The Fifth Marauder

A month had passed since William's first struggles with Lumos in DADA. The crisp morning air bit at his face as he jogged along the edge of the castle grounds, his wand held steady, illuminating the path ahead. The sun hadn't yet crested the horizon, but that didn't matter - he'd made this his routine.

Every morning at 6 AM, while James, Lupin, and Sirius were still snoring in their beds, William slipped out of the dormitory. The castle corridors were empty at this hour, save for the occasional ghost drifting through walls. His footsteps echoed off stone as he made his way down to the entrance hall, then out onto the grounds.

The morning run cleared his head, gave him time to process everything he was learning. His Lumos now burned bright and steady, no longer the weak flicker it had been that first day. The spell had become almost second nature - he barely needed to think about it anymore.

Back in the common room after his run, William claimed his favorite armchair by the window, spreading out his books before breakfast. He'd developed a system, reviewing his notes from the previous day's classes while the information was still fresh. The material itself wasn't particularly challenging - it was designed for children, after all - but mastering the practical applications had taken dedication.

About an hour later, James and Sirius thundered down the dormitory stairs, their laughter filling the common room. They'd become inseparable over the past week, already developing the kind of shorthand communication that came with close friendship. They'd drag their chairs over to William's corner sometimes, copying his notes while trading jokes and planning pranks.

"Morning, Will!" James called out, his hair sticking up in every direction. "Still at it with the studying?"

William looked up from his Charms text. "Just reviewing yesterday's levitation lesson."

"You've got that one down already," Sirius dropped into a nearby chair. "Saw you floating your quill in class yesterday."

It was true - William had mastered Wingardium Leviosa faster than most of his classmates. His adult mind helped him grasp the theoretical concepts quickly, and his daily practice sessions were paying off. Even Professor Flitwick had commented on his progress.

The dorm dynamic had settled into something comfortable. James and Sirius might be joined at the hip, but they always made space for William and Remus at meals and in class. There was an ease to their interactions, a natural camaraderie that made the dormitory feel like home.

William packed up his books as more students filtered into the common room. He'd caught up to the curriculum faster than he'd expected - perhaps because he approached it with the study habits of a graduate student rather than an eleven-year-old. The purebloods might have had years of exposure to magic, but formal spellwork was new to everyone.

"Coming to breakfast?" James asked, already halfway to the portrait hole with Sirius.

"Yeah, be right there." William tucked his wand into his robes, satisfied with another productive morning. He'd found his rhythm at Hogwarts, balancing academics with the social aspects of dormitory life. It wasn't exactly the graduate school experience he'd once known, but in its own way, it was just as rewarding.

William followed James and Sirius into the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling reflecting a cloudy morning sky. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air as they settled at the Gryffindor table. Remus joined them moments later, looking tired as usual.

Clara waved from further down the table, her dark curls neatly tied back with that signature blue ribbon. "Did any of you finish McGonagall's reading?"

"Just this morning," William said, reaching for the toast. He'd actually finished it days ago, but had learned to downplay his studying habits.

"Show-off," Clara smirked, but there was no malice in it. "I swear, the amount of reading she assigns..."

McGonagall's class that morning proved challenging as always. She stood at the front of the classroom, her emerald robes catching the morning light.

"Transfiguration," she began, "is not merely about changing one object into another. It requires understanding the fundamental nature of matter itself." Her sharp eyes swept across the classroom. "Your homework should have prepared you for today's lesson..."

William's attention drifted slightly. The theory was fascinating, but his mind kept returning to the passage he'd found in the library yesterday about wandless magic. After class, he made his way back to the library, finding his usual quiet corner.

The book was exactly where he'd left it, hidden behind a larger tome about magical theory. Its pages were yellowed with age, the text faded in places. William's eyes found the passage he'd been pondering:

"Historical evidence suggests that early introduction to wand-based magic may permanently alter a wizard's magical pathways. Like a river carving its course through rock, the repeated use of a wand focus creates patterns that become increasingly difficult to break. Ancient wizards recognized this phenomenon, often delaying wand usage until children demonstrated proficiency in basic wandless casting."

William flexed his fingers, remembering how his wandless Lumos had felt - raw, unfiltered, powerful. The light had been blindingly bright, far stronger than anything he'd managed with his wand. It made sense, really. The wand acted as a filter, making magic more controlled but potentially limiting its raw power.

He set the book aside and held out his palm. "Lumos," he whispered, focusing on the desire for light. A brilliant glow erupted from his hand, casting sharp shadows across the library shelves. The magic felt different without his wand - less structured, but more... honest somehow. Like speaking without having to translate first.

The next passage caught his attention: "Modern magical education's emphasis on early wand usage may be contributing to the decline in wandless abilities. Much like language acquisition, the optimal period for developing wandless casting appears to be in early childhood, before magical pathways become fixed."

William extinguished the light, considering the implications. If wand use could make wandless magic harder to learn later, maybe he should focus on developing both skills simultaneously while he was still young. The precision required for wandless casting appealed to his mathematical mind - it was all about understanding and controlling the raw energy of magic, without relying on a wand to do the hard work.

A sharp "Mr. Keating!" snapped William back to the present. McGonagall stood at the front of the classroom, her eyes fixed on him with that particular blend of disappointment and expectation she'd perfected over decades of teaching.

The Slytherin side of the room erupted in poorly concealed snickers. Mulciber elbowed Avery, both wearing identical smirks. William caught Sirius shifting in his seat, ready to defend him.

"Hey-" Sirius started, but William cut him off.

"I apologize, Professor. Could you repeat the question?" William kept his voice steady, meeting McGonagall's stern gaze.

Her lips thinned slightly. "I asked, Mr. Keating, what fundamental principle governs the transformation of inanimate objects of similar mass?"

William straightened in his chair. "Gamp's Principal Theory of Mass Conservation states that when transfiguring objects of comparable size, the total mass must remain constant unless additional magical energy is applied to compensate for the difference. This is why it's easier to turn a match into a needle than into a sword - the energy required increases exponentially with the mass differential."

The snickers died instantly. McGonagall's expression shifted from stern to satisfied, the corner of her mouth twitching upward slightly.

"Precisely. Five points to Gryffindor." She turned back to the blackboard. "As Mr. Keating correctly explained..."

After class was over, William tucked his textbook under his arm and veered away from the main corridor, heading toward the owlery. The stone steps spiraled upward, and the familiar smell of hay and feathers grew stronger with each turn.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, settling on a relatively clean windowsill to write:

Dear Tom, Michael, and Rob,

First month at Hogwarts has been incredible. The castle is massive - way bigger than I imagined. There are moving staircases (yes, actually moving), ghosts that float through walls, and paintings that talk to you as you walk past.

Classes are going well. We're learning how to turn matches into needles in Transfiguration, though most people haven't managed it yet. Defense Against the Dark Arts is interesting - we're studying basic protective spells. My roommates are decent blokes, even if they're a bit loud sometimes.

How's everything at home? Is Mum still doing those long shifts? Rob, have you managed to convince Michael to try out for football yet? Tom, I hope you're not working yourself too hard looking after these two.

To write back, just give your letter to the owl that delivered this. They're trained to find their way to Hogwarts. Don't worry about addresses or stamps - just make sure it's sealed well.

Miss you all,

William

He folded the letter carefully and approached one of the school owls, a tawny with intelligent amber eyes. The owl accepted the letter with a dignified hoot and took off through the window.

Back in the dormitory, William found Bonnie sprawled across his pillow, her white fur catching the afternoon sun. She opened one green eye as he approached, stretching lazily.

"Comfortable, are you?" He scratched behind her ears, earning a contented purr.

The dormitory door burst open as James, Sirius, and Remus tumbled in, their voices overlapping in excited chatter.

"Will!" James flopped onto his bed, glasses slightly askew. "There's a bonfire tonight down by the lake. Bunch of older students organizing it. You coming?"

William hesitated, stroking Bonnie's fur. He'd spent most evenings this month either studying or practicing spells alone. The logical part of his mind urged him to stay in and review his notes, but...

"Yeah, alright," he found himself saying. "Could be fun."

"Brilliant!" James grinned. "Knew we'd get you out of the library eventually."

Bonnie stretched again and hopped off the bed, padding over to investigate Sirius's trunk. She'd taken a particular liking to him, often stealing his socks when he wasn't looking.

"Oi, you menace," Sirius scooped her up, but there was affection in his voice. "Looking for more of my things to nick?"

William chuckled at Bonnie's antics. "She's got expensive taste. Always goes for the posh stuff - must be why she likes you so much, Sirius."

"Yeah, well, quality goods are about the only good thing that comes with being a Black." Sirius's voice turned bitter as he scratched behind Bonnie's ears. "Everything else is just pure-blood mania and family politics. You should hear my cousin Bella these days - she's gone completely round the bend about blood purity. And Cissy's not much better, following whatever Lucius Malfoy says like he's Merlin himself."

He slumped onto his bed, still cradling Bonnie. "At least Reggie's still decent. My little brother," he explained to William. "He's the only one besides me who sees through all the rubbish. Though Mother's working hard to change that."

James moved to sit beside Sirius, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "You're nothing like them, mate. You're in Gryffindor for a reason."

William watched as Sirius's fingers curled tighter in Bonnie's fur, though she didn't seem to mind. The usual playful spark in his friend's grey eyes had dimmed, replaced by something harder, older.

"You don't understand what it's like," Sirius continued, his voice low. "Every dinner, every family gathering - it's all about maintaining the 'noble house of Black.' Bella's the worst. She's got this way of looking at you, like she's imagining all the ways she could hurt you for disagreeing with her. And she's only sixteen."

Bonnie shifted in Sirius's lap, stretching up to bump her head against his chin. The gesture seemed to ground him somewhat.

"Cissy used to be different, you know? Before she started spending all her time with Malfoy. Now she just parrots whatever he says about blood purity and proper wizarding society. As if being born into the right family makes you better than everyone else."

James hadn't moved his arm from Sirius's shoulders. William noticed how Remus had settled on the floor near them, his presence quiet but supportive.

"And Mother..." Sirius's laugh was sharp, bitter. "She's already planning Reggie's future. Which pure-blood girl he'll marry, which Ministry position would bring the most prestige to the family name. He's nine, for Merlin's sake! But he's her last hope now that I'm..." He gestured to his Gryffindor tie with his free hand.

"The way she talks to me in her letters after the sorting letter arrived home - like I'd betrayed centuries of family tradition just by existing. Started going on about how I was corrupted, how I'd been led astray. As if I hadn't been fighting against their twisted ideas long before I ever set foot in Hogwarts."

William watched Sirius's face carefully. He'd known this story from his previous life, of course, but hearing it firsthand from an eleven-year-old Sirius was different. The pain was raw, immediate.

"Reggie though..." Sirius's voice softened. "He gets it. He sees how mental they all are. When I'm home, we hide out in my room and make fun of all the pure-blood nonsense. He's the only one who still treats me like family instead of some disappointment to be corrected."

Bonnie purred louder, as if trying to comfort him. Sirius scratched behind her ears absently.

"But he's alone there now. And I'm terrified that by the time he comes to Hogwarts, they'll have gotten to him. That he'll walk into the Great Hall believing all their rubbish about blood supremacy and proper wizarding families."

The dormitory fell quiet. Even James, usually quick with a joke or reassurance, seemed to understand that this moment needed silence. William watched as Sirius buried his face in Bonnie's fur, his shoulders tense with emotions he was clearly trying to suppress.

"I get it," William said quietly. "Being misunderstood, feeling lonely even when you're surrounded by people. Like you're speaking a different language sometimes."

Remus frowned, looking up from his book. "What do you mean? You've got three brothers - seems like you'd always have someone to talk to."

William's heart skipped a beat, remembering he needed to frame his response within the context of this life, not his previous one. "Yeah, but... it's different. Thomas is always busy being responsible, and the twins are in their own world half the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm just... watching from the outside, you know? Like I don't quite fit."

William paused, considering how to explain his feelings without revealing too much. Two lives pressed against his thoughts - the graduate student who'd spent countless hours alone in university libraries, and the young wizard trying to find his place in this magical world.

"It's not that I don't love my brothers," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "But sometimes I feel like I'm carrying around thoughts and feelings that don't quite match who I'm supposed to be. Like I'm living in two different worlds at once."

The truth of those words hit harder than he'd expected. He missed his first parents, his best friend Jake, the quiet satisfaction of solving complex mathematical proofs. Those memories felt both impossibly distant and achingly present.

"That's why I spend so much time in the library," William said, watching Bonnie knead Sirius's leg. "It's peaceful there. When I'm studying, everything makes sense. The rules of magic are clear, even if the execution is challenging."

He didn't mention how being a muggleborn drove him to study harder, to prove himself worthy of this world he'd been thrust into. The wizarding world's prejudices weren't subtle - he'd seen the sideways glances, heard the whispered comments about 'mudbloods' in the corridors.

"Sometimes it's easier being alone," William admitted. "No need to pretend or explain myself. Just me and the books and the quiet." He smiled slightly. "Though Bonnie usually finds me eventually."

The solitude of the library reminded him of his graduate study days - the satisfaction of diving deep into complex theories, of understanding something fully. Here, surrounded by magical texts instead of mathematical ones, he felt that same intellectual thrill. The pressure to catch up to his pureblood peers pushed him forward, but the joy of learning pulled him just as strongly.

"I'm going to be a great wizard," he said quietly, more to himself than the others. "Not because of blood status or family connections, but because I understand magic. Really understand it, not just memorize spells."

The words carried the weight of both his lives - the academic drive of his past self merging with his current determination to master magic. In the library's quiet corners, surrounded by ancient tomes and magical theory, he didn't have to choose between his two selves. He could simply be William, the boy who loved learning and sought understanding in both worlds.

Sirius looked up from Bonnie, his earlier melancholy temporarily forgotten. "You already understand magic better than most of us. The way you explained that transfiguration theory today..."

But William shook his head. "That's just the beginning. There's so much more to learn, to discover. The library has books on magical theory that go far beyond what we're taught in class. Sometimes I think..." he trailed off, remembering he was supposed to be eleven. "Sometimes I think we're only scratching the surface of what magic can really do."

"Alright, well, enough of that," James groaned, flopping backwards onto his bed. "You sound like Dumbledore for god's sakes, Will. Next thing you'll be offering us lemon drops and talking about the power of love."

William watched as James's face shifted from melodramatic despair to mischievous calculation.

"Well, if we're comparing people to professors," James drawled, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, "has anyone noticed how Sirius's perfect pure-blood hair looks exactly like McGonagall's when she's done her morning bun?"

"Since when were we comparing people to Professors?" Remus mumbled.

Sirius's head snapped up, grey eyes narrowing. "Oy! What did you just say about my hair, Potter?"

"Oh, you heard me." James grinned wider, clearly pleased with the reaction. "All neat and proper, just like our dear Head of House. Maybe you could give her some styling tips?"

"I do not look like-" Sirius sputtered, one hand flying self-consciously to his carefully maintained locks.

"You're right, sorry," James nodded solemnly. "McGonagall's is probably more fashionable."

That did it. With an outraged cry, Sirius launched himself across the room at James, tackling him off the bed. Bonnie leapt away with an indignant yowl, seeking refuge under William's bed.

William and Remus exchanged glances, both rolling their eyes at their roommates' antics.

"Take that back about my hair looking like McGonagall's!" Sirius demanded, attempting to pin James down.

"Never!" James managed between wheezes. "It's true - especially when you do that thing with your - oof!" Sirius had him in a headlock.

William pulled out his Transfiguration textbook, settling against his headboard as the chaos continued.

"My hair is perfectly styled," Sirius declared, now sitting triumphantly on James's back. "Tell him, Remus!"

"I'm staying out of this," Remus replied without looking up from his own book. "Last time I got involved, my eyebrows ended up purple for three days."

"That was an accident!" James protested from the floor. "Sort of."

James had somehow managed to flip Sirius off his back, and now both boys were attempting to climb the bedpost while shoving each other.

"If you break that bed," Remus commented mildly, "I'm telling everyone you were practicing ballet."

Both boys froze mid-climb. "You wouldn't," Sirius gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Try me." Remus's small smile suggested he absolutely would.

William snorted, earning him a pillow to the face from James. "Oi! Don't think you're safe over there with your fancy books, Mr. Future-Dumbledore!"

"At least I'll have better fashion sense," William shot back, ducking another pillow. "Those robes with the moving stars? Classic."

James and Sirius exchanged a look that William recognized as trouble. He barely had time to shield his textbook before they pounced, dragging him into their roughhousing. His protests dissolved into laughter as they all ended up in a heap on the floor.

"Right then," James announced, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose. "Bonfire time! Everyone get changed - and Will, leave the books behind or I swear I'll charm them to sing opera every time you open them."

William carefully marked his place in the textbook, watching his roommates scramble around getting ready. James was attempting to flatten his eternally messy hair while Sirius deliberately messed his up, and Remus methodically folded his jumper before pulling on a new one.

Just another normal night with the future Marauders, William thought, reaching for his own change of clothes. Who would've thought?