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 as he greedily drunk in his companion. "For so long have I sought you… I even asked Horace, I wondered if perhaps he had heard what became of you."

Tom Riddle, whose lips had curled at the man's correct form of address to him, now sneered at the mention of their old teacher's name. "Horace Slughorn? Why Abraxas, you underestimate me. Why would I hang off the coattails of an old has-been like Horace when I have gone so much further." His eyes gleamed and the man called Abraxas continued to watch him, entranced.

"Since leaving Hogwarts I have journeyed further into the darkest arts than any other wizard. I have discovered secrets others could scarcely imagine. I have done all this alone." He eyed Abraxas haughtily, daring the other man to challenge him.

"But my lord," Abraxas said breathlessly. "There must be a way I can be of assistance." Riddle had called him here for a reason. What was it that he had wanted?

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

"What must I do?" Abraxas asked, leaning eagerly 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 observed his old schoolmate. Until now, he had operated entirely alone. It suited him like that. It was how it had been at his hated orphanage and how it had been at Hogwarts, despite what many in the 'Slug Club' might have believed. He could be charming when he needed to be…

But now he saw things differently. Though it pained him, he saw the others were necessary to help him achieve his goals. He would use Abraxas Malfoy. Not as an ally or comrade, but as a piece to be played. An important part of his game, but not so important that he would share in any glory (although he didn't need to know that…)

And so, there in that dingy pub, he told Abraxas Malfoy of the plan. And later that night, five muggles lost their lives. They had died of the avada kedavra curse, which killed its victims instantly. They had barely had time to stand to defend themselves…

Lord Voldemort smiled as his faithful follower told him of the deaths. Five muggles was a start. Just sixty million more to go… at least in Britain.

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 no surprise to anyone, and the paper headlines continued to share the latest IRA terrorist activity and The Rolling Stones' legal battle with their manager.

In The Daily Prophet, the news was rather less routine. Apparently there had been a mass murder of a muggle family in the Midlands in the early hours of the morning. Aurors who had investigated the crime (after a tip off by an undercover policeman) confirmed that it was indeed a wizard crime, and that they were looking for at least one individual in connection with the murders.

"What is happening to the world?" Fleamont Potter said, shaking his head as he read the paper over the scrambled eggs he was being served by the family's house elf.

Euphemia Potter, who had been drinking tea, looked up at the headline and her husband.

"Mass muggle murder." Fleamont explained, turning the page with a frown. "And they have no idea who's behind it."

"No one truly dangerous, surely? Perhaps just a little unhinged?"

"I don't know." Fleamont said, frowning and putting down his coffee. He checked his watch. "Better go see where our son's got to, eh?" He got to his feet and kissed his wife's forehead. "Don't worry." He said gently. "It's just a couple of madmen messing around. It's nothing for you to worry about."

James Potter stood, hands on his hips, and surveyed the chaos in his bedroom with a sinking stomach. 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, school textbooks and clothes all scattered around like the aftermath of some giant, colourful explosion.

James might have told his parents he'd do it last night but then the quidditch European cup had been on the wireless and it was France playing England and he just couldn't miss that. Unfortunately the game had lasted six and a half hours, with French seeker Claude Garnier finally catching the snitch making it a final score of 450 to 80 to France. And as James stood now in the middle of the total chaos in his bedroom, he wondered if he might not have been better off missing the game after all…

"Knock knock?"

Fleamont Potter grinned as he poked his head around the door.

"Are we ready?"

James' dad 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 was 'the best job in the world'.

James, for his part, 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," he admitted

Fleamont smiled and came into the room. He waved his wand once, causing everything around the trunk to rise effortlessly into the air. The various items rearranged themselves, some folding, some stacking, some flying back into James' chest of drawers and then, with another wave of his wand, the newly organised items fell into James' trunk, the lid closing on top in a satisfying sort of way.

"Thanks." James said and he wrapped his arms around the man's waist. His dad smelt of leather, the outdoors and mostly, home. James tried not to think about how long it would be before he'd see him next…

"Don't worry." Fleamont said, kissing the top of his son's messy head. "Just please don't tell your mum. She has this strange idea in her head that you do what she tells you. I'd hate to disillusion her after so long" And he winked, although James already knew he wasn't really being told off. He was never really told off.

They met James' mother in the entrance hall. She had on her favourite pink cashmere cardigan and was fixing her pearl necklace in the mirror. She smiled as she saw them coming down the stairs above her reflection.

"Ready darlings?"

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

...

The atmosphere in the stone halls of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was tense and prickly, like someone had covered the whole place with invisible land mines that were liable to explode at any second.

Sirius had already been collateral damage twice this morning. Leaving his screaming mother and angry father to it, he wandered off in search of the kitchens, from where he thought it best to lay low for a while.

Sirius Black couldn't wait to start Hogwarts. He'd been quite literally counting down the days since his cousin Andromeda first started six years ago. The idea of someday going himself had lodged itself in his young mind and he'd clung to it like a drowning person clings to a life raft.

But he didn't need to grin and bear it any longer for today he was finally going. He didn't much care how they treated him at Hogwarts as long as it was as far as it was possible to be away from London (and it pretty much was).

His cousin Bellatrix had tried to scare him with wild stories about how the seventh years would experiment on the first years, trying out new spells they'd learned with questionable accuracy, but he wasn't afraid of that either. Bellatrix already liked to hex him and he wasn't even at school yet. At least in a few months he'd have had the chance to be able to defend himself properly.

His thoughts were cut off by the arrival into the kitchen of his younger brother, Regulus.

"Here you are!" The nine-year-old pouted, coming 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 said with an irritable jerk towards the ceiling, from where they could just about hear Mrs Black now bellowing at presumably their father.

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

Sirius shrugged. "Why break with tradition."

"She'll miss you when you're gone, you know."

Sirius turned and stared at his brother. He sometimes thought he and Reg must have completely different parents. How could his brother not see how deeply and completely their mother had loathed him his whole life?

As if to prove this exact point, there was the sound of high heels on stone floor and the door swung inwards to reveal the woman herself, Walburga Black.

Sirius' mother was a tall witch with dark hair, dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Sirius had once heard her described as a 'great beauty' but he didn't see it personally. He sometimes wondered if he was the only one who actually saw her true ugliness. Or maybe that was simply because he was always the one on the receiving end.

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 but an accusation.

"Eating cauldron cakes." Sirius replied, holding up the packet and taking another bite impassively.

She continued to look at him, but clearly could not find anything to criticise, so turned instead to Regulus, who had leapt off the table at her entrance and was smiling up at her like a little cherub.

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 the same woman be two different people? It didn't make any sense. She didn't make any sense.

But it had been like this all his life. Regulus had always been the golden child, and he had been the one getting everything 'wrong'. It was as though she weren't capable of seeing her children for who they were. All she saw were black and white caricatures. It was all her simple mind could handle…

She turned back to him and he gulped and tried to look innocent. But how quickly the dragon was back…

"I hope you know how important it is that you make the right connections at Hogwarts." She said, moving towards him so they were eye to eye. "Your contacts from school will be with you for the rest of your life. You must choose wisely."

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

"Do not disappoint me." His mother hissed, her face inches from his, and Sirius thought he heard the implied threat behind her instruction.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He replied, smiling sarcastically at her.

Walburga looked as if she were about to retort, but Regulus cut across her. "You'll be proud of Sirius when he's sorted into Slytherin won't you?" He asked, drawing both their eyes to him. "Isn't that what you and father want? Will you be happy then?"

Oh good old Regulus, why break his habit of a lifetime?

Their mother turned back to Sirius, her lip curling and eyebrow raised as she considered him. Sirius had the familiar (but unpleasant) sensation of being x-rayed and found incredibly wanting. "We'll see."

And with one last contemptuous look at Sirius and approving nod at Refulus, she swept her black shawl back over herself and stalked from the kitchen.

"Still think she'll miss me?" Sirius asked his brother. Regulus didn't answer.

...

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

He sat alone in the family's small front room re-reading his Hogwarts letter. He'd done this so many times before he was amazed he hadn't faded the ink. But the words were still the same, and still just as wonderful, as they ever were.

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, like 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. He was actually going to Hogwarts!

"It's really happening." Remus looked up to see his father. He was wearing an old quirky tie and had on a muggle dinner jacket. He grinned at Remus and came to join him on the sofa.

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

They'd been through this so many times before, but Remus couldn't help still feeling anxious. He knew no one would find out he was a werewolf, he knew his secret was safe and that he would be going to school just like any other eleven-year-old boy.

But he wasn't just like any other eleven-year-old boy… And there was the old doubt. It had crept back in as he let his mind wander, and here it was now, whispering in his ear, telling him he was insane, a mad fool to think anyone would ever accept him into wizarding society, like he was normal. Like he was one of them.

"You mustn't doubt." Lyall said, seeming to intuit his son's internal dilemma. "You are entitled to an education, Remus. As good an education as anyone else." It's your right."

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

Lyall Lupin looked at his son and Remus saw the same peculiar emotion he sometimes saw when his dad looked at him. It was almost… regret.

"No, you're not like everyone else." Lyall said, squeezing him gently. "You're different, but I promise you that you are strong."

Remus didn't feel strong. "What if they find out?"

"They won't." Lyall said, and with so much certainty that Remus let himself trust again. He trusted his father and he trusted Dumbledore too. If they said it was going to be ok, it would be.

"Are you boys ready?" Remus' mother had appeared in the sitting room and she was carrying a lunchbox which she handed to Remus. Remus took it from her. It was small and wicker, one of the ones they took on family picnics in the Yorkshire Dales. He was sure he would feel too homesick to take a single 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, isn't it exciting, Remus. You'll be in another country by nightfall! I wonder if you'll pick up an accent? You must promise to write every day."

Remus let her fuss, accepting her love and affection. He knew she was secretly dreading his departure. He loved her twice as dearly for the brave show she was putting on for his benefit.

"We ought to go." Lyall said, getting to his feet and grabbing their coats from the hallway. They would be traveling to their closest city, from where the ministry had set up a portkey to help them get to platform 9 ¾.

"Goodbye my darling." Hope said, giving Remus one last tight squeeze goodbye. "Be good."

And then Remus and his father were walking along the familiar country lane he had lived on all his life. And he felt a strange mixture of loss and relief to be leaving it behind. Was Dumbledore really right, could Remus trust him? Was this new headmaster going to be Remus' key to a whole new life?

—-

Peter Pettigrew was avoiding his family. They had been irritating him as usual, his mother fussing about and his two sisters Clara and Annabelle were up the walls with excitement. Honestly, anyone would think it was them starting at wizards school rather than their younger brother.

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

"I can't believe we've been sworn to secrecy." Annabelle cried, falling backwards onto the sofa dramatically. "We have evidence here that magic does exist. Think how jealous Margaret Johnson in upper fourth would be? Oh!" She clutched her chest as a new realisation struck. "Think what Paul Geoffreys would say!"

"Paul Geoffreys wouldn't fancy you even if you could do magic." Clara said, throwing a pillow at 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 anyway."

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

Peter had been so disgusted by the scene that he'd stomped straight out of the living room and into his mercifully girl-free bedroom.

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 if he fancied a snack in the night, but the downside of being right in the middle of the family chaos.

He could hear his mother busying herself in the kitchen now, humming to herself as she put away the breakfast things. 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 she'd kept herself busy with various social engagements, from bingo night at the village hall to the charity bake sale at Peter's old primary school.

Peter hated going to these events with his mother. It was bad enough having to see 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 expressions if they knew where he was really going. That would wipe the smirk right off Richard Davidson's smug git face alright.

When it was time to leave, Clara came into his bedroom to fetch him.

"I know you think we're just silly girls sometimes, but we will miss you." She said, pulling him into a tight squeeze. "Here," and she, and she handed him a present. "I got you this. Something for school."

"Don't open it here," she said, folding his fingers over the gift, "but promise me you'll use it?"

Peter stared at it. It was wrapped in pink tissue and had a little white bow on it. Nothing ever good came of gifts wrapped in pink and white…

"Come on, we'll be late!" She said, and darted out of the room shouting "coming mum!" As she went.

Ignoring both her advice and his mother's call, Peter tore open the present. He frowned as he looked at what it was. A notebook. No, a journal. It was made of brown leather with the words 'Peter's diary. Top secret. Do not read!' embroidered in italic gold on the front cover.

Peter stared at it, 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 already thought, and that was saying something. He threw the book on his bed, not bothering to consider whether it might hurt her feelings should she find it later and took one last look around his bedroom.

It hadn't been much, this room and this house. Peter considered he'd done well to survive this far, seeing as he was the only one with any magic in the family. When he was older he'd live in a mansion. He wouldn't work for charity shops and he wouldn't have any of his family sleep on the ground floor. One day, when he met his true destiny, he'd be someone important.

...

A/N: Well that's chapter one! Do let me know what you think. I wanted to highlight to strong differences in the Marauders' family lives before starting the story in earnest (isn't it interesting how much family history can shape us?) I'll continue with a full chapter for each character from around chapter three. I expect it won't be totally fairly weighted though, as I just enjoy writing some more than others ;) That's all from me, happy reading!