The life of Lily Evans, miserable after her first year at Hogwarts, changes forever when a strangely dressed boy flies in through her bedroom window. Harry Potter/Peter Pan Xovcer
“Peter I can’t come with you. I’ve forgotten how to fly. I’m old Peter; ever so much more than twenty. I grew up a long time ago.”
“No, no, no, you promised…!”
“I have children of my own now. They have children of their own. That’s my grandchild, Moira, asleep in the bed.” As he looked down upon Moira, he saw the spitting image of his Wendy Lady, and something stirred from deep within him. A need for protection, and to protect A need for freedom, and to free. A need for guidance, and to guide.
“I shall give her a kiss.” Wendy looked sharply at him, alarmed.
“No! No, Peter! No buttons, no thimbles. I couldn’t bare her heart to be broken when she finds she cannot keep you!”
“No ! I mean a real kiss.” As sat down at her side, and lightly brushed a lock of chestnut away from her eye, closed and careless in slumber, he remembered another such kiss of long, long ago, that had saved his life, his heart, and his soul. One that had soothed his fears, and promised to be his forever. At the time, he didn’t understand. The games were to fresh in his mind. He had observed over his visits to other families, how mothers and fathers interacted, and he had assumed that that was what they had between them. However now, after another hundred fun summers, and several more windows, he knew truly what had been between them, and what that kiss had meant to them both. As he leant down and gently touched his lips to Moira’s, he recognized that feeling. He didn’t know if he’d ever truly feel capable of what he wanted, what had forever been denied him by his lifestyle choice, but in that instant he at once mourned its loss, and found hope that, now he understood, he’d someday understand.
As Moira slowly awoke, she was not frightened, or angry, or excited. Merely curious. She had had the Kiss for a couple of years now. Her Granny Wendy had stated that quite categorically. Ever since then, she had wondered what her first kiss from a boy would feel like. Would there be fireworks and violins? Would there be waves crashing on the beach? Would it be wet? Granny Wendy was a wonderful lady, and had always been very frank with her. When she was eight, and asked where babies come from, she explained very basically about sex, and told her that she’s explain more as she got older. They had more of these conversations as young adulthood started to take its toll on her body, from more explicit descriptions of sex as her menses came upon her, to the power of The Kiss, when that first developed, hiding, just in the corner of her mouth. She discussed boys with her, what they would want to do, and to only do what she felt comfortable with. She even recounted some of her less than successful amorous endeavors. So when she felt a pair of lips on hers that did not feel familial, she did not panic, for they were neither forceful, nor malicious. That and she still sensed Granny Wendy in the room, and she could handle anything! Instead, she concentrated on the sensations and found them to be quite pleasant. Whatever she had been expecting, this was certainly not it, but nonetheless, she didn’t pull away. As she concentrated more on what she was feeling, she decided that more than anything else, it felt familiar, like home. She carefully considered what Granny Wendy had told her, and decided that as it wasn’t passionate, she wouldn’t hold this person close (whilst she thought it was a boy, she was a free thinker and did not mind if it was a girl – she knew some girls preferred girls, and wouldn’t judge her new friend on anything other than themselves.), but as it wasn’t unpleasant, she didn’t push the other person away, either. No, she simply placed one hand on her new friend’s chest, and the other on the side of their face. Through the flatness of the chest, and the beginning sharpness of the jaw-line, she divined that her friend was either a young man, or a younger girl, but as she breathed through her nose, and took in the delightful forest-y scent, with just a hint of sweat – strong, but not unpleasant – she decided it must be a boy. Still she could be wrong, and decided that as much as she was enjoying the feeling, she wanted to know who her new friend was. Then again, the sensation was rather pleasant, and she didn’t want it to end quite yet, so she disciplined herself and counted to a hundred before she gently pushed against his chest and opened her eyes, smiling contentedly. As she looked up, her eyes met crystal blue ones, and she decided that they were kind. As he sat back to give her room to sit up, she regarded him and took him in. If the short messy blond hair and cheeky pixie smile weren’t enough, the singlet of oak leaves and acorns left little doubt as to his identity. She looked over to Granny Wendy, grinned wryly at her, winked at the boy, and said,
“And is this how he greeted you when you first met, Grandmama?” Wendy Moira Angela Darling smiled tremulously and said in a mock scolding voice,
“You know full well how we met, young lady. How many times have you asked me to tell you of him?” Moira grinned back unrepentantly.
The boy grinned too, and asked,
“What’s your name?” Moira held her hand out to him palm down and bent at the knuckle, and offered,
“Moira Angela Stephens. What’s yours?”
“Peter Pan.” Peter had seen how sick Wendy had looked, and remembered her words. He knew that he was not ready for a grownup relationship, just as he noted that Moira had a Kiss. A truly powerful thing that would one day embolden some lucky man to feats of greatness. That man would not, could not, be him, but maybe someday he’d find a Kiss that could be his own. Still, there are several kinds of Kiss, he knew that. And he imagined that the one Wendy Lady had given him all those years ago; while not as powerful, was just as special. Understanding this much, he smiled sadly at Wendy, looking her directly in the eye, before turning back to Moira, taking her hand, kissing her knuckle, looking her directly in the eye in turn, and saying “Will you be my Wendy Lady?”
She held his gaze steadily, pausing for a moment to ascertain his earnest. His eyes still held that childlike wonder that she knew she was slowly losing on some level, but hoped never to lose entirely. She knew that Granny Wendy still had it, and would likely have it until the day she died; something Moira herself aspired to. She smiled lightly and said in a strong, sure voice,
“Good sir, I’d be honoured to be your Wendy Lady.” They exchanged a stronger smile this time, until, out of the corner of their eyes, they both noticed tears tracking down Granny Wendy’s face. She was smiling wistfully, and they looked at each other exchanging thoughts in an instance. As one, they turned to her and said,
“Girl, why are you crying?” Granny Wendy choked out a chuckling sob, and beckoned them close. Peter stood, offering his hand to Moira, who took it graciously, and used it to gracefully rise out of bed. They walked up to her, and she pulled them into a strong hug. Into their hair, she whispered,
“You’ve both made an old woman very happy; you Moira, for just being you; and you, Peter, for understanding to the best of your ability.” Moira pulled away, slightly, looking confused. “I shall explain it to you later, dear, but for now, let us sit in front of the fire, and talk. Is Tinkerbell with you, Peter?”
“I think so. Sometimes she likes to raid kitchens for honey.”
“I drink my tea with honey!” Moira chirped brightly. “So does Grandmama. You can call Tinkerbell, while I brew up, and I’ll bring the honey pot up with me.”
“Thank you, girl.” Wendy said in relief. She waited for a minute after her granddaughter had left, then took Peters’ hand.” I mean it, Peter. Thank you.”
“I’m not ready, yet, Wendy Lady. I may not be, for many summers. I watched how other couples were before I arrived at your window, and I thought that’s what we were. Since then, I observed more couples. I’ve seen people do strange things with each other and to each other, and I could never imagine having done them with you. I can’t imagine doing them with Moira either. But I want to. I’ve missed you so much, Wendy Lady, and believe it or not, so has Tinkerbell. But you know Neverland. Whilst I’m there, it’s not so bad. It’s worse while I’m here, but you’re still in my thoughts. I wish I could teach you to fly again. But your granddaughter is just as wonderful as you and I would be honoured to have her as a Wendy Lady. I could take her on adventures and teach her just as I taught you. I can make her happy. But I know her Kiss isn’t for me, that I won’t find one for many years. But please, Wendy Lady, don’t be sad for me. I understand now, and now that I do, I can become stronger. And it’s thanks to you that I can.” He finished, hugging her tightly. Wendy sighed heavily, giving a rueful grin.
“You’re a good boy, Peter. You always were.” Peter let her go and he went over to the open window and called out.
“Hey, Tink! Honey!” A minute later, with an excited jabber, Tinkerbell flew into the room, followed a moment after that, by Moira, bringing in the tea things. Moira served Granny Wendy first, then Peter, then turned to Tinkerbell.
“Do you like tea? I’m afraid all I have small enough to drink out of is a thimble, or a bottle cap. I brought both up, because I wasn’t sure if you still didn’t like thimbles.” Moira finished nervously. Tinkerbell, in answer, flew over to Granny Wendy’s shoulder, hugged her face, and the flew back to Moira and, smiling, pointed to the thimble. Moira grinned in relief, lightly dipped the thimble in the teapot, and asked if she wanted milk. When she got a positive reply, she picked up a pipette, sucked a little tea out, squirting it back in the teapot, picked up another pipette, sucked in a little milk and added it drop-wise, until Tinkerbell raised her hand to indicate that it was sufficient. Then she took a large teaspoon, scooped out a generous measure of honey and placed it down on a plate for her. After pouring her own tea, and using the teaspoon they usually used for honey, she put everything back on the tray, and they settled down and talked.
They talked for hours, until the last stars were just starting to fade into early dawn. When Granny Wendy saw this she started.
“Good gracious, look at the time! Thank heavens last night was Friday! Moira, it is long past your bed time. Peter, I must ask you to leave us tonight. Moira and I need to have a long talk today, about what it means to be a Wendy Lady. However, come back tonight, and you may have an adventure. We shall discuss my rules, before you go.” Peter frowned. “Now don’t look at me like that Peter. Remember when the lost boys would do something wrong, and you would punish them? Do you remember why you did? Not because it went against your fun, but it was putting them in unnecessary danger? Those are the sort of rules I mean. Necessary danger, although I don’t like, I understand, like when Hook kidnapped us, or saving Princess Tigerlilly, but don’t simply raid the Pirate Ship for the sake of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Wendy Lady.”
“Oh, Peter. Don’t you think you should call me Wendy, now? You will have a new Wendy Lady soon enough.”
“But I thought you were supposed to call grownups by their titles?”
“That’s true. That’s normally true, unless the grownup specifically asks you to call them by their first name. Then it’s fine. And as I knew you long before I was a grown up, I would like you to call me Wendy.”
“And you shall call me Moira!” she said decisively. “I may be a Wendy Lady, but I’m my own woman, too!” Peter smiled indulgently at her, then shared a wry look with the original.
“She really is a Wendy Lady, isn’t she!” he put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. “What do you reckon, Tink? Can I keep her?” Tinkerbell blew him a raspberry, then turned to Moira, and looked thoughtfully at her, before grinning at her and bowing. “That’s good enough for me!” He turned to his gracious hosts and stood, making a grand sweeping bow. “And on that auspicious note, I shall bid yon fair maidens a good rest and a good morn.” He kissed their knuckle and made to leave, when an awful thought struck him. “How shall I remember to come tonight?”
“Did you ever learn to read, Peter?” The Wendy Lady asked.
“Do you still have that old drawing you made all those years ago, Grandmama? The one that got you in so much trouble, of a boy flying over your bed?”
“Go and get it, and two envelopes as well.” She did so, and when she came back, Moira took it from her, and drew a sun on the envelope, rising out on the horizon. She put the drawing in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to Peter. Not sure whether or not he’d seen a letter before, she showed him how to open a sealed envelope with the spare, and told him to go straight home and put the letter on the table where he would see it. Then, when he woke up, he would see the envelope, open it, see the drawing, and know to visit her again.
That agreed on, they exchanged hugs this time, and Peter and Tinkerbell flew out of the Window.
It took just over two weeks, but Peter did indeed go back. Fortunately, Granny Wendy had explained to Moira about the atmosphere in Neverland, and how not only did it make you somewhat forgetful, but also that it was easy to simply lose track of time whilst you were there. Still, come back he did, and an adventure he certainly took her on. Whilst there, she taught him to read, carving some of his favourite stories on trees with her knife he presented her with in her second week there. She explained to her why he was how he was, and that he probably wouldn’t be ready for her Kiss by the time she was ready to give it. She explained that, nonetheless, their were other special Kisses that everyone needed, and Peter in particular. He was a very handsome boy, and Moira felt very sorry that she could never give him her Kiss, but nonetheless, she vowed, both to Granny Wendy, and herself, to be the best Wendy Lady she could be!
When he brought her home, he was met by two very irate parents. He had had her for just over a month. School was out by the time he took her, but still, to find their daughter had just wandered off was not one of her parents favourite experiences to say the least. Once she had taken a good look at him though, and realised who he must be, she looked to her mother who nodded, a tearful smile on her face.
“You wouldn’t have believed me if you didn’t see it for yourself, my dear. You always took after your father, god rest his soul. He was a lovely, wonderful man, but he was a bit too serious sometimes!”
With that sorted, and after a long chat to get to know them, they gave their permission for more adventures, provided they were arranged in advance.
Peter left that night with ten books, a supply of stationary, and a calendar so as to better keep track of the time.
Over the next several years, Peter had several Wendy Ladies, in whom he found a kindred spirit. A feisty young lady with an overactive imagination, and often misunderstood either by her peers, or her parents. To him, they each brought a sense of pride and responsibility, along with wonderful stories; sometimes variations on a favourite theme; other times, something brand new that he’d never heard before; and they each taught him a lesson about life. To them, he gave them a sense of belonging, and to further their independence whilst appealing more to those who misunderstood them.
He never lost touch with his Wendy Ladies. As the years progressed, his memory improved, even in Neverland, and he never forgot his friends, or his obligations to them. Just because he didn’t want to grow up, didn’t mean he ignored responsibility.
It was one day when he was flying some miles north of what he now knew as London, that he first discovered her. A red-headed girl, a little younger than him, perhaps, sitting on her bed, crying bitterly.
There was always something that spoke to him, in his Wendy Ladies, he was never sure what, but this time it was different. The pull was much stronger than normal, and it made him nervous. Still, he was Peter Pan, and he was fearless!
He touched down lightly on her bedroom floor, stood some distance away, and said
“Girl, why are you crying?”