Farewell to Little Whingeing

Harry woke up with the sun on his face and mud – or what he very much hoped was mud – coating his cheek.

He scrambled up onto his hands and knees, groping for his glasses in a panic, unable to see the strange surroundings in front of him. He could feel…pine needles? Something like that lay under his fingertips as he fumbled, half blind, for the means to see. He found his spectacles…they were exactly where they had been, in relation to him, when he had lain down to sleep the night before.

He was exactly as he had been the night before; Harry soon discovered as he put his glasses on and looked himself up and down. He was still wearing Dudley's cast off clothes – he had been too tired the night before to get changed into his pyjamas – and his glasses were no more broken now than they had been that night. He was unchanged.

Everything else, however, had changed a lot.

He was no longer in the cupboard under the stairs. He wasn't even in Little Whingeing any more, strange as it seemed. He was…he wasn't even sure where he was.

It looked like a garden. A large garden, with flowerbeds as large as Aunt Petunia's kitchen, and fountains surrounded by statues of giant fish and angels and unicorns spouting water out of their mouths. There were pine trees and oak trees and elm trees and birch trees and trees that Harry didn't know the names of. There were dahlias that would have made Aunt Petunia green with envy, there were roses and violets and lilys; there were hedges that would have passed muster even with Uncle Vernon's rigorous standards. Cobblestone pavements, a little muddy and littered with leaves and pine needles, criss-crossed the gardens that stretched as far as Harry could see in all directions, and down the paths people walked. And such people. Men in top hats and frock coats carrying walking canes, women in elaborate dresses that flowed about them. There were a few people dressed worse than Harry was, or just as bad, but even those people in their patched and fraying rags seemed to be energised just by being there. A fire-breather delighted a crowd of children under the shade of a willow tree, while a fat man hawked host pies from behind a stall with steam rising out of it, and the smell wafted over the grass and the flowerbeds to make Harry's mouth water.

It was a pity that he didn't have any money, and even if he had, how did he know that his money would be any good. Where was he?

It was hard to concentrate on questions like that when his stomach was growling aggressively at him, but Harry attempted to focus his mind on those questions. He walked down the path, conscious that people were giving him looks. Whether it was because he was a nine year old boy alone, or because of the way he was dressed he wasn't sure, but he did know that he didn't particularly like their stares. He didn't stare back, but instead let his eyes wander all around him, trying to get some sense, any at all, of where he was. If only he could see something that he recognised.

He let his eyes wander up and down, this way and that…every way, in short, except for actually in front of him as he walked down the path, which mean that the first Harry knew of someone being in his way was when he felt himself collide with someone, who squeaked in surprise as Harry pushed them backwards.

Harry jumped back a little himself, words falling out of his mouth as he stammered his apologies. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

His words trailed off. Sitting in front of him on the path, looking up at him from where he had knocked her down, was a girl. A very pretty girl, with fair skin and golden hair and blue eyes that drew his own into them. She was wearing a blue dress, with puffy sleeves and a frilly white collar and a wide skirt that had, unfortunately, been a little crushed when he knocked her backwards. There was a blue ribbon in her hair, and a blue gemstone brooch pinned in her collar. Beneath her skirt Harry could see white stockings, and a pair of old fashioned boots that looked as strange to him as everything else that everyone here was wearing except him.

She looked about his own age, and she didn't look completely disgusted with him, which was more than could be said about most girls Harry's own age. In fact, though he could have been wrong, Harry thought that she was almost smiling.

"Hello," she said sweetly.

"Um…hello," Harry murmured. "I really am sorry."

He offered her a hand to help her up, and she took his fingers gently in her own and allowed him to pull her upright.

"That's quite alright," she said, smoothing out her skirt. "I thought you were going to stop before you hit me, but then you did look very preoccupied."

"Um, yes," Harry muttered.

She looked at him. Harry looked away, wondering what she expected him to say.

She smiled, which made her eyes sparkle. "You know you really ought to introduce yourself, you know."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "I'm Harry."

"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," she said. "My name is Cinderella." She took her skirt in her fingertips as she curtsied to him, and then held out one small, soft hand towards him.

"Cinderella?" Harry said.

"Yes."

"That's…a pretty name," Harry said. It was unusual, but it was pretty at the same time. Cinderella. It sounded…he liked the way it sounded.

Cinderella chuckled. "I'm glad you think so, Harry. You're not very good at this, are you?"

"Er…"

"You shouldn't leave my hand waiting," Cinderella said, twitching her outstretched hand gently.

"Oh, right," Harry said, taking her hand and shaking it. "Pleased to meet you Cinderella."

Cinderella giggled. "No, silly. You're supposed to-"

"Cinderella!" a man approached the two of them rapidly up the path. He was dressed like the better dressed sorts of people visible around the garden, in a dark suit and waistcoat (Harry realised abruptly that the same could be said of Cinderella) and a black moustache covering his upper lip. Harry did not have the best view of men with moustaches, although he had to admit that this fellow didn't look quite so much like a walrus as Uncle Vernon did. He was, however, looking at Harry with much the same expression of vaguely disdainful suspicion that was familiar to Harry from the eyes of his uncle. He glowered at Harry for a moment, then turned his attention to Cinderella.

"How many times must I tell you not to go wandering off on your own?"

Cinderella bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"So you've said before, and then done it again," Papa said sternly. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"No, Papa."

"Why did you do it?" he demanded.

"I was bored, you were spending so long talking to that man," Cinderella said. "I wanted to see the gardens."

"It is not safe for a girl on her own, Cinderella," Papa said. "What if something had happened to you? Take my hand."

"Yes, Papa," Cinderella said, doing as he commanded. "This is Harry."

Papa looked at Harry again, dark eyes sweeping over him as he stood there in Dudley's hand-me-down jeans (with holes in the knees) and Dudley's overgrown jumper (several sizes too large) and Dudley's old trainers (falling apart) and his thick glasses (broken from the last time Dudley had hit him).

"Charmed," he said shortly, his tone suggesting that he was not charmed at all. "Come, Cinderella."

"Goodbye, Harry," Cinderella said as her father led her away. She waved at him, and Harry waved back, watching her as she and her father walked together down the path between the rose bushes. He watched as she pointed excitedly towards some butterflies that fluttered over her head, and then watched as she glanced back at him.

She smiled. He smiled back. Then she turned away, and soon she was out of sight.

Harry stood there for a moment, rooted like one of the many statues that decorated the garden, pondering the strange, novel feeling that the thought of her caused in him. Then he dismissed it as hunger, and turned away. He had things to do, after all, he had to find out where he was.

He staggered out of the garden and into the street, where he had to leap back to avoid being run over by a horse-drawn cart laden with wooden barrels. So many horses, so many strangely dressed people, so many carts and carriages and not a single car or truck or motorbike in sight. Where was he?

"Er, excuse me," Harry tried to attract the attention of a man in a frock coat and a top hat, but the fellow simply sniffed as she walked on by.

"Um, could you please tell me-" Harry tried to ask a woman in a green dress, but she simply quickened her pace to get away from him faster.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be right at home here, although Dudley might miss the television, Harry thought spitefully, thinking of his aunt and uncle's manners.

He caught sight of an old man in a weathered old greatcoat, hauling a chest on his shoulder. Harry dashed across the road, dodging a black carriage as he did so, as he tried to catch the man's eye. "Excuse me, do you know how I can get to Little Whingeing?"

The old fellow regarded him critically. "Little Whingeing? Where be that then, for I've not heard of it."

"It's in Surrey," Harry said.

"I may have heard of that, but I don't recall it."

"England?" Harry tried.

"England? Ah, you'll be wanting a ship to take you there, boy, unless you're a better swimmer than you look. I imagine one of the wool merchants might take you, if you could pay for passage. Or might be you could work your way across, it's not far. Try the docks," the man walked on. "Good luck to you, lad."

"Um, thanks, I think," Harry muttered, leaning against a nearby wall.

I'm definitely not in Little Whingeing any more.

More to the point he wasn't even in England any more. And it certainly didn't look as though he was in 1989.

How had he come to be here, and why? Harry was not a stranger to weird things happening around him, things he couldn't explain: there was the time that he had ended up on top of the roof of the school, there was the time that all his hair had grown back after Aunt Petunia had cut it off. But nothing like this. It wasn't as if he woke up in strange countries in times past every other day.

But it was beginning to look as though, unless he went to sleep tonight and woke up back in the cupboard under the stairs, he wasn't going to making his way back to Number 12 Privet Drive any time soon.

Harry folded his arms and turned his eyes upwards as he considered the pros and cons of that indubitable fact.

Pros:

No Uncle Vernon yelling at him.

No Aunt Petunia sneering at him.

No Dudley beating him up.

No Dudley's friends sticking his head down the toilet.

No more daily round of ostracism at school.

No more having to wear Dudley's old clothes.

No more having to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs.

No more being told that he was jolly lucky that his aunt and uncle had taken him in after his parents died, when practically anywhere would have better than with them.

Cons:

No more clothes to wear.

No more meals to eat.

No place to sleep.

So many times Harry had dreamed of being free, and now he was: with all the uncomfortable realities that come with freedom. He couldn't live on liberty alone.

He had no money, even if he could have spent it here, wherever here was that wasn't England. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing.

But at least he didn't have the Dursleys anymore.

And if his hair could grow back in a single night, perhaps he could get dinner by just being hungry enough? If he could turn up in a different land, in a different place overnight, then who knew what he was capable of? There might be all kinds of things that he could do to get by.

He was momentarily distracted from his thoughts by the rattling of a carriage rolling rapidly down the cobbled streets. It was moving fast, and the clip clop of the hooves of the horses and clattering of the wheels and the cries of the coachman combined to create a cacophony of sounds that beat like a drum on Harry's head and made it impossible for him concentrate, let alone think of any good ideas. He scowled a little, and hoped that he might get some peace to think about things once the coach had gone by, which would not be long considering how fast it was moving.

"Harry!"

Harry looked across the road in time to see Cinderella skip happily out of the gardens. She smiled, and waved to him.

Harry started to smile back, until Cinderella broke away from her father and started to run across the road towards him…right into the path of the oncoming coach.

"Wait, don't!" Harry yelled, at the same time as Cinderella's father also called out to him.

Cinderella noticed the carriage bearing down on her, as inexorably as a train. She gasped, but seemed frozen by fear as it raced towards her.

Harry started to run.

He was too late. He knew that. He was too far away, the coach was too fast, and he wasn't fast enough.

But he couldn't do nothing. He couldn't just watch. Even if there was nothing he could do, he had to try it all the same.

I don't know why these things have happened to me, but let it happen now. I don't know how I jumped so high, or why, but whatever it is let it happen now. Let me be fast. Let me be fast enough.

There was a crack like a gun going off and Harry found himself more than halfway across the road already, barrelling into Cinderella at top speed, grabbing her as he leapt out of the way, and bearing her to the ground on the side of the road as the furious coach careened past them both without bothering to stop.

Harry's hands and arms ached from where he had landed on them, he could feel scrapes on his skin where he had skidded on the cobblestones. He was out of breath and panting heavily. Somehow, though, none of that really seemed to matter.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Cinderella's cheeks were red. "Yes, thank you. Harry, I think you saved my life."

"He did, from your own foolishness," her father growled. "What were you thinking?"

Cinderella looked down. "I wasn't. I'm sorry, Papa."

"We will discuss it later," her father said. "Young man, Harry, is it?"

Harry stood up, wiping his hands on his threadbare jeans before helping Cinderella to her feet. "Yes. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"And I am Lord Nicholas Tremaine," he said. "And I owe you my daughter's life. You have my thanks."

Harry hesitated. He didn't say anything, he just stood there. It was not a desire to be rude that held his tongue, but his complete of any idea of what he ought to say next. What did you say to something like that? How could he possibly reply? He couldn't even say thank you because saying thanks to someone who had just thanked you would sound stupid.

So he said the next best thing. "You don't need to thank me."

"Of course he does!" Cinderella said firmly. "And so do I. Thank you for saving me, Harry Potter."

"I should like to reward you, for your bravery," Lord Nicholas said. "And I cannot help but notice that you do not appear in the best condition." He waved one hand to indicate Harry's patched up clothes and lack of shoes. "Are your family in need of assistance?"

"I…I don't have a family," Harry said. "My parents…they're dead."

Cinderella gasped. "Oh, no. Oh, I'm so sorry. Then where do you live?"

"Um…" Harry hesitated. He shrugged. "I, um; well, I…"

"Papa," Cinderella said, looking at her father imploringly.

Lord Nicholas stared down at Harry for a moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Then he nodded.

Cinderella grabbed Harry by the arm, wrapping her own arms around it, making her puffed sleeves rustle as she crushed them squeezing him tight. "That's settled then. You're coming home with us."

"I am?" Harry asked.

"Well we can't let you walk away with nowhere to go, can we? How ungrateful would that be?" Cinderella asked. "You're coming with us, and you can stay as long as you like."

That evening, Harry sat on top of his bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath him.

Lord Nicholas – who not only looked wealthy, and dressed his daughter to look the same, but also owned a fancy house that would have driven Aunt Petunia mad with jealousy – had set him up in the room at the top of the tower adjoining the main house. It was a long flight of slightly creaky stairs to get up here, but it was more room than he had ever dreamed of living with Dursleys. He was almost certain that Dudley didn't have as much room as this, even when the second bedroom was taken into consideration. It was a long way from the cupboard under the stairs, that was for sure. He could actually spread his legs out here, and the view was nothing to sneeze at either. He could see all the way across the town, all of the houses and everything, all the way to the palace on the other side.

And what a palace. Harry had never seen anything quite like it. He leapt off the bed and walked over to the window, leaning up the windowsill as he stared out of it, that shimmering marble construction, those tall spires piercing the sky.

He was beginning to think that he could like it here. His belly was full, courtesy of a fine meal from the Tremaines. He had a spacious room to live in, a view to look at, and no awful relatives to put up with. And all the things that were most obviously missing from this world were things that he had never enjoyed anyway. The Dursleys had never let him watch television, never taken him anywhere by car, never let him use a computer. He could easily live without things that he had never really lived with.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Harry whirled around to see Cinderella standing in the doorway.

"I didn't hear you coming," Harry murmured. "What's wonderful?"

"The palace, that's what you were looking at, wasn't it?" Cinderella said. "I think it's beautiful."

"Yes, y…I mean, yes it is," Harry said.

"Sometimes I like to look at it and dream about living there," Cinderella said, walking towards her. "Princess Cinderella. Don't you think that sounds lovely?"

I think Cinderella on its own sounds lovely enough, Harry thought. He said, "Yes, yes I suppose it does."

Cinderella smiled. She looked around his room, "What do you think? Is it all right? I wanted to give you one of the bedrooms downstairs, but papa said that we might need them. I'm not sure what for."

"This is fine," Harry said.

"But it's the attic."

"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It's miles better than the last place I lived."

"Where was that?"

"A cupboard under the stairs," he said.

"Really? Did your parents make you sleep there?" Cinderella gasped.

"No," Harry said. "I don't really remember them. That was my aunt and uncle. They're…they're gone now, I suppose."

"Oh, Harry, that's terrible."

"I got used to it," Harry said. "Though I'll be glad to get used to this instead."

"Well if you need anything just let me know," Cinderella said. "I want you to be happy here."

"Just being here is enough to make me happy," Harry replied. "No one…no one's ever wanted me in their house before. No one's ever wanted me anywhere near them before."

Cinderella stared at him, her blue eyes wide. Then she gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight. Harry gave a half-gasp of surprise, but found he could do nothing else. He didn't move, he didn't speak. He was too stunned to either. He just stood there, feeling the surprising strength of her arms around him, the softness of her hair pressed against his cheek and neck, the feel of her face resting on his shoulder.

"I'm your friend, Harry," Cinderella whispered. "You saved my life, now I'm going to take care of you, all right? Would you like that?"

"Yes," Harry confessed, his voice little more than a whisper itself.

"That's settled then," Cinderella said, as she let him go. She looked into his eyes for a moment. "By the way, Harry, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

Harry frowned. "Eight. I think."

Cinderella giggled. "You think?"

"Well…what day is it?"

"It's the thirty first of July," Cinderella said.

"Oh," Harry murmured. "Then I must be nine."

"You're the same age as me?"

"I suppose I must be," Harry said. "Today's my birthday."

Cinderella smiled. And then she kissed him.

It was nothing really, just a peck on the cheek, but it was enough to turn Harry's back to ice and his legs to jelly.

"Er…what…I…"

"Happy birthday, Harry," Cinderella said. "Goodnight." She turned away, and left the room. He heard her footfalls as she skipped down the stairs.

Harry felt a smile begin to spread across his face. Yes, he thought he might well like it here.

Author's Note: So, the idea for this fic came to me at about 4AM on a Sunday morning, after a particularly convivial evening the night before, the idea of Harry, as a child, finding himself in the world of Cinderella, and befriending Cinderella herself. I spent the next day thinking it over, and I liked the idea so much I had to start writing it. I'm afraid that there won't be an explanation of how Harry got there, it just happens to start the story off. Harry will be a little OP in this fic, because a couple of the inspirations for this story are Severus Snape's childhood (particularly his relationship with Lily) and young Tom Riddle, and Harry will be powered up to a little closer their level as a consequence. However because of the nature of the story he won't actually be using his magic all that much, and so hopefully it won't become too noticeable.