Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing and I am making no profit.

Setting: This story starts a couple of weeks after the end of GoF, but after that goes AU.

Chapter 8: Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.

Peter Pettigrew trotted quickly down the hall. Late again! And where was James anyway? Peter depended on James to remind him of the time. He had a habit of losing his watches and, after years of watching Peter fail to on time for pretty much anything, James had made it his personal crusade to make sure he was on time for things. Today, though, James had run off somewhere with Remus and, without the aid of his more punctual friend, Peter had spent too long dozing by the commonroom fireplace.

He silently cursed his friend for being unreliable. It was just bad form to allow someone to depend on you that way if you weren't always going to be there. Wasn't it?

He skidded around a corner, almost falling as he did, then froze as the corridor unexpectedly sank into darkness. All the lamps had simultaneously shuttered out and, as Peter tried to make eyes adjust, a chill came into the air. His heart began to pound as he tried to stop images of dementors and death eaters from clamoring in his mind. Surely it was just a problem with the lamps. And, of course, it would be colder if they all went out. There was no sunlight in this part of the castle and the lamps lining the walls provided warmth as well as light.

"Hello?" he called meekly. "Sirius?" Part of him was beginning to think that this was a prank. He would turn around and see Sirius and James, or even Snape or Nott or someone, standing behind him, pointing and laughing about how they'd scared him. That was the more logical explanation, wasn't it? More logical than dementors at Hogwarts.

Thinking of Snape and Nott, Peter briefly considered turning into a rat and running for it - the Slytherins were, in some ways, just as frightening as any dark creature could ever hope to be - but decided against the notion at the thought of what James or Sirius might do to him if he were caught, not to mention the brief Azkaban sentence he would have to serve for being an unregistered animagus.

A distant cry and the sound of approaching wind came to his ears and he spun around on his feet, trying to figure out where it was coming from. "Sirius?" he called again, a little desperately. The cry was growing louder and now he could feel gusts of air buffeting his body. He turned and began to run, hoping he would not smack into a wall in the darkness. He had no sense of direction. His hair was being swept forward over his face and his robes blowing around him. "James?!" he called, terrified now. "Anyo- oof!" The wind had suddenly grown so strong it had knocked him down. The distant cry had become a close scream, but was cut off abruptly with the thud of a body hitting stone. Someone groaned.

The wind died, the air warmed and the lamps flickered back to life.

Peter got slowly to his feet, checking himself over for injuries before turning to find a battered figure in jeans and T-Shirt, struggling to get himself up from the ground. Peter's mouth formed an O of surprise as he realised it was James. He dashed to his fallen friend's side to help him up.

"James! James, what happened?" He grabbed at James's arm and steadied him as he rose on wobbly legs, then gasped as their eyes met. "James?" he said stupidly, confused, though clearly he'd been mistaken; this was not James, though the resemblance was remarkable. The boy who stared back at Peter now did so from eye level - making him considerably shorter than James - with cold, green eyes that looked oddly out of place among the more familiar features of his face. James's eyes were hazel.

The boy turned away from Peter and took in the details of the hall. "I'mm aht 'ogwarts?" he slurred, still unsteady on his feet and leaning heavily on Peter's shoulder.

"Um. Yeah, you are," said Peter, feeling out of his depth. "Are you injured? Do you want me get a teacher? I'm going to transfiguration. I can get McGonnagal. She can, um ..." He trailed off again as the boy who was not James pushed away from him slightly and regarded him blurrily from a distance of a few feet.

"Wormtail?" he asked at last.

Peter jerked in surprise at the sound of the nickname coming from this stranger. "Er, yeah," he said, "And, you'd be … ?"

But the boy didn't answer. Instead, he staggered back a few paces, falling into a perfect defensive stance as he did so. He had produced a wand from somewhere and was now pointing it at Peter. Peter scrabbled back, squeaking in fright. He reached for his own wand only to find it was no longer in his pocket. The boy had stolen his wand!

The boy's eyes darted around the corridor, his wand hand shaking. He looked decidedly unstable and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, certain he was about to be hexed. When nothing happened he risked peeking out. The boy still had the wand pointed at Peter's heart, but was holding back from casting any spells. It was as though he thought Peter was some dangerous creature that needed to be held at bay.

"Look," said Peter holding up his hands, trying not to look dangerous, "Look, I want my wand back." The boy either didn't hear or didn't care. Rather than handing the wand back, he began backing down the hall, keeping it pointed at Peter until reaching an intersection and disappearing around the corner. The sound of his running feet echoed behind him.

Left alone in the hall, Peter continued to stare for a moment, then looked around as though searching for some kind of witness to confirm what had just happened. Finding no one, he turned on his heal and rushed on to transfiguration. He needed to find a teacher.

A minute later he was dashing into the transfiguration classroom. A few people glanced up, including McGonnagal. "Mr. Pettigrew, if you insist on arriving late, at least have the dignity to arrive without disturbing the rest of the class," she said shortly. "Have a seat."

She returned to her blackboard. Peter, however, didn't move. "Professor!" he burst out. "Professor, a boy appeared in the hall and took my wand!"

The class began to titter with amusement. McGonnagal frowned at them. "Quiet!" she commanded. They quieted. "What did he look like?" she asked Peter suspiciously, clearly not in the mood for this to be a joke. "Was he a student?"

"He wasn't wearing school robes Professor, he was wearing muggle clothes, and he, um, he …" McGonnagal raised an eyebrow. "He looked like James, Professor!"

A few people laughed. "Alright, Potter," someone jeered good-naturedly from the Ravenclaw table, "Give him his wand back!" James didn't laugh. His face was set in an expression of curiosity. Beside him, Fred looked as though he was about to jump from his chair.

McGonnagal was eying Peter with irritation, obviously trying to decide whether or not to take him seriously. She sighed. "Class," she said, "I'm going to the headmaster to inform him of the situation. I expect all of you to read page two hundred and twelve of your text while I'm gone. Pettigrew, you come with me, I want you to tell the headmaster what happened." She clamped a hand down on Peter's shoulder and ushered him from the room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Fred managed to hold back for about ten seconds before hurtling out the door after the pair, and could hear Sirius, James and Remus close behind. Lily 's cry - "James! Hey, what are you lot … ?" - just reached his ears as he got out into the hall.

Wanting to reach Dumbledore's office without crossing paths with McGonnagal, he chose to take a little known shortcut through a utilities closet. Pushing his way through mops and buckets, he could hear the others still behind him, Sirius cursing as he tripped over a dustpan.

They came out of the passageway into the boy's bathroom on the fourth floor, Fred about six paces ahead of the rest. Two more sets of staircases and he'd be at Dumbledore's office. He knew that was where Harry would go. It was where he himself had gone after landing painfully in the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom a few days earlier.

He rounded the last corner and stopped dead. He'd found him, just as he'd thought he would, standing by the gargoyle, looking decidedly pale and windswept, hair even more messy than usual. He caught sight of Fred and gave him a shaky look of relief that seemed to express everything Fred himself was feeling at that moment. The weight of guilt that had plagued him for days lifted mercifully from his shoulders.

"Fred!" Harry shouted happily, "I thought you were lost on the wa … " he stopped dead, the smile falling from his face as Sirius appeared in the hall, followed almost instantly James and Remus, the latter quite out of breath.

Everyone froze, all bar Fred trying to figure out exactly what it was they were seeing. Harry, who had already been swaying on his feet, looked as though he might drop into a faint at any moment.

It was James who moved first. He stepped out toward Harry, right hand extended. "James Potter," he said with a half smile.

"Harry," said Harry, taking the offered hand and staring at James as though star struck. Fred had a horrible feeling that he was about to blurt out something damaging, such as: 'but you're dead!'

"Who is that?" whispered Remus.

"Harry Potter," Fred murmured, "He's James's son."