Chapter I: Hogwarts

James is finally at Hogwarts and finds his new roommates rather curious.

September, 1971.

The ruby red steam engine pulls out of the station with a last whistle and James doesn't even bother to hang out of the window and offer his final wave to the shrinking figures of his parents, he's far too excited.

This is it. He is going to Hogwarts.

Whilst everyone else is at the windows James runs through the corridor of the train, grinning. He's already stowed his case in the very last compartment in the very last carriage but he's made his way from there to the engine at the front, exploring, and he's on his way back now. He jumps over the gap between the two carriages with wild abandon and with the foolish smile still stitched to his face, and as he turns to shut the door between them he hears a cracking of shoe soles on the wooden carriage floor. There's someone behind him; he's been caught, and he can feel an embarrassed heat soaking rapidly into his cheeks.

James turns; a tall boy, maybe half a foot taller than James, with wavy charcoal-coloured hair that falls just below his ears, is watching him. He's got razor sharp features, sky high cheekbones, and there's a swirling fog misting his eyes. A sneer rolls down the boy's nose as his eyes rake up and down, taking in James's thatch of messy hair and his carelessly-laced shoes. His shirt is pressed and pristine- it's blinding white and it looks like it's made from crystal- and his trousers are far too tailored for a train ride to school. His shoes are smart, shiny, and as slick as tar. He's got fine aristocratic features and an air of superiority that makes James feel like he's suffocating.

James squares his shoulders and stands like his father taught him to; straight backed and proud. He's trying to be imposing, but the boy is completely oblivious to it. James looks at him again- really looks at him- and notices the way his shirt hangs out of his waistband, how his top button dangles from a thread like it's been pulled at, and how his trousers bunch at the pockets from where he's stuffed something- James thinks it might be some rumpled sweet boxes. There's a ray of sunlight breaking through the storm cloud eyes, and the sneer isn't a sneer at all. It's a smirk and it pulls at the corner of his mouth and somehow doesn't look out of place.

"Cool trainers." The boy praises. It isn't derisive or disparaging, he sounds impressed- genuinely impressed. "They're-" He pauses, rolling the right word around on his tongue until he's comfortable with it. His eyebrows knit together. "-Adidas, aren't they?"

James nods. The boy pronounces it ah-deed-as and its endearing but James doesn't correct him because they're muggle shoes, and he isn't entirely sure he pronounces it right, either.

"Are you a muggle?" James asks- he can't stop himself, but the boy doesn't seem offended and laughs the question off, shaking his head.

"Why aren't you waving your parents off?" It's James's incessant curiosity that drives the constant questions and he wishes he would listen to his mother for once and hold his tongue, but it's no use.

If it is rude, the boy is polite enough to ignore it. "Why aren't you?" He counteracts swiftly.

James grins. "Fair point." He rubs a bit of dirt off his hand onto his cord trousers- where it has come from, he hasn't got a clue- and holds it out in front of him. It's how his father greets people and it's always seemed cool to James. "I'm James." The boy cocks an eyebrow in curiosity, and James can't tell if he is about to mock James's formality or refuse his hand like he's a diseased outcast.

To James's surprise, he does neither, but wipes his own hand against the knee of his trouser and grabs James's proffered hand, sealing it in an iron grip and wringing it enthusiastically. "Sirius." He replies.

"Like the star?"

"Like a stuffy old relative who donated too many galleons to the ministry." He answers with disdain, his lip curling back as if he's smelt something unpleasant.

The door at the end of the train car opens again and excited children fall through, the atmosphere bubbling with their chatter. A girl with fluffy ginger hair shoots past them in an orange blur and they watch the others siding off into the compartments.

"Come on," James says cheerily, "Let's get a compartment, quick."

Sirius waits on the spot, watching James again, but the disdain has disappeared; he seems to be unsure of something, but James can't for the life of him think what he could be wary of. James turns on his heel and begins to make his way back to the compartment at the end of the carriage, where he has left his case, until he realises Sirius is not following.

"I left my trunk in the one at the end," James tell him in explanation, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "Are you coming too? Or did you leave your trunk somewhere else?"

Sirius hesitates. There's a crack in his voice and it's laden with uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

James gapes at him in confusion. "About what?" He asks, thoroughly baffled. "About your trunk? Where is your trunk?"

Sirius lifts a small, ebony box from his pocket and on closer inspection James realises it is a trunk- a very tiny, magically shrunken trunk.

"Cool! How'd you do that?" James asks, mesmerised.

Sirius's face breaks into the widest smile James thinks he has ever seen. It doesn't quite seem right paired with Sirius's upper-class, cut-crystal features because it's slightly goofy and filled with teeth, but James finds it charming and it makes Sirius seem human. He doesn't even mind that the girl with the copper hair who ran past them earlier has taken residence in his compartment- because he's here with Sirius, and Sirius seems ridiculously cool. And he doesn't mind when the slimy boy comes in either and perhaps he is a bit mean to him, but he says it because he's desperate to impress Sirius, and when Sirius grins at him and joins in and makes him laugh James knows right then that they're going to be friends.

# # #

The sorting begins and Janet Abbot is placed into Hufflepuff, with Balthazar Beatty swiftly following. The third name to be called startles him; a boy steps forward as it is called, and it's the boy from the train. The one he had got on so well with.

And he's a Black.

He had said that his family had been in Slytherin, but never did James imagine that he was talking about the Blacks. James's mother has warned him against them; twisted, the whole lot of them. There's venom lacing every word whenever she speaks of them, the family she hates to mention. She's never said why she hates them, and James has never met any of them to judge for himself, but he has met his Uncle Marius who's a squib and who gave James his muggle trainers that Sirius had commented on- James should have known that Sirius was mocking him on the train- but Marius was disowned by the rest of his family and James thinks the Blacks can't be very nice if they would disown their family.

James knows where Sirius is going to be sorted- the whole school does- so he wonders if there's any need for the all the pomp and circumstance in this case. It's a shame, because James thought he seemed all right. How wrong first impressions can be.

He looks over at the Slytherin table- where Sirius will no doubt end up- and sees a number of boys shuffle closer, making a space on the bench in anticipation. A blonde haired girl with the same sharp features as Sirius- perhaps she's a cousin, James thinks- glares at Sirius with contempt before shifting her eyes to another girl further down, one with heaps of wavy light-brown hair, but she's looking everywhere except at the boy making his way to the stool.

James thinks of what Sirius asked him on the train, of what house he would be in if he was given the choice- because the Sorting Hat doesn't let people choose- and after a few moments, as Sirius hops off the stool with a wicked smirk on his face and the whole hall locked in stunned silence, James can't help but wonder whether Sirius didn't choose Gryffindor, after all.

He takes his place on the bench and his housemates don't know what to do- one timidly pats him on the back, a couple stick their thumbs up at him, but most of them stare back at the Sorting Hat as if the rip in its brim will pull open and the hat will let out a hearty laugh, declaring it was all a joke, and that the heir of the Black family should take his rightful place at the head of the Slytherin table.

But such a thing does not happen; the teachers continue with the sorting but there's a palpable tension in the air and James can only imagine what will be said back in the staffroom after the sorting is over. One overweight professor clad in lurid green check robes is staring agape from Sirius to the Slytherins looking as if he wants to demand a re-sort. Sirius, as he had seemed on the train, is completely oblivious to it all, and when James hears his own name called he strides confidently to the stool knowing the house that he will be sorted into. He will ask to be placed in Gryffindor, just like he suspects Sirius did.

# # #

There's only four boys sorted into Gryffindor this year, which is the smallest intake anyone can ever remember, so they're lumped together whether they like it or not.

The first evening is spent bonding in their dormitory. James is first in, the endless ball of energy even at half past eight in the evening, bounding across the beds to find his favourite; he picks the bed in the middle of the three beds along the wall. Sirius opts for the bed beside James's, closest to the door, because he openly admits with that now-familiar smirk that its most likely going to be him sneaking in late at night after a detention or whatever else.

Peter Pettigrew is short and lump-like, with dark blonde hair and watery eyes, and he looks weak and weedy; James can only guess how such a boy ended up in Gryffindor. But he takes the bed on the opposite wall and he laughs earnestly when James points out that it's the bed closest to the bathroom; in fact, he seems to laugh a lot which James rather likes. Sirius gives the impression that he might have a tendency to be a little sullen at times, but Peter seems carefree and fun and James thinks it will be nice to have him around to lighten the mood.

The only bed that is left is the one closest to the window; they'd all avoided it because it's in a draught, but James feels awful when Remus Lupin, the final Gryffindor boy, enters the dormitory and he already looks rather ill- so a draughty bed certainly isn't what he needs. James is quick to offer to swap, deciding that actually, he thinks he would rather like the bed beside the window, but the boy refuses politely. His eyes are the colour of mud, his hair is mouse brown, cropped short just below his ears, and his complexion is dreadfully pale, but he seems the most ordinary of the lot; he has a tidy beige cardigan, humble belongings, and a genuine smile.

There's an awkward atmosphere that only James seems able to permeate. They're nervous and it's their first night in a new place and James has the confidence that others only dream of. He tells them about himself; about how he received his Hogwarts letter on the morning of his eleventh birthday and was so excited that he tripped down the stairs on his way to tell his parents. He tells them about his mother, who repairs wizard robes in her spare time, and his father, who had worked in the magical transportation department of the Ministry but has since retired. He tells them that he has no brothers and sisters, but he does have three cats and an Owl. He tells them all about his home in Godric's Hollow, near the church; he tells them how he watches the congregation walk past his house on Sunday mornings and how he can see the cemetery from his bedroom window.

"I was born in Whitechapel, of course." He tells them, "But we moved out of London when I was eight, and Dad retired."

Sirius smiles at this; "small world," he muses, as he tells James that he is from Islington, which is just around the corner from Whitechapel. James could have guessed as much; there's something familiar in the way Sirius pronounces things like water and stairs that tells him they were both born within the sound of Bow Bells. Although Sirius's accent has been carefully cultivated and clipped, his London lilt threatens to seep into his speech the same way James finds his does; he slips into something slightly more working class if he isn't paying enough attention.

"When they both get started," Remus would later observe, "They sound like a pair of old wives hanging the washing out, cackling like banshees, talking about things like apples and pears, and butchers hooks, and the rest. Sometimes they can go for hours without uttering a single 'h'."

For now, though, Sirius doesn't know them well enough to let them in on too much; he says he lives in London, and he mentions he has a brother, and he vehemently denies that he is anything like his family- if there is one thing he wants sorted straight away, it is that. But the Black name is infamous, so what he hasn't told them they can surely guess.

Peter's accent is flat and elongated, and he tells them he's from Somerset. He lives on the plains in a muggle village, but the muggles there believe in all sorts of mystic creatures- which they call superstitions- so he's been cocooned in magic since before he can remember. He has a little sister named Penelope, but they think she might be a squib. He lives with his mother, who's a witch, and she raises Garden Gnomes- Peter tells them with a humouring edge to his voice that she thinks they could be a help in the garden rather than a hindrance if they were just nurtured correctly. His father, however, couldn't see his mother's point of view- after he was attacked and bitten by a small army of gnomes, he refused to listen to her protestations that gnome saliva was actually very beneficial, and instead called her a mad old coot, stormed out of the garden, and Peter hasn't seen him since.

At this revelation everyone is at a loss for words. James and Sirius look terrified at each other, and Sirius fakes a yawn.

"Well, it's been a great evening." Sirius pretends to stifle. James bites his tongue, willing himself not to laugh. "I suppose we best be getting some sleep." They slide off their beds and change into their pyjamas in silence.

James has been lying in bed for half an hour trying to get to sleep when he sits up quite suddenly. "Remus," He whispers into the darkness. "You never told us where you were from."

He hears the crinkling of bed covers and hopes Remus isn't asleep already, but he can see his silhouette against the light from the window and he's pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"We've moved around a lot." Remus replies, but he's interrupted by a grunting snore from the bed beside the door.

"Noisy git." James smiles over at Sirius, supine on his bed and dead to the world, and he hears Remus's quiet laughter in reply. "Where were you born, then?" He asks Remus.

"A village just outside Chepstow."

James has never heard of it before. "Where's that?"

"It's on the Welsh border. It's beautiful." Remus replies wistfully.

Well, he doesn't have a Welsh accent, that's for sure- because that's certainly something James would have noticed. His accent isn't southern like James's and Sirius's and even Peter's, because Remus says baa-th and glaa-ss whereas they'll say barth and glarss. "You moved around a lot?" James prompts.

"Yes. We've lived in Gloucester, Ross on Wye, Hereford, Ludlow," He lists more places that James has never heard of. "Then we moved South beside the sea, and we lived in Tintagel, and Newquay, and-"

"Wait," James interrupts. "Are these all muggle places?"

Remus nods into the darkness, James see his silhouette move. "Are you a muggle?" James asks.

"My father is a wizard, but my mother's a muggle." Then, after a brief pause Remus adds on as if it's an afterthought, "she's ill."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Replies James, feeling uncomfortable, and wishing Sirius was awake to join the conversation. "Does moving around all the time help her?"

Remus doesn't reply straight away and James wonders if he's been too intrusive- it's his persistent curiosity that just won't go away again. "No," Remus eventually answers.

"So why do you move so much?" James asks, struggling to understand why Remus would move so much, if it just made his mother ill.

Remus lays back down onto his bed and sighs. He ruffles the bedcovers and tucks it up, and James can only just hear his reply. "I wish we could stay in one place."

For once, James can sense he's being too nosy, so holds back the barrage of questions he is desperate to ask. He settles back into the bed and thinks of his day; thinks of the other boys in the dormitory. At first, he had thought that Peter Pettigrew seemed dull and slow, but he's really rather friendly, even if he might put his foot in it sometimes, and James likes how honest he seems. Sirius Black is stuffy and stuck up by reputation of his name- but in actual fact, he's nothing like that at all. And plain Remus Lupin, who had seemed like the most straightforward of the bunch, is an enigma that James is content on cracking.

He had been right earlier; how wrong first impressions can be. James is just glad that he has seven years ahead of him to get to know them, because none of his roommates are what they appear to be at all.