Warning: This story is principally set in the 1970s, and attitudes toward women and sexual minorities reflect this era.

Note: I say "this is canon", but we will be avoiding the few well-known scenes of the Marauders' history found in the original narrative.

Advice: It's prettier on Ao3, so I strongly advise you to find and read it there at ao3/works/58962943/

Disclaimed: Do I think [insert politically objectionable statement here]? Nope! Then you know that I cannot be JKR, and as such this work seeks no profit through the inclusion of Harry Potter or related intellectual property. Nor do I have anything to do with major movie studies or international music icons, so the same goes for a line from the films and the lyrics of a popular song.

Rating: A strong T for foul-mouthed children and scenes of torture/violence, particularly anti-gay language and violence.

The Heb. marad signifies to be disobedient, perverse, rebel, fall away from one's allegiance.

R.S. Charnock, Verba Nominalia

"Black, Siriuis."

At these words, a small boy stepped out from the front of the line, first of the year to be sorted. He wore bespoke robes, carried himself with an aristocratic frown, and his hair was immaculately combed. The boy took the hat from the stool, placed it gingerly upon his head, and a strangled "Sl—" issued at once from a strange tear at the hat's brim. The boy grimaced. The hat fell silent. Thirty seconds later, it grumbled out "Gryffindor", the boy's face lit up with an expression of disbelief, and he hurried over to the applauding table decked in red.

"Bones, Amelia."

The next in line was an anxious blonde, for whom the hat quickly pronounced "HUFFLEPUFF!" with ostentatious satisfaction, as if it were relieved to sort someone a bit more well-ordered and well-behaved.

It continued down the alphabet of boys and girls. "Evans, Lily." This one was an emerald eyed redhead, assuredly a future beauty. What modelling catalogue had all these people come from? She spent two entire minutes under the hat, swinging her legs nervously all the while, before she, too, was sent to Gryffindor. It was said that the longer a sorting took, the greater the potential that the hat saw in its investigations of the mind.

Eight seconds were all it took for "Lupin, Remus" to be sent likewise into Gryffindor.

"Lynch, Adrian." Slytherin. "Macdonald, Mary." Gryffindor. "McKinnon, Marlene." Gryffindor. "Mitchell, William." Ravenclaw. "Moody, Andrew."Hufflepuff. "Morris, Sarah." Slytherin. "Mote, Marian."Ravenclaw. "Nelson, John." Slytherin. "Newton, John." Ravenclaw."O'Shea, Stephen."Hufflepuff. "Patterson, Ann." Hufflepuff. "Payton, Kate." Slytherin.

"Pettigrew, Peter."

The mousy haired boy now at the front of the line made his way to the lone stool before the staff table. The hat seemed perfectly innocuous sitting there, all dusty and bedraggled, but the boy nonetheless looked at it with trepidation. This was the first test. When he placed it on his head, it slipped down past his eyes to rest against his pointed nose. Then a voice began to speak into his mind.

"Now aren't you an interesting case!Hmm… Not often I see a choice as difficult as this one, I can tell already. What shall we do with you?"

"Please don't throw me out!" The thought came to the boy before he could stop it. Trying to hold a conversation in one's own head was bizarre.

"Goodness, no! replied the hat. So it could read his thoughts, as some instinct had told him to expect. This was magic, then. "Everyone has a place at Hogwarts. It's my job to find it—and, just between you and me, I happen to be very good at my job."

That was reassuring, even if the whole mind-reading aspect of the procedure was a bit disturbing. "Mum was in Hufflepuff…Does that help?"

"Ah, yes, of course I remember little Enid," replied the hat, "I remember everyone who's passed under this old brim. That would have been 1943, as I recall. Not that I can share any details about her sorting, you understand, but I do hope Hufflepuff served her well."

"I think she liked it. She has tea with her old housemates almost every week it seems like."

The hat chuckled merrily. "Very good, very good. But we're not here to sort the past, are we?"

"No, but I just thought, maybe if she fit in Hufflepuff, then maybe I might have a place there too?"

"You're still worried about finding a place, then, aren't you? What else would you say you're looking for in a house?"

"What I'm looking for…?" The boy took a moment to answer. "Somewhere to fit in, I guess? Where I would belong?" Rarely did the boy speak so specifically about his insecurities, but the hat encouraged honesty and had promised privacy. It was already reading his mind, after all, so there wasn't much point in hiding things. "I want to make friends, like mum did, I think. To find people who'll care for me. For the real me."

"Aren't you the mature little fellow! Well, let's see what we find inside, shall we? Hufflepuff… Never a bad option, really, the stereotypes—of course I know them!—aren't all wrong. You'd do well to learn some loyalty, and Badgers always protect their own. 'A place to belong?' you say, yes, the Sett can be a haven—but will it let you become the 'real' you? Things can get quite nasty behind closed doors there, for those who don't fit in…" The hat must have sensed the boy's increasing stress, because it hurried to clarify its warning. "Not that you'd be sure to run afoul of the Badger sensibility! My powers of foresight are limited, alas. Let's see what else we have to work with before you get too worked up."

The boy worried despite the caveats. "I've never heard anything like that about Hufflepuff, is it really true?"

"That's part of loyalty, isn't it? Keeping silent to keep your friends out of trouble. You see, every house has its good and bad—let's not write off Hufflepuff just yet! But let's see what else you've got inside. Friendship is a fine ambition, though not everyone seems to agree. Certainly it's not in the Slytherin way of understanding, all that grand scheme of politics and celebrity, and I fear they look down on anyone with such petty aims. Petty of them, really, if I do say so myself. But with the bad, there's also good, and that's just as true of Slytherin as all the others. It seems cunning is something you have in spades. Now isn't that interesting. You're someone who already grasps what it can mean to be underestimated and overlooked, what opportunities that provides. Yes, really, you have rather a keen mind, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, me? You must be confused somehow, I mean, I've never had good marks in school."

"Hogwarts is a fresh start, is it not? But consider that there might be more to intelligence than just the sort from books. Maybe you're not an Eagle, there's no shame in that. Instead of all that tiresome profundity, you're blessed with a kind of quick cleverness, even a bit of sly wiles. And to know what you want takes a kind of intelligence too. The best intelligence, the ancients said, in fact…And you've been brave enough to accept it, haven't you? That's the main thing. Will you also be brave enough to seek it out? Courage, yes, that is a matter of the heart, yes yes. A tough one!"

"Please decide! I've been up here so long, everyone is staring!"

"Hmm, yes, and sometimes you want to slip in between the cracks. Slip, eh? Not slither? No Snake, then… Yes, alright, I suppose that leaves you for—GRYFFINDOR!"

It had taken more than five minutes. That folk wisdom about hatstall greatness now seemed irretrievably flimsy. The boy returned the hat to its perch on the weathered stool, and shuffled over to the Gryffindor table. He took a seat in the empty place between Black and the redhead Evans, then watched the last of the alphabet take their turns beneath the hat.

The handsome "Potter, James" was sent to Gryffindor the moment the brim touched his flyaway hair. Half a dozen students later, the dour "Snape, Severus" spent three minutes twenty, fists clenched and eyes pinched in frustration, before the hat finally erupted with a cry of "SLYTHERIN!". The boy tore it from his head and scowled his way over to the table of the Snakes.

In the end, once "Young, Eliza" had been announced as Ravenclaw, the magnificently attired headmaster rose to bid them wore robes bedecked with all manner of flowers, each cycling its way from seed to blossom and back again to seed. On his head was perched a bright orange hat, its long crown tied into a knot. The staff glared around from the head table, and a hush fell over the hall.

"Welcome," began the headmaster, "to Hogwarts. This is the first time I get to give this little speech without any student being able to compare it to those of my esteemed predecessor. I must admit I was tempted to pass along four simple words of advice, and leave things at that. Perhaps an idea to be saved for some future year. But I digress. Today, we have the privilege and the honour of receiving our latest group of fresh faces. First years, let me be the first to tell you that your time at Hogwarts will be full of adventure. And studying. Preferably more studying and less adventure, but"—the twinkle of his blue eyes could be seen across the hall—"ultimately that balance is yours to choose.

"On the matter of studies, I am saddened to tell everyone that Professor Hart has been forced to step down while he recovers from an unfortunate incident involving a transatlantic portkey. Taking his place will be Professor Dorcas Meadowes. Let's hear a warm welcome for our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor!" A dark-skinned woman in robust middle-age rose from the staff table, to a smattering of polite applause. "Professor Meadowes is a distinguished curse-breaker taking sabbatical from Gringotts, and I trust you'll find her up to the high standard left behind by Professor Hart. I've promised her that the young mind is even more fascinating than the tombs of Egypt, so I'm counting on all of you not to let me down and disappoint her expectations. As for the rest of the staff, I'm afraid you're still stuck with us."The headmaster chuckled to himself. "Of course, the Forbidden Forest remains just that: forbidden. And, as our caretaker continually reminds me, all those other little rules matter too!"He twinkled. "The first rule, as ever, being this: tuck in!"

With the official business of school done, and the unofficial business of the feast begun, the redhead turned and introduced herself. "Hullo! Peter, wasn't it? I'm Lily, and across you have Mary and Marlene. It's all rather overwhelming already, don't you think?" She flashed him a smile that was rather dazzling.

"No kidding."Peter did his best to match her enthusiasm. "There's so much going on, it's impossible to take it all in at once."

"I know!"Lily's enthusiasm seemed unlimited. "Everything's just so…so magical. Diagon Alley didn't prepare me for this at all!"

"I keep staring up at the ceiling. That's my favourite bit so far. Mum told me you could see the sky from the Great Hall, and I thought that was just so weird. But it's Hogwarts, right, so I also thought maybe the Great Hall was just outside or something and that's just how it was. Now here we are and, sure enough, you look up and you can see the moon and stars and everything."Peter cast another glance around the hall, soaking it in. The first year girls were all now craning their necks up to the enchanted ceiling, although he noticed that the other boy—Lupine, was it?—kept his eyes determinedly on his plate.

Lily's attention returned to the table first. "So your mum's magical then? What about your dad?"

"Mum is, but not dad,"Peter answered. "I wonder what she's gonna say about my sorting."

"Did she go to Hogwarts? What house was she in? Did she have any advice for you?" Lily could barely let one question finish before moving on to the next, so swept up was she in the excitement of Hogwarts.

"Mum was in Hufflepuff. Advice…Not really. Mostly she just told me to work hard and try to make friends."

Lily's eyes went wide. "I don't think that's bad advice at all. And you can tell her you've already made friends!"The girls across the table nodded in agreement. "Both my parents are normal. 'Muggles', right? Marlene told me earlier that she's got both magical parents. How about you, Mary?"

Mary was a fair-haired girl even smaller than Peter. "Mine were both in Ravenclaw, and I've a sister there as well. Got a muggle grandad though, on mum's side of the family."

"Louisa!—" Lily turned to the girl on her other side, who'd been speaking with an older blonde student. "C'mon, introduce yourself. This is Peter, he's a first year too."

"Louisa Dunn." The new girl gave a little wave at Peter. "I'm so nervous I can't hardly sit still. Mum'll never believe it when I tell her about everything. Oh, and this,"she nudged the older girl, "is Alice Garland. She's been telling me about all the classes and clubs. It's so much to take in!"

"It's a lot at first," agreed the blonde. She was a short girl, somewhat chubby, with rosy cheeks set in a wonderful open face. "But you'll get used to it. I'm Alice Garland, fifth year prefect. If you have any questions, just find me or Frank or anyone else with a badge like this"—she indicated the shiny 'P' pinned to her chest—"and we'll get you sorted."

Mary raised her hand, as if she were already in class. Alice laughed, but gestured for her to continue. "Umm, I have a question."

"We can tell," cut in Lily, "C'mon, just ask already!"

"Right. I mean, I was just wondering, where do we all sleep?"

Alice nodded sagely. "Each house has its own common room and dormitories. Someone will escort you lot of firsties once we're done with the feast, probably one of the older prefects. It's a secret, mind, where the entrance is, so don't go telling anyone from the other houses. Especially Slytherins. You'll also have to be sure to remember the password, or else the Fat Lady won't let you in, even if she knows you."

"A password…?" Peter could already see himself curled up alone in some corridor, or worse, having to wake up his quite intimidating new head of house wherever her private quarters might be. "Do students often forget?"

"Don't worry about it so much. The passwords only change once every couple of months. And they're usually pretty easy—you should thank Merlin you're not in Ravenclaw. They have to answer some clever riddle every time they want to get in. What's all your names, by the by?"

While Lily eagerly conducted another round of introductions, Peter reflected that a password was admittedly better than a riddle and that he'd probably be safe as long as he stuck to a group. In any case, there was nothing to it but to try—the hat had long since been removed from the Great Hall, and so he was stuck with Gryffindor and its Fat Lady of the Passwords.

It was Marlene who raised the next question. "What classes are everyone looking forward to most? I'm partial to defence. That Professor Meadowes looks like she means business."

"Defence is great," affirmed Alice, "and you're right—Professor Meadowes looks a sight more put together than that Professor Hart we had last year. The year before though, Professor Dearborn, he was just the best. Told me I had the stuff to become an auror. 'Course, now this year I've got to make top marks in all these O.W.L.'s if I want to stay on course for the Academy." She jabbed her fork into a piece of roasted potato. "Herbology will be the death of me…"

"Herbology sounds alright, actually," interjected Peter, "but I think I'm most keen on transfiguration. Turning something into something else, sort of like you're dressing it up in the strangest clothes imaginable. What's more magic than that?"

"Transfiguration?!" Lily scoffed. "What could be more useless than that? Charms has got to be way more magical and way more useful. But what I'm most looking forward to is potions. Sev says it's the best course they've got here, really proper magic. And I've been helping mum with the cooking for ages."

Alice laughed again. "Firsties are so cute. Just remember that you lot don't know anything yet. Do try to keep an open mind? And Lily, never let McGonagall hear you say anything like that about transfiguration! She'll take points, Gryffindor or not, and you'd be lucky if she stopped there. Might want to avoid mentioning that bit about cooking to Professor Slughorn too. Though with him, you might get a laugh out of it. You never really know what that man is really thinking—as Slytherin as they come, that one."

Before the discussion could proceed further, it was diverted by the arrival of a pair of twins. They were tall, broad-shouldered, well-built, and very handsome, with ginger hair crowning their identical faces. "Fifthsies—almost as cute as firsties, aren't they?" said the one.

"Oh, give Alice a break," said the other, "she's just as nervous about being made prefect as they are being made Gryffindor."

Alice rolled her eyes, just as Peter jumped in to ask why everyone was getting up.

"Everyone's getting up—oi! firsties! time to get up!—because the feast's over and it's time for bed."

Lily, having somehow already scampered around to Peter's side of the table, pushed her way past Potter and the other first year boys to rejoin the conversation. She gawked at the twins with her wide green-eyed stare. "Are you two seventh years?"

"We're—" started the second twin.

"He's Fabian," interrupted the first, "But I'm fab."

"No, you're a git, Gideon."

"A fab git."

"Anyway. I'm head boy—"

"And I give boys—"

The one twin stamped his foot on the other's. "Gideon! They're firsties!"

"—directions to the dormitories, since our head boy is too worried about poor me to spare a thought to poor all of you."

Peter was pretty sure he knew what Gideon had been about to say (or what his brother had thought he'd been about to say, or had been pretending to be about to say), though a quick glance at the others showed him only Black seemed to have picked up on it. But the moment had already faded into the background, as the twins led the train of first years out of the Great Hall, through the corridors of Hogwarts, and up to the secret entrance of Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was given the new password ("Phoenix"), then swung open to reveal their glorious new home.

~xxxx~

A/N: Sorry, you're telling me this project requires me to write not just children, but *period children?!* Oh my days…

The epigraph quotes a real book of etymology, while the title is again due to Shakespeare. This time the source is MACBETH: "Who could refrain, / That had a heart to love, and in that heart / Courage, to make's love known?" (II.3.113–5). There's no more Shakespeare in the story—but the whole story is in those few lines of Shakespeare.

The central question about about Peter and the Marauders is: "Why does he betray them?". But the first question is: "Why does he get Gryffindor in the first place?" A coherent account of the Marauders Era should answer both of these questions, and those answers need to be in agreement with each other.

I'm excited to share this story with everyone! Please look forward to the next installment! I love to hear from readers… :)