Author's Note: I own nothing, etc. This plays with the idea that Peter had a girlfriend before going to Narnia, and that even children can be effected by war. Rated T just to be safe.
Peter walked Anna home and kissed her goodnight. He'd kissed her before, but still felt weird doing it. Even though the two had had a fight earlier that morning, they'd made up as always and had a great day at the park- they were, in fact, so happy when they were together that it almost made one forget there was a war on. And now, standing on her doorstep, feeling the cool evening breeze and the brush of his lips against hers, was no exception.
Anna gave Peter one last peck on the cheek and went inside her small house. Peter quietly began the long walk home across town, not even caring that he was out much too late past curfew. He knew the coppers didn't hang around these parts before midnight anyway. Mum and the others thought he had been out helping old Mrs. Fletcher next door to bed again- something he hadn't actually done for quite some weeks now.
Peter had met Anna several months ago on a cricket outing with his schoolmates. Will had brought her along as she was his cousin and wanted to try to play. They'd hit it off real good, Peter and Anna, and it wasn't long before he was calling on her regularly. He would always make some excuse for why he had to go out, but he really spent almost all his free time with her. It was so nice to have someone of his own, someone who Edmund never teased him about or the girls wanted to play with. That's why he'd kept it a secret.
It only took a few dates for Peter to decide he was in love with Anna. It only took a few more for him to finally tell her.
Peter had just reached the front gate of his house when the air raid sirens went off. He'd gotten sloppy- he used to always make sure he was home before the bombs started. He ran through the garden and into the house, where Susan was pulling a still-half-sleeping Lucy down the stairs and into the shelter. Edmund had just grabbed dad's photo (as was custom) and was heading there himself. Mum followed close behind and ushered the four of them out the door and into the shelter, pulling the door shut behind them, sealing them in from the hell outside.
The next morning, everything was quiet again. Well, outside, at least. Inside, Edmund was yelling at Lucy again for something she likely didn't do and she was trying to hold back her tears. None of this was unusual. As soon as mum woke up, Peter told her he was going out with Michael again- something else he hadn't actually done in several weeks. He walked down the street toward Michael's house and doubled back toward Anna's when he knew he was out of his family's sight. He had a brilliant day planned for the two of them, including a big picnic down by the river. He'd never taken Anna to the river before, but he'd already mapped out the trolley route to get there. Excited, he walked a little bit faster.
When Peter finally turned onto Anna's street, he froze. There were several policemen and ambulances standing a few houses down and dread began creeping its way into Peter's stomach. Control of his legs got away from him and carried him down to the spot on the row of houses that belonged to Anna. It wasn't there. Peter felt like he'd taken a kick to the stomach. He looked around for Anna to run up and tell him it was okay, that she was okay, that she wasn't even in the house, but all he saw were piles of sheets lining the sidewalk. Sheets on stretchers, being pulled away in ambulances without sirens. The war had been going on long enough for Peter to know what that meant.
"NO!" Peter screamed to no one in particular as he ran up to the pile of ashes where his girlfriend's house stood only hours before. He felt someone grab his arm and looked up to see one of the policemen holding him back.
"You can't go in there!" the cop was saying. Peter pulled away and kept running. Another cop had noticed and stopped him by placing an arm in front of Peter. He pushed that away too.
"That's my girlfriend! She's still in there! She needs help!" He suddenly became aware of the tears streaming down his face. For once he didn't care. By now the police were working together to hold Peter back. One of his arms was being held by each cop. He struggled against the men's grip- he NEEDED to get to the house, but they were determined to keep him away from its smouldering remains.
"It's still hot. You can't go in there!" one was insisting.
"I'm sorry son, she's gone. Nobody could have survived. The door on the air raid shelter wasn't even closed," said the other.
"She-?" The door never even closed. Anna was dead.
Peter stopped trying to pull his arms free and fell to his knees. He couldn't believe what he was hearing! How could his suddenly perfect life have changed to bad in just as much time? He sat there sobbing for what felt like hours, but he never felt better. He couldn't erase the image of her burning to a crisp from his mind. Had it hurt? What was Anna thinking in those last few moments? Was there a chance? And most importantly- why did she have to die? Why couldn't he have been there with her? He could have saved her. He could have tried. Why did she die alone? Why did this happen? It wasn't fair and Peter hated the Germans for it. Wasn't it enough that his dad was off risking his life to stop them? They had to come to London and kill CIVILIANS?! He HATED the Germans. He hated Hitler. If there was a way that he could go and kill him right now, he would take it.
Eventually the police left and told Peter to go home. It was getting dark again. Instead of doing as he was told, Peter stood up and slowly walked up to the house- he could still feel the heat radiating from the cinders that were once his girlfriend's home. He stood on the front porch, where he had kissed Anna goodnight only twenty-four hours ago. He tried to remember the last meaningful thing he'd said to her and couldn't. But Peter could not make himself forget about the fight they'd had the other morning. It wasn't even important, it had only been about what colour dress he preferred she wear or something stupid like that. The memory hurt though. He wanted nothing more than to just hold her tight and forget any of this had ever happened. But he knew that was an impossible wish.
Eventually, Peter went home. He didn't go to the funeral because he had no way of knowing where and when it was. He didn't know where she was buried. Part of him didn't want to know because he thought it would hurt more. His family didn't know, of course. He'd never made it a point to tell them. So he settled back in to the day-to-day life of war-era Finchley. He started helping Mrs. Fletcher again. He went over to Michael's again. Every couple nights, the sirens would go off again, and he'd go back and hide in the shelter, always making sure he was the one to close the door. But the door could never hide the sound of the sirens that cut through Peter like knives.