Chapter One - Leaving for Hogwarts

The morning of Wednesday 1st September 1971, where our story begins, was much the same as any other working day in the United Kingdom.

Muggles up and down the country woke up, groaned as they looked out of the window ("another day of rain!"), and maybe read the newspaper on the train or bus to work. Today's headlines featured the latest developments with the Irish Republican Army, a serious threat to peace across the nation, and an article on the popular band, 'The Rolling Stones' who had become het up about something and were suing their manager for money. "Good luck to 'em" one muggle chuckled to another, breaking the golden rule of silence on the London underground.

None of these muggles knew, had any inkling, that in just a few hours, hundreds upon hundreds of wizards and witches would be travelling – some by magic, some the 'muggle way', to the country's capital, to board a train that would take them to a remote location in the Scottish Highlands where they would be taught magic for another term at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

One student, in a quite fantastic bedroom in a large manor in the West Country, was, unfortunately nowhere near being ready to leave for school.

"Oh Merlin's bum." James Potter exclaimed, looking in consternation around him, at the mess and chaos of many weeks' accumulated 'stuff'.

He had not packed, 'ready to leave by nine', as politely asked to by his long-suffering mother the day before. James might have told his parents he'd packed, which he supposed might be what some would call a 'white lie'… but he really hadn't had a choice. It had been the final quidditch match of the season last night, and he simply had to listen.

But that was then, and this was now. Now, as he stood, gazing in despair at the packets of Bertie Botts' every flavour beans, Dr Filibusters fireworks, school textbooks, robes and shoes which were scattered around his room like the aftermath of some giant explosion, he had to admit feeling a little anxious.

There was nothing else for it. Getting to his hands and knees, he began grabbing every item within reach and stuffing it into the open trunk. He could hear his mum calling him from downstairs, but he kept packing.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall, and with a friendly "knock knock?" Fleamont Potter poked his head around the door.

James' dad was a tall, handsome man with grey hair and glasses. James knew him to be the most wonderful father ever. He had given up his career as an inventor when his son was born to be a full-time dad, and the two of them were impossibly close.

"Don't look, dad." James said trying to block the worst of the mess from his father's eyes, but Fleamont Potter knew his son.

"Let me help." He sighed, coming into the room and taking a seat by James. "Kudos for trying." He said, before waving his wand, causing the robes, books and various other items to fly into the hair, magically sort and fold themselves, and fall neatly back into the trunk.

"Thanks." James said gratefully. "I'd have been doing that 'til midday."

"No problem." His dad replied, ruffling James' hair and getting to his feet. "Just don't tell your mother. She thought you'd done it already. She's got this mad notion in her head that you actually do what she tells you. Don't know where she gets it from…"

James grinned. He knew he wasn't really being told off.

"I'll miss you." The older man said, cupping his son's head gently with his hand. "Will you write?"

"Every day." James promised. And he threw his arms around the man. "I'll miss you too." He whispered into his shoulder.

They stayed there for a minute, father and son, embracing and being with the love they felt for one another. When they broke apart, James had to turn his head so his dad wouldn't see him wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. He needn't have worried though. The man was doing exactly the same thing.

"Come on then," his dad said, a little thickly. "We'd better get going. Here, let me help you with your trunk…"

—-

The atmosphere in the cold stone halls of number twelve Grimmauld Place was tense and spiky. It was as if the whole place had been decked with those muggle trip wires which go off when you walk into them. Except the wires were invisible, and they kept changing locations…

After being shouted at twice this morning already (once for leaving his trunk at the top of the stairs so his mother tripped over it, another for not answering when he was called – he'd been packing, he hadn't heard!) he decided to leave them all to it. He had settled himself on the kitchen table, feet resting on the bench below, and was gorging himself on cauldron cakes. One of the very few pleasures life at the ghastly old house offered…

Sirius Black couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts. He'd felt this way since he was about five, and his cousin Andromeda had started. She would come to visit them in the holidays and tell him all about the wonderful things she was learning and the people she had met. She would bring him little gifts too. Things that weren't particularly special (a piece of knotweed from her potions lessons, one of the pincushions she had transfigured), but that cemented the reality of the school in a way that nothing else could. One day Sirius knew he, too, would be away from their stiff house in London. One day he'd be free to play with his friends in the Hogwarts grounds, to go to bed whenever he wanted, to make as much noise as he liked. And now, at long last, the day had finally come.

"Here you are!" Came an indignant voice from the doorway. It was Regulus, his younger brother. Nine years old, and an exact miniature clone of their father. "You mustn't hide away like this, not on your last morning at home."

"Why not? You won't miss me." Sirius replied. Weren't they always telling him what a disappointment he was?

"I'll miss you." Regulus said, coming to sit next to him and glaring at him defiantly. "Who will I play gobstones with when you're gone?"

Sirius was saved the trouble of answering by the sudden sound of footsteps on the stone stairwell and Walburga Black appeared in the kitchen.

Mrs Black was, objectively, a good-looking witch. She was tall with black hair and sharp cheekbones. She had dressed well for the occasion, with a black dress, silver necklace and matching earrings.

Her beauty fell away instantly as her eyes fell on her eldest son, who remained, unlike Reg who had leapt to his feet at her arrival, seated on the kitchen table.

"What are you doing down here?" She said. It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

Sirius shrugged. "Eating cauldron cakes." He answered honestly.

Walburga glared at him but clearly the act was not so offensive to her that she could legitimately punish him for it. She turned to Regulus instead.

"Are you ready darling?"

And how quickly the dragon was gone. Though familiar with it, it still sent Sirius' head spinning. How she could be a cold, fire-breathing dragon one minute and then all sweetness and charm the next. And why was the venomous side always reserved just for him?

Confused for the thousandth time in his short life, Sirius put the rest of the cakes back in the pantry.

When he turned it was to find his mother had finished dishing out the charm on his brother and was ready to make sure Sirius knew just what a disappointment he was to her, again.

"Are you ready? Since it's you the whole family's going to all this trouble for." She snapped, looking through him as though he weren't even worthy of her attention.

"Yes." He replied through gritted teeth. He wondered sometimes if he showed enough anger that she might finally notice he did exist. That he wasn't just a piece of furniture in the room or an anonymous muggle on the street.

He never got the chance.

"Don't take that tone with me. You'd better make sure you behave at Hogwarts. If I get just one owl home about you, I'll make sure you regret it. Now come on. Don't keep me waiting any longer." And she led the way up and out of the kitchen.

"Don't mind her. She'll miss you really." Regulus said, gesturing almost apologetically towards the stairway their mother had just disappeared up.

Sirius was gripped with a mixture of irritation, frustration and incredulity. "Regulus, you are impossibly thick." He said, shaking his head.

Regulus looked cross. "Well you don't help. You're always winding her up."

"Sure I am, Reg." He said, pushing his brother forwards so he could walk ahead of him. "I chose to be born when I did and I chose to inconveniently turn eleven so they'd have to take me to school. It's all my fault."

Which was something, he realised as he and his brother ascended the steps to the cold, dim hallway above, he knew he must never let himself believe.

—-

Remus Lupin had packed two weeks ago. He had left absolutely nothing to chance. He felt so giddy and lightheaded with excitement at the prospect of going to Hogwarts, he was determined that absolutely nothing would ruin it. If he packed, he would be going. It was as simple as that.

He sat alone in the family's small sitting room re-reading his Hogwarts letter for the thousandth time.

Dear Mr Lupin,

We are delighted to offer you…

He read each line slowly (though he already knew it by heart), drinking the words in, savouring their meaning. They had called him 'Mr Lupin', as though he was important, and someone who mattered. They were 'delighted' to offer him a place at Hogwarts. They were delighted?!

And, best of all, he read the date he would be starting at school. September 1st. Just like it said on his dad's Daily Prophet, lying beside him on the sofa. He pinched himself. This couldn't be happening.

"It's really happening." Remus looked up. His dad had on a quicky old tie, he'd combed back his hair and wore an old muggle dinner jacket.

He shuffled into the sitting room and looked at Remus, smiling as he did so.

"I know." Remus said. "I can't believe it. And… you're sure they won't…"

They'd been through this. They'd been through it a dozen times. No, no one would know he was a werewolf. His secret was safe, he was going to school and he was going to have an education like a normal boy. Except he wasn't a normal boy at all…

The old doubt flickered back into his mind. There were times, when he felt it, that going to Hogwarts felt mad. The maddest idea in the world. How could he possibly have believed, even for a second, that it was possible for a boy like him to have a life like that? How would the wolf survive in a castle surrounded by hundreds of children? How would he cope the days before and after the full moon, when he was so exhausted he could barely leave his bed?

"You mustn't doubt it." Lyall said, coming over to sit next to his son on the sofa. "You are entitled to an education, Remus. The same as anyone else."

"But I'm not the same as anyone else," Remus whispered, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop them.

His dad turned to face him. His gaze was steady, and his words were clear when he spoke. "No, you're not like anyone else." He agreed. "You have a strength, resilience and power that is entirely your own. It is your right, and your duty, to use it. And that all starts with a good education. Hogwarts is the very best you know."

Remus knew. How many stories he'd heard from his own father about his time there. How much he had always longed for this himself…

"Are you boys ready?" Hope Lupin bustled into the sitting room, carrying a lunchbox. She beamed at the sight of them, as she always did, and moved over to join them where they sat.

She handed Remus the little box. "I've put in enough for lunch and tea." She said, brushing invisible dust off his shoulders a little distractedly. "I know Hogwarts is in Scotland so it will probably be quite late by the time you get there. Gosh, how exciting, Remus. You'll be in another country by nightfall!" She beamed at him.

Remus felt a surge of love and gratitude for his mother. Hope Lupin was the kind of woman who could make anyone smile. She was as bright and optimistic as her namesake and had the magical ability to light up any room or conversation.

Remus knew that his mother was secretly dreading his departure. He'd overheard her and his father talking a few months ago and her concerns and worries for him and how he'd cope. He loved her for her loyalty, her love for him despite everything and now for the brave show of enthusiasm she was putting on for his benefit.

"Thanks mum." He said, looking at the little box in his hands. There was something so familiar and homely about it that he wondered if would be too homesick to even eat a bite.

"We ought to go." Lyall said, getting to his feet and grabbing their coats. They would be traveling to Norfolk, their closest city, from where the ministry had set up a portkey to help those magical families who lived away from the capital get there hassle free.

Remus turned to his mother, heart sinking at the prospect of saying goodbye to her. She was such a wonderful and familiar presence in his life, he didn't know how he'd ever manage being away.

After a long and tearful embrace, he did, eventually break away. With promises to write, and that 'it wasn't such a long a time really', he set off along the little street he'd known since birth, walking with his father, on his way to school.

—-

Peter Pettigrew was avoiding everyone. His family had been irritating him as usual. His two sisters had been off the walls with excitement since he'd received his letter two months ago, and now, this morning, anyone would think it was Clara and Annabelle starting at Hogwarts rather than their younger brother.

"Ooh let me see it again!" Clara cried, grabbing the official parchment and gazing at it as though hypnotised.

"It is so unfair we've been sworn to secrecy." Annabelle cried, falling backwards onto the sofa dramatically. "We have real evidence here that magic exists. Think how jealous Margaret Johnson in upper fourth will be? Oh!" And she clutched her chest dramatically. "Think what Paul Geoffreys would say!" She stared unseeingly ahead, clearly off on some wild flight of fancy involving herself and the 'heartthrob' Paul Geoffreys.

"Paul Geoffreys wouldn't fancy you even if you could do magic." Clara told her sister. "He likes his girls more mature. He wouldn't date someone still in lower school."

"He wouldn't date you either!" Annabelle replied hotly. "He likes his girls stick thin, like Joan Matthews."

"We all know why he fancies Joan Matthews..." Clara said, and the two of them erupted into a fit of giggles.

Peter had been so disgusted by the conversation that he'd stormed out of the living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He hadn't had far to go. The Pettigrews lived in a comfortable but small cottage in the rural midlands. The girls shared, their mother had a bedroom upstairs, and Peter slept in what would traditionally have been a study, on the ground floor.

This had the benefit of being near the kitchen, from which he could swipe food in the night, should the need arise. It had the downside though, of being right in the middle of his busy family's life.

He could hear his mother busying herself in the kitchen now, humming to herself as she cooked. His mother fed the family three delicious hot meals a day, and plenty of snacks and treats in between.

She worked at a charity shop in the village and since Peter's dad had left them seven years ago, kept herself busy with various social engagements, ranging from the bingo night at the village hall to the bake sale to raise money for cancer research, held in the hall of the primary school Peter and his sisters had all attended.

Peter hated going to these events with his mother. It was bad enough seeing his teachers during the week, let alone at weekends too.

He supposed he wouldn't have minded it so much now. His mother had told everyone Peter was going to a highly selective boarding school in the Highlands. He'd love to see the looks on their faces if they knew where he was really going. That would wipe the smirk off Richard Davidson's smug git face alright.

He continued to brood as his mother and sisters prepared for their departure around him. When eventually it was time to leave, Clara came to fetch him, giving him a hug so tight it might have cracked his ribs and handed him a gift.

"I know you think we're just silly girls sometimes, but we're really going to miss you." She told him. "In fact, I got you a gift." And she pulled from her handbag a little present, hand-wrapped in pink tissue paper.

"It's very special." She told him. "You mustn't open it until you're on the train. But you must promise me you'll use it. You'll understand when you open it. I hope you have an amazing term, Peter. We'll miss you terribly." And, answering her mother and sister's calls, she left the room.

Ignoring both her and the rest of his family, Peter tore open the gift. He frowned as he looked at what it was. It was a notebook. No, not a notebook, a diary. A journal. It was brown and leather with the words 'Peter's diary. Top secret. Do not read!" embroidered in gold at the top of the front cover.

Peter stared, dumbfounded. What on earth did his stupid sister possibly think he'd want to keep a journal for? She was clearly even more idiotic than he thought. Throwing the book on the bed, not bothering to consider whether it might hurt her feelings should she find it later, he cast one last look around, and left his little bedroom. His real destiny, his true fate, he knew, waited ahead. And he couldn't wait to meet it.