Potter Pan

Cold air lifted them towards the starry sky, nipping at fingers and toes.


Two hands were clasped tight, one pale and shaking and the other bronze and confident.


“Open your eyes.”


“No,”


Potter smiled and squeezed the shaking hand in his. “But it’s beautiful. All of the lights twinkling and the little tiny dots of the people walking below. Not to mention the coat of white over everything…”


He painted a beautiful picture and Draco was tempted but fear quelled it fast with the wind flicking at strands of feathery hair. “If I open my eyes I will fall.”


“I won’t let you fall,” Potter said almost intensely. “You have to trust me.”


There lay the problem. Trust. “I’ve only just met you.”


“Have you fallen yet?” They slowed to a stop and the cold of the night seemed to drift away with the scattered clouds. “And the moon, Draco. It’s almost as if you can touch it.”


The words were whispered so close that Draco jumped, gray eyes flying open in alarm. He was caught in shining green that held him tight. “Look,” Potter said and turned his head to the left. Draco did look.


He gasped. Full and bright and pocked with smudges of gray was the moon, so large it looked as though it could swallow them whole. All at once he felt small and large. How many people were able to see the moon so close, so big and so full? “Potter, how…?”


The young boy giggled and gripped Draco’s other hand in his, a soft press of skin on skin and the reassurance of fingers curling tight. “Will you look down now?”


Draco didn’t think he could tear his eyes away from Luna. He spotted the Man on the Moon, the famous face that every one could see if their minds were open. He barely registered the fact that they were moving again. Only when the moon darkened Potter into a black silhouette did he realize they were traveling. His eyes slipped from the silvery orb to Potter’s face, shadowed in the moon’s glow. He could just see the tipped corner of his mouth. Potter was smiling.


“I knew you would like it.”


“It was...”


Potter nodded as if he knew exactly what it was. “Yes, it was, but you’re not supposed to stare at the moon for too long. You can get lost in her beauty.”


Draco looked at him doubtfully.


Potter shrugged. “We’ve still got a ways to go Draco,” His face grew solemn. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”


Draco realized the statement for what it was and he as grateful. Potter was giving him a chance to change his mind. He thought about it for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t so wise to float off to a place he’d never heard of with a strange boy. Maybe it wasn’t wise to have left without a note. Maybe it wasn’t wise…but it was an adventure and Draco had yet to have one of those.


“I’m coming with you.”


Green eyes seemed to glow of their own accord then, and Potter smiled so blindingly bright, full of charm and promise and secrets.


Suddenly they were no longer touching, and Draco was left to float on his own. “Potter—give—your hand!” Pale fingers stretched wide, clutching at air as panic filled the soft, pleading voice.


Potter didn’t give the angel his hand. Instead he just smiled on and lifted his leg. “Grab my ankle and hold on tight. Don’t let go, Draco, or I’ll lose you in space.”


“But, what—” Draco grabbed the thin tanned ankle in front of him, noting with unconscious disgust that the foot connected was dirty, streaked with what he hoped was mud. And they were off, his words forced back down his throat with the speed in which they flew through the air. It was then that he realized he would need both hands for this ride. Barely, Draco managed to grip Potter’s ankle with his other hand before the speed became too much.


↕ + ↕ + ↕


Her dress swished lightly as she bunched the silky clumps in slender fingers, ascending the stairs to the two quiet rooms once more.


On the landing she was stopped by the nanny, Poppy, and was asked if everything was alright. She gave a delicate nod and a soft smile. Poppy watched her as she entered the room of her son.


Everything was as it had been, the moon still drifting in through the spread curtains and falling just short of Draco’s bed. The floor was clear of any toys as she had asked and his clothes were neatly folded and set in a chair by the small bathroom attached to the room.


Then her eyes fell on the covers, rumpled and thrown aside. The bed was empty. She smiled and smoothly changed her direction towards the bathroom. She lifted one hand and gently knocked on the wooden door with sharp knuckles. “Draco, love, are you in there?”


There was no reply, only empty silence. She knocked again and this time she touched the door knob, giving a clear warning of her entrance. The door opened with a soft click, the slide of metal against wood, and…and the bathroom was empty. “Draco?” She called uncertainly. There was no answer as expected.


“Poppy,” She called rather urgently, forgetting to keep the hem of her dress from dragging on the floor as she fled the bathroom. The nanny was at her side in an instant. “Poppy, have you seen Draco?”


Poppy glanced at Draco’s bed and saw it empty, then towards the bathroom. Clearly he was nowhere in the room. Poppy’s old eyes grew wary as she stared at Mrs. Malfoy. “Oh,” She said, her voice faint, her hand shaking as it covered her thin lips. “Oh,” She said again.


Narcissa shook her head. “No, not now, I’ve done everything!” She whispered and shook her head again, thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring one side of her graceful face.


Poppy gathered her self, as there could not be two broken women. One of them had to be levelheaded and one of them had to figure this out. “We will have to inform Mister Malfoy,” she said calmly and reached for Narcissa’s hand.


“But,” Narcissa froze and her dark eyes glazed with realization. “Oh,” She shook then, from the inside out, her pale cheeks coloring. “He was here. I was in the same room as he.”


Poppy frowned.


“Yes,” Narcissa looked at Poppy, “I could feel him, I could feel him Poppy!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I just let him go, Poppy, I let him take Draco!”

“No,” Poppy said and Narcissa closed her eyes, the tears spilling down her cheeks. “We should have known we couldn’t stop fate. It was bound to happen, Miss Narcissa. We couldn’t stop it. Delay it, yes, but not stop it. It’s written down in History already. We have to let Draco do this. We have no choice.” She spoke softly, and her words seemed to cut the flow of tears from Narcissa. “Shall we tell Mister Malfoy now or wait until morning? I can act as if I were the one who discovered it.”


Narcissa pondered this for a moment, and then shook her head. “Lucius is quite observant. He will know if something is wrong and I will have to tell him anyway.” She looked into Poppy’s wise eyes. “But, I should like it if you came with me.”


↕ + ↕ + ↕


Bursting like ripe grapes in colors that Draco couldn’t even fathom were possible, were stars so bright and so close that he could feel the heat of their life against his skin and through his hair. It was brilliant and blinding and scary all at once but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t close his eyes against their shine for fear of missing something amazing. He wasn’t even aware he was laughing until he was out of breath and his throat throbbed with its efforts.


He was euphoric, giggly even. Draco didn’t ever remember feeling this light.


Potter knew why, though. It always affected the new ones like this on their first trip through the stars. Star Dust was powerful stuff and there was no short amount of it here in space. They were flying in the midst of it, in masses yet so thin that they barely realized they were inhaling it. He could go another way if he wanted but this way always made him forget when he needed to.


Space sucked them through its depths and they sliced through the air at speeds that would kill if they were not guided by the supernatural belief that they were untouchable, unable to be harmed or killed. Children often believed themselves invincible.


“The stars, they’re blinding! They’re beautiful. Potter! What color is this one?” But they had already passed the star.


Everything changed then and Draco was too caught up counting colors to realize that they had been heading for a pool of rolling white.


The two boys tumbled into the soft clouds, their fall cushioned by the resistance of each layer they broke through until they drifted softly onto a particularly thick cluster of clouds.


Draco sensed the change the second he breathed in.


Magic.


It was everywhere, in the air, weaved into the clouds, in Potter’s smile, in his clothes and even ground into the dirt on his cheek. And it was a feeling. Heady and pulsing in his veins, it was. Magic that was old and ancient and made everything seem…alright.


The two children lay there, one hand clasped around an ankle, breathing deep gulps of fresh, tangy air.


Draco smelled salt and sea and something sweet and fragrant. It made his stomach roll with hunger and his mouth water. His eyes drooped heavily and he smiled lazily, the Star Dust still running strong in his system. If he could lie there forever he would, just lie there and feel warm and safe and forever.


Potter sighed wistfully and rolled over on the thick clouds until he could feel the silk of the angel’s clothing against his naked arm. He turned his head and whispered lightly, “Draco, would you like to sleep here? You look awfully tired.”


Draco closed his eyes and nodded, murmuring inaudibly.


Potter smiled. “I’ll watch over you. Sleep.” Seconds later Draco was dead to the world. Potter watched him for a moment, having seen this sleep before, the aftereffects of Star Dust. “Sleep well,” He whispered before rolling over onto his side, burying his fingers in the cotton-like clouds and pulling a layer of the soft, thick fluff over them.


↕ + ↕ + ↕


“Captain, sir.”


The word was whispered in the silence of the room. The voice was unmistakable. He scowled at being interrupted, his fingers halting over the ancient keys of his piano. “Come in,” he said darkly, his voice deep and resonant. His broad shoulders heaved up and down with the sigh of a thousand troubles tumbling from his lips. He didn’t bother to sweep the few strands of greasy black hair from his eyes, or adjust the way his thin shirt had slipped from his shoulder to expose pale, scarred skin.


There was a soft squeak and the rush of warm air and something sweet. He knew before the man spoke.


“Pans back.” They said in unison.


Silence followed, heavy and strained.


“He was gone longer this time.” He turned back to his piano and plucked a few random keys, hiding the unsteady way his hand moved.


“Do you think…?”


“I do.” He sighed and stood abruptly, the bench he had been sitting on scrapping sickeningly against the wooden floor. “The smell, it’s absolutely horrible. I can’t stand it.”


“The air too, sir, the air.”


“The air.” He spat, and then, literally, he spat. The air was warm and breezy and perfect for anyone else. But for Hook, it was torture. He preferred chilly biting winds and barren trees.


“He won’t fulfill the prophecy. There is no way. He’s… Pan. He will never grow up.”


“What if he does? Where will that place us?” There was that silence again, ominous and heavy. “Exactly.” He rubbed absently at his wrist, the one missing a hand. “We can’t let it happen. We’ll do anything to stop it.” His bloodshot eyes cut to Smee when there was no reply. “Right?” He forced between yellow teeth.


“A-anything, sir, yes.”


↕ + ↕ + ↕


All he could see were the great pools of shinning green staring down at him in wonder. The warmth of a hand pressing into his palm brought him further into a conscious state. There was a soft tinkling nearby, and the smell of earth and leaves was thick in the air. The ground was soft and comfortable.

And then he remembered.

He remembered the laughter outside his window, the flying stranger, the hope. He remembered the vague snatches of stars and the curl of the Milky Way. Maybe he had dreamed that, surely he hadn't seen all of those beautiful yet impossible colors, surely his body had not flown through space and he had not felt the heat of the stars on his skin.

Draco started, his eyes growing wide.

Potter jumped back with a frown. “Draco?”

“Where are we?” Draco demanded.

Potter smiled tentatively. “Neverwood,”

Draco frowned, his lips moving but no words following.

Potter slowly floated closer. “I brought you here to have adventures with me.” He straightened then, and placed his fists firmly on his hips. “Don't you remember?” He asked.

Draco stared at the boy. “Prove it to me. Prove that this is not a dream.”

It sounded like a challenge. Potter loved challenges. “I can show you, but you will have to close your eyes first.”

Draco smirked, and the dark-haired boy thought how much the look fit him. “How can you show me something if my eyes are closed?”

Potter chuckled and floated forward. “I'll show you as soon as we get there.” He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

“Get where?” Draco asked.

Potter only held out his hand, waiting with that mysteriously promising smile.

Draco stared at it and decided that it did look cleaner. He took it with sigh.

“Eyes,” Potter said, his fingers curling around his guests’ hand. The skin on the back was smooth and he couldn't help running his calloused thumb over it absently.

“How do I know you won't try to kill me?” Draco asked, then immediately regretted it. Potter's teasing smile crumbled into a mixture of hurt and surprise.

“I would never try to kill you, Draco. You can trust me.” His voice was soft and with his words came a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, nodding.

Potter's smile returned and Draco felt the ground slowly fall from beneath him as they rose. Potter pulled the slender boy closer to him and could feel the tenseness of his body by the way his arm was so stiff and his hand gripping so tightly.

Draco clung to Potter's hand, fighting the strong urge to find his other hand and grip it too; he felt so lost and disoriented floating about. He felt that at any moment he would smack into something hard, but he knew Potter would never allow that to happen. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. He trusted.

Draco heard the groan of what sounded like vines and suddenly he felt the heat of the sun on his face as light shot through the thin skin of his eyelids. He flinched at the abrupt brightness. A thin breeze ruffled his silky hair and teased his skin. It was hot outside and the air was weighed down with forest sounds.

A hand gripped his wrist. “Let go,” Potter whispered. “I'll place your arms around my neck instead. We will get there faster that way.”

Draco didn't protest.

Potter lifted the boy's arms and wrapped them around his neck, excitement buzzing in his stomach. There was another feeling there too, one he hadn't felt in so long that he almost didn't recognize it. Nerves; he was nervous. Would Draco like what Potter had to show him? Would he hate it? Oh, he hoped not, after all, this place was one of Potter's favourite places to go in Neverland.

Potter leaned forward once Draco's arms were secured. The wind blew against him, and the sun beamed down, kissing his face. He laughed at the feel of it all and at the strangeness of having someone to share it with. “Keep your eyes closed, Draco!” he laughed. Potter shot off through Neverland, winding through thick trees and swinging limbs. He absently felt Draco's thighs press against his hips over the joy twisting in his stomach at the sound of the blond's laughter against his neck.

↕ + ↕ + ↕

Potter set Draco down in an open clearing where the sun peeked down through thin leaves. Trees crowded around the area, their limbs providing a scarce canopy but only the special ones could stand amongst the cluster of flowers. These trees were chosen to guard them. The flowers were special too, as none of them had blossomed yet. But that wasn't the only reason.

Potter came to stand behind Draco, placing his arms at his sides. He took a deep breath. “Open your eyes, Draco.”

Draco opened his eyes. The place was beautiful and so full of color that it seemed surreal. There were little groups of different colored flowers scattered in a shaded opening, the greens popping vibrantly against the reds and oranges. He could hear the constant chattering of insects and animals which only seemed to add to the beauty. It was a breathtaking sight. But, if he were honest with himself, everything up to this point seemed surreal. He took a step toward a clump of flowers but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“You have to ask the trees for permission first.” Potter informed him in a hushed tone.

“Ask the trees?” Draco repeated.

Potter nodded, taking Draco's curiosity as a good sign and allowing a smile. “Watch,” he stepped forward, his face taunt with confidence. He marched a slow, safe distance from the tree and stopped.

“Tree who guards these pretty flowers, may I be allowed to laze in their presence?”

There was silence and Draco watched in rapt fascination as the tree limbs seemed to lift towards the sky then lower down again. It seemed as though the wind whispered a yes.

Potter bowed then, and stepped among the flowers and plopped down, smiling winningly at Draco. “Your turn.”

Draco shook his head. “What happens if the tree gets angry?” He asked.

Potter frowned. “I don't know, they'll fight you I suppose.” He offered no consolation.

Draco’s heart pounded but if Potter could do it, so could he, so he nodded and assumed the same posture as Potter had, never to be outdone, and matched the same confident, yet cautious stride toward the tree, stopping in the same spot as the young adventurer had. He opened his mouth to speak but his mind drew blank. He had forgotten the words! Panic began to set in. Would the tree be offended by his lack of knowledge? Would it fight him for his trouble? Would—

And then he heard Potter whispering. He was telling Draco the words! “Tree who guards these pretty flowers...”

Suddenly Draco remembered the words, and he recited them, quieting when it came time for the tree to decided. He watched as the branches lifted, his heart seeming to stop, and then they lowered. Again there was a whispered yes. He sighed as relief flooded him. A smile expanded across his face, matching Potter's own.

“You did it!” Potter exclaimed when Draco sat beside him in the flowers.

Draco laughed lightly and nodded. “I thought I was a goner for a moment!” He admitted.

“I had no doubt you could do it.” Potter said with such seriousness that Draco found himself flushing. “There is something more I want to show you.”

Draco looked around warily. “There's more?” He asked in a tone not at all encouraging.

Potter laughed. “Where is your sense of adventure?” He shook his head. “Aye, there's more, but you'll like this.”

Draco watched as Potter leaned forward over a pale peach colored bud and pursed his lips. The boy blew down upon the bud and Draco gasped quietly as it began to bloom beautifully. Creamy petals fell apart, exposing its middle. Potter picked the flower once its petals had ceased spreading, and plucked one of the petals from the edge before pressing it into his mouth. His lips were still pulled into a smile as his jaw worked at the sweet substance. He let out an appreciative hum, and then held out the flower for Draco. “Try some.”

“You want me to eat a flower petal?” Draco asked incredulously. Potter nodded brightly. Draco briefly wondered if Potter was having him on, but by the look of utter sincerity on the boy's face, Draco knew he wasn't. He reached out and plucked a petal and stuffed it into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut tight, readying himself for a sour, bitter explosion. He was surprised to find sweetness filling his mouth. He tasted Turkish Delight! Sweet and delicious but without the mess! His eyes popped open, sparkling like raw diamond. “This is delicious! How did you do it?”

Potter couldn't help but laugh, he was doing a lot of that today. He leaned forward, his expression intense as if holding a secret. Maybe it was, Draco thought, and the prospect of Potter telling him excited him. The blond leaned forward eagerly. “First, you think of your favourite sweet,” Potter whispered, “and then when the taste of it is fixed on your tongue, you blow on any flower you want and it blooms. You can only pick them after they're done blooming, or else they'll taste wretched.” Potter wrinkled his nose for emphasis. “When it's done, you pick it and you can eat its petals. They'll taste exactly like what you imagined. It'll only work if you've had the sweet before, though.” Potter looked briefly sad, but cheered instantly when Draco leaned forward to follow his instructions.

Soon his angel tasted the petals of a violet flower.

“Very good,” Draco said, picking another petal.

“May I?” Potter asked. Draco offered his flower. Potter plucked a petal and chewed it. “Butterscotch,” he said.

“My favourite.” Draco nodded.

They sat in comfortable silence, each enjoying their flowers while the sun made its journey across the sky. It was only when Draco noticed Potter staring at him, did either of them speak. “What?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Have you ever tasted chocolate?” Potter asked.

Draco's confusion melted and he chuckled nodding. “Yes, plenty of times.” Potter raised both eyebrows at him.

“Oh,” was all he said. He looked away, glancing back at Draco with a shy smile before sighing softly and picking a blade of grass.

Oh, oh... Draco understood now. He smiled. He could play this game. He set aside his first flower and leaned over a new one. He let the taste of rich chocolate fill his mouth, then blew over the blood red flower in front of him. It bloomed and he waited for it to finish. When it did he plucked it. He brought the flower to his lips and pulled one of the petals loose with his teeth. He chewed and savored the flavour, making exaggerated faces over the deliciousness.

“What flavour is that one?” Potter asked casually, his eyes portraying him with their intensity.

“Chocolate,” Draco said just as casually. He swallowed back a smile at the slight widening of green eyes. “'Tis very good.” He added.

“Is it?” Potter asked.

“It is.” Draco confirmed.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes and Draco wondered how long Potter would last. Apparently not long.

“May I have some?”

Draco cocked his head to the side. “Some of this?” He picked up the butterscotch flavored flower.

“No, no the chocolate. I'd like some of the chocolate, please.” Potter said anxiously.

“Oh,” Draco smiled. “Sure,” he held out the flower.

Slowly, cautiously, Potter took it. He delicately picked a petal and tasted it. The dark haired boy groaned and his eyes rolled closed at the rich taste.

Draco felt his stomach flutter and his heart jump at the display. He wasn't sure why, but it didn't really matter. Potter ate more.

“You've never had chocolate before?” Draco asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Potter's eyes opened and Draco momentarily stopped breathing at the look he was given, glazed and... and, was smoldering the right word to call it? Then they cleared and Potter shook his head solemnly. “Never.”

“Lucky for you then. Great isn't it?” Draco asked.

“Yes, the best.” Potter said earnestly. “May I keep it?” He looked shy yet again. Draco grinned.

“I can always make more.”

Potter's face shown. “I think I should like the give you a kiss.”

Draco blanched, his pale face flushing even more than from the heat of the sun. “Kiss?” He exclaimed, his voice breaking unbecomingly.

“Yes,” Potter nodded, confused as to why Draco sounded so distressed. “To say thank you.” He clarified. “Isn't that what you're supposed to do?”

“Boys don't kiss other boys, though!”

“Why not?”

Draco spluttered then shook his head. “Well, we... we're boys!”

“And?”

Draco stared at Potter, not believing the situation. He was never outright told that kissing other boys was a bad thing, but mostly it was because he had never had the desire to and so had never been caught doing it. He had always assumed that it wasn't good, though, because he had never seen any boy kiss another before, and his father had once chastised him for holding hands with his friend, Blaise, in public when he was eight. He would never forget that day, even now. Kissing, he supposed, was even worse and would surely end with him on the wrong side of his father's temper. “I don't think I should.” He finally murmured.

“Please?” Potter begged. “I would really like to thank you.” The boy had the same tone as the night he had made Draco promise not the say that he didn't believe in fairies.

How could he say no? How could he not say no?

He swallowed and looked around, as if scouting for watching eyes or witnesses of any sort. He hoped the trees couldn’t talk or spread news. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were but if word of this got back to his father.... He sighed when he found nothing suspicious and nodded. “Fine. Just one.” Butterflies erupted in his stomach.

Potter smiled and leaned forward onto his knees, scooting closer to Draco through the flowers buds. He felt strange inside again, but this strangeness brought an excited flush his cheeks. He leaned forward, his heart pounding, his stomach knotting and dancing, until he could actually see the pale lashes of Draco's eyes, and feel the hot, moist breath against his parted lips.

Abruptly there was a blinding flash of light and the soft tinkling Draco remembered from earlier. The light blinded both boys and they fell backwards, pressing the heels of their palms into their eyes.

Potter's eyes cleared first, and the young adventurer was furious. He jumped to his feet. “Tink!”

There was more tinkling and the small fairy appeared sheepishly before him.

Draco rubbed at his eyes until most of the spots were gone. There was that strange noise again. When Draco opened his eyes he saw a curious scene; Potter was glaring at a floating light. Confused, he rubbed at his eyes again, thinking that maybe the spots hadn't all cleared, but when he looked up again, the light was still there and Potter was still glaring at it. Weird of all, though, was the little squeaky noises that Draco could make no sense of.

The light bobbed sharply and emitted a higher pitched squeak that made both boys cringe.

Potter's anger melted when he realized that something was really bothering Tink, but she was talking so rapidly that he could barely make more sense of it than Draco. “Tink, Tink, slow down! I don't understand!”

The little fairy was just that, little, but she had enough attitudes for someone a hundred times her size. It was on rare occasions that she got this upset. Usually it happened when Potter left without telling her, or after doing something she thought was extremely dangerous or stupid. This time Potter was at a complete loss as to what was wrong. “Tink,” he said softly, cupping her tiny frame in his hands. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry. It'll never happen again.” He promised. He smiled and relaxed as Tink's light dimmed with her anger.

Draco stared on in astonishment. An actually fairy?

Potter turned toward him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. She tends to get like that sometimes.” There was the sound of bells clinking together and Potter laughed, looking down fondly at the fairy. He turned his amused gaze back towards Draco. “This is Tink,” he held out his hand toward his pale angel as he walked forward. “And Tink, this is Draco.”

Draco stared at the fairy and realized she was a... she. A very pale she, who didn't look very nice at all. She made a gesture at him that he was sure was rude, and his suspicions were confirmed when Potter called out her name in surprise and mild anger. The fairy had the grace to look sheepish before resuming her cold manner and turning her back to Draco.

“I'm really sorry, Draco.” Potter said, throwing a glare at Tink. Draco had never seen that look before, but he had only just met Potter. He couldn't always be happy, could he? Draco thought he saw the fairy stick out her tongue at Potter. “I don't know why she's being so rude,” Potter continued with a small, oblivious smile. “She's usually pretty nice to strangers.”

Draco secretly suspected it had something to do with the kiss.

Tink floated up and poked Potter in the cheek before Draco could reply, and squeaked out a sentence to him. Potter's eyes widened, narrowed, and then firmed. “Have they…” he whispered, tiling his head as if listening. He let out a sound suspiciously close to a growl. “Right,” He smiled at Draco. “I have someone else for you to meet.”

Draco frowned and wished he had more time to spend with Potter, seeing as how he had been having such a nice time, but the fairy clearly wouldn't allow that. And, guessing by the look Potter had donned just now, neither would this new character. “Who?” He asked.

“More than just one who.” Potter corrected and then said, “The Lost Boys.”

Draco didn't like the sound of them at all.