Peter had never felt happiness.

Come to think of it, he'd never felt at peace either. It seemed his hand choking his own throat was the way he'd go out. He felt a small twinge of regret inside him, looking at Harry, Harry with his mother's eyes and his father's kindness, a family he had betrayed without a second thought. Maybe it was payment. For all the things he had done, or be forced into doing by Voldemort. The word felt strangely malevolent in his thoughts.

Ron Weasley looked shocked as he tried to prise the silver hand. Peter choked some more trying to tell him it was no use. He was going down, down to sleep he had never thought he would have. It seemed welcoming. He closed his eyes.

He opened them. He felt exposed, vulnerable and barren. The ground around him was white. He looked down and wished he hadn't. He was naked, and he desperately wanted to be clothed. Barely had he thought so when a fresh set of robes popped out of nowhere. He gaped at it before eagerly putting them on. Then a voice spoke.

'Peter?'

His first instinct was to hide, to scurry. But he quelled it. Albus Dumbledore was striding towards him, looking as if he was years younger. 'Shall we walk then?' Peter mutely nodded, and he walked besides the old wizard.

'I'm sorry.' He said, not looking at Dumbledore. The wizard looked curiously at Peter before replying.

'But whatever for?'

Peter gaped at him. 'I sold out James to V-Vo-Voldemort!' Dumbledore smiled. 'I sent Sirius to Azkaban when I wanted to escape the Death Eaters! How am I not a-' He stopped, as if unsure to swear in front of his old headmaster. Dumbledore inclined his head.

'Yes, you have. But tell me Peter—were you really willing to let Voldemort kill the Potters? Or for that matter, kill Harry?'

'It-it was an impulse. The hand—it was the Dark Lord's doing!' Peter said, still hating himself. 'I hid for 12 years, afraid to face my friends, professor. I was forced into betraying them.' He looked down at his hands. 'And the worst part is—I'm not sure if I was with it or against it.'

'War changes men.' Dumbledore remarked. 'It can make the bravest of lions cravens, and the strongest of men the weakest.' Peter turned to look at the wizard. 'Your actions, however inexcusable to some, however despicable to others, were not what you meant. There was a reason why the Hat put you in Gryffindor.'

It suddenly dawned on Peter. 'But you're dead.' He said while wincing. That was really blunt. Dumbledore's eyes seemed to gleam.

'Yes, I am.'

'But that must mean,' He looked round the white surroundings, 'I'm dead too?'

'Not quite, Peter.' Dumbledore explained. 'The brief moment of regret you felt, has found you in quite an unusual circumstance. The higher powers have meant to give you a task.'

'Me? But how? Why?' Peter blabbered. Dumbledore held a hand up, and Peter was silenced.

'Why is beyond my understanding. But one thing is clear, though I suspect you might find this difficult, Peter. You are needed to travel to a different world, one with similarities and differences alike. There is no Peter Pettigrew here, but there is someone else who you will be.'

'Other worlds?' Peter repeated. Was he really the one for this task? Couldn't whoever calling the shots just find someone else? 'I'm not sure if I'm good enough for this, sir.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

'There is another choice however. Should you not wish to do this task, you could always move on.'

'On?'

'Yes. Let's say you could board a train here, and go on. Do you wish to, then?' Peter thought of James, Sirius, Remus and all the others who were dead. Could he even think of resting without seeing their faces, broken and mad?

'No. I'll go to this place, wherever it is.' And hopefully not do anything dumb before I kill myself. Dumbledore looked sadly at him.

'Then our business here is done. Remember Peter, that there is always a chance between what is right and what is easy. And also, find the horcruxes.'

'Wait, what?' Wind seemed to blow into his face. 'Professor!' The white seemed to increase until he could no longer see.

'Pete?'

The voice opened his eyes. It was a woman, with bright blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked anxiously at him. 'Are you alright?' She looked bursting to cry, so Peter nodded. She threw herself at him.

'Oh thank goodness!' She said, half sobbing into his shoulders. 'I was so worried about you, you know?' Peter liked this woman's embrace—it felt warm on his body. Then he realized who she was supposed to be and tried to control her tears.

'It's okay, mum.' He said, amazed at how young his voice sounded. 'I'm fine, really. See, no broken bones!' She chuckled softly into his shirt.

'Don't ever scare me like that.' She said, drawing herself straighter. Peter could really notice the difference in height between him and his mother. He must be a child now. 'Now come on, the Healer's told me you're good to go.'

Peter marvelled at how St. Mungo's had never changed at all. The witches and wizards with ailments were not different than they were in the 1990s. He followed his mother, Catherine (he had learned the name when the nurses had called her so) as she went out of Dowse and Purge's and grabbed her hand. He felt a twisting sensation in his gut as his mum apparated.

He landed on soft grass. His mother brushed his robes and smiled at him. 'Just a walk now, Peter.' She said, and Peter hurriedly followed. His original mother had never been as kind as this lady. They reached an iron gate and Peter rushed forward, only to have his jaws drop.

Their house was an old mansion, stately and ancient. Only the Malfoy Manor had looked this regal. The rest of his walk was watching every single detail in the house that was to be his life.

Catherine had sent him to his room, which was also no less shabby. His bedroom alone had the banner of the Montrose Magpies and his window overlooked the estate. In other words, he was very well to do. His mind returned to what Dumbledore had told him.

What in the name of Merlin were Horcruxes?

At around 2 in the afternoon, Peter had the shock of his life. He had just been looking at his dresses when he chanced a look at the mirror.

His hair was no longer blonde. Instead, they were the lightest shade of brown and his eyes like his mother's blue orbs. He still looked pudgy, but that could have been due to his childhood. Not any sooner, he was called down to lunch by a house elf who he almost punched out of fright. The dinner table was full of plates laden with food, but that wasn't the only thing Peter saw. A man with his brown hair sat next to Catherine. He grinned at Peter as he sat beside him.

'Afternoon, son!' He said. 'Had a little fun with the brooms today?'

'Er-' Peter started, not really knowing what to say.

'Not to worry, Pete.' His father said, then leaned across conspiratorially. 'How about another round?' Mum was not amused at this.

'Richard, he could have been seriously injured!' She almost shouted. Dad dropped the topic, but he ruffled Peter's hair.

'Ready for Hogwarts then?' He asked. Peter looked at him surprised. 'Oh, don't act like that. You're the one who wanted to go to Ollivander's.' Mum blew out a deep breath.

'Richard Parker, don't encourage him now.'

'Sorry, Cat.' He said, not looking remotely abashed. 'Shouldn't you be getting the letter now?'

Something thumped against the glass of the windows. A tiny owl beat its wings furiously outside. Dad opened the windows and the owl landed into the pudding. Mum muttered, 'Really!' but cleared up the mess and plucked the letter from its claws. She gave it a once over and said, 'That's the one all right.' Peter leant to see it, as his dad dropped some Knuts into the owl's talons.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Parker,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Peter's stomach erupted into nervousness. He was going to Hogwarts, and while the place did bring back memories, he hoped that this time they would be better. Another thing that he wasn't sure was ironic was his name. Peter Parker. By Circe, the higher powers did like their jokes.

The rest of the day he spent inside. He pored over the books his parents had, and went back and forth but still couldn't find anything about horcruxes. It was as if they didn't exist at all. And then there were the matter of his friends, or the ones about to be his friends.

Could he even have normal conversation with them? Sure they weren't the ones he knew, but his conscience, pitiful that it was hoped that they would not become close with him. He aimed to make their lives better, and one glance at his abysmal record is enough to steer away from them.

Days went by and nights drew close. In the earliest weeks of August, his dad took a day off to spend time with him, and shop for school supplies. It made him feel extremely awkward, that this man who he barely knew would do so much for him. 'It's not as if DMLE is going after my neck.' His father retorted, and Peter dropped the matter.

Diagon Alley was still as breathtaking. In fact, if it wasn't for the sight of his parents accompanying him, Peter felt like he did before this world, in another time. His mum dragged him to Flourish and Blotts. 'You need so many books.' She reasoned, and his dad and he watched her bemused.

'Are you really going to study all that?' His dad asked, when mum lugged the case of books. He shrugged.

'I don't think there's anything else to do, is there? Besides, it'd make her happy.'

'That it would.' His dad murmured. 'That it would.'

They next went to the Owl Emporium. Peter bought an owl he thought looked sleekly grey, and named it Rex. His dad promptly fell into peals of laughter, and he sullenly (but secretly happy) refused to talk to him. Quality Quidditch Supplies was just as awesome. His dad was just as much as a Quidditch enthusiast as he was, and they both drooled over the Comet 360*, much to Mum's chagrin. She nearly pushed them into the Apothecary, but Dad excused himself from going in. Apparently (and this was a good excuse) the smell of potion ingredients caused him nausea. It was at last that Peter went to the dreaded shop, Ollivanders.

The bell tinkered just as ominously as it always did. Peter smelled the dust and the wood shavings in the shop. Ollivander literally appeared out of thin air. 'Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.' He said looking at me. 'Here for your wand then?'

'No, I thought the place looked lovely.' He quipped back, not sure where that had come from. Ollivander did not mind his cheek and carried on speaking.

'Your father's wand is spruce with a core of dragon heartstring, pliant, 12 inches long. Your mother's is a wand of rowan with a core of unicorn hair, 10 and a ½ inches long, and rigid.' He said, as the tape measured Peter's hand. 'It would be quite interesting to see your match then.' He went to the shelves and handed him a wand. 'Black walnut with a core of unicorn hair, 11 inches, unbending.' Peter waved the wand and a glass vase shattered.

'Definitely not.' The wand maker muttered, giving him another. 'Try this. Willow with a core of dragon heartstring, 14 inches long, bendy.' This time, the boxes fell off the shelf. Ollivander had an unusual look of excitement in his eyes. 'I wonder-' He trailed off, then went back into the shelves again. His dad whispered to him.

'Wands are important though.' He said. 'Ollivander's usually happy when he sees a tricky match.' It didn't make Peter feel less anxious though. The old man came out again.

'Try it.' Peter had done so no sooner when he felt the familiar warmth of wand meeting master. Ollivander looked strangely at him.

'Holly and phoenix feather, 13 inches long and unyielding. *' Peter froze. This was Harry's wand! 'Quite curious, given that holly is rather difficult to pair with the detached phoenix core.'

'This wouldn't have come from Fawkes, would it?' Peter blurted, then shut his mouth. Ollivander gave him a calculating look.

'How you know of Dumbledore's familiar; I will never understand. But I thought you would have atleast known that Fawkes is not the only phoenix in England.' Peter had the decency to look embarrassed as his father paid 7 Galleons to Ollivander, and went out into the sunlight filled street, ready to go to his new home.

A/N: So. So...this is my first attempt. Not a really long chapter (atleast to my standards), but there you have it. A couple of things I should clear up.

*(1)-I'm not sure which broomstick was being manufactured in the 70s (didn't bother to check too), so I stuck with a Comet 360. It sounds nice and even.

*(2)-Holly suits Peter's predicament. He's prone to impetuosity, and undergoing a quest of sorts. The phoenix core is characteristic of his latent potential, though that will be shown later.

K2SC