AUTHOR NOTES

The first 4 chapters have been changed somewhat from the original to become more cohesive and help move the stories come after. If you started reading before these changes the content is largely the same so it's your choice to reread or not. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Also, I'm not JK Rowling

-HPHPHP-

Harry Potter was good at not being noticed. Years of hiding from his cousin's gang and from the worried glances of the few adults who bothered to notice him had taught him to stay silent and stick to the shadows, so even if someone had been looking out of their window that night on Privet Drive, they would not have seen the small boy in oversized clothing trudging down the street.

At the end of the lane, Harry hiked the one working strap of Dudley's old backpack more securely onto his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it. He had left. Even as a grin began to break over his face, however, he felt worry settle in. In all his hours of thought he had not planned further than getting away, and now he had he realised just how little idea he had of where to go. Automatically his feet began to trace the familiar path towards the graveyard out past Marigold Lane, but the second his brain caught up he stopped himself. No one wanted him there, of that much he was certain, and if he wanted a new life filled with adventure he couldn't be tempted by that again. Stepping onto the opposite path he began to walk, clutching his backpack strap for comfort as he remembered the stories of all the books in his bag where the adventures found the child. He would walk until something came along, he told himself, and so he marched forwards, past the houses, past the playground, past the wards which he didn't even notice fall as he stepped though, out into the world.

A loud crack sounded beside him and he spun around. Fear didn't have time to register as something lurched forward and grabbed his arm. He struggled and fought and would have yelled out had a pale clammy hand not clamped over his mouth while the other went to his forehead and pulled his hair upwards, lifting him off his ground and revealing his scar. Harry thought for a second he heard a breathy, gleeful laugh but then all thoughts were replaced with sickening confusion as his eyes snapped shut against the dizzying sensation of being forced through what felt like narrow tube.

Crashing to the ground, Harry begin to heave and would have vomited had he had anything in his stomach to expel. Shaking, Harry opened his eyes and looked through his fringe to see a landscape far different from the one he had been in mere seconds before. 'Seems the adventure found me then' he thought with a dreadful pang of regret as he wondered how his bad luck had somehow taken his wish for adventure and given him terror and pain and a dark house with a strange man he didn't know. Or at least he thought he didn't know. He hadn't got a real view of the man yet, but something about it all seemed eerily familiar, as if it was from a dream. There was a fire in the grate, giving enough light to see deep red walls decorated with sneering portraits that reminded Harry of when he had studied the Tudors in school last year. Thoughts of beheadings jolted him alert enough to realise he had to try to escape, and without looking he knew the door out of the room was directly behind him. Before he could shift enough to face it, however, he felt himself lifted off the ground as the short hooded man who had brought him here him called out.

"I have him, master, he is here!"

"Good" wheezed a high, weak voice, and instantly fear filled him. Turning his head in it's direction he felt the headache that had been building inside him shoot with a pulse of pain and then explode, causing his knees to buckle and everything around him to spin. "Proceed" was the last word he heard before the world once again shifted and he found himself upside down, held in the air by some unknown force as a sweaty, rat like face he was now sure he recognised gathered up a bundle of robes and hastened to the door, somehow pulling Harry along with him. In between the jumble of panicked thoughts that raced through his head as they moved, Harry collected himself just enough to wonder what that other voice had been in the house. He had of yet only seen one man but there were undoubtably two people here. Maybe one of them was holding him up? But no, the second he thought it he dismissed it as no matter how little sense it made he was sure he was being held by invisible strings rather than any human force.

The hallway they passed through barely registered as Harry fought to remain conscious against the pain in his head and the panic he felt at the situation, but once they exited the heavy oak front doors and down into the grounds he felt a pang of hope. They were nearing a graveyard, not his he knew, but any graveyard had ghosts and he was sure they would try to help. A few steps closer and Harry saw the first pale wisp of a figure standing by an uprooted and long dead tree. Afraid to alert his captor, he did not cry out but instead waved frantically at the ghost of a woman he saw, only stopping when the movement caused his bag to nearly slip from his back. He was about to begin again when the woman looked up, but before he had a chance to try and signal for help she was fleeing away from the procession, a few other pale flashes telling Harry that the pitiful number of ghosts this graveyard occupied had run from them as well. All he knew then was dread. He didn't previously know there was anything that could threaten a ghost so much it would run away like that, but obviously this man and whatever else was there had just that ability and what could a boy like him do against something as powerful as that.

They came to an abrupt halt by a large marble headstone and after the man lay whatever he was holding beside what looked like a giant cauldron Harry was spun upright and pressed against the stone. Knowing he was quite alone and that help would not come he began to struggle, kicking and screaming out as ropes came from nowhere and began to fasten him to the stone. Jerking his head forward he managed for a second to make impact with the man and he bit down against the arm that restrained him, noticing that he had a finger missing in the second it took for the man to pull himself free and slap Harry across the face. The final ropes came down and Harry was trapped completely and utterly, not able to so much as move his head. The man shuffled backwards, working his hands together nervously as he turned back to the bundle that Harry saw with horror was writhing around like some demonic baby. A fire appeared beneath the cauldron beside it and almost immediately it began to bubble and spit, sparks and steam rising off of it and obscuring the immediate surroundings. The liquid itself looked to be on fire and that same high voice he heard before came from the direction of the robes.

"Now, Wormtail." And with that the man, Wormtail it seemed, went to the robes and pulled them apart, revealing what looked like a burned and horribly mutilated child. That was not what it was though, Harry was sure, for something like that could not be young or even human. It was a nightmare come alive and somewhere in Harry's mind he thought he could here high pitched laughter, and maybe screaming, then pain in his forehead brought reality back into focus and he watched in growing horror as a revolted looking Pettigrew picked up the thing and took it to the cauldron letting it tumble into the dark liquid with a hiss. 'Let it drown' was all Harry could think as the scar on his head burned, before his attention was diverted by the quavering voice of Pettigrew, who for the first time sounded almost as afraid as he felt.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son." Harry noticed for the first time that Pettigrew was holding some sort of stick, and in spite of everything he felt fascination as some sort of power seemed to flow through it and crack the ground beneath him. 'It's like a wand from that book about witches' he thought as from the ground a stream of dust seemed to rise and float forward towards the cauldron. Falling in, the surface went from shimmering diamonds to a poisonous blue. Pettigrew's voice shook even more now, as from his strange cloak he pulled out something that caught the reflection of the cauldron enough to reveal as a knife.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master." With the final word he extended his right hand and brought the knife up, through his flesh and, even though Harry closed his eyes against the horrifying sight of Wormtail's hand being sliced from his body and falling down into the cauldron, he could still hear the gut wrenching scream and could not understand why the man would cause himself so much pain, nor what doing it could possibly cause even as the burning red light of the potion shon through his closed eyelids. Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony, and it was not until he felt his hot and shaky breath against his own that Harry knew the man was right in front of him.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe." At this line Harry felt his own arm grasped, and even as he tried once again to fight against his bounds he began to wonder if this was all a mistake. Whoever this man and the monster thing were, he could not be their enemy. He might think he dreamt about them once but there was no way he could have done anything bad enough to make these people hate him. Sure his aunt and uncle said everyone hated him, but surely just existing wouldn't be enough to make this happen? If he wasn't the right enemy, maybe this wouldn't work. Maybe he wouldn't have to see what the potion would do when it was finished. Then the shaking silver dagger was brought against his near fleshless arm and he felt it scrape against bone as blood began to pool down. It journeyed to the cauldron and hit it with a flash of blinding white, bringing Pettigrew to his knees as he cradled his stump of an arm.

So bright was the cauldron that everything else faded to blackness, but nothing happened. 'Could it have gone wrong?' Harry thought, hardly daring to hope that he had been right and they were wrong about him being their enemy. Then the sparks stopped, and steam rose is a violent blinding cloud of white, blocking all of his vision for a moment until it gave way to the dark, skeletal figure of a man rising slowly from the cauldron.

"Robe me" said the high cold voice that sounded like that of the monster baby, only stronger and somehow even colder. Wormtail, still sobbing and moaning, jumped at the command and scrambled over to the robes strewn out where he had lifted the monster thing before. He pulled them over the bald, white, snake-like head of the man in the cauldron and then he stepped out, staring at Harry with an expression that could only be described as hungry.

"Harry Potter. We meet again."