You've Got A Marauder For a Dad, Now What?
July 31st – The Burrow
Harry Potter had never known a life without chaos. That was the natural result of being raised by four troublemakers—five, if you counted Sirius Black twice (which, honestly, most people did). Life with the Marauders meant that explosions were a daily occurrence, pranks were practically a love language, and “rules” were merely suggestions.
It also meant that, as far back as he could remember, he had Fred and George Weasley.
Harry had been going to the Burrow since he was old enough to waddle, dropped off for playdates with Ron while his dad and Sirius caused mayhem elsewhere. But somehow, it was Fred and George—two years older, infinitely more reckless—who had latched onto him as their honorary third twin.
Which was how, on the morning of his eleventh birthday, Harry found himself dangling upside down from a tree in the Weasley orchard, thanks to a misfired prank.
"Brilliant!" Fred called up at him. "You've really nailed the whole 'hanging-around' thing."
"Ha, ha," Harry deadpanned, his glasses slipping toward his forehead.
George, lying in the grass below, snorted. "Not his fault the charm backfired. I told you Tarantallegra wasn't meant to be used midair."
"You also told me dungbombs make excellent birthday gifts," Harry pointed out.
"They do," Fred said proudly. "Your mum just lacks vision."
Harry sighed. The prank had, to be fair, been his idea—he had wanted to test out a new levitation trick before school. The Weasley twins had eagerly volunteered him as the test subject. In hindsight, he should have seen this coming.
"Right, hold still," Fred said, twirling his wand. "I'll fix it."
"You sure?" Harry asked, squinting. "You kind of have that look."
"What look?" Fred grinned.
"The one that says 'I'm about to make it worse.'"
Fred gasped. "I am deeply offended."
George hummed. "To be fair, you do have that look, Fred."
Before Fred could argue, a voice rang out from the Burrow. "Boys! Inside, now! Harry, your letter's here!"
Harry’s stomach flipped. He let out a very undignified squawk as Fred flicked his wand, dropping him into George’s waiting arms (George, for the record, barely caught him).
His Hogwarts letter. It was real.
They raced inside, nearly knocking over Mrs. Weasley, who swatted at them with a tea towel. "Goodness, Harry, you're covered in grass stains! And—is that sap?"
"Letter first, hygiene later, Mum," Fred said breezily.
On the table sat the envelope Harry had been waiting for his whole life. With shaking fingers, he picked it up and tore it open.
Later That Night – The Room of Mischief (a.k.a. Fred and George’s Room)
"Alright, Harry," Fred said, tossing himself onto his bed. "You've got the official invite. How's it feel to be the first Marauder-born kid heading to Hogwarts?"
Harry, lying on the floor with his Hogwarts letter still clutched in his hands, grinned. "Terrifying."
George snorted. "You'll be fine. You've got the Weasley Protection Program."
"Not to mention, you've had years of Marauder training," Fred added. "You're basically Hogwarts-ready already."
But was he? Hogwarts had always felt like this grand adventure, a place he’d been hearing about for years. But now, it was real. He wouldn’t just be James Potter’s son or Sirius Black’s honorary protégé—he would be Harry.
And, for the first time, he would be doing something without Fred and George.
The thought sent a weird pang through his chest.
"Think we'll end up in the same house?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
Fred and George exchanged a look. "You mean, Gryffindor?" George asked. "Where you belong?"
Harry hesitated. He had no doubt his dad and Sirius expected him to be a Gryffindor. But what if he wasn’t? What if the Hat decided differently?
"Of course he'll be in Gryffindor," Fred said, slinging an arm around him. "He's got the makings of a legend already."
Harry rolled his eyes but leaned into the touch. "You do realize I'll have to make my own friends, right?"
Fred scoffed. "Unacceptable. We’ll have to interview every potential candidate first. It’s a rigorous screening process."
George nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. There will be tests. Possibly a duel."
Harry snorted. "You lot are ridiculous."
Fred grinned. "And you love us for it."
Harry couldn't argue with that.
Lying there, listening to Fred and George argue about whether he would out-prank them within a month or a week, Harry let himself relax. Maybe Hogwarts was unknown, maybe he had no idea what was coming—but at least he knew one thing.
No matter what, he had Fred and George.
And, somehow, that made all the difference.
---
August 1st – Potter Manor
If there was one thing James Potter excelled at—besides Quidditch, Transfiguration, and general mischief—it was making a spectacle out of everything.
So, naturally, when Harry returned home from the Burrow, he found a massive banner floating in the entrance hall that read:
"HOGWARTS OR BUST! CONGRATULATIONS, HARRY!"
Below it, a charmed cauldron was spewing gold sparks, and fireworks shaped like lions, badgers, snakes, and eagles zoomed through the air.
Sirius Black, sprawled across the sofa like a lazy cat, smirked at Harry’s stunned expression. “What? Did you think we wouldn’t celebrate?”
Harry had expected a celebration. He just hadn’t expected this.
“Mum, is that a life-size ice sculpture of me riding a broom?”
Lily Potter, who was standing by the dining table (which was now covered in a Hogwarts-themed cake) rolled her eyes. “Your father’s idea. He said it ‘captures your natural heroic energy.’”
James beamed proudly. “Look at it! It’s majestic!”
Remus, who was sipping tea by the fireplace, muttered, “It’s excessive.”
Sirius scoffed. “Moony, please. You can never have too much dramatic flair.”
Harry sighed and flopped into a chair, shaking his head. “You lot are ridiculous.”
James gasped, clutching his chest. “Ridiculous? How dare you?”
Lily patted her son’s shoulder. “At least they didn’t try to commission a full musical number.”
Sirius snapped his fingers. “Damn! That would’ve been brilliant.”
As much as Harry wanted to pretend he was too cool for this, he couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through his chest. Not everyone got this kind of family. Some kids got Hogwarts letters and probably just went about their day. But his family made sure every milestone felt like a grand event.
Even if it involved unnecessary ice sculptures.
August 7th – Diagon Alley
Shopping for school supplies was an experience.
Mostly because James and Sirius treated every stop like a competition.
Who could find the best cauldron? (James, but only because Sirius tripped over a stack of pewter ones.)
Who could give the most dramatic reading of a textbook title? (Sirius, hands down. He nearly got them kicked out of Flourish & Blotts.)
Who could annoy Lily the fastest? (Both of them, but James won by dramatically fainting when she took away his spending money.)
Remus, ever the only sane adult, handled the actual shopping while Lily prevented Sirius from sneaking prank items into Harry’s trunk.
By the time they reached Madam Malkin’s, Harry was ready to collapse.
He stepped onto the stool and let Madam Malkin fuss over him as another boy was being fitted nearby.
“Hello,” the boy drawled. “Hogwarts too?”
Harry turned to see a pale, pointy-faced boy examining his robes in the mirror.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “First-year.”
The boy smirked. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”
Harry recognized the name. The Malfoys were a big deal in the Ministry—and one of Riddle’s most loyal supporters.
Draco’s sharp eyes studied him. “You’re Harry Potter.”
“Guilty.”
Draco looked intrigued. “My father says your family has… questionable associations.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And does your dad approve of everything you do?”
Draco hesitated. “Well, no…”
Harry grinned. “Guess we’re in the same boat then.”
Draco blinked, then smirked. “Maybe.”
Before they could continue, James poked his head inside. “Oi, Harry! Sirius is trying to duel a mannequin. We should leave before we get banned again.”
Harry sighed. “Of course he is.”
Draco looked amused. “See you at Hogwarts, then.”
“Looking forward to it,” Harry said, hopping off the stool.
August 31st – The Night Before Hogwarts
Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, everything changed.
A knock at the door made him sit up.
“Oi, you asleep yet?”
Fred Weasley peeked in, holding a bag of sweets. “Figured you’d be awake. Thought I’d bring some last-minute contraband for the train.”
Harry smirked, scooting over as Fred plopped down beside him.
“I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Fred said, tossing a Chocolate Frog in the air and catching it in his mouth. “Feels weird.”
“You’ll survive. We'll still be going to the same school, just different years." Harry teased.
Fred scoffed. “That’s what you think. Who else am I supposed to corrupt with my bad influence?”
Harry snorted. “You’ve got George.”
Fred waved a hand. “Yeah, but he’s me. We need a balance, Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes but grinned. There was that weird pang again—the thought of not seeing Fred every day, of not having their usual games and pranks. He shook it off.
Fred must’ve been thinking something similar because he nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Look, don’t go replacing me with some boring first-year, alright?”
Harry smirked. “No promises.”
Fred gasped in mock betrayal. “How dare!”
Harry laughed, feeling a little lighter. Whatever Hogwarts threw at him, he’d figure it out.
But first—he had a train to catch.