Shifting Realities

We're living in the land of make-believe
And trying not to let it show
Maybe in the land of make-believe
Heartaches can turn into joy
- "The Land of Make-Believe," Moody Blues

For once, the sunshine and the birds did not wake Harry up. Storm clouds blocked out the sun, and it was raining too hard for even the birds to be out. Unfortunately for Harry, he had become conditioned to awaking at slightly after six thirty in the morning, so despite his respite from the sun and the birds, he still woke up too early. Growling, Harry turned over in bed and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Then the hail started.

Deciding that he'd already lost the battle for sleep, Harry got out of bed. Well, at least that was what he meant to do. Instead, his aim was a bit off and he ended up rolling out of bed and onto the floor, knocking over the bedside table in the process. For a moment he just lay there on the floor, wincing at the temperature difference between his nice warm bed and the rest of the room. Lying there, he became aware of the sound of someone running down the hall. Suddenly, the door was flung open, and there stood Malfoy, hanging onto the door frame and panting, obviously out of breath. If Harry hadn't been so groggy, he would have glared at the intrusion.

"Are you- are you all right?" Malfoy gasped as he finally caught his breath. "I heard a crash..." He blinked, taking in the scene before him. Table lying on its side, Harry sprawled out on the floor, still partly caught up in his bedding. Reaching down, he picked up Harry's glasses, which had gone flying across the room when the table had been overturned. He turned them around for a moment, then passed them to Harry.

"I'm fine. I just fell, that's all," Harry growled as he put his glasses on and began to untangle himself from the sheets and blankets that were wrapped around his legs.

Malfoy walked over and righted the table, carefully picking up all the different little objects that had been thrown off it when it was knocked over. Placing them on the tabletop, he rubbed his arms. "God, it's cold in here," he observed.

Having finally extricated himself from the covers, Harry rolled his eyes in agreement. "Bloody stupid wizards, bet you haven't even ever heard the words 'central heating'. If I were back in Surrey at Mrs. Whelton's place, all I'd have to do would be turn up the thermostat. Here I have to start a fire in the fireplace, then stick around and watch it to make sure that it doesn't go out before it can start warming the place up."

"Why bother with the fireplace? All you need to do is perform a simple warming spell-" Malfoy broke off as he saw the look that Harry was giving him. "Oh, right. Here, look, I'll do it for you and bind it to the room." He took his wand out of his robe, and performed the charm. He smiled in relief as the room warmed up. "That's better."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, turning to put the bedding back on the bed as well as avoid Malfoy's gaze.

"Did you hear the hail start? It's insane, I'm going to have to bring Viator in. He can't stand being cooped up in the shed when it hails," Malfoy commented, staring out Harry's window.

"Oh," said Harry weakly, fiddling with the knickknacks that Malfoy had replaced on the table. Viator was Malfoy's owl, a brown short-eared that Harry had found to be very affectionate. He had yet to ask what had happened to the eagle owl that he remembered Malfoy having at Hogwarts.

For a moment the two men stood there in silence, neither looking at the other as the hail drummed down on the roof of the house. Then Malfoy turned and went out the door into the workroom, presumably to go out back and retrieve Viator from the shed, and Harry went to his dresser, retrieving a pair of fuzzy wool socks and pulling them on over his feet. He wasn't going to take the chance that Malfoy might not have cast a heating charm in the kitchen as well as the bedrooms.

Socks on, Harry padded through the workroom and into the kitchen. Glancing around the room, he decided that he wanted something more substantial than tea to warm him up inside. He set to work, pulling out a mixing bowl, measuring cup, milk, eggs, baking soda, flour, and a few other items. This was one recipe that he never needed the cook book for anymore, having done it so many times before at the Dursleys', as it was a favorite of Dudley's.

Humming to himself, Harry settled into the trance that cooking now brought upon him. He'd never enjoyed cooking when with the Dursleys and frequently found ways to avoid the bothersome job back then. However, when he was doing it by choice, rather than by force, it took on a somewhat comforting quality, and with familiar recipes like this one he found he could let his mind drift as his hands did the work for him. One time he'd brought the subject of his "trance cooking" up with Mrs. Whelton, and she had said that it sounded similar to what happened to musicians when they began to play a piece of music that they had memorized completely. When he had questioned her simile, she was forced into admitting that she had been a flautist when she was younger, and was eventually goaded into taking out her flute and and playing for him.

Now, however, Harry was thinking of neither music nor Mrs. Whelton. Instead his mind had managed to wander onto the topic of Malfoy. Over the past few months, Harry had wondered more than once about why Malfoy would be living with Remus and Sirius, though he had always stopped short before asking the other man about it. At first he had simply chosen to ignore the question, and later on he decided that it was because the Malfoy of this world was so much different from the one that he had known.

Only that wasn't true. On more than one occasion Harry had seen that there was very little difference between this Malfoy and the one he remembered. He was still proud, still went about everything with that aristocratic air that had always rubbed Harry the wrong way during their years together at Hogwarts. It rarely cracked like it had this morning when Malfoy had burst into Harry's room, almost frantic.

The main differences were in the way Malfoy interacted with him - instead of being condescending towards Harry or even simply ignoring him, he made tentative overtures of friendship - and then there was Malfoy's admittance of having taken Muggle Studies while at Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies class alone indicated a very different person from the one that Harry had known, though he saw no other major indications.

The sound of a door slamming shut in the workroom jolted Harry out of his reverie, and for a moment he was on edge, ready to flee. Quiet hooting from the other room confirmed that it was Malfoy with his owl, and Harry relaxed, turning his attention back to the pan in front of him.

Stomping into the kitchen, Malfoy took off his cloak and leaned against the counter, massaging his temples. "Bloody bird nearly had a heart attack when I tried to bring him inside," he grumbled.

Harry chuckled and shook his head, not looking up. "It's called 'karma', Malfoy," the shorter man said with delight. "Now go set the table, I'm nearly done here."

Turning his attention to what Harry was doing, Malfoy frowned. "Why are you making breakfast?"

Not expecting this question, Harry was caught off guard. Shrugging, he flipped over the pancake that was currently in the pan. "I wanted comfort food, I guess. I mean, it's not that I'm upset or anything - I rather like hail, in fact. But the reason I like hail is because I can be inside where it's warm. There's something nice about being able to read a book and eat or drink something hot while it's cold and wet outside." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Now you're going to say that I am 'seriously disturbed.'"

Malfoy froze in the process of taking plates out of the cupboard, and slowly turned to look at Harry, his face emotionless, though surprise was evident in his eyes. "How did you...?"

Laughing again, Harry smiled at Malfoy, "It's what you said the first time I explained comfort food to you. If nothing else, you're still very predictable." Harry slid the pancake out of the pan and onto the growing stack next to him, still smiling as he watched Malfoy silently fume out of the corner of his eye. While Malfoy might be different in some ways in this world, he still had the same basic character. And Harry still knew exactly what buttons to push to drive him nuts.

Lying back on the couch with his feet propped up on an armrest, Harry turned a page in his book. It was one he hadn't read before, having checked it out from the library the previous day. So far it was proving to be incredibly interesting, involving time travel and possibly psychic powers, and so he was more than a little annoyed when he was jerked out of his trancelike state by the uneasy feeling of being stared at. Letting the book fall back on his chest, Harry looked up and glared. "All right, you can't start getting on my case about reading any more, Malfoy, because you do it just as much as me now."

Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't about to jump on your back, Evans, so stop worrying. Just thought you might be up for a friendly competition, that's all."

This caused Harry to sit up in surprise. "Friendly competition?" he asked, confused. "It's something that I'll find very painful, isn't it? Forget it, Malfoy, I'm not participating."

"Nothing painful. Just a simple game of one-on-one Quidditch. You can use Remus' broom; it isn't great, but it's decent," Malfoy countered, and for the first time, Harry noted that Malfoy was holding a broom in each hand.

/Heaven preserve me from idiots and well-meaning fools,/ Harry thought. /Not that Malfoy's well-meaning, of course,/ he added hastily. "Malfoy," he ground out, "in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a Muggle. I can't fly a broom."

The Slytherin smirked, and Harry wanted to sock that smirk off his face, but he controlled himself. "Brooms are bewitched objects, Evans. They work for Muggles as well as they do for wizards, it's just that Muggles usually don't understand how to operate them. And, as for being a Muggle, well, according to Remus, you're only half Muggle. Your dad was James Potter." He said the name with awe and reverence that only served to annoy Harry further.

"That's right, I'm the child of everyone's favorite Man Who Died," he said sarcastically. "Well, if you're sure I can use the broom, why not? Two players, one Snitch, right?"

"Since we were both Seekers, that would seem the logical way to do it," Malfoy replied. "Come on, we can play in the meadow across the road."

Setting his book down on the end table, Harry nodded and grabbed the broom that Malfoy offered him. It wasn't up to par with the brooms he'd had in the past, but Harry recognized it as being a good broom. Pushing himself up from the couch, he followed Malfoy out the door, barely noticing the chilly air of mid-December that surrounded him upon exiting the house. Mounting the borrowed broom, Harry was delighted to see that it responded to him as well as both of his old brooms had, though a bit slower. Grinning, he followed Malfoy to the field across the road, eager to be back on a broom, doing what he did best.

When he finally came to a stop, Harry was hovering opposite Malfoy, ten feet above the field. After reaching into his pocket, Malfoy produced a Golden Snitch and tossed it between the two of them, signaling the start of the game.

The Snitch didn't remain still for so much as a second, immediately whizzing away, disappearing to some other part of the meadow. Malfoy started after it, obviously determined to beat Harry. Even though it was supposed to be a friendly game, Harry supposed that Malfoy's pride would not allow him to lose to a Muggle - well, okay, a half-Muggle Squib. Harry himself made no move to follow Malfoy after the Snitch. He'd learned long before that if the Snitch was chased straight away, it would either fly over or under you in an effort to extend the length of the game. One of the faults Harry had always found himself pointing out to Malfoy after their one-on-one games in the past was that he consistently went for the Snitch as soon as it was released. As if to illustrate his point on the uselessness of this move, a golden blur sped over Malfoy's head, shooting towards the road.

Swinging his broom to the left and allowing his body to lean to the side as well, Harry followed in pursuit. As he flew, a part of him noted Malfoy's surprised look. The Slytherin had obviously not expected Harry to respond so quickly to the Snitch's change in direction. Harry pondered this for a moment, dipping downwards as the Snitch attempted to duck under him, before understanding dawned on him. /I have a huge advantage here,/ he realized numbly. /I've spent six years watching Malfoy play as a Seeker in the past, but he's never seen me play before. I know all his moves and techniques, but he knows none of mine./

Malfoy was flying towards him, about a meter or two above Harry's head. To Harry, it was obvious what the other man was attempting - he intended to trap the Snitch between himself and Harry, expecting Harry to fly upwards in order to prevent Malfoy from catching the ball. If Harry were to do this, he would effectively be herding it straight into Malfoy's hands. It would have been a very good plan were it not for one thing - Harry had much more than a passing acquaintance with the ways of the Snitch. Instead of flying at the Snitch itself, Harry executed a slow flip, flying around the Snitch entirely, causing him to fly straight at Malfoy, albeit upside-down.

Ducking in order to avoid a head-on collision, Malfoy ended up flying towards the Snitch, causing the ball to swoop downwards, then zoom for the copse of trees on the far side of the meadow. Halting and turning, Malfoy sped after it. Swerving right and left, Harry followed at a slightly slower pace, simply enjoying the freedom of flight for the time being. He wasn't overly worried that Malfoy would catch the Snitch for the moment, knowing that the other man's direct approach had always been Malfoy's greatest weakness.

Coming closer, Harry blinked in surprise as the Snitch suddenly shot upwards several meters, going so fast it was nearly invisible. Harry immediately changed his course, pulling upwards to parallel the Snitch's path. As he flew, he noticed that this move had the added benefit of throwing Malfoy completely off guard. This was understandable, as all Malfoy had seen of his flying up until this point had involved slow, cautious movements. Now, to all appearances, Harry was aggressively chasing after the tiny ball.

Right before he caught up with the Snitch, Harry suddenly shifted his weight forward on his broom, toppling forwards - the next thing he knew, he was spiraling down towards the ground. Malfoy, unsure of what to expect, hesitated for a moment before continuing on his path to follow the Snitch. This moment of hesitation proved to be his undoing, as Harry took advantage of that moment and pull out of his spiral. Distracted as he was, Malfoy didn't notice that Harry had just pulled off the maneuver that he himself had been practicing nearly three months before.

Turning to face towards the sky again in a long, drawn-out curve, Harry sped upwards. By choosing to use that move, he had caused himself to lose a great deal of distance, however he had also managed to increase his speed at least threefold. Hugging close to his broom in order to decrease drag, he shot upwards past Malfoy, who watched him go past in disbelief. Seeing that he was fast approaching the Snitch, Harry flung out his right hand, knowing that this time the Snitch would be unable to change its direction in time, as Harry was currently going faster that the ball itself.

Cool metal connected with his hand, stinging his palm, and Harry's automatically fingers curled around the ball, safely securing it in his fist. Tumbling forwards, he fell into a hover, just siting there high above the ground, staring at the Snitch in his hand in disbelief. He had been sure that he could beat Malfoy to it earlier, but now that he actually held it, the thought occurred to him that it shouldn't have been so easy. He hadn't flown for over a year - never flown at all in this body, in fact - he should be out of practice, but he wasn't. It was almost as if he had been born knowing how to fly a broom.

Harry was jerked out of his reverie by the faint sounds of clapping from below. Still holding onto the Snitch, he leaned forward, flying slowly down towards the ground, wondering where the sound was coming from. As he neared the ground, he jerked back in surprise. There, where the meadow met the edge of the road, stood Sirius and Remus, both of them applauding.

The moon hung swollen and pale in the blue-black of the clear night sky, only a few days away from being full. Sitting on the front porch, Harry stared at it, mulling over what both he and Malfoy had been told by Remus and Sirius when they had returned to the house after the one-on-one game four days before.

/God... before the end of June? That soon?/ Harry sighed and took a sip from the glass of wine he held in one hand. According to intelligence from Dumbledore's network of spies, Voldemort was going to attempt a large scale attack on Hogwarts before the end of the school year. The idea, apparently, was that the school would be weaker at this time, since any defenders would also have to protect the students. And Dumbledore couldn't send the students home, since those that continued to attended the school did so because their parents felt it was safer at Hogwarts than at home - a sad but true fact, when it really came down to it.

/But am I expected to do it all over again?/ Harry pondered, setting his glass on the stone porch. That was what was really bothering him. He wasn't sure whether it was really his fight in this case, as he wasn't even a part of the wizarding world, and, though they looked just like the people he had known, those threatened were not truly his friends.

So here he was, sitting on the cold porch, staring up at the moon, with only a half-full glass of wine to keep himself company. Sirius, Remus, and Malfoy were all inside doing familial things around the small Christmas tree Sirius had cut in the grove across the road. Harry knew that he was more than welcome to join them, as he had earlier for dinner, but if felt awkward and wrong, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't.

Christmas with Mrs. Whelton and Alice the previous year hadn't been like this, and Harry suspected that his uneasiness came from the fact that he had known the people inside the house, but they had never truly known him.

/And anyway, I never really spent Christmas with them when I was in school,/ Harry thought vaguely, reaching out to sketch patterns with his warm finger in the frost on the porch. This was true as well, Sirius and Remus were not a part of the Christmas tradition - well, there had been that one Christmas in fifth year, but Harry generally tried not to think about fifth year - and as for Malfoy-ÊHarry quickly clamped down on the thought before it could go any further. /Christmas was always for Ron and Hermione. And sometimes Ginny or the twins./

Leaving off on his decorating of Remus' porch, Harry picked up his glass again, slowly twirling the stem between his thumb and forefinger before downing what was left of his wine. He winced momentarily at the strong taste, then sighed. He'd become accustomed to the taste of wine from being dragged to church every Sunday with the Dursleys up until his first year at Hogwarts. Harry vaguely remembered that he had at first disliked the strong taste of the wine he'd received at Communion, however as he'd grown older, he'd also grown to like the bite that came with liquid, feeling that it balanced the bland taste of the bread perfectly.

Wincing at the pinging noise the glass made as he set it back down on the porch, Harry shivered. What he really wanted to do was go inside and warm up, but this was something he just could not do, as that would mean that he would have to intrude on the happy Christmas scene. Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked through the large windows set into the front of the house. They radiated cheer and happiness, golden light spilling out onto the porch, though not reaching far enough to touch Harry.

Malfoy and Remus were laughing at something Sirius had done, and the Animagus was hanging his head, pretending to be upset by their laughter, though Harry could see the twinkle in the Sirius' eyes. Watching them, Harry wanted to be a part of that scene more than anything. He wanted to belong again, to be a part of the group instead of just the strange outsider who knew too much about things he shouldn't even know.

Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet and caught up his glass one last time. Stretching, he descended the steps leading away from the porch, then circled around the house to the back door. Here he softly opened the door and stepped into the workroom. Quietly setting the glass down on the counter, he shut the door, then retreated into his room.

Christmas was a silly holiday anyway.

Next chapter: a Man to Man talk; Y2K okay?; Harry breaks new ground; a couple of Malfoy's friends visit.