Summary: Peter isn't thinking, Sirius thinks that Peter's thinking, Remus thinks he ought to slap himself, and James thinks that Pronglet is far, far too testy for his own good. Honestly! Even the Yanks can hear him yell! Snape, rather reluctantly, agrees with Potter, and Evans Can. Not. Believe. She. Decided. To. Converse. With. James. This. Morning. All fingers point at Sirius because, in other, more sensible, words: The Marauders & Co. meet a post-O.W.L 1996, and it ain't pretty.

The Wayward Trio

By Hilarity

Being the Beginning

"Ouch. That hurt me, Jim."

"Don't call me Jim."

"Alright Jimmy Jim Jim Jim Jim."

1st September 1967

Platform 9¾ was busy. Very busy, actually. Black robes were flailing through the air as the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry darted about, waving to parents, hugging friends from the previous year, and running onto the scarlet train, trunks dragging heavily behind.

In the maddening pack of children, there was a small boy standing next to his mother and father. His hair was windswept, as if he'd only just awoken, and his dark brown eyes were framed in rectangular titanium. The boy had an occupied brass owl cage clenched tightly in one slight hand, and a black trunk with the initials J.P. scrawled across it in newly applied gold letters rested at his feet. His face was pale, and he chewed his lip nervously.

"You'll be fine, James," the boy's, James, mother said with a rather forced-looking smile.

"You've no reason to be fretting, my boy!" said James' father, and he grabbed the young boy's shoulders in a lovingly paternal gesture.

"But…but what if I," James lowered his voice into a barely audible whisper, and his brown eyes darted across the platform, as if looking for eavesdroppers. "What if I'm put in Slytherin?" His voice lowered still at the mention of that Hogwarts House name.

The boy's father chortled genially, pulling his son into a lose embrace.

"No Potter has ever been, or ever will be, in Slytherin, I can assure you that!" James looked doubtful, so his father carried on. "Ravenclaw, maybe. Your mother has at least one Ravenclaw in her. But not Hufflepuff (too mental to be in that House!) and definitely not Slytherin!" The man visibly shuddered, but didn't stop smiling.

"Now listen, dear," the mother said again, prying her son from the clutches of his father. "You're to send us an owl the minute you get situated into school, un-understand?" Her voice broke, and she had to take out a handkerchief.

James gulped, and soon his mother had him in a deathly tight hug, and was smoothing the boy's unmanageable head of hair, while sobbing. Loudly.

The boy threw an urgent, panicked look at his father, who immediately grabbed his wife, and held her shaking shoulders.

"We're going to miss you, m'boy! Remember to write, or your mother'll go mad. Good luck," He added, speaking loudly enough to cover the increasing decibel and tenacity of the mother's sobs.

"Your mother and I love you." Louder wails.

"Now get a move on before the train leaves without you." The wails increased, if it were possible.

"Oh, by Merlin! We'll see him over Christmas holiday, dear!" The father shouted above the howling cries that were growing ever more noticeable. A few families turned their heads and cocked an eyebrow or two, watching the woman succumb to hysterics.

James smiled feebly before hugging his mum (who made a move to hold him back, but was pried loose by his father), hugging his dad, and proceeding onto the train.

All the previous nervousness had suddenly left him, as he heaved the stubborn trunk into a compartment, one of the only few still vacant. His owl screeched in indignation as James accidentally knocked her cage as he rammed the trunk into an overhead rack.

Once that daunting first task had been completed (and none-too-successfully, as the trunk nearly fell on James' head a few seconds later), he opened the window of his compartment, and waved amiably to his father, who was supporting James' poor mother (who had now gone into full hysterics, and was creating quite a scene). James grinned, waved again, but his mother saw the gesture, and wrenched herself from her husband's grasp. James' father shook his head at him, lunged for his wife, and mouthed 'Shut the window!' There was another loud wail as James shut the window, and sat down in one of the red seats nearest the window. Perhaps he should wait until the train starts moving before attempting anything like that again.

According to James' new watch (a present from his grandfather for this very occasion), he had a good five minutes until eleven o'clock, when the train was scheduled to leave for Hogwarts. To James, the future looked daunting. He knew he couldn't wait until he arrived; couldn't wait to start his classes; couldn't wait to make new friends. Friends. Speaking of friends…James shook his head and smiled at the thought of his best friend. Where was he, anyway?

James sighed, stretched, and glanced at his watch again. Only a minute had gone by. He stared at his owl, which was sitting in the seat directly opposite his own. She was sleeping; her head tucked gently under a wing, eyes closed. James sighed again, and started as the door to his compartment was slid open, scraping the wooden frame. Whoever was opening it looked as though he or she was nervous about doing so. The movement was slow, and after the door was opened a foot or so, a young boy with short, smooth, black hair poked his head into the compartment, smiling like an idiot.

"James," he said simply.

"'Lo. Where's your trunk?" asked James, shifting in his seat to peer out behind the boy.

The boy ducked momentarily out of the doorframe before the door was slid back completely.

"Want some help with that, Sirius?"

Sirius was just a little taller than James, but still rather scrawny. And though he had his back turned to James, the movement of his head told him that the answer was evidently a 'no'.

The compartment door slid closed again, and Sirius groaned as he hoisted his equally stubborn trunk into the storage slot next to the one James used.

James jumped up, taking his owl off of the seat, and offering the seat to Sirius. James' owl hooted crossly, and ruffled her feathers to display her disgust, but Sirius smiled mischievously again and sat down, a little out of breath from the endeavour with the trunk.

"So, Jamesy!" he blurted out. "Excited? It's just too bad that first years can't go to Hogsmeade. Zonkos is excellent, I hear!"

The whistle sounded, and the train lurched forward.

"Yeah. But…" James stood up against the movement of the train and climbed on top of the seats. He began to rifle through his trunk, occasionally forcing small objects and articles of clothing out of it. Then, after a great deal of time, he found what he was looking for, grinned back at Sirius, and flopped into his seat.

"Mum'll go berserk if she finds out that Dad lent me this," James grinned.

"Is that?" Sirius sat up, his eyes wide with intrigue. "You mean your dad gave this to you?"

James nodded eagerly. "For my eleventh birthday!"

"Brilliant!" Sirius almost shouted, clapping his hands together. "My dad was hoping that we wouldn't wreak too much mayhem, but with this thing, no one'll ever know!"

James nodded again. "Like I said, my mum'll go gaga if she ever finds out. Dad hid it from her, so she can't go snooping. If I get a howler because of this, I'll just kindly remind her that it was Dad's fault."

"The castle will be ours!" Sirius concluded happily, and leaned back in his seat, resting his arms behind his head.

"Oh! And there's more!" James whispered loudly as some students walked past the compartment.

Sirius sat bolt upright again. "What?!"

"Dad gave me a bag of Dungbombs!" James blurted out, his face split in a wicked grin.

"Ooh! We'll have ourselves an endless supply, once we can figure out a way to sneak into Hogsmeade. Imagine the roam of Zonkos…all ours!" Sirius said with a sigh that sounded oddly dreamy. "I've got a bag… or two….or three…in my trunk," he added.

"Really? Mum went through some of my stuff, so I had to stuff mine in my robe pockets. Since I wasn't wearing that at the platform, she couldn't go looking through the pockets!" He pointed to the black bundle lying next to his owl's cage.

Sirius sighed again, leaning back in the chair, and gazed out of the window as the city slowly melted away into rural countryside.

"I've been waiting for this day to come for a long, long time," Sirius sighed contentedly.

"Eleven years, Sirius," James amended.

"Eleven years and nine months!" Sirius amended James' amendment.

"Eleven years, nine months, something odd hours, minutes and seconds. Not sure exactly. May not even been nine months, really. Maybe eight," Sirius shrugged.

"Knowing you, it was probably more like eleven."

Sirius shot James withering glare, which faded into another idiotic grin. He certainly did grin like that a lot. Suited him, really.

James watched as the city melted into the countryside, and he let his thoughts drift. He'd been best mates with Sirius since meeting him at Tutshill Tornadoes Quidditch match when they were both seven. The Tornadoes lost the match, but Sirius and James had spent a majority of the time discussing prude jokes and broom styles, much to the delight of both fathers.

By the time the scarlet Hogwarts Express had arrived in Hogsmeade Station, Sirius and James had talked non-stop about various prank ideas, occasionally interjecting those thoughts with other topics. They had talked of everything from what they wanted to learn most (DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS!), to what Bertie Bott's flavour should be invented next (Sirius, wet dog; James, petrol).

Patches of grey-splotched clouds were slowly covering the sun, which had been shining around Kings Cross. Rain had been threatening for the last half hour, and as each black-robed student stepped from the train, heavily droplets of icy water began to pelt mercilessly from the clouds above.

Sirius and James threw on their cloaks and darted into the downpour, but even the wool cloaks were of no use.

"What luck we've got, eh?" Sirius shouted to James above the roar of the rain.

James only nodded, his teeth were chattering in the bitter cold the weather had brought. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the gamekeeper, a very, very large man named Hagrid, to take them across the lake.

They were pushed into the waiting boats in groups of four to five. Sirius and James went into a boat towards the back of the fleet. Accompanying them was a petite redheaded girl and a very sickly looking boy with light brown hair and amber eyes.

Sirius and James smiled at both of these new people, but it was apparent that the third boy was just as sick as he looked. The colour was slowly draining from his already glowing pale skin, and he stared nervously at the clouds above. The girl, on the other hand, waved warmly at both James and Sirius, and introduced herself above the dull roar of the falling water.

"Lily. Lily Evans!" she said, sticking out one icy reddened hand to Sirius, and then to James.

"I'm Sirius Black, and this is James Potter!" Sirius replied, also straining his voice to be heard.

The boat rocked dangerously as it pressed onward across the lake, which looked almost alive in the storm. Between the newly howling wind and the downpour, the water was white-capped and dancing furiously, lapping at the tiny wooden vessels with enough force to knock them off course.

There wasn't much any of the four in the boat could say. Noise prevented anyone from being heard properly, and James, Sirius and Lily were too preoccupied with making sure that the fourth member of their boat didn't die on the ride over. He had started to turn a nasty shade of purple around his ears and around his jaw line, and the dark circles around his eyes were becoming more intense.

"Are you alright?" Sirius said, and when he received no response, he poked the boy on the shoulder, making him start so badly that Lily almost fell out.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you! Are you alright?"

The boy looked as though he attempted a smile, then he nodded quickly, and gazed at the sky again. There was such a high amount of agitation as he did so, that James wondered (as he steadied himself when the boat rocked ominously) if he didn't hold a grudge with the weather, but he shrugged it off. Probably just nerves, he told himself. James decided that if he didn't already know about the Sorting Ceremony and other Hogwarts basics, he'd be nervous, too.

When the ride to the castle came to an end, James and Sirius darted into the pack of students, waving goodbye to Lily, and smiling warmly at the small boy (who, though he looked as though he could barely walk, needed no support to do so), ran up the marble steps, ahead of everyone else.

Deciding that they'd get to the Great Hall faster if they skipped a couple steps at a time, James and Sirius tore past the greater first year population with ease, and had to skid to a halt when they nearly ran into….

"McGonagall!" Sirius shrieked, stepping back. James elbowed him violently in the ribs.

Professor McGonagall raised an amused eyebrow, but her lips held their thin line.

"Professor McGonagall," she said simply. There was a rolled up piece of parchment in her left hand, and with her right hand, she adjusted the rectangular glasses resting on her nose.

Once all of the children had caught up with Sirius and James (most took each step one-at-a-time), McGonagall cleared her throat, and began her formal introduction to Hogwarts.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," she said as he speech ended. "I have to tend to some matters before I admit you into the Great Hall. Please wait here and remain quiet until I return," she glanced warily at Sirius, then turned sharply on her heel, and marched down the corridor and into the wooden doors to the Great Hall.

The absence of such a strict-looking professor allowed the population of first years the ability to relax and collect their muddled thoughts. Talk rang out about which house so in so would be in, and which subject would be best.

James, however, turned to Sirius and engaged in a conversation about the sickly boy in their boat.

"What do you reckon was wrong with him?" he whispered.

Sirius shrugged, looking over his shoulder in an attempt to spot that particular student. When this attempt failed, he turned back to James.

"He seemed nervous."

"Extremely nervous. You'd think he was afraid of everything around him!" Sirius added, glancing around him again in a second attempt to spot the boy.

"I don't know if he seemed afraid or…or something else," said James. He moved his eyes down the corridor to the doors that McGonagall had entered through, furrowing his brow as he tried to think.

"He looked like he was about to die."

"Maybe he is!"

"That could prove to be interesting."

"We'll learn his name at the Sorting Ceremony. Maybe he'll be in our house," James said suddenly. "Or at least, one of our houses," he amended.

"What do you mean 'one of our houses'? We'll be in the same one. Gryffindor for us, of course!" Sirius said, play elbowing James, an action reminiscent of what James had done earlier.

"What, not Slytherin like your dear old mum and dad?" asked James in mock surprise.

Sirius looked revolted.

James let out a huffed laugh, and pointed as he saw the doors open again.

"This way, please! We're ready for you." McGonagall stepped from the doors, smiling warmly to the nervous students who began to walk in her direction.

"Now," she began peering down her rectangular spectacles at the students standing before her, covering the entrance to the Great Hall. "I'd like you to form a single file line, please," she raised a hand suddenly. "There is no need to alphabetize. Just line up, and follow me. When you get to the top of the Hall, please spread out along the Staff table." And with that, she turned and led the way into the bewitched dining hall.

James stood behind Sirius, who shot him a nervous smile before proceeding between two long house tables. James vainly attempted to calm his hair before standing in front of the entire Hogwarts School population.

The head table was lined with a curious array of teachers, and in the centre was the headmaster Dumbledore, who was beaming at each and every student, though his smile went unreturned for the most part.

"Now," McGonagall said huffily, "when I call your name, you are to come over and sit down on this stool, place the Sorting Hat on your head. When it calls out your house name, proceed to the corresponding table, and wait for every student to be sorted." She cleared her throat, unrolled the parchment, and held it at arms length from her bespectacled face.

"Abbott, Scott!" A blonde-haired boy stumbled forward, visibly shaken. He took a seat on the stool, clutching the sides of the seat with trembling hands. James figured that if he could see the boys face, it would probably be a nice shade of green, such as his own was getting to. The nervousness had returned.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" came the answer. The boy jumped up, almost forgetting to remove the aged hat, and darted over to a table on the right, where cheers resounded merrily.

"Alexander, Madeline!"


There were a few more A's, and then the B's began. Sirius glanced nervously over at the Gryffindor table, which had received two new students.

"Black, Sirius!" Sirius stepped backward as if hit in the stomach, then, collecting himself, he proceeded cheerfully over to the stool, taking the hat and placing it at a jaunty angle over his black hair. There were murmurs of laughter at this, and James shook his head.

The hat thought for a moment, but it wasn't very long.

"GRYFFINDOR!" James could see Sirius visibly relax, remove the hat, and dart over to the table on the far left.

James had quite a while to go until the P's. More B's were announced, a select few C's, three D's, and then the E's began.

"Evans, Lily! "

James watched, out of pure curiosity, as the small redhead walked, seemingly unflustered, to the stool, and set the hat upon her head.

"GRYFFINDOR! " James smiled again. The more friendly Gryffindors, the better.

The letters seemed to go by forever, now. His mind had been determined on learning the sick boys name until the letter H, when there were a slew of students, and his boredom overcame both his curiosity and his nervousness.

"Hair, Nathan!"


"Hopkins, Alice!"


James stood, feeling rather numb and uninterested, and let his mind wander freely. Though every so often, he'd check what letter was being called. On one out-of-mind wandering, James suddenly noticed that the sickly boy was sitting under the hat now. He jolted out of his daydream, feeling stupid that'd he hadn't caught his name, but the hoping that Sirius had.

The hat didn't take long at all to decide where to put this boy.


James smiled. Maybe, just maybe, he could be a friend with this boy, too? He let himself slip back into daydreams as the ceremony proceeded.

"Patil, Mahatma!"


James snapped back into reality upon realizing that his letter was being called. There were two more people and then…

"Potter, James!"

James gulped, adjusting his glasses, and brushing at his flyaway hair in one last attempt to tame it. He walked with unsteady steps toward the stool. There was a dull buzzing in his ears as he felt hundreds of stares directed upon him. He sat on the hard seat, feeling the world swim before his eyes, and then the hat was lowered, so that all he saw was the dark fabric of the brim.

"Ahhh yes," the hat began. "Another Potter. You're father was quite troublesome when he was under my care. You're likenesses are quite astounding. Courage. No doubt about that. You've got plenty of courage. And knowledge. Knowledge, but not one for being studious,"

Hey! James thought to himself.

The hat ignored the outcry and continued. "You've got a gift and the ability to do great things, you know.

That's right. The next Merlin! James continued to himself.



"I see much loyalty here, which stands you apart from so many others. Now, where shall I put you?" The hat didn't even pause.


It wasn't until the hat had said it, that James actually realised how much he'd expect this answer, and to not receive it would be an unpleasant blow. Even Ravenclaw sounded less-than-satisfactory now that he was a Gryffindor.

James proceeded to the vacant spot next to Sirius.

"Well done!" Sirius said, clapping James on the back. "So, what'd the hat say about you?" He whispered leaning closer to James as the next name was called.

James thought for a moment, "It said I am gifted, handsome, wise beyond my years, and the next Merlin." Sirius snorted at this, but let James continue. "It also said that I am loyal, that I have courage, and that I am just like my father." James added, a bit more truthfully. "What'd it say about you?"

"Same stuff, mostly. But it also commented that I have a nasty thirst for revenge. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Of course, it actually said that I am the next Merlin. You are a horrible liar, James." Sirius grinned one of his idiotic grins.

"Hmph. Nice try. There can't be two future Merlins, Sirius."

"Exactly. Stop lying!"

James didn't feel like retorting, because he remembered something rather urgent. "Oh yeah! You didn't happen to catch that boy's name, did you?" James said, a little more loudly than he meant to.

"Ah bloody hell. I thought you had. I wasn't paying attention." Sirius said, staring at the golden plate in front of him. "I'm starving. I could probably eat this plate if I tried. Reckon I could transfigure it into a chocolate frog and eat it?"

"You don't know how to transfigure anything but truth into lies."

"Ouch. That hurt me, Jim."

"Don't call me Jim."

"Alright Jimmy Jim Jim Jim Jim."

James stared at his own shimmering plate and matching goblet. He was feeling rather hungry himself, now that Sirius mentioned it. In fact, he'd never felt so hungry in his life, and he watched his hands shake with hunger spurred weakness.

"Merlin, they're slow! What are they on now?"

Sirius shrugged and waited for another name to be called. " They're on R."

"I haven't eaten since this morning. I wish they'd buck up!"

"What about the Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes that we had on the train?" Sirius whispered.

"Okay, but…I'm still starving," said James, massaging his stomach with a look of pain displayed on his face.

"I didn't say that you weren't," Sirius smiled.

James made a huffing noise that sounded like laughter, and watched as another boy was called (Snape, Severus). His hair was a dark black (much like James and Sirius's), but it reached his chin, and could have done with a washing…or two.


"You know," said Sirius, resting his head thoughtfully on his hand. "I've always wanted to grow my hair out."

James looked wide-eyed at his friend. "Really? Ugh Sirius, no!"

Sirius looked mildly hurt. "Hey! I'd look dashing no matter what I did with my hair."

"What about if I were to turn it pink?"

"That's hardly the same as growing it out," Sirius pointed out.

"Yeah, but you'll wash it, won't you?" James said with mock indignation towards the boy who had just sat down at the Slytherin table.

Sirius snorted, receiving an angry look from a prefect sitting near by. "What? You don't like grease?" he said, seemingly stunned at James' comment. "Well, it really doesn't matter whether I wash it or not. My mum wouldn't let me grow my hair out. 'Sirius Black! You look like a hoodlum!' Leave it to Mum to dash my remaining hopes and dreams into tiny pieces," he sniffed, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

James rolled his eyes, then moved them to the last few sick-looking students, nervously shifting in the single file row lining the staff table.

Finally, the last name was called, the house was announced ("Slytherin"), and Dumbledore rose up to speak.

"I have a few announcements to make before we enjoy the fine cuisine to be provided by our wonderful kitchens. First of all, all first years need note that the Forbidden Forest is, just as the name states, forbidden. Second, our caretaker wishes to announce that Dungbombs are now completely restricted from the interior of the castle. And last, but most important, for this is new to everyone this year; the newly planted willow tree on the grounds, which Professor Sprout has labelled a Whomping Willow, is to be noted as extremely dangerous, and is restricted to all those who wish to keep their limbs and lives," Sirius and James gulped. "For the remainder of the year. Now, tuck in."

When the food finally did appear, and everyone had had more helpings than was previously thought humanly possible, James finally felt the heaviness of sleep tugging at his eyelids. It felt good to be here, in Hogwarts, with his best mate.

Sirius yawned, stretched, and stood to leave the hall with the rest of the students, each house led by their respective prefects. James followed suit, but tripped on the hem of his robes and crashed into a short, blonde-haired boy.

"Er! Sorry!" the boy said, looking anxious. But when he saw that it was just another first year, his face relaxed a bit.

James nodded, and the boy vanished into the pack of black robes filing from the hall.

The walk to Gryffindor Tower was long and rather uneventful. The pictures waved energetically at the passing students, Nearly-Headless Nick beamed at everyone as they neared the portrait ("Welcome to Gryffindor!"), and it was discovered that the Gryffindor prefect had forgotten the password.

Sirius snorted as the young boy ran through the students milling about the corridor, heading for the Head Boy (also a Gryffindor).

"Some prefect that prat is, eh?" James said under his breath. "Hey Sirius! Reckon we could be prefects?"

"Maybe," said Sirius austerely. "We'd remember the password, anyway."

When the Head Boy finally showed up, most of the students were sitting on the marble floor. Some had packs of Exploding Snap, and were building houses of cards. From somewhere in the crowd there was a small explosion, some obscene language, and flourish of laughter.

"The password," the Head Boy cleared his throat distractedly, and glanced at the first years with something nearing disgust. "Is 'cleansweep'. Now chivvy along into the common room." He sighed and left, shaking his head.

"Hey!" James shouted, making Sirius flinch in surprise. "That reminds me. Quidditch tryouts!"

Sirius smiled. "Like they'd let us onto the team. We're first years, James."

"I know, but I still want to be a chaser!" James grinned, tripping on the hole and stumbling forward.

"Watch it, you clumsy git!" Sirius said, grabbing James' robes before he fell into a dark-haired girl who was walking in front of him.

"Oops. Guess I'm just distracted. The House Teams hadn't even crossed my mind! I feel like such an idiot."

"And you are," Sirius smirked.


"I'm particularly proud of that one, thanks," Sirius said, stumbling up yet another staircase to the boys' dormitories.

They came to a halt in front of an elaborate wooden door with the words "First Years" hanging on it in golden letters. Feeling tendrils of excitement rising in their stomachs, they stepped inside the room. Five four posters stood along the walls, rich scarlet curtains hung from each one, and at the foot of each bed were the trunks of the future inhabitants.

James stopped at a bed that was sitting near a narrow window. Outside, thunder rumbled distantly, and rain pelted at the bevelled glass. He opened the curtains to the bed and his eyes widened as he saw the luxurious bedding, all in shades of scarlet and gold.

"Mum and Dad always said that they went all out, but…" Sirius said from the bed kitty-corner to James'.

"I know. Its brill," replied James as he unlatched his trunk, and set his owl cage near the window. It was empty.

There was a long silence as the door opened again, and two more boys entered. One was a tall, slim black boy ("Abram Jordan"), and the other…

"Cor, James!" Sirius said, dashing across the room and slamming full force into James' bed.

"What's the matter with you?" James asked, startled at the look of alarm on Sirius' face.

"It's him!" Sirius whispered.

"Him…?" It took James a moment to register, but when the realisation hit, he jumped up, slamming his head on one of the posts in an effort to stand on the carpeted floor.

"You okay?" Sirius said, holding James' elbow as the boy clutched his head, rubbing his forehead furiously.

"Yeah. Grand. Just grand." James finished rubbing his throbbing head, and stepped gingerly onto the floor. Joe was reading some sort of book by wand light, and that sickly boy was gingerly fingering his wand, as if it was something out of a dream.

"All right?" Sirius said, strolling genially over to the boy and sitting down next to him. The boy didn't start this time. Instead, he looked up and smiled. James was taken aback, and he strolled over as well.

"I'm --"

"James Potter," said the boy. "And you're Sirius Black." He filed the wand away into his ornate trunk, and smiled again.

"I'm Remus Lupin." He stood, and ended up being a bit taller than he first appeared. He was an inch taller than James, but still shorter than Sirius.

"It's simply corking to see that you survived the trip, old chap," Sirius said, clapping Remus on the back as if he were an old acquaintance. James stifled a snigger.

Remus smiled weakly and yawned.

The door opened again, and the blond boy entered. He was soaked through his robes and cloak, and his hair was plastered down, water dripping down his face. He lifted a red hand and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. It didn't do any good, as the sleeve was just as wet.

"Peeves," he said simply, smiling a weak smile.

"I'm, er...I'm Peter Pettigrew," he said cautiously, as if expecting someone to jump him at any moment.

Sirius stepped forward to speak. "I'm Sirius Black. This here is Jimmykins Potter," James glared at Sirius fiercely behind his back, and Peter sniggered a bit.

"That there is Abram Jordan," Abram nodded at Peter, not even lifting his eyes from the book. "And that is Remus Lupin. Pleasure to meet our fifth dorm mate."

Peter smiled a nervous kind of smile, and when it seemed everyone's attention had been moved from his arrival to other things, he shuddered a couple of times before taking off his cloak, clambering onto the farthest four-poster, and drawing the curtains tightly around the bed.

James let go of a jaw-popping yawn, nodded to Sirius, Remus and Abram, and climbed into his bed, where his red pinstriped pyjamas were folded neatly, and resting on the end.