Shifting Realities

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

- "The Circle Game," Joni Mitchell

"Professor Lupin? What are you doing here?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. /Idiot. He doesn't know who you are, you've never met, and that's probably not even his name,/ he silently chastised himself.

"James? But - you're dead!" Lupin moved forward, studying Harry's face. "No, not James. Your eyes are different... And you're shorter and younger-" he stopped as he finally managed to process what Harry had said. "You know me? Were you one of my students? I'm sorry, but I can't say that I remember you - which is strange, considering that you look very similar to one of my old school friends."

Harry tried to step backwards and away from the older man, but instead only managed to walk into the ladder that he had forgotten about. "I... I don't know. I really don't - I think I might have amnesia..." Maybe all of the people that he'd "created" actually existed somewhere; both Hermione and Professor Lupin did. But it was so confusing... Harry decided it would be better to stick to something he was sure about. "You said you were interested in 'History of a Pack'? I'll go get it out for you." He edged past the other man and quickly slipped behind the counter, where he pulled out the book in question and set it on the counter.

"You think you might have amnesia? How can you think you might have amnesia?" Lupin asked curiously as he walked over to the counter and began inspecting the book. "Wouldn't your friends and family tell you if you obviously didn't remember something?"

Thinking of Mrs Whelton, Alice, and the Dursleys, Harry shook his head. "See, um, my friends didn't know me before, and my only family isn't very fond of me. They'd probably think it was a glorious joke totally at my own expense, and never tell me." Inside his heart was sinking; it was one thing to talk to Hermione on the phone and not have her recognize him, but quite another to be talking to someone from his "memories" face-to-face and not be recalled.

"Your friends didn't know you 'before'? Whatever do you mean?"

"I - it's kind of strange, the people that I remember as my friends from school don't remember me even though I remember them. I, um, woke up on my last birthday with two months of my life missing, and I don't really remember any of my last seven years of schooling. Well, at least I don't think I do." /Why am I telling him all of this? He's just another customer, not someone I know. He probably thinks I'm bonkers./ But at the same time, Harry felt the familiar overwhelming need to tell someone. /Well, if nothing else, if I tell him I won't have to worry about getting fired or losing a friend. I might not sell the book, but for all I know he wouldn't have bought it anyway./

Lupin glanced upwards, a small smile on his face. "Sounds like you have a pretty complicated life. Your relatives are messed up; you think you might have amnesia, only it's your friends who don't remember you instead of you having forgotten them; you don't remember school, but you're not sure about that either."

"Yeah, it seems that the seven years of school I remember are not the ones that everyone else remembers. And I can't remember the ones that I'm supposed to," Harry said softly, looking to the side.

"If you don't mind my asking," Lupin said, closing the book and pushing it to the side, "what do you remember?"

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning. My name is Harry Po- um, Evans. It really started with my eleventh birthday, when I recieved my letter for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." he started steadily, and slowly made his way from there. He looked everywhere except at Lupin, and after a time he had to sit down in the chair behind the counter because his feet were killing him. It was then that he awoke from his daze long enough to look out a window and notice that it was dark outside. He stopped and looked up at the clock, then at Lupin, who was still standing there.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I must have been rambling on for hours... It's past store hours, I need to be closing up. Would you like to purchase this book? If not, I need to put it away."

Confused by the sudden change in topics, Lupin blinked, stepped back from the counter, and shook his head. "I think I will have to come back for the book, Mr Evans. I don't seem to have enough money on me today... and I wouldn't really mind finding out how you managed to escape that bloody basilisk." He smiled and held out his hand to Harry. "It has been a pleasure talking to you." He waved and went out the door of the darkened shop, letting the door close behind him with a jingle.

Waving half-heartedly to the other man, Harry reached out and put the werewolf book away, then went about locking up the store and flipping the sign over to 'Closed'. /Huh. At least he was a polite sort of "scared off". I think he was trying to humor me at the end, "I wouldn't mind finding out how you managed to escape that basilisk" indeed. The man thinks I'm mental./ Harry leaned his head against the door to the back room and sighed, /Not that he doesn't have every right to. Hell, I think I'm mental./ He turned the knob on the door, and went into the back room and up the stairs. It had been a stupid idea anyway, telling someone else about the world he'd made up for himself.

It was early Saturday morning and Harry was trying to figure out what sort of filing system Mrs Whelton was using in the storeroom this time, when he thought he heard someone say his name in the front room. Cracking the door open and poking his nose out, he couldn't see anything, but now he was able to make out the conversation that was occurring.

Mrs Whelton was apparently speaking to a customer. "Oh- you want Harry. He's working in the back room right now, I believe. He should be out in a few minutes." Someone was asking about him? Who? He shrugged, deciding that it didn't matter. For all he knew it was someone he didn't remember from Stonewall High. Since it was obvious that he wasn't going to be able to interpret Mrs Whelton's current filing system any time soon, Harry decided to go and find out who the mysterious customer was.

He stepped out into the store, pulling the door shut softly behind him, and made his way between the shelves until he came up to the counter. Mrs Whelton turned as he walked up, smiling at him. "See, here he is now. Harry, dear, this man is trying to find a book about mythical creatures from the mideast - maybe you could help him? I know that you read all the myth books that we get in."

Harry turned to look at the customer, and was surprised to see that it was, once again, Professor Lupin. He blinked several times, then recovered himself and turned towards the back of the store. "If you'll just follow me, sir. I believe we have something along those lines in the back room. I'll just have to go get it." /Why is he back? I thought I scared him off last Thursday with my ramble about magic and Hogwarts. Maybe he's just as demented as I am./ He entered the storeroom and started looking for the book he remembered having seen the day before last.

Hearing the sound of the door shutting behind him, Harry turned in surprise. Lupin was standing there, leaning back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. For the first time, he spoke. "So, how did you manage to escape the basilisk in the Chamber, Mr Evans?" he said evenly, his pale brown eyes glowing gold in the light of the storeroom. "I wonder... was there a phoenix?"

Harry jerked backwards, stumbling against the box he'd been looking in. "How did you...? Yes. Professor Dumbledore's phoenix came with the Sorting Hat. I... it managed to blind the basilisk, so I didn't have to worry about being petrified or killed by the basilisk's gaze. I killed it with a sword - it was Godric Gryffindor's - that I pulled from the Sorting Hat."

"So then it was different for you. I suppose that would be because you were in Gryffindor and you could pull out the sword," Lupin nodded absentmindedly. "Fawkes brought you the Hat instead of a sword." He watched Harry steadily, his gaze unwavering, "Mr Evans, you are truly an amazing person. You can relate in detail events that happened up to seven years ago, though your retellings are imperfect. Events that you should know nothing about. How is it that you are able to do this?"

"I... What do you mean? I made them up in my head; I figured that all out last August. I was so upset with what had happened to me at Stonewall High that I created memories for myself. If you believe them, you're even crazier than I am. Magic does not exist, wizards do not exist, Hogwarts does not exist. Hell, why stop there? Harry Potter does not exist. And, on the plus side, neither does Voldemort."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr Evans. Voldemort is quite alive and well. He has been for slightly over four years, ever since he was successfully resurrected." Lupin ran his hand through his hair, "Christ, it seems so hard to believe... the adventures you describe are almost exactly like... Maybe if we had two of you, we'd be able to defeat him at last. Tell me, how would you like to see Hogwarts for yourself?"

/He's nuts,/ Harry thought, even as he heard himself tell Lupin yes. /Bonkers, mad. Out of his mind./ He was talking to Mrs Whelton, explaining that he would have to take the rest of the day off, and might not be back until late Sunday evening. /Hell, I must be nuts, agreeing to something like this./ The next thing he knew, he was standing out in front of the book store with Remus Lupin, excited despite what his head told him. "Professor -"

"Just a moment, I need to get my dog." Lupin was kneeling next to a large black dog, who was loosely tied to a street sign. "Mr Evans, this is my dog-"

"Sirius," Harry said somewhat brokenly, his voice cracking as he looked down at the dog. When he looked up at Lupin again, he noted that the man was staring at him. He gave the older man a wavery smile. "That's right, you never let me get to third year. Tell me, is he still wanted by the Ministry, or did he manage to get his name cleared?"

"What-?"

"Third year, 1993 through '94. Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban; Professor Remus J. Lupin teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts; I get the Marauder's Map; Pettigrew - Wormtail - turns up alive; he later escapes," Harry ticked the points off on his hand. He smiled at Lupin, "So, how are we going to get to Hogwarts?" /It's all a dream. It has to be. Oh well, I might as well enjoy it until I wake up. Sirius.../

"Hogsmeade Express."

"All right then."

At half-past ten, the three of them arrived at King's Cross Station. To Harry's surprise, they had taken the underground to get there, and strangely enough no one said anything about Sirius, who remained a dog the entire trip. He finally decided that it must be because the whole thing was obviously a dream. They approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and Lupin gestured to Harry. "After you."

Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself, getting ready to run at the barrier. Even after seven years, he'd never quite gotten used to entering platform nine and three-quarters. He turned his head to the side as he ran, which turned out to be a good thing when he hit the barrier and fell to the ground, his body aching. "Ow..." /I thought you were supposed to wake up before you got hurt in your dreams...?/

Lupin walked over and scratched his chin. "That's funny. I wonder why it didn't let you in... Snuffles, try the barrier, see if you can get through." The dog gave a loud bark, his tongue lolling out to the side, and he loped towards the barrier. He leaped over Harry and passed right through the wall. "Seems to be working fine."

"It didn't let me in," Harry said slowly as he sat up and rubbed the side of his face, "because I'm a Muggle. Hermione once said that her parents could never make it onto the platform either."

"Hm. I guess we'll have to try to get to Hogwarts some other way, then. Wait here while I go get Snuffles and tell him about the change of plans." Harry watched as Lupin ran through the barrier. It didn't make any sense. If this was a dream, why hadn't he been allowed through? Dreams shouldn't pay attention to silly rules like keeping Muggles off of platform nine and three-quarters. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, waiting for Lupin and Sirius to come back through.

A few minutes later, Sirius came back through, barking loudly when he saw Harry, then padding over and sitting down next to him. Harry offered a hand, which Sirius sniffed a few times, then licked enthusiastically. Laughing, Harry wiped his hand on his jeans. He felt like he was fourteen again and visiting Sirius in Hogsmeade. Scratching Sirius' head, Harry gazed at the intelligent blue eyes, simply enjoying the fact that Sirius was sitting next to him. "You're still wanted, aren't you? That's why you're a dog right now," he murmured, answering his earlier question for himself. "And why Professor Lupin calls you 'Snuffles'."

"Correct," Lupin said from where he stood right next to the barrier. He had apparently come through while Harry had been distracted by Sirius. "I'm not going to ask you how you know what he is. I still can't figure out how you know everything else. Come on, we need to find a good street." He set off for the exit, and Harry had to hurry to keep pace with him.

"What's the new plan?" he asked when he finally caught up, a bit breathless.

"Knight Bus. If I flag it down, you can get on as well. They won't be able to tell that you're a Muggle, and they'll let Snuffles on as well." Lupin skidded to a stop in on a small, deserted street. Standing close to the curb, he held out his right hand.

There was a loud bang as the brilliant violet bus appeared and came to a stop. The three of them followed the conductor and boarded the bus, where Harry and Lupin sat down on opposing beds, after Lupin had passed a handful of sickles to the attendant.

"You know," Lupin commented as they disembarked from the Knight Bus at the gates of Hogwarts, "for someone who was insisting earlier that magic and wizards don't exist, you're taking all of this very well."

Harry shrugged, "I figure it's all a dream. Any time now I'll wake up and find myself in my bed at Mrs Whelton's flat." He strolled up the path to the castle, Sirius running along beside him. "It's not like any of this is real, after all," he added as an afterthought. Arriving at the castle entrance, he stopped and turned, waiting for Lupin.

"So, Remus, is this the young man you owled about? I-" Professor McGonagall's voice stopped as soon as she got a good look at Harry. "My goodness. You..." She trailed off, turning to give Lupin, who had just strode up, a strange look. She then shook her head and recomposed herself. "You'll want to see Albus, of course," said McGonagall as she led them through the corridors of the castle until they reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Grioten." The gargoyle moved to the side at this. "Well then, go on up. You too, Snuffles."

They stepped onto the stairs, and waited as the staircase spiraled upwards towards an oak door. When they reached the door, it opened before them. Albus Dumbledore stood there, framed in the doorway. Blue eyes twinkling, he stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. Harry did so somewhat nervously. Up until this point it had been quite easy to believe himself in a dream, but the Headmaster had such... presence it was very hard to believe that any more. Lupin sat down on a small couch as Sirius proceeded to transform out of his animagus form. He joined Lupin on the couch, leaving Harry to sit alone in an armchair with Dumbledore opposite.

Dumbledore smiled at him. "So, Remus said that you are Harry Evans?"

"Yes, sir. Harold James Evans." He looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "I... grew up with my aunt and uncle. My mother died when I was a little over a year old, and I can't say for sure that I know who my father was."

"Can't say for sure? Do you have any suspicions of who he might have been?" Dumbledore asked intently.

"...yes." Harry kept his eyes on his hands. His mind had been working quickly ever since they'd entered Dumbledore's office, and he'd managed to come up with a new theory as to what had happened in his life. "I think he may have been James Potter."

"What?!"

"But James never had any children-"

Both Lupin and Sirius had started forward, and begun talking very quickly. They both quieted down, however, when Dumbledore held up his hand. "I think it would be best for you to explain yourself, Harry," he said kindly, still smiling. "Why don't you start with the first year you remember attending this school."

It took several hours for Harry to get through all seven years of Hogwarts, even though he left out many things that he believed were not essential to understanding what had happened. Glancing at Sirius as he reached the end of his telling of his fifth year, he decided to leave out those facts that might upset the three wizards. He was allowed to speak for the most part without being interrupted, though at times one of the three other men would stop him and ask him to explain what he had just said in greater detail. At one point a house elf showed up with sandwiches and tea, which he ate and drank between words. When he at last finished, it was early Sunday morning, and his felt hoarse and sore. Blinking tiredly, he yawned hugely, then slumped over in the chair, falling asleep almost instantly.

Harry was awakened by the soft drone of hushed voices. Opening his eyes slightly, he noticed muzzily that someone - most likely Dumbledore - had tucked a blanket around him. Shaking his head slightly in order to clear it a bit more, he finally registered what was being said.

"It's so similar to what actually happened, it's almost disturbing." /That's Sirius,/ Harry decided, still reveling in the fact that his godfather was alive and well. /He must be talking with the others about what I told them./

"Have you noticed, Sirius, that all the changes to it are rather logical when you take into account that everything happened to different person?" /Dumbledore,/ Harry identified as he became more interested in the conversation. /So now it's Lupin's turn./

"James having a child... But it does fit. If we look at when Harry's birthday is, and take into account the gestation period, it is possible that he was conceived before James faced down Voldemort," Lupin said softly. At this, Harry jerked and sat up straight, glancing from face to face.

"My dad faced down Voldemort? How-"

"He didn't survive," Dumbledore said sadly. "James Potter knew that Voldemort was after him, and went into hiding, using the Fidelius Charm. He was betrayed by Pettigrew, just as you related, Harry. However, there the similarities end, to a certain extent. James and Voldemort used the Killing Curse on each other at the same moment. It killed James, and for several years many witches and wizards believed that it had killed Voldemort as well. James Potter has been hailed as a hero, though he didn't live long enough to find out."

"He never married," said Sirius, "though he was a bit distant in the years right before his death. I guess he could have been involved with a Muggle, and we never knew it. He knew how dangerous his life was; he probably didn't marry your mother, Harry, because he knew that she wouldn't be able to defend herself if needed." He smiled tiredly, "Lily Evans must have been his 'dark little secret'."

"So then... my mum was a Muggle."

Dumbledore nodded, "There are no records of a Lily Evans ever having attended Hogwarts, nor of either Harry Potter or Harry Evans. It would appear that you are half-blood, Harry, with no magic."

Harry thought this over, and nodded slowly. It was pretty much the same conclusion he had come to the day before. Only one thing still didn't fit... "But then, why do I remember all of these things? You were saying that many of the things I remember actually did happen, only a bit differently. If I'm a Muggle, how do I remember these things at all?"

Lupin raised a tentative hand. "Well, I think I might have a bit of a theory for that, Harry." Both Sirius and Dumbledore looked at the werewolf in surprise, and Harry absentmindedly noted that he was no longer "Mr Evans" to Lupin, but instead "Harry". "Have you ever read any Muggle science fiction, by any chance? In particular stories involving alternate dimensions, or parallel universes? It's easier to understand if you have."

"A few books. Mrs Whelton has them in her store, and she recommended some of them to me," Harry admitted.

"Well, it seems to me that everything that you remember did indeed happen. You say that the last thing you remember is hitting Voldemort with the Killing Curse. Could it be that, in using on him the same curse that he used on you years earlier, you could have created some kind of magical backlash? One that could have knocked you into a parallel world in which your mother was not born a witch, but rather a regular Muggle - that is to say, this world?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Dumbledore stroked his beard, "That could very well be possible, Remus, were it not for one thing - Harry has found evidence of having existed in this world for his entire life, not just the past year."

Professor Lupin grinned, "Ah, but what if it wasn't his body that came here? What if it was just his soul? Wouldn't his soul immediately seek out a familiar vessel, and possibly end up being dominant over the soul already existing in the body of Harry Evans? This Harry - Harry Potter - has been through much more than Harry Evans ever has, he may be the stronger soul of the two, and he might have been able to easily displace the native soul."

"Oh. That's a bit... weird," Harry said, his head spinning. "So then, what you're saying is that I'm Harry Potter inside of Harry Evans' body? But... whatever happened to Evans' soul? Is it still inside me, or is it - elsewhere?"

"Hm, it would seem to me that there are three possible answers to that question," Dumbledore said, apparently having caught on to what Lupin was saying. "Evans may have remained within the body, having gone dormant for the time being, or he may have been evicted from the body entirely. If the second is true, he could have either dissipated, or he could have gone into a different host. It may even be possible that he went into the body that you left behind, in your own world. Souls are tricky things, you can never predict just what they may do."

Shaking his head, Sirius leaned against Lupin on the couch. "I don't know, Remus. It all sounds pretty far fetched to me. Souls from other worlds? It's like something out of a fairy tale," he paused and thought for a moment, "or one of Sibyll Trelawney's crazier predictions."

"But some of Professor Trelawney's predictions do come true," Harry said softly, and everyone turned to look at him. "I didn't mention it before, because I hadn't thought it important, but she predicted Wormtail's escape, and Voldemort's return. She went all funny, and spoke in a deep voice. I told Professor Dumbledore about it later on, and he said that that brought her number of real predictions up to two... Though I can't think of what her first one would have been here in your world..." He turned a questioning look to Dumbledore.

True to his nature, Dumbledore smiled brightly, but didn't say a word about Professor Trelawney or her predictions. "I think," he said, pulling a large pocket watch out of his robes and giving it a quick glance, "that it is time for Harry here to return home. I have been told that there are people expecting him, and if he doesn't return soon, they may become rather distressed."

Realizing this to be a subtle hint that he was to return to Mrs Whelton's store and flat, Harry felt vaguely disappointed, though he didn't know why. /I'm not a part of this world anymore,/ he reminded himself. /I should just be grateful that now I know what happened in my life, and I don't have to worry about my sanity anymore./ Plastering a smile on his face, Harry rose from the armchair, and headed for the door. It had been nice to believe, even for a short time, that he was again a part of everything he remembered.