Jessica (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparkysparky) wrote2005-12-13 10:39 pm
sparkysparky) wrote2005-12-13 10:39 pm
Fic: Harry and the Wardrobe (1-2/?)
Title: Harry and the Wardrobe
Author: sparkysparky
Rating: PG for now
Warnings: AU, slight OOC (not to much I hope), bastardized!C.S.Lewis
Summary: A re-telling of the classic "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe"
Feedback: Makes me giggle! Constructive criticsism preferred over flames. Adoration always welcome!
Harry and the Wardrobe
Chapter 1
Into the Wardrobe
Once there were 4 children whose names were Harry Potter, Draco and Pansy Malfoy and Ron Weasley. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent to the country for the summer holiday, to keep them away from the uneasy atmosphere of Diagon Alley. Draco and Pansy were siblings, and their parents knew of a safe place for the children to spend the summer before their tutors returned in the fall. They were also associates of Arthur Weasley, who held a high position in the Ministry and were friends with Harry’s parents, who were Aurors, and offered to send Harry and Ron along with their children. The Potters and Weasleys agreed, as London in the summer was no place to keep children, especially with inner turmoil at the Ministry. Ron’s younger sister Ginny was invited as well, but at the last moment chose to travel to America with her friend Luna and Luna’s father. Ron had five older brothers who all held one position or another in the Ministry, and none had time to mind a nearly grown man who spent most days in the woods near the Weasley’s house.
The children were sent to the house of an old Professor, who had taught their parents when they were younger. The professor lived deep in the country, ten miles from the nearest Floo Station, and two miles from the nearest Owl Post. He had no wife and he lived in a very old house called Godric’s Hollow, with a housekeeper called Mrs. McGonagall and three servants. Their names were Flitwick, Filch and Dobby, but that’s neither here nor there for this particular story, as they do not appear much, except to frighten the children into behaving.
The professor himself was a very old man, with shaggy white hair that grew over most of his face as well as his head. His eyes had a peculiar twinkle most of the time, and the children always had the sense that he knew much more than he let on. The Professor’s name was Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, but the children called him Professor. The children liked him almost at once.
On the first evening, when he came out to meet them at the front door, Harry, who was a very sheltered fifteen, thought the Professor was quite the most interesting person he had ever met, and made a mental note to speak privately with the professor about his library, which, from what his mother had told him, was quite the best library in all of England. Draco, who was just a few months older than Harry and rather ill-tempered, sniggered at the sight of the Professor’s brightly colored house robe and his odd half-moon glasses. Pansy, who was sixteen and not fond of her brother’s rudeness, smacked him in the head and stomped on his foot. Ron, the eldest at seventeen, was more interested in the architecture of the house to notice much about his host, but did manage to ask who the architect was, and if his firm was still in business. (Ron had high hopes of becoming an architect after school.)
The Professor introduced them to the staff. Mrs. McGonagall was a very stern and strict women who gave them each glares and set down firm Rules of Behavior. Filch was rather scary, and even Draco, who denied being afraid of anything, agreed to keep a wide berth from Filch and his temperamental familiar, Mrs. Norris. Dobby, the house elf, was the children’s favorite servant. Dobby, who had never had children to care for, was so overcome with joy that he sobbed continuously on the journey from the Great Hall to the children’s rooms. Pansy and Draco each got their own room, as they insisted upon it (after all, Malfoys (even rather nice Malfoys like Pansy) did not share quarters with Regular Folk, especially not Poor Wizards (like Ron) or Half-blood Wizards (like Harry)), but Ron and Harry were happy enough to share a room. Ron, because he was used to a crowd with six brothers and sisters, and Harry because he had always wanted a brother or a sister and was often rather lonely as an only child. Thus, Ron and Harry were awarded the largest bedroom, which was rather lovely, large and airy and had a large bay window that overlooked the pond and the forest beyond.
Later, after everyone had unpacked and eaten a light dinner, Pansy and Draco gathered in Ron and Harry’s room to talk it all over.
“We’ve fallen on our feet, no mistake,” said Ron, smiling cheerfully. “This summer is going to be splendid! That old chap will let us do anything we like.”
“I think he’s rather an old dear,” said Pansy. “He seems very intelligent and Mother told us that he’s a very powerful Wizard. It’s why she was happy enough to send us to him for the summer.” Her voice took on a rather superior, lecturing tone and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Oh, come off it, Pansy.” His nose had scrunched up in annoyance, and he had the look of someone who was tired, but pretending not to be tired, which always made a body ill-tempered. “Stop talking like that. This is going to be simply dreadful. There’s not a proper Wizarding district anywhere nearby, not to mention we’re forbidden from using magic!”
Pansy frowned at her brother and said, still in an imperious tone, “Like what? And anyway it’s time you were in bed.”
“Look at you, trying to talk like Mother. Who’re you anyway, to tell me to go to bed. Go to bed yourself.” Draco just barely stopped himself from stomping his foot like an impetulant child, and knew from Pansy’s superior smirk that she knew what he was about.
“Hadn’t we all better go to bed?” asked Harry. It had been apparent from the very beginning of their journey to Godric’s Hollow, that Harry would be the peace keeper. He’d kept Ron from throwing punches at Draco every time Draco commented on the Weasley’s lack of funds, and had stopped sibling squabbles more than once along the way. “There’s sure to be a row if we’re heard talking here.”
“Not likely,” said Ron “it’s a ten minute walk from here to that large dining room, and any amount of stairs and passages along the way, and besides, this is the sort of house where they’ll let you do anything! However, it is late and I want to go exploring early tomorrow, so we’d best get some sleep.”
Pansy swept from the room without another word, and Draco left soon after, but could be heard grumbling something about bossy Weasels under his breath as he left. Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances and quickly readied for bed. Soon, all four children were sound asleep, each dreaming of what was to come in the morning.
When next morning came, there was a steady rain falling so thick outside the window, you could see neither the mountains nor the woods, not even the stream in the garden. Ron was very disappointed, as he had wanted to see if there were Hippogriffs in the forest.
“Of course it would be raining,” Draco said, his ever present scowl deepening as he stared at the rain. He’d not really wanted to go outside, and if it had been sunny would have complained about the heat. Draco was the sort of boy who found something to complain about at every opportunity.
The children had finished breakfast with the Professor, and after each accepting a lemon custard from him, had retired upstairs to the large, spacious drawing room with four large windows that had been aside for them. Pansy was reading through an interesting book on Potions she had found on a bookcase, and Harry was sketching quietly in a large chair by the fire. Ron had been playing a particularly vicious game of Chess with Draco and was about to capture Draco’s Queen, when Draco’s announcement broke the silence.
“Do stop bitching, Draco,” snapped Pansy. “Some of us are trying to accomplish something meaningful this morning,” she said with a distasteful glance at the shattered chess pieces lying beside the two boys. Chess had always been rather too brutal for Pansy to enjoy. She appreciated the intelligence needed for the game, but abhorred the destructive violence one encountered in Wizard’s Chess.
“In all likelihood, things should clear up in an hour or so.” Harry said, trying to cheer up both Pansy and Draco. “I don’t think these summer rains ever last very long.
“And what would you know about it Potter? When did you become such the expert on Lancashire weather?” Draco asked snidely. “You’ve never even been away from London, have you?”
It was a well known fact that Harry had been kept away from society for most of his life by his over protective parents. The Potters were high profile Aurors, their work catching Dark Wizards made it likely for attempts to be made to kidnap, or even kill, their son. Harry had been kept safe by his godfather, Sirius Black, and Sirius’ lover Remus, but his two guardians had recently been targeted by the Death Eaters, a group of Dark Wizards working to over throw the current Ministry of Magic, and the Potters had decided it would be safer for Harry to be away from London for the foreseeable future.
“Come on now, let’s not fight. I’d say we’re pretty well off.” Harry said, grinning as he watched Ron’s knight beheaded Draco’s Queen. Two more moves and Draco would have to admit defeat. “There’s a Wizarding Wireless so we can listen to the QUidditch match, and there’s plenty of books to read and games to play.”
The game progressed quickly from there and soon Draco was grumbling and scowling as they sorted out the pieces and returned them to their box. “Another game?” he muttered.
“Not for me,” Ron said, springing to his feet and dusting off his trousers. “I’m going exploring!”
Everyone, even Draco, agreed to this, and that was how the adventures began.
It was the sort of house that you never seem to come to the end of. It was full of unexpected places. The first few doors they tried let only to spare bedrooms, with dust mites floating in the air and making them sneeze. They had rather expected this, however, and quickly moved on. Soon they came to a very long room, full of paintings. And there they found a suit of armor, which had been enchanted to wave and bow to visitors and delighted Pansy to no end when he kissed her hand.
Harry and Ron made friends with a particular painting that pictured a fat, rosy cheeked lady in pink, and blushed red when she asked if they were paramours. Draco was sneering at all the portraits and had made a face at a little knight who then proceeded to challenge him to a duel at dawn.
“Mangy cur,” the little knight shouted. “I shall cut his tongue from his mouth!”
Draco continued to sneer at him. “I’d like to see you try!”
Ron pulled Draco from the room, muttering about mouthy little gits, and Pansy and Harry followed, after apologizing profusely to the knight and promising to keep Draco from the room for the rest of their time there.
After the excitement of the portrait room, the group was pleased to find what had once been a music room; there was a harp in one corner and an old Victorian piano in the center. Harry, who had spent hours at the piano back in London, was pleased to see that the Tuning Charms had been kept current, even if the room itself had several months of dust.
“One would think,” Pansy said after sneezing several times in a row, “that the Professor’s House Elf would do a better job of cleaning than this.”
“Well,” replied Harry slowly, as he had noticed that however even-tempered Pansy seemed to be most of the time, she took great exception to being contradicted. “He is only one Elf and this house does seem to require at least five, if not ten, to keep in good condition.”
“Yes, well, someone should speak to the Professor about hiring on more House Elves or something.”
The children, except Harry, grew tired of the music room quickly, as there were no interesting artifacts except for the piano, and even then the piano wasn’t charmed to play on his own, and Harry ran through his repertoire of songs rather quickly. It was by mutual agreement that the companions continued on their exploration of Godric’s Hollow.
After the music room, they had to go three steps down and then five steps up to a little upstairs hall, and a door that led out to a balcony and a whole series of rooms that led into each other and were lined with books, most of them very old books and some of them bigger than even a Bible in a Church. Pansy wanted to stay and see if there were any Restricted Books and Draco agreed, but Harry and Ron wanted to continue on their way, and soon after the library they came to a room that was almost empty, except for an old wardrobe, the sort with looking glass on the door and drawers for unmentionables. There was nothing else in the room at all, except for a dead, blue bottle on the windowsill.
“Nothing there,” said Ron in disappointment. Except for the Portrait room and the library, their exploration hadn’t turned up anything interesting at all.
They all trooped out again, hoping for something more interesting in the next room. All that is, except Harry. He stayed behind because she thought it would be worth while to check the door on the wardrobe, even though he was almost certain it would be locked. To his surprise it opened quite easily and two moth balls dropped out. Looking into the inside she saw several robes hung up, mostly heavy winter robes lined with fur. There was nothing Harry liked so much as the smell and touch of fur. He had used to hide in his father’s cupboard when he was alone and scared at night and his parents and Sirius and Remus were out, and only Peter, his father’s other best friend from school, was around, most likely asleep on the couch. Harry had always fallen asleep with his father’s fur lined robe tucked under his chin, and his mother’s fur muffler clutched in his hands. He had, of course, been grown out of that habit for several years, but he still loved the feel of fur.
Harry stepped into the wardrobe, wanting to see how many robes there were, and if there were any interesting ones to show the others. He left the door slightly opened of course, because he knew how foolish it was to shut oneself into any wardrobe. Soon he went further in, and saw that there was a second, and then a third row of robes in there. It was quite dark, so he stretched his arms out in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t bump his nose into the back of the wardrobe. She took a step further in, and then two or three more steps, always expecting to feel woodwork under the tips of her fingers, but he could not feel it.
“This must be a simply enormous wardrobe,” Harry whispered into the dark, going still further in and pushing the folds of the coats aside. Then he noticed that there was something crunching under his feet. More mothballs? He thought, stooping down to feel it with his hands. To his shock it was soft powdery and very cold, and wet, like snow. “This is very strange,” he murmured and went on a step or two further.
The next moment he realized that what was rubbing against his face was no longer soft fur, but something rather hard, and rough and even prickly. “Why it is just like branches of trees!” exclaimed Harry, and indeed, they were branches of trees, and it was indeed snow under his feet and not the woodwork of the wardrobe. He saw that there was a light ahead of him, not the two or three inches of where the back of the wardrobe ought to have been, but a long way off. Harry, being both practical and adventurous, hurried back to the wardrobe, grabbed a robe and began walking toward the light.
He was especially glad he’d gone back for the robe when something cold and soft began falling, and soon Harry’s dark hair was speckled with white, fluffy snow. Harry felt slightly unnerved to be in the middle of the wood at night alone, but he was also very interested to know what sort of land he was in, and what sorts of adventures he and the others could get up to. He looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see, between the dark trunks of the trees, the open door of the wardrobe, and the faint light from the room beyond. He had, of course, left the door open, as he was quite aware how silly it was to shut oneself into a wardrobe. It wouldn’t be too troublesome, Harry decided, to see where this path led, and then make his way back to the wardrobe to collect the others.
I can always get back if anything starts to go wrong thought Harry. He walked forward, crunch, crunch, crunch, over the snow and through the woods, towards the other light. In about ten minutes he reached it and saw that it was a Muggle lamppost. How peculiar. As he stood looking at it, wondering why there was a Muggle lamppost in the middle of a wood that clearly belonged to some Magical dimension and wondering what to do next, he heard the pitter, patter of feet coming toward her, and soon after that a very strange person stepped out from beyond the tree into the light of the lamppost.
Chapter 2
What Harry Found There
He was only a little taller than Harry himself, who wasn’t very tall to begin with. He carried, over his head, a strange, purple umbrella to keep away the snow. From the waist upward he was like a man, but his legs were shaped like a goat’s. The hair on them was glossy black and instead of feet, he had goat’s hooves. He also had a tail, but Harry did not notice this at first, because it was neatly caught up over the arm that held the umbrella, to keep it from trailing in the snow. He had a red, woolen muffler around his neck and his ski was rather reddish too. He had a strange but pleasant face with a short, pointed beard and curly hair, and from the hair sprouted two little horns, one on each side of his forehead. One of his hands held the umbrella and in the other hand were a stack of brown paper parcels. Harry thought that with the parcels, and the snow, he looked just as if he had been doing his Christmas shopping.
This was a faun, Harry realized. And when he saw Harry he gave such a start that the umbrella and parcels went flying every which way. “Goodness, gracious me,” exclaimed the little faun in a lovely Scottish burr. Harry and the faun stood looking at one another in amazement.
“Good evening,” Harry said, after a moment.
But the faun was so busy picking up his parcels that, at first he did not reply. When he had finished he gave her a little bow and said, “Good evening.” The faun peered at Harry with interest and continued, “Excuse me sir, I don’t wish to be inquisitive, but would I be right in assuming that you are a Son of Adam?”
“My name’s Harry,” he replied, not quite understanding what the faun was asking, as Wizards in general had little knowledge of Christianity.
“But you are, forgive me for asking, what they call a boy? A human?”
“Well, of course I’m a boy,” said Harry, trying not to giggle at the faun’s obvious confusion. He had, of course, read about such beings in Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them, but most fauns were notoriously shy and kept away from humans as much as possible. Judging from this particular faun’s shock at coming upon a human, Harry could surmise that humans weren’t a regular occurrence in this land beyond the wardrobe.
“To be sure, to be sure,” said the faun, “how silly of me. But I’ve never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I’m delighted! That is to say…” and then he stopped, as if he had been about to say something he hadn’t meant to but managed to stop in time. “Delighted, delighted,” he went on. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pettigrew.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Harry, who had been raised to be polite. “I’m Harry.”
“It’s pleased I am to meet you as well, Mr. Harry. But, please, allow me to ask, how have you come to find yourself traveling into Narnia?”
“Narnia? What’s that?” asked Harry, anticipating the answer before Mr. Pettigrew gave it.
“This is Narnia,” said the faun. “Where we are now, all that lies between the lamppost and the great castle of Hogwarts belongs to Narnia. And you, you have come from the Wild Woods of the West?”
“I…I got in through the wardrobe, in the spare room,” said Harry.
“Arrr,” said Mr. Pettigrew in a melancholy sort of voice, “if only I had worked harder at Geography, I’d certainly know more of these strange countries I’ve no idea where this War Drobe and Spare Oom lie.”
“But they’re not countries,” laughed Harry, “it’s only just back there. At least, I’m not sure, it’s summer there.”
“And it’s winter in Narnia and has been for a great long while and we will both surely catch cold if we stay here talking in the snow much longer. Son of Adam, from the far land of Spare Oom, where eternal summer reigns, round the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Harry. “But I was wondering if I ought to be getting back. I’m sure the others are worried about me by now.”
“It’s only just around the corner and they’ll be a roaring fire, toast and kippers and cake!”
“That’s very kind of you, but I won’t be able to stay long.”
“You will take my arm, Son of Adam; I will be able to hold the umbrella over both of us. That’s the way, now, this way, Son of Adam. Off we go.”
And so Harry found himself walking through the wood, with this strange creature, feeling as if they had known one another all their lives.”
They had not gone far before they came to a place where the ground became rough, and there were rocks all about and little hills up and little hills down. At the bottom of one small valley, Mr. Pettigrew turned straight to the side, as if he were about to walk right into a very large rock, but at the last moment, Harry saw that he was leading the way into a very large cave.
As soon as they were inside, he found himself blinking into the light of a very warm fire, and Mr. Pettigrew stooped and took a small piece of wood right out the fire with a neat pair of little tongs and lit a lamp.
Not as effective as Lumos, thought Harry, but effective enough for the faun, apparently.
“Now, we shan’t be long,” Mr. Pettigrew said, and immediately put a kettle on.
Harry thought he had never been in a nicer place, not even the library back at the Professor’s house. It was a little, dry, clean cave of reddish stone, and a carpet on the floor and two little wooden chairs by the fire.
“One for me and one for a friend” said Mr. Pettigrew as Harry admired the fine workmanship of the chairs. He thought it was quite too bad Ron wasn’t here. The older boy had shown a marked interest in architecture and carpentry. He would have appreciated the simple elegance of Mr. Pettigrew’s furniture.
There was also a stove and a table and a dresser, and a mantle piece over the fire and above that was a picture of an old faun with a grey beard. In one corner there was a door, and Harry felt sure that it must lead to Mr. Pettigrew’s bedroom. And on one wall was a shelf full of books. Harry, who had inherited a fierce bibliophilic attitude from his godfathers, itched to read through them, and so he browsed through them as Mr. Pettigrew was setting up the tea. They had titles like The Life and Letters of Salazar and Nymphs and their Ways and Men, Monks and Gamekeepers a Study in Popular Legend and Is Man A Myth?
“Now, Son of Adam,” said the faun.
And, really, it was a wonderful tea. There was a nice brown egg for both of them, and then sardines on toast and then toast with honey and then a sugar topped cake. Harry, who had never enjoyed a proper Muggle tea, made mental notes to share with Remus when next he saw him. And when Harry was tired of eating, the faun began to talk.
He had wonderful tales to tell of life in the forest. He told of midnight dances and how the nymphs who lived in the wells and the dryads who lived in the trees came out to dance with the fauns, and about long hunting parties after the milk white stag, who could give you wishes when you caught him. He told of feasting and treasure seeking with the wild, red dwarfs in the deep mines and caverns far beneath the forest floor, and then about summer when the woods were green, and old Salazar on his donkey would come to visit them and the rivers would run with wine instead of water and the whole forest would give itself up to jollity for weeks on end.
“But, it’s always winter now,” Mr. Pettigrew added gloomily. Then to cheer himself up, he took from its case on the dresser a strange little flute, that looked as if it were made of straw, and began to play. And the tune he played made Harry want to laugh, and cry, and dance and go to sleep all at the same time.
It must have been hours later that Harry shook himself and said, “Oh, Mr. Pettigrew, I’m so sorry to stop you, and I do so love that tune, but I must be getting home now. I only meant to stay for a few minutes.”
“It’s no good now, you know,” said the faun, putting down his flute and shaking his head in a very sorrowful manner.
“No good?” repeated Harry. “What’s no good? I’ve got to go home at once, the others will be wondering what’s happened to me.”
But a moment later he asked, “Mr. Pettigrew, whatever is the matter?”
For the faun’s brown eyes had filled with tears and the tears spilled over to trickle down his round cheeks. Soon they were running of the end of his nose, and he covered his face with his hands, and began to howl.
“Mr. Pettigrew! Mr. Pettigrew!” cried Harry in great distress. He hated to see anyone crying so, and had no idea what had set the faun off. “Whatever is the matter? Please stop crying? Aren’t you well? Please, Mr. Pettigrew, please tell me what’s wrong!”
The faun continued sobbing as if his heart would break. And even when Harry went over and put his arms around the faun, and offered up his handkerchief. Mr. Pettigrew merely took the cloth and began using it, wringing it out when it became too wet to be any more use, so that soon Harry was standing in a damp patch.
“Oh, Mr. Pettigrew!” Harry cried, shaking the faun slightly to try to stop the sobbing. “Stop, stop it at once! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a great big faun like you. What in Merlin’s name are you on about?”
“I’m*sob* crying *sob* because *sob* I’m such *sob* a bad *sob* faun!” He inhaled loudly at the end of this proclamation, breath short from all the sobbing.
“I don’t think you’re a bad faun at all,” Harry said gently. “I think you’re a very good, and very kind faun! You are quite the nicest faun I’ve ever met.” And it was true, because Harry had never met another faun before. But he thought this would be true no matter how many fauns he met.
“Oh, you wouldn’t say that if you knew!” cried Mr. Pettigrew between his sobs. “No, I’m a very bad faun. I don’t suppose there was a worse faun since the beginning of the world!”
“But what have you done?”
“My old father,” said Mr. Pettigrew, “that’s his picture over the mantle piece. He would never have done a thing like this!”
“A thing like what?” asked Harry, genuinely concerned now, that this wasn’t merely a hysteric episode, but something rather more serious.
“Like what I’ve done! Taken service under the Dark Lady! That’s what I am. I’m in the pay of the Dark Lady!”
“The Dark Lady?” asked Harry, not liking the sound of that. “Who’s she?”
“Why it’s she what’s got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter and never, ever Christmas! Think of that!”
“How bloody awful!” said Harry, forgetting his manners for once, for while Wizard’s didn’t practice Christianity as a rule, they did celebrate Christmas. “But what does she pay you for?”
“That’s the worst of it!” wailed Mr. Pettigrew with a deep groan. “I’m a kidnapper for her! That’s what I am. Look at me, Mr. Harry, would you believe I’m the sort of faun who would meet a poor innocent child in the wood, one who had never done me any harm, and bring it back to my home, make friends with it, bring it back to my home all for the purpose of lulling it asleep and turning it over to the Dark Lady?”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”
“But I have!” said the faun distraughtly.
“Well,” said Harry rather slowly, for he wanted to be truthful but not harsh with the faun, “well, that was pretty bad, but you’re so sorry for it that I’m sure you’ll never do it again.”
“But Son of Adam,” wailed the faun, “don’t you see? It’s not something I have done; it’s something I’m doing now, this very moment!”
“What do you mean?” asked Harry, very white, though he thought he had a good idea of what the faun meant, but he wanted to hear it from Mr. Pettigrew.
“It’s you! You’re the child!” said Pettigrew. “I had orders from the Dark Lady that ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood, to capture them and hand them over to her, and you’re the first I’ve ever met and I pretended to be your friend and ask you to tea and all the time I’ve been meaning to wait until you were sleeping to go and tell her.
“Oh, but you won’t, Mr. Pettigrew, will you? You really mustn’t.”
“But if I don’t,” cried the faun, “she’s sure to find out and she’ll have my tail cut off, and my horns sawn off and my beard plucked out and then she’ll wave her wand and turn my beautiful cloven hooves into stupid sodden hooves like a wretched horse’s and if she’s extra angry she’ll turn me into stone and I’ll be only a statue of a faun in her courtyard until the four thrones at Hogwarts are filled and goodness knows when that will happen, or if it will happen at all!”
Harry had a difficult time keeping up with Mr. Pettigrew, as he spoke faster and faster the more he spoke, but he caught the drift of what was said. If this Dark Lady had a wand, was it possible she was a rogue Dark Witch who had somehow stumbled into Narnia and proclaimed herself master? And what was this about four thrones. Could it be coincidence that Harry had happened upon Narnia? Was he to be one of the four to fill those thrones? Never one to take Prophesies or Destiny lightly, Harry had to wonder if Ron, and Draco and Pansy could possibly be the other three the thrones were meant for.
“Mr. Pettigrew, listen to me. Let me go back to the wardrobe and I promise I will find a way to free you from the Dark Lady’s service.” Harry gripped the faun’s hands has he made his promise.
“Of course I will. Of course, I’ve got to. I see that now. I hadn’t known what humans were like before I met you. Of course I can’t turn you over to the Dark Lady, now that I know you. But we must be off at once, I’ll see you back to the lamppost, and we must go carefully and quietly. She has spies everywhere. Even some of the trees are her servants!”
The two of them got up and left the tea things on the table. The faun bundled Harry back into his robes and once again grabbed his umbrella before taking Harry’s arm and leading the way out into the snow. Their journey back was not at all like their journey to the cave. They stole along briskly and quietly without saying a word through the darkest parts of the forest, glancing all around them, every moment expecting the Dark Lady to come barreling down. Harry was relieved when they reached the lamppost again.
“I expect you can find your own way back to Spare Oom and War Drobe?”
“Yes, I believe I can,” said Harry, and even as he spoke he spotted the faint patch light from the opened wardrobe. “I can see the door!”
“Be off home as quick as you can!” said Mr. Pettigrew. “Can you ever forgive me for what I meant to do?”
“Why, of course I can, and I do hope you won’t get into trouble before I can come up with a way to free you!”
“Good-bye, Son of Adam. Perhaps I may keep the handkerchief?”
Harry laughed. “Of course you may! I’ll see you soon, Mr. Pettigrew. I promise!” And then he ran toward the small patch of light, as swiftly as his legs could carry him.
And soon, instead of rough branches brushing his face, he felt the comforting softness of the fur-lined robes, and soon had to shed his own robe from the heat. Instead of crunchy snow under his feet, he felt wooden boards. And all at once he found himself jumping out of the wardrobe into the same empty room from which the whole adventure had started. She shut the wardrobe door tightly behind her and looked around, panting for breath.
It was still raining, and he could hear the voices of the others from the passage. He had no idea how much time had gone by, nor anyway to tell if time in the wardrobe passed the same as time out of the wardrobe, and decided to play it by ear. If the others seemed overly concerned about where he had been, he would know that time marched along at the same pace in and out of Narnia, and if not, well, he would soon find out.
Ron’s bright, red head poked into the empty room and when he saw Harry he grinned and asked, “Did you find anything in here? I just turned around and saw you weren’t there. Everything alright?”
Harry grinned. “You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Let’s go back to our library and I’ll tell all of you about it!” Harry grabbed Ron’s hand and rushed into the hallway, eager to share his tale with the others, and anxious to come up with a plan to free Narnia.
More author's notes: So, now you've read it, what do you think? Was Harry too un-Harryish? It's rather hard turning a ten year old girl into a fifteen year old male! Also, if anyone would like to offer their services as beta, I'd be grateful! I've been editing myself, and it's getting tiresome! I expect to crank out a couple chapters a week, and would like to keep posts fairly regular (maybe every Monday or every other Monday). Either drop me a comment or e-mail to jessie_lea_21@hotmail.com
Author: sparkysparky
Rating: PG for now
Warnings: AU, slight OOC (not to much I hope), bastardized!C.S.Lewis
Summary: A re-telling of the classic "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe"
Feedback: Makes me giggle! Constructive criticsism preferred over flames. Adoration always welcome!
Harry and the Wardrobe
Chapter 1
Into the Wardrobe
Once there were 4 children whose names were Harry Potter, Draco and Pansy Malfoy and Ron Weasley. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent to the country for the summer holiday, to keep them away from the uneasy atmosphere of Diagon Alley. Draco and Pansy were siblings, and their parents knew of a safe place for the children to spend the summer before their tutors returned in the fall. They were also associates of Arthur Weasley, who held a high position in the Ministry and were friends with Harry’s parents, who were Aurors, and offered to send Harry and Ron along with their children. The Potters and Weasleys agreed, as London in the summer was no place to keep children, especially with inner turmoil at the Ministry. Ron’s younger sister Ginny was invited as well, but at the last moment chose to travel to America with her friend Luna and Luna’s father. Ron had five older brothers who all held one position or another in the Ministry, and none had time to mind a nearly grown man who spent most days in the woods near the Weasley’s house.
The children were sent to the house of an old Professor, who had taught their parents when they were younger. The professor lived deep in the country, ten miles from the nearest Floo Station, and two miles from the nearest Owl Post. He had no wife and he lived in a very old house called Godric’s Hollow, with a housekeeper called Mrs. McGonagall and three servants. Their names were Flitwick, Filch and Dobby, but that’s neither here nor there for this particular story, as they do not appear much, except to frighten the children into behaving.
The professor himself was a very old man, with shaggy white hair that grew over most of his face as well as his head. His eyes had a peculiar twinkle most of the time, and the children always had the sense that he knew much more than he let on. The Professor’s name was Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, but the children called him Professor. The children liked him almost at once.
On the first evening, when he came out to meet them at the front door, Harry, who was a very sheltered fifteen, thought the Professor was quite the most interesting person he had ever met, and made a mental note to speak privately with the professor about his library, which, from what his mother had told him, was quite the best library in all of England. Draco, who was just a few months older than Harry and rather ill-tempered, sniggered at the sight of the Professor’s brightly colored house robe and his odd half-moon glasses. Pansy, who was sixteen and not fond of her brother’s rudeness, smacked him in the head and stomped on his foot. Ron, the eldest at seventeen, was more interested in the architecture of the house to notice much about his host, but did manage to ask who the architect was, and if his firm was still in business. (Ron had high hopes of becoming an architect after school.)
The Professor introduced them to the staff. Mrs. McGonagall was a very stern and strict women who gave them each glares and set down firm Rules of Behavior. Filch was rather scary, and even Draco, who denied being afraid of anything, agreed to keep a wide berth from Filch and his temperamental familiar, Mrs. Norris. Dobby, the house elf, was the children’s favorite servant. Dobby, who had never had children to care for, was so overcome with joy that he sobbed continuously on the journey from the Great Hall to the children’s rooms. Pansy and Draco each got their own room, as they insisted upon it (after all, Malfoys (even rather nice Malfoys like Pansy) did not share quarters with Regular Folk, especially not Poor Wizards (like Ron) or Half-blood Wizards (like Harry)), but Ron and Harry were happy enough to share a room. Ron, because he was used to a crowd with six brothers and sisters, and Harry because he had always wanted a brother or a sister and was often rather lonely as an only child. Thus, Ron and Harry were awarded the largest bedroom, which was rather lovely, large and airy and had a large bay window that overlooked the pond and the forest beyond.
Later, after everyone had unpacked and eaten a light dinner, Pansy and Draco gathered in Ron and Harry’s room to talk it all over.
“We’ve fallen on our feet, no mistake,” said Ron, smiling cheerfully. “This summer is going to be splendid! That old chap will let us do anything we like.”
“I think he’s rather an old dear,” said Pansy. “He seems very intelligent and Mother told us that he’s a very powerful Wizard. It’s why she was happy enough to send us to him for the summer.” Her voice took on a rather superior, lecturing tone and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Oh, come off it, Pansy.” His nose had scrunched up in annoyance, and he had the look of someone who was tired, but pretending not to be tired, which always made a body ill-tempered. “Stop talking like that. This is going to be simply dreadful. There’s not a proper Wizarding district anywhere nearby, not to mention we’re forbidden from using magic!”
Pansy frowned at her brother and said, still in an imperious tone, “Like what? And anyway it’s time you were in bed.”
“Look at you, trying to talk like Mother. Who’re you anyway, to tell me to go to bed. Go to bed yourself.” Draco just barely stopped himself from stomping his foot like an impetulant child, and knew from Pansy’s superior smirk that she knew what he was about.
“Hadn’t we all better go to bed?” asked Harry. It had been apparent from the very beginning of their journey to Godric’s Hollow, that Harry would be the peace keeper. He’d kept Ron from throwing punches at Draco every time Draco commented on the Weasley’s lack of funds, and had stopped sibling squabbles more than once along the way. “There’s sure to be a row if we’re heard talking here.”
“Not likely,” said Ron “it’s a ten minute walk from here to that large dining room, and any amount of stairs and passages along the way, and besides, this is the sort of house where they’ll let you do anything! However, it is late and I want to go exploring early tomorrow, so we’d best get some sleep.”
Pansy swept from the room without another word, and Draco left soon after, but could be heard grumbling something about bossy Weasels under his breath as he left. Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances and quickly readied for bed. Soon, all four children were sound asleep, each dreaming of what was to come in the morning.
When next morning came, there was a steady rain falling so thick outside the window, you could see neither the mountains nor the woods, not even the stream in the garden. Ron was very disappointed, as he had wanted to see if there were Hippogriffs in the forest.
“Of course it would be raining,” Draco said, his ever present scowl deepening as he stared at the rain. He’d not really wanted to go outside, and if it had been sunny would have complained about the heat. Draco was the sort of boy who found something to complain about at every opportunity.
The children had finished breakfast with the Professor, and after each accepting a lemon custard from him, had retired upstairs to the large, spacious drawing room with four large windows that had been aside for them. Pansy was reading through an interesting book on Potions she had found on a bookcase, and Harry was sketching quietly in a large chair by the fire. Ron had been playing a particularly vicious game of Chess with Draco and was about to capture Draco’s Queen, when Draco’s announcement broke the silence.
“Do stop bitching, Draco,” snapped Pansy. “Some of us are trying to accomplish something meaningful this morning,” she said with a distasteful glance at the shattered chess pieces lying beside the two boys. Chess had always been rather too brutal for Pansy to enjoy. She appreciated the intelligence needed for the game, but abhorred the destructive violence one encountered in Wizard’s Chess.
“In all likelihood, things should clear up in an hour or so.” Harry said, trying to cheer up both Pansy and Draco. “I don’t think these summer rains ever last very long.
“And what would you know about it Potter? When did you become such the expert on Lancashire weather?” Draco asked snidely. “You’ve never even been away from London, have you?”
It was a well known fact that Harry had been kept away from society for most of his life by his over protective parents. The Potters were high profile Aurors, their work catching Dark Wizards made it likely for attempts to be made to kidnap, or even kill, their son. Harry had been kept safe by his godfather, Sirius Black, and Sirius’ lover Remus, but his two guardians had recently been targeted by the Death Eaters, a group of Dark Wizards working to over throw the current Ministry of Magic, and the Potters had decided it would be safer for Harry to be away from London for the foreseeable future.
“Come on now, let’s not fight. I’d say we’re pretty well off.” Harry said, grinning as he watched Ron’s knight beheaded Draco’s Queen. Two more moves and Draco would have to admit defeat. “There’s a Wizarding Wireless so we can listen to the QUidditch match, and there’s plenty of books to read and games to play.”
The game progressed quickly from there and soon Draco was grumbling and scowling as they sorted out the pieces and returned them to their box. “Another game?” he muttered.
“Not for me,” Ron said, springing to his feet and dusting off his trousers. “I’m going exploring!”
Everyone, even Draco, agreed to this, and that was how the adventures began.
It was the sort of house that you never seem to come to the end of. It was full of unexpected places. The first few doors they tried let only to spare bedrooms, with dust mites floating in the air and making them sneeze. They had rather expected this, however, and quickly moved on. Soon they came to a very long room, full of paintings. And there they found a suit of armor, which had been enchanted to wave and bow to visitors and delighted Pansy to no end when he kissed her hand.
Harry and Ron made friends with a particular painting that pictured a fat, rosy cheeked lady in pink, and blushed red when she asked if they were paramours. Draco was sneering at all the portraits and had made a face at a little knight who then proceeded to challenge him to a duel at dawn.
“Mangy cur,” the little knight shouted. “I shall cut his tongue from his mouth!”
Draco continued to sneer at him. “I’d like to see you try!”
Ron pulled Draco from the room, muttering about mouthy little gits, and Pansy and Harry followed, after apologizing profusely to the knight and promising to keep Draco from the room for the rest of their time there.
After the excitement of the portrait room, the group was pleased to find what had once been a music room; there was a harp in one corner and an old Victorian piano in the center. Harry, who had spent hours at the piano back in London, was pleased to see that the Tuning Charms had been kept current, even if the room itself had several months of dust.
“One would think,” Pansy said after sneezing several times in a row, “that the Professor’s House Elf would do a better job of cleaning than this.”
“Well,” replied Harry slowly, as he had noticed that however even-tempered Pansy seemed to be most of the time, she took great exception to being contradicted. “He is only one Elf and this house does seem to require at least five, if not ten, to keep in good condition.”
“Yes, well, someone should speak to the Professor about hiring on more House Elves or something.”
The children, except Harry, grew tired of the music room quickly, as there were no interesting artifacts except for the piano, and even then the piano wasn’t charmed to play on his own, and Harry ran through his repertoire of songs rather quickly. It was by mutual agreement that the companions continued on their exploration of Godric’s Hollow.
After the music room, they had to go three steps down and then five steps up to a little upstairs hall, and a door that led out to a balcony and a whole series of rooms that led into each other and were lined with books, most of them very old books and some of them bigger than even a Bible in a Church. Pansy wanted to stay and see if there were any Restricted Books and Draco agreed, but Harry and Ron wanted to continue on their way, and soon after the library they came to a room that was almost empty, except for an old wardrobe, the sort with looking glass on the door and drawers for unmentionables. There was nothing else in the room at all, except for a dead, blue bottle on the windowsill.
“Nothing there,” said Ron in disappointment. Except for the Portrait room and the library, their exploration hadn’t turned up anything interesting at all.
They all trooped out again, hoping for something more interesting in the next room. All that is, except Harry. He stayed behind because she thought it would be worth while to check the door on the wardrobe, even though he was almost certain it would be locked. To his surprise it opened quite easily and two moth balls dropped out. Looking into the inside she saw several robes hung up, mostly heavy winter robes lined with fur. There was nothing Harry liked so much as the smell and touch of fur. He had used to hide in his father’s cupboard when he was alone and scared at night and his parents and Sirius and Remus were out, and only Peter, his father’s other best friend from school, was around, most likely asleep on the couch. Harry had always fallen asleep with his father’s fur lined robe tucked under his chin, and his mother’s fur muffler clutched in his hands. He had, of course, been grown out of that habit for several years, but he still loved the feel of fur.
Harry stepped into the wardrobe, wanting to see how many robes there were, and if there were any interesting ones to show the others. He left the door slightly opened of course, because he knew how foolish it was to shut oneself into any wardrobe. Soon he went further in, and saw that there was a second, and then a third row of robes in there. It was quite dark, so he stretched his arms out in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t bump his nose into the back of the wardrobe. She took a step further in, and then two or three more steps, always expecting to feel woodwork under the tips of her fingers, but he could not feel it.
“This must be a simply enormous wardrobe,” Harry whispered into the dark, going still further in and pushing the folds of the coats aside. Then he noticed that there was something crunching under his feet. More mothballs? He thought, stooping down to feel it with his hands. To his shock it was soft powdery and very cold, and wet, like snow. “This is very strange,” he murmured and went on a step or two further.
The next moment he realized that what was rubbing against his face was no longer soft fur, but something rather hard, and rough and even prickly. “Why it is just like branches of trees!” exclaimed Harry, and indeed, they were branches of trees, and it was indeed snow under his feet and not the woodwork of the wardrobe. He saw that there was a light ahead of him, not the two or three inches of where the back of the wardrobe ought to have been, but a long way off. Harry, being both practical and adventurous, hurried back to the wardrobe, grabbed a robe and began walking toward the light.
He was especially glad he’d gone back for the robe when something cold and soft began falling, and soon Harry’s dark hair was speckled with white, fluffy snow. Harry felt slightly unnerved to be in the middle of the wood at night alone, but he was also very interested to know what sort of land he was in, and what sorts of adventures he and the others could get up to. He looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see, between the dark trunks of the trees, the open door of the wardrobe, and the faint light from the room beyond. He had, of course, left the door open, as he was quite aware how silly it was to shut oneself into a wardrobe. It wouldn’t be too troublesome, Harry decided, to see where this path led, and then make his way back to the wardrobe to collect the others.
I can always get back if anything starts to go wrong thought Harry. He walked forward, crunch, crunch, crunch, over the snow and through the woods, towards the other light. In about ten minutes he reached it and saw that it was a Muggle lamppost. How peculiar. As he stood looking at it, wondering why there was a Muggle lamppost in the middle of a wood that clearly belonged to some Magical dimension and wondering what to do next, he heard the pitter, patter of feet coming toward her, and soon after that a very strange person stepped out from beyond the tree into the light of the lamppost.
Chapter 2
What Harry Found There
He was only a little taller than Harry himself, who wasn’t very tall to begin with. He carried, over his head, a strange, purple umbrella to keep away the snow. From the waist upward he was like a man, but his legs were shaped like a goat’s. The hair on them was glossy black and instead of feet, he had goat’s hooves. He also had a tail, but Harry did not notice this at first, because it was neatly caught up over the arm that held the umbrella, to keep it from trailing in the snow. He had a red, woolen muffler around his neck and his ski was rather reddish too. He had a strange but pleasant face with a short, pointed beard and curly hair, and from the hair sprouted two little horns, one on each side of his forehead. One of his hands held the umbrella and in the other hand were a stack of brown paper parcels. Harry thought that with the parcels, and the snow, he looked just as if he had been doing his Christmas shopping.
This was a faun, Harry realized. And when he saw Harry he gave such a start that the umbrella and parcels went flying every which way. “Goodness, gracious me,” exclaimed the little faun in a lovely Scottish burr. Harry and the faun stood looking at one another in amazement.
“Good evening,” Harry said, after a moment.
But the faun was so busy picking up his parcels that, at first he did not reply. When he had finished he gave her a little bow and said, “Good evening.” The faun peered at Harry with interest and continued, “Excuse me sir, I don’t wish to be inquisitive, but would I be right in assuming that you are a Son of Adam?”
“My name’s Harry,” he replied, not quite understanding what the faun was asking, as Wizards in general had little knowledge of Christianity.
“But you are, forgive me for asking, what they call a boy? A human?”
“Well, of course I’m a boy,” said Harry, trying not to giggle at the faun’s obvious confusion. He had, of course, read about such beings in Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them, but most fauns were notoriously shy and kept away from humans as much as possible. Judging from this particular faun’s shock at coming upon a human, Harry could surmise that humans weren’t a regular occurrence in this land beyond the wardrobe.
“To be sure, to be sure,” said the faun, “how silly of me. But I’ve never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I’m delighted! That is to say…” and then he stopped, as if he had been about to say something he hadn’t meant to but managed to stop in time. “Delighted, delighted,” he went on. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pettigrew.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Harry, who had been raised to be polite. “I’m Harry.”
“It’s pleased I am to meet you as well, Mr. Harry. But, please, allow me to ask, how have you come to find yourself traveling into Narnia?”
“Narnia? What’s that?” asked Harry, anticipating the answer before Mr. Pettigrew gave it.
“This is Narnia,” said the faun. “Where we are now, all that lies between the lamppost and the great castle of Hogwarts belongs to Narnia. And you, you have come from the Wild Woods of the West?”
“I…I got in through the wardrobe, in the spare room,” said Harry.
“Arrr,” said Mr. Pettigrew in a melancholy sort of voice, “if only I had worked harder at Geography, I’d certainly know more of these strange countries I’ve no idea where this War Drobe and Spare Oom lie.”
“But they’re not countries,” laughed Harry, “it’s only just back there. At least, I’m not sure, it’s summer there.”
“And it’s winter in Narnia and has been for a great long while and we will both surely catch cold if we stay here talking in the snow much longer. Son of Adam, from the far land of Spare Oom, where eternal summer reigns, round the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Harry. “But I was wondering if I ought to be getting back. I’m sure the others are worried about me by now.”
“It’s only just around the corner and they’ll be a roaring fire, toast and kippers and cake!”
“That’s very kind of you, but I won’t be able to stay long.”
“You will take my arm, Son of Adam; I will be able to hold the umbrella over both of us. That’s the way, now, this way, Son of Adam. Off we go.”
And so Harry found himself walking through the wood, with this strange creature, feeling as if they had known one another all their lives.”
They had not gone far before they came to a place where the ground became rough, and there were rocks all about and little hills up and little hills down. At the bottom of one small valley, Mr. Pettigrew turned straight to the side, as if he were about to walk right into a very large rock, but at the last moment, Harry saw that he was leading the way into a very large cave.
As soon as they were inside, he found himself blinking into the light of a very warm fire, and Mr. Pettigrew stooped and took a small piece of wood right out the fire with a neat pair of little tongs and lit a lamp.
Not as effective as Lumos, thought Harry, but effective enough for the faun, apparently.
“Now, we shan’t be long,” Mr. Pettigrew said, and immediately put a kettle on.
Harry thought he had never been in a nicer place, not even the library back at the Professor’s house. It was a little, dry, clean cave of reddish stone, and a carpet on the floor and two little wooden chairs by the fire.
“One for me and one for a friend” said Mr. Pettigrew as Harry admired the fine workmanship of the chairs. He thought it was quite too bad Ron wasn’t here. The older boy had shown a marked interest in architecture and carpentry. He would have appreciated the simple elegance of Mr. Pettigrew’s furniture.
There was also a stove and a table and a dresser, and a mantle piece over the fire and above that was a picture of an old faun with a grey beard. In one corner there was a door, and Harry felt sure that it must lead to Mr. Pettigrew’s bedroom. And on one wall was a shelf full of books. Harry, who had inherited a fierce bibliophilic attitude from his godfathers, itched to read through them, and so he browsed through them as Mr. Pettigrew was setting up the tea. They had titles like The Life and Letters of Salazar and Nymphs and their Ways and Men, Monks and Gamekeepers a Study in Popular Legend and Is Man A Myth?
“Now, Son of Adam,” said the faun.
And, really, it was a wonderful tea. There was a nice brown egg for both of them, and then sardines on toast and then toast with honey and then a sugar topped cake. Harry, who had never enjoyed a proper Muggle tea, made mental notes to share with Remus when next he saw him. And when Harry was tired of eating, the faun began to talk.
He had wonderful tales to tell of life in the forest. He told of midnight dances and how the nymphs who lived in the wells and the dryads who lived in the trees came out to dance with the fauns, and about long hunting parties after the milk white stag, who could give you wishes when you caught him. He told of feasting and treasure seeking with the wild, red dwarfs in the deep mines and caverns far beneath the forest floor, and then about summer when the woods were green, and old Salazar on his donkey would come to visit them and the rivers would run with wine instead of water and the whole forest would give itself up to jollity for weeks on end.
“But, it’s always winter now,” Mr. Pettigrew added gloomily. Then to cheer himself up, he took from its case on the dresser a strange little flute, that looked as if it were made of straw, and began to play. And the tune he played made Harry want to laugh, and cry, and dance and go to sleep all at the same time.
It must have been hours later that Harry shook himself and said, “Oh, Mr. Pettigrew, I’m so sorry to stop you, and I do so love that tune, but I must be getting home now. I only meant to stay for a few minutes.”
“It’s no good now, you know,” said the faun, putting down his flute and shaking his head in a very sorrowful manner.
“No good?” repeated Harry. “What’s no good? I’ve got to go home at once, the others will be wondering what’s happened to me.”
But a moment later he asked, “Mr. Pettigrew, whatever is the matter?”
For the faun’s brown eyes had filled with tears and the tears spilled over to trickle down his round cheeks. Soon they were running of the end of his nose, and he covered his face with his hands, and began to howl.
“Mr. Pettigrew! Mr. Pettigrew!” cried Harry in great distress. He hated to see anyone crying so, and had no idea what had set the faun off. “Whatever is the matter? Please stop crying? Aren’t you well? Please, Mr. Pettigrew, please tell me what’s wrong!”
The faun continued sobbing as if his heart would break. And even when Harry went over and put his arms around the faun, and offered up his handkerchief. Mr. Pettigrew merely took the cloth and began using it, wringing it out when it became too wet to be any more use, so that soon Harry was standing in a damp patch.
“Oh, Mr. Pettigrew!” Harry cried, shaking the faun slightly to try to stop the sobbing. “Stop, stop it at once! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a great big faun like you. What in Merlin’s name are you on about?”
“I’m*sob* crying *sob* because *sob* I’m such *sob* a bad *sob* faun!” He inhaled loudly at the end of this proclamation, breath short from all the sobbing.
“I don’t think you’re a bad faun at all,” Harry said gently. “I think you’re a very good, and very kind faun! You are quite the nicest faun I’ve ever met.” And it was true, because Harry had never met another faun before. But he thought this would be true no matter how many fauns he met.
“Oh, you wouldn’t say that if you knew!” cried Mr. Pettigrew between his sobs. “No, I’m a very bad faun. I don’t suppose there was a worse faun since the beginning of the world!”
“But what have you done?”
“My old father,” said Mr. Pettigrew, “that’s his picture over the mantle piece. He would never have done a thing like this!”
“A thing like what?” asked Harry, genuinely concerned now, that this wasn’t merely a hysteric episode, but something rather more serious.
“Like what I’ve done! Taken service under the Dark Lady! That’s what I am. I’m in the pay of the Dark Lady!”
“The Dark Lady?” asked Harry, not liking the sound of that. “Who’s she?”
“Why it’s she what’s got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter and never, ever Christmas! Think of that!”
“How bloody awful!” said Harry, forgetting his manners for once, for while Wizard’s didn’t practice Christianity as a rule, they did celebrate Christmas. “But what does she pay you for?”
“That’s the worst of it!” wailed Mr. Pettigrew with a deep groan. “I’m a kidnapper for her! That’s what I am. Look at me, Mr. Harry, would you believe I’m the sort of faun who would meet a poor innocent child in the wood, one who had never done me any harm, and bring it back to my home, make friends with it, bring it back to my home all for the purpose of lulling it asleep and turning it over to the Dark Lady?”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”
“But I have!” said the faun distraughtly.
“Well,” said Harry rather slowly, for he wanted to be truthful but not harsh with the faun, “well, that was pretty bad, but you’re so sorry for it that I’m sure you’ll never do it again.”
“But Son of Adam,” wailed the faun, “don’t you see? It’s not something I have done; it’s something I’m doing now, this very moment!”
“What do you mean?” asked Harry, very white, though he thought he had a good idea of what the faun meant, but he wanted to hear it from Mr. Pettigrew.
“It’s you! You’re the child!” said Pettigrew. “I had orders from the Dark Lady that ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood, to capture them and hand them over to her, and you’re the first I’ve ever met and I pretended to be your friend and ask you to tea and all the time I’ve been meaning to wait until you were sleeping to go and tell her.
“Oh, but you won’t, Mr. Pettigrew, will you? You really mustn’t.”
“But if I don’t,” cried the faun, “she’s sure to find out and she’ll have my tail cut off, and my horns sawn off and my beard plucked out and then she’ll wave her wand and turn my beautiful cloven hooves into stupid sodden hooves like a wretched horse’s and if she’s extra angry she’ll turn me into stone and I’ll be only a statue of a faun in her courtyard until the four thrones at Hogwarts are filled and goodness knows when that will happen, or if it will happen at all!”
Harry had a difficult time keeping up with Mr. Pettigrew, as he spoke faster and faster the more he spoke, but he caught the drift of what was said. If this Dark Lady had a wand, was it possible she was a rogue Dark Witch who had somehow stumbled into Narnia and proclaimed herself master? And what was this about four thrones. Could it be coincidence that Harry had happened upon Narnia? Was he to be one of the four to fill those thrones? Never one to take Prophesies or Destiny lightly, Harry had to wonder if Ron, and Draco and Pansy could possibly be the other three the thrones were meant for.
“Mr. Pettigrew, listen to me. Let me go back to the wardrobe and I promise I will find a way to free you from the Dark Lady’s service.” Harry gripped the faun’s hands has he made his promise.
“Of course I will. Of course, I’ve got to. I see that now. I hadn’t known what humans were like before I met you. Of course I can’t turn you over to the Dark Lady, now that I know you. But we must be off at once, I’ll see you back to the lamppost, and we must go carefully and quietly. She has spies everywhere. Even some of the trees are her servants!”
The two of them got up and left the tea things on the table. The faun bundled Harry back into his robes and once again grabbed his umbrella before taking Harry’s arm and leading the way out into the snow. Their journey back was not at all like their journey to the cave. They stole along briskly and quietly without saying a word through the darkest parts of the forest, glancing all around them, every moment expecting the Dark Lady to come barreling down. Harry was relieved when they reached the lamppost again.
“I expect you can find your own way back to Spare Oom and War Drobe?”
“Yes, I believe I can,” said Harry, and even as he spoke he spotted the faint patch light from the opened wardrobe. “I can see the door!”
“Be off home as quick as you can!” said Mr. Pettigrew. “Can you ever forgive me for what I meant to do?”
“Why, of course I can, and I do hope you won’t get into trouble before I can come up with a way to free you!”
“Good-bye, Son of Adam. Perhaps I may keep the handkerchief?”
Harry laughed. “Of course you may! I’ll see you soon, Mr. Pettigrew. I promise!” And then he ran toward the small patch of light, as swiftly as his legs could carry him.
And soon, instead of rough branches brushing his face, he felt the comforting softness of the fur-lined robes, and soon had to shed his own robe from the heat. Instead of crunchy snow under his feet, he felt wooden boards. And all at once he found himself jumping out of the wardrobe into the same empty room from which the whole adventure had started. She shut the wardrobe door tightly behind her and looked around, panting for breath.
It was still raining, and he could hear the voices of the others from the passage. He had no idea how much time had gone by, nor anyway to tell if time in the wardrobe passed the same as time out of the wardrobe, and decided to play it by ear. If the others seemed overly concerned about where he had been, he would know that time marched along at the same pace in and out of Narnia, and if not, well, he would soon find out.
Ron’s bright, red head poked into the empty room and when he saw Harry he grinned and asked, “Did you find anything in here? I just turned around and saw you weren’t there. Everything alright?”
Harry grinned. “You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Let’s go back to our library and I’ll tell all of you about it!” Harry grabbed Ron’s hand and rushed into the hallway, eager to share his tale with the others, and anxious to come up with a plan to free Narnia.
More author's notes: So, now you've read it, what do you think? Was Harry too un-Harryish? It's rather hard turning a ten year old girl into a fifteen year old male! Also, if anyone would like to offer their services as beta, I'd be grateful! I've been editing myself, and it's getting tiresome! I expect to crank out a couple chapters a week, and would like to keep posts fairly regular (maybe every Monday or every other Monday). Either drop me a comment or e-mail to jessie_lea_21@hotmail.com