A/N: Thank you for checking out my fanfic! It's the first I've written in a while and I'd love to hear what you think. Reviews are very helpful and also encourage me to keep writing so if you like it please let me know!

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Prologue - The Beginning

The two men sat facing one another in the dark pub in Knockturn Alley. They had met there to have their conversation undisturbed and they had waved away the barmaid when she'd come to take their drinks order.

"I thank you for coming." Tom Riddle said, his red-brown eyes piercing as they fell on his pale companion.

"It is an honour, my lord." The other man said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "For so long have I sought you… I even made contact with Horace, I wondered if perhaps he had heard…"

Tom Riddle, whose lips had curled at the man's correct form of address to him, now scoffed at the mention of their old teacher's name. "Slughorn? Why Abraxas, you underestimate me. Since leaving Hogwarts I have been travelling. I have experimented with magic of the Darkest Arts and discovered secrets that others can't even dream of. It is alone that I have travelled, alone that I have experimented, and it is alone that I shall succeed."

"But surely there's some way I can assist?" The man called Abraxas said. He had been called here for a reason, surely.

"I have been considering…" Riddle said, keen eyes still trained calculatingly on the other man. "And I believe that you may indeed be of use."

"What must I do, my lord?" Abraxas asked eagerly, leaning forwards in his chair.

"Prove your loyalty." Riddle said. His eyes were as hard and cold as the tone in which he spoke. It was not a request; it was a command.

"Anything, my lord."

Tom Riddle considered his old schoolmate. Until now, he had operated entirely alone. It suited him like that. It was how it had been in the orphanage and how it had been at Hogwarts too, despite what the rest of the 'Slug Club' may have believed. But though it irritated him, he saw the need to involve others, now his plans were developing. Now a new world order was at last in sight…

And so, there in that dingy pub, he told Abraxas Malfoy of the plan. And later that night, five muggles lost their lives. It wasn't much, but it was a start. It was beginning.

Chapter One - Leaving for Hogwarts

Wednesday September 1st was as ordinary a day as any in muggle Britain in 1971. It was raining, which was of course no surprise to anyone, and the paper headlines continued to detail IRA terrorist activity and the The Rolling Stones' legal battle with their manager.

In The Daily Prophet, the news was slightly less ordinary. There had been a mass killing of a muggle family in Bedfordshire in the early hours of the morning. Aurors who had investigated the crime (after a tip off by an undercover muggle policeman) declared that it was indeed a wizard murder, and that they were looking for at least one individual in connection with it.

"What is happening to the world?" Euphemia Potter exclaimed as she read the paper over the scrambled eggs she was being served by the family house elf, Ethel.

Fleamont Potter, who was drinking coffee and reading the headline over his wife's shoulder, frowned. "This is highly irregular."

"I only hope it stays that way..." Euphemia said, turning the page quickly as though that would make the crime itself vanish too. "Poor James has a right to be a child before a full blown war breaks out."

"There won't be a war." Fleamont told his wife reassuringly, kissing the top of her head. "It's just a few madmen messing around."

"I hope you're right." Euphemia said, putting the paper down and smiling at her husband. "Have you seen James? We ought to be leaving soon."

"I'll go and check on him." Fleamont said, putting his empty mug down and heading upstairs.

James Potter surveyed the mess in his bedroom in dismay. Though his trunk was open, there was very little actually in it. Most of his life's possessions lay on the surrounding carpet. There were Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, Dr Filibuster's Fireworks, school textbooks, robes and shoes all scattered around like the aftermath of some giant, colourful explosion.

James may have told his parents he'd do it last night but then European quidditch cup final game had been on and he really hadn't thought listening to just ten minutes would hurt. Unfortunately it took six and a half hours for French seeker Claude Garnier to catch the snitch and by then he'd been so tired he'd fallen asleep in front of the wireless. The end result had been 450 to 80 and now, as James looked around at the chaos surrounding him, he wondered if he might not have been better off missing the game after all.

"Are we ready?"

James' dad poked his head around the door. Fleamont Potter was a tall, distinguished looking man with silver hair and glasses. In his younger years he'd been a famous inventor, famous for creating Sleekeazy's Hair Tonic, but he'd given most of his work up when his son was born. As he told anyone who would listen, being James' dad full-time was 'the best job in the world'.

James thought he had the best dad in the world. He looked guiltily down at the mess on the ground. "I left it a little late..."

Fleamont smiled and moved into the room. He waved his wand once, causing everything around the trunk to rise effortlessly into the air. They rearranged themselves, some folding, some stacking, and then, with another wave of his wand, the newly organised items fell into James' trunk, the lid of which closed neatly on top.

"Thanks." James said, wrapping his arms around the man's waist. He smelt of leather and the outdoors and home. James tried not to think about how long it would be before he'd see him again...

"Don't worry." Fleamont said, kissing the top of his head. "Just don't tell your mum. She has this mad idea in her head that you do what she tells you do. You'd think that after eleven years she'd know better..."

James grinned. He knew he wasn't really being told off. He was never really told off.

They met James' mother in the entrance hall. She smiled when she saw them (she always smiled when she saw them), and pulled down hers and James' overcoats.

"Ready darling?"

James looked around the entrance hall, the large exotic plants, the high, white ceiling, ornate gold mirror... James had lived in this house since babyhood. He simply couldn't imagine being anywhere else. But he knew the time had come to leave, and so, nodding determinately he smiled at his mother. "Ready when you are."

...

The atmosphere in the stone halls of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was tense and spiky, like someone had covered the whole place in those muggle trip-wires that went off when you stood on them. Sirius' family had been rushing around the large house in increasing states of agitation and Sirius had already been collateral damage more than once.

Wanting nothing more than to be rid of the whole lot of them, he was hiding in the kitchens, eating cauldron cakes and listening out for sounds of shouting from above.

Sirius Black couldn't wait to start at Hogwarts. He'd been counting down the days since his cousin Andromeda first started when he was just five. It had all sounded so wonderful. He'd clung onto it like a drowning person clings to a life raft.

But he didn't need to wait any longer. That day was finally here. He didn't really care what happened at Hogwarts as long as it was as far away from London as it was possible to get (and it pretty much was). Bellatrix liked to scare him with stories about how the seventh years would experiment with their spell-work on the first and second years, but he didn't even care much about that. Bellatrix already hexed him and he wasn't even at school yet. At least in a few months he'd have learnt to defend himself properly...

His musings were cut off by the sudden arrival of his younger brother, Regulus.

"Here you are!" He pouted, coming into the kitchen and sitting beside his brother on the wooden table. "Why are you hiding from us?"

"I'm not hiding from you. I'm hiding from them." Sirius told him with a jerk of the head at the ceiling, from where they could just about make out Mrs Black bellowing at her husband.

"She's a bit cross..." Regulus admitted, looking down at his hands. "I wish she hadn't shouted at you like that on your last morning though."

Sirius shrugged. "Why break tradition."

"She'll miss you terribly when you're gone."

Sirius stared at his brother. He sometimes wondered if he and Reg had completely different parents. How could he not see how deeply and completely their mother loathed him?

As if to prove his point, there was the sound of heeled footsteps on the stone floor and the door to the kitchen swung open to reveal his mother, Walburga Black.

Walburga was a tall witch with dark hair, dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Sirius had heard her described by others as a 'great beauty' but he never could see it. He sometimes wondered if he was the only one who could see her true ugliness. Or maybe that was just because he was always the one always on the receiving end of it...

Her eyes narrowed and her face took on the same look of cold disapproval she always wore when she looked at him. "What are you doing down here." She snapped. It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

"Eating cauldron cakes." Sirius replied, taking another bite and continuing to watch her impassively.

She glared at him but clearly could not find anything so offensive in the act that she could reasonably criticise him for it so she turned her attention to Regulus instead.

And how quickly the dragon was gone... Though well familiar with her Jekyll and Hyde routine by now, it still sent Sirius' head spinning. How could one woman be so entirely different with two people?

When she was finished, she turned back to him. And how quickly the dragon was back...

"I hope you know how important it is that you make the right connections at Hogwarts." She snapped, moving forwards so she was directly in front of him now. "Your contacts from school will remain with you for the rest of your life. It's very important that you choose well."

Sirius thought he knew exactly who these 'right connections' she spoke about were. He'd met the sad offspring of the wizards his parents held in such high regard. Boys like Edwin Mulciber and Frederick Nott, who he supposed would be starting Hogwarts this year too. If pompous gits like that were the kind of people he was expected to make 'lifelong connections' with, he'd sooner spend the next seven years in Kreacher's bedroom.

"Do not disappoint me." His mother hissed and Sirius thought he could hear the threat behind her words.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He replied, smiling up at her, sure she could see the sarcasm in his eyes.

Walburga looked as if she were about to respond, but Regulus cut across her. "You'll be proud of Sirius when he's sorted into Slytherin won't you? Isn't that what you and father want? Won't you be happy then?"

Oh good old Regulus, always the peacekeeper.

Their mother turned to him and then back to Sirius, her lip curling and eyebrow raised as she considered him. "Let's see." Was all she said before throwing her black shawl back around her and sweeping from the kitchen.

"Still think she'll miss me?" Sirius asked Regulus. Regulus said nothing.

...

Remus Lupin had packed two weeks ago, determined to leave absolutely nothing to chance. If he packed, he would be going. It was as simple as that.

He sat alone in the family's small front 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 and 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 re-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.

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

He grinned at Remus and came to sit beside him.

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

They'd been through this so many times, but Remus still felt anxious. He knew no one would find out he was a werewolf, he knew is secret was safe, he would be going to school and he was going to have a normal education, just like any other eleven-year-old boy.

But the old doubt had a habit of creeping back into his mind when he least wanted it to. And here it was again, whispering in his ear, telling him he was insane, he was mad, he was a complete idiot to think that anyone would ever accept him into wizarding society, like he was normal. He was the furthest thing from normal it was possible to be.

"You mustn't doubt." Lyall said, seeming to sense his son's discomfort. "You are entitled to an education, Remus. As good an education as anyone else."

"But I'm not like everyone else," Remus whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Lyall Lupin looked at his son and Remus saw the same odd emotion he sometimes thought he saw in his father's face. Was it... regret?

"No, you're not like everyone else." Lyall said, squeezing him gently on the shoulder. "You're different, but I promise you it only makes you strong."

"But what if they find out?"

"They won't." Lyall said, and he sounded so certain that Remus let himself hope again. He trusted his father and he trusted Dumbledore too. This was all going to be OK.

"Are you boys ready?" Remus' mother had appeared in the sitting room, carrying a lunchbox, which she handed to Remus. It was a small wicker basket she used when they went on family picnics. Looking at it Remus wondered if he would be too homesick to eat a bite.

"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! I wonder if you'll pick up an accent? You must write every day."

Remus let her fuss, loving her for the love she so freely gave.

"We ought to go." Lyall said, getting to his feet and grabbing their coats from the hallway. They would be traveling to Sheffield, their closest city, from where the ministry had set up a portkey to help them get to the station.

"Goodbye dear." Hope said, giving Remus one last tight squeeze. "Go well."

Remus bid his mother one last farewell and then followed his father along the familiar country road he had lived on all his life. The Lupins were from the Peak District. It was a beautiful part of the country, famous for its limestone dales and rolling hills. It all felt so achingly familiar, he knew he would miss it so much. Was Dumbledore really right, did Remus really have a chance at being a normal boy?

—-

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 would 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 of her own.

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

"He wouldn't date you either!" Annabelle replied hotly. "Last I heard he was going out with Joan Matthews."

"Well, we all know what he sees in Joan Matthews..." Clara said, and the two of them burst out laughing.

Peter had been so disgusted by the conversation that he'd stormed out of the living room and into his bedroom which was mercifully girl-free.

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, which had the benefit of being close to the kitchens, but the downside of being in the middle of the family chaos.

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 charity bake sale, 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. But he supposed he wouldn't have minded so much now his mother had told them all he was going to a highly selective boarding school in the Highlands. He'd have loved to see their their expressions if they knew where he was really going. That would wipe the smirk right off Richard Davidson's smug face alright...

He continued to brood as his mother and sisters prepared for their departure around him, all in high spirits and calling excitedly to one another. When eventually it was time to leave, Clara came into his room to fetch him.

"I know you think we're just silly girls sometimes, but we really will miss you." She said, pulling him into a hug. "Here," and she handed him a present. "I got you this. I thought you might like it at school."

Peter took the gift. It was wrapped in pink tissue with a little bow around it.

"Don't open it here, but please promise you'll use it? Coming mum!" And, answering her mother's calls from the hallway, she hurried out of the room.

Ignoring both her advice and his mother's calls, 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 of an idiot 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. It hadn't been much, this room and this house. Peter considered he'd done well to survive it, seeing as he was the only one with any magic in the family. But now, his day had come at last. And his real destiny, his true fate, he knew lay ahead.