WIP: Harry Potter and the Land of Neverland
So I was watching Peter Pan and just had the craziest idea. What if Peter Pan became Harry Potter-versed?
Title: Harry Potter and the Land of Neverland (1/?)
Rating: PG/PG-13
Pairings: Eventual Draco/Harry and Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Fairy-tale writing.
Summary: Draco, Hermione and Neville are often visited by a green-eyed flying boy every night, along with his fairy, Ginny.
Draco Malfoy often woke up to eyes of green that shone like sweet morning dew drops rolling down rosy lips. These eyes would be illuminated by the sparkling light of a thousand pepper stars. Then Draco would blink his own sleepy grey eyes and the warmth of the green would fade to the cold of midnight’s breeze. Sometimes he wished for the warmth to return and cover his cool body. And sometimes he would drift back into a dream full of fairies and soft grass that caressed his tired face.
Mrs. Malfoy would sweep gracefully in the morning light and quietly close the open window. She would gently rouse her three children away from their dreams and into a new day. Often she told Draco to remember to close the window before sleep to avoid morning sniffles that he had so often. Hermione would be put in charge of reminding him.
“But I’m not the one who opens the window,” Draco would argue and his mother would only smile, “It opens itself.” Hermione, being so admirable towards their mother, would smile too and share a little giggle with her. The two were both beauties of time save that Hermione did not possess their mother’s secret power to demand attention and love from all those around her.
Mrs. Malfoy was a lovely and respected woman. She had a mind that cared for all but was also able to ask for dignity and pride when faced with difficult situations. Her appearance was romantic and so were her actions and ideas. She was like a swan that was never ugly and always so beautiful. Her eyes could melt the hardest of men’s heart and so jealously claim them. Her lips were deliciously delicate and sweet, mocking you with a perfect kiss in the right-hand corner that no one would ever have. Not even his own Father could ever be given such a precious gift.
Draco was proud of his mother and greedily took her attention when it was given to him. So when little clumsy Neville was born with plump pink cheeks and a thumb-sucking habit, Draco was most jealous. He roleplayed the birth of Mrs. Malfoy’s children and did an amazingly accurate impression of his father. He would hold his head high and pronounce ever so calm with only an ounce of anticipation and excitement, “I am happy to inform you, Mrs. Malfoy, that you are now a mother.” He would then hand Hermione one of her play baby dolls and she would coo at her and dance with her.
Then Draco would be born and he would carefully hand Hermione a baby wrapped in sky blue and confetti due to the fact that he was the first birth of a male. Neville would pop out his little thumb and ask quietly to be born next and Draco would brutally say that no one wanted him anymore.
Neville nearly cried. “Nobody wants me,” he said and of course Mrs. Malfoy would walk in with a loving flourish and hold the crying child.
“I do,” she said, “I do want a third child.”
“Boy or girl?” asked Draco, his lips up in a taunting smirk.
“Boy.”
Then Neville would throw his arms around his mother’s soft neck and sob into her white evening gown that Hermione loved her in so much. Draco would roll his eyes and Mrs. Malfoy would then lead a sniffling Neville to the piano.
Neville loved it when Mrs. Malfoy played the piano. He would sit at the foot of it, with his thumb in his mouth again and his teddy, Trevor, snug in the crook of his left arm. Sometimes Draco would join his younger brother in listening to the music and feeling the hum of the vibrations against the old piano. Hermione would then sit on the couch beside them, flipping through books with eyes that read every page within three seconds. At these times, Mr. Malfoy would grow quiet and talk nothing about his stocks and his shares and whether they were increasing or decreasing and when his next one should be placed. It was a quiet time that both Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy would miss and the three siblings would forget.
“Hermione is growing up into a fine and smart young lady of fifteen, isn’t she, Narcissa?” Mr. Malfoy inspected after a wonderful piece of Prelude by Chopin. Mrs. Malfoy sat beside her daughter and smoothed her curly hair.
“Yes, I quite think so too,” Mrs. Malfoy agreed. Hermione blushed and Draco grunted in annoyance while Neville sauntered off to sit in his mother’s lap. “Aunt Bella would be as much surprise as me to see how much the three of you have grown.”
“I never want to grow up,” Draco said with so much disgust that his Father raised an eyebrow. Mr. Malfoy was a man of smarts and knew more than he should. He boasted of his knowledge and the fact that his wife not only loved him but also respected him. He looked like an aristocrat with his blonde hair that shone against all light and that Draco inherited. It would make any woman respect him.
“All children grow up, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said, “And you will grow up into a gentleman of pride and knowledge. I do hope your school marks will pick up. I would have thought that you’d be ashamed that a girl of a crazed father beat you in every exam. He writes for the Quibbler News. That should be shameful enough.”
Draco huffed but before he could retort, his mother smiled and cut in cleanly, “Aunt Bella should be arriving tomorrow morning. I think it best that the little ones get their rest and prepare for Bella’s arrival.”
So they said goodnight to their Father and Draco almost wanted to just walk away, but he reluctantly said a curt goodnight and evening before stalking furiously into bed. Of course, before snuggling warmly in his covets, Dobby, the Malfoy’s dog and maid, expertly dragged Draco into the washroom to get brushed and cleaned.
As most households, nurses were a service to the owners and Mr. Malfoy, wanting to be like his neighbours, acquired a nurse. They were not of great wealth or poor wealth, but not enough wealth to obtain a full service nurse, so the presence of Dobby was all that could do. Besides, Mrs. Malfoy was able to coax her husband into keeping the abandoned Newfoundland dog that attended to the Malfoy children as if they were his own puppies. He was both a nurse and a watch dog at the same time, making sure that Neville always found Trevor, that Hermione was restrained from her books once in a while, and Draco was kept out of trouble at all times. He followed them to school and waited patiently during school before walking them home. Dobby made sure Neville never walked across the street when he wasn’t suppose to and Draco never secretly brought his slingshot anywhere. Hermione was particularly fond of Dobby and spoke to her as if he was a human and not merely a dog-nurse. Mr. Malfoy disapproved of this because he sensed that Dobby never liked him in the first place but the children loved Dobby, so he let it be.
Draco settled in his covers while Dobby trotted off into his doghouse in the corner of the room. Hermione was conversing with their mother while Neville patiently waited on the edge of his own bed, his chubby legs swinging and thumb permanently glued to his wet mouth.
Mrs. Malfoy tucked Neville in and kissed his forehead nicely. She then went to Draco and sat beside his laying form, dipping the mattress ever so slightly. She smoothed the wrinkles off of Draco’s forehead, smothering him with her warm kiss that melted his fiery heart to a small comforting flame.
Mrs. Malfoy went to the window and pressed it down, making sure it was shut. Draco watched her as she bent down to pick up something and a puzzling look dawned on her face.
“How did these get here?” she asked to herself, fingering green leaves that Draco had never seen before.
“I do believe it is Harry again!” Hermione said, sitting up.
“Whatever do you mean, love?”
“He is a rather untidy person, isn’t he?” she said, “He always has skeleton leaves stuck in his hair. He must come from far away because those leaves don’t grow here in England.”
“Harry?” Draco asked, now out of bed and at his mother’s side examining the strange leaves. “Who’s Harry?”
Draco suddenly had a vision of clear green eyes surrounded by glistening sparkles and a warm glow. He remembered clearly and saw dark ruffled hair flowing in all directions.
Hermione explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought Harry sometimes came to their room at night and sat on the floor and played with Neville's toys. She said that Harry was always very fascinated as if he had never seen toys before. Unfortunately, Hermione only ever saw Harry once or twice before promptly drifting back to sleep, too tired to inspect more.
“I think he comes in by the window,” she said.
“Dear, it is three floors up,” Mrs. Malfoy stated.
“Harry can fly,” said Neville suddenly before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Mrs. Malfoy asked how he knew but Neville only shrugged, saying that he didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.
“Were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?” asked Hermione.
It was true and as Mrs. Malfoy looked down out the window, seeing the sheer drop of thirty feet to the ground with no ledges to climb.
Surely her children were only dreaming.
But neither Hermione or Neville were dreaming as that night Draco saw the window open and a dark figure enter along with a fist sized ball of shimmering light. And Draco knew he could not be dreaming if he was awake. And just before he drifted off, he saw the green eyes and felt good enough to sleep well.
Title: Harry Potter and the Land of Neverland (1/?)
Rating: PG/PG-13
Pairings: Eventual Draco/Harry and Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Fairy-tale writing.
Summary: Draco, Hermione and Neville are often visited by a green-eyed flying boy every night, along with his fairy, Ginny.
Draco Malfoy often woke up to eyes of green that shone like sweet morning dew drops rolling down rosy lips. These eyes would be illuminated by the sparkling light of a thousand pepper stars. Then Draco would blink his own sleepy grey eyes and the warmth of the green would fade to the cold of midnight’s breeze. Sometimes he wished for the warmth to return and cover his cool body. And sometimes he would drift back into a dream full of fairies and soft grass that caressed his tired face.
Mrs. Malfoy would sweep gracefully in the morning light and quietly close the open window. She would gently rouse her three children away from their dreams and into a new day. Often she told Draco to remember to close the window before sleep to avoid morning sniffles that he had so often. Hermione would be put in charge of reminding him.
“But I’m not the one who opens the window,” Draco would argue and his mother would only smile, “It opens itself.” Hermione, being so admirable towards their mother, would smile too and share a little giggle with her. The two were both beauties of time save that Hermione did not possess their mother’s secret power to demand attention and love from all those around her.
Mrs. Malfoy was a lovely and respected woman. She had a mind that cared for all but was also able to ask for dignity and pride when faced with difficult situations. Her appearance was romantic and so were her actions and ideas. She was like a swan that was never ugly and always so beautiful. Her eyes could melt the hardest of men’s heart and so jealously claim them. Her lips were deliciously delicate and sweet, mocking you with a perfect kiss in the right-hand corner that no one would ever have. Not even his own Father could ever be given such a precious gift.
Draco was proud of his mother and greedily took her attention when it was given to him. So when little clumsy Neville was born with plump pink cheeks and a thumb-sucking habit, Draco was most jealous. He roleplayed the birth of Mrs. Malfoy’s children and did an amazingly accurate impression of his father. He would hold his head high and pronounce ever so calm with only an ounce of anticipation and excitement, “I am happy to inform you, Mrs. Malfoy, that you are now a mother.” He would then hand Hermione one of her play baby dolls and she would coo at her and dance with her.
Then Draco would be born and he would carefully hand Hermione a baby wrapped in sky blue and confetti due to the fact that he was the first birth of a male. Neville would pop out his little thumb and ask quietly to be born next and Draco would brutally say that no one wanted him anymore.
Neville nearly cried. “Nobody wants me,” he said and of course Mrs. Malfoy would walk in with a loving flourish and hold the crying child.
“I do,” she said, “I do want a third child.”
“Boy or girl?” asked Draco, his lips up in a taunting smirk.
“Boy.”
Then Neville would throw his arms around his mother’s soft neck and sob into her white evening gown that Hermione loved her in so much. Draco would roll his eyes and Mrs. Malfoy would then lead a sniffling Neville to the piano.
Neville loved it when Mrs. Malfoy played the piano. He would sit at the foot of it, with his thumb in his mouth again and his teddy, Trevor, snug in the crook of his left arm. Sometimes Draco would join his younger brother in listening to the music and feeling the hum of the vibrations against the old piano. Hermione would then sit on the couch beside them, flipping through books with eyes that read every page within three seconds. At these times, Mr. Malfoy would grow quiet and talk nothing about his stocks and his shares and whether they were increasing or decreasing and when his next one should be placed. It was a quiet time that both Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy would miss and the three siblings would forget.
“Hermione is growing up into a fine and smart young lady of fifteen, isn’t she, Narcissa?” Mr. Malfoy inspected after a wonderful piece of Prelude by Chopin. Mrs. Malfoy sat beside her daughter and smoothed her curly hair.
“Yes, I quite think so too,” Mrs. Malfoy agreed. Hermione blushed and Draco grunted in annoyance while Neville sauntered off to sit in his mother’s lap. “Aunt Bella would be as much surprise as me to see how much the three of you have grown.”
“I never want to grow up,” Draco said with so much disgust that his Father raised an eyebrow. Mr. Malfoy was a man of smarts and knew more than he should. He boasted of his knowledge and the fact that his wife not only loved him but also respected him. He looked like an aristocrat with his blonde hair that shone against all light and that Draco inherited. It would make any woman respect him.
“All children grow up, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said, “And you will grow up into a gentleman of pride and knowledge. I do hope your school marks will pick up. I would have thought that you’d be ashamed that a girl of a crazed father beat you in every exam. He writes for the Quibbler News. That should be shameful enough.”
Draco huffed but before he could retort, his mother smiled and cut in cleanly, “Aunt Bella should be arriving tomorrow morning. I think it best that the little ones get their rest and prepare for Bella’s arrival.”
So they said goodnight to their Father and Draco almost wanted to just walk away, but he reluctantly said a curt goodnight and evening before stalking furiously into bed. Of course, before snuggling warmly in his covets, Dobby, the Malfoy’s dog and maid, expertly dragged Draco into the washroom to get brushed and cleaned.
As most households, nurses were a service to the owners and Mr. Malfoy, wanting to be like his neighbours, acquired a nurse. They were not of great wealth or poor wealth, but not enough wealth to obtain a full service nurse, so the presence of Dobby was all that could do. Besides, Mrs. Malfoy was able to coax her husband into keeping the abandoned Newfoundland dog that attended to the Malfoy children as if they were his own puppies. He was both a nurse and a watch dog at the same time, making sure that Neville always found Trevor, that Hermione was restrained from her books once in a while, and Draco was kept out of trouble at all times. He followed them to school and waited patiently during school before walking them home. Dobby made sure Neville never walked across the street when he wasn’t suppose to and Draco never secretly brought his slingshot anywhere. Hermione was particularly fond of Dobby and spoke to her as if he was a human and not merely a dog-nurse. Mr. Malfoy disapproved of this because he sensed that Dobby never liked him in the first place but the children loved Dobby, so he let it be.
Draco settled in his covers while Dobby trotted off into his doghouse in the corner of the room. Hermione was conversing with their mother while Neville patiently waited on the edge of his own bed, his chubby legs swinging and thumb permanently glued to his wet mouth.
Mrs. Malfoy tucked Neville in and kissed his forehead nicely. She then went to Draco and sat beside his laying form, dipping the mattress ever so slightly. She smoothed the wrinkles off of Draco’s forehead, smothering him with her warm kiss that melted his fiery heart to a small comforting flame.
Mrs. Malfoy went to the window and pressed it down, making sure it was shut. Draco watched her as she bent down to pick up something and a puzzling look dawned on her face.
“How did these get here?” she asked to herself, fingering green leaves that Draco had never seen before.
“I do believe it is Harry again!” Hermione said, sitting up.
“Whatever do you mean, love?”
“He is a rather untidy person, isn’t he?” she said, “He always has skeleton leaves stuck in his hair. He must come from far away because those leaves don’t grow here in England.”
“Harry?” Draco asked, now out of bed and at his mother’s side examining the strange leaves. “Who’s Harry?”
Draco suddenly had a vision of clear green eyes surrounded by glistening sparkles and a warm glow. He remembered clearly and saw dark ruffled hair flowing in all directions.
Hermione explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought Harry sometimes came to their room at night and sat on the floor and played with Neville's toys. She said that Harry was always very fascinated as if he had never seen toys before. Unfortunately, Hermione only ever saw Harry once or twice before promptly drifting back to sleep, too tired to inspect more.
“I think he comes in by the window,” she said.
“Dear, it is three floors up,” Mrs. Malfoy stated.
“Harry can fly,” said Neville suddenly before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Mrs. Malfoy asked how he knew but Neville only shrugged, saying that he didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.
“Were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?” asked Hermione.
It was true and as Mrs. Malfoy looked down out the window, seeing the sheer drop of thirty feet to the ground with no ledges to climb.
Surely her children were only dreaming.
But neither Hermione or Neville were dreaming as that night Draco saw the window open and a dark figure enter along with a fist sized ball of shimmering light. And Draco knew he could not be dreaming if he was awake. And just before he drifted off, he saw the green eyes and felt good enough to sleep well.