A/N: As promised, the Saturday update. That's a major benefit of reviewing, by the by; if you review, I not only respond, but I tell you when the next update will be. (Aren't I great? And modest?)

In this chapter, I have succeeded in completely decimating my original outline. There are several teasers and an entire scene in here that were never meant to exist. They just sort of happened. And a character I had not intended to show up for a while yet, and certainly not so favorably, has been portrayed in a light which many of you will not expect and might resent. I ask only that you give him a chance. If only for Harry's sake. -wink-

Also, I'm sorry if these first few chapters seem a bit slow and dull. The story actually picks up its pace towards the end of this one, but I don't want anyone to get bored and abandon me.


Despite the unexpected tragedy that had stricken his family, life for Harry Potter continued much as it always had. His parents had seemed rather devastated by the loss of their unborn child - although they never, of course, discussed it with him; he was not supposed to have known - but Harry honestly could not understand their feelings. He'd seen, once, in a book he had found in his parents' bedroom, that babies as young as Lily's had been were little more than bundles of organs and cells. To Harry, they resembled nothing so much as rubbery pink peanuts with legs.

He did not understand how anyone could love a peanut.

But he did not share these observations with anyone. Although young, Harry possessed quite a bit of common sense and an uncanny ability to know when to keep his mouth shut. Besides, he reasoned, he too was once a peanut, and his parents had certainly loved him ­- why wouldn't they love this new child as well?

All the same, Harry was gladdened that his parents' spirits lifted as time wore on. They began to come alive and Lily was smiling again. This pleased Harry immensely. He did not like it when his mum was sad.

She had even roused herself, when the day rolled around, to throw Harry a small party for his fourth birthday.

Which was why he was currently sitting at a low table in the middle of the back lawn, shrieking and giggling children gallivanting all around him. Harry wore a brightly colored paper hat strapped tightly beneath his chin, distinguishable from those of the other children only by the gaily coloured orange pom-pom decorating its tip. His face was smeared with the remnants of long-ago melted chocolate ice-cream, and his fingers had somehow discovered a way to stain themselves blue. Green-kneed white shorts revealed themselves as the four-year-old shot out of his seat indignantly.

"Oi," Harry cried, whipping around and wriggling a bit to dislodge the ice that had just been dropped down the back of his shirt. "Who did that?!"

Emerald eyes, the exact same shade as the summer foliage swaying so enticingly in the gentle breeze, narrowed as they caught sight of the culprit. Harry tackled the boy in righteous anger and pinned him to the ground.

"Die!" he shrieked.

The other boy shoved Harry off of himself and hopped to his feet, bright red hair horribly mussed and dancing blue eyes opened wide in amusement. "No, you die!"

Harry's jaw snapped shut. Never, never, had he been so insulted in his entire life. This meant war.

"No, you!" He ordered defiantly, giving the redhead a little shove.

"You!"

"You!"

"I asked you first!"

"Well-" the boy was cut off by a plump, irritated-looking witch with frizzy hair every bit as bright as his own.

"Ronald Weasley!" she snapped. "You cut this nonsense out right this moment! You're being incredibly rude."

Ronald's gaze dropped to his feet. "Yes, Mum."

The woman glared at her son, nodded, and retreated back to the group of parents spread out against the white table all but buckling under the weight of the plethora of unhealthy delights covering it. Though she lifted a goblet of some sort of juice to her lips and chattered politely with the wizard standing next to her, her eyes remained sharply focused on her son.

"Pssh," Ron hissed. "Mum's no fun."

Harry smiled reassuringly at him, vendetta forgotten. "We can just play something else, I guess."

Ron considered this. "Fine. Tag. You're it!"


Lily watched fondly as her son shot off after a small redhead - one of Molly's brood, obviously, and a good upstanding Light child she hoped would become one of Harry's closest friends - his pale feet making almost no sound on the dewy grass. She winced when Harry tripped and went sprawling, but James's presence at her elbow held her back from interfering. Perhaps, she thought with a frown, tag was not such a safe game to be playing after all.

"Ha!" her son's triumphant shout brought her out of her musings. "I got you, Nev! Now you're it!"

Lily watched as the Longbottom boy - Neville? - obligingly tried to catch one of the other children. She had invited ten of them, all around Harry's age (although there were a few older siblings unfortunate enough to have been dragged along for whatever reason) and all raised by acquaintances of hers. Lily repressed a bitter smile. Really, she could think of nothing the Longbottom boy excelled at in which Harry could not easily beat him. Her smile turned into a concerned frown. Her son was so talented at everything, surely he would be the one -

No. She refused to consider that. She had taken steps to ensure that her son would not be the one, and that was that. No use dwelling on it.

She redirected her eyes to the game at hand just as the clumsy boy managed to tag a blonde girl running along the tree line. A few feet away from Lily, the girl's mother warned her daughter not to go into the forest, it was too dangerous. Lily could not agree more. She had taken great pains to impress upon Harry the fact that, though the Potter family owned it, he was not to go into the woods. There were creatures in there, and it was so easy for a small boy to get injured or lost. Lily wanted her son in absolutely no danger.

"All right!" the impromptu game of tag was called to an end as James stepped out onto the lawn, arms raised and lips peeled back in a playful smile. "Time for phase two! Everyone, come over here. Presents!"

Harry immediately dashed into his seat and cast his eyes around at all of the brilliantly coloured parcels decorating the table.

"Open mine first!" Neville urged as he plopped down next to his friend. "It's really cool!"

Harry glanced at his mother for permission before attacking the package. Petal lips smiled gleefully at its contents - a stuffed dragon enchanted to fly around and breathe colourful bubbles when commanded - and squealed his thanks, immediately reaching for another. The rest of the considerable pile of gifts was attended to in much the same way; grab a package, rip it apart, thank the donor, and repeat.

"Who's this one from?" Harry questioned as he was nearing the end. He held up a green parcel, slight and rectangular in shape. Lily frowned.

"Harry, baby, I think we should hold off on opening that one just yet," she murmured hurriedly, suddenly frightened. What if it was from a Death Eater? "It's probably from Remus, and he'd want to be here..."

The excuse was poorly thought-out, but her son did not seem to notice. His uncle would not be coming until later that evening (they were going to have a private celebration, just Harry, his parents, and his "uncles") and he could understand waiting until then.

"No," two boys who looked about five or six and who Lily recognized as more Weasleys piped up.

"That's from us-"

"Just didn't reconize it at first."

Lily relaxed, feeling immensely foolish. She'd overreacted, then. Nothing to worry about.

"Oh," she said.


Harry swung his feet in boredom. The party had ended three hours go and all of his new friends had left. He was now holed up in his room, surrounded by his presents, and lounging on his bed. It was dead boring. He wondered idly when the Marauders (his father sometimes called them that, and Harry rather liked the name) would be arriving. He couldn't wait to see Sirius and Remus. Sirius would do something dimwitted but hilarious, and he hadn't seen Remus in ages...

Harry frowned. Peter would be coming, too, wouldn't he?

It was not that Harry disliked Peter Pettigrew - quite the opposite, in fact, as he rather adored the man - but it made Harry distinctly uncomfortable to see the way his father and other uncles treat him. They were clearly friends, the lot of them, and they were never rude; and yet... Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully. He did not know what it was, really, but something about the way they interacted with his Uncle Peter upset him. It was as if they disregarded the man, took him for granted.

Seeing all of his uncles together at once could be awkward and distressing for Harry because he never was quite sure how to handle this problem.

A soft knocking at his door pulled Harry forcefully from his thoughts. A moment later, a pudgy arm appeared, followed by a soft-looking man with pale hair and kind blue eyes.

Harry jumped off his bed. "Uncle Peter!"

His uncle chuckled and closed the door behind himself. "Hey, Harry! How's your day been?" He ambled over to Harry's side and pulled the boy into a tight embrace. "I saw all the destruction outside. Did Sirius beat me here again?"

Harry giggled and returned the hug. He loved when his uncle was like this. Though Peter closed up and became nervous and distant around his friends and Lily, he was fun and easygoing when he was alone with Harry. Privately, Harry liked to think that his uncle's true personality was a well-kept secret between just the two of them.

"No, silly!" he giggled. "I had a party!"

His uncle looked confused. "A party, you say?"

Harry smacked him. "For my birthday!"

Peter looked even more confused, and slightly horrified at himself. "Your birthday? Dear-oh-dear, I had forgotten about that completely. Silly me. And here I didn't get you anything..." his confused look transformed into a playful smirk as he added, "Well, good thing I just happen to have an extra present laying around, then, hmm?"

He reached into his robes and produced a small red box, tied up securely with gold ribbon and decorated with a large bow. "Happy birthday, Har."

Harry squealed in delight, but he took great care to preserve the paper as he unwrapped his gift. If the hand painted snakes decorating the crimson paper were anything to go by, his uncle had poured much time and attention into this, and Harry wanted to preserve that thoughtfulness forever. His Uncle Peter was the only one who knew how much Harry liked snakes.

"Oh..." Harry whispered in awe as he opened the box, "Wow..."

Peter smiled. "I thought you would like it. I found it in my vault." He lifted the pendant from his nephew's hands and settled the thin silver chain delicately around the boy's neck. "I suppose it's a little unorthodox, since you're not really of my blood, but... Well, I don't plan to have children, and I thought you should have it." He stroked Harry's cheek, eyes gentle. "This pendant is the Pettigrew crest, and wearing it signifies the heir apparent. By giving it to you, I have acknowledged you as the heir to all that I have."

"Thank you!" Harry's eyes moistened and he threw his arms around Peter. "I'll never take it off!"

There was slight sadness on Peter's face, but he grinned, "You're welcome, H-"

"-Arry!"

They broke apart with twin grimaces as they heard Sirius shouting from the foyer. Although he had a lovely speaking voice, Sirius Black tended to squeak like a preteen when he was yelling. "Hey, kiddo, come give ol' Padfoot a hug!"

Peter sighed fondly, the moment over. "Downstairs, then?"

Harry followed diligently as his uncle led the way out of the room, and fingered the pendant bouncing proudly against his chest. As he passed through the doorway, he paused, getting a flicker of that sixth sense that advised him when secrecy was best; he frowned, but tucked the chain under his shirt. He didn't like covering up the beautiful crest - an elegant unicorn curled around an ornate black rose and a single "P" etched into the frosted silver - but he realized that he did not want his parents to see it, and surmised that secrecy was probably better, anyway. He didn't understand why, he just knew it would be.

His uncle nodded in understanding and approval as his eyes flickered over the near-invisible bulge beneath Harry's shirt. He took Harry's hand in his own as they walked down the hallway, and though Harry smiled in return, he felt sadness and indignation settling heavily on his shoulders as he Peter's posture slumped, his face tinged itself with anxiety, and his very stride began to reflect a bumbling uncertainty Harry did not believe his uncle truly felt. Harry was almost positive that Peter's act around his friends was just that, an act, and Harry thought, furiously, that it was wrong that his uncle should think that he must affect to behave that way. Harry could not imagine hiding his true self from his loved ones. It simply wasn't right.


"Your turn, Harry," Remus said gently as he offered the boy the pot of Floo powder. Harry frowned but diligently took a handful. He hated Flooing. In his opinion, the Floo Network was pure evil and ought never to have been created in the first place. All this business of shouting and spinning - it was downright obnoxious, and dizzying to boot.

For Harry's family-only party, James had elected to take them out to a nice, rustic restaurant in Hogsmeade. They would eat dinner and Harry would open his gifts from his uncles there, then Floo back home. Lily had been very nervous about this idea - Harry did not quite know why - but relented when James promised that they would be back well before dark, completely safe.

Harry faced the ornate white fireplace, large enough to fit several adults within itself at the same time, and tossed his handful of shimmering powder into the roaring blaze. The flames turned green, and he said clearly, "Barker's Restaurant, Hogsmeade!"

He stepped into the flames, feeling them licking playfully all the way up to his shoulders; his stomach dropped as he began to spin rapidly, and he clenched his eyes tightly closed in an attempt to quell the ensuing nausea.

A moment later, it was over, but his head still swam horribly and stomach seemed to have no intention of settling anytime soon. Harry reflected grouchily that, surely, this was the absolute best way to arrive at an eatery, feeling as though he was going to spew all over his shoes.

"Hey, kiddo!" Sirius greeted him loudly as Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and went to stand next to James, who had gone ahead with his best friend.

Behind Harry, the flames shifted colours again as Remus gingerly stepped out, looking ill. Lily followed a moment later. The fair-skinned witch immediately took Harry's hand and led him over to the heavy oak door separating the Arrival Room from the main restaurant, surreptitiously inspecting him for injuries when she thought he wasn't looking.

Harry didn't notice, though. His eyes were skimming wildly over everything surrounding himself. He had been here several times now, of course, but he never got tired of examining the decorations. The building was small, but it was a cozy small, with deep brown hardwood floors and walls painted a soft creamy beige. Sturdily built wooden tables were strewn strategically about the place, their lines straight and clean, and a delicately carved ceiling fan whirled lazily, spreading the enticing scents of freshly-baked foods to dance invitingly around his nose. The entire place was lit by soft warm light, and the feel was welcoming and relaxing.

The food was nothing to complain about, either, Harry reflected indolently a while later as he took a bite of his potatoes, spooning a heap over his roast chicken as well. He scowled playfully when Sirius stole a piece, but smiled again when Remus slid a few carrots onto his plate to compensate.

Harry ate them gladly. Any food that was orange was okay in his book. Orange was a good colour.

"All right, Harry," his father said quite a bit later. He leaned back in his chair, hands settled comfortably over his very full stomach, hazel eyes sleepy with contentment. "Presents."

Sirius instantly popped up and shoved a violet bag into his nephew's hands. "Open mine first!"

Harry and Lily both snorted at that; Sirius could not have known, but he had just said nearly the exact same thing Neville had earlier that day. Neville, a four-year-old.

Nonetheless, Harry happily obeyed and yanked the flourescent yellow tissue paper out of the bag, beaming when he revealed its contents. "Cool!"

He shot his uncle another grin. Sirius ruffled his hair. "Doubt you'll be needing it," he said playfully, "But it's still nice to have around, and it's pretty neat to look at, too."

Harry tucked the sneakoscope to the side as Remus handed him his own gift (a picture book enchanted to change its story every time he read it, depending on his mood) and tucked that to the side as well when he opened his parents' gifts (dress robes, ugh, and a few new shirts). His uncle Peter winked at Harry when he presented him with his gift, a generic stuffed animal to add to Harry's already epic collection, and Harry was grateful to realize that the Pettigrew crest really would be their secret.

Finally, after a round of coffee for the adults and a spot of ice-cream for Harry (which Lily, of course, disapproved of, as he'd already had some that day), James announced that it was time to return to Godric's Hollow. Harry wholeheartedly agreed, his eyelids drooping; he had had way too much stimulation this day, and he was beyond ready to go to bed.

"Farewell, Mr. Po-" the manager began as Harry's family headed back to the Arrival Room. He broke off, though as a chorus of screams and hollers assaulted the gentle atmosphere, and all of the adults whirled around to face the main door, wands out.

"What the-?" Sirius asked, frowning. A moment later, an emphatic boom erupted. The shrieks escalated in volume and desperation, and Harry whimpered. Insane female cackling could be heard. Lily paled.

"Death Eaters," James hissed. "That's the Lestrange bitch's laugh, I'd know it anywhere."

"James," Lily's voice trembled. "James - Harry - we have to get Harry home!"

James nodded, reaching for the Floo powder by the restaurant's fireplace and casting it into the now-intolerably cheerful blaze. "Godric's Hollow!" he shouted. Nothing happened.

Remus growled. "They'll have set up wards, then. No Floo, no portkeys, no apparition."

Lily pulled a trembling Harry close to herself, encircling him with her arms. "What do we do? They're sure to come in here eventually - they'll be attacking the whole village - oh, Harry - what do we do?"

Remus's growls deepened in pitch. Sirius fingered his wand angrily. James hugged his wife briefly, hissing, "The only thing we can; we'll make a break for it. They'll only have warded the village itself... if we can make it to the forest, we can portkey home." He nodded at Sirius and Remus. "You two and I will go fight and help whoever we can. Lily, you and Peter take Harry and run. We'll cover you as long as we're able."

Lily sobbed, but nodded. She couldn't think. It was like her mind was paralyzed with fear, and her only thought was that she had to protect her baby, had to get him out of this nightmare. If there were any flaws in her husband's plan, she didn't notice.

"Right," James seized control again, "Disillusionment charms on you three. On my count, we go."


Finally, something happens. My apologies about the cliffness of this hanger, but it'll all play out in the next chapter.

Review! Remember, I'm needy.