I don't own Harry Potter or Hook or Peter Pan for that matter. They belong to Joanne K. Rowling, Steven Spielberg and James M. Barrie respectively. I think... ;)
~~Little Whinging, Surrey
October 15th 1989
Peter was gone. It had been nearly two decades now, but for Tinker Bell it was still very much an open wound. He wasn’t dead. Certainly not. No, Peter was currently about thirty and a rather successful lawyer the last she heard. Still, in many ways he was dead. He had stopped believing all too long ago. Now all that Tink had of him were the memories.
Tinker Bell flitted into Surrey, travelling aimlessly and trying to outrun her rebellious memories of times long forgotten. A soft sobbing noise drew her attention from her own issues. The beautiful, ethereal girl glanced about and quickly discerned the source of the sobbing to be a little boy, about eight, crying in a playground. This was rather odd behaviour considering it was night and it was raining outside. “What’s the matter?”
The boy started something awful at her sudden appearance and nearly fell off the slide upon which he was perched. “W-who are you? W-w-what are you?”
The fairy rolled her eyes in irritation. “I’m Tinker Bell. I’m a fairy.”
“W-what’s a fairy?”
Tinker Bell was gobsmacked. It was inconceivable to her. This child did not know what fairies were? She had heard of people that didn’t believe in fairies, but she had never even heard rumours of people who had never heard of them. She stared at the boy for a long moment in incredulity before deciding that the boy was actually serious about not knowing what a fairy was. “Fairies are magical beings. We can fly and fight and crow and do pretty much anything you humans can do, only smaller.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Uncle Vernon says there’s no such thing as magic.”
The fairy arched a sculpted brow. “Who are you inclined to believe on the subject of magic? Your uncle or me.”
The boy looked thoughtful for a moment. “I can’t really think of any reason other than magic to explain you, I suppose.”
Tink grinned. “Now what is wrong?”
A dark look crossed the boy’s faced. “Uncle Vernon locked me out again.”Again!!
The fairy nearly growled in impotent fury. “What’s your name?”
The boy shook his head. “Nothing important.”
The fairy frowned faintly at the utter lack of confidence on display. She’d have to work on that. This boy was going to be one of her lost boys or she wasn’t called Tinker Bell. So there. “Well that won’t do at all. I suppose if you have no name of importance, I’ll have to give you a name that matches your importance.”
Bell was gratified to see a faint gleam of interest in the boy at her comment. “Like what?”
Tink thought for a long moment before coming to her final decision. “Arthur.”
The boy blinked. He’d met a kid named Arthur. Dudley had always treated the kid like scum. Of course Dudley wasn’t exactly a great specimen himself, so maybe that was a poor measure. “What’d important about that name?”
Bell smiled, no longer surprised at the boy’s ignorance. If he’d never heard of fairies, the odds that he’d heard of Arthur were slim to none. “Arthur Pendragon was the king of this country, long ago. He united the country under one king and was considered a skilled warrior and ruler for many years.”
The boy, Arthur, was faintly spellbound, and it was blatantly obvious nobody had ever told him a story in his whole life. “I’m going to have to be going soon, Arthur.”
The boy’s rapturous expression fell. “I understand.”
The fairy smirked. “I don’t think you do. I want you to come with me to Neverland. It’s obvious to me there’s nothing for you here. Come with me, Arthur. I know some people that would be glad to have you.”
Hope was begin dawn in young Arthur’s expression. “How do we get there?” Determination flared in those piercing green eyes.
Tink grinned and flung fairy dust across the boy multiple times. “This is the big moment, Arthur. Think happy thoughts. Think just one happy thought and it will make you fly.”
Arthur crossed his eyes as he strained his mind digging for a happy thought. His childhood was a maze of unpleasant memories that would be of no help at all. Finally Arthur stared out at the sky and just for a moment he revelled in the freedom he saw writ there.
A clapping noise distracted Arthur from his thoughts. “You’re doing it. You’re doing it, Arthur.”
Arthur looked down and felt an incredible surge of joy bloom in his chest. He was flying. Magic was real. Uncle Vernon was wrong. And if Uncle Vernon was wrong about magic, then maybe he was wrong about Har- Arthur and Arthur’s parents. Determination flowed fiercely through Arthur’s veins. “What now, Tink?”
Tinker Bell felt a tingle of joy pass through her. It had been so long since she had been called Tink, save in the privacy of her own mind. She pointed in the direction they needed to go. “Second star to the right and straight on till morning, Arthur. That’s our path to Neverland. That’s our path towards home.”
“Home.” The word felt incredibly foreign on Arthur’s tongue. Life at Privet Drive had never been anything resembling home. As for life with his parents, well he couldn’t remember that at all, so that wasn’t home either. “Yes. I suppose it will be home.” And so the fairy and the boy flew onward into the night, little knowing the hornet’s nest they had stirred up.
**Headmaster’s Quarters, Hogwarts
October 15th 1989
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, he of too many titles to recall, was jolted from his bed at the sound of an unholy wail. The old man took a precious few seconds to awaken properly before he realised what the racket meant. “The Wards on Privet Drive!” Realising the urgency of the situation, Dumbledore ran with a nimbleness not before seen in any man who had passed his centennial.
Reaching his office in record time, Albus leaped up the stares to check the various devices he had monitoring the wards on Privet Drive. Harry’s life monitor appeared to be acting oddly. It appeared to be slowly fading, but not in a way that was consistent with death. Stranger still, the wards on Privet Drive appeared to be collapsing at a phenomenal rate, but there was no evidence of any attack registering.
Albus tossed a handful of floo powder into his fireplace. “Arabella Figg’s residence.”
“Yes, Professor?” The voice on the other end sounded irritated. Albus mentally conceded her right to be angry. It was, after all, three in the morning. “What is it?”
“Apologies for waking you, Arabella. The wards are behaving strangely. Can you see any evidence of anything unusual?”
A long pause ensued. “Nothing, Albus. Would you like me to talk to the Dursleys?”
Arabella sounded less than enthusiastic. Not that Albus blamed her. Very few people would be happy to answer the door at such an unholy hour. “No, Arabella. I’m afraid I shall have to check on the Dursleys personally. Thank you for your help.”
The elderly squib grumbled something that was likely vaguely insulting and then cut the floo connection, presumably meaning to return to her bed. A few hours later, Albus was wishing he had followed her example. The truth was too painful to countenance. The wards at Privet Drive had fallen and Harry Potter was missing!
I'm alive. Honest I am... :p