AN: So I've been wanting to do a Digory and Polly story for a while now. This just sort of jumped out of nowhere. I do hope that there are no serious cracks in canon, as the book didn't really specify how long Digory had been staying with his Uncle and Aunt. Reviews are appreciated.

I sincerely hope that the characters are in character for the most part. Some of the dialogue is from: The Magician's Nephew.

Disclaimer: Narnia is, of course, not mine.

The first time he saw her, she was sitting under a tree, a book in her lap and an apple in her hand. Her head was bent slightly forward, causing her dark blonde hair to fall forward, framing her face in a way he thought both pretty and delicate. He couldn't see her eyes very well, as the hair obscured them, but he saw her mouth, and it pleased him (for some inexplicable reason) when it quirked upwards.

The second time he saw her, she was staring listlessly out of her bedroom window. She didn't even see him when he popped up from behind the wall, and (in a fit of impulsive childishness) poked his tongue out at her. It irked him that she was oblivious to his actions.

Digory didn't see her for a while after this. His Aunt said that she was visiting her Grandmother, who lived in some remote part of the country. Digory gave his aunt a puzzled grin, as if to say: "And why are you telling me this?" before turning away to hide his gleeful smile. She hadn't moved away, after all.

The third time he saw her, she was twirling in the middle of her yard, her arms outstretched and her head flung back. The autumn leaves sprang back under her giddy feet and whipped lightly around the hem of her dress. Digory, on the point of yelling something to the effect of: "You've got leaves in your hair!" was stopped by his Aunt's voice, chiding him to get down off the wall. He complied, but not without shooting a sour glance at the middle-aged woman's retreating back.

The fourth time he saw her, she was sitting directly under the wall, her head bent over what seemed to be a diary of sorts. Craning his neck forward, he could barely make out the words: Secret and Love, before she shifted her position, hiding the writing from his prying eyes. Digory immediately felt like a bit of a sneak, and hastened away, only barely hearing his Aunt telling him that the doctor was here -- again. He put the jealous twinge he felt near his heart down to Uncle Andrew's failed attempt at edible food. (This attempt was, by the way, the last time Aunt Letty allowed her brother anywhere near the kitchen).

The fifth time he saw her, she was sitting under the same tree, her head tilted to the side, looking through a magnifying glass. Digory, in a fit of courage, clambered up to the top of the wall. By the time he reached the top, however, the mysterious girl was gone, and Digory was left to sulk. He clenched his fists rather angrily, telling himself to, "Stop acting like a useless fool. She's just a girl. Girl's are useless." Before clambering down from the high wall and shuffling back into the house. He got the distinct impression (though how he came to this conclusion will never be known) that that girl would not appreciate his insulting thoughts.

For a time, Digory forgot to even look for the girl. His Mother had always been sickly, but now it seemed as though there was an endless stream of loud-mouth money-grubbing physicians. Useless physicians, who would do and say anything for an extra pound. Oh, and there was the little added headache of a cackling Uncle, who seemed oblivious to Aunt Letty's scolding.

The doctors came in a steady stream, each giving conflicting diagnosis, and each clamouring loudly that his assumption was the correct one.

"Consumption!"

"Over-wrought!"

"Gruel, ma'am. Best thing in the world."

"A serious and debilitating form of influenza."

There was only one doctor that Digory admired, and it was left to this doctor to deal the crushing blow.

Digory was in the little garden his Aunt so prized, when he overheard said doctor and aunt talking in the little back parlour.

"No cure, madam. She's simply fading away. No amount of drugs will help, as far as I can see. There is always the possibility, though..." and here the doctor's voice faded away, as he continued his conversation in muted tones.

Digory's world felt as though it was falling apart. He shuffled listlessly to the tall wall and slumped against the base, trying to ignore the dull stinging at the back of his eyes and the heavy weight settling in his chest. Fool of a doctor. Fool of a man. How could he know anything?

Hands clutched the earth suddenly, as though that would release some inner turmoil.

Heavy tears fell from former dry eyes, leaving a hot, wet trail down pale cheeks. Digory batted them away absently, not noticing (or simply not caring) that his face was now decorated in various places with mud.

She was his Mother, for Heaven's sake! Not some interesting case - some prized example. This was the Mother who cared for him lovingly, wholeheartedly. This was the Mother who had cheered him up when his Father had gone away. This was the Mother who was too, too young to think of leaving him.

She had been fading away for a while now, Digory knew and excepted that she was weak. But this was too soon. Too soon to even contemplate the possibility. Digory hugged his knees to his chest and emptied his heart in the form of wracking sobs.

How long he stayed there, Digory hardly knew. It was nearing late afternoon, however, when he heard footsteps on the opposite side of the wall. Wiping his eyes (and his nose) furiously on the sleeve of his sweater, Digory got hastily to his feet and poked his head over the top of the tall wall.

It was the girl. She was staring at him in astonishment and slight puzzlement. Digory returned the stare fixedly. He was in no mood for light conversation now.

"Hullo," said the girl finally.

Digory returned the greeting and asked, more for conversation (and a little nagging curiosity's) sake then anything else, what her name was.

"Polly," was the light answer. She sounded every bit as cheerful as Digory had imagined she would, and if he had been in a more cheerful state of mind himself, he would have smiled widely. Polly. Lovely name. "What's yours?"

Digory found his voice and said, in a rather subdued tone: "Digory."

"I say," she said, tilting her head to the side like an inquisitive bird, "what a funny name!"

Secretly, Digory thought so himself, but he wasn't about to let this mere slip of a girl get away with such tactless insolence.

"It isn't half so funny as Polly," he sneered, curling his lip and ready to be disagreeable.

"Yes it is," Polly shot back.

"No, it isn't," Digory retorted, rather glad for the opportunity to quarrel. Anything to draw the girl's attention away from his dirty face and red eyes.

Luck just wasn't with Digory that day, as Polly's next comment proved.

"At any rate, I do wash my face," she said, clenching her fists, "which is what you need to do; especially after you've been --"

Oh, yes. Now the girl learns tact. Digory glowered down at the girl, and prepared himself to answer her unfinished assault to his pride.

"All right, I have then," he shouted, a little too loudly. Really, who cared? They should all mind their own blasted business. He settled himself more comfortably on the hard brick wall and launched into a monologue about his troubles.

He talked about his former, wonderful house and the happy life he led there. He snarled angrily against London in general, calling in a beastly hole. This caused Polly's temper to flare up and shout an angry response, denying his statement.

When he mentioned the part about his Mother dying, Polly's look of anger dissipated, leaving one of pity in its wake.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "I didn't know."

Digory excepted the apology, but was too busy wallowing in self-pity to turn the conversation to cheerier terms. Thus, the task fell to Polly, and she picked Mr. Ketterley's madness as an inspiring choice.

"Is he really mad?" she probed.

Digory felt that he was on safer ground, now. His uncle's seemingly mad personality he had come to terms with long ago. Why not share his knowledge with a willing audience? Namely, Polly.

He told of the cackling laughter, enjoying the way her eyes widened in amusement. He told of his aunt's annoyance in said cackling and imitated her shrill voice with great gusto. Talk turned from madness, to mad wives, to pirates in a blink of an eye, and Digory found himself actually enjoying their conversation. It didn't completely remove the ache in his heart, but it soothed it somewhat, and for that Digory was grateful.

When their conversation came to a close, he and Polly were fast friends; indeed, Digory felt that she was the closest friend he had ever had. As he reflected upon their meeting later that day, he came to a conclusion.

He could never merely observe Polly again.

No. Now he could know her.

And that fact alone made his heart lighten with an inexplicable joy.

AN: Thank you for reading.