.

Forget Disney

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Forget EVERYthing you learned from Disney

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Harry and Tinker BLEEP

By DireSquirrel


Six year old Harry Potter did not live a normal life for a six year old. Barely able to see above the table he was supposed to set, he cooked breakfast, washed clothes, vacuumed the house, trimmed the hedges, weeded the flower garden and lived in a very small boot cupboard under the stairs. It was the kind of place that a normal six year old would keep a "fort" or a "secret palace" or some other fantasy realm. For Harry Potter, it was much the opposite, the very peak of reality. You see, in the Dursley Household of 4 Privet Drive, there was no such thing as magic, no possibility of fantasy beyond Harry's cousin wanting a new toy to break.

Until one day...

Harry awoke in the dark of the early morning to the sound of sobbing. This was unusual, as tears and sobbing were expressly forbidden in the Dursley residence, especially in the cupboard under the stairs. He sat up, groping around for his second hand John Lennon glasses and searched for the source of the unusual noise. There, in the corner of his cupboard, sitting on an exposed support beam, was a tiny woman with four gossamer wings, rubbing her eyes and wiping away the tears with the back of her hands.

"Um...hello?" Harry inquired intelligently.

"You think you know him," she sobbed in a voice of tinkling bells. "You think that after a few years he's still gonna be the same fuckin' guy he was when you met him. 'Oh, I'll never change; we'll always be together,' he'll promise, but it's fuckin' lie! They always change! They always leave!"

Harry glanced nervously at the door, only to remember his uncle had fastidiously kept it locked from the outside. The tiny blonde woman flew over to him and gave him a dark look.

"Then came that bloody tramp," she said in a beautiful voice of bells and chimes. "'Here, Tinker Bell, give Wendy some fairy dust so she can fly' he said. I should have fuckin' known he'd fall for her! I should have known he'd bloody leave me in the lurch!"

"Um..." Harry prevaricated nervously.

"BOY! YOU STOP IT WITH THE BLOODY BELLS! DON'T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!" Harry heard from the next floor. He had a nagging suspicion that a heartbroken fairy with a foul mouth would not be a proper excuse.

"And then after all I've done for him, he goes and leaves me! ME! All my hard work and care, all my attention and the bloody years we spent together meant nothing!" she declared angrily. "Absolutely fuckin' nothing! Goes off and gets hitched to that Darling tramp's granddaughter! When she left I had a few more decades of hope, but she bloody ruined everything! That tramp turned everything to pure shite!"

"You really need to be quiet," Harry cautioned in a low voice. "My uncle doesn't like to be woken up early."

"Don't you fuckin' tell me what to fuckin' do!" Tinker Bell snapped.

"BOY!"

"Oh no!" Harry said worriedly as the arrhythmic stomping of his astoundingly obese uncle sounded down the stairs one at a time.

"BOY! I don't know where you found those bells, but you're going to regret bringing them!" Vernon promised.

"GEEZHUS FUCKIN' H. KA-REIST!" Tink exclaimed as the cupboard door swung open. "I've seen pirate ships that weren't that bleedin' huge!"

Vernon reached in blindly for his wife's nephew, but Harry was pressed as far under the stairs as he could.

"Give me the bloody bell, boy!"

"I don't have one, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied honestly.

"I can bloody well hear you! Now give me the bloody bell and I won't give you as long a thrashing," Vernon promised as the man bent down to look into the cupboard. The magiphobic man paused in horror as Tinker Bell ripped into him like a chainsaw through lawyers. Verbally, not literally, as that would have been a very small chainsaw and taken quite a bit of time as Vernon was quite large. Harry gasped in horror as the fairy used phrases, words and innuendo that little sheltered Harry had never even considered possible, and most of which were not, at least if one were anatomically speaking. According to Tinker Bell, Vernon's parentage had a richness of species diversity as his mother was apparently of the porcine variety; Harry also learned that Vernon was classified as Earth's second moon based on his gravitational pull; Vernon's mass was such that he was responsible for tectonic lift on the opposite side of the plates; he had a vested interest in increasing the species diversity in the next generation as he had apparently gotten several "yews" with child, but couldn't be bothered to take responsibility and therefore was a horrible father. It was ironic that the truth of Vernon's fathering skills were actually worse than Tink's insinuation.

Vernon, on the other hand, could only see a hand tall woman with blond hair, a green cocktail dress, four gossamer wings and a voice that sounded like bells. Who was apparently mouthing off at him. He didn't react for some time as he realized there was an obviously magical creature in front of him.

"I don't understand," Harry interjected after a bit. "What do you mean he has to pay the trees alimony? What's alimony? Do you mean 'all the money?'"

"Not, Yews like the trees, kid," Tink explained in an exasperated tone. "'Ewes' as in female sheep. But yeah, sometimes it feels like all the money."

"BOY! What is this?" Vernon demanded, his fury returning, not understanding a word Tinker Bell said.

"I think she's Tinker Bell," Harry replied honestly. "She never really introduced herself."
Vernon's face lost it's pale tint (which had arrived approximately the same time his eyes landed on Tinker Bell) and turned the color of a good Merlot. He reached for the Fairy who deftly dodged the clumsy swipe, leaving a trail of fairy dust behind. This sparkling magical substance seeped into the meaty flesh of Vernon Dursley and promptly sent him flying to the ceiling.

"Wow!" Harry said. "That's incredible!"

"Meh, just a bit of magic dust," she said. "Get a mirror and a razor-blade and I'll show you how much more it can do."

"I really don't understand," Harry replied with a completely clueless expression written across his face.

"Right, and I bet you can't swing a sword, stab a pirate, fly, shoot an arrow, compose poetry for mermaids, lead a plucky team of adventurers into battle or mix a martini, either," Tinker Bell said depressingly.

"I can mix a martini," Harry was quick to point out. "Aunt Petunia likes hers in the afternoon, stirred, not shaken, because she says it's hard to self medicate when it's watered down."

"PETUNIA! THE BOY'S-"

Tink glared up at the Goodyear blimp formerly known as Vernon Dursley and thew a handful of dust at him. It caught in his open mouth and made him cough. She turned to Harry and grinned.

"Did you know that if they're outside and I give em' enough of this fuckin' dust, they can explode from low pressure before they asphyxiate? The dust protects them from the friction on exit, but wears off before re-entry," she commented with a malicious grin. "There's four o' these bloody guys orbiting in liquid form. Granted it's a decaying orbit, but well worth the expenditure."

"I have no idea what that means," Harry stated. He knew that explosions were supposed to be cool. He'd heard older students talking about them in movies, but he'd never seen one himself. Whatever it was she was talking about, it was probably pretty amazing.

"Fuck it," she said after a moment of staring at Vernon choke and cough. "Let's blow this pop stand."


Five Years Later

Minerva McGonagall was recording the addresses of each new student from the magically updating register to the parchment letters. Things were quite as usual until she got to Harry Potter's. It was not, as she had expected: Cupboard-Under-the-Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, etc. etc... It was actually quite unique in her experience as the Deputy Headmistress.

It read simply:

Harry Potter

Large Tree House,

Second Star to the Right,

And Straight on to Morning.

"Albus," she said worriedly. Holding out the address in front of her, she gave the headmaster a stern look. "The Owls refuse to carry Harry Potter's letter."

"Oh dear, let me look at that," the old man said, taking the letter from his deputy. "Now, that's not a problem. The owls just need some magic dust."

"Magic dust? I'm not familiar with that," Minerva replied. "Some sort of potion?"

"Oh, no, it's worthless in liquid form," Albus said. "I did a full study from the 1960s to the 1980s on the subject. So I know what I'm talking about."

"Very well," Minerva McGonagall said, accepting the information at face value. "Where does one get this magic dust?"

"The best comes from Columbia," Albus Dumbledore replied. "I think I have some in my desk. It's nice to sprinkle on my candies from time to time."

He pulled out a small tin and a mirror, sprinkling the white dust on the reflective glass.

"A little bit for the post owl; a little bit for Albus Dumbledore," he said. "A little bit more for Albus Dumbledore; a little bit for the post owl; a little bit more for Albus Dumbledore; a little bit more for Albus Dumbledore."

Minerva made a quick exit. No good ever came from referring to yourself in the third person.


After a good sprinkling, the owl did make it to NeverNeverLand. It also made it right back and insisted on Minerva accept the reply at 4AM, then spun around in circles until finally landing on her sister's nest in the owlery.

"Wanna play? Wanna play? Aunty wants to play, we should play, we should play right now," the post owl said in owlese to her barely hatched nieces and nephews, who blinked, well, owlishly up at her.

Eventually she convinced the chicks that playing "nip the tail" with Fluffy was a good idea.

It was not.


"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Harry asked Tink as he pulled his sword out of a pirate, the body slumping to the ground.

"Please, you'd be a Ranger/Thief/Wizard," Tink said. "While it'll take a while to level up, I think it'll be fun. Think of everything you could do to pirates as a wizard!"

"Have you been reading Tubby's D&D manuals while drunk again?" Harry asked with concern. Tubby, one of the newest of the Lost Boys, had brought back a huge pile of books from something he called a "Con" and had taken up something he called "cosplay" which apparently involved squeezing into Princess Tigerlily's old clothes which were much to small for the round boy. Since then, Tink had taken to consuming large amounts of inebriating substances then reading the books aloud when everyone else was trying to sleep.

"I'm not a drunk! I just have a magic bottle that makes all my problems go away!" Tink declared, protectively hugging a bottle of some unidentified substance Princess Tigerlily had procured for the pixie. It dwarfed her and she appeared not unlike the fairy on the "Absent" bottle (not precisely, but Harry had no idea "Absinth" existed, so fit things in as best he could) Tink had procured from France. Harry had long since learned not to drink anything the beautiful princess brewed unless it was fed to pirates first and they survived. It should be noted that Princess Tigerlily and Tink think Everclear is for wusses.

"But getting back to the other issue," Harry said diplomatically. "Wouldn't I have to leave Neverland? I don't want to go back to the Cupboard."

"Yeah, that's not happening," Tink assured him.


After some consideration, Tink had taken Harry to Diagon Alley, but had discovered no one was willing to sell to the child. A number of people had been impressed with Harry's "Harry Potter Costume" but had just smiled and refused to explain. After failing to buy the school books (they were reserved for "Hogwarts Students Only" according to the bookstore and no amount of protesting had allowed them to buy the books), and the potions equipment (as potions labs are dangerous for "little boys"), and almost everything else on the list, the Neverland duo headed to the Wand shop. Opening the door they saw piles and piles of boxes. They were stacked on the floor, on shelves, on tables and in wall cubbyholes.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, I was expecting..." the old man in the wand shop glanced down and trailed off as he looked down at the small boy with the pixie floating beside him. "...not this. I was not expecting this."

"What were you expecting?" Harry asked innocently. He wore a Lincoln Green tunic, a feathered cap, a black cloak over his shoulders, and had a golden sword tied to his belt.

"An eleven year old," Ollivander said.

"But I am eleven," Harry protested.

"You certainly don't look eleven," Ollivander replied in confusion. "You look about six."

"I haven't been six for a few years," Harry replied honestly.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ollivander asked.

"Of course I am! Who else could I be?" Harry protested with a bit of a pout. Ollivander checked his identity ward only to find it was working perfectly. The tiny six-year-old eleven-year-old was indeed Harry Potter.

"Right then, hold out your arm," Ollivander said, pulling out a measuring tape. "I can see you're going to be a challenge."


After the fifth wand, Tinker Bell was bored, and a bored pixie is a very terrible thing. She'd been annoyed with the stupid wizards in their horrid clothes with their stupid wands and their stupid decisions and stupid opinions since she and Harry had flown in. The first incident, an encounter with a horrid swamp creature in a pink dress with a stubby little wand, had soured Tink's feelings for the Wizarding World already. That had made Tink annoyed. That was bad enough.

But now Tink was bored.

She darted between the families bringing their kids for shopping. None of them were having trouble buying things for Hogwarts. But now Tink was bored.

Pixies can be unnoticed quite easily if they want to, otherwise, she and Harry and that-other-guy (who shall remain nameless for ditching her for that Tramp's tramp granddaughter) wouldn't have been very good pirate hunters.

The chaos began near Ollivander's shop. A family of redheads, having been window shopping outside the quidditch store, turned to head to the second-hand bookshop and fell to the cobblestones like a series of human dominoes. Shouts of outrage echoed through the alley as they realized they'd been tied together by their shoelaces. A family of blonds were striding through the crowds with their noses in the air, arrogance like a second set of robes hanging about them. A small bit of pixie dust and those robes, though not the humans, were reaching for the skies. It should be noted that wizards and witches wear similar amounts of underclothes as a Scotsman clad in kilt. There were wolf whistles, cat calls, and screams of outrage, not to mention a lot of laughter.

It was music to Tink's ears. Laughter at others' expense always made her tingle inside.

Seeing her next target, the pink swamp monster was heading towards a black stone building, Tink perched on a roof to plan. Still not pleased at being called a "horrid creature that deserved only to be extinguished and used for potions ingredients," Tink, being a tinker pixie, decided to "fix" things.

Pixies have a certain connection to the natural world. While only special humans could understand their words as anything other than the tinkling of bells, animals had no such trouble.

Diagon Alley, being in the large city of London, had a rather large population of pigeons. Now, one would assume that the owl population would keep this fairly low, but unfortunately, the owls were mostly kept locked in cages or had letters for delivery. With the exception of an invasive pair of Peregrine Falcons brought from the magical land of Acadia (park rangers were still trying to find where the mating pair had vanished to, but were looking for a very large man with a beard and a thick English accent), there was little to prey on the cooing birds. Add in the rather slovenly habits of street keepers in the magical world, the population had expanded to an obscene size around the magical district.

"So you understand, right? Any time you see Pink, reenact the Blitz," Tink said. The pigeons cooed and saluted in unison, accepting the mission despite the dangers. Spotting the target below, the pigeons took flight.

It had been a cloudless day, so when a shadow fell upon Cornelis Fudge's Senior Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge looked up, hoping to find some foolish mudblood flying in London. She always loved throwing them in Azkaban for a few months. It made her life worth living. Unfortunately, the shadow was not a cloud, not a broomrider, muggleborn, pureblood or otherwise, but a mass of birds that blocked the sky like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

If Delores Umbridge had been a plant, she'd have been quite fertilized that day. Unfortunately, she was a humanoid swamp monster (at least Tink assumed so), and the subsequent fecal rain was quite unwanted, though not unwarranted. Tink cackled in tinkling laughter as the pink monstrosity fled for cover, only to find the mass following her like a heat seeking missile locked onto Johnny Storm. Umbridge pulled out her stubby little wand and started throwing curses to the sky. The Pigeons, having lived around wizards and witches for generations, knew to avoid the beams of light and let them pass harmlessly into the sky. That crowd went back to Knockturn Alley to reload their biological payloads. But once again, there were a LOT of pigeons in Diagon Alley.

"Delores Umbridge," a smiling Mad-Eye Moody said, clamping a hand on the witch's wand arm. "Don't you know it's illegal to cast deadly curses on Hogwarts Shopping Day?"

"Unhand me you brute!" she commanded as she attempted to throw a few particularly dark curses to the skies. Moody grinned and looked to his latest apprentice.

"You see, young lady, this is what's called resisting arrest," Moody explained to the nodding rookie. "Do you know what we do when someone resists arrest?"

The young woman, Hestia Jones by her badge, shook her head worriedly.

"We use negative reinforcement to explain why resisting is not in their best interest," Moody explained. "Here's an example."

He tapped his off hand with his wand, protecting it from damage, and punched Umbridge in the gut. "Don't be shy," he told his apprentice, a young Hestia Jones, "practice makes perfect."

"Are you sure?" Hestia asked.

"Yep, give her a few swings," he said, but caught her fist before it could impact. "Safety first, young lady. You don't want to hurt your hand."

"Oh, right," Hestia said, charming her fist with the same protective charm Moody had used earlier.

"Put your back into it," Moody said. "That's right. Now try a few kicks."

After the first few kicks, Moody frowned. "We'll need to work on your follow through. But don't worry, as your mentor, it's my job to fix these things."

Casting a levicorpus, they brought up the gasping Senior Undersecretary to the Ministry holding cells, but took their time, as every pigeon wanted a turn.

And Diagon Alley has a LOT of pigeons.


"Ah, there we go," Ollivander said after and exhausting two hours of searching. Mr. Potter being smaller than expected had been difficult and a number of potential wands were excluded for that reason. Unfortunately his shop now looked less like the home and workshop of the greatest wandcrafter in Britain, and more like Northeastern France in 1918. Thank goodness for government subsidies.

"Are you sure this is the right one?" Harry asked. "I mean-"

"YES!" shouted Ollivander. "I mean 'yes'" he continued in a quieter tone. "I think that is the perfect wand. No need to test any others. Should be perfectly fine. Now, I'm giving you a very good, top of the line wand care kit because I want you to take care of it and never darken my doorstep, or rather, never need a replacement."

Harry wasn't sure how he could darken the man's south facing doorstep, as he was rather small, even Tink thought so, but decided getting free stuff was never a bad thing."

"Thanks! How much was that?"

"Oh, I'd feel bad about charging you," Ollivander said, eager to get the walking natural disaster out of his shop. "Why don't you run along and go see the nice people over at Magical Menagerie?"

As the door shut (the front wall being the only part that survived), Ollivander slumped against some rubble.

"You know," the wand crafter said to himself, "If he hadn't blown up that Holly and Phoenix feather wand, it probably wouldn't have taken so long."

The bell rang and the tired old man looked up to see the Malfoy family walk in, conjured bands holding their robes down around their ankles.

"Oh, dear, it wasn't like this when I was here earlier," Narcissa said, a hand to her chest.

"What a trash heap!" the Malfoy Scion exclaimed at the destruction.

"Oh piss off you little shit," Ollivander snarled. Lucius glared and raised his snake cane to curse the shopkeeper, but was cut off as something wet and smelly landed on his perfect blond hair.

Not all pigeons have perfect aim, but a little Karma helps sometimes.


"This list says I can only have a toad, an owl or a cat," Harry said as he and Tink walked into the Magical Menagerie. Well, he walked, Tink flew. There were actually very few of those animals for sale, only a large ugly orange cat with a "quarantine" sign on the cage. There were no owls at all, those being sold exclusively at the Owl Emporium down the street. The toads were, well, rather boring and did nothing but croak and hop.

"Yeah, why'd it say to come here if there isn't anything to buy except toads?" Tink asked. "And those aren't even the fun kind of toads."

"If you say so," Harry said. "I was really hoping I could bring Tick-Tock."

"Let me see that letter," Tink said. Harry held it out and the pixie snatched it out of his little hands. She flew over and snatched a quill from the sales girl, who squeaked out a weak protest. Setting the letter on the table, Tink added "and crocodilians" to the list of acceptable pets. She handed it back to Harry. "There, I fixed it."

"Oh, good," Harry said. "We should really get her some treats. And a really long key so we can keep her watch wound."

"Not a bad idea," Tink agreed. She turned to the confused shopkeeper. "Hey, do you know where we can get the books they won't sell us?"

"Uh, no, not really," she explained. "I'm pretty new here."

"Huh," Tink said stymied. "Hey, what do you have for care of a three ton swamp lizard with a taste for pirates?"

"Uh... um," the shop keeper said as she tired to process a literate pixie talking about giant lizards and pirates. "How about a refillable food bowl? You can prime it with a verbal command and it will just keep refilling whatever its filled with when primed."

"That sounds great!" Tink replied. "We'll take four!"


Smee, currently being held captive in the Lost Boys' bamboo prison, had a shiver go up his spine for some inexplicable reason.


"F-four?" The shopkeeper asked with shock. The commission on that alone would feed her for... she did the math on her fingers... months at the very least. The cost of one was more than the entire Weasley clan made in a year, if one needed a reference.

"Sure, do you take doubloons?" Harry asked, hefting a pirate treasure chest onto the counter with his pixie dust enhanced strength.


"Change gold to galleons?" Tink grumbled. "That's pretty much the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. And they had an actual exchange rate!"

"Isn't a hundred galleons for one and a half doubloons a good deal?" Harry asked. "That's like a couple of armadas."

"Damnit Harry! I'm a pixie, not a bloody economist!"

"But why do they use ships as currency? Wouldn't they be hard to carry?"

"Must be why they asked if we wanted to open a vault," Tink suggested. "But ships aren't any good if they're locked in a box underground."

"I know!" Harry exclaimed. "This wizarding world is weird!"


"Doubloons?" Senior Accountant Axecrack asked in confusion.

"Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either," the teller replied. "I mean, we haven't even seen any in centuries. I just used the standard antique rate and offered to open a vault. They declined, saying they couldn't use them if they were kept underground."

"Works for me," Axecrack replied with a shrug. He looked at the stamped profile of some long dead Spanish monarch for a moment before looking up. "Who was who brought it in?"

"Some little kid dressed up like that Hood arsehole," the teller said with a grimace.

"Ugh, I hate that guy," Axecrack grumbled. Sure, it had been centuries, and being human, the man was probably dead by now, but Robin of Locksley still topped Gringott's Most Wanted. Goblins never forgot a thief.

"And a pixie," the teller said with some confusion. "She did most of the talking."

"Did you get a name?"

"She called him 'Harry' but I didn't catch a last name," the teller explained.

"Another one? Stupid wizards, still naming their spawn after that stupid Potter brat," Axecrack grumbled. "That's what? Fifty under the age of nine? No originality. Not quite as bad as the 'Albus' craze they had in the late '40s, but still, way too many."


Their things procured, the duo walked out of the Leakey Cauldron and took to the skies just as the first stars shown in the sky, ignoring all the non-magical eyes following their path.

"Okay, Hermione," Menelaus Granger said. "Now I understand why you're willing to give up science for magic."

"Uh-huh," Helen Granger said with wide eyes as they watched boy and pixie vanish into the sunset.

"That was so awesome!" Hermione said. "I can't wait to read all about how to do that!"

"I was a bit concerned when we saw that cloud of pigeons attack that poor toad-creature, but being able to fly would make up for a lot," Helen said, regaining her senses.

"I'm glad I got a book on magical animals, because I want to look up what that thing was," Hermione said.

"It must feed on squab, because I can't think of any reason for the pigeons to go after it like that," Menelaus said. "It was like watching crows harass a hawk."


The Owl that should have been named Hedwig was not pleased. She knew her boy had been in the alley that day and was quite displeased that no one had let them connect. With a perturbed expression, she muscled up to those bars, bent them apart with her beak and Voom!

"Did you just hear something?" the Owl Emporium manager asked, looking up from his books. The shop boy shrugged.

"I think it came from the cages," he replied. Together they got up and meandered around until they saw a massacred bird cage that looked like someone had gotten Bruce Banner angry in a jail cell.

"Oh bloody Merlin," the shop boy said in horror.

"Which one was this?" the manager asked.

"It was, uh, the one you worked with the Hogwarts Groundskeeper on," the shop boy replied. "The one he was breeding for Harry Potter."

"Oh dear," the manager said with a look of fright. "I should have never let him cross a snowy owl with a Norwegian Blue."


Had she been capable, Tick-Tock would have licked her lips in anticipation of the upcoming meal. While the strange hides were a bit chewy, the Pi-rats Harry, and Peter before him, supplied her were always quite filling. She charged forward in a burst of speed and snatched the screaming Pi-Rat in her jaws, swallowing him whole.

Sated, Tick-Tock settled down to digest. She was still resting when a brand new Smee appeared in her food bowl.

Smee didn't know what happened, he'd been put in a bowl and it had clearly been around noon, but sky was black a moment later. He glanced over at Hook's Bane with nervousness, but it seemed like she wasn't interested in him. Careful not to wake beast or boy, he fled the Lost Boy encampment and made his way back down to the pirate town below.

Smee didn't know what happened, he'd been put in a bowl and it had clearly been around noon, but dawn was breaking a moment later. He glanced over at Hook's Bane with nervousness, but it seemed like she wasn't interested in him. Careful not to wake beast or boy, he fled the Lost Boy encampment and made his way back down to the pirate town below.

Hook suspected something was up when the fourth Smee arrived back at the ship with a nearly identical story.

"Intriguing," Hook said, stroking his beard with his eponymous appendage.


In lands other than NeverNeverLand, time passed and eventually it was the last day of August. With a sniff of Pixie Dust, Harry, Tinker Bell and a sleepy and sated Tick-Tock (who had a big meal that morning), aimed at the second star to the left, and straight on to evening, which was, of course, the opposite of how one goes to NeverNeverLand.

Tinker Bell and Harry were quite ignorant of the Statute of Secrecy, not that Tink would give a damn if she was aware of it. So when muggles saw a boy dressed in green, a pixie and a crocodile flying through the streets of London, they rationalized it away as a Peter Pan aficionado taking things a bit too far. Still, it was a fun stunt to watch.

It was when the boy and the crocodile landed on the ground and started walking into King's Cross station that people started to get upset. Seeing a three ton animal is disconcerting in most cases, seeing a three ton animal on a leash led by what appeared to be a six year old, well, it usually makes people nervous. But, like most things that seem strange, people will try to rationalize it away.

"Uh, son," one Bobby said cautiously. "What seems to be going on here?"

"Oh, I'm headed to school," Harry replied as Tink settled on his shoulder.

"Really then?" the man said. Harry smiled and nodded eagerly.

"Yep!" Harry replied with a cute little smile.

"And you're bringing your alligator to school with you?" the officer of the law inquired.

"She's a crocodile!" Harry protested. Tick-Tock snorted a little and moved to bask for a bit in a warm patch of sun.

"Right, and she's a very fine crocodile," the man said. And he was tilling the truth. It was the most impressive animatronic animal he'd ever seen. The leash must have been the wire for the control, and if it hadn't been for the rhythmic noise coming from it's belly, he'd have thought she was a real animal.

"She's the best!" Harry declared with a wining smile that reached from cheek to cheek.

"Do you know what train you need to get on?"

"Yup!"

"Do you know where I could get a crocodile like her?"

"Nope, she's one of a kind!" Harry said.

"I wondered if that might be the case," the officer said. "You make sure you get on the right train now."

"I will!"

The Bobby and a few other travelers watched the boy leave. The crocodile seemed slightly obstinate about heading into the shadows, but eventually acquiesced to the boy's tugging on the leash.

"I'm always amazed what parents will do to spoil their children," one old woman said. "A robot crocodile? Why, in my day, a stuffed animal would be fine!"

"I wonder where they made it? Amazing construction," a man said in amazement. "If I hadn't heard the ticking of the gears, I'd have thought it was real."


"Here it is, 9 3/4, right between 9 and 10," Tink said, reading off Harry's letter, which had been further edited by Tink to allow him to carry a sword, a bow, a flintlock and several barrels of black powder. They also picked up something called "dynamite" that they'd heard some people talking about when picking up the powder.

"I don't see it," Harry said with some consternation.

"Stupid wizards!" Tink snarled. "Can't just have something where we could find it easily, have to go hide it with some overly complicated task."

"Yeah," Harry said with a scowl. "Maybe it's around here?"

He circled the area, but didn't find anything that said where it was. He did notice a redhaired family holding back with looks of worry. He waved to them, but they didn't wave back. 'Well, that's a bit rude' Harry thought to himself.

Tick-Tock was not really pleased about having to stay in a cold place like King's Cross. Sensing a warm breeze coming through the "wall" she started tromping forward.

"Harry! Tick-Tock's found it!"

"Great!" Harry said, running back to find Tick-Tock's tail swaying as she ambled through the wall. Tink and Harry followed.

"Did you just see...?" Percy asked.

"Yes, Percy, dear," his mother said, holding her children close.

"A crocodile! Blimy!" Ron said in horror. He looked up to his mother. "Do we have to...?"

"What? Oh," Molly Weasley said. "Perhaps we could wait a while. Give them some space."

"What if we're late? I'm a Prefect!" Percy protested.

"Did you hear that Fred?" asked Fred.

"I think I did, George," replied George.

"I think Percy might be a prefect!" Fred declared in faux amazement.

"Wow, that's the first time I've heard of this," George said, "in the last ten minutes!"

Percy shot his brothers a glare and stomped into the barrier, only to find Tick-Tock smiling up at him as she basked in a sunbeam. Backing up, Percy turned to his mother. "Yes, perhaps we should wait a bit."


Harry looked around the train, but decided to take the closest cabin since Tick-Tock was a bit too big to walk down the corridor. Her tail had to be held up so they could leave the station and that took everything he and Tink could manage.

Tired from the flight and effort, Harry and Tink set Tick-Tock's feed dish in the hall and went to the cabin to take a nap.

Smee didn't know what happened, he'd been put in a bowl and it had clearly been around noon, but now he was on some kind of fast moving land ship. Well, that's about as close as he could manage, since trains hadn't been invented when he was last on Earth. He glanced over at Hook's Bane with nervousness, but it seemed like she wasn't interested in him. Careful not to wake beast or boy, he fled the cabin and tried to find a way off the land-ship.


Harry and Tink awoke to the sound of their cabin opening. Standing in the doorway was a girl with bushy hair and a serious expression.

"Oh, hello," she said, recognizing him as the flying boy she'd seen in Diagon Alley. "Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

"Toad? No, not since that swamp monster in Diagon Alley," Tink replied.

"Ah, yes, I saw that one," Hermione said. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Tinker Bell," Tink said.

"Are you really?" the girl said. "I've read all about you in-"

Harry, using every bit of speed and self preservation he could muster, flew over and covered Hermione's mouth.

"Ixnay on the An-pay!" he hissed with worried eyes.

"You mean-" Harry cut her off. He nodded to where Tink had a blood vessel bulging on her forehead.

"It's a very sensitive subject."


Smee was worried. Somehow, even though he hadn't been turned around, he found himself back by Hook's Bane. He started to back up, only to hear someone cracking their knuckles. Looking down, he saw a small, green and brown toad glaring up at him.

Trevor was about to teach the pirate what had happened to the last person who called Neville a worthless fatty squib. Granted, Smee hadn't said "squib," but had been quite uncharitable about the boy's remaining baby-fat.

Several very painful moments later, Smee discovered what it was like to free-fall. For a few seconds. Then he didn't feel anything at all.

Having mastered pirate-defenestration, Trevor turned to look at the 7th year Slytherin prefect.

The prefect looked back.

Trevor cracked his neck, not breaking eye contact.

The prefect slipped his wand back into his pocket and quickly backed away, making sure to get a good distance between them before he broke into a run.

Trevor watched him until the prefect was out of sight. Rolling his shoulders to loosen them up, the toad went looking for that Malfoy kid. Trevor felt like it was a good chance to try out that German Suplex he'd heard about.

Teach him to call Neville a "fatty Squib."


"So, did you get a special dispensation to go to school early?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said tiredly. "I'm eleven."

"Are you really?" she asked again before pausing. She cocked her head slightly as she recalled details of a book she had not read in some time. "Oh, well, I supposed that's understandable because in-" she cut herself off as Harry gave her a warning look "-that book, aging seems to not happen in NeverLand."

"Yep," Harry said. "I'm just annoyed with people asking."

"I had the same thing happen when I explain things in the museum. People never fully believe me, thinking I'm making things up because of my age," Hermione said. "So I know a little what it's like."


Ronald Weasley was in hell.

He'd been about to follow the Twins, but then he'd heard their friend Lee had a bleeding giant spider. So then he'd had the idea to look for another cabin, since all of them were occupied, if not exactly full. He'd sat in a couple and didn't really feel welcome, so moved on. Then he saw the giant crocodile camped out in the hallway and promptly turned around.

He'd finally found a cabin with enough room. The occupants were his age, but they were girls.

"tee-hee," one giggled as they talked about one of the Puddlemere chasers, specifically, the chaser's calves being well turned, whatever that meant. At first he thought they were talking about quidditch and had tried to bring up the Cannons, but, um, that did not go over well. Two hours later he'd decided he wanted nothing to do with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Lavender Brown or the Patil Twins. He'd regret that decision four years later when the puberty bus ran him over and, perhaps more importantly, stopped by to give said girls a "lift," so to speak.

But that regret was still a few years off. At the moment he was having to hear every detail of Gilderoy Lockhart's smile and the entire history of his "best smile" nominations and wins.


"I heard Harry Potter was in this cabin," a blond bit of pond scum stated as he threw open the cabin door.

He was not.

In fact, the only resident of the cabin was a grinning green and brown toad.

Trevor cracked his knuckles.


"Trust me, Potter," Malfoy said with as much smarm as an eleven year old could manage. He didn't remember what had happened, but he'd woken up with a rutabaga stuck in his pancreas. Trevor had been aiming for the boy's spleen, but had failed human anatomy back in Familiar school. The trauma had been cleared from the boy's mind via Trevor's German Suplex and subsequent head injury. Not that this did anything for his behavior. Now, having missed most of the train ride, he'd been thrown into a boat and woke up part way across Black Lake. He'd regained what senses he'd been born with, such as they were, by the time the first years made it to the castle entry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

"Uh, I'm not Harry Potter," Anthony Goldstein said with a bit of confusion.

"You must be!" Draco replied. "Harry Potter isn't a pureblood, a girl or a-" He sent a sharp nod to Harry and Tink, "-couple of halfbreed freaks like them."

"Cut 'em Harry," Tink stage whispered in his ear, grinning as Malfoy paled at her words. "Cut 'im now."

"Can't, Tink," Harry replied. "I couldn't put my sword belt on with these robes and it didn't make much sense to have it underneath."

"What's the fuckin' point of wearing clothes that won't let you wear a sword?" Tink demanded. She went into a long tangent regarding the stupidity of magical dress using phrases not normally suitable for eleven year old ears. Harry didn't react, having been quite used to her creative use of language, having heard her prove long ago that certain words could be used as every form of speech except for articles. He noticed that the others were shocked, but he assumed it was because of Tink's language, not his height.

Dutifully ignoring her tirade against Wizarding fashions, Harry waited in the entryway with the shellshocked prospective students when a tall, straight backed woman strode out. She was on the cusp between middle age and the elderly, but still quite powerful, looking ever so much like the classical sorceress. When she turned to face them, Tinker Bell, sitting on Harry's shoulder let out a gasp.

"Fuck! Shite! Piss! Arse! I knew that tramp was in on this!" Tinker Bell snarled, as she fluttered around the Deputy Headmistress. "Wait, my mistake, you're too much of fuckin' frigid bitch to be a tramp. Carry on."

Minerva McGonagall's mouth opened and closed like a fish flopping around on a river bank, seeking water to breathe.


"A HAT?" some boy exclaimed before promising pain on to individuals Tink presumed were his older brothers. She and Harry watched as the Tramp-look-alike called out names of other students who would walk to a stool and wear a talking hat. It would shout out some nonsense word, and a table would cheer.

"Harry Potter!" the faux-tramp called out.

The entire room went silent and all eyes were on the boy. Then there was a pretty universal gasp as they realized their savior was a midget. He wasn't suffering from microphasia, but other than shrinking charms, his size didn't make much sense.

"Okay, this is fuckin' bullshit," Tink said at the perfect moment of silence so her bell-like voice could be heard by everyone in the hall.

"Language Tinker Bell!" the Granger girl called out.

"Hey! I calls it like I sees it," Tink drawled. She glanced up at the faux-tramp and nodded. "Fine, Hat me."

The Deputy Headmistress sighed deeply and pondered the idea of spending the night "self-medicating" with Sybil. She didn't particularly like the woman's profession, but Sybil always had a bit of sherry to share.

"Mr. Potter, first," she said, plopping the felt critter on the small boy's head. It looked not unlike when Tick-Tock had dinner, with the hat as her mouth.

"Let's see here," the hat said. "You've been raised by a couple of useless wastes of air for a time, then 'rescued' if you can call it that, by a pixie with a mouth that could make an Alaskan crab-fisherman blush, and force a Norwegian cod- fisherman to take down notes for future reference. You have a three ton crocodile as a pet. And you hunt pirates. For fun. Yeah, not had hard decision."

"Not Slytherin!" Harry said, not liking how Malfoy called him a freak.

"Kid, there's not a snowball's chance in Hell you'd go there," The hat said. "That requires either cunning or a belief in pureblood supremacy. Cunning, in particular, benefits greatly from subtlety. You're about as subtle as a Jesus reference in a Wachowski movie. That is to say, not at all. And while it would be entertaining to watch you stab those who cross you, that kind of thing is frowned upon here. Not exactly forbidden, mind you, but frowned upon. You might even lose a few points for it."

"Oh, okay," Harry said.

"Let's see, where to put you?" the Hat pondered. "No subtlety, but enjoy politeness; you're eager to learn, but not too worried about the rules... aw fuck it, I'm just gonna stuff you where the old fool's been hinting for the last two years. Yeah, he's about as subtle as you. And no, that wasn't a compliment."

"Gryffindor!" it called out.

There were cheers, polite claps and groans.

"Mr. Potter, if you'll take a seat," the old woman gestured to the cheering table.

"Tink first," Harry said, letting Tink fly into the hat's opening.

Almost instantly, its eyes bulged, and the face gained a slightly manic expression.

"Iai, iai, C'thulu fitagen," it intoned in a strange tone. Harry lifted it up and Tinke flew out.

"I think it's broken," she said with a critical glance at the floppy monstrosity.

Minerva McGonagall scowled, first at Tink, then at the hat, which was blathering on about someplace called "the Mountains of Madness." She picked it up, shook it once, then set it on the stool. She eyed it for a moment, but it was silent.

"Mr. Potter," she said. "Please take your seat."

"Okay," he said warmly and trotted over to sit beside the girl with the funny hair and some kid with a toad.

The next kid in line donned the hat and shivered in horror. A moment later, it screamed out "Rl'yea! Where great C'thulu lies dreaming!"

The kid looked up in shock and worry, glancing to McGonagall for advice. She turned to Dumbledore, who looked side to side and shrugged.

"Sounded like Ravenclaw to me," Dumbledore said.

Filius Flitwick shrugged. "Works for me."

That decision settled, Dean Thomas was sent to Ravenclaw. Of course, this would end up with him being the magical equivalent of Leonardo da Vinci and Issac Newton combined, but that's not the subject of this story.

Ron looked at the Hat with worry. Some long standing Wizarding family traditions had been broken since the pixie donned the hat. There was a chance he could end up in another house than his family going back generations.

"All hail the great Yogsathoth!"

Of course, Ron's worry mattered little since Snape didn't want him; Filius doubted he would fit in his house; and Sprout, having taught the rest of that Weasley generation, knew it was best for them to be together. So he went to Gryffindor.

The sorting ended with "Azathoth" being interpreted as "Hufflepuff" which became Zabini's destination.


Ginny Weasley looked up from the pile of letters her brothers sent her after her demands of information on Harry Potter.

"But Muuuuuuuuum! I can't marry a younger man!" she whined.

Molly sighed. One more year. Just one more year. That's it. One more year and she and Arthur could finally put that vasectomy to good use. On the table, on the floor, in the garden, in the pond, and maybe even occasionally in the bed. It would be like being newlyweds, but without the need for birth control. Which they had really needed.

Just one more year.

"He's supposed to be older than me, Mum! How can he be four years younger? I don't want that Harry Potter, I want MY Harry Potter," the girl whined, holding up her storybook. Molly took a deep breath.

Just.

One.

More.

Year.


Year 2 Omake!

Lockhart had not expected the first DADA class to happen like this. Cornish Pixies. What was wrong with Cornish pixies? They were small, cute, and fairly friendly, but he'd never expected them to be released by a tiny woman with a bolt action rifle sized to fit, a green cocktail dress and a red beret.

"For the revolution!" Tink screamed, firing into the air with one hand as she waved a tiny Soviet flag with the other. "Down with the oppressors!"

"Oh," Hermione said, turning to Harry. "That's why she wanted you to wear the Che Guevara t-shirt this morning."

"Yeah, she's been going on about how 'uniforms are symbols of the oppression implicit in the system' since I got my equipment list," Harry replied.

"Where'd she get the flag? And shouldn't it be a Cuban flag?"

"Oh, she had me buy a novelty 'flags of the world' sandwich toothpick set before school started," Harry replied. "Yesterday she claimed Hagrid for the King of Spain. I think he's still got it in his hair."

"Why'd she do that?" Neville asked.

"She said something about a few too many tablespoons of Laphroaig with Professor McGonagall," Harry replied with a shrug. "She had a really bad headache, so she didn't explain."


Vernon wasn't sure what to do. He'd been floating on the ceiling for six years. He'd long since lost his job, Petunia was picking up the slack, Dudley was forced to actually do chores, and the Boy was nowhere to be seen. They'd installed a bed on the ceiling for him to sleep in and a winch system to get him down stairs against the reversed pull of gravity on his body. He could only eat a very little as it was quite difficult for him to move around as a human balloon. He'd not been out of the house, nor had visitors in years. He was sure that his sister thought him dead. She hadn't taken it well the one last time she'd visited and had passed out.

This was all that freak's fault!

He'd pay, they'd all pay.

...

...

As soon as his feet touched the floor.


The next day, Harry didn't see Tinker Bell until it was almost noon and even then she was flying in a haphazard fashion. He hadn't seen her since that time they found the bottle of Kentucky moonshine in Jim-Bob's knapsack. He was one of the stranger Lost Boys in that he only had two teeth to begin with, rather than having lost them battling pirates.

"Tink, I'm not sure you should be drinking this early," Harry said in a chiding tone.

"Drinking?" Tink asked with an overly relaxed smile on her face. "Oh, I haven't been drinking alcohol."

"Then why are you flying like you're three sheets to the wind?" Harry asked honestly.

"The Cornish pixies wanted to thank me personally for freeing them," Tink said with a wide, happy grin. "I haven't felt this sore in years!"

"Why would they thank you by hurting you?" Harry asked.

Tink grinned at the memories before telling exactly how they "thanked" her; how often they "thanked" her; and how there were so many of them, which was why they needed to take turns "thanking" her.

In detail.

In exacting, minute detail almost minute by minute.

Harry regretted asking the question long before the explanation was finished, though not perhaps as much as his fellows regretted Harry asking the question. Harry, having lived with Tink for some time, was used to such things.


Author's Blatherings:

I wrote this a while ago, and I'm still working on it. I'm a bit stalled, but I'm definitely adding more to this. I recently suffered through the Disney Tinkerbell "movie" and decided it was time to go back to old school Peter Pan. Granted I took bits and pieces from various versions like Maggie Smith being Wendy Darling in "Hook" and Tinkerbell's dress from the Disney movie, but her personality was mostly from the original book. In the book she goes out of her way to convince the Lost Boys to try to kill Wendy and the Darling boys. She tried, but it didn't work.

I own neither Harry Potter, nor do I own Peter Pan, nor any of the things referenced in this short segment.