Up To No Good: Year One

Sirius Black

Sirius Black sat with his hands in his hair, looking at the piece of parchment he'd received a week ago. He didn't know what to do. Every other child would have been ecstatically happy when they read the contents, but not Sirius Black. He was desperate.

His mother had been asking him every day for the last five days if he had received any such letter. He would just answer "no" very stiffly and then run upstairs to check if it still was there.

He looked at the envelope again that had been torn apart. He hadn't realised the gravity of the situation when he had first got it. But, it had gradually come to him. This was something big. This was Hogwarts.

He'd dreamt about it. He'd had nightmares about it. It had been with him every single moment of every single day. What did this letter mean? Did it mean that he was like the people he most hated? Was he, just like everyone else in his family and almost everyone he knew; cruel and obsessed with the purity of blood? Was he, just like his mother and father, a Slytherin?

He wasn't. He had always thought, always known, always felt that he was different. He didn't see a difference between half- and purebloods and it really didn't matter to him. How could your blood make you a better witch or wizard? As far as anyone knew, magic wasn't in your blood and as long as no one had proven otherwise, Sirius was going to stick to that.

His hand slid over the soft parchment, feeling the slightly raised ink under his fingers. He read the letter again.

Dear Mr Black,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Please find enclosed a list of al necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M.McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

It was July 31. If he wanted to go to Hogwarts, he should tell his mother now that he had got in. Got into what, exactly? What would he get himself into? An empty life. Friends who cared more about his last name than about him. He would get himself deeper into the world he grew up in, the world he had grown to hate.

He'd only been told about Slytherin, "The house of kings," as his mother called it. Everyone he knew had been placed in that house. As far as Sirius knew, the country existed apart from Slytherins. But there were four houses, right? What about the other three? "Houses for the weak, his mother said. Houses for dirty blood. Mudbloods." Sirius hated that word. But, what if he were to be placed in one of those houses? What then? There was no what if, father Black had assured him. He would be a Slytherin, just like everyone else.

And now, the time had come for him to be a Slytherin. And those 'everyone elses' his father had told him about, were now eagerly watching his every move. He was the first Black of his generation to go to Hogwarts. People expected a lot of him. They wanted him to be a miniature of his mother and the spitting image of his father, but no one seemed to wonder if that was what he, Sirius Algernon Black, the one whose future they were planning, wanted.

And it actually wasn't. All he wanted was to be who he was, nothing more, nothing less.

He didn't want to end up fighting for the wrong cause, and that was what was going to happen. Sirius knew that if you stick around people long enough, you become just like them. It's like having a dog. Dogs always resemble their owners. And Sirius really did not want to be like a dog.

Suddenly his door creaked. He hastily put away the letter, hoping that it wasn't his mother.

"Hey Sirius," A soft voice said. "Your brother said you were here. Is it alright if I come in?"

Sirius heaved a sigh of relief. "Sure, Andromeda."

"What were you doing? Regulus said you've been spending all of your time up here."

Sirius knew he could trust his cousin. Of all the people he knew, she was the one who was the most humane. She was the one who could see the people and not the blood. The one who knew how hard it was to be different. "I've been thinking," he said, searching for a way to explain everything. "I got my Hogwarts letter, Andy."

"That's great news!" said Andromeda while she hugged him.

"Is it? I don't know."

"How could it not be good? You've found a way out of here!" she said when she let go.

"Not really," Sirius shrugged. "I've been accepted to a school that is going to teach me how to be just like my family. I'm going to befriend people like Bellatrix and I'm going to be taught by people like my mother. Someday I'm going to work for people like them and I'll eventually be like them. That's not what I want, Andy! I don't want to wake up forty years from now wondering what happened to me. I don't want to realise one day that I'm telling my children that the purity of blood is most important and I don't want to walk to breakfast through a hallway covered with house elf heads. I don't want to be my parents' dog."

"Sirius, after all the thought you've given this you still haven't seen that it's a good thing?" Andromeda smiled. "You're such a pessimist." Sirius didn't think he was being very pessimistic. He was realistic. It was Andromeda who was way too quick to consider everything as good. "Who says you'll be a Slytherin? Why wouldn't you be the one who changes everything? I see nothing of your family in you, except for your impossible stubbornness, so I don't see why you should end up like them. If you really want to be different, Sirius, you will be."

"I still don't know, Andy. Maybe..."

"But, I do know. I might not have been to Hogwarts yet, but I do know that they won't judge you because of who your family is. They've asked you to go and they'll judge you because you're Sirius Black," said Andromeda. "But, I have to go. I told mum I wouldn't stay long. Bye Sirius, and don't worry so much." She gave him another hug.

"See you, Andy. And thanks," said Sirius as she left.

He got out his letter again. Maybe his cousin was right. Maybe he could be different. He could at least try. He could be the first non-Slytherin in his family.

Sirius took his letter and descended the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he looked at the hallway and the house elf heads. "If everything turns out well, I might not be seeing you lot for an entire year." Sirius grinned and yelled, "Mum! MUUUUUM!!!" Yelling was not allowed at Grimmauld Place, but the prospect of not seeing those ugly things staring at him for the next year made Sirius very happy.

"Sirius!" He heard his father's stern voice behind him. He spun around and felt a hand collide with his face. "What has got into you? Making such a racket! Do you want to get punished?"

"Dad, I-"

"Sirius! Can't you ever be quiet? It's always the same with you, isn't it?" his mother shrieked when she got into the hall.

How very typical, Sirius thought, I get punished for something they do all the time. "But, mum..." It was nine thirty, if he really was planning on being the rebel of the family, he needed to get a move on. Not to mention his parents' permission. "I got my Hogwarts letter!"

His mother who hadn't stopped calling him names, suddenly fell silent.

"You did, did you?" his father asked. Sirius handed them the piece of parchment.

"Very well. I'll send them the confirmation. Now go up to your room and don't you dare make a sound," his mother warned.

Sirius had known better than to expect praise from his parents, but he couldn't deny he was a bit disappointed. But, he finally had a way to pay them back. He would love to see their faces when they found out he wasn't in Slytherin. He would probably receive a Howler, but Sirius just couldn't care. He had found a way out of Grimmauld Place, he had found a way to become who he should be. He got back to his room and stared at the starry night. He felt glad to imagine a life free from heads on his wall, insults, blood and the like. He really wanted to be different. And he would be...

Peter Pettigrew

Extraordinary was not a word used to describe Peter Pettigrew, a boy who had not done many great things in his ten years. Dull, drab, and boring were more appropriate adjectives. Peter was like all the other Muggles in his neighborhood. He attended primary school and was one of the brightest students in class. The only time anyone ever paid much attention to him was when he was bullied by the students who were older, usually just bigger, and robbed of the money his father gave him for snacks.

Nobody else, Peter suspected, had a father like him though. His father was a wizard and while everyone else's fathers went to work at the factory, his set up Portkeys for other witches and wizards to travel. Peter imagined what it must be like living as a wizard. He didn't know. His mother didn't think magic was safe and would have locked Peter up forever if that hadn't gone out of style with the Dark Ages and fairy tales. And besides, his father said he had never shown the usual signs of magic, whatever those may be.

Something that Peter could never understand was why his father never talked about magic. Sure his mother had a lot to do with that, but even when she wasn't around to shush him, his father seemed to darken when speaking about magic. His father would sometimes leave very suddenly and come back in an awful state, looking as though he had aged ten years in his absence. Peter's grandparents had died under mysterious circumstances, his mother had told him so, but he suspected it was a scare tactic used to keep his curiosity tamed. Something that did actually scare Peter was the one and only time he had seen his father cry. In between choked sobs, his father said a name. Peter hadn't been able to hear the name, but even his mother gasped at the sound of it.

If curiosity killed the cat, Peter must be a tabby who's spent eight lives.

It was all well thought out. Peter's father had been snoring for twelve minutes and his mother was beginning to mutter in her sleep in their master bedroom across the hall. He didn't bother with his slippers, too noisy, and he was careful to avoid the floorboard just outside his bedroom. He could hear the clock at the foot of the staircase ticking consistently. He wasn't sure how long he had been holding his breath, but he was stepping into the study before he exhaled a long and winded breath.

The corners of the room were frighteningly dark. Mysterious shadows crawled up the wall, cast from the light filtering in from the full moon outside. He couldn't be sure what he was looking for, but he knew it was something magical.

The bookshelves were cluttered with dusty volumes of spell books. Peter's eyes widened when a book sitting on his father's desk hissed. But, they were only books, he insisted to himself. He examined the items on the desk more carefully.

But, of all the magical objects piled on the desk, a simple sheet of parchment was most fascinating of all. The parchment was rolled, unlike all of the post Peter had seen delivered in flat envelopes. On the roll was a dark green wax seal that was broken. He strained his eyes, noticing a faint impression in the wax of what appeared to be a head with a snake wrapped around it.

His palms were sweating and the collar of his light blue pajamas was suddenly uncomfortable around his neck. But the seal was already broken, Peter reasoned with himself. His father would never know. After swallowing a heavy lump in his throat, he unrolled the letter. Magnificent handwriting danced on the parchment, forming short, loopy letters that were difficult to read. There was a signature below the body of the letter, a signature that made Peter's spine shiver.

Lord Voldemort

"There is no wizard greater than the dark lord."

Peter gasped and shook, startled by the sudden and unexpected sound of his father's voice. "Who is Vol-or-not?"

"V-Voldemort. That is a name that commands fear and power," his father explained. His face was white, drained of all color as he spoke. Peter was convinced that it was true, the name Vold-ma-mott commanded fear and power as his father did not seem himself. "Slytherin is a fine house you would do well in, Peter." Peter nodded although he had no idea what his father was talking about. Truth was, he was too scared to ask questions. "I have something for you. Just this afternoon owl post arrived for you."

"You mean . . . is it Hog-whats?"

"Hogwarts." His father sat behind his desk and reached into the upper-right drawer. He handed Peter an envelope with green letters addressing him as the recipient.

"I'm a wizard?" Peter asked with breathless excitement.

"Yes . . . you are." Unless he was mistaken, Peter thought his father sounded disappointed. "I wish I could spend a lifetime preparing you for life as a wizard."

"But, Hogwarts will prepare me, right? It's a school, isn't it?"

"Peter, magic isn't that wonderful thing your mother reads to you in fairy tales. Living as a wizard isn't a happily ever after."

"Doesn't magic make wonderful things happen?"

"Yes," his father struggled to reply. Urgency flashed in his eyes as he reached across the desk and grasped Peter's shoulders firmly. "Magic can do terrible things, horrible things Muggles can't do to one another. And of all the powerful spells and devices used to aid magic, there is one thing that cannot be changed --" Peter's chest was rising and falling in deep heaves as his heartbeat sped up. "-- death."

Peter held his chubby hand against his chest, certain his heart had just stopped beating.

"Keep your nose clean and your enemies close but your friends closer."

"W-why?"

"Voldem-mort is not a wizard to listen to excuses. Protecting someone else's life may cost you your own. Your enemies are your enemies. They'll lie, betray, and hurt you. But, your friends . . . you wouldn't expect your friends to lie, betray, and hurt you." Peter didn't feel much like being a wizard anymore. "Take care of your mother and be a better wizard than I was."

Peter had to have heard that wrong. It sounded like his father was saying goodbye. "Dad, do I have to go to Hogwarts? Wizards don't seem very friendly."

"There's a boy your age who should be getting his letter. He'll be sorted into Slytherin as well. You could look out for one another."

"Who is he?" Peter asked. He didn't care much for the answer. He wasn't going to go to Hogwarts. He didn't want to be a Slytherin. He wanted to be a Muggle and work in the factory.

Peter's father managed a smile. "Sirius Black."

Peter lowered his gaze and shrugged his shoulders. Very suddenly, he noticed a tattoo on his father's arm that matched the design pressed into the wax seal.

Grabbing his arm, his father left the room. "Sweet dreams, Peter."

After his father left, Peter sat in the study, exploring the magical world he was a part of. He thumbed through books, paying close attention to those that had illustrations and tossing aside the books that had none. He collected a few text books from his father's collection that he would need for his classes at Hogwarts.

He kept himself busy for hours. The black night sky faded to purple as the sun began to rise. Peter's eyelids felt very heavy as the clock in the hallway chimed six times. Mother would be up soon, but he didn't want to see her. He had so many questions to ask his father.

Feeling impatient, he wrote a reply owl to his Hogwarts acceptance letter. The Pettigrews did not have an owl of their own, and Peter had no idea how or where to get one. He would have to wait until his father returned.

But, the clock chimed seven times, eight, nine, and ten times and father hadn't returned. It was mid-afternoon when his mother insisted he join her in the kitchen for lunch.

"I served you breakfast in the study, but don't expect I'll do the same for every meal!"

"It's wizard business!" Peter shouted.

He had never done that before. He had never used his voice so forcefully against his mother. She must have been thinking the same thing he was, because her expression open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

There was a welcome knock on the door. Peter pushed past his mother to answer. He fumbled with the locks and pulled it open as the door protested with a squeal. There were two men who appeared to be wizards framed in the doorway.

"Peter, is it?"

Silently, he answered with a nod.

"Hello," his mother greeted, shaking each of their hands. "May I inquire to your visit?"

Five weeks passed before Peter finally let the voices of the wizards enter his mind. He knew there were a lot of first year Hogwarts students anxiously thinking about traveling on the Hogwarts Express the following afternoon, perhaps Sirius Black was one of them. They would lie awake thinking about which house they would be Sorted into (the more Peter had discovered about Hogwarts, the more he wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor, although he thought that with hard work there might be a place for him in Ravenclaw).

Peter wasn't thinking about Hogwarts at all, though. He was thinking about how much he missed his father. He was thinking about the wizards who had killed him and in a moment of bravery, Peter thought he might kill them. He wondered how the children of those wizards would feel if they found out their fathers were dead.

He was thinking more about what it meant to be a wizard, than the journey he was about to embark on in becoming a wizard. He yawned, stretching his arms high above his head. He was going to take his father's advice. Peter would do his best to keep his nose clean and to have a more watchful eye over his friends than his enemies.

Peter closed his eyes and could hear his father's voice. Sweet dreams.

Remus Lupin

A bed.

That's all he wanted. A very soft, warm bed in which he could drown and feel the gentle touch of every feather stuffed into the mattress. In which he could drift away to another world where he did not have to feel the pain or the guilt of being who he was.

Of being who he was once a month, at least.

Remus wanted to sleep his hurt away, but just like every time before, he would not succeed. No matter how much he wanted to dream of tons of friends, happy sunny days, and dark, yet restful nights, the full moon would always find a way into them and it would scare him awake every time. Or, in worse cases, he would see his future the way he knew it had to be. He'd have to be an outcast, alone between Muggle and Wizarding worlds, unable to find a job in either.

He had no future. He wouldn't be able to go to school... Let's face it, what school would accept a werewolf? Not Hogwarts. He wanted to go there so badly, but his mother had already impressed it upon him that he'd have to be home-tutored. He trusted his mother as a teacher. She'd gone to Hogwarts and she had been a great student that had graduated top of her year. Remus was sure of the fact that he'd know everything he'd have to know.

But, he would never know everything he wanted to know.

He would never be accompanied to the next class by his friends. He would never discover the grounds. He would never earn his house any points. He wouldn't even know what house he would get sorted into. Ever. Even though his mother was trying everything she could to make it as close to Hogwarts as possible, it wouldn't be the same. Some magic just doesn't exist.

Remus finally made it to his bed, which wasn't half as soft or as warm has he had hoped it would be, and he clambered into it without even going through the trouble of undressing. He fumbled with his sheets and looked outside. It was a beautiful, sunny morning at the end of July and he would spend it trying to sleep. Or trying not to have nightmares.

He shouldn't be so demanding. His mother still felt incredibly guilty because he'd received the bite, as did his father of course. His mother had given up her job to take care of him. She did everything in her power to make him happy. He shouldn't be so selfish. He should be glad his parents cared enough to go through all this just for him.

There were so many other werewolves in the world who didn't get a chance at an education, who were left to themselves to find their place in the world. But, not Remus. He had people who cared for him and he'd always be welcome with them no matter what happened. Instead of dwelling on what he wanted to be, he should think of those who weren't as fortunate as him.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was much better off than others with the same condition, but every time he closed his eyes he saw how his life at Hogwarts could be.

He tried not to pay attention to it. He tried to remember how grateful he should be. But his exhaustion and his pain from his transformation made him very sad and melancholic. He felt alone, more so than usual. Maybe because he knew that if he were a normal boy, he would receive his Hogwarts letter in the week to come.

But he would get a letter, written by his mother. And he would be sorted with his father's old hat that his mother had bewitched for him against the will of her husband.

John Lupin had never had a problem with accepting the magical abilities of his wife. Nor had he had a problem with living near the Wizarding world or having a son with the same powers as his mother.

That was until young Remus John got bitten by a werewolf at the age of six.

All kinds of magic were suddenly evil. He knew better than to ask his wife to leave the world she'd grown up in, but he did demand she not use magic in their house or in front of him. And if he'd had the chance, he would have asked her not to teach their son anything about witches and wizards.

Remus knew what they had both sacrificed and he knew they were doing what they thought was best for him. He should be grateful and happy. Grateful and happy...

Remus was six again, being hunted by a huge wolf. A werewolf. He ran as fast as he could, but a toddler is no match for a werewolf.

Remus tripped

There he was, lying in the damp grass, tears running down his cheeks and an incredible feeling of fear overwhelming him. The wolf came closer and closer and then he bit him. Hard. It was just a little bite, but it hurt. He tried to free himself from the beast, but he couldn't. He felt the teeth sink into his right upper arm and he felt the pain getting worse with every passing second. The wolf finally let go and he instantly felt a change in his body. Every inch of Remus screamed.

Suddenly, a door appeared in the woods where he was lying. It opened and in came his mother . . .

"Remus! Remus, honey, it's only a dream. It's just a bad dream."

He looked at his mother and finally realised he was just lying in his bed. This was one of the most vivid dreams he'd ever had. He could still feel the pain where he had been bitten. He noticed the wolf in him hadn't completely subsided as he smelled blood. Still drowsy, he threw a look at his right upper arm and he saw a very small amount of red liquid trickle down. The wounds he had inflicted on himself last night were not this fresh. How could that be? Had he scratched himself during his dream?

He heard his mother gasp. "Remus," she whispered as she pointed to the foot of his bed. A beautiful tawny, important looking owl sat there. It ruffled its feathers and clicked its beak trying to make it clear that it thought it was about time he woke up. It seemed his mother hadn't spared any costs when it came to making it seem as real as possible. Remus had heard her story about when she got her letter thousand times before, but he never grew tired of it. He never grew tired of her enthusiasm when she talked about the owl that gently tapped on her window and let her untie the letter. She could describe every feather of the bird so vividly that he almost saw it in front of him and could feel his fingers stroke the owl's coat.

And now there was a bird, very much like the one his mother had recieved, sitting at the foot of his bed. Remus felt very guilty. There he was, wallowing in his self-pity when everyone around him did everything in their power to make him forget about it. He, like his parents, knew they weren't the richest of people, but still they went through all this trouble. He was sure that owl had cost alot.

"Thanks, mum," he said. His throat was sore and when he tried to sit up his head started spinning violently. He fell back onto his pillows and sighed heavily. "Thank you so much. I can't believe you're willing to do this for me."

"Remus, dear... I don't think you understand. There's an owl sitting on your bed!"

"I had spotted that, yes," said Remus with a smile. It hurt, but he couldn't help himself.

"Honey, I didn't send it."

Remus' eyes widened. He looked from his mother to the owl and jumped up, all headaches and wounds completely forgotten. The owl seemed to be slightly taken aback by the pale and skinny youngster diving for it, but Remus couldn't care less. It took him longer than was necessary to free the bird of its burden because of his excitement and impatience. When he finally managed to untie it, he was suddenly incredibly afraid. What if this wasn't an acceptance letter? What if it merely said that Hogwarts didn't accept lycanthropes or that he would have been accepted if it had not been for his lycanthropy?

"Remus, what are you waiting for? Open the letter!' his mother encouraged him with wide eyes. "I'm getting your father and his camera."

Remus snapped from his reverie. His father? But what if the letter said nothing? What if it was misdirected? He looked at the envelope again.

To Remus John Lupin

The bed in the upstairs bedroom

'The Moonlight Cottage'

Fairmeadow

Rye - East Sussex

Being rejected is still an option, Remus thought. I shouldn't get my hopes up. Werewolves don't go to school.

"So, you got your letter after all?" his father's low and soft voice asked. He was smiling at Remus, but his dark eyes looked worried. "You're not going to spend all day gaping at the envelope, are you, son?"

Remus needed some time to get over his bewilderment, but he finally opened the envelope. He took the letter out with trembling hands. Part of him wanted so badly to know what was in it and another part of him screamed to chuck the letter out. This was going to determine the rest of his life. He was holding his future and he almost couldn't bring himself to look at it. This was the last bit of hope he ever had. He had wished to go to Hogwarts, but he had never considered actually being accepted. Remus felt like a spoiled child, clinging to his toys as he clung to his hope; not willing to give it back, but not playing with it either.

He looked at his parents again. They were staring at him expectantly. His mother was holding the camera and his father was smoking his pipe. It was time. As he unfolded the letter, he took in every detail. The smell of the parchment, the emerald green of the ink, the stylish and neat curls in the handwriting. This was something he'd remember for the rest of his life. While holding his breath, he started to read the letter.

Dear Mr Lupin,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Please find enclosed a list of al necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M.McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

PS: A message from our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is enclosed.

"Well, son, what does it say?" his father asked.

"I... er,... they've accepted me..." Remus said, flabbergasted. "They've accepted me! They really have! Look!"

Remus' father had a long puff on his pipe. His mother had tears in her eyes and she kept on taking pictures of him. The three of them just stood there, unable to absorb everything that had just happened.

"Helena? Helena, please? You're nearly blinding the boy with the camera flashes," his father said, slightly annoyed. "Give it a rest."

"But, he got in, John! Our little Remus is going to Hogwarts!" She smiled while dabbing her eyes. "You're going to have so much fun, honey!"

"Helena, I know you're excited, but calm down. This is not merely a case of acceptance or not. We've got other things to consider."

"They've thought about it, dad!" Remus said quickly. When his father and mother had been talking, he had taken the liberty of reading Dumbledore's letter. "Professor Dumbledore sent us an extra letter about my - er... situation."

"Dear, read it to us," his mother said breathlessly.

I know that all of my predecessors refused to accept people with the same condition as your son. But unlike them, I also know that apart from the fact that they have a slightly unpleasant period to go through once a month, they are not different from other people .

I realise that this is an unusual offer, but unusual people and circumstances ask for these types of actions. I know I cannot force you to let your son attend our school, and I know that you must be in two minds, but please realise what an effect this would have on young Remus' future.
I cannot refrain from mentioning that I would look at Remus' absence next September as a loss for Hogwarts and the wizarding world. Therefore, I hope you are willing to consider this proposition. We have already prepared the school for your son's arrival and I can assure you that he will be safe and well taken care of. I will personally vouch for Remus' health and marks and I will look after him.

If you are willing to accept our offer, I would very much like to talk to you and show you the exact measures we have taken. The staff and I hope to welcome you to Hogwarts very soon.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore,

Headmaster

Another silence filled the room. This was Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards to have ever walked the earth, saying he'd take care of little Remus Lupin. Was this really happening? Remus had to pinch himself once or twice before he realised this was not a dream. He looked at his parents, both aghast.

"John, can you believe this?" his mother asked with a quivering voice. "I can't."

He looked at his father, waiting for his reaction. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day, Remus," he said while frowning. "You've had a rough transformation last night. Get some more sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow." And without another look at his son, he took his wife by the hand and lead her downstairs.

But Remus didn't feel like sleeping. He had never felt less like sleeping. Were his parents actually wondering what to do? Here he was, being offered something everyone had hoped for, and they might refuse to let him go? Why?

Remus got out of bed and silently crept down the stairs. He stopped right next to the sitting room door, which was slightly ajar.

"Helena, please, would you listen? Don't you realise how hard this is going to be on him?" his father said, pounding his fist on the table.

"I do, John, I do. But, you have to realise that this is a chance for him to get to meet new people. To make friends. He could get a job someday," his mother told him. "You know I will never be able to teach him everything."

"Make friends? Do you think people want to make friends with him when they find out he's a werewolf?" John Lupin roared. Remus' stomach clenched. His father had never called him a werewolf. His father was the one who had always impressed on him that he was Remus, just Remus, and that his lycanthropy did not change anything about who he really was.

"Calm down, John, you'll wake Remus. I'm just saying that this is something we could never have dreamed of. He must be the first werewolf to get a chance like this and I'm not going to deny him that chance," his mother said calmly.

"I told you, Helena. We had a deal. There would be no magic in this house. Magic is what turned him into what he is."

That was twice, Remus thought.

"And what is he? He's your son. A very sweet, considerate son who deserves to be in school just like everyone else. He is, like Dumbledore said, not any different from other boys his age. Going to Hogwarts is the best thing that could ever happen to him."

"He is NOT going and that is it! That is the best thing for him!" his father said, hitting the table again.

"Quiet, John! You'll wake Remus," his mother snapped.

"Remus is already awake," Remus said, while stepping into the room. His mother let out a dry sob and his father stood up so quickly that his chair almost fell over.

"Go back to bed, son," he said in a very stern voice.

"No, father. I'm sorry, but I won't," Remus said softly, looking his father right in the eye. "I understand what you're going through, but this is something I want to do and see. I've been given a chance I never thought I'd get and I know that you only want what's best for me and I'm very grateful for that, but this is a chance I'm not letting slip away. I'm willing to trust Professor Dumbledore on this one, and I hope and pray you are too."

Parents have a sixth sense when it comes to their children and it wasn't any different with John and Helena Lupin. They saw the change in their normally composed and reserved son. His eyes lit up and his face even looked a little flushed. He had almost never spoken unless he had been spoken to and he had certainly never tried to go against the wishes of his parents. Yet, there he was, talking enthusiastically. It even seemed he had forgotten the pain and exhaustion his lycanthropy had caused him. It even seemed as if he was an ordinary eleven-year old.

Not even John Lupin could ignore that.

He sighed. "Alright. We'll go and see Dumbledore and listen to what he has to say."

James Potter

He strained his ears, disbelieving them. With a ten year that had the energy of a Chimaera, silence was a rare thing at the Potter residence and chaos was the norm. James had destroyed the kitchen not two mornings ago when he had let a pair of Bludgers loose. It was difficult to maintain a straight face when your son was covered head to toe in flour and wearing an oversized Puddlemere United Quidditch uniform. If it was possible, James had caused more destruction still when his punishment involved cleaning up the mess he was responsible for. Perhaps James had misinterpreted what cleaning up entailed. Instead, he was using the Muggle broom as a Cleansweep and attempting to fly by leaping off of the heavy oak kitchen table.

"They'll be no meals for you James Potter until the kitchen is back to the way it was before you pretended it was a Quidditch pitch!' his mother had said. She could be tough, but it was only because she loved him. She loved her son so much that she had snuck a plate of food into his room just after the guilt set in. It was difficult to be sneaky in a wizarding house.

"DAD!"

The silence had to end sooner or later.

"DAD!" there was an urgent tone in James' voice. "DAD!"

It was an unpleasant feeling in any father's stomach when their child is calling their name in a blood chilling cry. He stumbled a moment, tripping over his own footing as he bolted out of the study. An owl, hardly larger than the loaf of bread it had clenched in its claws, flew overhead and through an open window.

He knew what that meant.

"My Hogwarts letter! I got my Hogwarts letter! I'm going to be in Gryffindor and play Beater on the Quidditch team and I'll be a prefect and have loads of friends and. . ."

"You got your letter?"

"Dad, yeah, I got it!"

He took the letter from his son. The envelope had been unnecessarily torn apart. It was obvious from the stationary and the school seal what it was. James' enthusiasm was entertaining. Even though he had memorized the contents from his own letter years ago, he read it aloud. "Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment." It was then that James snatched the list from his father. "Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31."

"Can we go to Diagon Alley? Mum, can we?" he asked breathlessly as his mother grinned, joining them.

"No, James. We've got everything you need . . ."

"Mum, please?" he begged, tugging on her sleeve and looking at her with irresistible hazel eyes.

"No . . ."

"I haven't got my own broomstick. I'll take a used model! Please?" he begged, jumping up and down so flamboyantly that his glasses slid off of his face and onto the floor.

"No broomsticks for first years," his mother stated, shaking her finger at him.

"How about a new cloak? I've nearly outgrown the cloak I got for Christmas last year."

"James, I don't think so," she sighed. Her hands were held against her hips and she was looking at James with an irritable expression on her face.

"A cauldron?"

"We've got plenty."

"Brass scales?"

"You got new scales for your birthday," she stated. "Scales that you used to measure Fillubusters Finest Firing Powder with!"

It was difficult not to laugh at his son's desperation and wild excitement. It was probable that Azkaban prison could not control James. But, he saw that look on James' face; a luminous grin and wide-eyed expression. Muggles say that a clever idea is like switching a lightbulb on. If that was true, James had a 600 Watt lightbulb hovering above his head.

"I haven't got a toad, or an owl, or a cat."

"Do you remember that lizard you had to have for your eighth birthday? He died before you blew out the candles on your cake!" she exclaimed.

"But, toads are different, mum," he insisted, tugging on her sleeve.

"It's easy for something as small as a toad to get lost in Hogwarts," his father stated. His wife looked at him with a smile, thanking him for his efforts to tame James.

"Could I have an owl? I'll send it to you every week . . ."

"We've already got two owls."

"A cat? Could I please have a cat?"

"James, you're allergic."

"What about books? Don't you think you'll be needing some books?" his father suggested.

"What books?" he asked. It was obvious he wanted to pretend a place a fascinating as Hogwarts was Quidditch all the time, great feasts, and lots of friends. The idea of classes, studying, and homework was painful to James.

"Hogwarts is a school, James. You'll be needing books for your classes." It was stating the obvious but it had to be said.

"Er, can we go to Diagon Alley to get books?" he asked apprehensively, picking his glasses up and slipping them on. His father stretched his hand out, ruffling up James' already untidy hair.

His mother nodded. "If you're on your best behavior, we can get ice cream at Flourentine Frescue as well."

"You won't have to yell at me or send me to the corner! Can I have a Witch Twitty sundae with cream?"

"If you clean your room, we can go tomorrow afternoon," his father suggested.

"Skife can clean my room."

"You'll not be getting the house elf to clean your room," she insisted.

"Has the masters called for me?" Skife asked. He limped into the room dragging a large metal pot and a wooden spoon behind him.

"You're not to clean James' room, Skife," said his mother sternly.

"As mistress wishes Skife not to clean master James' room," he obeyed, bowing in an elegnat movement. James and his father ignored Skife. They were both licking their lips and staring at the pot.

"Tuh! You two are drooling like Hungarian Horntails," she huffed, taking the wooden spoon from Skife.

"What are we having?"

"Is it time to eat?"

"What's the pot for?"

"We're not having stew again, are we?"

"Shush," she silenced them with a wave of her hand. "Skife and I have been preparing a roast, but -"

"But what?" James groaned.

"When the owl post came for master James -" Skife croaked.

"What about my owl post?"

"What does a letter from Hogwarts have to do with roast?" his father questioned.

"Pardon Skife for asking so, master James has received his Hogwarts letter?"

"He has, Skife, and congratulations are in order. Would you be so good as to fetch a bottle of Transylvania Red from the cellar?" his father replied.

"Skife will fetch a bottle from the cellar so the masters can celebrate. Will the masters be wanting goblets?"

"We'll be drinking from the goblets with the Potter crest," father stated, looking at James with pride glinting in his eyes. James grinned, his chest swelling with accomplishment. The Potters rarely used those goblets, James had only seen them once before when his parents hosted a banquet for high society wizards and witches. It was that very banquet in which James was first introduced to the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold,

"Skife will do what the masters ask of him." With the orders obeyed, Skife bowed and swept out of the room, towing the pot behind him. James eyed the pot, now banging as Skife descended the staircase, and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"Mummy, what are we having for dinner?"

"Dinner!" she shrieked abruptly. "That owl took our bread! It certainly deserved a treat for delivering that Hogwarts letter, but that was part of our dinner!"

"Let me give you some advice about Hogwarts, James," his father said, looking his son in the eye very carefully. "It's a great place to be with some fantastic witches and wizards, but don't get on the wrong side of the school owls. If you cross them, be sure to carry an umbrella."