Larry Stylinson One Shots

Off To Neverland (AU)

Every boy grew up.. All boys, except One.

Harry sat in his room, the lights now dimmed. He was alone in the big room, everything quiet and still. The only sound was the whipping of his curtains, which were blowing in the wind from the opened window. Harry had his back towards the window, the cool night air hitting against him, too. Although there wasn't anything around, Harry slowly closed his book, trying not to disturb the silence of the nursery. He moved clumsily over to his bookshelf, avoiding the jutting out corners of his bed and drawers. Finally, he placed the book down on the shelf, and darted over to his bed.

Harry wound the covers tightly over his head, thinking about what he had just read. It was Peter Pan, a story he had read over and over about a young boy who wouldn't grow up. He faced wonderful adventures, and lived in a magical place known as Neverland. Harry had known this story since he was little, but now he was reading it for himself. In the story, Peter brings Wendy, John, and Michael from their nursery to fly away to Neverland with him. They get to meet all of Peter's friends and rivals, and join in his adventures, too. Harry pulled the covers tighter. Thinking too much about the story made his heart hurt.

When Harry was a little boy, he could remember his mother telling him the stories of Peter Pan. It always amazed him; a wonderful boy, flying around and saving the day. He was sort of like a superhero, but it was much different than that. Sometimes Harry would imagine himself as a Wendy, coming to get taken away by Peter, and live with him in Neverland. But that was a long time ago. Now Harry was older, almost 14, and he knew that's not how things worked. He knew things in life weren't like his beloved Peter Pan story. He knew it when his mother and father stopped reading him stories. He knew it when he spent so much time alone in the nursery. He knew it when there was a new baby in the house, his baby sister Gemma, and he found himself the least of his parent's concern. It made him sad, but not always. Fairy tales were for children, and that's just not how things worked.

Harry rolled over in his bed, sighing up into his blankets. He was surprised he hadn't heard Gemma crying yet. She was a lovely baby, but a terrible crier. Some nights Harry had to get up and rock her back to sleep himself. That was when he would sit down in the rocking chair with her, and tell her the stories of Peter Pan. The story might have been gone for Harry, but he wanted to make sure that Gemma knew of the clever boy who just couldn't grow up. It always made him smile when Gemma would contentedly fall back asleep, while his quiet voice ended another story. But on nights where Gemma didn't cry, or she did and his parents took care of it, Harry felt alone. Although they shared the nursery, Gemma had the end close to the door. Harry was near the window. In times like this, he would sometimes tell himself the stories. Before he had read, Harry told himself the story of Peter getting trapped on Marooner's Rock. Thinking about it now helped him to feel just a bit happier. Bundled up under his blankets, Harry felt sleepy, and he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Harry awoke abruptly, to an unfamiliar noise. He kept his head under his covers, afraid of what that noise was. His panicked breaths slowed, and he became quiet. Listening closer to the sound, it sounded like sniffling. There couldn't have been a, a PERSON in his nursery? Surely it was only him and Gemma in her crib? Harry listened more then, hearing a sort of crying noise. It was making Harry sad, hearing somebody crying like this. His curiosity got the best of him, and he slowly removed the blankets from his head. Harry gasped, when his eyes focused on the source of the noise. From the light streaming in from the still opened window, Harry saw the shape of a person. They were on their knees, their face in their tiny hands. Harry watched their whole body heaved with sobs, but they weren't very loud. He couldn't watch this anymore.

"Boy," Harry said, slowly and gently "why are you crying?" The figure then stopped moving, and it darted up. In the blink of an eye, Harry saw that this figure had actually darted up, right up his wall into the far corner. The figure seemed to have flied.