A/N: Bit of a change of pace. Fliping through my Ipod, I came across the song A Silent Melody from the Infamous Soundtrack (preformed by "Working For a Nuclear Free City"). I thought the lyrics could describe Peter looking at the Potter's home after the attack, and...well here we are.

Looking at the wreckage before him, a young man was completely lost. Oh, he knew where he was physically, but inside… nothing. No stability, no sense of direction, no purpose, nothing. Just lost. He was free, that much was certain, at the expense of another's freedom, but he had nowhere to go. His "friends" weren't an option. Even in his present state, he snorted. "Friends" they said. They didn't care about him, only his knowledge. They tolerated him. Those who were actually his friends…were no longer an option either. He didn't mean it! He thought that they would have… that… what did he think? That they could have defeated Him? Not likely. No, he had known what would happen when he brought the location to his master. And his friends weren't the only ones to pay the price.

Why had he come back? What was left here for him? The man he came with is gone, maybe for good. The boy was also gone, although he had no idea where or how. Nothing but the…bodies. HE had done this. Not literally (the Dark Lord did, personally), but he was still responsible. But wasn't this what he wanted? To be seen? To be acknowledged? Well, now he had done it. He would most likely be recognized, albeit posthumously (as far as everyone else was concerned). Those who had always looked down upon him, were gone, including his "master". So why did he feel so… empty?

They had shut him out as the years had gone on, right? Well, sort of, but never intentionally. They looked down on him, condescended to him! Actually, they were much nicer and much more understanding than his other so-called "friends". But most of all, memories were running through his head: shaking hands on the train, a pair of dashing purebloods willing to speak with him, not just speak near him, but let him participate! Arguing with that Hat…finally convincing it that being in a house with two (and most likely the third) of his new friends was more important than fitting in…yes, there was a time where he valued his friendships over fitting in to the general group. Standing out was okay, as long as those three were with him. And all through school that philosophy held. Other memories over various pranks played on a massive list of people, most of which would later be his associates.

After school, when he was less useful, he was slowly sidelined. The Order thanked him for his service, but never used him for anything. His friends insisted that they weren't keeping him out of the fight on purpose, and maybe they weren't. But Dumbledore, that barmy old coot, was. He didn't want the little guy getting hurt…bastard. So he decided to show them…to show them all! He could be great without them. When the Dark Lord's servants came with their proposals again, he accepted. And when he had the information he needed, to finally prove to his friends that he could fight without them, he hadn't hesitated. But now, feeling so confused, so empty…what went wrong?

Everything.

He felt...numb. The pain would come, he knew that. Even if their bodies had been moved, he could still see them, their blank eyes staring, accusing. Just like every other person he had to kill or torture. the act itself wasn't hard. The aftermath...that was the challenge. The others had dehumanized thier victims: "their just Muggles!" or "their just Mudbloods/Muggle-lovers..." But he could never do that. growing up around muggle-born students, he had never developed the same prejudices as the others. His parents were both magical, but neither were from any prominent pureblood family. Both were half-bloods, and so he was merely accepted in his new role. And he had never grown into that role. No matter how many he killed behind his mask, he still felt horrible after.

It would be even worse now, he was sure. Those namelss victims were nothing compare to these. James's laugh, and a clap on the shoulder, Lily's smile and words of encouragement. Gone. Remus's ideas, harmless pranks, and advice. Sirius's ideas, harmless(-ish) pranks, and "advice". All gone.

Fear slowly breaks through the numbness. What will he do now? Run? To where? Nowhere! No home, No friends…only friend left thinks he's dead. The other servants would turn him in for a reward, or kill him outright for leading their master to his doom. The Dark Lord can't be dead, not entirely. The master had done some ritual before coming here, he said it was part of the secret to his immortality. While he had known better than to ask how it worked, he did know that the Dark Lord was never wrong. Ever! So he must be ready…yes, he would prepare for His return. Survive just until the return… but how?

He would hide. But where? Who would take him in? No one… why would anyone shelter a stranger in the current social climate, and if he was recognized, well he was supposed to be dead! Where could he go? Again no one would take him in…but maybe silence would work. Hide from everyone and everything, including (or perhaps especially) from himself. To shift to change, to get as far away from this mess of a life as possible. But how to start over? Changing his life…of course! Hide away! And what better way to hide than…

Peter Pettigrew took one last look around at the destroyed home of his former friends, shed one final tear, and with a pop, scurried away. that action broke the last bits of the numb sensation, and the rest of his emotions swirled through. In that mix, however, one feeling stood out above all the others…

Regret.

So I'm not really sure where to go next. Anyone have any requests? I'll probably figure something out, but would like your input.

And please, as every author always asks: Review!

Thanks for reading,

Jakyerski