Author's Note: Well, I feel really stupid - the first time I uploaded this story, I accidently uploaded a different story which inspired this one. My apologies to everyone. Here's the REAL Narnian Memories.

Also, this is part of my Narnian Characters Challenge (#4-Polly Plummer).

Sadly, I do not own CoN. That belongs to CS Lewis.

I enter the front hall directly behind MacCready, sighing in delight as I take in the high ceilings, art, and ancient artefacts; it's good to be back. For years after Digory's family had moved to the country estate, I had spent a few weeks of each summer up here. This was where I had learned to swim, to ride a horse, to climb trees – all 'proper' things to know, as Digory had always joked.

Now I stand in the middle of the hall as the memories come flooding back to me once more. Why had I stopped coming here? All those worries, all the quarrels – they seemed so insignificant now.

"Polly!"

Digory appears at the top of the stairs, arms spread wide, a smile lit upon his face. He looks older now - older and more worn. I have the uncomfortable feeling that my refusal to come visit was the cause of some of those wrinkles, but I push the feeling away to deal with later.

"Polly, my dear friend, you haven't changed a bit!"

I laugh and tell him to stop fibbing. We both know I'm older; just as Digory has aged, so have I. I have my own share of wrinkles and grey hairs to worry about.

"I want you to meet the children," Digory tells me, the twinkle in his eye whispering of a secret. I follow him into a side room – one of the many sitting rooms in the house. There sit the four children from London Digory had offered to take in.

There is something about the children, something I cannot express, that is different from others. I cannot tell what, exactly, it is about them – a tilt of the chin, perhaps? Or maybe the set of their shoulders, or a look in their eye?

As Digory closes the door behind me, the oldest, a boy with golden blond hair and shining blue eyes, stands and reaches out to shake my hand.

"You must be Miss. Plummer," he says warmly. The clasp of his hand is firm; I cannot help but compare his clasp to that of a grown man – they are much the same. "I am Peter," he adds, "Peter Pevensie."

"Hello, Peter," I reply, "I am very pleased to meet you."

"As am I," he responds, giving me the strange, yet unshakeable impression that he is more man than boy. "Let me introduce you to my siblings; Susan," he gestures to the oldest girl, with the long, black hair, "Edmund," the other boy, with hair as dark as his sister's, "and Lucy," the youngest girl, with hair the colour of sunshine, and joy shining in her eyes. Lucy leaps to her feet.

"Greetings, my Lady," she exclaims, "I have heard great things about you, and am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I trust there were no difficulties on the journey here?"

I am too shocked to say anything. Her words, which would have sounded silly in any other mouth, sound natural, as if she had spoken in that manner all her life.

"Lucy," Peter warns softly under his breath.

Lucy colours slightly and says hastily, "Sorry. I forgot," before turning back to me. "I really am pleased to meet you," she says, before sitting again.

Her mature manner and way of speech confuses me, and I sit down slowly. I ponder Lucy's manner, which, like Peter, seems so grown up. For that matter, all four of the children have that mature air about them. What was going on?

As I take a seat, I glance at Digory, but he doesn't seem to find the behaviour strange. Of course, I doubt he would find anything strange, especially after the incident with the rings in our youth.

Now, all he does is pass around the tea, as if this were any ordinary visit. There's quiet for a moment as the children pour their tea carefully into their cups. Digory passes me a cup.

"Thank you, Digory," I say, pleased to have a hot drink on this rainy day.

There's a clatter as Peter drops his cup, tea splashing across the rug. "Lion's mane," he mutters as he drops to the ground to mop up the spill. As he does so, he looks up to Digory, astonishment in his eyes. "Digory," he repeats in amazement. "You never told us your name was Digory."

"I don't suppose I did," Digory remarks.

Peter turns to me. "And your name is Polly," he states.

I nod my assent, and Edmund nearly chokes on his tea, as Susan and Lucy both gasp in amazement, for no reason I can see.

Peter begins talking excitedly. "So you are the Lord Digory and the Lady Polly, who came into the world at the beginning of time! Or at least," he adds, "not our world, but Narnia."

Narnia. I haven't thought of Narnia for a long time, and haven't heard anyone speak of it for longer. "What do you know of Narnia?" I ask.

The four of them laugh, and even Digory chuckles softly. "You remember our Narnian apple tree?" he asks. I nod – how could I forget? He continues, "When the tree blew down, I had it make into a wardrobe."

I nod again, intrigued as to where this is going.

Peter sits down again. "Shall we tell the Lady Polly of our story, Professor?" he asks in a manner that reminds me of courtiers and medieval times.

"I don't see why not," Digory answers calmly.

"Before I can ask what they mean – not that I haven't already half guesses – Lucy sits up in a way that conveys many years of practise at storytelling, and begins.

"It was the day after we arrived at the Professor's house," she starts, in a way that suggests she has told this particular story countless times before, although I was fairly sure the children had only arrived less than a week ago, "It was raining, and there was nothing for us to do…"