Prowl of the Marauders, Chapter 1

Harry Potter had a secret. A four-footed, patchy-furred secret. For as long as he could remember, he'd had a very special pet. Admiral didn't look like much; even Harry admitted that. Aunt Petunia was certainly not happy with him keeping a rat in her nice, clean, normal house. But if anyone were to think that Harry cared about what Aunt Petunia thought, they would have a different idea coming to them. Besides, Admiral was so, so much more than a rat, not that anyone knew that. No one but Harry, that is. His primary school teachers laughed and told him he was "creative" when he wrote about the adventures that he and Admiral had had together, but, little did they know, they were far from imaginary.

Sometimes, after a long day of cleaning and cooking for his relatives (helped out just a little by Admiral's magic) he would sneak out of his perfectly ordinary house at Privet Drive with Admiral in tow and go out wandering the streets of the town, seeing all sorts of strange things. Sometimes he would go further, even, into London, out later than any ordinary boy should, and see the city at night, ride the underground though a great warren of tunnels (spending all his pocket change, and the rolled up bills that Admiral would occasionally bring him in his mouth, in the process) or go to the little all-night take-away places with their paper lanterns and bamboo chopsticks, always making sure to save Admiral some. Sometimes he followed Admiral when Dudley, his ape-like cousin, was trying to chase him down and beat him up with his gang; Admiral always knew what to do. He would run down alleyways, always making sure to be slow enough that Harry could follow, and show him places he could hide, places that Dudley and his friends couldn't get to, and wait it out with him while Dudley and his dumb friends blundered on by.

Other times, when he had been sent to the cupboard for a day, or even longer, Admiral would squeeze under the door, impossibly thin, and return with food and crayons and paper, or sometimes some of Dudley's elaborate toy soldiers, generals and captains and tanks and even horsemen, and Harry would plan out battles on the unvarnished wood of his cupboard floor, while Admiral nudged the soldiers of the "opposing side" into place, so they could have make-believe wars. Sometimes, too, after a particularly hard day when Aunt Petunia had punished him for something he didn't do (like when Dudley spilled his ice cream on the keyboard of his computer and said that Harry had done it, earning his Aunt's ire) Admiral would have left him a chocolate or a toffee on his pillow when he returned to the cupboard, or sometimes even a candy that was magical, making him float or breathe fire! Then, too, though his family only gave him the thinnest of blankets, Admiral somehow managed to make them soft and fluffy whenever his Aunt's back was turned. And Harry just knew that he'd been the one to make his cupboard larger on the inside than on the outside.

In fact, the rat was more of a parent than his aunt and uncle had ever been, and he never left his side, even sneaking into his backpack when he first began going to school. No matter how much his relatives complained that the rat was "freaky" and set traps (or, in Aunt Petunia's case, swung her frying pan at the poor animal if she ever saw it) Admiral would always come back when he needed him. And no matter how much his teachers and the kids at school gently (or not so gently, in the case of the other kids) said that magic was not real, Harry knew they were wrong. If magic wasn't real, how come Admiral could fly?

When he was seven years old, Admiral showed him something even more marvelous, something more amazing even than magic. He was not, actually, a rat. That had been the best day of his life. Harry had never exactly been treated well, but on that particular afternoon, Uncle Vernon had first tried to get physical. That had been the day that his Uncle Vernon had first attempted to hit him, really hit him, not just swing a hand at him. Admiral had jumped off of his shoulder, hissing ferociously, and landed right in front of him. Uncle Vernon had ignored the rat, except for a mutter of "freaky vermin", and swung at Harry again, catching him on the side of the head. That was, he would have...had Admiral not transformed into a person in front of him, catching the blow on his own jaw. Uncle Vernon recoiled.

"Who the devil are you?" he spat, raising his fist again. "I'll call the police!"

"And tell them what, that your nephew's rat is a wizard? They'll send you off to the loony bin!" The man who had been a rat sneered, which fit his pointy features very well. "Listen here, I've let well enough alone before, so as not to cause a fuss, because I get that it's hard to raise a kid who isn't your own, but for Merlin's sake, that's enough! You are not allowed to hit Harry. As a matter of fact, your son already has his own room; you can give the guest room to Harry and clean out your son's toy room when your idiotic sister comes to visit. And you can start feeding the boy right, and get him actual glasses; there's freaking standardized healthcare- you don't even need to shell out for them! And while you're at it, can you please stop with the traps and rat poison? My day is hard enough being a wanted criminal!"

Vernon's face bugged out, his face turning an unattractive shade of puce.

"Right. Good." The man turned to Harry. "You ok?"

Harry just stared at him, finally managing "You're a person?"

"Admiral" smiled, face softening. "Yes Harry. My name's Peter, and I'm one of your godfathers."

Harry's seven-year old mind decided that this was ok, then. He didn't even register the fact that the guy was supposedly a criminal. "You knew my parents?" he asked at last, in a very small voice.

For some reason, Peter looked kind of upset at this, but he said only "yes Harry, I did."

"Can- can you tell me about them?"

"Yes, of course. C'mon, lets go get an ice cream while this prat," he said in a slightly more dangerous voice, looking at his uncle, "cleans out that room for you so that you can have a proper place to sleep."

And so they did.

From that day on, Uncle Peter didn't always have to stay in rat form anymore. He did when the Dursleys- his aunt and uncle's family- had company over, but at other times they would explore London together, both humans, or in the evening in Harry's room Peter would help him go over his homework or show him spells with the stick thing he used to do magic- a wand, Uncle Peter called it, or tell him stories about his parents: his mother had been the best witch in their grade when they'd gone to school, and his dad had been an auror- magic constable. One of his parents had apparently been a werewolf, so his father, his Uncle Sirius (whom he had never met) and his Uncle Peter had learned how to turn into animals so they could run around the woods with him every full moon without being bit. Not only that, but apparently his father had also been the best in the school at Quidditch, the magic sport- played on actual brooms that flew- and Uncle Sirius had made a magic interactive map of the school they had gone to! Harry lapped it up, and begged to learn magic too, but Uncle Peter would only teach him the charm that made light, lumos, saying that he shouldn't do too much magic until he had a wand. Apparently you had to be eleven to get a wand. Harry had sulked a little, but Uncle Peter wouldn't back down.

When Harry was eight, he had his first birthday party that was more than a few bites of stolen candy and socks given to him jokingly by his dearest relations.

Harry had been in awe. Uncle Peter had bullied the Dursleys into letting him use their kitchen and had whipped up a cake, then conjured streamers and sparkly things all over Harry's room, sent out an invitation to Harry's only school friend, a boy called David Lassel, and threw an impromptu party, complete with candles on the cake that turned every color of the rainbow and actual presents. The Dursleys decided to have lunch out.

When Harry was nine, Uncle Peter began teaching him magic. Real, actual magic. It wasn't anything big- Harry still didn't have his wand, but Peter taught him how to brew magic potions on the kitchen stove (Aunt Petunia was horrified, especially when one of the concoctions burnt and sprayed blue liquid all over her kitchen) and taught him how to write with a quill, and how to do little things without a wand (like turn Dudley's hair green; Harry had loved that) and had even magically taken him to a forest in Wales, to feed the bat-winged horses with Hamburger Helper; thestrals, Uncle Peter called them. He also brought some magical history and school books for Harry to read- the pictures actually moved!

When Harry was ten years old, however, he asked Uncle Peter, for the first time, how his parents had died.