August 31

August 31

Hunston, West Sussex

7:45 a.m.

A sleepy eyed woman with tangled black hair roped into a messy bun knocked lightly on a door at the end of the upstairs hall.

"James?" she called softly, blinking in the morning light that streamed into the wide hall from the picture windows. Regardless of the sun, there was a chill to the morning air that hinted at the approaching fall and the woman shivered slightly, wishing for her slippers. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other on the cold, polished wooden floor and knocked again. "James? Are you up?" No answer.

She opened the door slowly so a beam of morning sun light fell across the bed at the opposite end of the room, but then threw the door open with a roll of her eyes; the eleven-year-old boy who usually was tangled among the tussled bedclothes at this hour was gone.

A boy who could be recognized as the woman's son James even as he climbed, back bent, up the steep hill half a mile away was a rather skinny thing, but moving with a clarity that was surprising. He scrambled around a boulder and skirted a clump of thorny shrubs as he jogged the final few feet to the crown of the grassy hill. Before him stretched a modest sort of grass-covered plateau, this highest point of the surrounding English countryside. He pushed a lock of messy black hair out of his eyes and adjusted his glasses before striking onward. The grass brushed his bare knees; this was the last day he'd be able to wear shorts until next summer and he wanted to take advantage of it. He adjusted his grip on the broomstick he was a toting, a 1930 Silver Arrow, his father's second-rate broom and the one James had learned to fly on. His best friend.

James rounded a thicket of trees, behind which was hidden a sort of glade that gently sloped down to a pond. Here, safe from prying eyes and curious Muggle children, James could fly. Heart pounding with excitement, he mounted and kicked off smoothly, and suddenly the scowl-lines that had lodged themselves on his forehead as September first crept closer vanished; everything was right in the world.

First, a loop-the-loop; hair blown wild and eyes burning slightly from the wind. James adjusted his grip and leaned hard, zipping into the stretch of trees to his left and zigzagged between them deftly. Squinting, he leaned forward and pulled up hard, making a nearly ninety-degree ascension. He burst through the treetops with a shout, scaring up a flock of birds from their roosts. He raced them along uppermost branches, and then swerved sharply back toward the lake. A cocky smile spread across his face as he let go and leaned back, trailing the back of the broom and his fingers in the water. Nothing was better than this.

After a lap around the lake and a couple of figure eights to show off at the frogs, James made a sudden one-eighty and went pelting toward the hill, matching the angle of his broom with the gradual ascent of the hill so the grass whipped his knees again. He imagined the golden walnut-sized ball with wildly fluttering wings zipping just ahead of him...just out of reach...and then...

James closed his fingers on a pebble he spotted on the ground and brought his broom up with a wide victory swoop, the morning sun casting a warm yellow glow on the grass and trees and James himself...

"James Potter!" a shout came from below and James wobbled, dropping the pebble and blinking as he struggled to bring the broom down. An old Silver Arrow like this was the epitome of slim, easily maneuverable brooms, but loose focus and control for one minute and it would crash in a second. The broom jerked to left, fell, jerked left again and then started toward the ground fast. James gripped the handle hard and strained upward...the figure on the ground was waving and shouting something angrily but James wasn't paying attention...finally he brought the broom back under control and landed with only a slightly thump.

"James!" The figure, a tall, well-built man with glasses askew came running toward James, breathing hard. "What do you think your doing?"

"I just won the Quidditch World Cup for England, of course," James replied with a smirk. The man blinked, tried to stifle a chuckle, and failed.

"Ah, Jimmy-lad; I should've known. Your mother's a sight, though. You know how she hates looking in on you only to see an empty bed," Mr. Potter said, taking the broom from his son and putting an arm around James's shoulder. James rolled his eyes.

"Dad, honestly; what could've happened?" If James was expecting another chuckle from hid dad, he was sorely disappointed. Mr., Potter stopped suddenly and spun James around to face him.

"What could've happened you ask? Are you an idiot, boy?" he said fiercely, scowling at James in all seriousness. James, surprised, could only blink. "Have you no brain, Mister Potter? Do you think that just because you're on a broom your safe from Voldemort?"

James blanched. Mr. Potter's face softened slightly and he gave his son's shoulders a squeeze.

Mr. Potter worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so he knew a lot about the trouble Voldemort was causing when most of the magical community only saw widely spaced articles in the Daily Prophet about what the self-proclaimed Dark Lord and his gang of "Death Eaters" were doing. The Daily Prophet often made a joke of the story, but Mr. Potter read other newspapers, Muggle papers, that were reporting missing persons and several mysterious deaths that weren't so mysterious to him. And he felt it was only a matter of time before this Voldemort fellow ran rampant in the magical world if people continued joking about him. Therefore, little James often heard his mother and father talking in hushed voices in the kitchen about Voldemort, and sometimes guests James didn't know would come over and James would be sent up to his room for a while.

So when his dad said James could have been in danger concerning the guy people were speaking about in whispers, he'd been surprised and troubled. Mr. Potter saw this and immediately regretted bursting out like that; as if the boy needed to worry about that now, when he was going to Hogwarts tomorrow. There'd be plenty of time later for him to worry about Voldemort.

Mr. Potter patted his son's shoulder affectionately and started walking beside him again.

"I'm sorry, son," he said quietly. "There's no reason for me to think Voldemort's around here; no reason to frighten you like that."

James was quiet a minute.

"I wasn't frightened," he said at last, and Mr. Potter smiled up at the blue sky stretched over them.

"You just need to know, James, that the world isn't safe. You need to always be alert and on guard, cause there are messed up people up there. You want to choose your friends carefully, always have the measure of your enemies, and use your brain."

"I will, Dad," James replied solemnly. They were walking down the hill now, and Mr. Potter took James's hand as they navigated a particularly rocky part.

"Naturally you'll be safe at Hogwarts; Dumbledore's the most brilliant wizard alive and the most powerful one around. I reckon Hogwarts is perhaps the safest place for anyone to be right about now."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's cool," James said absently. He extracted his hand from his father's and skipped over a rather large rock, landing nimbly on his feet. Mr. Potter saw him slide on some pebbles and expertly weave between some prickly shrubs, and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"There you are, James, I was driven to distraction with worry!" Mrs. Potter said when Mr. Potter and James had gotten home. She hugged her son, then batted him sharply on the cheek. "What were you thinking? Flying that old broom around, in plain sight too!"

"I was down behind the glade, Mom," James replied sourly as he stowed the broomstick in the hall closet.

"He was fine, Ellen, don't fuss," Mr. Potter assured his wife as he headed upstairs. "Come and help me with the bags, James!"

James leapt up the stairs two at a time. He and his parents were going to London today, since they lived quite a drive from King's Cross. They had already booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron to spend the night, so James would have plenty of time to get to the Hogwarts Express, and then Mr. and Mrs. Potter would spend a few days in London as a sort of holiday before returning to the house, which, Mrs. Potter often lamented, was going to be so awfully quiet without James running around.

He helped his father drag down his Hogwarts trunk that was once his father's (Jeremiah was his father's name, and Mrs. Potter had been delighted they hadn't had to change the monogramming and told James he simply had to name his son with a 'j' name so he could use the same trunk; James privately swore he wouldn't, just so his son would get a new trunk), and then sat down to a quick breakfast while his parents loaded up the car with their own bags and James's trunk. James ate fast and tried to sneak the broom into the car, but his mother caught him.

"You know first years aren't allowed broomsticks, James, don't even try," she'd scolded as she but the broom safely on the closet shelf.

Some quick bathroom checks; Mrs. Potter washed her son's face again, and they pulled out, only to go back when James exclaimed he'd forgotten his wand.

"How do you expect to get anywhere if you can't remember something like your wand!" Mrs. Potter exclaimed as James bolted back into the house.

Finally they were off, down the lane that would take them to the highway, that would take them straight to London, to King's Cross station, and then to Hogwarts.

196B Richardson Way, Gravesend, Kent

10:50 a.m.

"Peter!" chubby, blond and exhausted Mrs. Pettigrew called shrilly from her post at the kitchen sink, soapy pots and pans towering before her. A small girl sitting on the linoleum floor with pasty white skin and straggly blond hair shrieked in response, and the plump woman at the sink spun around in a panic. "Denise! Oh Denise, Denise, what's the matter?"

"Mother, please!" An older girl with the same pale features hurried into the kitchens and laid a hand on the arm of her hysterical mother. She bent her slim form and picked up the bony girl that was now squeaking with tears leaking from her watery blue eyes.

"Oh Louise, sweet," Mrs. Pettigrew panted, straightening. "I thought for certain she was going to.... going to..."

"The Healer said that herb tea would cure Denise of the seizures, Mother," Louise said quietly, rocking the little girl gently. "Where's Raggie?"

Mrs. Pettigrew flew from one end of the kitchen in search of the faded rag doll that once belonged to the sensibly dressed young woman with soft gray eyes that was rocking the little girl expertly.

Just then, a chubby boy with features to match his sister's entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Mama?" the boy mumbled as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. But he stepped on the hem of his too-long pajama pants and collided with the kitchen table. The resulting bang surprised baby Denise, who started crying again. Mrs. Pettigrew was whimpering slightly as she shuffled through cookbooks, last night's dinner plates, and this morning's bills.

Louise helped Peter to his feet and set to quieting Denise while she helped Mrs. Pettigrew look for the rag doll.

"What are looking for?" Peter asked his sisters as he rolled up his pant legs again.

"Raggie, have you seen her?"

"Mama was washing her yesterday."

"That's right!" Mrs. Pettigrew exclaimed, and bolted to the laundry closet off the kitchen. Louise pecked Peter on the head as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Have a good rest?"

"I woke up a few times," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Any more nightmares?" Louise asked shrewdly. Peter blushed and looked down at the floor.

"I dreamt I missed the train, but this kid stuck his hand out a window and I grabbed it; the kid and his friends were laughing but they tried to help me in, but then the window was closing and they weren't pulling me in fast enough..." He trailed off absently, looking at the icebox, cabinets, and Louise in turn. His older sister smirked.

"Sorry, I'm late at the shop as it is; I didn't have time to make breakfast this morning."

"Awww," Peter looked crestfallen. "Why not?" Louise sighed, and just then, Mrs. Pettigrew burst from the laundry room.

"Here it is!" She shouted jubilantly, and bustled over to Louise. "Here, love, I'll take her for you." She took Denise into her arms and snuggled the doll close to the little girl's face. Louise looked slightly annoyed; it was she, Louise, who had quieted the baby and who had told her mother to get the doll. But sweet Louise, Peter noted, didn't say anything. Rather, she swept back into the living room.

Peter watched his mother rock Denise contentedly for a few minutes, then cleared his throat. She didn't notice.

"Mama?" he asked tentatively.

"Hmm?" Mrs. Pettigrew responded absently as she kissed Denise affectionately.

"What about breakfast?"

"Oh Peter, I just remembered," said Mrs. Pettigrew suddenly, looking up. Peter guessed it didn't have anything to do with breakfast. "Mr. Helmers came over earlier and asked me if I would send you to the shop with Louise to help stock the shelves."

"Ma-ma," Peter whined, slouching. "It's the last day of the holidays; I'm going to school tomorrow!"

"Yes...well..." Mrs. Pettigrew looked uncomfortable. "Peter you ought to go anyway; today's nothing special anyway."

"But mama-"

"He's going to pay three Sickles an hour for it, Petey, please."

"The last day of holiday-"

"Peter!" Mrs. Pettigrew exclaimed, face flushed. "The bills I delayed when we went to Diagon Alley last week arrived this morning and we need every Knut! You'll spend all day at Mr. Helmers if you want to go to Hogwarts!" Denise squeaked at this sudden outburst and Mrs. Pettigrew looked harassed all of a sudden. "Louise!" she shouted, and Peter's eldest sister swept back into the kitchen. Without a word she took the now squealing Denise from her mother and went back into the living room. Mrs. Pettigrew wrung out her chubby hands and turned back to the kitchen sink. Peter grunted.

"At least Louise gets to keep what she earns-"

"Louise has graduated from Hogwarts!" Mrs. Pettigrew squawked. "She had to work over the summers to pay for school supplies just like you!"

"Not as often!" Peter countered with a frown. He was very annoyed; he was going to Hogwarts tomorrow, people should be hugging him and kissing him and making his favorite dishes...like strawberry tarts with whipped cream, something he'd very much like to eat this morning.

"That's because...that's because....' Mrs. Pettigrew faltered, blinking rapidly, and then burst into sobs that fell like rain into the kitchen sink. Peter's eyes grew wide with astonishment at this development, but didn't have long to worry about what he should do; Louise came in then.

"Peter, go in the living room and watch Denise for a minute."

"I don't know how to-"

"Just make sure she stays asleep," Louise hissed at her brother while she directed her mother away from the sink.

Peter obeyed quickly; whenever Louise snapped like that, it meant all dawdling got him was a smack on the bottom and threats of no supper. He sat quietly on the drooping sofa next to the pillow and neatly folded sheet Louise slept under, watching Denise's chest rise and fall where she lay in the rickety bassinet set up near the fireplace. The living room was heated only by that great stone fireplace, not very well either, and this morning had been so chilly Louise had piled three little quilts on Denise and set her very close to the magical flames. He swung his feet slightly; they only just touched the floor, even though Healer Ambrosia had said (very kindly, he thought) he'd been doing a lot of growing this year.

Louise poked her head in a few minutes later.

"Come back in the kitchen, Peter; breakfast is ready."

Glad he was finally going to eat something, Peter hopped up and scurried back to hi seat. What he saw made his face fall. One poached egg on toast, with a spoonful of jam and some milk.

'That's all I've got time to make, so eat it," Louise snapped without looking at him. With rolled up sleeves she set to finishing the dishes; Mrs. Pettigrew was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Mama?" he asked, mouth full of toast. It may not be much, but it was breakfast,

"Resting, like she should have last night instead of doing all that mending for the Brinkley's'," Louise said scornfully. "She needs to manage her time properly."

"Well, we need the money," Peter replied with a shrug. Louise sighed and scowled at him.

"You weren't saying that a few minutes ago, were you?" she said angrily. Peter blushed.

"But Mr. Helmers-"

"-is very nice for offering to pay you for stocking his shelves,' Louise cut across him as she turned back to the dishes. "If you want to go to Hogwarts at all next year you'll do what he tells you and get all the Sickles you can out of it. You're going to start having to look out for yourself; no one else is going to do it for you."

Peter said nothing, only ate his egg quietly. Louise finished the dishes very quickly, working steadily the whole time. She sorted them into the ones they owned and those Mrs. Pettigrew washed for the little cafe downstairs. Peter watched her heave the bucket to the top of stairs in the corner of the kitchen and set them in the little elevator so Ajhib, the cook, would get them for the mid-morning rush.

"How are the eggs?" Louise asked briskly as she set to organizing the mail, cookbooks and dirty dishes still left.

"Runny," Peter replied sullenly, feeling miserable.

"Eat them anyway; Mr. Helmers doesn't give lunch breaks." Peter knew this; he'd worked for Mr. Helmer off and on all summer to save up for his school robes and cauldron and wand (under the table and rather illegally of course; how else were they to pay for all those books?), but being reminded that this was all he was going to get until supper was disheartening.

Louise, meanwhile, had put all the mail into neat piles and generally tidied up the kitchen. She checked her watch.

"It's ten past eleven now; I'm leaving in ten minutes." Louise looked at Peter. "I want you washed, dressed and ready to go in at seven, got it?"

"Yes, Louise," Peter mumbled, poking at what was left of his egg sadly. Louise sighed rather exasperatedly, and came over to give his shoulder and awkward sort of pat.

"It's not so bad, working at Helmers," she said quietly. "You know it's not. And think; once you get to Hogwarts you won't have to bother with that old badger for nine months!"

"Yeah," was all Peter said to this attempt to cheer him up. Louise stood there for a minute, then, grumbling a little, hurried back to finish putting the rest of the house back in order. Peter swallowed his last gulp of milk and thought hopefully of tomorrow, when he'd get to have a proper dinner at Hogwarts at least.

31 Silvercross Street, St. Paul's Walden, Hertfordshire

4:15 p.m.

A light brown haired head bobbed slightly along the top of a well groomed hedge as Remus Lupin rounded the corner onto Silvercross Street, a stick in his hand gently tapping against the low picket fence that penned in his family's modest garden and cottage. He was humming a song none of the Muggles on the street would have recognized; it was a song by the Titans, his mother's favorite group from her girlhood. His mind was blissfully free from worries at the moment as he clicked his stick along; it was two weeks from the last full moon and two weeks until the next. He was a normal eleven-year-old boy who was going to Hogwarts tomorrow.

Hogwarts...the name had only been whispered around his house the last few years. Until his letter arrived near the beginning of the month his parents had been sure a werewolf like Remus wouldn't be allowed to attend school. Mr. Lupin had already started arranging setting up a home schooling schedule for his son, for both of his parents were determined that their son get a proper education, regardless of what the Ministry said. They hadn't even registered Remus as a werewolf, in fear that he'd be labeled forever as a monster, before he even had a chance.

Remus had always assumed he'd never go to Hogwarts; he hadn't even known about the school until last year, when his parents sat him down and explained the situation. And then, he had merely shrugged off the fact he could never go; if he could go, why get upset about it?

But when he'd gotten the letter... his parents had been so pleased and proud it was infectious. Suddenly they were full of stories of their time at Hogwarts. Mr. Lupin had been Ravenclaw and Mrs. Lupin had been a Hufflepuff; they had both loved Ancient Runes and had met in their third year when they both signed up for it. Remus thought fondly of all their stories, stories he figured other kids might have grown up listening to, but his parents had kept quiet for his sake.

He got to the gate of his garden and flipped the latch, closing it quietly behind him and meandering across the well-kept lawn, flicking his stick at the flowers that grew along the edge of his cottage. Both his parents had worked for a company that did research on the ancient wizards of England, but since Remus was bitten his mother quit and his father worked only locally, which meant, not very often. They had discovered gardening as a hobby, and often dragged Remus into spring plantings and weedings all through the summer. Remus, though he didn't appreciate this loved his parents because they loved him so much, regardless of...his condition as they called it, and he felt very lucky to have them. And since he'd gotten his letter-that one piece of post had brought so much joy with it!-life had been nearly perfect at the Lupin cottage.

Nearly perfect.

Often, like now, Remus would walk in on his parents talking in whispers, or his father looking very stressed as he poured over a letter, or his mother pacing. Now, the house was silent, except for some hushed, urgent voices he could hear through the door to the kitchen.

".... a Whomping what!?"

"...safety precaution.... no one can get by.... school nurse knows..."

"...Dumbledore's...finished it yet?"

".... says everything's.... don't worry."

Remus didn't try to decipher what all of it meant; but it wasn't comforting. He slid down the wall next to the door and twirled the stick in his hands. It was about the length of the wand his parents had bought him in Diagon Alley several weeks ago.

"Ten and a quarter inches...elm, rather bendy I'd say...good for defensive spells and charms...unicorn hair and dragon heartstring center...unusual combination but, as I say the wand chooses the, erm, wizard, doesn't it." So said Mr. Ollivander with a significant and piercing look at Remus. So piercing, Remus had felt certain the old wand-maker had known the truth.

"Remus!" Mrs. Lupin exclaimed softly. Her dark eyes were wide with surprise to see him; her long fingers were fingering the folds of her skirt nervously. She had just quit the kitchen and noticed her son sitting there by the door.

"Mother!" Remus leapt to his feet. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening, just...sitting."

"Oh," Mrs. Lupin blinked, then smiled and hugged her son. She had been hugging him and kissing him very often since he got the letter.

Mr. Lupin left the kitchen just behind his wife, and smiled down at them. He was very gray, though he had once had soft, slightly wavy brown hair like Remus's.

Mrs. Lupin straightened; ad Remus noticed his parent's smiles fade slightly.

"Remus?" his father said gently. "We need to talk about what's going to happen when you get to Hogwarts."

Remus followed his parents into the with bated breath. They led him down the hall, past the sitting room, dining room and guest bedroom to the kitchen. Remus sighed; the kitchen meant it wasn't bad or very serious news, merely news.

Mrs. Lupin put a teapot on the stove and Mr. Lupin sat across the table from Remus, who glanced from his mother to his father and back expectantly.

"All right, Remus," Mr. Lupin began. "The full moon is in two weeks, right?"

"Right," Remus answered, wondering what all this was about.

"That night, you'll need to go to Madam Pomfrey's office off the Hospital Wing. She'll take you outside to a tree called the Whomping Willow."

"Whomping Willow?" asked Remus, disbelievingly.

"Yes," Mrs. Lupin looked slightly worried. "Professor Dumbledore said there is a knot at the base of it that makes it freeze when you want to get into it-"

"Into it?" This wasn't making any sense.

"There's a tunnel under the base of the tree," Mr. Lupin explained. "It leads to a house in Hogsmeade. It hasn't been occupied for years and years, and it's all boarded up; the only way in or out is this tunnel from the Willow. Madam Pomfrey will send you down the tunnel into this house, where you can safely transform and spend the night. Then Madame Pomfey will come and get you when she can smuggle you back into the castle unnoticed." Mr. Lupin spoke in a very controlled tone, but Remus knew it hurt him to say all this, to have his son harbor such a secret, to have to do all this. But Remus had heard his parents talk long and hard about this: they were determined for Remus to get an education.

"Professor Dumbledore says it's important for you to keep your...condition, a secret, Remmy," Mrs. Lupin said quietly. "He said he thought some people were bound to be suspicious, and he stressed that you try your very hardest to be sure none of your friends find out about...find out."

Remus nodded, understanding completely. Any of his classmates or friends who found out was sure to write home about, blab it to the school, and get Remus kicked out and Dumbledore in trouble. That is, if he made any friends.

His parents must have noticed the worry in their son's face, because they smiled sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Remmy love," Mrs. Lupin said, hugging him again. "Everything is arranged; everything'll be fine."

After that, Mrs. Lupin set to making dinner and Mr. Lupin said he had some owls to send, so Remus went upstairs to his room and flopped onto his bed.

Hogwarts...his parents had hoped beyond hope that he would someday be able to attend, to get the best magical education to be had in England. The name had never been spoken above a whisper in their cottage, and now he was going.

I'll never fit in, thought Remus into his pillow. Even the Muggles here know something's wrong with me; they all hurry away whenever I'm around...the kids at Hogwarts'll be the same...they'll know I'm...abnormal.

It was the only word he could come up with and it disgusted him. That wasn't supposed to matter. People were supposed to accept each other; that's what his parents had always taught him.

"But I'm the one everyone's going to have to accept," Remus muttered sullenly. He rolled over and looked at the wall. "And no one's going to befriend a werewolf.

Unless they never find out...

"I'll just keep it a secret; no one'll ever know," he said, more to convince himself than anything. He sat up. "I'll tell them...my mother's sick and I need to visit her. That...that dinner didn't agree with me. I'll tell them I've got to go to the library...I lost my wand...I left my books at dinner..."

Coming up with stories to tell his curious classmates helped; it was some way to prepare, and it made him feel better.

He flopped back onto his back and noticed the calendar hanging across the room. Two weeks from the last red circle, two weeks until the next. He was just a normal kid.

12 Grimmauld Place, London

7:00 p.m.

Sirius Black silently pressed his fork into his potatoes, making crisscross patterns. He liked potatoes and usually had second helpings whenever they were served, but tonight he was too distracted. He hardly saw his meal as he mutilated it, squashing the peas and slicing the carrots up with his fork. His mind was far away at King's Cross Station, boarding the Hogwarts Express...

"Sirius isn't eating again," whined a boy sitting across the table from Sirius, dragging him back to reality.

"Eat, Sirius," drawled a regal looking gentleman at the head of the table disinterestedly before taking a sip of wine. Sirius shot the other boy a nasty look and stuck out his tongue before forcing a forkful of steak into his dry mouth.

"Mother, Sirius stuck his tongue out at me!" the boy exclaimed in a shrill voice as he pointed a finger at Sirius.

"Leave your brother alone, Sirius," a woman at the opposite end of the table from the regal looking gentleman snapped, scowling at Sirius through narrowed eyes that glittered like black stones in the wavering candlelight.

"I will if he stops being a prat," Sirius muttered, glaring at his brother across the table.

"You will not call Regulus names!" the woman spat with a glowering look at her eldest son. Sirius said nothing as he tried to ignore his brother's smug look.

"I say, Mrs. Black," the regal looking gentleman as he swirled his silver goblet thoughtfully as silence fell on the table. Sirius's parents always referred to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Black; it made for very dull conversations in Sirius's opinion. "We will have to thank Jacques for recommending it to us."

"Yes," Mrs. Black agreed with a slight nod of her silver head. "Mr. Malfoy is indeed a knowledgeable wine expert."

"The wine at Lucius's wedding was superb," remarked Mr. Black as he set to cutting up his meat.

"I'm so glad Narcissa has settled down with such an agreeable match," Mrs. Black commented with a smile that looked out of place and did not spread to her eyes.

Just then, Regulus flicked a carrot at Sirius, and it landed with a quiet splash in his drink. Sirius looked up and met his mother's eyes, which were scowling at him.

"Stop playing with your food, Sirius," she hissed. "One would think it was Regulus who was old enough to go to Hogwarts." Regulus was smirking and trying not to laugh. Sirius only blinked as outrage flooded him; he looked down at his food when he noticed his mother looking at him quizzically.

"I heard Bellatrix was named Slytherin prefect this year," droned on Mr. Black after another sip of wine.

"She and Narcissa are such intelligent girls; they take after their father, I daresay," Mrs. Black replied. She watched her husband drain his goblet. "More wine, Mr. Black?"

"Yes, actually."

Mrs. Black rang a tiny silver bell and in scurried the family house elf, Kreacher; his bat-like ears flapping and long nose brushing the polished hardwood floor as he bowed low near Mrs. Black's chair.

"Yes Mistress?" he said to the floor in a silkily submissive voice.

"Bring Mr. Black another bottle of that new wine, Kreacher, and quickly," Mrs. Black ordered without looking at him, helping herself to some more potatoes.

"Yes Mistress." Kreacher bowed again and seemed to vanish.

After a moment Mrs. Black turned to Regulus.

"Are you looking forward to school, Regulus?" she asked in an almost gentle voice. Sirius scowled darkly at his food; he was the one going to Hogwarts, Regulus was just going back to their primary school.

"Yes," Regulus replied half-interestedly. "I just hope there aren't as many mudbloods this year."

"I still don't believe they allow filth like that in the school," Mrs. Black snorted. Regulus looked eager.

"Last year the lot of them dominated all the classes; I could hardly ever get a word in edgewise!"

"As if you were paying attention," Sirius muttered crossly as he cut up his beans with a little too much enthusiasm. No one seemed to notice he'd spoken.

"Insubordinate, thankless scum, if you ask me," said Mrs. Black with fervor.

"Those in your class were the top six of the class, weren't they?" Mrs. Black remarked with displeasure. Regulus nodded.

"I suppose that why the headmaster saw fit fore them to attend," Mrs. Black replied. "They're smart enough."

"I just wish they'd all be gone!" Regulus exclaimed, and his parents beamed at him.

"Yeah, then you wouldn't look like an idiot quite so often," Sirius said suddenly, hardly realizing he'd said it. All he knew was this high talk of theirs was disgusting. He knew the truth: Regulus was an idiot, no matter what his parents thought. The three of them were just sore that mudbloods had gotten better grades then their pure blood son. "Sirius!" Mrs. Black exclaimed, her eyes narrowed again and the gentleness in her voice but a memory. "How dare you say that about your brother when it's the trouble you get into we are always hearing about!" Sirius only sighed and looked back at his dinner.

He was so furious he did even notice the change in his parent's conversation (that Voldemort fellow who was causing such a ruckus at the Ministry; he knew how to deal with the mudblood problem). I, thought Sirius venomously, have been cursed with Regulus as a brother; Regulus, the favorite son who got away with everything; Regulus, the gifted son who never did anything wrong; Regulus, the boy who thought he was so much better than halfblooded wizards he tried to beat them up and get them into trouble. But his brother's crimes would not go unpunished.

Sirius waited until his parents had begun talking again before executing his revenge. He loaded three peas onto his spoon and set it lying innocently on his plate, aimed directly at Regulus's face. Right as his mother lifted her glass and wasn't able to see her sons, he let the peas fly. All three smacked Regulus on the forehead, and then two of them rolled of his long nose into his drink; one of them remained stuck to his forehead.

"Mother!" Regulus shrieked, slamming down his goblet so the watered-down wine spilled all over the tablecloth.

"Regulus!" Mrs. Black said, startled.

"He threw his food at me!" Regulus said in the same screeching tone, pointing dramatically at Sirius, who was snorted into his plate. Mrs. Black's eyes narrowed and they glittered with dislike as she looked from Regulus to Sirius.

"Sirius Black!" she shouted in a callous voice. "You will remember your manners and dignity at this table or you will leave!"

Sirius rolled his eyes and got up.

"Then I'll be excused, if you don't mind," he muttered.

"Don't you use that tone of voice with me young man!" Mrs. Black was nearly roaring now. "Get back here this instant!"

"I'm going to pack," Sirius replied over his shoulder. He ducked out of the dining room and went up the stairs two at a time. He was careful to slam the door behind him when he got into his bedroom and he flopped unceremoniously onto his wrought iron bed with a thick, down-filled comforter that seemed to swallow him slowly as he lie there. He leapt to his feet with a curse and went over to his favorite window.

To the Muggles in the street below, his window was boarded up and always darkened. But it was really a handsome, tall window with a little seat built under it and thick drapes hanging on either side. Sirius climbed onto the seat and drew the curtains slightly so he was hidden from view and slouched there, gazing out unseeingly at the street below him.

This was the only spot in his room, no, his house, that was comfortable for him. Sirius had never had any say in how his bedroom looked; on it's walls hung two portraits of members of his family tree and an ancient map of England with tiny sea monsters that prowled around the edges and sometimes kept Sirius up at night, though he wasn't about to tell anyone.

His father might laugh, or say something like learning to ignore the monsters was a character building experience. And his mother? He might as well try and find comfort from the monsters themselves.

But if Regulus was scared of something in his room...

Sirius humphed and clenched his fists around the pillow in his lap. Regulus, the darling Black boy; Regulus, Mother's favorite son; Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. Somewhere in his head a sensible voice protested that his parents behavior was natural, seeing as Regulus was the youngest. But that quiet little voice had no foothold in Sirius's brain, sensible as it was. Sirius knew the real reason: Regulus was a much better son to the heads of the sprawling Black family.

But before Sirius was able to throw himself into a mental tirade about Regulus, someone knocked sharply on his door and entered.

"Sirius?" a gruff voice sounded and, with a sigh, Sirius pulled his drapes back and hopped off his seat to face his father.

Mr. Black raised his eyebrows as he saw his son appear from behind the drapes, but said nothing. Hands clasped behind his back, he began rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, all the while looking Sirius square in the face.

"As you know, you are going to Hogwarts tomorrow," he began and Sirius sighed. Here it comes...

"As you also know, the Black family has a proud Slytherin tradition. I realize that it is out of your control which house you are Sorted into, and I hope you know that whatever House you are in, the most important thing is getting an education you can use later in life."

Sirius managed a nod, hoping his father would think that enough, and would leave.

But Mr. Black wasn't finished.

He went on to describe the more prestigious members of the family who had been in Slytherin and their accomplishments after Hogwarts, and he described his own confidence that his first born son would not fail to compound the honor of their name and to uphold the high expectations the entire Black clan had for him, the heir of the family residence and fortune.

It was nearly an hour before Mr. Black rose.

"And so, Sirius, I leave you with all this to think about. Go to sleep and sleep well, my son."

And he left.

Sirius's mind was blank; only after several minutes did his thoughts come back into focus. He was left to think about how the entire legacy of the Black family rested on his shoulders, rested on his being sorted into Slytherin.

"Sleep well, yeah right," he muttered as he swung his legs back onto the window seat and stared outside.

16 Bellflower Court, West Malling, Kent

8:45 p.m.

Lily Evans sat at her bedroom desk, head bent over a pile of black cloth with a bright desk lamp shining on her shimmering red hair. She was completely oblivious to the rattling gale outside her bedroom window or the pelting raindrops that were nearly drowning out the radio by her bed. She had no idea of the gathering darkness around the edges of the circle of light the desk lamp so valiantly struggled against. She didn't notice her tall, bony and sneering older sister Petunia peer around the doorframe and snort contemptuously at her. It was August 31: tomorrow she was going to Hogwarts.

Eleven-year-old Lily was in going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And though she'd had a thoroughly enjoyable summer, particularly since she'd received her letter, she was thrilled to the point of dancing and singing all day to be finally going. She'd already looked through her school books (and a couple extra books she'd bought for background reading) and was positively delighted with what she found and couldn't wait to try her hand at magic. With magic I could fix this hem in a second, she thought, slightly annoyed, as she thought of the various housekeeping charms she'd found in her books that could easily mend a torn and fraying school cloak.

Of course, she could wait until she got to school to fix it with magic, but who wanted to mend clothes on the Hogwarts Express? No one, and certainly not Lily Evans. And she didn't want to show up at school with frayed hems. That wasn't very classy at all.

Lily, however, had more than a desire to look nice on her first day of school to keep her bent over a needle and thread in the fading light. She borrowed the needles and threads from her mother earlier that evening, and Petunia had overheard Lily explaining why she needed the materials and why she couldn't possible allow their ill mother do the mending for her.

"You? Sew something?" Petunia snorted with a flounce of her brassy, very dyed hair.

"I can sew very well, actually, Petunia," Lily had replied evenly, though she did scowl defiantly.

"Even without that little stick you treasure so much?" snickered Petunia before spinning out of the living room before Mrs. Evans could summon enough strength to punish her.

"Never mind her, Lily," Mrs. Evans had murmured. She readjusted the shawl about her shoulders and settled back into her recliner. "Are you sure I can't mend it for you love?"

"No, Mom, I can do it," Lily protested, smoothing her mother's lap quilt. Mrs. Evans brushed her daughter's hands away.

"I won't fuss if you won't." Lily blushed and stood up.

"Thanks Mom."

"Don't mention it, Lils," Mrs. Evans said with a smile and picked her book up again.

So Lily had more at stake than her sense of style; she'd never, ever allow Petunia to best her at anything. Petunia had never liked Lily and Lily knew it. From when they were little girls, Petunia took everything she could from Lily; toys, hair elastics, books she'd never read but loved to see Lily search frantically for. And though she couldn't steal friends of Lily's for herself, Petunia thoroughly enjoyed getting Lily and her little friends into fights. Nothing made Petunia happier than to see Lily miserable. All Lily could do was try and not be miserable if she could, thus she had become a perpetual optimistic, very cool and rational in the face of adversity, much to Petunia's annoyance.

Lily squinted at her stitches in the fading light. She ran her finger over them and stretched them, and then nodded; they passed her test. There, that was done.

She folded the cloak and placed it in her trunk, the last thing she had to pack, and then shut the trunk with a decisive click. It was now, alone in her semi-dark room with nothing else to do, that a little quiver of something that was not excitement skipped across her shoulders. What if she wasn't really going to Hogwarts? What if they'd made a mistake? What if she got there and didn't know anything? What if nobody liked her or thought she was queer because she came form a Muggle house? What if.... what if.... what if... Horrible thoughts floated through her head, each more fantastic than the last, until she was almost frantic. She stood, rooted to the spot, eyes wide as the wind howled outside. She wouldn't make any friends; people would make fun of her hair like Petunia called her carrot-head; she'd fail all her lessons...

"That's nonsense," Lily said sharply to herself, closing her eyes in an attempt to regain control. I'm a good student, aren't I? I get good grades at school here, don't I?

Ah, said a voice in her head, but you're going to Hogwarts, which is very different from primary school.

I'm going to work hard and pay attention and do all the assignments and I'll be fine, thought Lily defiantly. "I'll be fine!"

"Lily?" a quivering voice snapped Lily's reverie in half. Lily spun around to see her mother, supported by her father, enter her room.

"Oh! I didn't notice you there..." Lily muttered embarrassedly. Mr. and Mrs. Evans sat down on Lily's bed and Mrs. Evans motioned toward Lily's trunk.

"Have you packed your cloak already?"

"Oh, yes, but I can take it out again." Lily threw the trunk open and pulled out her cloak so her mother could see how she'd done at mending. Mrs. Evans examined it for a full minute before giving it back to her daughter with a wide smile.

"Well done, love," Mrs. Evans said quietly. Lily grinned and put her cloak away; behind her, Mrs. Evans clutched her husband's hand and blinked back tears.

"Lily," Mr. Evans cleared his throat as Lily turned around again. "Your mother and I just wanted to make sure you knew the plan for tomorrow-"

"I get up at five to make breakfast while you set Mr. Dingsley up at the office for the day. Petunia and I wait outside with our luggage until you come home. Your drop me off at King's Cross and then drive Petunia to her school," Lily rattled off the carefully constructed and perfectly timed plan her father had developed for the day.

"Absolutely correct!" Mr. Evans said, and then he grinned sheepishly. "You don't mind being dropped off, of course-"

"Don't worry, Dad." Lily smiled confidently. "I know what to do."

"No, love," Mrs. Evans said softly. "You won't mind going off to school the first time all alone."

"Oh," said Lily, blinking. That had never occurred to her, but of course she was going to be entirely alone boarding the Hogwarts Express...none one would be there to wave her off or hug her one last time...

Her mother's eyes suddenly filed with tears and Lily blinked again.

"Of course I don't mind," she said quickly. "I have to, don't I?"

"I knew you wouldn't," Mr. Evans said quickly, giving his wife's hand a squeeze. "Anyway, we need to make sure Petunia knows the plan as well-"

"Wait, Gerald," Mrs. Evans said as her husband made to stand up and help her to her feet. She looked very hard at Lily. "I love you, Lils, and I'm very, very proud of you. Don't forget now."

"I won't, Mom," Lily whispered. "I love you too." Mrs. Evans smiled and Lily threw her arms around her mother. "I'll be wonderful, I promise."

"I know you will," choked Mrs. Evans as she hugged her youngest daughter tightly. Mr. Evans coughed and gave Lily's shoulder a squeeze. Lily couldn't help it; she let go of her mother and hugged her father round the middle.

"There's a good girl," he said gruffly and gave Lily a kiss on the forehead. He helped his wife to her feet and guided her toward the door.

"Good night, Lily," Mrs. Evans called over her shoulder as she shuffled into the hall.

"See you at five-thirty sharp," shouted Mr. Evans. Lily nodded.

"Good night!"