Potter Pan

Another Lost Boy


Draco wasn’t adept to apologies. His mother never really gave him any and his father—his father he hardly saw. The man was great, powerful and his identical gray eyes shown with something regal and beckoning. His friends never did anything that he had not ordered them to do, therefore never put them selves in such a situation where an apology was needed.

So it was odd to see the apologetic looking flicked back at him every few seconds as he clung to the dark haired boy’s neck. It unnerved him.

The sun was already nestling itself along the horizon, which was lost in the trees as they swept past them in a blur of warm air and silence. There was a constant sound, like small bells bumping against one another to his left and Draco was sure that it was Tink.

There was a tension in Potter’s shoulders that Draco hadn’t felt on their ride to the trees and flowers. Something was wrong; that much he had gathered by the look on Potter’s face when Tink had told him whatever it was that was so important.

The wind was coming too fast for him to speak and be heard so he would have to wait to ask questions, but they were there, knocking at his perfect teeth.

“Your eyes,” Potter said his voice rose over the roar of wind. “Close them,”

Draco did as he was told without hesitation, resting his head against the space between Potter’s shoulder and neck.

Not much time later they were slowing and Draco could hear the chirping of crickets and that familiar whine of vines. They floated forward and the vines groaned again and when their protesting ended, so did the crickets.

“Pan!” It was a chorus of warm, delighted voices wrapped around one word, bringing it to life.

Draco’s eyes popped open.

They were hovering a few feet above ground and at their feet were a cluster of the filthiest children Draco had ever laid eyes upon. He gasped at the sight of them, each of their eyes glowing with something akin to admiration. It seemed that none of them really noticed him there. He clung tighter to Potter.

“Pan, where’ve you been?”

“Have you brought us anything back?”

“What was it like this time?”

“Who is that?”

They all fell silent at the last. Draco buried his face into Potter’s neck, suddenly feeling very out of place and uncommonly shy.

Potter shifted, reaching back a hand to touch at the green silk covering Draco’s back. “This?” Potter said his voice soft, eyes wide.

They all nodded, their eyes now weighing down Draco’s shoulders. He could feel them staring.

“This is an angel.”

The words shocked both the children and Draco. He stiffened.

“An angel?” One of the children asked his voice loud and disbelieving. “There’s no such thing as them!”

Potter’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh but there is. I have real proof. I convinced this angel to some back with me so that I might show you.”

Draco felt anger flair inside him. He had been tricked! Potter had spun such a story…showed him beautiful things, all to lure him in and—

“Can you believe that angels have never had adventures?” Potter went on. Slowly they lowered to the ground and the children shuffled back, giving ample space for Potter to land. “As beautiful as they are their lives are pretty dull. They just sit around and watch over us. I promised this angel that I would share plenty with him.”

The anger quivered and lessened…

“Him?”

“Him,” Potter confirmed. “And just because he’s a boy doesn’t make him any less beautiful.” Draco felt he would catch on fire, his face was so hot.

“Can we see him?”

Potter landed with Draco still clinging tightly. “No not tonight. We’ve had a long journey. I think he should like some rest. Now, if you will excuse us. I’ll prepare his room and then we’ll have a chat.” His voice turned stern, “It’s urgent.” There was no reply as he lifted from the ground again.

Draco didn’t know what to think. Should he be upset with Potter’s lie? Should he be flattered at being called an angel? He didn’t know and he didn’t know how he felt about the children. They were dirty and obviously lacking in manners by the way they had greeted Potter. He knew nothing and no one and something, something was wrong… It was all too much and he was suddenly grateful that Potter had excused them.

Draco lifted his head from Potter’s shoulder, noticing that now it was less tense. His blond hair curtained his face as he stared at his surroundings. There was a doorway obscured by several strands of thin vines. They flew through them and emerged into a room much grander than he had ever expected to see. The walls were made of dirt only interrupted by various thick and thin roots, he supposed from a tree. There was a soft orange glow coming from a hearth built of dried mud and burning wood. Something told him that magic kept the thing from spreading. To his left there was a bed of soft leaves and moss with some sort of tattered cloth thrown over the pile. The pillows were made out of a softer material it seemed.

Besides that the room was barren, only a few photos here and there that were so yellow and ripped that Draco could hardly make sense of them. And maybe he was just a little tired.

“Where are we?” Draco asked softly, feeling the need to whisper unnecessarily.

“My room. The others have their own. Some of them share but none of them come in here. You won’t be disturbed,” Potter answered his voice just as soft. They landed on the dirt floor and Draco finally slipped from Potter’s back, stumbling. Potter reached out and righted him.

“Thank you,”

Potter turned and looked at him, fixing the blond with a bright smile and glimmering greens. “It’s true what I said before. You are an angel.”

Draco colored yet again and furrowed his brow, almost pouting. “Don’t say that.”

Potter chuckled. “Why not? You are beautiful.” He reached out a hand and touched some of Draco’s hair. “It’s so soft and pale. I’ve never seen anything like this anywhere else. I’ve heard about it in fairytales and dreamt about it a few times but I’ve never believed it was real.”

Having heard enough, Draco stepped back and away from Potter’s stroking fingers. “It’s real. I’m real, and I’m also very tired.” He flinched at his own tone but he didn’t take it back.

Potter sighed with a wistful smile. “Aye, you probably are.” Potter turned toward his bed. “I know it’s nothing like what you had at home but it will have to do.”

Draco nodded. “It’s fine.” But somehow he didn’t like the idea of sleeping alone in this strange place, and Potter was always so warm. He was safe.

“Right,” Potter turned back toward him with another one of his smiles that Draco was starting to get used to. “I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped past Draco and headed for the door.

Draco stood rooted to the spot, his hands curling into fists. He whirled around, “Wait!”

Potter stopped and turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, “Hm?”

“Is…is everything alright? I’m not going to get into any trouble for coming here am I? My mother said I had to have a passport to go to different countries and—and I know that I’ve traveled to a whole different planet and I’m not sure if maybe I should have brought my passport first…” he trailed off then, feeling overwhelmed and a bit stupid. He felt as if he was going to cry but he knew he wouldn’t.

Potter stared at him for a few long moments and then suddenly, he was laughing. Laughing loud and free and… Draco stared. “Passport? What is a bloody passport? What are you talking about Draco? Why would you be in any trouble?”

“Well, you said that there was urgent business to talk about out there and when the fairy, when she came you looked sort of grim…”

Potter just smiled. “It’s really nothing for you to worry about. Look, if you want to know I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’ve had some sleep, alright?”

Draco nodded. “OK.”

Potter turned to leave but stopped yet again. “And we’ll be sharing that bed, just to let you know.”

There was a small relief in that. “OK.”

“Another thing.” Potter’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I still intend to thank you.”

Confused, Draco drew in a breath to ask what the boy had meant but he was already gone.

Potter drifted into the room a while later, muscles aching in that pleasant way that promised good sleep. Everything was cast in shadows disturbed only by the flicker of light spilling in through gaps in the vines covering the doorway. Potter turned and clutched the thick fabric hung by a thin stick just over the curved doorframe. He pulled the cloth to shield the vines, cutting off the little beams of light that had dared creep in.

The fire had long since burned out leaving little simmering bits of debris that slowly died away. Despite how warm the weather was outside it was never too warm here.

His gaze was drawn to the lump of twisted fabric atop his bed and he felt the unmistakable pull of a smile threatening the corners of his lips. Potter always felt the urge to smile when he looked at his angel. It didn’t matter what he was doing, sleeping, laughing, frowning…there was just something about him.

“Potter?”

Potter hadn’t realized he was awake. He smiled and walked forward into the darkness. “You’re still awake, are you?” He skirted the bed, knowing the place as well as he knew the back of his hand even in the dark. He approached the opposite wall and reached up, his fingers skimming the uneven dirt-hardened walls. He found the small swatch of cloth and pulled it to the right exposing a sliver of moonlight. From here he could see Luna through a frame of green leaves. The light was just enough to silhouette the room’s occupants.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Potter lifted from the ground, his arms crossing and providing a surface for his chin to rest on. “Are you alright?” He asked as he crept closer and closer to the bed and Draco, whose hair seemed to glow in the dim light.

“I suppose I’m not used to being here.”

Potter flipped onto his back, his hands twining behind his head. He fell to the soft bed below beside Draco. He shifted and turned to face the blond’s back. “I don’t know what it is but you seem so familiar to me Draco,” Potter murmured softly, seemingly to himself. “I feel as if I have met you before…”

Draco ran his fingers over the rumpled bedclothes below him, his smooth brow dipping just slightly with the odd statement. “But that’s impossible. I have never met you before.”

“I know,” He sighed and reached a hand out, touching that soft hair again. He loved the smooth texture of it running over the pads of his fingers like something forbidden. In a way it did feel forbidden that he should be allowed to touch something so delicate, or even lay eyes on Draco’s sublime features. “Still, I just feel like I have…” The words trailed off into silence. He felt an uncomfortable tug in his stomach and he squirmed.

Draco turned then and faced Potter. The look in those eyes was something he’d never seen. They were so open and the blond felt suddenly flooded with everything that flickered across the dark haired boy’s mind. It was all there, plain for him to see. He looked away. Never had he met someone with such intense, telling eyes. It was hard to look into them without spilling his thoughts as well. Was it magic? he wanted to know. Instead he asked, “How long have you been here?”

Potter’s expression seemed to harden, just a simple tightening of lips and the dip of a young, naive brow. Draco didn’t see this change but he heard the soft bitterness edging the boy’s laugh as he stared just past Potter at the beam of moonlight.

“Oh, I don’t know, far too long perhaps.” Potter’s fingers curled into the cloth beneath him unknowingly. He didn’t like to think about that, he didn’t like to think of the time that had passed the people who had grown with each blossoming minute, the people who had died with each ending month and year. He didn’t want to think of what wasn’t left. It didn’t matter anyway.

“How did you get here?”

His heart gave a lurch and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat The tug in his stomach died. It had been years since he’d felt that particular feeling. He thought he had long since left these unwanted feelings behind him. “Draco, why do you ask such painful questions?”

Gray eyes met green. “They’re painful?”

“Yes, I’d rather we not talk about it. Not yet, at least.” The young adventurer wasn’t sure what exactly made him add that last part. It had not crossed his mind to say such a thing yet it had slipped from his lips as if they had been planned.

“You’ll tell me later?” Draco asked, shifting slightly.

Potter smiled and it was soft and natural, rimmed with a bit of teasing along the edges. “Maybe. Aren’t you sleepy?”

The words were like magic and amazingly Draco’s eyes wouldn’t stay open and a yawn threatened to overtake him. He sighed and looked back at the beam of moonlight. There was something compelling about Potter. Maybe it was his openness, his readability. Draco wasn’t sure but something made him feel safe with Potter, made him want to stay here and just laze while the world slipped past them. Maybe it was the tiredness or his body reacting to the magic. He felt eyes on him and he knew Potter was staring but he found that he didn’t mind much. In fact that thought seemed to help lull him to sleep. Soon he was dreaming of snarling fairies and hazy, crying figures that were just too far away for him to reach. There was Potter, too. He was there guiding, laughing.

↕+↕+↕

“Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa,” The quill continued to dig its way across the fresh parchment surface, its scratching like a mocking cackle as it filled the silence.

She waited for more, waited for the words that would follow. The ones that would say to stop this foolishness. But they didn’t come and Narcissa thought how the silence seemed much worse than hearing her husband tell her that what she said was all lies. Perhaps Lucius knew that. “You cannot ignore it this time Lucius. Our son is gone. He is no longer in his bed. He’s not in any of the guest rooms or under the stairs or behind curtains. We’ve checked everywhere. There’s nothing.”

Lucius heaved a sigh and dipped the end of his quill into the inkwell. “He’s probably just being insolent. It was bound to happen sometime; he’s been too quiet. I’m sure he knows this house better than any of us. There is no doubting he has discovered some obscure hiding place. Just give him time and he’ll resurface.” Lucius went on inscribing, “And when he does we’ll have Poppy give him a good talking to.”

“No, Lucius. Don’t reason this away. This goes far beyond reason, far beyond what’s sitting in front of us. This is the past coming back to—”

“Cissa, now.” Lucius drawled, his voice dripping with mock soothing. He did not once stop writing. “Enough of that. It’s late, is it not? We’ve already discussed this. I’ve given you my views and we’ve agreed not to bring it up.” He shook his head and the long thread of white-blond hair swished against his back. He glanced up at Narcissa and murmured, “Today must have been especially stressful.”

Pale fingers curled against hot palms. “Lucius. What will it take for you to believe me.”

Lucius finally looked up from his scribbling. He frowned as if just realizing Narcissa was there. Sometimes he wondered why he married this woman. Oh, she was beautiful; pale skin, long thick black hair, big eyes, full lips, an endemic smile, perfect teeth and great company to boot. And let’s not forget her body. She curved in a way that was boggling to the mind. Her curves were delicate yet pronounced and matured. She always wore fitting clothes, but Lucius supposed that even if she dressed in rags she would make them look beautiful and all of the girls would want just as many wholes in their blouses if it meant looking like her.

But she was simply full to the brim with stories. She told them to their child, told them to other’s children. She even tried telling them to Lucius once but he had not really listened. And it was always the same story, the one about a boy named Pan who flew and came from a different world altogether. She would explain in rich detail how they’d flown together and had adventures and fought pirates and talked to fairies and slept in the clouds when the moon was full, which was always.

It was wonderful to hear about and even to fantasize over but Narcissa did far more than that.

She believed.

Lucius didn’t.

The woman had taken it to a completely new level one day. It had been just like any other summer day, warm and breezy with the children playing in the background and Poppy keying away on the piano.

Narcissa had swept into his office with tea and a story. A prophecy, actually and it involved Draco. What had she told him? The boy would come and steal Draco away from them and they’d disappear for she wasn’t sure how long. Draco would have to make a choice then; stay or go?

‘Stay where?’ he had asked.

‘Neverland.’ She had answered with no small amount of sadness.

Rubbish, the lot if it and he knew that. Knowing that was the difference between being sane and being insane. That night they’d had many a heated arguments and had agreed to finally let it go. A small—but ever growing—part of Lucius knew she would bring it forth again. He just wished that she’d picked a better day. He had much to do and so, so little time to do it.

“Lucius, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes I heard you. I just don’t know what to tell you, love, because there is nothing you can do to make me believe that what you say is true. Flying children, Narcissa?” He sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t have the time for this.”

“This is our son Lucius! Our son has been taken away! And you have no time?” She sealed her lips before she let something disgraceful slip.

Silence crashed into the tail end of her words as Lucius stared at Narcissa with barely hidden surprise. This was the first time she’d ever raised her voice at him and by the sparkle in her eye he’d guess that she was on the edge of tears, teetering.

She was finally going mental, just as his dear old mother had warned him, bless her. He should have listened but no, she was too pretty and too smart to pass up. Now look at her.

The quill finally slipped from his fingers and he entwined them together in front of him hoping that this would stop their shaking. “Narcissa,” he began his voice calmer than he felt. “I’m going to have Poppy pack you a bag. You need help.”

Narcissa sucked in a breath unable to believe that her husband could be so thick. She closed her eyes and squeezed back the desperate tears. OK, just… calm.

When she opened them again she was her usual self. She smiled. “Lucius, excuse me for interrupting you. I did not mean to become a bother.” And with that, she left.

Lucius stared as Narcissa swept from his office. He wasn’t sure what he had just witnessed but he felt unnerved. Checking to make sure Narcissa had really gone he reached down to one of the many drawers of his desk and pulled out the middle one. In it sat a bottle of Firewhiskey concealed behind a few well-placed documents. Yes, it was very potent stuff but he felt he needed it.

Thirty minutes later Lucius was back to writing, his thoughts only occasionally interrupted by Narcissa’s outlandish story, and thoughts of, What if it were real? But maybe that was the whiskey talking.

When he went to bed that night Narcissa wasn’t there.

↕+↕+↕

Waking up was like a dream in itself and the blond found it hard to decipher the difference between wakefulness and dreaming.

Ripe fruit filled the air with its fragrant odor, swirling under his noise like soft, tantalizing fingers. There was something else too, but it wasn’t sweet so much as slightly familiar and welcoming and when the heavy warmth pressing against his chest shifted, Draco was instantly aware of what that particular scent was.

It was Potter curled up against him, soft black hair tickling the underside of his chin. The boy murmured softly against his chest and the warm moisture of his breath sunk into the silk. Fingers pressed against his hipbone, curling into the fabric there.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat a wild tempo. He swallowed. “Potter?”
Nothing happened, no movement except for the rise and fall of the tanned boy’s chest and the contrasting hot-cool of the boys breathing. “Potter,” he said a little more insistently.

The body curled against him jerked and a messy head of hair sprang up, bleary green eyes rimmed with sleep blinking frantically as the adventurer’s brow wrinkled, lips parted. “Huh? I’m awake! Has he come?” Words spilled forward unbridled in a quick, slurred mess that was hard for Draco to comprehend. But he did catch the last bit.

“Has who come?”

Potter blinked and when his eyes next opened they looked a great deal clearer. They searched the blond’s pale face and that ever popular smile broke lose. Somehow that reassured Draco. “That’s right. I did promise to tell you today, didn’t I? I think we should wait until after breakfast, though.” Pan tilted his head back and sniffed the heavy air, dark strands of hair falling away from his face. “Mm, smells good, doesn’t it?” Potter sprang from the bed and into the air with a thrust of his folded legs. He skimmed the ceiling at a leisurely pace, spinning just as slowly as his limbs stretched wide, muscles pulling taunt, wringing the sleep from them.

“Who’s cooking?” Draco inquired as he gently pushed himself to his feet. The ground was soft and gritty beneath his toes. He flexed them and felt the dirt lift.

“Probably H-hermione.” Potter yawned grandly and floated towards the doorway.

“Hermione?” The blond asked as Pan’s feet touched the ground.

“She’s the girl bit of the Lost Boys. She’s also a great cook.” Potter looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think maybe she learned it before she came here.”

A question formed on Draco’s tongue but Potter was grabbing his hand and yanking him along before he could ask it. The two boys stepped into the middle of a heated conversation being tossed across a sturdy wooden table sagging with delicious food.

“And I swear, there were tons of them everywhere! Six to my left and seven to my right. There were five in front of me and I wasn’t going to risk my neck to see how many were behind me!”

“Liar!”

“It’s true as rain! I thought I saw Hook at one point, too!”

“You lying, dirty little-“

“BOYS!” A sharp, yet young female voice shouted, cutting through the insults like a freshly sharpened sword. “E-nough. Our guest has arrived.”

Silence fell amongst the ragged, ill-mannered children and an array of multi-colored eyes descended upon Draco’s pale face, which colored a faint pink. But instead of cowering away as he had last night he scraped up the courage that always seemed but a breath away and squared his shoulders. He raised his eyebrows and swept his swirling gray eyes over the assortment of expressions. Some of awe, some of confusion, some of apprehension. A smirk swept over his features and he felt himself quickly falling back into the same Draco he’d been back at his own home in front of his friends.

“Well,” Said Potter his hands curled and pressed into his sides, his face stern and edged with amusement, “Don’t just sit there. Introduce yourselves.” The ensuing chaos was blusterous. Chairs scrapped against the floor, some crashing to the ground and barely righted before bare feet padded forward in a series of muted slaps as the children formed a neat line, biggest to smallest.

Once a semblance of order had settled, the first stepped forward. Draco eyed him, his face blank as his heart speed away without him.

The boy was tall and gangly with a mess of shockingly bright red hair and freckles coating the bridge of his nose and, it seemed, almost every inch of his long body. He had a wide mouth and a warm smile and crystal blue eyes that shown with permanent mirth. His clothes were quite ratty and disgusting with several holes and worn patches. They were all faded dull colors, shorts frayed around the edges and a shirt that was missing at least half of it. “Hello! I’m Ron, but everyone calls me Weasel.”

Next was a boy that was the shade of rich chocolate with hair dark and thick. His smile rivaled Potter’s but wasn’t nearly as reassuring. He had a smooth way about him, an ease that gave off the air of being trustworthy. Draco already felt the inclination to favor this one. He was shorter than Ron but slightly taller than Draco and from what the smaller boy could see he was probably the leanest out of all of them. His clothes were no better than Ron’s; worn shorts that hung a few inches past his knees and a shirt that had previously been orange but was now the color of mango when cut open. “My name’s Dean. You can call me Big D, or just D.” Behind him, the rest of the group snickered softly, including Potter. Draco knew he was missing some sort of joke.

“And I,” Said the smallest of the boys and who was obviously stepping out of turn, “Am Seamus, please to meet your acquaintance, kind sir.” The boy swept out a short tanned arm dusted with dark hairs, and bowed rather deeply in front of Draco. When he righted Draco had a chance to properly look him over. From just one look Draco could tell that this was the wildest of the bunch. His smile was crooked, and, if anything, gave a fair warning of what was to come. His hair brushed against the tops of his ears, brunet, and his eyes were dark with mischief.

The last of the boy’s came forward with an awkward shuffling of feet and a shy tug at the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “I’m Neville,” The boy said, his voice almost inaudible even in their silence. He cleared his throat and glanced up at Draco with a feeble smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” Neville was thicker than the rest of them and a lot less tanned. His eyes darted around him, avoiding Draco’s altogether. His hair was the same brown shade as Seamus, but his was a lot thicker and curled about his face in a way that made him pleasing to the eye. He was almost endearingly shy.

“And last but not least, Hermione.” Potter said into the quiet that followed Neville’s timid introduction.

The boy’s parted to reveal a girl with the wildest head of hair Draco had ever laid eyes on. It was a light brown and crinkled from root to tip. She was shorter even than Seamus but the set of her mouth and the way her brown eyes fixed on Draco told him that she was not one to be playing many games. Her eyes spoke of her intelligence and wit and her clothes announced her role with its many stains and spots. She stepped forward with a deceivingly kind smile. “Hello, I’m Hermione.”

“She’s just like one of the guys, though,” put in Dean with a wicked smile.

“But with breasts!” added Seamus.

Hermione whipped around and cooked Seamus with seething glare. “What did you just say?”

Seamus’ smile dropped from his face with quickness. “N-nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

The glare continued for a few seconds longer, and then she turned back to Draco, her smile back in place. “I apologize for their brashness. They’ve no manners as you can tell. Please, have a seat and help yourself. I do hope I’ve cooked something you like.” She brushed some of her thick hair over her shoulder but as she turned her hair swished back into place as if not moved at all. Draco was wise to the fact that her hair would need a lot more than just a quick brush of the hand to tame it into anything resembling obedience.

Potter’s hand touched Draco’s back briefly before the boy was off towards the table. Draco followed and from that point on had the best breakfast he could ever remember having.

↕+↕+↕

It was as if they had traveled through a veil into another world. The magic was still strong here, maybe stronger, but it was twisted with something dark and murky. Draco could feel it crawling over the exposed skin of his shoulder, his nightshirt having slipped to one side as he lay stomach down against the hard, rocky surface of the cliff they now gazed over.

The sea was in constant turmoil below them, stretching out far and wide. Waves crashed against the jagged rocks below turning the dark blue to a bubbly white. With each crash came a spray of wretched water. Rain came down in torrents around them and the sky was shredded with lightening every few seconds, only to be followed with rolling thunder that shook the ground.

It was like a horror scene from one of those creepy books Draco remembered his mother reading him once she thought he was old enough. There was a permanent chill over everything and the only thing warming Draco was Potter whose arm was pressed absently against his own.

“Over there,” Potter stretched out an arm over the rocky edge and Draco noticed how the usual tanned skin looked deathly pale.

“I don’t see anything.” Draco strained his eyes but saw nothing but more sharp rocks.

“Ah, you only think you don’t see it but its there. A ship. A pirate ship.” Despite the lurking shadows filled with things unseen, Potter’s voice had turned to story-telling. His green eyes stood out against the colorless backdrop. They stared unwaveringly at the cluster of rocks. “That’s were all of the bad things go. All of the nightmares and monsters and villains. They all live there.”

Potter turned to look at him, eyes wide and mysterious again. “I’ve been there.”

“You lie.”

“But I don’t!” Potter frowned and looked back out into the distance. “That’s where Hook lives. A sad old pirate with nothing else to do but make children’s lives miserable.” Beside him Draco shivered. “He’s been bitter about me ever since that beast bit his hand off. He blames me for his foolishness,” Potter turned his fierce gaze back to Draco, “but the truth is that… that….” He trailed off at the look in Draco’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Hook is real?” the blond asked, his voice breaking.

“What do you mean ‘Hook is real’?” Potter fixed him with a puzzled expression.

“I—my mother always told me stories about Hook, about his pirate ship and about his crew. I was telling my friends the story the night I met you.” Draco looked out over the churning sea. He still didn’t know why he had come. Being here now in this dark place made him want home again, made him think of his mother and father and how they would feel when they found out he was gone. Were they awake now searching for him? Were they crying and wishing he were back? How could he have left them without a note or goodbye of any kind?

Fingers touched his arm, the warm flesh soft and warm against his cold body. “Draco?”

He blinked back something hot and wet that had welled up in his eyes and glanced at Potter. “What?” He asked with more venom than he had intended.

The hand drew back quickly and Draco could feel Potter’s eyes on him. “Can you tell me the story?”

“Here?” Draco snorted and gave Potter an eerie smile, “You want me to tell you a story here, Potter?”

“Why not?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He didn’t want to admit that he was afraid. “You already know it. You live it.”

“But I love stories and if this is one about Hook, where could we possibly go that could be better than here to tell it?” Pan reasoned

Silence that wasn’t really silence brought forth the sound of the waves as the dark branches overhead bent steadily lower with the rain’s weight. “They say his eyes are as red as blood,” Draco began but his voice immediately faltered. A wisp of what looked like shadow dragged itself from amongst the rocks that Potter had pointed out. It slithered across the uneven surface, breaking away from the darkness and into the air.

It took Draco a few seconds to realize a few things. One was that there were more shadows breaking off into the sky and two, they were heading straight at the two of them.

Then Potter uttered a word that Draco, though he didn’t know what it meant, thought summed up their being.

“Dementors.”