A/N: Okay so this was the first story I ever wrote for fanfiction. It is currently being rewritten because I thought it could have been a lot better. This chapter has already been rewritten and I'm in the process of doing so with the other ones as well. Hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own anything that you recognize, specifically anything Harry Potter related.

The Prologue

Peter Pettigrew was dumbstruck. This had most definitely not been covered in the plan. He stared down at the empty shell of the former Dark Lord Voldemort with acute panic.

His former master was sprawled lifeless against the wall, lacking any of the cold dignity that the man had positively oozed while he had been alive. The normally cruel visage that had scared many a man witless was instead that of shock and utmost horror. Oh no, this had most definitely not been part of the plan.

He brought a trembling hand to his greasy, slightly sweaty forehead and pondered the position he had been put in. If he was honest, he had put himself in this position, through the betrayal of friends that he had once considered family, but his former master seemed to be incapable of hurting Wormtail in the slightest at the moment and that meant he could blame the Dark Lord all he wanted.

The original plan had been to- he shuddered- kill the boy while the elder Potters were out so when they returned they would find nothing but their only son dead in his crib.

It had been thought by the Dark Lord, who's grasp on the concept of love was iffy at best, that their intense grieving would make them weaker than ever before and thereby eliminate them as a potential threat, or so he had told Wormtail.

However Wormtail, despite his many unpleasant flaws, was very good at gathering intel and it was not long before he had heard rumor of a prophesy that involved a child with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. When he had first overheard the tale he had believed it to be nothing but wishful gossiping among the frightened wizards of England. Now, he wasn't so sure. After all the body of his master lying not two feet away indicated that this supposed prophesy might have been real.

If Peter had not seen it with his own eyes he would not have believed it.

In his mind's eye, he watched as Voldemort strode lazily over to the crib, where a pair of bright green eyes could be seen peeking through the rails. The child sat calmly a blanket clutched in one chubby fist and a question in his eyes. His confusion was not surprising, after all the boy had only met a select few people what with being in hiding and Voldemort had almost certainly not been one of them.

Voldemort moved his wand to the boy's forehead, brushing aside a tuft of black hair casually, as his lips began forming the most feared unforgivable curse. Looking back, it was almost comical; the way the boy had stared cross eyed at the stick thrust between his eyes and how the back-firing spell had tossed the most feared wizard in all of wizarding Britain like a rag doll into the baby blue walls of the child's bedroom. Peter could almost see the canaries flying around the Dark Lord's head.

Peter shook himself. Well the boy definitely had James' knack for doing the unexpected…James. He couldn't let his old friend know his part in this. If he knew how he had sold them out to save his own hide… It was one thing if the Dark Lord was around to protect him, but it was a whole other scenario to face the wrath of the Potters, Remus, Sirius and the Order of the Phoenix all on his own. Peter had never been a very competent wizard and he knew quite well he was not a match for any of them by himself, let alone all of them.

He could lie about it, but in the end there was too many ways to dig it out of him-veritaserum, torture, even the imperius- no it was best to run.

But then, what about Harry? When Lily and James came home to find him gone, the Dark Lord's body, and a wounded Harry, they would surely investigate. All it would take is a decent legilimens to find out what happened and they were certain to contact Dumbledore about the situation immediately.

There was nothing else for it he would have to…kill him…

He raised his wand to the young boy's forehead and tried not to think about what he was about to do.

The child had just stopped his wailing over his encounter with Voldemort and looked up at him with those great green eyes, perplexed. "Wummy?" he said.

Peter dropped his wand with a clatter; he couldn't do it.

He knew in his shriveled up little rat-like heart that there was no way in hell he would ever be able to kill a child, especially not this child. This boy was the only being he could ever remember that looked at him without pity or disgust. This child, young though he might be, had always looked at him with those wide green eyes as if he was someone worth knowing.

He still couldn't stay here though, and Peter wasn't about to raise the boy; his sympathy did not reach quite that far. The kid might like him now, but he would find out what happened eventually and when that day came he would surely murder him in his sleep.

It came to him quickly; he would just drop the boy off at some random house and he would never be found.

It had only been one of those wild thoughts you get when you are really panicking, but the more he thought on it the more he liked the idea. There would be no way for the Potters, or anyone for that matter, to track the boy down as it would truly be like picking a needle from a haystack.

So long as the people within the house did not send him to an orphanage, where he would be put on record, it would be nearly impossible to find him.

Mind set, Peter scooped up the child gently, wrapping him securely in his yellow baby blanket just like Lily had shown him and apparated to London. This was a mistake.

The moment he touched ground the only sound that could be heard was Harry's screaming. He forced his shaky hand over the kid's mouth to quiet the cries and set off looking for the biggest, most well-kept, and expensive looking house he could find.

His logic being that the nicer the place, the more likely they had enough money to take care of the currently bawling toddler. Rich people would be less likely to send him off to the orphanage than someone who would struggle to make the ends meet.

He skittered along the dark streets until he spied a large white brick building that had flower boxes mounted on every window. This one seems nice enough.

He placed baby Harry down on the ground, who quickly quit his crying out of surprise, and rapped loudly on the door three times before scampering off as a rat to watch what happened from the street.

A light inside the house came on immediately and soon a man had the door cracked to show one wary brown eye and the barrel of a gleaming silver handgun.

Okay…Maybe this wasn't the best house to leave him at.

Seeing no-one the man opened the door further and revealed a tall, muscular physique absolutely covered in tattoos. In his inspection of the street outside he eventually looked down to see baby Harry at his sock-clad feet.

The child giggled at his bewildered face and did not protest when the man stooped to pick him up.

As the man walked in and closed the door behind him, he yelled; "Elisha, come look what I found!"

His work done, Peter scurried down an exposed sewage pipe and began his new lonely life as a fugitive.

Try not to get yourself discovered Harry, wouldn't want your Uncle 'Wummy' to get killed now would ya'?