TITLE: Neverland

AUTHOR: Rune Scriptor

Feedback: Does wonders.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, Snape would be on every other page in the canon.

NOTE: This is being posted at the urging of 2 reviews that just floated on into my inbox via ff.net. Thank you VampirePrencess & Annette Clearwater; if you hadn't reviewed, this chapter would probably still be sitting on my hard-drive moldering.

Chapter 2

"Harry," Hermione said insistently. "Get up. Stop being ridiculous."

Harry groaned and dove further beneath the covers. "Leave me alone, Hermione. I'm trying to wake up."

"Wake up? What's the matter with you? You are awake."

"No, I'm not. I'm in the Hogwarts infirmary with three broken ribs, and this is all just a morphine-induced hallucination."

"Hogwarts? Where on earth do you come up with these names, Harry? Honestly! And, when did you start using such big words—you always tease when I use them." She flipped her thick hair over her shoulders in a dignified fashion. "Now, stop being rude and tell Peter a proper hello, or else he won't teach you how to fly. We'll have to leave for Neverland without you."

Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Harry's mouth. "Fly?" he gasped. "Neverland?! Ohhh right, because that's Peter Pan over there, and I'm not Harry Potter, I suppose, because I'm…Michael…or, or John, or maybe Wendy!" He broke off in a fit of frenzied laughter.

"Harry Jonathan Black!" Hermione stamped her slippered feet on the ground. "Stop acting like you're an escapee from St. Mungo's!" She grabbed a pillow and began whacking him with it.

At the mention of his altered name, Harry stopped laughing. He lay there, tangled up in the sheets, the harmless blows from Hermione's pillow glancing off his shoulders. The words began rolling through his head like Quidditch players executing particularly tricky moves on their broomsticks. They never seemed to want to stay together; the 'Harry' was always getting mixed up with a 'Potter,' while the 'Black' seemed to be making towards a 'Sirius' as if its five-lettered existence depended upon hiding behind the silky dog-star. 'Jonathan' floated above it all, unfettered, decidedly superior as it twirled in various forms and cognates near the ceiling of Harry's brain.

"Black?" he finally forced out as if choking on the word.

"What's black?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

"My name…Harry. Jonathan. Black."

"Y-es, Harry. Very good. You can say your name. Let's move on to counting then, shall we?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Hermione…what's your full name?"

"Really, Harry, this insanity of yours is going on for—"

"Please, Hermione. Just answer the question."

She sighed loudly. "Hermione Wendy Angela Black."

"Black. Black? We're related?" Harry was beginning to have a dreadful feeling about where this revelation was headed.

"Related? Harry, what is the matter with you? Did you hit your head on the ground when Peter shoved you off your bed?"

"Then we're not related?" Harry asked gleefully, the corner of his mouth twitching in a nervous tic he feared he was developing.

"Of course we are!" Hermione shouted, her patience finally deserting her. "I'm your sister!"

There was a moment of tense silence while Harry absorbed this information.

"Are you finished having your little break-down-identity-crises?" Hermione finally demanded.

Harry began shaking. "Oh. Bloody. Hell."

Hermione sighed again. "Harry, please—"

"I mean…Oh…Bloody…Hell."

"Are you through?"

"Oh…Bloody…H—"

"Harry!!!"

Harry moaned. "Who…who is my…our…f-father? Is it…is it…"

"There's no use talking to you when you're like this."

"Who is it, Hermione? Please! I'm going to go mad if you don't tell me!"

"I'm of the opinion that you're rather mad already," she muttered. "Our father is Sirius Black. And this is the last time I'm going to indulge you in your addle-brained inquisition."

At the mention of his godfather's name, Harry's mind reeled off in shock, leaving the rest of Hermione's sentence without an audience.

If Hermione was his sister…and their father was Sirius Black…then where, dare he ask, did Ron fit into all of this? "You can't have the two without the other," he mumbled to himself.

Gradually, Harry realized that someone nearby was whining.

He was tempted to peek out from the sheets and see who it was but a sense of mental self-preservation dissuaded him.

From the world above the bed-sheets, he heard Hermione's voice say soothingly, "No, Ron, dear. Peter Pan's here, not father. Now, get up and help me with your big brother. He's being difficult."

"Don't wanna."

"Ron," she admonished.

"In Neverland, when I give an order, everybody scrambles to do what I say," Harry heard Peter announce from across the room. "I'm a better leader than you, Hermione."

"Now, hold on—" Hermione began huffily.

"Ron!" Peter interrupted. Harry burrowed further beneath the sheets as the boy's voice got closer. "Get up or I won't teach you to fly, and you'll have to stay here by yourself until I decide—if I decide, that is— to come back for you!"

Harry heard a hasty rustling of bed sheets and the gentle thump of two stockinged feet upon the floor.

He heard Hermione mutter "Coercion!" under her breath.

"Wha'bout Harry?" the little voice asked innocently.

Harry's eyes snapped wider at Ron's high, childish, syllable-tripping voice. He almost couldn't bear to risk a peek…and yet, he couldn't help it. Harry steeled himself and lowered the covers.

Ron blinked back at him, drowsiness and mischief lurking in his large brown eyes. "Harry's not diff'cult," he declared solemnly.

Harry groaned. His best friend talked and looked like he was no older than five. A trademark lopsided smile crossed the redhead's small features as he stared at his older brother. A smudge graced the tip of his nose. "We're going to Nev-er-land," the child said carefully. He reached for Harry's hand beneath the sheets and tugged, trying to force the older boy to his feet. "Fly!"

Resigning himself to his fate, Harry climbed out of bed and followed the five-year-old, his fingers clutched within Ron's baby hands.