The bed in Dudley's second bedroom was small, and the mattress creaked when Harry moved too quickly. Rolling over quietly required concentration, and avoiding Dudley's attention was so second nature that Harry frequently woke himself up when moving. After restless nights when nightmares shook him (like Ripper with torn cloth) and Harry found himself across the bed or on the floor by dawn, Dudley would snigger and smirk all the way through breakfast. A whispered question of, "How's that boyfriend of yours?" left scorch marks on the tablecloth under Harry's fingers, and Aunt Petunia docked three meals to cover the cost of a new one.

Hedwig was out most nights, hunting or delivering, as Harry kept in more or less regular contact with the Order. So when he heard, shortly after dark, a tapping on the window, Harry automatically slid out of bed to answer it.

The boy hovering outside, lit uneven gold by the cluster of sparks darting about him, was so far from being Hedwig with a mouse that Harry quite forgot to open the window and simply stared.

The boy rapped his knuckles on the window again, looking worried. Harry swallowed and let him in.

Bare feet scuffed on the bare timber floor, and fingertips trailed over the edge of his desk. The boy lifted a quill, frowned at it, then dropped it again. The ball of light flitted about the sketch of an owl that Dean had given Harry in first year, then whizzed away – disinterested.

Harry leant against the windowsill, trying to remember to breathe.

"You grew." The words, and the tilt of the boy's neck, were accusing.

"You never came back."

"I'm back now, aren't I?"

"I'd almost convinced myself I dreamed you."

The boy laughed. "Why would you do that?"

Harry shrugged, out of words.

"You remember me though, don't you?"

He smiled, weakly. "Of course, Peter."

The skeleton leaf was safe under a preservation charm, hidden between the pages of Harry's photo album.

Peter grinned and threw back his head, but Harry moved (Seeker quick) and slapped a palm over an open mouth.

"Don't crow. You'll wake up my cousin and he's insufferable as it is."

Peter's eyes sparkled as the light – Tinkerbelle – scattered dust between them. Harry felt something wet on his hand, and flinched back as he realised Peter had licked him.

"What - ?"

A laugh, quiet for once, and Peter skipped. "Your hands are clean. The Lost Girls are cleaner than the boys were but their hands still get dirt on them. How come yours don't?"

Harry wiped skin against his pyjama bottoms, and sat down carefully on the bed. "I assume it's because I stay inside a lot. But after working outside in the garden I wash my hands."

"Wash them?"

"Yes, Peter. Washing things tends to keep them clean."

"Oh." He stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips, studying the floor. Tinkerbelle had grown bored with them, and was preening at her reflection in Harry's inkwell.

Searching for anything to fill the quiet, Harry patted the bed beside him. "Sit down?"

Peter was light, floating rather than walking, and settling on the creaky mattress so gently that it barely noticed him. Harry pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

"Are there still only girls in Neverland?"

"Mhm. They're not all bad. Some of the new ones are almost like the boys were, but they'd still rather play with the fairies than fight pirates."

"Is Hook still captain?"

"Oh no, he's gone. There's been two new ships since his, the new pirate's a man called the Blizzard. He's just as bad as Hook though, so he's just as fun."

Harry smiled. Peter didn't notice.

"Diver, she's the one I put in charge when I'm not there, she wants to be one of the mermaids. Course, that's silly because she doesn't have a tail, but she's sure she can do it. When I tell her she can't she sulks and says I'm being mean. But that's girls for you." He turned his head then, looking sharply at Harry. "You should have come."

"Where?"

"To the Neverland. Being the only boy there is frightfully boring. And how am I to have fun if I'm bored and surrounded by girls?"

Harry snickered, which was a mistake. Peter didn't take kindly to being laughed at, and immediately sprang at Harry who lost his balance, rolled off the bed, and landed on the floorboards with a thud.

Peter crouched over him, knife at Harry's throat.

"What's so funny?"

Harry closed his eyes, wondering briefly what the Prophet headlines would read. Would they think the muggles had killed him, or would they call it suicide?

"Tell me!"

"If you were a little older, you'd love to be surrounded by girls."

"Why? What good are they?"

Harry opened his eyes. Peter had put his knife away, and was now sitting companionably on his stomach.

"Um." Well. Hermione was brilliant at research, and just as good at practical hexing. Ginny was killer at Bat Bogeys, and every bit as brave as anyone else who'd fought at the department of mysteries. Luna .. was odd. "Some of them are really good fighters."

"But what about when they don't feel like fighting?"

Harry knew very well that there were a number of fun things to do with girls, but they all made him think of Cho crying and for Merlin's sake he wasn't about to explain the facts of life to a perpetual child who was currently restricting his available oxygen.

"I'm not sure, to tell the truth."

"Hmph." Peter didn't move. "I thought you would have known."

"Why?"

A pause. "Feelings .. are supposed to be clearer when you grow up."

Harry laughed shortly, diaphragm jerking. "If anything they only get worse."

"Then what are they good for then?" Peter leant forward, jabbing Harry in the chest. "What's the point of having all these stupid feelings about things if they never make any sense to anyone?"

Struggling to prop himself up on his elbows, Harry shook his head. "It's just being human, Peter. Sometimes everything makes sense and other times nothing does. The point, I think, is judging what seems like the best thing to do based on whatever happens to you."

Two brown hands caught his shoulders and the room flooded with stunned silence as Peter kissed him swiftly on the mouth.

Harry froze, eyes wide open.

"Like that?" Peter asked, horrifyingly innocent.

"Something like that, I suppose, yes."

Peter leant down again but Harry interrupted him.

"Why are you doing this Peter?"

"Because it's the best thing."

"Why is it the best thing?"

The boy scowled. "Because you remembered me, and because I still need someone to plan the battles at home, and because I wanted to thimble you anyway. Plus, you gave me a kiss before."

"I what?"

Peter sat back and pulled a cord (woven from mermaid's hair) off over his head. Strung carefully on it, and preserved by Neverland's unique lack of time, was the acorn Peter had found in Harry's cupboard.

"You kept that?"

Peter shrugged, colouring under his tan.

Harry sighed, and wriggled. Peter took the hint and stood, offering a hand to pick Harry off the floor.

Tinkerbelle cautiously approached, alighting on Peter's shoulder and keeping her eyes on Harry. Harry supposed that, as a sixteen year old boy, he was more intimidating than .. what was her name? Wendy.

Peter shifted from one foot to another, uncharacteristically nervous. Harry ran a hand through his own hair, getting fingers caught in knots. How could he deal with this?

"Peter, I'd love to go with you. If you'd asked me when I was younger I would have said yes."

"Why won't you come now? You're not grown up yet!"

"It's not that. I have responsibilities here."

The boy folded his arms, unimpressed.

"There's a man here, Peter, that wants to kill me and a lot of other people. He's like Hook or the Blizzard, only worse, and with more followers. If I can't beat him, no one can."

"Oh." Peter took out his knife and began turning it over and over, thinking. "Can I help you?"

"No."

"Well anyway," blithe, Peter turned in a quick circle and tossed his knife up in the air before sheathing it. "Once you've beat this pirate, you can come to the Neverland. Right?" he grinned.

Harry's breath caught. That skeleton leaf had guarded his cupboard until he'd be moved out, and until leaving for Hogwarts he'd kept it safe between the pages of a maths textbook Dudley had thrown away. Now it was still green, still cool, and was secreted away with Harry's most precious things.

He'd seen Peter before any strange heavy letter had come. He'd dreamt of flying through trees after a boy made of sunlight – without any thought of brooms or motorbikes. Peter Pan's magic was the first Harry had ever known.

The boy's grin faltered, and Harry cringed at being the cause of that. He reached out a hand to take Peter's, and stepped closer.

"I don't know how long it will take me to get him. I might be grown up by the time I'm finished."

Peter laughed faintly. "You'll never grow up, Harry."

Harry's heart faltered, he caught quickly at the acorn around Peter's neck. Touch wood.

Tinkerbelle dashed for the open window and back again, nervous of Harry and wanting to go home. Peter glanced at her, then back up at Harry.

"I'll come for you. If you can come, promise you will."

"I promise."

"Thimble on it."

Harry shut his eyes this time, remembering the promises of freedom Peter had brought with him, and would bring again. Peter was warm and bright, and he laughed again when Harry stepped back, which was so different from Cho's crying that Harry had to laugh too.

Dudley was smirking at breakfast the next morning. Harry briefly considered dropping omelette into his lap, but changed his mind and turned to leave the room.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" Uncle Vernon yelled.

Harry paused in the doorway, and smiled serenely over his shoulder.

"I haven't written any letters in a while Uncle. I thought I should catch up before someone comes to check on me."

Dudley flinched visibly and went as pale as the Fat Friar. Uncle Vernon twitched.

"Go along then."

Harry inclined his head. "Thankyou, Uncle Vernon."