Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which belongs to Ms. Rowling, the Dangerverse, which belongs to the lovely Anne Walsh, or Real Life, which belongs to...well, no body.
The Way We Know It
Laying the Table
Lying in the grass, her arms were spread above her head and her feet were folded beneath her. The girl—who looked to be about ten—had deep brown hair, almost of a shade of black, which cascaded around her. She gazed up curiously at the sky, watching the clouds pass over.
Her knees touched that of a girl of seven who also stared imploringly at the clouds, but when a shadow crossed over their vision, she stirred.
"Go away—you're too big…"
"Well," said Anthony Goldstein, kneeling beside his younger sister. "You're too small. So, I get to do this—"
He scooped the squealing girl from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. Aimee Goldstein pounded her fists against his back, indignant. "Let me go! You—big—meanie!" She punctured each word with a punch.
Chelsea Goldstein, being ignored for the moment and masked under her sister's fit, snuck up behind her brother and promptly embraced his legs.
"Huh?" He looked down confused, only to find bright hazel orbs looking innocently back at him. "Oh, so that's how we're going to play it, huh?" When she didn't answer, Anthony jumped.
Somehow, Chelsea clung on. Grinning widely, Anthony hopped, both girls issuing noises of protest. Eventually they reached an area void of any people except for a man and a woman, who sat contentedly on a blanket.
"Mum! Dad! Anthony's being mean to me!" Aimee was squirming, but Anthony still had his arm wrapped securely around her waist and had no intention to let go.
Yet, at least.
"Anthony…" said Seth Goldstein, giving his fifteen-year-old son a look rivaling the one by his wife, Cynthia. Said wife chuckled.
"Anthony, dear, let the girls go," she said, patting the spot beside her. "Come here, I want to ask you something."
Flipping Aimee over his shoulder, Anthony helped her to her feet. She made a face at him, which he replied to with interest, before prying Chelsea off of his legs.
The girls proceeded to tackle their father and dig through the picnic basket for food. Anthony chuckled and took a seat beside his Mum. She smiled at him warmly.
"So, if I may be so bold as to ask, when shall I be graced with the presence of this girlfriend you speak so highly of?" At seeing his blush, Mum tapped Anthony's cheek lightly. "Oh you can't fool your mother, dear. Haven't you realized that by now?"
"What girlfriend?" asked Anthony, trying very hard not to blush.
He was failing miserably.
Mum rolled her eyes, smiling widely. "Oh, you know who I'm talking about. Padma, I believe her name is. Lovely girl. And she had a knack for helping out in the kitchen." She closed her eyes, smiling, as if a film was being played in her head. "God knows I could use the help. Especially with magic." She looked at the girls fondly, a sparkle in her eyes. "Thank god they're witches. But then again, I have to be the odd one out."
Anthony laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mum, we love you no matter that you're a Muggle. Dad wouldn't have married you otherwise."
"I know, I know. I just hope that this war doesn't hurt you. It hurt your father the first time, but I wish that it doesn't harm you this time."
Anthony sighed, closing his eyes. He lay down on the grass. The comfort, the warmth, that he had felt just moments before vanished from inside of him.
This wasn't real.
Anthony Goldstein opened his eyes. Instead of seeing the bright sunlight streaming, with his happy family beside him, he saw only the darkness outside his compartment window.
He shot a glance at the two other trunks. Terry Boot—being the responsible one he was—had gone off to attend to his prefect duties. Michael Corner had followed him, muttering something about the bathroom and his girlfriend Lisa Turpin.
Anthony sighed. It had been so easy to daydream about his family. He craved happy memories and moments, but he was only covered by despair and fear. Fear for You-Know-Who.
No matter how much time he spent with Harry Potter, Anthony was still wary of saying the name. The wizard who had killed his parents still haunted him. The wizard who had ordered his Death Eaters to kill his sisters still frightened him. He had gained the courage to possibly fight back, sure, but it still held true that the name was a curse if spoken by his lips.
The train suddenly jerked, but Anthony thought nothing of it. Probably a Dementor near by or something. He was turning back to the window when the compartment door opened and a raven haired, green-eyed teenager from Anthony's year tumbled into his compartment, dust tumbling from his trousers.
"Goldstein! Fancy seeing you here," said Harry Potter, glancing down at the silver dust floating throughout the compartment. "Sorry about that, mate. Luna handed me a vial of this, saying it came from a Handeron—cousin of the unicorn," he added at the confused look on Anthony's face.
Nodding in understanding of Luna Lovegood and her wild theories, he waved it off. "It's no problem, Potter."
"It is," he said, brushing off the front of his shirt, "if you call me Potter."
"I'll call you Harry if you call me Anthony."
"Deal." Harry looked around. "Where'd Boot and Corner go off to?"
"Terry and Michael," said Anthony, looking at Harry and emphasizing their names. Harry nodded sheepishly. "Terry was patrolling the corridors last I heard, and Michael went off to see Lisa."
Harry nodded and smiled, but then threw a look out into the corridor. "Well, mate, it was nice to see you, but I better be heading off."
"Go ahead. The world's savior must be busy." Harry groaned, but said nothing, and Anthony chuckled.
After the door had shut, he looked around. The dust had spread everywhere, including Anthony's trunk. Hastily, he got up and began cleaning it off.
Somewhere between cleaning the seats and himself, Anthony started feeling strange. Maybe it was being stuffed up alone, or perhaps it was the dust. Whatever it was, it prompted Anthony to slump in his seat, eyeing the dust beside him—which was resting on the ledge beside the window—warily.
Why do I feel like I should blow on it? Hesitantly, Anthony lifted the silver dust into his hand. He tilted his head.
"This dust I hold in my hand beckons me. Hear me now and heed my words. What I say I mean full heartedly, and I mean no harm."
The words came of their own accord, and startled, Anthony felt as if he was to make a wish.
He sifted through his thoughts, but his prominent one lay buried deep within the hole he had dug when he had heard the news months earlier. No, not now…it must have been the daydream…
"I, Anthony David Goldstein, wish with the deepest fiber of my being to be allowed the opportunity to redo my mistakes from the past, help those in the present, and find joy and happiness in the future. By the despair and sorrow imposed on me by wrongdoers, I ask for a second chance to save and to heal. So I speak, so I intend, so let it be done!"
The last word vibrated through the tiny compartment. Nothing moved and nothing made any noise. Shocked by what he had done, and blinking furiously, he breathed deeply. But as if to make him aware that his journey had only just begun, with one last impulse, he leaned over and blew the dust away.
He was distracted from seeing if something significant had happened to the dust, however, by the arrival of his two best friends.
"Anthony, sorry mate, got caught up—what the bloody hell happened here?" asked Michael, staring at the compartment midway before sweeping into the seat beside him.
Anthony sighed. Suddenly, he felt so tired. Even Michael's blunt jokes or Terry's witty anecdotes didn't seem appetizing. He just wanted to sleep…
"Anthony?" Terry sat down across from him, his face slipping into concern. "You alright?"
Anthony idly nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, is all. How much longer 'till we get to King's Cross?"
Michael frowned at him. "Mate, we left only an hour ago. You got plenty of time. We'll wake you up," he said, suddenly smiling, though slightly sourly. "Besides, Mum would have a fit if you didn't show up."
The usual stab at having to move to the Corner's was missing, but Anthony's eyelids were drooping and his mind was far from attentive. "Yeah, sure…wake me up when we get—"
The last word never left his lips as Anthony Goldstein fell fast asleep.
High above, in a castle strikingly similar, a man, long thought to be dead, smiled smugly. His robes matched his emerald green eyes which danced with triumphant as he ran his fingers through his jet-black hair.
Alexander Slytherin grinned at the woman beside him. "Told you it'll work."
The redheaded Margaret Ravenclaw rolled her eyes and shook her head. "How does Rick put up with you? For that matter, how do any of us put up with you?"
The so-called good son of Salazar Slytherin grinned. "You've realized you can't win. Took you many thousands of years to figure out, but you did."
Margaret flatted out her robes in their homey color of faded blue jeans and sighed. "You better hope your latest plan succeeds," she said, eyeing him warily. "Sophia and Brenna will most likely have a fit—and not in your favor, either."
"Your sisters have nothing on me."
"Yes, perhaps, but Mum does."
"That—well—we'll cross that bridge when it comes," said Alex, shiftily. Margaret only shook her head and exited the room without saying anything.
Grinning, the Slytherin turned his attention to the next world. It so happened to be one of his favorites and a control world.
One down, three to go.
He lay draped across his bed, staring at his striped red and green socks. He had been against returning to his home for Christmas break, but Dumbledore had been adamant in that he return and look like the "perfect Death Eater son."
So, Theodore Nott was locked up in his room and refusing to exit it. He left only a few times, either to use the restroom or to have dinner. Otherwise, he called upon the House Elf to give him meals or bring him entertainment.
Merlin, what was the point of coming here? If I go down there, Dad will be sure to notice something's wrong. Why didn't I just stay?
Grumbling, Theodore buried his head into his pillow. I wish this didn't happen. I wish Dad wasn't the head Death Eater, and I could be somewhat normal
I wish Black and Potter and their little friends didn't have their stupid PackHe spit out the word like it would contaminate him. I wish Dad would just love me for me and not for doing jobs…
Of course, in the world of Danger, wishes were very powerful. How powerful, Theodore was going to find out.
It was Christmas Eve and Theodore was fast asleep. He already knew what presents he was going to receive, the element of surprise not one heard of in Pureblood land.
The clock read 23:59.
Theodore was dreaming of a world with a Theodore Nott who was happy. It had a Theodore Nott that was loved by his father, his mother actually saw him more than just three times a year, and he had friends.
He had friends who laughed at his jokes, who cared about him, who searched for him when he didn't send a letter.
He sighed in his sleep. He knew it wasn't possible. He didn't think that it would actually happen.
The clock struck midnight.
Theodore Nott slept on.
Alex wouldn't get the grin off his face. Yes! Now only two more to put into place…
A man wearing sunny yellow robes walked into the room, sighing. "What are you doing Alex?"
"Didn't Margaret tell you? I assumed she would send you in."
"Yes she did," replied Adam Hufflepuff, exasperatedly massaging his forehead with his right hand—the thumb of which held a small green stain. "But still, Alex, what are trying to do?"
"I'm making another control world, of course."
"Of course," repeated Adam, throwing his arms in the air. "Why are you making another control world when we already have one?"
Alex looked at him. "This is the only world we'll have that doesn't have Danger Granger," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "All the others have her in some way or another. This one won't."
"I thought we had a world without Danger already."
"We do. But it won't succeed. So I'm helping it."
Adam's jaw dropped. "Helping it? Alex, when Rick hears this—you are so dead—"
Alex chuckled. "That's what you think, my friend. That's what you think."
Adam threw his arms in the hair. "I give up. You're crazy."
"Why, yes, I am."
Adam shook his head and left. Smiling to himself, Alex turned back to his second most favorite world.
Now, one more traveler, and then everything will be set.
His fingers tapping against his desk, he glanced from the computer screen to the book beside him. Let me finish it first…might as well.
He clicked on the link from his email signaling the latest update, a screen popping up. Smiling in anticipation, Seamus Finnigan started to read chapter twenty-six of Facing Danger, a Harry Potter Alternate Universe Fanfiction by the author Anne Walsh.
After snickering at Amanda Smythe and Luna planning Draco's future, after gasping at Lucius' dream, after cheering at Remus' calling upon his life debt, and after smiling at Neville spying on the Order, Seamus clicked on the review button and whirled once in his chair.
Deck the Halls or We Wish You a Merry Christmas? Deck the Halls, hands down.
Seamus wrote down a quick review telling the author how great the chapter was and that he looking forward to the next chapter. He exited the window and turned back to the book.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone stared back at him. At first, Seamus had been against the series, but after venturing into the world Fanfiction, he came across some really good pieces. But he had yet to actually read the series.
So, Seamus had finally convinced his Mum to buy him a copy of the first book as an early Christmas present. He looked at the book in his hands. Warily, he flipped to the first page.
He already knew the basic plot of the first couple of books, having read Anne Walsh's series, and knowing that it was somewhat similar to the actually Canon. But it wasn't the same as reading it fully.
After a few moments of reading about the Dursley's and their "normalness", Seamus burst out laughing. He recalled that in the Dangerverse—the name given to Anne Walsh's series—the Dursleys had been cursed. Serves them right, too.
He reached the part where the tabby cat that had been stationed on the Dursleys front step had transformed into Professor McGonagall when it happened.
The power went off in his house. Seamus heard his Mum frantically looking for a candle. Frowning, he picked up his book and headed back down to the kitchen.
"What happened?"
Mum nodded towards the back door. "Snow storm. Hopefully the power will come back before tonight."
"Hopefully," Seamus agreed. Controlled by a sudden impulse, he hugged her.
"Oh—Seamus. Why, thank you," she said, hugging him back. "Now, why don't you head over to a window to read that book of yours."
Grinning, Seamus did just that. He made himself comfortable on a couch next to the large window and pulled out his book. Hagrid had just arrived to Number Four when the phone rang.
"I'll get it!" He crossed over and answered it. "Hello, Finnigan residence, Seamus speaking."
"Seamus, mate, it's Thomas. Me and Phil were planning on playing a game of cricket—want to come?"
"It's Phil and I," said Seamus absently. "And I can't sorry. Mum's busy."
Seamus purposefully didn't mention his father. Not that I have one, of course.
Thomas made a noise of consent. "Okay then. See you tomorrow at school, mate."
"See you."
He hung up the telephone and headed back to his reading spot. Before he could start reading, however, he sighed.
I wish there was some way for me to have a father figure. I wish I had someone to watch over and love me. He sighed again. Mum loves me, and I know that, but—but it's not that same.
Shaking his head, Seamus pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time. He had a perfectly good book in front of him, and lots of time. Chuckling at the fact that he sounded like Hermione, he began to read.
Hagrid had just mentioned Sirius Black—Sirius! He's innocent! Innocent!—when he felt a jerk in his navel. Surprised, he looked around. No one was around. He was alone.
Shrugging it off, he returned to his book. He hadn't gotten through the next sentence when he felt it again.
Slightly worried now, Seamus stood up and moved to the side of the couch. He turned back to the book.
By the time he finished the next paragraph, the invisible cord took hold of his waist and pulled.
Seamus Finnigan was gone.
Mission successful. Alex smiled inwardly to himself. Now all I need to do is set the last one in place and we can get this show on the roll.
He chuckled at himself for his use of Muggle phrases.
"What did you do now?"
Striding in with bright red robes, a man with tawny hair was looking at Alex suspiciously. The Slytherin sighed.
"Why must everyone think I'm up to something bad?"
Paul Gryffindor shrugged. "You're a Slytherin. That and you're always up to something, so we assume it's something bad."
"Well, you know what they say about people who assume—"
Paul interrupted him before he could continue. "Anyways, what are you doing?"
Alex raised an eyebrow. "No one told you?" Paul shook his head. "Well then," he said with a smile on his face. "I'm merely helping your many-times-great-nephew."
"With what?" asked Paul warily.
"I'm helping him defeat my many-times-great-nephew, of course," said Alex, his smile having turned into a grin. "What else is new?"
Paul shook his head again. "You do realize that no one will be able to unbind his Gryffindor powers in the world you've created?"
"Yes. That's why I'm bringing in reinforcements."
"Reinforcements?"
Alex grinned. "Anthony Goldstein from Universe twenty-three, Theodore Nott from our very favorite universe—number two, and Seamus Finnigan from universe one. I'm taking Justin Finch-Fletchley from the new universe and adding him to the group."
Nodding, Paul frowned. "I'm presuming Rick knows?"
"You may presume so."
Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."
"Take it as you wish."
Saying nothing, the Gryffindor left the room leaving a laughing Alex behind him.
Now, to bring everyone together—
His hair was, once again, curly and unruly. And it was blocking his vision.
"Mum—I can't see anything!"
Mrs. Finch-Fletchley just smiled. "Justin, dear, it'll flatten out. Don't worry about it."
Justin Finch-Fletchley just grumbled under his breath and turned back to the window.
King's Cross station was only five minutes away now. Justin would be going off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—finding out he was a wizard had been such a surprise and now he just couldn't wait to learn magic and wave his new twelve and a half inches Ebony and hair of unicorn wand.
After Justin had got the letter, a woman in blue robes had come to their home and rang the doorbell, explaining it all. Justin went from scared, to confused, to amazed, to excited all in a period of half hour.
The car pulled up into the station and he cautiously got out. Ever since hearing that magic actually existed, Justin had been wary of strangers. What if they're wizards? Could they just summon fire—like that?
He was still amazed. He had the entire summer to dwell on the fact, but it just made so much sense. Why else could he have curled his hair without a curling iron?
Never mind the fact that it could be my natural hair…but I highly doubt it.
A step behind Mum, Justin glanced up at the numbers of the platforms. 8, 9, 10, 11…wait, aren't we supposed to go to platform 9 ¾?
He glanced up to tell his parents this—Dad was following him, pushing the cart—when Mum halted in front of the section between platforms 9 and 10.
"Okay, dear, go ahead." When Justin looked back at her utterly confused, she smiled. "Justin, just walk through the platform. Nothing to it."
Nothing to it? Is she mad?
But seeing as his throat wasn't cooperating, Justin cast a wary look over his shoulder. Mr. Finch-Fletchley smiled and nodded his head encouragingly.
"The lady told us it was quite simple—walking through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, and you'd be at platform 9 and ¾ before you know it."
Justin gulped and took the cart.
Okay…here goes nothing. Taking in a deep breath, Justin closed his eyes and took a step forward. Step by step he took, until finally he knew that cart was inches away from the brick, solid wall. One more step…
Before he knew it, he would hear the thunk and his parents would realize it was all a lie, a hoax, and everything that he thought made sense was just a coincidence.
But instead of everything crashing around him, he felt a breeze pick up his hair. Opening his eyes, Justin felt his jaw drop.
A steaming, scarlet train stood on the rail, surrounded by people in robes. Children ranging from ages of four to eighteen crowded the platform, some talking to adults, others loading trunks. A stone archway stood before him, the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters etched on it.
Justin was overwhelmed. Wizards and witches were acting normal, most of them wielding wooden wands, similar to Justin's own. He watched as trunks floated effortlessly and children hugged their parents and siblings, carrying owls in their hands. Justin had wanted an owl, but his parents had been wary, and decided to wait to gift it to him.
Awkwardly, and fully aware that he was alone, Justin made his way to the train, pushing his cart carrying his trunk in front of him. Searching for an empty luggage rack, Justin didn't notice a weedy, brunette boy running into him.
"Oof. Sorry mate," the boy knelt to the ground, picking up some papers that had fallen and stuffing them into a box. Justin timidly helped him.
"It's okay." Nervously, the muggle-born turned back to trunk and attempted to load it in the rack.
The boy frowned. "Let me help you with that."
"No, no, that's okay, really," Justin protested. The boy had nothing of it, however.
"Well, too bad," he said, lifting one side and shoving it onto the rack. Justin, out of breath, thanked him.
The boy waved it off. "I told you, it's no problem. It's Theodore Nott, by the way," he added.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley."
Theodore's smile faltered for a moment before coming back. "You're a first year, also, I assume?"
"Is it that obvious?" asked Justin, nervously.
"No, no," said Theodore, laughing. "You just remind me of myself when I first—" he cut off suddenly, however, his eyes growing wide. "Um, pardon me. The train will probably be leaving soon."
And before he could say anything, the brunette had left, leaving Justin with his mouth open.
He groaned. Great. Just as I think I might just have someone to show me around, he disappears.
Shaking his head, Justin fating himself for the worst, climbed onto the train. Sighing, he glanced behind him and towards the direction where he knew his parents where, hoping the best for him. Smiling slightly, Justin took his first step on the train.
Magical world, here I come.
Up in the castle of the Founder's, Alex Slytherin smiled widely. Everything was in place. He may do some nudging and some plotting, but for the most part, his work was done. He had faith in the four, and in the rest, to succeed. They could do it.
I hope.
Notes: Do killing, please. There's a long story as to how this story came to be, which one day I might tell you. But for now, if you like, or even if you don't, please do review.