The Fourth Marauder ~Complete

Anger, sadness and guilt

Soon, the famous Harry Potter and the very infamous Ronald Weasley were sat in their carriage together, on the Hogwarts Express up to Scotland. They both found the other fasniating- Ron, of course, knew Harry as "The Boy Who Lived", and Harry saw Ron as the first wizzard he'd ever met that he would be able to question endlessly and not feel weird. A strong friendship forged between them in minutes, the type that would last a life time, as they happily ate their chocolate frogs and examined cards. Without knowing, they'd built their strong relationship, something James Potter would have been proud of,  if he could see.

But James could not see, he was dead, and if he could see what had happened to his own friendship group, he would have probably cried, for it was blown apart like the very killing spell that had hit him and his wife. The only one who remained was Remus Lupin. He was sat in his home, on the outskirts of Plymouth, with his greying head in his hands, thinking. After all these years, after all this time, he still wasn't sure how he'd got to be on his own. Did Sirius really play a part in the death of his best mate? Sure, he had his faults, but he valued loyalty a lot more than anything else, and had often said- and nearly proved on one too many occasions that he would die for his friends, not the other way round. It just didn't seem possible that he was capable of handing his friends over to Voldemort. Remus sighed, and stood up to pour his stone cold cup of tea down the drain. While was at the sink, he couldn't help but look through the window, which he knew faced north. Somewhere out there, the "Boy who lived" would be on the Howarts express, on his way to the famous castle that would soon be his new home. What did the boy look like after all this time? He hadn't seen Harry since his parent's death, and that was nearly ten years ago, so he must look a lot different. Did he inherrit James' bad eyesight, and have to wear glasses? What about his dark, unruly hair? Did he still have his mother's eyes- James always said these were her best feature, and would have so loved for his only son to have a pair of them too. And most importantly, would he make any friends on that crucial first year? He could only wait and hope.

Well, waiting wasn't going to be much use- he hadn't, of course seen the boy for nearly a decade, and wasn't due to any time soon- Hogwarts was heavily guarded, and they didn't usually let stray werewolves roam the corridors, looking for a boy who probably didn't even know his name. What was the point in trying to contact him now? But Remus put his empty mug a little more harshly on the kitchen worksurface than he had intended to, making the teaspoon inside clatter about too. No, James wouldn't want him to not know his own son growing up, of course he had to meet him. But how? It wasn't as if he could just waltz into number four Privet drive and just announce his pressence, he was more than a little wary of Petunia Dursley, as much as he hated to admit it. How else could he meet Harry? Suddenly the answer was obvious- become a professor at Hogwarts! He had the qualifications, and he was once a prefect. It was just his fury little problem...

Never the less, on the first of September, 1993, Professor Lupin stood in front of the train that had once offered him so much comfort, and this time filled him with nothing but bad memories. He was too awkward to go to the teacher's carriage- it hadn't been too long since he was a pupil at the school, and he wasn't looking forward to the looks from the much more experienced teachers. So he went to the Gryffindor carriage, and after seeking the only spare compartment he went in and sat on the bench.

He soon slipped into an uneasy slumber, a series of memories fluttering around in his mind like bats. First year Moony, asleep on the exact bench he as the one he was on now. The people in the carriage were his age too, two people with darker hair than him and one with lighter. They were busy putting jelly beans in his ears and writing rude words on his cheeks, giggiling at what he would do when he woke up.

Another memory. This time they were all awake, and laughing and chatting like the best friends they were. This was when James was at his most hyperactive, and was shouting a lot, but the other three inmates didn't mind too much, they didn't know him any other way. When you looked at Remus in the corner, at first you may notice the scars that covered his face like a tiger, but if you looked closer you might see the tired eyes light up, the creases of his face crinkle when he laughed. He had never been happier.

The final memory. He was asleep again, but this time, instead of pranking him, his friends had wrapped him up in one of his awful home made jumpers and spoke in lowered tones so they didn't wake him up. They weren't just his friends any more, he had plenty of them, no, these were his brothers.

Remus woke up, and was greeted by the face of his long lost friend, except he was far too young. 

It took a minute for him to realise that this couldn't be James- James was dead. But they looked so alike, from his untidy dark hair, right down to his wonky circular glasses. No, the eyes. He had Lily's eyes. 

"Hello, Harry Potter" he greeted, now sensing the uneasy atmosphere. Anger, sadness and guilt. A perfect habitat for a Dementor. A cloaked figure drifted down the corridor, and he felt the sudden change in temperature, he realised what was going on. The other children must hae realised something was wrong too, they looked at him, the great authoritive figure and expected him to help them. But he wasn't the great hero type, that was always James. How could he protect the three wide-eyed students from the dementors outside? The door slid open. A hooded face appeared, and seemed to aim for his best friends son. Harry was lifted off his seat, bits of his soul flying out in all direction like a brutal murder scene. The Dementor seemed almost gentle in his approach, at least the hand holding the boy down was loose, and he was slow and quiet in his actions. But what he was doing to Harry was anything but.

What was he doing? He had battled Dementors hundreds of times, why was he frozen now? Fumbling slightly, he ripped his wand out of his pocket and cast a silvery blue patronus. The lone wolf padded along the floor and playfully chased the Dementor away, so Moony could turn his attention back to Harry. The boy was insensible on the floor, his eyes rolling like marbles, while his friends crowded round anxiously.

"Don't touch him!" commanded Remus above the panic, holding out a hand like he was trying to tame a lion. "You'll only hurt him." Carefully, the Professor bent down and picked the glasses of his face, putting them on the table. "It would be dangerous to try and wake him up. He'll come round in a minute." Sure enough, Harry's eyelashes fluttered, and after a few seconds he woke up, blinking in the sudden daylight.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, looking much younger than thirteen. He blinked at the man stooped over him. There was something familiar about that slightly scruffy looking figure, the flyway grey hair, the great hazel eyes. "Hello...Sir."

"Hello Harry" smiled the Professor. He rummaged in his pocket for his own secret supply, then offered his remedy to him. "Here. Don't worry, it's chocolate. Eat. You'll feel better." He couldn't tell him who he really was, not yet.