Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am not looking to make anything but reviews of of this work.

Word Count: 1,001 not including authors note.

Rating: T

Warnings: "Bloody Prat" is used, mentions claustrophobia, implied dystrophia, hints at personality disorder (by classification of modern day medicine),

Thanks: Two great reviewers, came years after the last chapter was posted asking for a little insight on what happens next. It felt wrong to only send them a PM, especially after they sparked my muse.

Notes: This is entirely un-betaed. I apologize for all mistakes, they are my own. This is also years later, so I hope this is a pleasant surprise. I want to thank those still reading this. Much love to you and your dogs.

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"Peter! You bloody prat! Get off of me!"

Edmund repeated his previous statement, this time with more force. Peter didn't move, his body felt like a thousand pounds. Underneath him, Peter recognized Edmund to be struggling. His body remembered the motions, what struggling underneath him felt like, the problem: his brain did not recognize this as a problem.

Peter felt a rush of adrenaline. Every jab to his rib, kick to his knees made him feel alive. Edmund continued to struggle, eventually breaking free, but Peter did not care. Only in a fight did he feel alive, especially one where he was on top.

Lucy and Susan watched, both too in shock to react. The only noise in the room was the echo of Edmunds heavy breathing. His scrawny ten year old body not meant for the type of fighting Peter was trying to engage.

Luckily, no damage was done. Peter, unlike Edmund, felt the dystrophia of changing worlds, and by extension, ages. His once tall and muscular frame was reduced to one of a war-starved thirteen year olds. Peter's brain was still twenty five years old and so were his motor reactions.

"Now, this painting was from…"

Mrs. Macready trailed off, her voice louder, pitchier, and much closer than before. Peter, Susan, and Lucy all felt a notion to move, a fleeting sense of fear, but it was so faint that their bodies did not identify it as a real problem. Deep in their brains, they knew they should be reacting, but to them, this was much more fairy tale like than any dragon could ever be.

Edmund made the effort to move. He was agile, or as agile as a ten year old could be, Susan observed, in his movement. In a split second, the wardrobe door was swung open. It was shaking on the hinges, its old wood not being able to withstand the force of Edmund's desperation.

Peter was stricken with curiosity. After everything Edmund had been through, one would thing a strict housekeeper would be the least of his concerns. Lucy looked as if she had the same thought.

Edmund motioned for his siblings to follow him. His eyes were feral, light seemed to bounce from his iris to his pupils making him look crazy. His mouth was a straight line, his lips were so sucked in they were nearly not visible. Susan recognized this as an old nervous habit of his.

His anxiousness snapped Susan out of her daze. She ran into the wardrobe after him, closely followed by their other two siblings. Peter was just able to swing the door closed in time. Mrs. Macready had entered the room.

The siblings crowded into the wardrobe. Soon Peter, the last one, ran into Lucy. Before he could yell, demand why he, the High King, was stopped, Mrs. Macready's voice echoed through the room.

"This wardrobe was carved by the professor himself."

The siblings relentlessly listened to her drone on about the history of the wardrobe. They felt crammed inside the wardrobe and the coats were making them have to sneeze.

After at least fifteen minutes, when they were sure Mrs. Macready was gone, Edmund started walking forward, ready to get out of the wardrobe; he was starting to get claustrophobic. He ran into Susan, who has had refused to move, her body had reentered shock. He continued to try and push pass his siblings, but the force of the three of them was stronger than the force of just him. Finally, he gave up trying and asked:

"Why do you all want to be in the stupid wardrobe? Move!"

Edmunds voice got louder as he talked; he was nearly shouting by the time he said move. He did not notice the horrified looks on his siblings faces. Lucy looked offended. For all of their misguided ruling and blaming, none of them ever once thought to say anything disrespectful of the wardrobe. It was a blessing, their ability to get from their horrid world and into the glorious one that was Narnia.

Nobody answered him. In increased frustration, Edmund pushed forward, but Peter was in his way. Edmunds fell back in the wardrobe wall, landing with a thump.

The thump echoed, Peter, Susan, and Lucy were not sure what to think of the wall. Edmund was struggling to stand up, the density of the coats above him made it hard. He was stuck on the floor, grasping for a grip like one drowning would grasp for air. Lucy, the first of the three to react to the thump, pushed past Edmund.

"Narnia!"

She let out a distressed cry, banging her fists against the back of the wardrobe. With each bang, she added more force until she was practically throwing herself in the wall. The wardrobe was shaking, but not one sibling could bring themselves to care if it tipped over. "Let it" Peter thought bitterly, thinking the once glorious object was now the sole barrier between worlds. Little did he know, he was wrong.

Behind Lucy, Susan stood frozen, silent tears falling down her face. Not a sound came from her, she stood with locked knees and a broken heart. In that moment, she looked more human than she had in decades.

Peter shouted in rage. His roar was only muffled by the fur coat shoved in his mouth, by accident or not, by a still struggling Edmund. The vain on Peter's neck popped for the first time on his thirteen year old body, he looked so much like the man that was left in Narnia than a young boy in that moment.

Edmund, who was still on the floor, was very confused. He looked up at all of his siblings, his undeveloped brain taking in their reactions. Out of all of them, he was the only one with an age appropriate mind. All of the emotions in the small space were too much for his preteen brain. Frustrated, he asked them:

"What is Narnia?"