Author's Note: Well, this is the first thing I've ever put out to public view, so I'm rather nervous about it. I'd really appreciate comments and feedback, so if you would, I'll be forever grateful. This little story (which I will admit is a little strange) will have four chapters, which are already written, so they only need to be edited before I post them. Thus, you can expect regualr updates!

Disclaimer: The universe, characters, and all content associated with Harry Potter do not belong to me. I make no profit from this fanfiction beyond personal gratification.

Without A Dark Lord

Chapter One: Peter

"Why would I want to be friends with you?" The words are sneered across the hallway. "You're a terrified little kid who'd probably jump at his own shadow.

The smaller figure flinches back, and nods. "I'm sorry, I just wondered…"

He is left talking to an empty hallway as the black-haired boy turns and leaves.

The other backs up until he hits the wall, then slides down it, sighing. Why had he ever thought Sirius Black would be his friend? Just because the boy also seemed an outcast in his own house…

Loneliness is the sound of footsteps moving away, a guttering torch, and silence.

***

"Do we have to spend all our time in here?"

The only answer is a nod from the figure deeply engrossed in a book.

Peter rolls a piece of parchment up into a ball, and flicks it across the table. The reader doesn't even glance up. Peter rollshis eyes. Much as he liked Remus Lupin, he wished they didn't have to spend quite so much time in the library…

Staring down at his half-written essay he re-inks his quill. "Which book did you recommend for question three?"

Said book is shoved across the table without a word. Peter flicks through it, finds the relevant passages, and begins to write.

Friendship is the sound of pages turning, quills scratching, and silence.

***

"You're a what?!" He shrieks the words out, staring in horror at the boy who sits across from him, eyes hidden by a soft fringe as he stares resolutely at his hands.

"You mean you're really a…a…" He can't say the word, can't spit the term from his lips. Remus nods jerkily, once.

Peter flinches back. "I don't want you here. Go. Go. Go"

Remus nods that horrible little jerky nod again, like he'd expected as much, and leaves. Peter pretends not to hear the half-muffled sob that escapes the boy – werewolf – as he vanishes up to the dormitory.

Cruelty is the sound of retreating sobs, a crackling fire, and silence.

***

He watches, wistfully, as the group of boys fling coloured lights at each other with quick twists of their wands. The spins and spirals of red, green, yellow, blue are accompanied by raucous shouts and howls of laughter.

Peter turnes away. He doesn't want to watch James Potter and his group – Caradoc Dearborn, Simon Trent and the rest of that exuberant, laughing bunch. He tells himself it is because he has better things to do with his time.

Of course it isn't because he wishes he had friends. And it really isn't because he can see a familiar figure at the other side of the courtyard watching the group with the same wistful look in his eyes.

Isolation is the sound of crackling energy, laughter and silence.

***

He tries, he really does. But the words don't come out right, and his wand gets stuck halfway through the fluid twist-and-jab, and his teacup gives a sharp crack and explodes. Shards fly everywhere.

Peter flinches back, and his Examiner gives him a sympathetic look. "Don't worry, try again, dear." She produces another teacup, and Peter tries, he really, really does.

This time the teacup merely cracks sullenly. His examiner nods. "Well, that's a shame dear. Sometimes things just don't work out, don't worry. Thank you for trying. Good luck on your next exam." She smiles, comfortingly, not knowing that this is probably the exam that has gone best for Peter. His Transfiguration one involved the room having to be evacuated.

He tries to muster up a smile, thinks he fails, and walks to the door. He can sense the grins of the others being examined and ignores them, eyes on the floor. He will not cry. Not until he's out of here.

Failure is the sound of soft sympathies, James Potter's sniggers, and silence.

***

School dropouts never get good jobs, but Peter is pleased with the one he has. He likes the fact that he doesn't have to speak to people, the fact that the animals like him when he feeds them or grooms them. They never want anything more complicated. They don't care if he has to think carefully about his words, or if he breaks things when attempting simple spells.

No, at the Emporium, it was quiet.

Until James Potter enters the door, and asks for some more Doxy repellent. His eyes widen as they alight on Peter. "Hey, weren't you at Hogwarts?" His voice is loud in the normal hallowed quiet, his gaze far too confident as it flicks across Peter. Peter nods, mutely. James Potter grins. "Thought so."

He chats as Peter gets him the potion, and didn't seem fazed by Peter's often silent answers. He leaves with a cheerful, 'See you around then!" The room goes dull as he exits, the echoes louder, the silence descending more thickly.

He didn't remember. Peter isn't even memorable as a failure.

His life is the sound of a door closing, the flutter of locusts, and silence.