A/N & E/N: Hello! So, this may seem a little strange for people that have already read this story, but basically, I'm almost completely rewriting what I've done with the story so far. I don't think my previous work is bad, but upon reading there's a lot of details that I feel are too far off to be ignored cumulatively. Luckily, I didn't get too far into the story before I went on a hiatus, so it won't be too long before new chapters come out. Also, my last day of school was today, so other than a bunch of stuff I'm doing over the summer and the start of band camp in late July, I'll do my best to write and update the stories that I've torturously made people wait for updates. (Mwhaha :) ).

So, that is enough updating and rambling from me. Here we goooooo!

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Original A/N: Hello dear readers! I'm excited to present to you the first chapter of the sequel to "The Second Star to the Right"! It isn't exactly necessary to read the fanfic previously mentioned, but it does set up some of the story to "And Straight on Till Morning," (I'm still debating leaving in the "and" or not).

Also, this does take place in the UK, but I will be using American English instead of British English. I did do some research on the school system in the UK as to attempt to portray it somewhat accurately, though there might be a couple flaws here and there…

Anyway, I definitely feel the need to write right now because I just drove for the first time today which was scary as heck, so this is helping me unwind. Alright, enough rambling, enjoy!

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The clouds hung low in the sky, their heaviness pressing the air in a suffocating, eerie way. Light droplets of water managed to squeeze out of the clouds, marking the start of the miserable rain all too familiar in London. A wave of black umbrellas popped into appearance at this reaction from mother nature, though the owners of these umbrellas did little to consider the reason for mother nature's weeping.

It happened that her weeping was related to a small procession that congregated at the edge of London, where the urban jungle abruptly seized to exist and made way to the striking, lush country of England. It was here that rows of down-trodden stones marked the burial ground of the dead, both beloved and abandoned to be consumed by the earth.

Near the entrance to the cemetery were two, freshly dug graves. A small pond of black surrounded both caskets respectively, with figures hiding their faces as they took part in varying degrees of mourning, though somehow all appearing quite uniform. The only figures who broke this perfect uniformity were two grave diggers, both of them impatient for the party to leave so they could bury the caskets and head out to the much-anticipated lunch they'd planned that day.

After a small eternity, there were only two members of the party left (a seasoned woman and a young child), both donned in perfectly respectable black garb. The woman's light brown hair betrayed hues of whitened strands that threatened to reveal her descent into an elderly age. The young one, however, was unmistakable in her youthfulness. At the most she would have had to have been four years old, though there were some that would insist she was three at the most. Either way, age didn't make much a difference in the reality of her situation. The little one stared at the two graves in front of her, not yet old enough to be able to read the inscriptions that marked them both.

But the young one didn't need to be able to read to understand these two graves were the new permanent residence of both her parents. The older woman stiffened to ward off the tears that threatened to break her own British propriety.

At this point, the two grave diggers lost their patience with the two lingering strangers. "Oi, ye plan on faffing there all day?"

The old woman, with perfect patience, turned around to look at the two rather impertinent boys with the most frighteningly warm expression they'd ever witnessed. "I do apologize for forcing the both of you to wait. Margaret," she said turning to the young child, "you will have to say farewell to your mother and father." She glanced at the two boys from the corner of her eyes as she made certain to emphasize their relation to the corpses. Both boys stiffened slightly at realizing the significance of the moment, and sheepishly stepped back a few steps to allow the both of them more time.

Unbeknownst to the older woman at first, the little one broke away from her grip and walked towards the two graves. She did not understand death yet; she was too young. However, she did know quite well that her parents were never coming back. It was a realization that she was uncertain as to how to comprehend, so instead she chose to store the matter in her head to decide upon later. The little one patted both of the graves fondly before looking back at her grandmother.

The light sprinkle had turned into a rain now, drenching the both of them uncomfortably. They would worry about their health later. The little girl waddled back to the embrace of her grandmother, their hair intertwining in stringy tangles from the rain. Finally, the two hand in hand walked away from the graves, never to see their inhabitants again.

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"Margaret!" Grandma Wendy called upstairs. She bustled around the kitchen, glancing out the window toward the street. Children ran around on the street playing all sorts of games and other entertaining past times. In her heart she silently longed for those days when she was a child. And for a particular person that had been there for her in that time…

Wendy snapped out of her stupor, putting down the wooden spoon she carried with a sigh before ascending the stairs. Her trip up the stairs was slow; after all, she wasn't a young woman anymore. After allowing herself a moment to recover from the taxing journey she walked over to Margaret's room, knocking on her door lightly.

"Margaret?"

"Yes, Nana?" A high-pitched voice answered in a half-engaged voice. Wendy swung open the door to see Margaret sitting at her desk in her room, bent over it with the most serious expression she had ever witnessed in a 9-year-old. It only took another moment of observation to see that she was reading a book over mathematics.

"Dear, the other children are outside playing. You should join them."

Margaret finally tore her gaze away from the words she had been soaking from the book. She gave a weary smile to her grandmother. "Thank you, Nana. But I would rather stay inside. I feel quite knackered."

Wendy blinked at Margaret's response, shaking her head. "Dear, you always say that!"

"I do apologize. I know you mean well for me, as you always do. But…it's not fun."

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked, aghast.

Margaret bit her lip. "I prefer to stay inside and read, or do arithmetic. After all, there's not better time to prepare for my higher education," she replied matter-of-factly. Wendy sighed at Margaret's response.

"Margaret, dear, you must not be in such a hurry to grow up, or else you will regret it when you have."

"But I don't like to run around like a hooligan. Shouting and screaming…I rather like the quiet inside," Margaret elaborated. Margaret turned back to where she left off in her book, completely unaware Wendy remained standing in the doorway, staring worriedly at her granddaughter. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head.

"Well, would you like to hear a story?" She asked with a hint of mystery in her voice.

Margaret turned back to look at her grandmother, considering the offer for a moment before closing her book slowly, using her arm to keep her place. "What kind of story?"

"A story about the boy who never grew up."

"Nana that's impossible!" Margaret exclaimed, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

"It was once believed that the earth was the center of the universe," Wendy replied. Margaret opened her mouth to speak before considering the fact. After another moment of pondering, she finally closed her book completely. In her mind, she didn't think there could be harm in a story anyway. Stories were a true weakness of hers; one of the only factors that kept her from truly growing up.

Margaret rose from her chair and walked over to her bed, where Wendy seated herself. Margaret mentally prepared herself to use the time to quietly go over the mathematics equations she had learned and only pretend to listen, if only to appease her Nana.

"Now, where to begin? Well, I guess I should start from the very beginning. Once upon a time…"

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Margaret sat at the edge of her bed, wide-eyed and completely in tune with each word that was spoken by her Nana. "Captain Hook thrusted his sword towards Peter Pan but…" Wendy paused, glancing over at her granddaughter mischievously in the midst of the animated hand jabbing motion she made while acting out the scene.

"What happened next? Oh, please Nana!" Margaret pleaded in suspense. Wendy allowed her arms to flop to her sides.

"Unfortunately, young lady, it is becoming quite late. We will have to continue this story another time," Wendy told her, ushering for Margaret to slide into bed.

"Oh, but you must finish the story! What happens to Peter Pan? Does Captain Hook get him?" Margaret asked, still completely engrossed. As she did so, Wendy couldn't help but notice a particular sparkle in Margaret's eyes that she'd seen on very few occasions from her granddaughter: the sparkle of childlike wonder.

"I'll finish the story tomorrow, if you so wish," Wendy replied, kissing Margaret on the forehead.

"You will?"

"Of course," Wendy said in final parting for the night. Margaret sleepily waved goodbye to her grandmother as Wendy exited the room, closing the door gently and sighing.

Despite her seasoned age, she could not deny the youthfulness she always felt when telling the story of Peter Pan as well as her own adventures in Neverland. And to think that it appeared to be the key to unlocking some kind of childhood for Margaret…that made it all the more personal to her. It would do Margaret some to act her age and not worry so much about being a grownup. It was an overrated idea that Wendy couldn't help but have suspicions that it stemmed from the fact that Margaret's mother and father died when she was so young. Such an experience was bound to have some type of affect. Though to possibly have it be the reason of robbing someone's childhood…the thought broke Wendy's heart.

As Wendy reflected on meditated on these thoughts, she began to remember the years after her adventure, and how she let her own ideals of adulthood rob her of happiness. In many ways the path she had chosen was probably the one she was destined to follow, but that did not change the regret she felt the moment she had made her decision. And to be fair, she had found bountiful happiness in the path she had chosen in life. She found complete satisfaction as a mother to both her daughter and granddaughter. However, on more than a few occasions she couldn't help but daydream about what life would have been like if she gave up her life in London to live in Neverland.

Wendy shook her head and sighed. She would never know.