I, the author, do not in any way at all own any of the characters used or mentioned in the following story. They, and the worlds they come from, are the property of their original authors; namely P. L. Travers, J. M. Barrie, J. K. Rowling, and Emma Thompson. I am currently operating under the presumption that Ms. Thompson's character is "merely" a Wizard and not an Angel, which is my other theory. This work of fiction is not intended to make any sort of profit off of any of the afore mentioned authors (although Goddess knows I could use the money), but is instead intended purely for the entertainment of myself and any others who care to read it. Please, do read and enjoy it, and critique it if you feel you must.

In Passing

Place: London

Time: Early 1900s, Half-past Dawn

Altitude: 1500 ft.

The young woman sat upon the small cloud, touching up her facial powder. It just simply would not do for a practically perfect person such as herself to have one's face out of place. Besides, she knew she'd be getting work soon, from somewhere below. The wind would be shifting, coming from the East. She knew it as assuredly as she knew she would need to lift her carpet bag up to a more manageable level as it sank into the vapor, followed shortly there after by her umbrella.

At least the parrot head handle hadn't spoken up in a while. It's advice was always valid, but the snarky delivery often left much to be desired.

Having finished with her makeup, she considered read the letter the owl had delivered a few moments ago from her friend McFee, a fellow colleague in nannying and old school chum, when the sound of some one crowing like a cockerel was heard from above her. She looked up to see a young lad of perhaps ten or eleven, wearing only a tunic of live green leaves of a decidedly tropical origin. A gold saber with a coconut shell for a hand guard hung from his hip despite the seeming lack of belt. He soared through the air with the ease and care free abandon of a sparrow. At his shoulder flitted a Pixie, little more than a ball of light trailing glitter at this visual range, matching the boy turn for turn and dip for swerve. As she watched him dive and wheel, astonishment filled her. He flew like a Master Seeker with a top-of-the-line model of a broom, but without any such tool.

He swooped and lit upon the woman's cloud, regarding her with an impish grin.

"Hullo, grown-up lady," he said with a minimum of respect, though the word 'grown' had more than a little bit of derision.

"'Hullo' your self young man," she replied, her voice hinting at the perturbedness her face would never show.

"I don't think I've seen you before," he began, seemingly ignorant of the woman's opinion of him. "Of course I don't spend to much time here. Not at this time of day anyway. I usually only come in the evening when Mothers are telling stories. That's why sparrows build their nests in the eaves of houses, is to hear the stories. Did you know that? Do you know any stories? How are you sitting on this cloud anyhow?" He paused here, either to take a breath or else to give the woman a chance to reply.

She quirked a quizzical eyebrow at the last question and following pause, "I might ask the same question of you."

The boy seemed a bit taken aback for a moment, but then he simply shrugged, "I dunno. I just do."

"It helps that his blood and skin pores are absolutely saturated with Fae Magick," chimed the Pixie which now stood upon the boy's left knee.

The young woman was suddenly glad she had taken 'Fairy Languages' for her Extra Curricular N.E.W.T.s, "May I presume then, that you come from Fairie Land?"

"Nah, I live in Neverland," claimed the boy.

"A back woods 'suburb', more or less," added the Pixie.

The woman nodded, as if this explanation made perfect sense to her and asked, "Well then, what are you doing here at this hour?"

"I was just dropping off my Mother after Spring Cleaning," he explained. "She's been having trouble flying there and here on her own the last few times. She's been getting tall, and bumpy in weird places." The boy frowned and paused at this while the woman suppressed a smirk. He then continued with, "She needs to use a broom to fly now."

It took all of the woman's considerable will power to not give the boy an astonished double-take. "Really now?" was all she could manage.

There had been rumors going around of a young Muggle girl seen flying upon a broom. Allegedly, according to the Ministry, this girl wasn't even a squib and yet could fly via the classic means.

Well it just goes to show, she told herself, What I've always said about a child's ability to suspend disbelief and accept the 'Commonly Miraculous'.

"Yeah," said the boy, "In any case, I need to head home. There's a new batch of Boys that need to learn the ropes."

"'The ropes'?" queried the woman.

"Yup! How to hunt Pirates and play 'Hide & Seek' with the Chief's braves. How to listen for the crock. And some might even learn how to fly!"

She quirked an eyebrow, "And how exactly do you fly?"

"Like this!" he exclaimed, leaping some ten feet into the air above the cloud, executing a perfect back flip, all the while giving another cockerel's crow.

"Like I said," the Pixie explained as she settled onto the cloud herself, "His blood and skin are saturated with Fae power. All he needs now is a truly happy and joyful thought, and away he goes."

The woman nodded mutely, then looked at the Pixie, "He is using assistance then."

The pixie merely nodded.

"You do realize of course that Fairy Dander is a control substance?" the woman said, the questioning tone only vaguely present, to which the pixie sighed darkly.

"Do any of you realize that the only Fae who will ever follow your silly Ministry's Laws are the House Elves, because it suits their life style to do so." the tiny Fae countered, with no hint of question in her voice at all.

The woman was rather taken aback by the Pixie's cheekiness, but before she could make further comment on the subject the boy cut loose with another heart felt crowing.

"Must he do that?" wondered the woman idly.

"Yes, he must," the Pixie stated, then added as explanation, "Because it irritates the adults."

"Ahem," said the umbrella.

The woman looked to the device. The parrot head gestured with its chin to the other side of the cloud. The woman looked in time to see the handles of her carpet bag sink into the vapor.

"Bother!" muttered the woman.

"I'll get it!" called the boy, who then dove after the bag. In next to no time at all, he was back on the cloud top handing over to the woman her property.

"Thank you very much young man," she said, and meant it. The boy beamed as if he had just done his own mother the most grand of favors.

"Come on," chimed the Pixie, "It's getting late. Any later and you'll need me to open the way for you."

"Oh yeeeaaahhh. Bye, Lady!" and with that he once again took to the air, followed closely by the Pixie.

A small patch of glitter remained on the cloud where the pixie had stood. The woman did consider gathering it up for Potions purposes, but then remembered her own words to the Pixie and thought better of it. Instead, she reached into her rescued carpet bag and did pull out McFee's letter, as well as her old copy of 'Beetle the Bard', to read while she waited for her summons. A part of her mind wondered if it would be yet another carefully hand written callously letter torn to bits. Some originality might be nice.

"Well now," said the umbrella, "That was a mildly amazing encounter, and for us, that's saying something."

The woman nodded as she read, "Indeed."

~fin~