking again. He had seen James's bum before, but never after a walloping. That seemed personal, and Sirius wanted no part of it.

"Come in."

Sirius walked in for the second time, shutting the door behind him and sitting down on the floor to arrange the muggle chess set James had set out. They avoided each other's eyes for a moment before Sirius said, "He walloped you good."

James winced as he sat next to his friend on the floor. "I'll say."

"Does it happen a lot?" Sirius reached forward and moved his knight up.

James bit his lip before moving his bishop. "Once a month, probably."

Sirius pushed his rookie up one. "Oh."

"What about your dad?"

"My dad doesn't paddle me," Sirius answered truthfully. Orion much preferred to beat his son.

"No, he just beats you, right?" James said this bitterly, and Sirius looked up in alarm.

The two of them said nothing for a moment, James studying the chessboard and Sirius playing with the hem of his sleeve. Finally, Sirius looked up. He opened his moth to say something, then looked back down again. Eventually, he spoke. "H-How did you know?"

James shrugged. "I didn't. You just confirmed my suspicion."

Sirius felt anger boil up in him. "You prat. You bloody prat."

James casually moved a piece on the chessboard. "You flinched. At the station, you flinched when you talked to your mum."

Sirius abruptly flipped the chessboard over, scattering pieces everywhere. He got on his hands and knees and leaned close to James's face, taking on an expression he reserved only for Snape or Bella, his cousin. "Listen here, Potter. No one needs to know. No one will know. If someone finds out, Merlin help you."

"But if your father-"

Sirius cut him off, placing a hand over James's mouth. "I'm alive, aren't I? I can take care of my father just fine. You'll say nothing to anyone."

James pried his friend's hand off of his mouth. "Sit down, Black, no one's going to find out."

Appeased, Sirius rocked back on his heels. "It's Regulus I'm worried for. He doesn't have anyone to protect him with me away…"

James didn't say anything for a moment. He was working up the courage to ask Sirius something. "Sirius, when he bea-hurts you, what does he use?"

Sirius paused. "Um. It's his belt mostly. Um, sometimes his walking stick." He grinned. "Used to use a switch, from a tree, you know? But I broke every one of them, and now he uses something I can't break."

"Barbaric."

"Yeah, well," Sirius shrugged. "The way it is, I guess."

"It doesn't have to be."

Sirius looked up sharply. His face closed up, and it was clear to James that the conversation was over. "Let's go toss the quaffle."

(Insert line break here.)

Peter hoped his friends hadn't forgotten about him. A lot of his friends had abandoned him over the years, more times than he could remember. He hoped they would remember to write to him, as he had begged them so many times. Some might have called him desperate, but no, Peter was simply lonely. His aunt did her best by him, but she herself was awkward socially. She didn't take him to Wizards and Witches Daycare when he was little, and he had no contact with other children. He didn't know how to act in social situations.

He had finally found a pack to run with. These boys were cool and collected, everything Peter had always hoped to be. Peter played pranks with them, antagonized Severus Snape with them, and ate every meal with them. Those boys were the closest thing he'd ever had to brothers. They accepted the fact that he was a bit pudgy, endured his awkwardness, and generally made him feel included.

If they forgot about him, Peter didn't know what he'd do. There were other boys in Gryffindor, of course, but none like James, Sirius, and Remus. Those were the very first boys he'd ever felt like he belonged with, and he couldn't bear it if they dropped him.

Sirius seemed a bit prickly at times, but he was nice on the inside, and he would do anything for a friend. Other people didn't realize this, but Peter did. Peter, who never knew things, knew that Sirius didn't seem nice, but that he really was.

James seemed cocky, which, to be honest, he was. But Peter knew that he still slept with a stuffed animal and that he really wasn't as cocky as he pretended to be. Always an outsider, Peter finally knew something.

And that made him special, knowing something. If they suddenly decided to not like him anymore, or they asked him to switch dorms with one of the other boys in the tower, Peter would die. He would lose his inside information, and he would once again become the outsider he had promised himself he would never be again.

So Peter sat in his bedroom, staring out the window. Full of hope that an owl would arrive soon, praying that he hadn't simply dreamt he had friends, as he did so often.

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