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.