Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10075841.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, Lucius_Malfoy, Narcissa
      Black_Malfoy, Ron_Weasley, Seamus_Finnigan, Blaise_Zabini
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Out_of_Character, Sexual_Content, Alternate
      Universe, Crossover, Romance
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-03-03 Completed: 2008-04-22 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 18795
****** Potter Pan ******
by KentuckY [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     All Children Grow up. Except One. A twist on Peter Pan. “Potter,
     Potter Pan, also known as The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow up.” *No Beta*
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
***** A Boy and a Question *****
                             A Boy and a Question
All children grow up.
Except for One.
=================================
It was crisp night, the moon shining clear and bright, high above the puffing
tunnels of warm chimneys. All was quiet, muted by a blanket of fresh snow as
the wind blew through whispering trees, spreading nature’s secret amongst their
barren branches.
Lights glittered along the streets and turned the curtained widows a welcoming
shade of golden yellow, interrupted only by dark silhouettes dancing and mixing
together in a lively fashion. Every now and then, the curtains would split and
a pale face would peek through into the dark night. Words would appear against
the frozen window pane, foggy and hot, before fading back into the chill of
nothing. The curtains would drop and the silhouettes would dance once more.
Potter Pan never came here often, as it tended to sadden him, and the long
journey home would only take longer with his dampened mood. But when he did, it
was always winter and the streets always sparkled. He especially liked the
crunch of the snow beneath his feet.
Happiness, there was always happiness here too. Happiness and laughter and joy
and—and families. Mother and Fathers that worked, and children who went to
school so that they could work too. Families that wanted their children to grow
up. It didn’t take Potter long to figure out that everything was about work.
Where was the fun in work?
His father always said—no. What had his father said? Who was this man anyway?
He was a faceless being who did nothing but chastise and grumble about money
and work and how Potter ought to grow up, and how Potter ought to do this, and
that. None of ‘this and that’ was fun.
But those days were over, had been for a long time now. Now, he only did what
he wanted, only went by his own rules, er, well, if he had rules. He would go
by his own rules if he had them.
It was only when his feet touched the rooftop did he realize these thoughts
were bringing him down. He smiled brightly, his eyes crinkling with his
efforts, and laughed loud and heartily. “What have I to worry about? I am just
a boy, not a man weighed down by the world and its troubles!” He exclaimed to
the open sky. The stars winked at him. He winked back.
His laughter was cut short by the abrupt quietness below. He stilled and, with
only seconds to spare before the window below shot open, he rocketed forward
and onto the roof, landing softly before falling to his knees and hands.
Ignoring the sharp bite of the snow pressing against his warm palms, he lay
flat on his stomach and shifted closer to the edge and cautiously peeked out.
Hair the color of starlight reflected the glow of the moon in shimmering
strands that swayed in the light breeze. Potter watched with rapt fascination
as the head swiveled left, then right. He jerked back when the head tilted back
and he was sure he could feel those eyes looking up into the space where his
head used to be. His breath came quick with the prospect of getting caught.
What a rush!
“Did you hear that?” The voice was soft, male. It floated up to Potter’s ears
as he lay on his back, staring up at the inky sky. He blinked and wondered
where the boy had come from. Maybe he had been standing behind the girl in the
window? “It sounded like someone laughing.”
“Um,” Said another voice, softer than the first. Potter smiled to himself. That
had to be the girl. “I thought I did, but there’s no one out here. How can
someone climb this high anyway, without a latter?” There was silence. Potter
swallowed and wondered if it was safe to peek over again. He decided to wait,
just in case.
“Loves, what are you doing hanging out of the window?” There was another female
voice, but it was more mature. Potter scowled. It was the kind and caring voice
of a Mother. The kids had done no harm; they were just having a look out of the
window. “You’re going to catch colds if you leave this window open. Come, let’s
close it. I’ve fixed hot chocolate, how does that sound?”
Potter didn’t get a chance to hear the answer, but he heard clearly the audible
clunk of the window shutting. He sighed and rose an inch off of the roof, still
lying on his back. He rose higher, placing his hands behind his head.
“Mother’s,” he mumbled. “They’re always ruining the fun. Hot chocolate, she
says. Catch a cold, she says.” He scoffed and turned upon his stomach, floating
higher still. “Glad I don’t have one anymore.”
A strange mix of feelings bubbled up inside the young boy.
He shot into the air, reaching out with one hand the tickle the flickering
edges of the stars above. They were always just out of reach. The air around
him thinned, and the cold froze his breath on his lips, but it didn’t matter.
The sting of it squelched the twisting in his gut and soon he couldn’t feel it
at all. He smiled, his sigh coming out in a thick smoky puff. He loved coming
here, but he hated it too, as it tended to sadden him.
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
The blond boy sat stiff on his bed his eyes sweeping over the room, intense. He
raised an eyebrow, and that slight movement alone seemed to pluck at the
tension holding their breath tight in their chests. “They say his eyes are as
red as blood,” he began, his voice quietly layered with mystery. “And that his
skin is the color of death.” He ignored the squeak of the dark-haired girl on
the other side of the room. “He breathes despair and exhales pain like no
other, blinding and hot.” He smirked and leaned forward, his heart jumping with
silent joy as his audience leaned back, their eyes wide with denied fear. “They
say he drinks the screams of tortured children from a golden goblet and eats
souls, doused in anguish.” He paused, and not a single person breathed. They
waited, each hoping for more while simultaneously wishing that there wasn’t
any. “They call him Hook!”
That was when the laughter broke the silence, loud and boisterous. Even he
jumped at the sound of it as it shattered the invisible barriers of the world
he had created. Pansy screamed, the frightened sound muffled by her hands.
Blaise jumped so hard he toppled off of the bed with a loud thunk. Vincent and
Greg grunted in surprise, their bodies drawing taught, meaty fists clenching at
their sides.
“What was that?” Pansy’s soft voice shook and frozen spell.
Draco regained his composure. He glanced over at his friends, all in a state of
hidden panic, then back at the window. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re not
afraid, are you?” He smirked at them. Secretly, his own heart pounded rapidly
in his chest. He unclenched his pale hands from the silk fabric of his pajamas.
He stood, his back rigid with confidence, and marched toward the window.
Pansy stood and quickly followed after the blond. She watched with wide, dark
eyes as his slender fingers unlatched and pushed the window up. She held her
breath as he leaned out and looked around.
Draco forced down the fear building inside him as he looked around for the
source of the laughter. It was ridiculous that someone would be up here in the
first place, but he didn’t want to look foolish in front of his friends and not
check. He was sure they would assume he was afraid. He couldn’t have that.
Nothing, there was nothing. He smiled then, the edge of it tinged with
evilness. “Did you hear that?” He asked his voice quiet yet again, as if
spinning another story. “It sounded like someone laughing.”
“Um,” Pansy was unsure now, and the tone of Draco’s voice wasn’t helping one
bit. She stepped back, feeling the warmth of the room pressing against her back
like a soothing palm. “I thought I did, but there’s no one out there. How can
someone climb this high anyway, without a ladder?” She felt more than saw
Blaise move up beside her. His hand found her shoulder and he squeezed. She
blushed and turned back towards the room, relieved that the moment was over.
She paused when the door swung open with a soft click, then smiled when she saw
who came in. “Loves, what are you doing hanging out of the window?” It was
Draco’s Mother, Narcissa. In Pansy’s opinion, she was the most beautiful woman
in the world. Such elegance, such finesse! “You’re going to catch colds if you
leave the window open. Come, let’s close it. I’ve fixed hot chocolate, how does
that sound?”
Draco turned at the sound of his mother close behind him and he smiled softly.
He noticed that Blaise had taken Pansy spot. He smirked at the boy and winked.
His mother slid past him, and the heavy scent of roses tickled his senses.
“That sounds lovely, Mother.”
Draco watched as she left the room, her hands folded in front of her. He
wondered how his mother could be so kindhearted, yet his father was just the
opposite. He frowned and shook his head, deciding that he wouldn’t dwell on
such things. Instead he glanced outside the window and, right at that moment,
he saw a streak fly across the sky. He stilled, gray eyes widening in
disbelief. Certainly that wasn’t a, a human flying in the sky? He laughed to
himself then, shaking his head. “I must be really tired,” he mumbled.
“Are you alright, Draco?” Vincent raised a thick eyebrow. Everything about
Vincent was thick, from the shape of his body, to the way he thought. That word
summed him up quite well, if Draco had any say.
“Yes, I’m fine Crabbe.” He smiled at his large friend, but glanced over at the
window once more. There was nothing out of the ordinary. There was just the
moon, round and high, the stars, the buildings and the church bell just visible
in the distance.
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
Fingertips pressed against the ice-like glass and he smiled to himself, holding
his breath so that the fog wouldn’t obscure his vision. There she was, the
angel he had seen from above. Oh, she was the most beautiful thing Potter had
seen in a long time, and that was really something, as the land he came from
hosted fairies that twinkled and mermaids with scales the color of incandescent
rainbows.
He wanted to get closer.
Floating back a bit, he observed the window, his hand rubbing at the hairless
curve of his jaw. A boy’s jaw. He tilted his body forward and stared at the
hard line where the window was sealed into place. If he squinted, he could just
see a latch. His smile returned and he reached out and waved a hand over the
area. Slowly, the latch slid out of place. “Yes!” He reached out with shaking
hands, excitement growing like wildfire inside him, and pushed up roughly.
The window flew up with a bang. Startled, Potter gasped and shot into the room,
thumping his head on the ceiling. Pain watered his eyes and he groaned,
touching tentatively at the throbbing knot. He lowered himself to the carpeted
floor, hands clutching at the sensitive spot on his head. The pain was nearly
unbearable and he could feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks, unchecked.
“Bad idea,” he whispered to himself. “Bad idea!”
“Boy, why are you crying?”
The voice came from above and Potter looked up, green eyes round and shinning
with fresh tears as the pain of moving his head was greater than ever. He
blinked and rapidly wiped at his eyes, pushing himself to standing. He balled
his fists and pressed them to his hips, schooling his features into
indifference. “I was not crying.” He stated defiantly. Then Potter noticed who
he was talking to. It was the angel, but the angel sounded awfully like a boy…
The angel smiled then, crossing her silk covered arms over a flat chest. “You
were. You were crying just now.” She frowned then and looked Potter over. “Who
are you? And why are you in my room?”
Potter smiled then and took a step forward, thrusting out a dirt-smudged hand.
“Potter, Potter Pan, also known as The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow up.”
The angel stared at his hand, looking at it as though it was covered in, well,
dirt. She looked back up into his eyes. “Potter Pan?” She asked instead, “What
sort of name is that?”
Potter let his hand drop to his side, and he tilted his head of unruly black
hair to the side. “My name, of course. And what is yours?”
“Draco,” The angel stated immediately, and then scowled when Potter giggled.
“What? Why are you giggling?”
“I did not giggle!” Potter giggled again. “It’s just, your name, it
sounds…strange for a girl.” He clasped his hands over his mouth and his giggles
turned to laughs.
“A girl?” The angel was clearly insulted. “Yes, that is a strange name for a
girl. It’s a good thing that I’m not one, isn’t it?”
Potter stopped laughing and looked doubtful. He removed his hands from his
mouth. “You’re…not a girl?” His face tinged with pink.
“No, I am not!” Draco wrinkled his nose. He hated when people made that
mistake. He was a boy, just like any other. He had all the right bits for it,
at least. “How very rude of you.”
Potter was silent for a moment then shook his head, eyes squinting accusingly.
“I don’t believe you.” He took a step forward. “Your hair, it’s long and
pretty. Your face, it’s soft and you have long lashes, and you’re wearing silk.
Only girls wear silk.” He stated confidently.
“Boys can wear silk too!” Draco protested, his arms falling from his chest as
his hands clenched tightly. “My mother says that I look handsome. Girls can’t
look handsome can they?” He couldn’t believe the audacity of this boy, this boy
who was a stranger standing in his room, telling him that he looked like a
girl. And what was he wearing? It looked like he was wrapped in vines and tree
leaves. Draco could clearly see his stomach and a bit of his chest too. It was
most inappropriate attire for the cold season. His hair, it was ghastly,
sticking up all over the place! There were smudges of dirt everywhere Draco
looked. To shake his hand would be to risk physical illness.
“That’s a poor argument, Draco.” Potter leaned closer to the boy, feet lifting
from the carpet. He hovered closer ignoring the way the blond scooted further
and further up his bed in an attempt to get away. “You have nice eyes too.”
Draco rolled off of his bed, eyes wide as they stared at the floating stranger.
“You’re…you’re flying! How the—bloody he—I’m dreaming!”
“You’re not!” Potter suddenly had a strange spark in his eye, the one that
always came to life when something adventurous presented itself. He floated
over to Draco and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You could fly too, if you
wanted to Draco.” Then, you would be a real angel. He thought to himself.
A shock ran down Draco’s arm from the point of contact. He shivered all over as
an odd sensation spread throughout him. He stared at Potter for a long time,
the silence stretching like a rubber band at its breaking point. His eyes
narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“You felt the magic, didn’t you? How can you deny it?” Potter’s smile widened,
if that was possible. “Just think happy thoughts.”
“Happy thoughts?” Draco repeated. “That’s all it takes?” Hope flared inside
him. He could fly if he wanted to?
“Well,” Potter shrugged, and then nodded. “You have to believe too. Without
believing, nothing is possible.”
“Happy thoughts.” Draco looked over at Potter, his head tilted up slightly, as
the boy was taller than him. “I don’t think I have any.” He said solemnly. He
wouldn’t be able to fly.
“Everyone has happy thoughts.” Potter smiled.
Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch in response. The boy was so
positive. Instantly, the word naïve came to mind. “Not everyone.” He insisted.
He couldn’t think of any moments where he had been truly happy.
“Close your eyes. I’ll help you.” Potter kept his hand firmly on his angel’s
shoulder. His angel, he liked the sound of that. There was another happy
thought to add to the roaring sea he already had teeming with them.
Draco gave him a look but closed his eyes anyway. “Okay.”
“Think of your favourite sweet, think of a room full of it! Think of warm
nights and snowmen and laughing and playing out in the rain. Think of hot
bathes and secrets. Think of adventures and danger! Think of a place where the
animals stop and have conversations with you, and where there are pirates and
fairies and elves and flying!”
It all sounded great whispered into his ear. Draco could picture this world and
all of its glory. He could see the fat blossoms of flowers stretched over
rolling hills. He could see mythical creatures darting through thick, ancient
trees. He could taste the butterscotch on his tongue, familiar and addictive.
“Open your eyes.” Potter whispered.
Draco did. He looked straight into Potter. His eyes, they were dazzling, like
emeralds caught in the sun’s light. He watched as those eyes glanced down and
his followed. His heart jumped and he squealed, a sound he would never admit to
making. He reached out and gripped Potter’s arms and yanked the boy toward him.
“I’m flying!” He gasped. His eyes fluttered between Potter and the room below.
“I’m flying!” He laughed cautiously at first, and then it burst from him in
stuttering streams.
Potter laughed with him.
“Draco?”
The blond’s eyes widened at the sound of his name. His mother was just outside
the door. “Quick! Set me down!”
Potter lowered them both to the ground and Draco shooed him away, whispering a
harsh “Hide!” The optimistic stranger flew off to hide in a dark, shadowed
corner.
Draco bolted for his bed and threw himself into the soft sheets. He stumbled
under them, yanking them up to his chin. He shifted on to his back and forced
himself to breath slowly, despite the protesting of his lungs. The door opened
and his mother stepped inside.
She paused in the doorway, and surveyed the room. She felt a chilly breeze and
found that the window was open again. She frowned and walked over to it,
leaning out just a bit and looking off to the side. She sighed and leaned back
in, closing the window and shutting it. “I keep telling him to keep this window
closed. He’ll get sick if he isn’t already.” She latched the window and turned
towards Draco’s sleeping form. Smiling to herself, she walked over and leaned
down, sweeping away long strands of pale hair to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight,
Draco.” She lingered for a moment and then took her leave.
Potter sank down from the shadows and landed silently in front of Draco. When
the blond opened his eyes, he got an eyeful of a blinding smile. He jerked
back, then rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of personal space?”
Potter chuckled, “Personal space?” He asked innocently.
Draco rolled his eyes again. “Very funny.” He sat up then, and glanced at
Potter.
They stayed in silence for a while, Potter staring at Draco curiously, and
Draco throwing glances at the rugged boy.
“Come with me.” Suddenly, Potter was floating in front of Draco, their faces so
close that the young blond could see every dark lash and every fleck of dirt.
Draco jerked back, his hands falling behind him to support him. He fisted
clumps of soft fabric. “Come with you where?” He asked wearily.
“To the place I talked about earlier. You’ll love it, Draco.” Potter turned
belly up, smiling at him upside down.
“What place? You never told me about any place.”
“Oh, but I did.” Potter floated up into the air, tucking himself into a small
ball then spreading out like a five-point star. He cart wheeled through the
air. “The place I told you about to help give you happy thoughts. It’s a real
place.”
“But pirates aren’t real, and neither are fai—”
Potter barreled forward and slapped his hand over Draco’s mouth. “Don’t. Say
it.” His gaze grow somber, his voice grave. “Every time someone says they don’t
believe, a fairy drops dead. Promise me you won’t say it again. Promise!” He
was almost desperate, his voice pleading softly.
Draco nodded quickly, eyes wide.
Potter dropped his hand and sank down to sit in front of the fair angel. “So,
will you come with me?”
“What about my parents?”
Darkness flashed through those emeralds before it was replaced with mirth.
“What about them?”
“They’ll be worried about me. And my friends. I can’t just leave them.”
Potter smiled, not deterred one bit by his angel’s words. He lifted off of the
bed, taking one of Draco’s hands in his own. He floated backwards and Draco
followed, staring. “What will it matter? We’ll have so much fun when we get
there. Neverland is filled with adventures. There are too many of them for me
to experience on my own. There will be no parents, no one to tell you what to
do. You can do what you want, whenever you want.”
“Neverland?” Draco asked, his brow dipping just slightly. “Where is it? I’ve
never heard of it.”
“Second to the right and straight on ‘til morning.” Potter beamed, glancing
behind him. They had reached the window; Potter could feel the cold against his
bare shoulders. It lifted. Cold air sailed through, tousling their hair with
frozen fingers.
Draco turned towards his room, his eyes sweeping over the expensive toys, the
oak dressers, the large bed and warm comfortable sheets. His heart squeezed in
his chest, beating a desperate rhythm.
“What have you got to loose?” Potter whispered to him.
=================================
Pirates, fairies, and butterscotch? Is it worth it? Can he trust Potter? Will
he be able to leave his family and friends behind?
***** Star Dust and Neverwood *****

Author's notes: 'The words were whispered so close that Draco jumped, gray eyes
flying open in alarm. He was caught in shining green that held him tight.
“Look,” Potter said and turned his head to the left. Draco did look.'
===============================================================================
Cold air lifted them towards the starry sky, nipping at fingers and toes.
 
Two hands were clasped tight, one pale and shaking and the other bronze and
confident.
 
“Open your eyes.”
 
“No,”
 
Potter smiled and squeezed the shaking hand in his. “But it’s beautiful. All of
the lights twinkling and the little tiny dots of the people walking below. Not
to mention the coat of white over everything…”
 
He painted a beautiful picture and Draco was tempted but fear quelled it fast
with the wind flicking at strands of feathery hair. “If I open my eyes I will
fall.”
 
“I won’t let you fall,” Potter said almost intensely. “You have to trust me.”
 
There lay the problem. Trust. “I’ve only just met you.”
 
“Have you fallen yet?” They slowed to a stop and the cold of the night seemed
to drift away with the scattered clouds. “And the moon, Draco. It’s almost as
if you can touch it.”
 
The words were whispered so close that Draco jumped, gray eyes flying open in
alarm. He was caught in shining green that held him tight. “Look,” Potter said
and turned his head to the left. Draco did look.
 
He gasped. Full and bright and pocked with smudges of gray was the moon, so
large it looked as though it could swallow them whole. All at once he felt
small and large. How many people were able to see the moon so close, so big and
so full? “Potter, how…?”
 
The young boy giggled and gripped Draco’s other hand in his, a soft press of
skin on skin and the reassurance of fingers curling tight. “Will you look down
now?”
 
Draco didn’t think he could tear his eyes away from Luna. He spotted the Man on
the Moon, the famous face that every one could see if their minds were open. He
barely registered the fact that they were moving again. Only when the moon
darkened Potter into a black silhouette did he realize they were traveling. His
eyes slipped from the silvery orb to Potter’s face, shadowed in the moon’s
glow. He could just see the tipped corner of his mouth. Potter was smiling.
 
“I knew you would like it.”
 
“It was...”
 
Potter nodded as if he knew exactly what it was. “Yes, it was, but you’re not
supposed to stare at the moon for too long. You can get lost in her beauty.”
 
Draco looked at him doubtfully.
 
Potter shrugged. “We’ve still got a ways to go Draco,” His face grew solemn.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
 
Draco realized the statement for what it was and he as grateful. Potter was
giving him a chance to change his mind. He thought about it for a moment. Maybe
it wasn’t so wise to float off to a place he’d never heard of with a strange
boy. Maybe it wasn’t wise to have left without a note. Maybe it wasn’t wise…but
it was an adventure and Draco had yet to have one of those.
 
“I’m coming with you.”
 
Green eyes seemed to glow of their own accord then, and Potter smiled so
blindingly bright, full of charm and promise and secrets.
 
Suddenly they were no longer touching, and Draco was left to float on his own.
“Potter—give—your hand!” Pale fingers stretched wide, clutching at air as panic
filled the soft, pleading voice.
 
Potter didn’t give the angel his hand. Instead he just smiled on and lifted his
leg. “Grab my ankle and hold on tight. Don’t let go, Draco, or I’ll lose you in
space.”
 
“But, what—” Draco grabbed the thin tanned ankle in front of him, noting with
unconscious disgust that the foot connected was dirty, streaked with what he
hoped was mud. And they were off, his words forced back down his throat with
the speed in which they flew through the air. It was then that he realized he
would need both hands for this ride. Barely, Draco managed to grip Potter’s
ankle with his other hand before the speed became too much.
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
Her dress swished lightly as she bunched the silky clumps in slender fingers,
ascending the stairs to the two quiet rooms once more.
 
On the landing she was stopped by the nanny, Poppy, and was asked if everything
was alright. She gave a delicate nod and a soft smile. Poppy watched her as she
entered the room of her son.
 
Everything was as it had been, the moon still drifting in through the spread
curtains and falling just short of Draco’s bed. The floor was clear of any toys
as she had asked and his clothes were neatly folded and set in a chair by the
small bathroom attached to the room.
 
Then her eyes fell on the covers, rumpled and thrown aside. The bed was empty.
She smiled and smoothly changed her direction towards the bathroom. She lifted
one hand and gently knocked on the wooden door with sharp knuckles. “Draco,
love, are you in there?”
 
There was no reply, only empty silence. She knocked again and this time she
touched the door knob, giving a clear warning of her entrance. The door opened
with a soft click, the slide of metal against wood, and…and the bathroom was
empty. “Draco?” She called uncertainly. There was no answer as expected.
 
“Poppy,” She called rather urgently, forgetting to keep the hem of her dress
from dragging on the floor as she fled the bathroom. The nanny was at her side
in an instant. “Poppy, have you seen Draco?”
 
Poppy glanced at Draco’s bed and saw it empty, then towards the bathroom.
Clearly he was nowhere in the room. Poppy’s old eyes grew wary as she stared at
Mrs. Malfoy. “Oh,” She said, her voice faint, her hand shaking as it covered
her thin lips. “Oh,” She said again.
 
Narcissa shook her head. “No, not now, I’ve done everything!” She whispered and
shook her head again, thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring
one side of her graceful face.
 
Poppy gathered her self, as there could not be two broken women. One of them
had to be levelheaded and one of them had to figure this out. “We will have to
inform Mister Malfoy,” she said calmly and reached for Narcissa’s hand.
 
“But,” Narcissa froze and her dark eyes glazed with realization. “Oh,” She
shook then, from the inside out, her pale cheeks coloring. “He was here. I was
in the same room as he.”
 
Poppy frowned.
 
“Yes,” Narcissa looked at Poppy, “I could feel him, I could feel him Poppy!”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I just let him go, Poppy, I let him take Draco!”
“No,” Poppy said and Narcissa closed her eyes, the tears spilling down her
cheeks. “We should have known we couldn’t stop fate. It was bound to happen,
Miss Narcissa. We couldn’t stop it. Delay it, yes, but not stop it. It’s
written down in History already. We have to let Draco do this. We have no
choice.” She spoke softly, and her words seemed to cut the flow of tears from
Narcissa. “Shall we tell Mister Malfoy now or wait until morning? I can act as
if I were the one who discovered it.”
 
Narcissa pondered this for a moment, and then shook her head. “Lucius is quite
observant. He will know if something is wrong and I will have to tell him
anyway.” She looked into Poppy’s wise eyes. “But, I should like it if you came
with me.”
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
Bursting like ripe grapes in colors that Draco couldn’t even fathom were
possible, were stars so bright and so close that he could feel the heat of
their life against his skin and through his hair. It was brilliant and blinding
and scary all at once but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t close his eyes
against their shine for fear of missing something amazing. He wasn’t even aware
he was laughing until he was out of breath and his throat throbbed with its
efforts.
 
He was euphoric, giggly even. Draco didn’t ever remember feeling this light.
 
Potter knew why, though. It always affected the new ones like this on their
first trip through the stars. Star Dust was powerful stuff and there was no
short amount of it here in space. They were flying in the midst of it, in
masses yet so thin that they barely realized they were inhaling it. He could go
another way if he wanted but this way always made him forget when he needed to.
 
Space sucked them through its depths and they sliced through the air at speeds
that would kill if they were not guided by the supernatural belief that they
were untouchable, unable to be harmed or killed. Children often believed
themselves invincible.
 
“The stars, they’re blinding! They’re beautiful. Potter! What color is this
one?” But they had already passed the star.
 
Everything changed then and Draco was too caught up counting colors to realize
that they had been heading for a pool of rolling white.
 
The two boys tumbled into the soft clouds, their fall cushioned by the
resistance of each layer they broke through until they drifted softly onto a
particularly thick cluster of clouds.
 
Draco sensed the change the second he breathed in.
 
Magic.
 
It was everywhere, in the air, weaved into the clouds, in Potter’s smile, in
his clothes and even ground into the dirt on his cheek. And it was a feeling.
Heady and pulsing in his veins, it was. Magic that was old and ancient and made
everything seem…alright.
 
The two children lay there, one hand clasped around an ankle, breathing deep
gulps of fresh, tangy air.
 
Draco smelled salt and sea and something sweet and fragrant. It made his
stomach roll with hunger and his mouth water. His eyes drooped heavily and he
smiled lazily, the Star Dust still running strong in his system. If he could
lie there forever he would, just lie there and feel warm and safe and forever.
 
Potter sighed wistfully and rolled over on the thick clouds until he could feel
the silk of the angel’s clothing against his naked arm. He turned his head and
whispered lightly, “Draco, would you like to sleep here? You look awfully
tired.”
 
Draco closed his eyes and nodded, murmuring inaudibly.
 
Potter smiled. “I’ll watch over you. Sleep.” Seconds later Draco was dead to
the world. Potter watched him for a moment, having seen this sleep before, the
aftereffects of Star Dust. “Sleep well,” He whispered before rolling over onto
his side, burying his fingers in the cotton-like clouds and pulling a layer of
the soft, thick fluff over them.
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
“Captain, sir.”
 
The word was whispered in the silence of the room. The voice was unmistakable.
He scowled at being interrupted, his fingers halting over the ancient keys of
his piano. “Come in,” he said darkly, his voice deep and resonant. His broad
shoulders heaved up and down with the sigh of a thousand troubles tumbling from
his lips. He didn’t bother to sweep the few strands of greasy black hair from
his eyes, or adjust the way his thin shirt had slipped from his shoulder to
expose pale, scarred skin.
 
There was a soft squeak and the rush of warm air and something sweet. He knew
before the man spoke.
 
“Pans back.” They said in unison.
 
Silence followed, heavy and strained.
 
“He was gone longer this time.” He turned back to his piano and plucked a few
random keys, hiding the unsteady way his hand moved.
 
“Do you think…?”
 
“I do.” He sighed and stood abruptly, the bench he had been sitting on
scrapping sickeningly against the wooden floor. “The smell, it’s absolutely
horrible. I can’t stand it.”
 
“The air too, sir, the air.”
 
“The air.” He spat, and then, literally, he spat. The air was warm and breezy
and perfect for anyone else. But for Hook, it was torture. He preferred chilly
biting winds and barren trees.
 
“He won’t fulfill the prophecy. There is no way. He’s… Pan. He will never grow
up.”
 
“What if he does? Where will that place us?” There was that silence again,
ominous and heavy. “Exactly.” He rubbed absently at his wrist, the one missing
a hand. “We can’t let it happen. We’ll do anything to stop it.” His bloodshot
eyes cut to Smee when there was no reply. “Right?” He forced between yellow
teeth.
 
“A-anything, sir, yes.”
                                   ↕ + ↕ + ↕
All he could see were the great pools of shinning green staring down at him in
wonder. The warmth of a hand pressing into his palm brought him further into a
conscious state. There was a soft tinkling nearby, and the smell of earth and
leaves was thick in the air. The ground was soft and comfortable.
And then he remembered.
He remembered the laughter outside his window, the flying stranger, the hope.
He remembered the vague snatches of stars and the curl of the Milky Way. Maybe
he had dreamed that, surely he hadn't seen all of those beautiful yet
impossible colors, surely his body had not flown through space and he had not
felt the heat of the stars on his skin.
Draco started, his eyes growing wide.
Potter jumped back with a frown. “Draco?”
“Where are we?” Draco demanded.
Potter smiled tentatively. “Neverwood,”
Draco frowned, his lips moving but no words following.
Potter slowly floated closer. “I brought you here to have adventures with me.”
He straightened then, and placed his fists firmly on his hips. “Don't you
remember?” He asked.
Draco stared at the boy. “Prove it to me. Prove that this is not a dream.”
It sounded like a challenge. Potter loved challenges. “I can show you, but you
will have to close your eyes first.”
Draco smirked, and the dark-haired boy thought how much the look fit him. “How
can you show me something if my eyes are closed?”
Potter chuckled and floated forward. “I'll show you as soon as we get there.”
He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.
“Get where?” Draco asked.
Potter only held out his hand, waiting with that mysteriously promising smile.
Draco stared at it and decided that it did look cleaner. He took it with sigh.
“Eyes,” Potter said, his fingers curling around his guests’ hand. The skin on
the back was smooth and he couldn't help running his calloused thumb over it
absently.
“How do I know you won't try to kill me?” Draco asked, then immediately
regretted it. Potter's teasing smile crumbled into a mixture of hurt and
surprise.
“I would never try to kill you, Draco. You can trust me.” His voice was soft
and with his words came a reassuring squeeze of his hand.
Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, nodding.
Potter's smile returned and Draco felt the ground slowly fall from beneath him
as they rose. Potter pulled the slender boy closer to him and could feel the
tenseness of his body by the way his arm was so stiff and his hand gripping so
tightly.
Draco clung to Potter's hand, fighting the strong urge to find his other hand
and grip it too; he felt so lost and disoriented floating about. He felt that
at any moment he would smack into something hard, but he knew Potter would
never allow that to happen. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. He
trusted.
Draco heard the groan of what sounded like vines and suddenly he felt the heat
of the sun on his face as light shot through the thin skin of his eyelids. He
flinched at the abrupt brightness. A thin breeze ruffled his silky hair and
teased his skin. It was hot outside and the air was weighed down with forest
sounds.
A hand gripped his wrist. “Let go,” Potter whispered. “I'll place your arms
around my neck instead. We will get there faster that way.”
Draco didn't protest.
Potter lifted the boy's arms and wrapped them around his neck, excitement
buzzing in his stomach. There was another feeling there too, one he hadn't felt
in so long that he almost didn't recognize it. Nerves; he was nervous. Would
Draco like what Potter had to show him? Would he hate it? Oh, he hoped not,
after all, this place was one of Potter's favourite places to go in Neverland.
Potter leaned forward once Draco's arms were secured. The wind blew against
him, and the sun beamed down, kissing his face. He laughed at the feel of it
all and at the strangeness of having someone to share it with. “Keep your eyes
closed, Draco!” he laughed. Potter shot off through Neverland, winding through
thick trees and swinging limbs. He absently felt Draco's thighs press against
his hips over the joy twisting in his stomach at the sound of the blond's
laughter against his neck.
↕ + ↕ + ↕
Potter set Draco down in an open clearing where the sun peeked down through
thin leaves. Trees crowded around the area, their limbs providing a scarce
canopy but only the special ones could stand amongst the cluster of flowers.
These trees were chosen to guard them. The flowers were special too, as none of
them had blossomed yet. But that wasn't the only reason.
Potter came to stand behind Draco, placing his arms at his sides. He took a
deep breath. “Open your eyes, Draco.”
Draco opened his eyes. The place was beautiful and so full of color that it
seemed surreal. There were little groups of different colored flowers scattered
in a shaded opening, the greens popping vibrantly against the reds and oranges.
He could hear the constant chattering of insects and animals which only seemed
to add to the beauty. It was a breathtaking sight. But, if he were honest with
himself, everything up to this point seemed surreal. He took a step toward a
clump of flowers but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“You have to ask the trees for permission first.” Potter informed him in a
hushed tone.
“Ask the trees?” Draco repeated.
Potter nodded, taking Draco's curiosity as a good sign and allowing a smile.
“Watch,” he stepped forward, his face taunt with confidence. He marched a slow,
safe distance from the tree and stopped.
“Tree who guards these pretty flowers, may I be allowed to laze in their
presence?”
There was silence and Draco watched in rapt fascination as the tree limbs
seemed to lift towards the sky then lower down again. It seemed as though the
wind whispered a yes.
Potter bowed then, and stepped among the flowers and plopped down, smiling
winningly at Draco. “Your turn.”
Draco shook his head. “What happens if the tree gets angry?” He asked.
Potter frowned. “I don't know, they'll fight you I suppose.” He offered no
consolation.
Draco’s heart pounded but if Potter could do it, so could he, so he nodded and
assumed the same posture as Potter had, never to be outdone, and matched the
same confident, yet cautious stride toward the tree, stopping in the same spot
as the young adventurer had. He opened his mouth to speak but his mind drew
blank. He had forgotten the words! Panic began to set in. Would the tree be
offended by his lack of knowledge? Would it fight him for his trouble? Would—
And then he heard Potter whispering. He was telling Draco the words! “Tree who
guards these pretty flowers...”
Suddenly Draco remembered the words, and he recited them, quieting when it came
time for the tree to decided. He watched as the branches lifted, his heart
seeming to stop, and then they lowered. Again there was a whispered yes. He
sighed as relief flooded him. A smile expanded across his face, matching
Potter's own.
“You did it!” Potter exclaimed when Draco sat beside him in the flowers.
Draco laughed lightly and nodded. “I thought I was a goner for a moment!” He
admitted.
“I had no doubt you could do it.” Potter said with such seriousness that Draco
found himself flushing. “There is something more I want to show you.”
Draco looked around warily. “There's more?” He asked in a tone not at all
encouraging.
Potter laughed. “Where is your sense of adventure?” He shook his head. “Aye,
there's more, but you'll like this.”
Draco watched as Potter leaned forward over a pale peach colored bud and pursed
his lips. The boy blew down upon the bud and Draco gasped quietly as it began
to bloom beautifully. Creamy petals fell apart, exposing its middle. Potter
picked the flower once its petals had ceased spreading, and plucked one of the
petals from the edge before pressing it into his mouth. His lips were still
pulled into a smile as his jaw worked at the sweet substance. He let out an
appreciative hum, and then held out the flower for Draco. “Try some.”
“You want me to eat a flower petal?” Draco asked incredulously. Potter nodded
brightly. Draco briefly wondered if Potter was having him on, but by the look
of utter sincerity on the boy's face, Draco knew he wasn't. He reached out and
plucked a petal and stuffed it into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut tight,
readying himself for a sour, bitter explosion. He was surprised to find
sweetness filling his mouth. He tasted Turkish Delight! Sweet and delicious but
without the mess! His eyes popped open, sparkling like raw diamond. “This is
delicious! How did you do it?”
Potter couldn't help but laugh, he was doing a lot of that today. He leaned
forward, his expression intense as if holding a secret. Maybe it was, Draco
thought, and the prospect of Potter telling him excited him. The blond leaned
forward eagerly. “First, you think of your favourite sweet,” Potter whispered,
“and then when the taste of it is fixed on your tongue, you blow on any flower
you want and it blooms. You can only pick them after they're done blooming, or
else they'll taste wretched.” Potter wrinkled his nose for emphasis. “When it's
done, you pick it and you can eat its petals. They'll taste exactly like what
you imagined. It'll only work if you've had the sweet before, though.” Potter
looked briefly sad, but cheered instantly when Draco leaned forward to follow
his instructions.
Soon his angel tasted the petals of a violet flower.
“Very good,” Draco said, picking another petal.
“May I?” Potter asked. Draco offered his flower. Potter plucked a petal and
chewed it. “Butterscotch,” he said.
“My favourite.” Draco nodded.
They sat in comfortable silence, each enjoying their flowers while the sun made
its journey across the sky. It was only when Draco noticed Potter staring at
him, did either of them speak. “What?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Have you ever tasted chocolate?” Potter asked.
Draco's confusion melted and he chuckled nodding. “Yes, plenty of times.”
Potter raised both eyebrows at him.
“Oh,” was all he said. He looked away, glancing back at Draco with a shy smile
before sighing softly and picking a blade of grass.
Oh, oh... Draco understood now. He smiled. He could play this game. He set
aside his first flower and leaned over a new one. He let the taste of rich
chocolate fill his mouth, then blew over the blood red flower in front of him.
It bloomed and he waited for it to finish. When it did he plucked it. He
brought the flower to his lips and pulled one of the petals loose with his
teeth. He chewed and savored the flavour, making exaggerated faces over the
deliciousness.
“What flavour is that one?” Potter asked casually, his eyes portraying him with
their intensity.
“Chocolate,” Draco said just as casually. He swallowed back a smile at the
slight widening of green eyes. “'Tis very good.” He added.
“Is it?” Potter asked.
“It is.” Draco confirmed.
They sat quietly for a few more minutes and Draco wondered how long Potter
would last. Apparently not long.
“May I have some?”
Draco cocked his head to the side. “Some of this?” He picked up the
butterscotch flavored flower.
“No, no the chocolate. I'd like some of the chocolate, please.” Potter said
anxiously.
“Oh,” Draco smiled. “Sure,” he held out the flower.
Slowly, cautiously, Potter took it. He delicately picked a petal and tasted it.
The dark haired boy groaned and his eyes rolled closed at the rich taste.
Draco felt his stomach flutter and his heart jump at the display. He wasn't
sure why, but it didn't really matter. Potter ate more.
“You've never had chocolate before?” Draco asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Potter's eyes opened and Draco momentarily stopped breathing at the look he was
given, glazed and... and, was smoldering the right word to call it? Then they
cleared and Potter shook his head solemnly. “Never.”
“Lucky for you then. Great isn't it?” Draco asked.
“Yes, the best.” Potter said earnestly. “May I keep it?” He looked shy yet
again. Draco grinned.
“I can always make more.”
Potter's face shown. “I think I should like the give you a kiss.”
Draco blanched, his pale face flushing even more than from the heat of the sun.
“Kiss?” He exclaimed, his voice breaking unbecomingly.
“Yes,” Potter nodded, confused as to why Draco sounded so distressed. “To say
thank you.” He clarified. “Isn't that what you're supposed to do?”
“Boys don't kiss other boys, though!”
“Why not?”
Draco spluttered then shook his head. “Well, we... we're boys!”
“And?”
Draco stared at Potter, not believing the situation. He was never outright told
that kissing other boys was a bad thing, but mostly it was because he had never
had the desire to and so had never been caught doing it. He had always assumed
that it wasn't good, though, because he had never seen any boy kiss another
before, and his father had once chastised him for holding hands with his
friend, Blaise, in public when he was eight. He would never forget that day,
even now. Kissing, he supposed, was even worse and would surely end with him on
the wrong side of his father's temper. “I don't think I should.” He finally
murmured.
“Please?” Potter begged. “I would really like to thank you.” The boy had the
same tone as the night he had made Draco promise not the say that he didn't
believe in fairies.
How could he say no? How could he not say no?
He swallowed and looked around, as if scouting for watching eyes or witnesses
of any sort. He hoped the trees couldn’t talk or spread news. He wasn’t sure
exactly where they were but if word of this got back to his father.... He
sighed when he found nothing suspicious and nodded. “Fine. Just one.”
Butterflies erupted in his stomach.
Potter smiled and leaned forward onto his knees, scooting closer to Draco
through the flowers buds. He felt strange inside again, but this strangeness
brought an excited flush his cheeks. He leaned forward, his heart pounding, his
stomach knotting and dancing, until he could actually see the pale lashes of
Draco's eyes, and feel the hot, moist breath against his parted lips.
Abruptly there was a blinding flash of light and the soft tinkling Draco
remembered from earlier. The light blinded both boys and they fell backwards,
pressing the heels of their palms into their eyes.
Potter's eyes cleared first, and the young adventurer was furious. He jumped to
his feet. “Tink!”
There was more tinkling and the small fairy appeared sheepishly before him.
Draco rubbed at his eyes until most of the spots were gone. There was that
strange noise again. When Draco opened his eyes he saw a curious scene; Potter
was glaring at a floating light. Confused, he rubbed at his eyes again,
thinking that maybe the spots hadn't all cleared, but when he looked up again,
the light was still there and Potter was still glaring at it. Weird of all,
though, was the little squeaky noises that Draco could make no sense of.
The light bobbed sharply and emitted a higher pitched squeak that made both
boys cringe.
Potter's anger melted when he realized that something was really bothering
Tink, but she was talking so rapidly that he could barely make more sense of it
than Draco. “Tink, Tink, slow down! I don't understand!”
The little fairy was just that, little, but she had enough attitudes for
someone a hundred times her size. It was on rare occasions that she got this
upset. Usually it happened when Potter left without telling her, or after doing
something she thought was extremely dangerous or stupid. This time Potter was
at a complete loss as to what was wrong. “Tink,” he said softly, cupping her
tiny frame in his hands. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry. It'll never
happen again.” He promised. He smiled and relaxed as Tink's light dimmed with
her anger.
Draco stared on in astonishment. An actually fairy?
Potter turned toward him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. She tends
to get like that sometimes.” There was the sound of bells clinking together and
Potter laughed, looking down fondly at the fairy. He turned his amused gaze
back towards Draco. “This is Tink,” he held out his hand toward his pale angel
as he walked forward. “And Tink, this is Draco.”
Draco stared at the fairy and realized she was a... she. A very pale she, who
didn't look very nice at all. She made a gesture at him that he was sure was
rude, and his suspicions were confirmed when Potter called out her name in
surprise and mild anger. The fairy had the grace to look sheepish before
resuming her cold manner and turning her back to Draco.
“I'm really sorry, Draco.” Potter said, throwing a glare at Tink. Draco had
never seen that look before, but he had only just met Potter. He couldn't
always be happy, could he? Draco thought he saw the fairy stick out her tongue
at Potter. “I don't know why she's being so rude,” Potter continued with a
small, oblivious smile. “She's usually pretty nice to strangers.”
Draco secretly suspected it had something to do with the kiss.
Tink floated up and poked Potter in the cheek before Draco could reply, and
squeaked out a sentence to him. Potter's eyes widened, narrowed, and then
firmed. “Have they…” he whispered, tiling his head as if listening. He let out
a sound suspiciously close to a growl. “Right,” He smiled at Draco. “I have
someone else for you to meet.”
Draco frowned and wished he had more time to spend with Potter, seeing as how
he had been having such a nice time, but the fairy clearly wouldn't allow that.
And, guessing by the look Potter had donned just now, neither would this new
character. “Who?” He asked.
“More than just one who.” Potter corrected and then said, “The Lost Boys.”
Draco didn't like the sound of them at all.
***** Another Lost Boy *****

Author's notes: Introductions.
===============================================================================
                               Another Lost Boy
Draco wasn’t adept to apologies. His mother never really gave him any and his
father—his father he hardly saw. The man was great, powerful and his identical
gray eyes shown with something regal and beckoning. His friends never did
anything that he had not ordered them to do, therefore never put them selves in
such a situation where an apology was needed.
So it was odd to see the apologetic looking flicked back at him every few
seconds as he clung to the dark haired boy’s neck. It unnerved him.
The sun was already nestling itself along the horizon, which was lost in the
trees as they swept past them in a blur of warm air and silence. There was a
constant sound, like small bells bumping against one another to his left and
Draco was sure that it was Tink.
There was a tension in Potter’s shoulders that Draco hadn’t felt on their ride
to the trees and flowers. Something was wrong; that much he had gathered by the
look on Potter’s face when Tink had told him whatever it was that was so
important.
The wind was coming too fast for him to speak and be heard so he would have to
wait to ask questions, but they were there, knocking at his perfect teeth.
“Your eyes,” Potter said his voice rose over the roar of wind. “Close them,”
Draco did as he was told without hesitation, resting his head against the space
between Potter’s shoulder and neck.
Not much time later they were slowing and Draco could hear the chirping of
crickets and that familiar whine of vines. They floated forward and the vines
groaned again and when their protesting ended, so did the crickets.
“Pan!” It was a chorus of warm, delighted voices wrapped around one word,
bringing it to life.
Draco’s eyes popped open.
They were hovering a few feet above ground and at their feet were a cluster of
the filthiest children Draco had ever laid eyes upon. He gasped at the sight of
them, each of their eyes glowing with something akin to admiration. It seemed
that none of them really noticed him there. He clung tighter to Potter.
“Pan, where’ve you been?”
“Have you brought us anything back?”
“What was it like this time?”
“Who is that?”
They all fell silent at the last. Draco buried his face into Potter’s neck,
suddenly feeling very out of place and uncommonly shy.
Potter shifted, reaching back a hand to touch at the green silk covering
Draco’s back. “This?” Potter said his voice soft, eyes wide.
They all nodded, their eyes now weighing down Draco’s shoulders. He could feel
them staring.
“This is an angel.”
The words shocked both the children and Draco. He stiffened.
“An angel?” One of the children asked his voice loud and disbelieving. “There’s
no such thing as them!”
Potter’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh but there is. I have real proof. I convinced
this angel to some back with me so that I might show you.”
Draco felt anger flair inside him. He had been tricked! Potter had spun such a
story…showed him beautiful things, all to lure him in and—
“Can you believe that angels have never had adventures?” Potter went on. Slowly
they lowered to the ground and the children shuffled back, giving ample space
for Potter to land. “As beautiful as they are their lives are pretty dull. They
just sit around and watch over us. I promised this angel that I would share
plenty with him.”
The anger quivered and lessened…
“Him?”
“Him,” Potter confirmed. “And just because he’s a boy doesn’t make him any less
beautiful.” Draco felt he would catch on fire, his face was so hot.
“Can we see him?”
Potter landed with Draco still clinging tightly. “No not tonight. We’ve had a
long journey. I think he should like some rest. Now, if you will excuse us.
I’ll prepare his room and then we’ll have a chat.” His voice turned stern,
“It’s urgent.” There was no reply as he lifted from the ground again.
Draco didn’t know what to think. Should he be upset with Potter’s lie? Should
he be flattered at being called an angel? He didn’t know and he didn’t know how
he felt about the children. They were dirty and obviously lacking in manners by
the way they had greeted Potter. He knew nothing and no one and something,
something was wrong… It was all too much and he was suddenly grateful that
Potter had excused them.
Draco lifted his head from Potter’s shoulder, noticing that now it was less
tense. His blond hair curtained his face as he stared at his surroundings.
There was a doorway obscured by several strands of thin vines. They flew
through them and emerged into a room much grander than he had ever expected to
see. The walls were made of dirt only interrupted by various thick and thin
roots, he supposed from a tree. There was a soft orange glow coming from a
hearth built of dried mud and burning wood. Something told him that magic kept
the thing from spreading. To his left there was a bed of soft leaves and moss
with some sort of tattered cloth thrown over the pile. The pillows were made
out of a softer material it seemed.
Besides that the room was barren, only a few photos here and there that were so
yellow and ripped that Draco could hardly make sense of them. And maybe he was
just a little tired.
“Where are we?” Draco asked softly, feeling the need to whisper unnecessarily.
“My room. The others have their own. Some of them share but none of them come
in here. You won’t be disturbed,” Potter answered his voice just as soft. They
landed on the dirt floor and Draco finally slipped from Potter’s back,
stumbling. Potter reached out and righted him.
“Thank you,”
Potter turned and looked at him, fixing the blond with a bright smile and
glimmering greens. “It’s true what I said before. You are an angel.”
Draco colored yet again and furrowed his brow, almost pouting. “Don’t say
that.”
Potter chuckled. “Why not? You are beautiful.” He reached out a hand and
touched some of Draco’s hair. “It’s so soft and pale. I’ve never seen anything
like this anywhere else. I’ve heard about it in fairytales and dreamt about it
a few times but I’ve never believed it was real.”
Having heard enough, Draco stepped back and away from Potter’s stroking
fingers. “It’s real. I’m real, and I’m also very tired.” He flinched at his own
tone but he didn’t take it back.
Potter sighed with a wistful smile. “Aye, you probably are.” Potter turned
toward his bed. “I know it’s nothing like what you had at home but it will have
to do.”
Draco nodded. “It’s fine.” But somehow he didn’t like the idea of sleeping
alone in this strange place, and Potter was always so warm. He was safe.
“Right,” Potter turned back toward him with another one of his smiles that
Draco was starting to get used to. “I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped past
Draco and headed for the door.
Draco stood rooted to the spot, his hands curling into fists. He whirled
around, “Wait!”
Potter stopped and turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, “Hm?”
“Is…is everything alright? I’m not going to get into any trouble for coming
here am I? My mother said I had to have a passport to go to different countries
and—and I know that I’ve traveled to a whole different planet and I’m not sure
if maybe I should have brought my passport first…” he trailed off then, feeling
overwhelmed and a bit stupid. He felt as if he was going to cry but he knew he
wouldn’t.
Potter stared at him for a few long moments and then suddenly, he was laughing.
Laughing loud and free and… Draco stared. “Passport? What is a bloody passport?
What are you talking about Draco? Why would you be in any trouble?”
“Well, you said that there was urgent business to talk about out there and when
the fairy, when she came you looked sort of grim…”
Potter just smiled. “It’s really nothing for you to worry about. Look, if you
want to know I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’ve had some sleep, alright?”
Draco nodded. “OK.”
Potter turned to leave but stopped yet again. “And we’ll be sharing that bed,
just to let you know.”
There was a small relief in that. “OK.”
“Another thing.” Potter’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I still intend to
thank you.”
Confused, Draco drew in a breath to ask what the boy had meant but he was
already gone.
 
Potter drifted into the room a while later, muscles aching in that pleasant way
that promised good sleep. Everything was cast in shadows disturbed only by the
flicker of light spilling in through gaps in the vines covering the doorway.
Potter turned and clutched the thick fabric hung by a thin stick just over the
curved doorframe. He pulled the cloth to shield the vines, cutting off the
little beams of light that had dared creep in.
The fire had long since burned out leaving little simmering bits of debris that
slowly died away. Despite how warm the weather was outside it was never too
warm here.
His gaze was drawn to the lump of twisted fabric atop his bed and he felt the
unmistakable pull of a smile threatening the corners of his lips. Potter always
felt the urge to smile when he looked at his angel. It didn’t matter what he
was doing, sleeping, laughing, frowning…there was just something about him.
“Potter?”
Potter hadn’t realized he was awake. He smiled and walked forward into the
darkness. “You’re still awake, are you?” He skirted the bed, knowing the place
as well as he knew the back of his hand even in the dark. He approached the
opposite wall and reached up, his fingers skimming the uneven dirt-hardened
walls. He found the small swatch of cloth and pulled it to the right exposing a
sliver of moonlight. From here he could see Luna through a frame of green
leaves. The light was just enough to silhouette the room’s occupants.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Potter lifted from the ground, his arms crossing and providing a surface for
his chin to rest on. “Are you alright?” He asked as he crept closer and closer
to the bed and Draco, whose hair seemed to glow in the dim light.
“I suppose I’m not used to being here.”
Potter flipped onto his back, his hands twining behind his head. He fell to the
soft bed below beside Draco. He shifted and turned to face the blond’s back. “I
don’t know what it is but you seem so familiar to me Draco,” Potter murmured
softly, seemingly to himself. “I feel as if I have met you before…”
Draco ran his fingers over the rumpled bedclothes below him, his smooth brow
dipping just slightly with the odd statement. “But that’s impossible. I have
never met you before.”
“I know,” He sighed and reached a hand out, touching that soft hair again. He
loved the smooth texture of it running over the pads of his fingers like
something forbidden. In a way it did feel forbidden that he should be allowed
to touch something so delicate, or even lay eyes on Draco’s sublime features.
“Still, I just feel like I have…” The words trailed off into silence. He felt
an uncomfortable tug in his stomach and he squirmed.
Draco turned then and faced Potter. The look in those eyes was something he’d
never seen. They were so open and the blond felt suddenly flooded with
everything that flickered across the dark haired boy’s mind. It was all there,
plain for him to see. He looked away. Never had he met someone with such
intense, telling eyes. It was hard to look into them without spilling his
thoughts as well. Was it magic? he wanted to know. Instead he asked, “How long
have you been here?”
Potter’s expression seemed to harden, just a simple tightening of lips and the
dip of a young, naive brow. Draco didn’t see this change but he heard the soft
bitterness edging the boy’s laugh as he stared just past Potter at the beam of
moonlight.
“Oh, I don’t know, far too long perhaps.” Potter’s fingers curled into the
cloth beneath him unknowingly. He didn’t like to think about that, he didn’t
like to think of the time that had passed the people who had grown with each
blossoming minute, the people who had died with each ending month and year. He
didn’t want to think of what wasn’t left. It didn’t matter anyway.
“How did you get here?”
His heart gave a lurch and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat The tug
in his stomach died. It had been years since he’d felt that particular feeling.
He thought he had long since left these unwanted feelings behind him. “Draco,
why do you ask such painful questions?”
Gray eyes met green. “They’re painful?”
“Yes, I’d rather we not talk about it. Not yet, at least.” The young adventurer
wasn’t sure what exactly made him add that last part. It had not crossed his
mind to say such a thing yet it had slipped from his lips as if they had been
planned.
“You’ll tell me later?” Draco asked, shifting slightly.
Potter smiled and it was soft and natural, rimmed with a bit of teasing along
the edges. “Maybe. Aren’t you sleepy?”
The words were like magic and amazingly Draco’s eyes wouldn’t stay open and a
yawn threatened to overtake him. He sighed and looked back at the beam of
moonlight. There was something compelling about Potter. Maybe it was his
openness, his readability. Draco wasn’t sure but something made him feel safe
with Potter, made him want to stay here and just laze while the world slipped
past them. Maybe it was the tiredness or his body reacting to the magic. He
felt eyes on him and he knew Potter was staring but he found that he didn’t
mind much. In fact that thought seemed to help lull him to sleep. Soon he was
dreaming of snarling fairies and hazy, crying figures that were just too far
away for him to reach. There was Potter, too. He was there guiding, laughing.
                                     ↕+↕+↕
“Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa,” The quill continued to dig its way across the
fresh parchment surface, its scratching like a mocking cackle as it filled the
silence.
She waited for more, waited for the words that would follow. The ones that
would say to stop this foolishness. But they didn’t come and Narcissa thought
how the silence seemed much worse than hearing her husband tell her that what
she said was all lies. Perhaps Lucius knew that. “You cannot ignore it this
time Lucius. Our son is gone. He is no longer in his bed. He’s not in any of
the guest rooms or under the stairs or behind curtains. We’ve checked
everywhere. There’s nothing.”
Lucius heaved a sigh and dipped the end of his quill into the inkwell. “He’s
probably just being insolent. It was bound to happen sometime; he’s been too
quiet. I’m sure he knows this house better than any of us. There is no doubting
he has discovered some obscure hiding place. Just give him time and he’ll
resurface.” Lucius went on inscribing, “And when he does we’ll have Poppy give
him a good talking to.”
“No, Lucius. Don’t reason this away. This goes far beyond reason, far beyond
what’s sitting in front of us. This is the past coming back to—”
“Cissa, now.” Lucius drawled, his voice dripping with mock soothing. He did not
once stop writing. “Enough of that. It’s late, is it not? We’ve already
discussed this. I’ve given you my views and we’ve agreed not to bring it up.”
He shook his head and the long thread of white-blond hair swished against his
back. He glanced up at Narcissa and murmured, “Today must have been especially
stressful.”
Pale fingers curled against hot palms. “Lucius. What will it take for you to
believe me.”
Lucius finally looked up from his scribbling. He frowned as if just realizing
Narcissa was there. Sometimes he wondered why he married this woman. Oh, she
was beautiful; pale skin, long thick black hair, big eyes, full lips, an
endemic smile, perfect teeth and great company to boot. And let’s not forget
her body. She curved in a way that was boggling to the mind. Her curves were
delicate yet pronounced and matured. She always wore fitting clothes, but
Lucius supposed that even if she dressed in rags she would make them look
beautiful and all of the girls would want just as many wholes in their blouses
if it meant looking like her.
But she was simply full to the brim with stories. She told them to their child,
told them to other’s children. She even tried telling them to Lucius once but
he had not really listened. And it was always the same story, the one about a
boy named Pan who flew and came from a different world altogether. She would
explain in rich detail how they’d flown together and had adventures and fought
pirates and talked to fairies and slept in the clouds when the moon was full,
which was always.
It was wonderful to hear about and even to fantasize over but Narcissa did far
more than that.
She believed.
Lucius didn’t.
The woman had taken it to a completely new level one day. It had been just like
any other summer day, warm and breezy with the children playing in the
background and Poppy keying away on the piano.
Narcissa had swept into his office with tea and a story. A prophecy, actually
and it involved Draco. What had she told him? The boy would come and steal
Draco away from them and they’d disappear for she wasn’t sure how long. Draco
would have to make a choice then; stay or go?
‘Stay where?’ he had asked.
‘Neverland.’ She had answered with no small amount of sadness.
Rubbish, the lot if it and he knew that. Knowing that was the difference
between being sane and being insane. That night they’d had many a heated
arguments and had agreed to finally let it go. A small—but ever growing—part of
Lucius knew she would bring it forth again. He just wished that she’d picked a
better day. He had much to do and so, so little time to do it.
“Lucius, did you hear me?”
“Yes, yes I heard you. I just don’t know what to tell you, love, because there
is nothing you can do to make me believe that what you say is true. Flying
children, Narcissa?” He sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t have the time
for this.”
“This is our son Lucius! Our son has been taken away! And you have no time?”
She sealed her lips before she let something disgraceful slip.
Silence crashed into the tail end of her words as Lucius stared at Narcissa
with barely hidden surprise. This was the first time she’d ever raised her
voice at him and by the sparkle in her eye he’d guess that she was on the edge
of tears, teetering.
She was finally going mental, just as his dear old mother had warned him, bless
her. He should have listened but no, she was too pretty and too smart to pass
up. Now look at her.
The quill finally slipped from his fingers and he entwined them together in
front of him hoping that this would stop their shaking. “Narcissa,” he began
his voice calmer than he felt. “I’m going to have Poppy pack you a bag. You
need help.”
Narcissa sucked in a breath unable to believe that her husband could be so
thick. She closed her eyes and squeezed back the desperate tears. OK, just…
calm.
When she opened them again she was her usual self. She smiled. “Lucius, excuse
me for interrupting you. I did not mean to become a bother.” And with that, she
left.
Lucius stared as Narcissa swept from his office. He wasn’t sure what he had
just witnessed but he felt unnerved. Checking to make sure Narcissa had really
gone he reached down to one of the many drawers of his desk and pulled out the
middle one. In it sat a bottle of Firewhiskey concealed behind a few well-
placed documents. Yes, it was very potent stuff but he felt he needed it.
Thirty minutes later Lucius was back to writing, his thoughts only occasionally
interrupted by Narcissa’s outlandish story, and thoughts of, What if it were
real? But maybe that was the whiskey talking.
When he went to bed that night Narcissa wasn’t there.
                                     ↕+↕+↕
Waking up was like a dream in itself and the blond found it hard to decipher
the difference between wakefulness and dreaming.
Ripe fruit filled the air with its fragrant odor, swirling under his noise like
soft, tantalizing fingers. There was something else too, but it wasn’t sweet so
much as slightly familiar and welcoming and when the heavy warmth pressing
against his chest shifted, Draco was instantly aware of what that particular
scent was.
It was Potter curled up against him, soft black hair tickling the underside of
his chin. The boy murmured softly against his chest and the warm moisture of
his breath sunk into the silk. Fingers pressed against his hipbone, curling
into the fabric there.
His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat a wild tempo. He swallowed.
“Potter?”
Nothing happened, no movement except for the rise and fall of the tanned boy’s
chest and the contrasting hot-cool of the boys breathing. “Potter,” he said a
little more insistently.
The body curled against him jerked and a messy head of hair sprang up, bleary
green eyes rimmed with sleep blinking frantically as the adventurer’s brow
wrinkled, lips parted. “Huh? I’m awake! Has he come?” Words spilled forward
unbridled in a quick, slurred mess that was hard for Draco to comprehend. But
he did catch the last bit.
“Has who come?”
Potter blinked and when his eyes next opened they looked a great deal clearer.
They searched the blond’s pale face and that ever popular smile broke lose.
Somehow that reassured Draco. “That’s right. I did promise to tell you today,
didn’t I? I think we should wait until after breakfast, though.” Pan tilted his
head back and sniffed the heavy air, dark strands of hair falling away from his
face. “Mm, smells good, doesn’t it?” Potter sprang from the bed and into the
air with a thrust of his folded legs. He skimmed the ceiling at a leisurely
pace, spinning just as slowly as his limbs stretched wide, muscles pulling
taunt, wringing the sleep from them.
“Who’s cooking?” Draco inquired as he gently pushed himself to his feet. The
ground was soft and gritty beneath his toes. He flexed them and felt the dirt
lift.
“Probably H-hermione.” Potter yawned grandly and floated towards the doorway.
“Hermione?” The blond asked as Pan’s feet touched the ground.
“She’s the girl bit of the Lost Boys. She’s also a great cook.” Potter looked
thoughtful for a moment. “I think maybe she learned it before she came here.”
A question formed on Draco’s tongue but Potter was grabbing his hand and
yanking him along before he could ask it. The two boys stepped into the middle
of a heated conversation being tossed across a sturdy wooden table sagging with
delicious food.
“And I swear, there were tons of them everywhere! Six to my left and seven to
my right. There were five in front of me and I wasn’t going to risk my neck to
see how many were behind me!”
“Liar!”
“It’s true as rain! I thought I saw Hook at one point, too!”
“You lying, dirty little-“
“BOYS!” A sharp, yet young female voice shouted, cutting through the insults
like a freshly sharpened sword. “E-nough. Our guest has arrived.”
Silence fell amongst the ragged, ill-mannered children and an array of multi-
colored eyes descended upon Draco’s pale face, which colored a faint pink. But
instead of cowering away as he had last night he scraped up the courage that
always seemed but a breath away and squared his shoulders. He raised his
eyebrows and swept his swirling gray eyes over the assortment of expressions.
Some of awe, some of confusion, some of apprehension. A smirk swept over his
features and he felt himself quickly falling back into the same Draco he’d been
back at his own home in front of his friends.
“Well,” Said Potter his hands curled and pressed into his sides, his face stern
and edged with amusement, “Don’t just sit there. Introduce yourselves.” The
ensuing chaos was blusterous. Chairs scrapped against the floor, some crashing
to the ground and barely righted before bare feet padded forward in a series of
muted slaps as the children formed a neat line, biggest to smallest.
Once a semblance of order had settled, the first stepped forward. Draco eyed
him, his face blank as his heart speed away without him.
The boy was tall and gangly with a mess of shockingly bright red hair and
freckles coating the bridge of his nose and, it seemed, almost every inch of
his long body. He had a wide mouth and a warm smile and crystal blue eyes that
shown with permanent mirth. His clothes were quite ratty and disgusting with
several holes and worn patches. They were all faded dull colors, shorts frayed
around the edges and a shirt that was missing at least half of it. “Hello! I’m
Ron, but everyone calls me Weasel.”
Next was a boy that was the shade of rich chocolate with hair dark and thick.
His smile rivaled Potter’s but wasn’t nearly as reassuring. He had a smooth way
about him, an ease that gave off the air of being trustworthy. Draco already
felt the inclination to favor this one. He was shorter than Ron but slightly
taller than Draco and from what the smaller boy could see he was probably the
leanest out of all of them. His clothes were no better than Ron’s; worn shorts
that hung a few inches past his knees and a shirt that had previously been
orange but was now the color of mango when cut open. “My name’s Dean. You can
call me Big D, or just D.” Behind him, the rest of the group snickered softly,
including Potter. Draco knew he was missing some sort of joke.
“And I,” Said the smallest of the boys and who was obviously stepping out of
turn, “Am Seamus, please to meet your acquaintance, kind sir.” The boy swept
out a short tanned arm dusted with dark hairs, and bowed rather deeply in front
of Draco. When he righted Draco had a chance to properly look him over. From
just one look Draco could tell that this was the wildest of the bunch. His
smile was crooked, and, if anything, gave a fair warning of what was to come.
His hair brushed against the tops of his ears, brunet, and his eyes were dark
with mischief.
The last of the boy’s came forward with an awkward shuffling of feet and a shy
tug at the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “I’m Neville,” The boy said, his voice
almost inaudible even in their silence. He cleared his throat and glanced up at
Draco with a feeble smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” Neville was thicker than
the rest of them and a lot less tanned. His eyes darted around him, avoiding
Draco’s altogether. His hair was the same brown shade as Seamus, but his was a
lot thicker and curled about his face in a way that made him pleasing to the
eye. He was almost endearingly shy.
“And last but not least, Hermione.” Potter said into the quiet that followed
Neville’s timid introduction.
The boy’s parted to reveal a girl with the wildest head of hair Draco had ever
laid eyes on. It was a light brown and crinkled from root to tip. She was
shorter even than Seamus but the set of her mouth and the way her brown eyes
fixed on Draco told him that she was not one to be playing many games. Her eyes
spoke of her intelligence and wit and her clothes announced her role with its
many stains and spots. She stepped forward with a deceivingly kind smile.
“Hello, I’m Hermione.”
“She’s just like one of the guys, though,” put in Dean with a wicked smile.
“But with breasts!” added Seamus.
Hermione whipped around and cooked Seamus with seething glare. “What did you
just say?”
Seamus’ smile dropped from his face with quickness. “N-nothing, I didn’t say
anything.”
The glare continued for a few seconds longer, and then she turned back to
Draco, her smile back in place. “I apologize for their brashness. They’ve no
manners as you can tell. Please, have a seat and help yourself. I do hope I’ve
cooked something you like.” She brushed some of her thick hair over her
shoulder but as she turned her hair swished back into place as if not moved at
all. Draco was wise to the fact that her hair would need a lot more than just a
quick brush of the hand to tame it into anything resembling obedience.
Potter’s hand touched Draco’s back briefly before the boy was off towards the
table. Draco followed and from that point on had the best breakfast he could
ever remember having.
                                     ↕+↕+↕
It was as if they had traveled through a veil into another world. The magic was
still strong here, maybe stronger, but it was twisted with something dark and
murky. Draco could feel it crawling over the exposed skin of his shoulder, his
nightshirt having slipped to one side as he lay stomach down against the hard,
rocky surface of the cliff they now gazed over.
The sea was in constant turmoil below them, stretching out far and wide. Waves
crashed against the jagged rocks below turning the dark blue to a bubbly white.
With each crash came a spray of wretched water. Rain came down in torrents
around them and the sky was shredded with lightening every few seconds, only to
be followed with rolling thunder that shook the ground.
It was like a horror scene from one of those creepy books Draco remembered his
mother reading him once she thought he was old enough. There was a permanent
chill over everything and the only thing warming Draco was Potter whose arm was
pressed absently against his own.
“Over there,” Potter stretched out an arm over the rocky edge and Draco noticed
how the usual tanned skin looked deathly pale.
“I don’t see anything.” Draco strained his eyes but saw nothing but more sharp
rocks.
“Ah, you only think you don’t see it but its there. A ship. A pirate ship.”
Despite the lurking shadows filled with things unseen, Potter’s voice had
turned to story-telling. His green eyes stood out against the colorless
backdrop. They stared unwaveringly at the cluster of rocks. “That’s were all of
the bad things go. All of the nightmares and monsters and villains. They all
live there.”
Potter turned to look at him, eyes wide and mysterious again. “I’ve been
there.”
“You lie.”
“But I don’t!” Potter frowned and looked back out into the distance. “That’s
where Hook lives. A sad old pirate with nothing else to do but make children’s
lives miserable.” Beside him Draco shivered. “He’s been bitter about me ever
since that beast bit his hand off. He blames me for his foolishness,” Potter
turned his fierce gaze back to Draco, “but the truth is that… that….” He
trailed off at the look in Draco’s eyes. “Are you alright?”
“Hook is real?” the blond asked, his voice breaking.
“What do you mean ‘Hook is real’?” Potter fixed him with a puzzled expression.
“I—my mother always told me stories about Hook, about his pirate ship and about
his crew. I was telling my friends the story the night I met you.” Draco looked
out over the churning sea. He still didn’t know why he had come. Being here now
in this dark place made him want home again, made him think of his mother and
father and how they would feel when they found out he was gone. Were they awake
now searching for him? Were they crying and wishing he were back? How could he
have left them without a note or goodbye of any kind?
Fingers touched his arm, the warm flesh soft and warm against his cold body.
“Draco?”
He blinked back something hot and wet that had welled up in his eyes and
glanced at Potter. “What?” He asked with more venom than he had intended.
The hand drew back quickly and Draco could feel Potter’s eyes on him. “Can you
tell me the story?”
“Here?” Draco snorted and gave Potter an eerie smile, “You want me to tell you
a story here, Potter?”
“Why not?”
Draco opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He didn’t want to admit
that he was afraid. “You already know it. You live it.”
“But I love stories and if this is one about Hook, where could we possibly go
that could be better than here to tell it?” Pan reasoned
Silence that wasn’t really silence brought forth the sound of the waves as the
dark branches overhead bent steadily lower with the rain’s weight. “They say
his eyes are as red as blood,” Draco began but his voice immediately faltered.
A wisp of what looked like shadow dragged itself from amongst the rocks that
Potter had pointed out. It slithered across the uneven surface, breaking away
from the darkness and into the air.
It took Draco a few seconds to realize a few things. One was that there were
more shadows breaking off into the sky and two, they were heading straight at
the two of them.
Then Potter uttered a word that Draco, though he didn’t know what it meant,
thought summed up their being.
“Dementors.”
***** Special Magic and Pastimes *****

Author's notes: Potter discovers two very queer things.
===============================================================================

                          Special Magic and Pastimes
                     Warning: Sexual Situation, Under 18
That was the first day he felt it. That subtle pull from somewhere deep within.
He dragged himself to his feet and washed away the fear. It squared his
shoulders and steadied his hands as he wrapped them about Draco’s shaking arms.
Somehow he managed to find the will to smile even as the Dementors came closer,
their gaping mouths sucking hoarsely at their despair. In the permanently dim
light Potter looked like a hero.
A mad cackle bellowed through the dark forest around them, Neverland never
short of trees no matter where you turned or how dark the magic ran. Potter
knew that laugh; it haunted him in his dreams, the few ones that turned bad. It
sent chills through him, chills that had nothing to do with the cold. It echoed
off of the peeling bark and swallowed them with its hollowness. He felt the
body in his hands quake and as his eyes met gray he felt a sudden spell of
possessiveness overcome him.
Arms slipped around Potter and tugged him close and he realized he was the
armor for this knight. He was the confidence and he would have to take the
blows, separate the soft pale skin from the harmful violence of the unknown.
“Daring aren’t we, Pan,” said a voice so cold both boys could feel it.
“Wandering in my land without your little fairy. And, oh, what is this? You’ve
brought a friend. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before. So pretty.”
Draco pressed forward into Potter. “Get us out of here! Get us out of here
now!”
“Hook,” Potter hissed, his eyes hard as they scanned the darkness. He took a
step forward and then another. He stumbled over raised roots but he kept his
feet moving until he had to swing Draco around and onto his back so that he
could properly run. He gritted his teeth together and tucked his arms beneath
Draco’s clenching knees. He could feel the boy shaking against him.
“Run, run as fast as you caaaaan,” the voice mocked with a vicious laugh.
“You’ll never catch me, I’m Potter Pan!” Potter called out, as the ground
seemed to disappear beneath them. Adrenaline seized him and he clutched at it,
using it to force them out of the gloom, away from the Dementors still sucking
hungrily in their wake. He thrust off of the ground, feeling his stomach
flutter as he was airborne....
And crashed to the ground. Potter picked the both of them up hoping he hadn’t
seriously injured Draco but not having enough time to stop and check. He
couldn’t fly. There wasn’t enough joy. The Dementors were sucking at him; he
could feel the strings of his pain pulling him back as his physical body fought
to keep going. He couldn’t let those monsters get them. Especially not Draco.
He pushed forward, hopping like a gazelle over the protruding roots. Trees
seemed to gather together, purposefully making it hard to escape. The spaces in
between the wide trunks grew smaller and smaller and the effort it took to get
through without much physical damage was slowing them down tremendously. The
tricky thing about this forest was that you never knew when it ended until you
burst through the Other Side. Sometimes you were running in circles, sometimes
you were running in deeper and sometimes you were running along the edge of the
Other Side, sometimes all you had to do was turn left or right and you’d be out
but you wouldn’t know and you’d keep running, forever skimming the edge of
freedom.
But Potter knew his way around this forest. He knew Neverland like no human had
known it before. He knew where he was going and he would get them out.
Something cold and slimy touched the back of his neck and he realized that the
grip of Draco’s legs was loosening. He whipped his head back and saw a Dementor
hovering over them, touching Draco, dark mouth agape, the edges billowing. The
blond was barely hanging on, he was losing hope. “Draco! Stay with me!” The
legs jerked and tightened, arms clutching tighter to the adventurer. “We’re
going to make it!”
A Dementor flew in their path and Potter couldn’t avoid it.
They would crash headlong into it; there was no way of stopping it. No way of…
CRASH!
In a tumble of arms legs and various textures, the three of them tumbled out
and into the light of the Other Side of Neverland. Potter rolled off of Draco
and sprang up, his powers finally coming back to him as the light brought him
happy thoughts. A black streak whipped past them and back into the opaque
barrier that divided the light and dark.
Potter was sure it was a Bogart.
Panting heavily, Pan turned toward Draco.
The blond was curled in himself, shaking and making little whimpering sounds,
hands flexing in his usually tame blond hair. Now it was thick with sweat, dirt
and forest. Potter collapsed next to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder,
jumping along with Draco as the boy pulled away from the touch.
“Draco, it’s just me,” Potter whispered, his breath evening out. “It’s just me,
we’re safe now. They’re gone. Those things can’t get us here. Are you hurt?” He
rubbed soothingly at the blond’s back.
Pale limbs unfolded and Draco’s smudged face came into view, tracks of clean
skin marking the trail of his tears. “N-no. I’m fine, just a b-bit shaken.” His
eyes were wide as saucers—not that Potter knew what those were—and wet. His
skin felt cold and clammy and was paler than usual. “Potter, never take me back
there again. Please.”
Steady arms enveloped the shaking boy and Potter sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t
mean for things to go all pear shaped. I won’t take you there unless you ask
next time. I just wanted to show you where Hook lived, the evil man who’s
spying on us.” He swallowed and felt a bit of warmth spread throughout him as
Draco leaned into him. He chuckled. “I think it’s time for a bath though. We’re
filthy now.” Hermione would have a fit if she saw them. She had no doubt
ordered the other’s to bathe once they’d left that morning.
Draco pulled back with a small smile. “I agree. We stink.”
                                     ↕+↕+↕
Potter watched between the tall grasses as water ran down pale skin and
flickered in the sun. Strange things were happening to his body, things that he
had never experienced before; a deep smoldering heat gathering in his stomach.
He watched the droplets turn gold as they caught the light, slipping down
shoulders, over spine, dipping between the valley of supple flesh that was
Draco’s arse.
Draco moved slowly with care. At this angle Potter could see just a hint of the
calm on Draco’s face. He could see the hooded eyes, unsuspecting of Potter’s
own traversing down his exposed body. He could see his lips. He’d never laid
eyes upon anything so stimulating, so beautiful. He felt, as he stared at the
boy washing, like he couldn’t breathe. His heart beat heavy and fast in his
chest and his whole body felt alive and aware.
Potter shivered as the cool water rushed over and through the ‘V’ of his
thighs, brushing lightly at his groin.
His groin.
He looked down at himself and gasped at what he saw; red flushed skin wet with
water and solid with blood, peaking out of a ring of retracted skin. A clear
pearl of fluid sat on the tip of his length, a substance he had never seen
before. Never had he witnessed himself like this. The sensations going through
him in that moment were indescribable.
As he glanced back up at Draco, who was still oblivious of his gawking, he felt
the rigid flesh give a tortured jerk. He flinched, shoulders hunching, knees
bending as his hands flew to the stretched skin, dripping more of that clear
fluid.
The moment hands touched his length he knew that whatever he was experiencing
was unnatural. There was no way it was normal to feel this sort of pleasure,
this sort of ache. He drew in a sharp breath and sunk lower into the water
until his hands were submerged under its cool waves.
The palm of his right hand pressed the hot length into his quivering stomach,
the very tip of it breaching the surface exposing the hypersensitive area to
the scarce breeze. His left hand cupped lightly at the sagging flesh beneath
the hard length and he bit his lip to stifle a moan as electricity skipped up
and down his limbs.
“What is this?” he choked out as his hands began to move, pulling and shifting
with careful fingers. Heat stained his cheeks a deep red. He moved his right
hand up, palm brushing accidentally over his head bringing out a strong shock
of pleasure that made the thick heat in his hand pulse with something
animalistic. His back arched and the next moan came out unbidden.
The sound shocked him enough to remind him of Draco, of where he was. He
blinked, hands stilling in their sensuous movements, and looked around for his
angel. Draco wasn’t where Potter and last seen him washing. Worry sprang
forward and he could feel the taunt skin in his hands softening. Had Hook
gotten to him? Had the wretched man somehow snatched Draco up while Potter
wasn’t paying attention?
Forgetting about his clothes and forgetting about his newly discovered pastime,
Potter burst up and out of the stream, scrambling for the grassy bank. “Draco?”
he called pulling himself up and casting his worried green eyes all about him.
“Draco?”
He ran towards the wall of vines where they had hidden their clothes. “Draco!”
He forced himself through the thick plants, panic finally winding its fingers
around his previously heated insides. Now they ran cold with fear, twisting and
turning. It was funny how he was more afraid now than he had been in the
forest. “Draco,” he yelled, “Dra—” He stumbled to a halt, wet hair slapping
against his forehead, water flying everywhere.
Draco stood on a pile of green silk in the clearing, hands balled and pressed
firmly into his sides. Wide gray eyes connected with Potter’s, the blond’s
mouth hanging open almost comically and he held that pose, frozen into place
with cheeks blossoming in embarrassment.
Silence.
Draco was wearing Potter’s clothes, the pair of skin-fitting overalls he had
fashioned out of forest scraps that slashed deeply across his chest, exposing
half of the tanned skin to the world. On the blond the material hung loose in
places and the only strap that held the clothing up had slipped from his
shoulders, causing more of his skinny chest to be revealed. Draco stood in the
same confident posture that Potter always took up when ordering people around
or showing bravery.
Draco had been imitating Potter. There was no other explanation.
Suddenly the silence was broken. Potter’s laughter rang out around him as he
fell to his knees, one hand pressing against his chest while the other flew out
to catch his weight before he smashed face first into the ground. Potter wasn’t
sure what he found particularly funny, maybe it was the image of Draco trying
to be him or maybe it was the way his clothes didn’t quite fit the angel’s
small frame.
It was clear that his laughter was getting to Draco if the pale boy’s sharp
gaze and thinning lips were anything to go by but that only seemed to fuel
Potter further into his manic laughter. It seemed minutes had passed and soon
Potter found himself lying on his back, heavy breathing only interrupted
periodically with bursts of lingering laughter. Somehow he managed to calm down
and he lay there, fingers flexing against the forest floor, blinking up at the
thick canopy, and smile still firmly in place.
“Done now are you, Potter?” A cold voice asked from somewhere out of Potter’s
field of vision.
Draco stood, his arms crossed over his exposed chest, eyes slatted in anger.
Potter cleared his throat and giggled a few times even though the boy’s voice
reminded him eerily of Hook’s. He finally succeeded in schooling his features
into something calm and reasonable.
“Draco, I’m sorry it’s just—” his voice wavered with the effort it took not to
laugh. He sucked in a breath and tried again. “It was just unexpected,” he
explained suddenly feeling very sober. “I was afraid, when I didn’t see you,
that somehow Hook had snatched you up.” He ducked his head, fingers picking
absently at the grass beneath him. “So I ran looking for you and then I found
you dressed in my clothes and I just… I was so relieved. I guess I got a bit
carried away.” He chuckled shyly and glanced back up at Draco.
The pale foreigner looked a lot less fierce than before and Potter watched him
warily as he stepped closer. “You were worried about me?” Draco sounded just as
wary as Potter felt.
The dark-haired boy nodded enthusiastically. “Worried sick. I even lost—” He
cut himself not only because he knew what had happened to him earlier when he
looked at Draco was abnormal, but because he… he didn’t know what to call it.
“Lost your what? Breakfast?” Draco supplied.
Potter went with it. “Yes, I was so worried.” He pushed himself off of the
ground, righting himself in the air until he was vertical again.
Draco flushed brightly and glanced away. “Um, you’re… naked.”
“Hum?” Potter looked down at himself and then did an odd thing where he nodded
and shrugged at the same time. “Yes, I am.”
Draco glanced at him, his brow wrinkling in a way that suggested Potter was
crazy. “Shouldn’t you put something on?” He asked hastily, his hand gesturing
toward all of Potter’s naked glory without really looking at him. His cheeks
flushed harder.
“Well you see I am at a sudden loss for clothes…” Potter smirked teasingly as
Draco forgot to be embarrassed and glared.
The glare almost immediately melted away and Draco was back to being shy. He
ducked his head and fiddled with his fingers. “I was wondering… about that.”
“About my clothes?” Pan asked.
“Yes, those.” Draco coughed. “I was wondering…ifyouwouldmakemesomelikeyours.”
Potter threw his head back and laughed, “Wh-hat? I didn’t quite catch that.”
Draco glared, his hands clenching by his sides. “I said, I was wondering if you
would make me some like yours.” He ground out.
Potter’s eyes sparkled. “All you had to do was ask, angel. I would have made
you some.” He teased.
“Well, I did ask.” Draco snapped. “And don’t call me angel.”
Potter shook his head, still looking highly amused. “Testy, testy. Listen, if
you give me my clothes back I’ll make you some just like them. Tink will have
to help, though. I’m completely hopeless measurements.” He watched at Draco’s
eyes lit up. Then they slipped and fell to Potter’s free bits.
The blond blushed again and turned away. “I’ll just take these off,” he
murmured and stripped down to nothing. He snatched up his silk pajamas and
tugged them on and handed Potter his clothes with more confidence now that he
was dressed. His eyes never trailed lower than Potter’s wet fringe.
                                     ↕+↕+↕
Summoning Tink was easy enough, one high-pitched whistle—so high that only a
fairy could hear it—and the bobbing creature zipped into existence. Getting her
to make something for Draco was the challenge. When Potter had asked the favor
of her the fairy had taken one look at the pale boy and refused with a serious
of rapid jingles.
Said boy was sitting amongst a group of decidedly cleaner children, watching
the argument with growing apprehension. Around him conversation flowed between
the four children.
Seamus sniggered and elbowed Neville who slumped forward, hands fumbling with
the knife and wood so that the blade dug deeper than he’d wanted, messing up
the perfect curve he’d been working on since morning. The brunet scowled and
shot a glare at Seamus that doubled as a silent ‘what do you want’. He followed
the smirking boy’s gaze towards Draco and found the blond not paying the least
bit attention to them at all. He was staring unabashedly at Potter.
“Neville,” Seamus whispered. Neville eyed the smaller boy warily his woodwork
all but forgotten. “Doesn’t he have nice hair? It’s so fine and shinny. Don’t
your fingers itch to touch it?” Seamus glanced at Neville, “You know I have a
thing about hair.”
Dean looked up from the tattered hand of cards he’d been staring at. Ron who
was also playing cards looked up as well. A slow smile stretched across Dean’s
face and he cleared his throat. “And his teeth. They’re so white and straight.
You know I have a thing about teeth.” His smile widened to expose his own which
were a lot better off than most of children.
By this point Draco’s intense gaze had faltered a bit, eyes fluttering as he
tilted his head toward their voices.
“His legs as well,” Ron added, the serious way in which he said it making it
hard for the boys to keep a straight face. “I’ve not got a proper look at them
but from what I’ve glimpsed…”
Draco shifted and finally turned to look at them, “I can hear you, you know.”
“Oh, we know.” Seamus said as he settled back on his hands, his short, thin
legs folding in front of him. His gaze shifted from the blond to a now flushed
Potter. The dark-haired boy’s arms were crossed over his partial exposed chest
and his lips were pouting as his brow dipped. Seamus sighed and shook his head.
“No one knows what Pan has a thing for, though.” Seamus saw Draco glance at
Potter. It was so quick that he almost didn’t catch it but he had been looking
for it.
“As far as we’re concerned, Potter has never had a thing.” Dean said wistfully.
He dropped his hand, letting his cards fan out face up on the floor. Ron gapped
and let out a grunt of protest before dropping down his own sad hand. Dean
crawled the short distance to Seamus and rested his head in the boy’s lap.
“Never been interested in Hermione, never glanced twice at the Patil twins.”
Dean looked up at Draco, “they’re the head of a group of Native Indians that
inhabit the southwest bit of the forest. Very nice lot, them.”
“I’ve heard rumors that Potter can never love.” Neville said staring down at
the tools in his hands and not really seeing them.
“Rubbish!” Hermione settled herself down in front of Dean’s forgotten cards.
“Pan loves us as much as he loves Neverland. He loves Tink, too, probably more
than us.”
Draco felt a lurch inside of him at that. He looked back at the floating ball
of light, his eyes slitting. There Potter stood foolishly arguing in vain with
his best friend of… Well Draco wasn’t sure how long Potter and Tink had been
together but it seemed like a very, very long time. He felt anger at the fairy
and anger at Potter for arguing with the fairy when she obviously wouldn’t
coincide on the matter. She hated Draco, the blond knew that much.
He stood, pale hands clenched tightly at his sides and marched over to the
arguing pair not caring whether the others were watching or not. He didn’t care
that he may have looked foolish. To him, the fairy’s refusal to make him a
simple piece of clothing was degrading enough. “Potter,” he said sharply and
his voice cut through the argument like a freshly sharpened knife. “She’s
obviously not going to agree. Just drop it. I don’t need one of those stupid
outfits anyway.” He shot a sizzling glare at the fairy. “It was a dumb idea to
ask,” he said staring at the bobbing light. “Forgive me for being a bother.”
Feeling hot and irrational Draco turned and marched off towards the direction
where he thought Potter’s room was. He wouldn’t be sure until he got there, if
he ever did. But he was sure of one thing; his time here would be made horrible
if Tink had her way.
Potter watched the livid blond stalk off and he felt his own anger rise yet
again as he rounded on Tink. “All you had to do was say yes, Tink. All you had
to do was sow the stupid edges. But you had to be stubborn.” Potter’s eyes
softened and he searched the fairy’s face. “Why, Tink? Why are you being this
way?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he turned and thrust up into the
air, soaring after Draco and hoping he hadn’t ruined this adventure already.
The Lost boys and Hermione all exchanged glances with each other, worry not far
behind their carefully aloof masks.
That was the first time Potter had ever talked to Tink like that, with so much
anger in his green eyes.
                                     ↕+↕+↕
Narcissa pulled her long pale hair out of her pale face, her eyes avoiding the
mirror as her fingers pulled and twisted the silky tendrils into a deep red
tie. She combed her fingers through the luscious strands a few times without
purpose and sighed deeply, the sigh of a troubled woman.
Around her the room smelled dank and old, as if no one had lived in it for
years. That was, in fact, the case. Narcissa only came here when she needed to
get away and that need had lessened and lessened as she had settled into the
role of a wife and breed a child. She’d been so caught up in raising her only
son that she didn’t have time to want other things.
But now that her love was gone and her husband was deaf to the truth, the need
had sprung free like a feral thing and had swept her from the prim halls of
Malfoy Manor. She had ordered Poppy to stay and look after her husband, make
sure he did not do anything dangerous, or that threatened their social status
once he found out that Narcissa was missing.
She just couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stay in that house and sleep with a man
that practically told her she was crazy. Lucius had ordered her to pack her
things and she had. She was getting help in her own peace, able to think
without being suffocated by her husband’s dimness, or inability to see what was
right in front of him. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize
that this was no joke, that this was real and that Draco was gone.
She would be waiting when he finally understood. Poppy would instruct him to
send a dove. They were especially trained to deliver small letters, and knew
where her secret hideout was located.
Until then she would have to think and she would have to wait. There was
nothing she could do. She couldn’t very well go off to Neverland and search for
her son. She hadn’t been there in…. In far too long. She was too old and the
world had tainted her imagination far too much for her to be able to make it
past those glorious constellations. She just hoped that Pan took good care of
her only son. She just hoped that Draco would be back, and soon.
Something deep inside her knew it would be a while—things like this didn’t take
just hours or days or even weeks. It took a long time to find out who you were.
With parents hovering over you it was easy to be told what to do, easy to
follow orders and never have to really, truly discover yourself. But when you
were all alone with no rules and no grownups to tell you how to fold your
napkin the true self-discovering really began.
Either you survived or you didn’t.
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