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Sean, Lost In Time And Space

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“So,” I said, putting the finishing touches on my letter. “Can you direct me to the nearest exit?” The Wiltshire Dog took letter and ring in his mouth, made a gesture that I interpreted as “Later,” and vanished. “Well, I guess that’s me staying put for the time being,” I said to the empty air. I honestly wasn’t sure if what I was looking for was a physical place, anyway. Dog just kind of came and went from one story to another regardless of the barrier, but I’d only traveled through stories via dreams and death. “I need something more permanent than the one, and less painful than the other.”

Out here beyond the barrier of our world I’d initially thought that one could just… step in and out of one story or another, but on reflection that couldn’t be right. If it were that easy every story that we knew of would have been just a mass of incomprehensible characters, all working at cross-purposes to each other with muddled results. Narratively unsatisfying, in other words. People only crossed over… when the story requires them. I mused to Randall Flagg’s bones, as I sat next to him. “I hypothesize that you can’t get into another story unless you’re aligned with it narratively, in some way. Every story-within-a-story has to have a narrator willing to describe it to sustain its presence. I’m my own narrator, ultimately, so I can sustain myself? But if I want to get into a version of Hogwarts, I’ll have to find some variant of that place where my presence would further the larger purpose of the world. Or some version where nobody’s keeping watch on the walls. Right?” The bones were unhelpfully silent.

I focused on my desire to learn magic. To become part of the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, do a nice accelerated-education program there, get out with a wand and a working knowledge of magic. Maybe give Dumbledore a piece of my mind about child endangerment. I felt like that didn’t narrow it down much- but I also knew there was no incompetent adult wizard named Sean in any of the books, and probably not many fanfics, either. “So where do I get in?” I laid back and closed my eyes- then leapt up with a start. I could see them. With my eyes closed, I could still see the spheres!

I closed them again and looked around in awe. The crystalline objects I’d seen before, in my brief journeys from one body to another. Millions of them, uncountable- nestled within and without, intersecting and colliding. They must be the worlds of our stories. They surrounded, permeated. There were too many to take in. “I don’t think everyone outside our little universe gets this view, or there’d be a lot more written about it,” I muttered, staring upwards through closed eyelids. Which meant this was a tool intended for me, somehow- what could I do with this? “Harry Potter,” I said. Nothing. “Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone?” Not a twitch. “Okay, not a book title or a character. Uh. JK Rowling?” Nope. “Hogwarts.” That got a reaction- my vision of the spheres spun, and a collection of thousands of tiny orbs contained within a larger framework came into view. They were linked, somehow, to each other and through each other, some seeming to spin off from the ones before, others standing independent, but still thematically the same. “I’m looking at every work centered in Hogwarts, aren’t I.” The realization was sudden, and accompanied by more- that these stories were only in Hogwarts. As I had specified. What’s more, I didn’t see a single one that felt like a good entry point- not in the way that Wonderland had, previously.

“Uh, let’s change scope. Magical Britain?” The spheres wooshed again, this time with a distinct zooming out feel, and I was once more presented with a collection of thousands of spheres- bigger, this time, more complex, but also less distinct around the edges, more intertwined. “Lots of stories set there, but not many bother to dress it up or distinguish their version of Magical Britain from the others, I’m guessing.” But not a single one afforded me entry. I felt like I could force my way in, or more accurately simply ditch this body and become another within the story, but “Would I really be me, or-?” I was a bit concerned. Every other time I’d moved between stories, I’d done it without carrying my physical body along. But results as far as holding onto my memories, my self, had been mixed. “If consciousness is just a waveform, and these bodies are the media that we propagate through, then skipping from one to another without carrying the brain makes sense. But why do I remember my lives here, and not elsewhere?”

“Because you already had a body here,” came the answer, startling me out of my reverie as Dog paced back into my little camp. “You walked here in dreams and left an impression, to be picked up when your consciousness returned.”

I sat up. “Back so soon- everything okay then? Randall gone, wife triumphant?” I didn’t really have any doubt, but I still felt relief when he nodded. She’ll be fine. I put it from my mind, for now. Trying to imagine her life for her had got us into this mess, after all. “Good. So, how do I leave an impression in a place I’ve never been? It doesn’t seem like it’s a big hurdle for the other story characters. Aslan and Randall stepped into our world whole and intact, albeit… shaded a little bit, by their narrators.”

The Dog bobbed his head. “They had invitations, and their patterns were well known in your world. You are inviting yourself, and the only copy of your story that anyone else knows is… unrepresentative.” He eyed me with some amusement.

I huffed, “Not that unrepresentative. Just less adventurous.” I hadn’t had time to read the romance version of our lives, but I’d pick up a copy before too long and figure out why everyone who had read it kept giving me looks. “That doesn’t explain the infomorphs or the Swap, though. As far as we know they don’t even have a narrator.”

He appeared unconcerned. “Nothing explains the infomorphs, which means they must be something terribly clever. I’m surprised I wasn’t involved. But let’s leave them out of this, for the time being.”

“Okay, so I can’t travel there if I haven’t ‘Left an impression’ first without losing my mind, and I can’t leave an impression through writing because this version of our story is too off the rails. Coherent, but inconvenient.”

The Dog began to pace around me, sniffing the ground. “Lucky for you, this is a crossroads of sorts. Minds wander to Wonderland from all sorts of places, but most especially from the many places in the multiverse that identify as the ‘United Kingdom.’ Perhaps even the occasional young woman who might be considering her own version of that world to which you are inclined. Shall I arrange… introductions?”

I nodded happily. “Yes, please!” Then reconsidered. “Uh, maybe somewhere that isn’t here?” I was, after all, still standing over the half-shattered bones of a dead man, holding two pistols.

“Oh no,” said the Dog, grinning. “I think this will leave quite the impression.” He pulled his vanishing act before I could stop him, and for a moment I was alone. But not for long. The tall grass around my little tableau rustled in the breeze, and the stream behind me burbled. Within minutes the rustling took on a more directed affect, and soon a young woman no older than 16 crawled out of the grass, on hands and knees, like she was looking for something. She wasn’t dressed like an Alice- she had a halter top and jeans on- but she was certainly muttering to herself like one.

“How odd, I could have sworn he was just ahead of me and- oh!” She noticed me standing there. I’d holstered my guns and made some effort to look non threatening, but I figured the sight of a strange man standing over a skeleton in this of all places was probably going to give anyone pause. “Have you seen a small blue dog with beady red eyes, by any chance? Only I was just following him through the grass and he seems to have vanished,” she said, not missing a beat. Okay I guess she wasn’t all that phased after all.

“Been in Wonderland a while, have you?” I asked wryly. “Yeah I’ve seen him, but I’m not sure where he is now. Probably causing trouble for my wife.”

She blew out her lips and sat down. “I feel like I’ve been here for weeks, just going round and round in circles. Always animals and allegories, it’s enough to turn my head. You seem normal enough. Are you some kind of metaphor for life?” She gestured at the bones next to me. At least she’d noticed them. Kind of alarming what you could get used to, wandering around here.

“No, not a metaphor. Randall there might have been, hard to say” I said, looking at the ancient and crumbling things. “Just another traveller. Name’s Sean, nice to meet you.”

“Harriet, likewise” said the young woman, finally standing up. “Walk with me for a while, then? It would be so nice to have an actual human being for company.” She turned and kept on moving through the tall grass, while I accompanied her.

“I’m not even sure I count, for all intents and purposes,” I warned her. “But I know what you mean. The first time I ran into Wonderland a beaver with a cockney accent tried to get me to burn myself alive. Things can get a bit odd.”

She gave me a look like she didn’t quite believe me. “You’re sure you’re not metaphorical?”

I poked myself. “Reasonably. I’m guessing you’ll be wanting a way out of here, then?” She nodded eagerly. “I’ll be honest- the Dog probably led you to me because I’m looking for the same thing. You’re dreaming here, but I’m here for real, and I need to get out through a… story, that you might write some time in the future. I need you to put me in it, as me. Sean, the uh, actual me, not the character.”

She looked crestfallen. “Oh, you are some kind of lesson, then.” I guess I was far too insane to be believable as a real person. But she brightened a little bit as the rest of it sunk in “But you know how to get out!”

My patience was not infinite. “Yes. Look, Harriet- do you write Harry Potter fanfiction?”

She blushed and looked away. “Yeeeees, sometimes.” Then she squinted at me suspiciously. “I’ve only ever done it online! And I didn’t use my real name, I was ScribbleWitch! How did you know about that? Are you some kind of creepy dream stalker?”

I facepalmed. “No. My dog might be, but I don’t answer for him. I just need to get to a functional Hogwarts. You agree to write me into your next story, and I’ll tell you how to get out of here.” A pang of conscience hit me. “I mean, I’d tell you how to get out of here anyway, but this helps us both.”

She just looked puzzled. “You just don’t seem like the type who’d want- you know what, never mind. How could I write you? I don’t really know anything about you!”

Well, that was true. We were passing a field of chair-sized toadstools, so I stopped and took a seat. “Okay, pull up a chair. I’ve been needing to dump some narration for a while now, and you’re a good test audience.” She sat, looking a little bit frustrated at yet another delay. “Don’t worry, time is wonky here, this probably won’t take a minute. So there I was, at 9 o’clock on a Friday, trying to fetch my wife’s cat in a thunderstorm…”

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Substantially more than a minute later I’d finished my tale, and told Harriet the trick to getting out of Wonderland (get scared badly enough and you’d wake up like it was all a nightmare). She agreed to write me into the story she was working on, something titled “The Cauldron Stirred” which sure sounded odd to me, but what did I know, I wasn’t familiar with the vagaries of HP fanfiction. She wouldn’t send me to Hogwarts as an adult though. “That’s okay, right? It would be weird if there was some guy there named Sean, it would distract the reader. You’ll be there and I’ll know you’re there but like… in the background, as a student.” I said that would be fine, and she left to get scared awake.

Once more I laid down in a quiet glen and closed my eyes, and this time I didn’t need to sort and filter- I saw the sphere immediately, and felt the tug of it. Another world where my presence wasn’t just accepted- it was required. I guessed she’d get around to writing that fic after all, then. Here goes nothing, I thought to myself, and let the pull take me. Leaving my body behind, I soared through the void once more, that great fractal entity pulling me in faster and faster until I struck the surface and awoke-

To find a great white owl tapping at my window with a letter for me. Harriet, you beautiful young woman, you did it. You got me in. I leapt out of bed only to fall flat on my face. 11-year-old me was substantially shorter with much more gangly proportions. I hope I didn’t look like I actually had when I was 11. I used to dress in the most absurdly conservative button-downs. Haley looking at old family photos once said I looked like “A junior mortician,” whatever that meant. I opened the window and let the owl in, taking the letter with a soft “Thank you.” It was addressed to “Sean Peakes” which I supposed would have to do. Yadda yadda, entrance to Hogwarts, term to begin on 1 September, have all your things ready. “Wait,” I said- “What month is it?” I assumed it was some year in the 90’s, assuming I was being kicked into a Harry Potter time frame, but- did I have to sit around this house all summer before I got on with it? That seemed an enormous waste of time.

I took a risk. “Moooooom! I got a letter!” If it was a Muggle family I’d have to do this anyway- if it was magical, this might solve a couple problems. But there was no response- the house, now that I thought about it, was absolutely silent. My room wasn’t even particularly furnished- the bed, a chair, a single change of clothes so at least I wouldn’t go out naked. That was it? “Harriet, did you not give local-me a background?” I poked my head out of my door and looked around- sure enough, the house was empty and dark. “Just a spawn point, then.” So I’d have to make my own way through Magical London. In some ways that was liberating- I wouldn’t need to worry about breaking the heart of some random family by disappearing. In others, I was quite literally destitute and I needed to travel halfway across England and acquire a number of hard-to-obtain educational materials in the next couple months. What did I have on hand? I checked my pockets. Fat lot of nothing, nothing, and- my face lit up. A wand. I felt compelled to examine it. Nine and one-quarter inches long, made of a white hornbeam, with a core of dragon heartstring. Of course that’s the core. Okay. Nothing to me but my name, the clothes on my back, an invitation to a school… at some point, and the ability to cast spells but no training. Let’s get on with it, then.

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“... And just for a moment, he was a man. And the vorpal sword in my hands went snicker-snack.” I finished, and there was a smattering of polite applause throughout the Hog’s Head Inn. I think they felt a bit awkward hearing such dark stories from someone so young, but the Hog’s Head crowd was a bit coarser than the usual barroom. In magical Britain they knew a little kid might not be what he seemed at all, so they kept their heads down and clapped politely when the entertainment was done. I’d been paying room and board with my stories for a while- my bank accounts didn’t transfer to new realities with my death, it seemed. Quite inconvenient but Aberforth was a genial enough sort.

I got down off my stool by the hearth- everything was much taller, I reflected, when you were only about 11 years old- and wandered over to the bar. No matter how old I insisted I was, the cagey old bastard still wouldn’t sell me a beer, but that was fine- moderate hardships were to be expected. I stared longingly at the taps in the sincere hope that my “Wild” magic might provide. He nodded to me amicably as he wiped out cups with a rag that looked like it hadn’t been washed since 1920. Magical Britain didn’t really seem to have grasped the fundamentals of Pasteur’s work on germ theory- possibly because they had so many spells that made it unnecessary, but still. The hygiene standards were positively medieval at times. “Albus said he’d be by today,” muttered the old barkeep. “Bout time too, you been darkening my doorstep for near-on a week now and I ain’t running no kindergarten.”

I gestured behind me at the room. “Attendance is up, isn’t it? I’m making you money with my stories, so don’t bellyache to me about impropriety.” I still had about a month before the start of term, but I was glad to finally be meeting the old wizard. I had a lot of questions- I had verified that this was, in fact, Harry’s first year at the school. It wasn’t even hard to find out, half the magical world was buzzing with rumors about the kid. But I didn’t plan to simply match his progress. For one thing I didn’t know how long this story would last. But for another- I had some suspicions about the nature of Hogwarts and I was going to do my best to pry some answers out of the Chief Mugwump or whatever title he had at this point. “Do you think he’s going to take kindly to some random kid calling him out here and peppering him with questions?”

“Oh, I’ve been peppered with worse,” said a creaky old baritone from directly behind me. What is it with inscrutable magic people and showing up right behind me? I jumped, and turned in my stool to meet the gaze of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the man himself. He was wearing the tasseled cap and traditional grey bathrobe that seemed to be his signature look in this time period. His wand was not in evidence, thankfully, and I did not sense any tension about him- for the moment at least, I was not under any particular threat, then. I breathed a sigh of relief and took a drink of the delightful pilsner that had recently appeared in my hand. Thanks, magic!

I couldn’t resist a bit of curiosity. “You know, 60 years ago you were wearing three-piece suits and making them work for you. How come you switched it up?”

He chuckled but took it in stride, sitting down on a stool next to me. “I learned that people take you much more seriously as a practitioner of magic if you don’t look like you’re about to sell them insurance. Also,” he tugged at the robes, “these turned out to be quite comfortable. But your question, I’m afraid, raises several more.” He peered at me, not quite serious yet- or was he? I noticed that Aberforth had backed off to the other side of the bar, and the other patrons were giving us a wide berth. “Oh yes,” he said, “I’ve heard the tales you weave here, of a night. Most interesting. You’re not from around here are you, Mr… Peakes, was it?” I couldn’t help but nod as I peered into his eyes. I don’t think I’m fully in control right now. I doubted I could lie if I wanted to. Luckily for me, I didn’t want to. “And yet here you are now, with a head full of the most peculiar knowledge. What brings you to our own little corner of the story-verse?”

I started again. “Wait, you know you’re in a story?”

He nodded easily. “Do they write me as a fool, Mr. Peakes? We’re in a world with magical powers yet our society is inexplicably backwards, I myself have defeated two evil overlords with the assistance of grand prophecies, and we have yet another potential chosen one arriving at our school this very month. I would be more surprised to learn that there was not some narrative hand at work. Your own tales confirm this. But again I must ask your intentions.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. Old, ancient, sharp, but he was not a bared blade. He was a microscope, and I was his subject. This is my test. I chose honesty. “I need to learn magic, sir. Real magic. From as many sources as I can. This is my first stop, because whatever else it is, magic in your world is easy enough that children can pick it up and become reasonably competent simply through rote learning. But I need to go far beyond that. There are threats to my home, terrible threats, and the woman I love is stuck there battling them alone. I have to get back to her, and to do that I need a greater understanding of the true nature of the worlds. Magic is the tool I choose to gain that understanding.” I let the desperation creep into my voice, the terrible fear that I would not learn fast enough, the hunger for understanding and the desire to see my wife again. It sounded strange to me, coming in my child’s voice, but Dumbledore was not phased.

“You ask a great deal. Of course we would take you and educate you- you have your letter, you certainly have the gift, I verified that much. We take all in Britain who display talent- whoever writes this tale has included you among that population. But I get the impression that you don’t trust our system. Do you, Mr. Peakes?”

Shit, he read my mind. I couldn’t help but notice that I could no longer hear the noises coming from the rest of the bar. Silence spell? I shook my head. I was going to try to bluff a little bit- he knew I had special knowledge of his world, but he couldn’t possibly know what I knew. I took care not to look him in the eye again as I spoke. “No offense, but your school system doesn’t make a lot of sense. Part of that may be the influence of the author, who was trying to be more charming than compelling, but still- the magic that is described in your school system is all rote. Wave a wand this way, mutter your spell with this inflection, and the same effect will happen every time. Except- you, and He-Whose-Name-I’m-Not-Going-To-Say, and Grindelwald, and a half dozen other great magicians, don’t work like that at all. You produce effects that beggar belief, without raising a hand or touching your wand. You’ve been casting spells on me, as I sit here, entirely without moving even though the students exiting at the peak of your magical education system are just barely getting the hang of doing magic without a wand. Hogwarts itself defies explanation- it is far too elaborate for the kind of spellcrafters it produces to have made it. Either there’s some sort of, of magical grad school that never got described in the books, or you know something that you aren’t teaching to your students.”

He looked around, seemingly verifying that nobody was paying us the slightest bit of attention. It was actually a bit alarming how little interest the Supreme Muckety-Muck was drawing in this tiny bar- more magic, I assumed. But it was quite possible he could turn me into a toad in broad daylight and nobody would bat an eye. I didn’t like being in this deep when I didn’t truly know the man I was speaking to. I knew of him, of course, but much like Aslan I was concerned that Rowling’s interpretation of a kindly old mentor had never quite matched the many child-endangering actions he seemed so habitually prone to. “Well of course I know things I’m not teaching them,” he said. “What do you think the world would look like if every one of them could summon fiendfyre at the drop of a hat, or bind and control Dementors? Our educational system is crafted to make them functional citizens, Mr. Peakes, and very little more. You are seeking after deeper mysteries, things that most people never consider.” Well, that confirmed one of my greatest suspicions about Hogwarts. It was a conformity factory, only skimming the true surface of magic as understood by the real wizards of this world. And that veil was one he didn’t seem keen on breaking, given that he’d sent Harry up against the greatest Dark Wizard of the age with little more than a disarming charm. He confirmed this- “The question is, why should I reveal them to you ? It is not merely a test of character I am asking you to pass. A man of great moral fiber and sharp wit can still do terrible damage, when handed a loaded weapon he does not fully understand.”

I shrugged. “My world may die, if I don’t learn it. I may never see my loved ones again. I can offer you things- knowledge, of upcoming events-”

He held up a hand to stop me. “I understand your urgency. Please understand mine. The worst disasters in the last 100 years have come at the hands of men who know some of what I have suppressed. I’ve sent a great many good men and women to their deaths at those very same hands, when I could have opened doors to understanding that might have saved them. As an educator, I have spent the greater part of my entire life perverting and abusing my position, to maintain ignorance. I like to think that I am not an evil man, and yet-” he looked into the distance. “And yet.” He was silent, for a time. “Perhaps evil is the only possible outcome, when one grows beyond a certain level of understanding. That is the curse that I fear. Imagine, Mr. Peakes, if building an atom bomb was so simple that your average high school graduate could accomplish it.” It was that simple, really, it was the materials that were hard to get hold of- but I held my tongue. I understood his point well enough. “Even should I not doom my own world, to allow you to walk away with that understanding into others - what would I be unleashing?”

I sighed, conceding the battle but not the war. “You’re a practical man, Albus, and I appreciate your concerns. Would it be alright with you if, at the least, I dispensed with the artificially slow growth of the Hogwarts classes and simply worked straight from the books? Walking away from here with the abilities of a Hogwarts-educated wizard would not be nothing, in the end. And I can still offer you my knowledge of future events.” And figure out what you’re hiding on my own time.

He smiled and nodded. “Of course, learn at whatever pace you like. We shall stash you in Hufflepuff, and you may tell everyone that you are in remedial classes. Consult with the teachers as you like- nobody ever pays attention to the Hufflepuffs, they have a marvelous way of flying under the radar. Most of the truly great spies and saboteurs of the great wars came from there, did you know that?” I shook my head and he laughed delightedly. “Never even made it into the books! Good, good. As to your story-based knowledge,” he turned serious again, “I must ask that you never breathe a word of it to anyone. Even me. Even if it could save lives.”

I was getting pretty frustrated. “What? Why?!? Don’t you care about what happens to your students?”

He gave me a sad, small smile. “More than you can ever know, I’m afraid. Sean, if I may call you Sean. As you have said, we are participants in a story here. What do you suppose happens, when a man who is not the main character comes traipsing in and upsets the balance of events with foreknowledge and clever tactics?”

That set me to thinking. Oh shit, I might have really screwed that up. “Either the story would end due to lack of tension, or he’d become the main character, and events would recenter around him, but go off in a completely new direction. Oh my god.” If I wanted to be a background character, I had to actually be a background character. No drawing attention, no subverting the narrative. I needed to participate in Harriet’s design, and not step one foot out of line. This was going to be a tightrope.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “Tell me only this, for I will confess my curiosity is burning. The original story on which we are based- was it a tragedy, in the classical sense?”

Poor old man, surrounded by death and despair his entire life. No wonder he thinks of it that way. I shook my head. “No. It was… uplifting, in its own way. And hugely beloved, the world over.” He smiled at that, genuinely, and I thought that perhaps I had relieved some secret tension that he would never have admitted to feeling. I’ll do what I can, from the sidelines.

He stood up from the stool and clapped my back. “Do not think me uncaring, Sean. To help your world, I will fund your studies- you may move into the Hufflepuff tower this very evening and get to work. When the term begins, try not to outshine the other first-years in public. And Sean,” he was suddenly staring me in the eyes despite my best intentions, and I felt three inches tall, “ Do not get involved with the students romantically. Do I make myself clear?” I nodded hastily and he smiled, and led me away.

All I could think of as I followed him was: What the hell sort of story did I just get involved in?