This is the sequel to my other story, Beginnings at Hogwarts, which is about Remus' first year of Hogwarts.

I hope you enjoy! If you have any suggestions, or questions, I would love to hear them.

Reviews would be much appreciated :)

Sirius froze, hardly daring to breath. Unconsciously he curled into a tighter ball, shielding the parchment on his lap with his left arm. He shook slightly. His hand fisted around his quill, making the half-healed over wound on his knuckle bleed, but Sirius didn't notice.

He shot the closed door he was facing a scared look, peering through his fringe and listening very carefully. He thought he heard his mother's approaching footsteps.

The Hogwarts owl had come bearing Remus' letter nearly an hour ago. The owl had tapped tapped tapped on the dirty glass pane of a window, and Sirius had rushed to let the bird in, frightened out of his wits that a member of his family had heard the noise.

When his racing heart had calmed, Sirius had read and re-read Remus' letter to himself, using the slivers of moonlight the window let in to see Remus' neat words.

It appeared as though Remus was having a mediocre time with his family. His mother was still ill, and Remus had written that he was missing Hogwarts and Sirius, James and Peter. He hoped that Sirius was having a nice time with his family, and that they weren't giving Sirius too much grief about not being in Slytherin.

Every time Sirius read that line he had to stifle a weird cross between a snort and a choke.

Sirius' parents were giving him more than grief for being in Gryffindor.

They were giving him hell, and to top it off Sirius had not come home for the Christmas holidays, a fact he might of forgotten but his mother especially hadn't.

The instant Sirius and his parents had arrived home from the train station, it had begun.

Maybe Sirius should have sent away the owl.

No, he definitely should have, but he had to reply. He had promised Remus what seemed like a lifetime ago that he would, and he wouldn't break that promise.

The basement really did have horrible lighting. Sirius adjusted himself in fits and cautious starts to accommodate more of the thin beams of moonlight.

His body was tired and aching from having been in the same position for the last twelve hours, but there was not a lot of space in the basement for Sirius to stretch and work out his kinks. Besides, he didn't want to make any noise, and if he moved he might remind his mother of his presence, and that would not end well for him.

Already today he had earned a laceration across his cheek when he had asked his mother if he could have a glass of water. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in the entire twelve hours he had been locked in the basement, so he thought that water was not much to ask for.

He should have known better by now. Sirius' parents didn't believe in 'fair'. It was not Sirius' fault that he had been sorted into Gryffindor, but they didn't see it that way. It was his fault, though, that he had decided not to come home for the Christmas holidays.

If he had of maybe his punishment wouldn't have been so bad.

After another sharp glance at the door, Sirius' eyes dropped back down to the crinkled piece of still blank parchment in his lap.

Sirius still didn't know what to write, and his time was running out. Should he pretend that all was well with his family, and that his holidays were going greatly, as he had with James and Peter?

No, that would probably make Remus feel bad, Sirius mused.

Should he worry Remus and tell him that things were not okay, and relieve the burden Sirius always felt of keeping his home life a secret?

No, he would never do that. James knew a little bit, but not all of it. Sirius could never tell anyone all of it.

A bang came from outside the locked door, and Sirius jumped, his hand going for the wand that was usually at his side but coming up empty.

With one ear trained on the door, Sirius hurried to scrawl out a few lines.

~Parents a bit angry, nothing I can't handle! It's been an okay holiday so far, nothing compared to James and Peter's! James is going to go to the Quidditch! And Peter is going to Ireland by airplane! What's an airplane? I asked Peter, but he said it was a big bird with wings. That doesn't sound right.~

Someone was walking down the stairs leading down to the basement.

Sirius jotted down a few more words, his handwriting going haywire in his panic.

Sirius got to his feet, his knees shaking with disuse. In one movement, Sirius wrenched open the rusting latch of the window, hardly caring about the screech it made, and shoved the letter at the impatient owl who had stuck around inexplicably. The owl snapped her beak at Sirius' fingers, drawing blood. She tore the letter from Sirius' fingers with her talons and swooped away into the night.

Sirius' desperation disappeared. He slumped, letting the window fall shut of its own accord. He watched the owl fly away until he couldn't anymore.

The basement door was opened with bang and an alohomora.

Sirius could tell, by the way his hair stood up on the back of his neck, that it was his father who had entered. His mother generally preferred to not lay a hand on Sirius, but there were exceptions, particularly when Sirius got cheeky. Sirius' father, however, enjoyed doing the punishing himself.

A rough hand yanked at Sirius' collar and spun him around.

"Who was that letter going to, you filthy little traitor?" Sirius' father spat, the spittle landing on Sirius' bottom lip. Sirius didn't brush it away but he didn't answer his father, either.

Sirius' father raised his wand, and Sirius shut his eyes.

Only nine more weeks to go.

XXX

Kings Cross station was in organised chaos.

The usual harried men and women tottered in high heels, clutching briefcases and draining cups of coffee as though it was more important to get their caffeine intake in under sixty seconds than to watch where they were going. Luckily for them, mothers and fathers whipped their children out of their way; the business men and women pushing straight past the schoolkids and their parents, far more intent on getting on board the correct train at the right time than giving anyone a thank you or an apology.

It was the first day of September, and the first day of September was traditionally the first day back at school after a three month long holiday.

The younger crowd of schoolkids were donned in gleaming uniforms and lugged behind them backpacks full to the brim of brand-new books and pencils. They were the ones holding onto their parent's hands for dear life, all wide-eyed and innocent as they watched the show. The older students, on the other hand, eagerly waved away their clingy parents; their ties already askew and their shirts untucked. They gave tenuous squeals of delight whenever they saw a school friend, as though they had just been waiting for the chance to add their own shrill voices to the rising, echoing din.

It was fortunate that the muggles were so focused on themselves that they didn't truly see, for here and there, dotted among the masses, were people who stood out extraordinarily.

The witches and wizards, out-of-depth in the muggle world, appeared to be hippies and gypsies and faux-royalty to the muggles.

They were not doing a great job of blending in.

They stood out in obvious ways; they stood out subtle ways. They were a mix of adults and overexcited kids that looked as though they should have been on their way to school. Some of them were walking too fast; some of them were walking too slow. Some of them were wearing expressions that screamed how above they thought themselves to be of train stations. Some of them were too rigid in the back, too posture-perfect; some of them were slouched too far over, their shoulders tucked in and their heads touching their chests. Some of them wore expressions of loathing and disgust, especially when a muggle accidently bumped into them; some of them wore very out-of-place expressions of wonder and incredulity on their faces. Some of them had their noses turned too far up. Some of them looked as though they thought it all to be a tedious waste of time. Some of them sneered, some of them were haughty and arrogant, some of them were just too curious. Some of them looked to be in a daze of some sorts; some of them were regarding their surroundings as though they thought they were in some kind of Heaven. Almost half of them wore brightly coloured robes, of all things. Five sevenths of the adults pushed trolleys weighed down with trunks in front of them. The majority of the kids had cages that they swung about carelessly as they trudged ahead of their families. The pets stuffed inside the cages were not your usual animals. They were owls that ruffled their feathers incessantly at their treatment they were receiving at the hands of their masters, and cats that hissed viciously at the noise. They were rats that darted the length of their confinements in terror, and toads that changed colour, but that was only obvious if you looked really close.

Which the muggles didn't.

Some of the witches and wizards held wands that the muggles only saw as sticks of wood. They waved these 'sticks of wood' about anxiously, which was very strange for the muggles to see, especially when the people in question were well out of their teen years.

The oddest ones to the muggles, however, were those who shouted mindless babble, a mixture of words that sounded made-up and foreign.

"Accio cage!"

"Hurry up, George Langalety, or I swear I will feed you to the hippogriff I plan on buying…"

"Mum, he stole my remembrall, and I need it!"

"So help me, Aleksander, if you get another detention this year then it will be straight to Durmstrang, you hear me?"

"If you put another bat bogey hex on one of your brothers…!"

"Ingenious these muggles, truly. The invention, elktricety, is simply splendid."

On it went. Sometimes the witches and wizards did not go unheard by the muggles. Sometimes, the muggles within earshot of the witches and wizards gave the oblivious speaker a look, then turned away with a shudder, chalking the odd words the kept on hearing as hallucinations, and a product of the awful acoustics.

All of these witches and wizards were heading in the same direction, to platforms nine and ten. When they got there they would disappear into thin air, taking their trunks and trolleys and pets along with them.

What that muggles didn't realise was that the witches and wizards were running at the wall of brick dividing platforms nine and ten, and vanishing straight through it.

As the hands of the clock hanging suspended above the entrance to Kings Cross station crept past a quarter to eleven, the stream of witches and wizards thickened.

Of interest, however, are four boys about to embark on their second-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Two black haired boys with silver eyes walked up to the barrier of nine and ten, one of them pushing a loaded trolley ahead of him. The boys didn't stop when they came up close to the brick but kept going, going through the bricks and ending up on a different platform altogether. The boys were assaulted by colours and sounds, overwhelmingly so, before their brains and their eyes caught up.

A plastic sign on the barrier read 'Platform 9 and ¾ '.

Platform 9 and ¾ was shrouded in the grey smoke puffing out of the ruby red train that stretched down the length on the platform. Parents and sisters and brothers and aunties and uncles and cousins and grandparents were saying goodbye for another year to the students of Hogwarts, but these tearful exchanges were ignored by the black haired brothers.

The eldest brother, and our first one of the four, pushed his trolley out of the way of the barrier and his brother followed him until they were as far away from the other families as they could get. The eldest brother accepted the cage of his owl back from his frowning little brother and placed it on his trunk. He tried to stroke the beak of his owl, but she snapped at him, and turned her back to him. He sighed.

"Miss me, Reggie?" The taller boy's voice was small.

The younger brother stared at his older one fearfully.

"Never." The older brother nodded thoughtfully, then bent down and hugged his brother awkwardly, a hug that wasn't reciprocated, but was tolerated.

The boys broke apart a second later when two similar looking people that could only have been the two boy's parents stepped out of the barrier and made their way quickly over to the boys, sniffing disdainfully and flicking invisible lint off their ink coloured clothes.

"Stand up properly, Sirius Orion Black." The woman admonished, her eyes ice cold. The boy did as she said with a hint of surprise, as if he hadn't even noticed how slumped his shoulders were.

"Hurry up," the woman snapped, her expression hard as she observed the handshake her boys shared briefly.

"Your last chance." The boy's father spoke up, finally paying his family attention. Sirius gulped, and nodded once. Regulus drifted to his mother's side, but kept his distance.

With that, Sirius' family turned back around, taking it in turn to step back through the barrier, leaving Sirius alone on the platform with his trunk and his owl without so much as a goodbye.

The boy was used to the treatment he got from his family. Sirius was relieved they had left him earlier than expected. If they had turned their hatred to Sirius' friends, Sirius might have done something he wouldn't have regretted, but everybody would have been witness to.

Sirius was quick to make his way down to the very last carriage of the Hogwarts Express. Meanwhile, as Sirius loaded his trunk and his owl onto the train with much difficulty and curses, a boy with glasses crashed through the barrier Sirius had left behind.

The boy, our second one of four, had been trunk-surfing. The trolley he had been standing on had been loaded up with a trunk and several other smaller cases. The boy was thrown off his trolley and trunk only to land at the fee of an elderly couple, his belongings scattering about the platform and his trolley rolling a few metres away from him.

The boy blinked up in bewilderment, then broke out in a broad grin. The elderly couple glared down at him, the man's hand twitching in his robes as though he wished he could draw his wand and curse the boy into oblivion.

Instead the man and woman humphed in displeasure and sauntered away, the man helping his wife to step over the boy, who was in hysterics.

The elderly couple could be heard muttering between themselves about 'kids these days'; the boy with glasses simply laughed and sprang to his feet, his Hogwarts robes flying behind him.

He had untidy hair and an overall messy appearance, made even worse by the dirt and the dust that now coated him. The boy picked interestedly at a new hole in his sleeve, then looked around curiously for his trolley. He was about to set off and locate it, when-

"James!"

The woman in question was the boy's mother. She had just flung herself through the barrier and was busy scanning the face of everybody she passed frantically, calling for her son at the same time.

"James!"

When the woman's eyes settled on her son the worry lines that had marred the woman's face dripped away. The woman grabbed wildly at the boy before he could take another step. She crushed the boy to her chest, kissing his head repeatedly and brushing his hair back away from his face to peer into his eyes.

"Are you hurt? Have you broken something?" The boy, James, flushed. He shot those close by furtive looks, and upon realising they were smiling patronizingly at him, James hurried to disengage himself from his mother's embrace.

"I'm fine mum, really," said James firmly, pushing his glasses back up his nose, and separating himself from his mother. James went back to scanning the platform for his trolley and his things.

"Mum, have you seen my trunk?"

"James…" James' mother reached out for James again, but she was pulled back.

"He's fine, woman. Stop worrying," said a man, evidently the woman's husband. He pinned the woman to his side and the disgruntled woman settled back into her husband's embrace and watched her son's show of magic.

James had drawn out his wand. With a sly glance at his parents, James uttered the first spell that came to mind.

There was a whizzing sound and a few cries of alarm as James' trolley dived the witches and wizards on the platform like Moses dividing the Red Sea.

It stopped in front of James, and with another flourish of his wand, James' trunk and belongings re-piled themselves onto the trolley. James beamed and his mother burst into applause.

"Aw, my baby! What will I do without you for another year?" James squirmed in his mother's death grip.

"Mum- you're choking me…"

"Now, don't you go getting into any mischief, young man. If I get another owl saying that you have disrupted a feast, or set something alight or, or secretly brewed Polyjuice Potion, then I will make you regret it, you hear me? You mustn't do that to your poor mother's nerves!" James' father said sternly, but his eyes twinkled.

"Polyjuice Potion, huh?" James nodded thoughtfully, and his father seemed to regret his words, but lack the ability to take them back.

"Let's get you on this train," said James' father, and he bent down to pick up one of his son's cases.

James was about to assist him when he heard his name being called by a very familiar voice.

James' head whipped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. When he caught sight of his best friend Sirius Black he ditched his father and ran to catch his friend in a massive bear hug.

"Jamsie-boy!"

"Siri-poo!"

The boy's reunion in the middle of the platform was a cause of mass ire. James launched into a detailed description of his holiday, too caught up in explaining all of the finer details of Quidditch to pay any mind to the glares he was on the recieving end of. Sirius was listening too intently to his friend to even notice them.

As the boys headed towards Sirius' compartment, with James' parents tailing them, arm in arm, from a distance, our third one of four was trying to work out how to get onto Platform 9 and ¾ .

This boy was alone. No one had come to wish this boy a safe journey and a fulfilling year, and the boy had to try to not let this affect him.

Which was easy, because the boy had bigger things to worry about.

Like getting on the train on time.

The boy was elfish in stature. He could have been a first-year, if it wasn't for the all-knowing look to his amber coloured eyes and few small scars marring the skin on his face. The boy was not pureblood; his Hogwarts robes obviously second hand. They were faded with wear and hung too big on him. The sleeves were folded back twice on each arm and yet still the material covered the boy's hands.

The way he had gotten used to, and needed.

All the boy had with him was a tatty muggle suitcase he held in one hand and gold ticket he held in his other. Generally only the first years received these gold tickets, being new to Hogwarts and all, but this boy was a special case. He had never before ridden on the Hogwarts Express, not even the previous year, for special reasons.

The boy was growing antsy. He had been pacing Kings Cross station for the better part of an hour, and had still been unable to work out how to get to Platform 9 and ¾ .

The boy had ended up at the barrier dividing platforms 10 and 9 again, and was considering the merits of asking a passing conductor for help, but he honestly did not think the conductor would know any better than he.

He cursed Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, for not giving him any clues, but that was the Headmaster for you.

Professor Dumbledore had told the boy that it would be a good challenge for him, and if he didn't work it out by himself than the headmaster would be very disappointed.

The boy did not want to disappoint the Professor, but he couldn't figure it out, and he had only five minutes to be aboard the train or else all hope was lost.

The boy stared at the brick barrier then threw his hands up in the air. Turning around he sighed, and leaned back against the bricks.

Except his back never made contact with the brick work.

The boy's stomach dropped to his feet and he gave a gasp, his hands windmilling to keep himself upright, but it was too late.

The boy crashed to the ground, thanking whoever was above that he hadn't managed to knock himself out on the corner of the bricks.

"Oh not another one," mumbled someone angrily above his head, and the boy opened his eyes.

He got quickly to his feet, and double checked that he was still clutching his ticket.

The ticket had gone.

Out of nowhere people had suddenly crowded around the boy, and he couldn't see if one of them was standing by accident on his ticket. He couldn't let the muggles see it, he thought anxiously. That would be hard to explain, and then he really would miss the Hogwarts Express.

"All aboard!"

The boy finally found his suitcase, but his ticket was nowhere in sight.

"All aboard the Hogwarts Express!"

What?

The boy wheeled around, his heart jumping in his chest.

There, not three metres away, was the Hogwarts Express in all of its glory, puffing away as it waited to be fully loaded.

How, the boy wondered, how had he done it? How had he ended up on… yes, sure enough, the platform the boy stood on was Platform 9 and ¾, according to a handy sign.

The boy puzzled in out, then cracked up laughing, his relief making him feel uncontainable.

The barrier, of course!

There was no time to celebrate his victory, for the conductor had begun walking down the train, closing all of the doors as he did so.

The boy forgot all about his lost ticket. He took off, apologising fleetingly to the people he bumped with his suitcase.

He had to reach the last door of the train before the conductor could close it, but the crowd of people on the platform were making that hard for him.

"Remus!"

The boy heard something that sounded remotely like his name.

"Remus! REMUS!"

It was music to the boy's, to Remus', ears.

His friends, calling his name. A pang went through Remus, and all of his repressed emotions bubbled up.

He had desperately missed his friends.

"Remus!"

There, hanging out of the very last carriage, was Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew (the fourth one of four).

"Remus!" Sirius hollered, again, and several people turned at his loud call, but only Remus waved madly, a wide grin splitting his face. Sirius, Peter and James waved furiously back, Sirius appearing to elbow James a few times in the head with his enthusiasm.

Peter, Sirius and James' heads disappeared from the window, just as Remus came up to the door leading into the carriage.

He quickly shoved his suitcase through the door, and then his body.

Peter got to Remus first.

"You alright, Remus?" Peter asked, in real concern.

Remus laughed contagiously, and Peter grinned back.

"Did you see that? Did you…" Remus shook his head at himself, accepting with gratitude the hand Peter offered him.

"Remus!"

With the combined effort of Remus and Peter, Remus stood upright again, but in three seconds flat, Sirius had bowled Remus over again.

"Dog pile!" Screamed James, adding himself to the fray.

With the reception Remus received, it didn't matter.

Remus was home, and the four second years were back together again at last.