Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.

Author Note: Right, finally figured out how to italicize, etc. so the Prologue was repaired. Now onto the next chapter!

The Flight From Death

Chapter I: Nightmares

He crept forward with the crafty silence of a snake, glittering green eyes set upon the cottage he could now view for the first time.

Pettigrew had been true to his word.

He did not bother to slink through a back door, or climb through a window - this would be far too undignified. And he certainly had no reason to attack from behind, no, he would face them head on. He would find this threat to his existence, and he would prove to the Wizarding World that no one could end his reign.

Particularly not a mangy, weak toddler with a mudblood of a mother.

A cruel smile twisted his gaunt face, long fingers slipping around the long, yew wand in his pocket. He removed the wand from his robes, pointed it toward the wooden door of the cottage, and thrust it forward into the night air.

The door was blown from its hinges.

There was a strangled yell from the next room, a soft scream from the upstairs landing, and footsteps.

He saw him as he rounded the corner, and his instincts buzzed with the need for revenge. This fool, this raven-haired, hazel-eyed fool youth who had managed to weasel his way out of death three times. Born to those who have thrice defied him... The words of the prophecy caused green eyes to narrow with contempt.

The man seemed to have regained his senses, he yelled a warning to someone upstairs, and drew his wand.

"You'll never get Harry. You'll lose. I'll never let you kill my family."

"Your family?" The words escaped him with a horrible sarcasm, and the other man's eyes narrowed fiercely.

"The family who so willingly revealed to me where to find you?" He chuckled as James Potter's eyes suddenly began to widen, and a strange emotion - fear, perhaps? - appeared behind them.

"N-No…They would never…Peter would never…"

"He betrayed you willingly, the mindless coward. I had only to ask and your dear friend stuttered exactly what I wanted to hear." He was enjoying the other man's horror, and for this reason he was almost caught off guard as the other screamed -

"AVADA KEDAV-"

A flick of his wand and the curse was deflected before the other could manage to finish it.

"You…you…Peter wouldn't…what did you…" The raven-haired man was shaking, and he was enjoying this far too much to make it quick. Yet when the other did manage to speak, he was trembling with rage and hissed the words as he backed up to block the door frame, standing between the route to his family and the man who wished to kill them.

"You worthless killer…I'll never let you touch my family…"

And the duel began.

"IMPERIO!"

"PROTEGO! STUPEFY-"

The stunning spell was cast aside, and met with the Cruciatus Curse. The man might have dodged it if he had only stepped aside, but he would not cease from blocking the path. Within moments he had crumbled screaming, using his hands to hold him up against the wall, refusing to fall. And the curse was held to him for no less then a full minute of agony, until the hand which held the wand in place rose.

The raven-haired man shook uncontrollably, struggling to remain standing. His glasses had fallen and lay forgotten on the floor as he gasped for breath, and turned to face the man responsible.

"You can't…won't let…Harry…"

"Move."

"Can't…Lily…no…Harry…"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NOOOOOOOO!" Harry Potter lunged upward in bed, falling to the floor as his scar seared with incomparable pain.

He had killed him. He had killed his father.

"WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU MEAN BY THIS BOY?" His uncle had broken into his room with an audible SLAM! The door was torn clean from it's hinges.

Just as he, Harry, had done to Godric's Hollow. Had done to his house.

He killed him.

Tearing the blankets from him, he attempted to stand but fell to the floor. He was drenched in cold sweat, icy tears had leaked from eyes still wide with horror. He attempted to answer his uncle but could not speak, feeling as though he would be sick in moments.

The thought was forcibly strengthened as his uncle's foot collided with his gut.

"MAKING A RACKET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! WAKING UP MY FAMILY! I WON'T HAVE IT! YOU CAN TELL YOUR RUDDY ABNORMAL FRIENDS TO COME AND FETCH YOU, YOU'RE NOT WELCOME IN MY HOUSE!" Uncle Vernon roared, quite oblivious to the racket he himself was making. Within moments Dudley and Aunt Petunia were standing outside the door frame in shock.

And his Uncle's foot collided with his side.

"OUT! GET OUT!"

But Harry could not move. He dimly registered his Uncle's furious kicks, but they were of little importance to him. He had killed his father. He had killed James Potter. He had seen it. He had done it.

He had killed him.

"Vernon-" His Aunt Petunia began, as though to placate the man, but was interrupted by another roar, and cowered back against the wall, pulling Dudley to her.

"NO MORE OF THIS! THREATENED BY YOUR BLOODY FRIENDS! I WON'T HAVE IT!"

Another kick, and Harry was yanked to his feet by the collar of his pajamas.

A blow to the head returned him to his senses.

He staggered out of the room and began to descend the stairs when a rough kick caught him in the small of the back, and he fell the rest of the way. There was a crack as he landed directly on his right wrist. He attempted to muffle a shout of pain, forcing himself upward, opening the door with clammy hands, and staggering drunkenly out into the night before his Uncle could make his way down the stairs in time to kick him again.

He could not think. He could not breathe.

And so he walked, trembling violently, more out of horror of the nightmare he had just witnessed then the pain his uncle had instilled upon him.

He, Harry, had seen it. How many times had he heard the voices of his mother and father in his head, had heard his - no, Voldemort's cruel laughter? But this was unbearable. He had seen his home, had seen his father alive, had tortured him, had killed him.

And suddenly he could walk no further, his legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the grass outside the children's park he had taken refuge in last year. The swing he had sat upon had been wrecked by Dudley and his gang in the year since he had last visited.

He stared up at the black night sky, up at the full moon so like the one that had lit the path he had taken to his home. To kill them.

He had killed him.

But he would not cry. He could not. The tears would not come, he could only stare upward lifelessly, his head still ringing with pain from the blow Vernon had dealt him, and the burning that still lingered from his scar. His wrist was bent unnaturally, and seemed to radiate pain.

And the rain began to fall. Perhaps it was this that cleared his head, brought him to his senses, away from the sleepy stupor that had caused him to flee his Aunt and Uncle's house. Forcing aside the still present horror of his dream, he suddenly realized what trouble he found himself in.

He was alone in Magnolia Crescent with no wand, a broken wrist, no glasses, and a searing headache. He realized vaguely that this was probably as enormously stupid a move as dancing in front of Voldemort with a sign reading 'LIVE BAIT!'

Limbs still shaking violently, he managed to stumble to his feet, wiping away the cold sweat gathered on his forehead with his sleeve.

The best thing to do would probably be to head to Mrs. Figg's home, explain what had happened - minus the nightmare and embarrassing screaming - and ask for a place to spend the night. With a surge of inner annoyance, he noted that it would have been a much smarter idea to head to Mrs. Figg's home as soon as he had left the Dursley's, for now he would have to retrace his steps without being able to see anything.

Blindly, he began to trudge forward when a soft noise caught his attention.

It was a soft, squeaking sound, and he wheeled around to face the swing, assuming a breeze had caused it to move.

But the swing was still.

The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end, he was certain he was being watched. Standing very still he listened carefully, and heard the squeaking sound again off to his right. Jerking his head sideways he squinted into the night, as though expecting to see a death eater leering back at him.

He saw nothing but an old sewer, probably infested by rats.

Oh no…

His heart pounding, he tilted his head slowly downward toward the pavement, and a pair of small, beady eyes gleamed back at him through the night.

He did not wait to make certain, there was no doubt in his mind - he bolted in the other direction, back through the park, yet was halted by a new installment to the park. Apparently whoever was in charge of the area's management seemed to feel as though the only way to keep Dudley and his gang out of the area was to install a tall, metal linked fence with a locked gate outside the perimeter. He managed to register that this was probably a clever idea, for Dudley's immense bulk would never have been able to climb the five-foot fence.

Panicking, he scrabbled upward, however was reminded of his broken wrist as the offending appendage seared with pain. No… He had to make it to the top. He was nearly there!

Footsteps sounded behind him.

He struggled up, his head pounding. The world began to tilt.

He reached the top, straining to force his way over, managed to force one leg over the top when a pair of grubby hands grasped the other and pulled.

And with an echoing shout, he felt himself falling to the grass below, and knew no more.

A/N: Well…that's chapter one! What do you think? If it's worth continuing, let me know! If it's absolutely abysmal and deserves a good kick in the mule, flame away! Either way, thanks for reading! I'll reply to reviews in the next chapter :D