Small Magic

Dedicated to my family and all of my friends, FF and everyday; imaginary and otherwise. This has a mixture of references from the book, live action movie and animation, but you'll have to figure all that out for yourself ;)

Disclaimer: unfortunately, I do not own Peter Pan, and never will.

–

-The Girl Named Amelia Rose-

It is a commonly known fact that young children, unlike adults, have the uncanny ability to forget the wrongs of others. It is an amazing ability, because though it disappears over time, the years in which the child has this ability are the years when they are most innocent. A ten-year-old teeters on the brink of oncoming adolescence, but can still be ignorant of reality. A ten-year-old can wrongs so easily. Small wrongs perhaps, but wrongs that- in the eyes of an adult, and magnified to adult proportions –have needlessly lead to countless conflicts; hundreds of thousands of deaths that could have been prevented, had the factions been able to forgive each other and move on. But for adults, that is not the way things work.

-

The body curled on the sill rocked gently, as though by the wind. Peter vaguely recalled this window from long ago. But something was different. The hair falling over the figure's shoulder was too fair, too long to be hers. Wendy Darling's hair had not been illuminated to a pale gold in the glow of the lamplight by the window. Her hair had been shorter, closer to brown than gold, and it had been dark that night. Peter tipped his head and scratched his own mop of presently dirty fair hair. He didn't even know why he was here, specifically, let alone how he had got there. The girl let out a tiny sigh, and curled tighter into herself as a soft breeze tugged at the long curtains on their rails. She might have been reading, or even napping, what with her face resting lightly on the wall, the looseness of her shoulders and the soundless, slight breathing. Peter considered going closer, but something stopped him. That something splashed onto the book the girl was holding. Peter immediately hovered backwards.

Then the girl looked up.

Peter's sight went dark at that moment, and the whistling wind that had wound its way around the brick houses became fainter… closer. His eyelids opened. Above him was a small hollow, bright with a merry flame. After a few seconds he realised he was struggling to recall the dream at all, and made do with rolling onto his front and peering over the shelf where he slept. From a sizeable hole within a hidden crevice of the tree, moonlight flooded over the slumbering Lost Boys. Tootles, Curly, Nibs and Slightly lay at one end of the bed, hidden beneath a swathe of furry blanket, while Cubby, Marmaduke and Binky lay at the opposite. Curly's quiet snoring stirred, snorted, then resumed. A tiny smile crept onto Peter's lips as he turned back to the wall, though he would never remember why.

-

I had been in the middle of a dream before the sound jerked me from wonderful unreality.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My eyes opened and instinctively turned to the clock on the opposite wall. I could barely make out the faint 2.13am on the wall. Not even close to dawn. My lips parted in a wide yawn, and I rubbed my eyes. What could be knocking at this hour? Dragging myself from the protective shelter of my bed, I pushed back the curtains at the window and winced. Now all my sensitive eyes acknowledged was the rapid blinks of blue of a vehicle on the street, directly below my window. Even through the falling snow, it was viciously bright. My sleep-addled mind briefly wondered why they were on when the vehicle wasn't moving. The sound came again, louder this time. Thud thud thud. My stomach gave a lurch of apprehension. The sound of a fist beating on the front door echoed in the silence like the solemn toll of a bell. I heard a quiet expletive and the creak of a door as my stepfather, too, awoke. He took to the stairs, murmuring something to himself. It didn't sound pleasant. I followed suite, but lingered on the stairs when he gave me a disproving glance. There was a click and the sound of scraping metal, then cold air burst into the house, freezing my toes. The policeman's expression froze my heart to match. He sombrely took off his hat and said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

That was the sound of my world crashing down.

"Ms Margaret Lewis was in a car accident a few hours ago. Her vehicle slipped on a patch of ice near the Thames Bridge and went out of control. She was declared dead on impact. I'm so sorry."

I had felt sadness like this before. That was when father had died. Yet then I'd been only six years old. Eight more years made all the difference. Clinking bottles resounded from the room below. Poor Jasper. We'd never been that close, but I'd wanted mother to be happy. But had she really ever been the same after dad died? No. Thomas Brookes and Margaret Wendy Darling were the Romeo and Juliet of their time; it was inevitable that they would never love another in the same way.

"Sorry, Jasper," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I know you loved her. But she's always loved dad more than she could ever love you. Now they're together, and you're alone."

I wasn't sure who I was talking to now. The word orphan pricked at me. My eyes stung as I rubbed the salty tears away and slid onto the sill of my window, clutching a leather-bound book to my chest.

Mother had always told me the same story, ever since I was a tiny child. "Peter Pan visited your grandma, Wendy, long ago. He taught her to be a child… and a mother." My mother was an extraordinary storyteller. Simple stories that were otherwise mundane could be turned into adventures that enchanted and enraptured the hearts of everyone through her lips- that was how she met my father. Mother had been telling stories to her friends at a park one spring day. Father had overheard, sat on the bench behind and listened until the whole story was finished, when he said hello and asked her what her name was. It blossomed from there. She was the one who spoke of dreams filled with colour, adventure and the handsome boy named Peter Pan. No one had wrote them down; they had simply been passed down from Wendy to Jane, to mother, and then to me. Perhaps being part of them had made them too vivid to capture in writing.

Leaning my head against the wall and curling my legs up beside me, I lay the book gently on my lap. It was no kept secret that Grandma Wendy had fallen in love with Peter Pan. Grandma Jane never knew this, but as a child my mother had been more curious as to why she had ever chosen to leave. Wendy, with a sad smile, had told my ten-year-old mother why.

"When the person you love will never love you back, you soon realise that you can't bear to be near them any more."

That is when she went home and became a grown-up. Even Grandma Jane never knew until mother mentioned it, long after Grandma Wendy had passed away. I tried to imagine the face that so often evaded my thoughts. What had she looked like? What did her voice sound like? Was I anything like her?

I fixed my eyes on the golden engraving on the front plate of the book. It was the diary handed down from Grandma Wendy, from even before she had met Peter. The yellowed pages were amiable to me now. The name Wendy Moira Angela Darling shimmered, and something fell with a tiny splash. The tears collected and rolled across the cover, clinging to the corner. I blinked the last one away, and when I looked again, the surface twinkled with what looked like tiny diamonds. I was too numb with emotion to notice the freezing air blowing in, but I could feel the stiffness from my slouched position. Sitting up marginally straighter, I lifted my head to the always-glorious night sky: deep, midnight blue with a sprinkling of icing-sugar snow and the faint twinkle of stars.

"Second to the right and straight on 'til morning…" My voice was carried away with the wind.

–

Hey everyone! This is my newest (and only) fanfic up at the moment. It's a special dedication to my friend CullensGrl, because it was her gorgeous fanfiction that inspired me to write this. I have a really bad habit of losing concentration on my writing, so please review as it feeds my drive! ^_^

Cookies and good stuff to y'all if you review,

~chellybaby xo