Reality Quicksand

Chapter One - Relocation

A.N.

I do not own Harry Potter, Stargate, or Stargate SG-1.
I do, however, take claim to the plot that combines the two - please don't copy it.

This story is AU, which means that it follows the ideas instilled in the Harry Potter books, but little things have been changed, such as the revival of Voldemort earlier in Harry's life.

This story will contain next to no romance of any sort, and will maintain a PG-13 (or T) rating with some violence and a few cuss words.

This will be a crossover between Harry Potter and Stargate SG-1. I had written this crossover earlier and this is a replacement for it (not a good work of writing, please don't read unless you are curious). Please note, though, that the plot has completely changed from my last crossover, and it is not a repost - simply a new and better story (hopefully).

Thank you.

It was August the first at exactly four o'clock in the after noon that Severus Snape, the current potions master for Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry, collapsed in a dead faint.

He had been walking with the school's headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, quite passionately expressing his opinion on the ridiculous moral regulations surrounding the use of Veritaserum, when he stopped abruptly, eyes rolling backwards into his head, and proceeded to fall limply to the stone floor. Needless to say, the headmaster was quite shocked and even more alarmed at the turn of events. However, even more alarming then the sudden illness of a young, and relatively healthy man, was the image currently materializing on his arm.

Now sprawled on the floor, Severus Snape's robes had fallen into disarray and his pale arm shone oddly against his pitch black outer-robe. On said arm, the dusty outline of a skull was beginning to appear, and a swirling line that could be called a snake was being drawn through the mandible. Both were darkening by the second.

Albus Dumbledore was not a man to rush things, and not a man to panic, however this particular situation had his senses piled into a jumble. Voldemort had returned.

The year was 1987, and Harry Potter had just turned seven.

Harold James Potter sat in his cupboard and watched a spider crawl lazily from one end of the slanted stair-ceiling to the other. He had always like spiders, they were a lot like him really, no one liked them and they tried their best not to be noticed. Usually, however, they failed and ended up balled up, bloody, and in a handkerchief. Again, not unlike himself.

Ever since he was little he had kept a small calendar in his closet - it was the same one he had had the last year (the Mormons had apparently found out that their promotional calendars were getting no congressional feedback and canceled their door to door give-a-ways) so the dates were slightly off, but he was pretty sure he was now seven years old as of last night.

Not that it mattered much, of course. The Dursley's would never buy him an elaborate cake like they always did for Dudley, nor would he get bombarded with lovingly wrapped gifts of every color, shape, and size. No, he would be lucky to avoid his usual chores. But the Dursley's were odd sometimes, and every once and a while they got strangely kind, though usually that wasn't until Halloween.

The spider had reached its destination and began to float gently downwards on its silk string. Harry envied it - if only he could move around so easily, maybe if he were like a spider he could go play like Dudley did when he was bored.

Harry was not normal - he never had been, and his aunt was always one to remind him of it - and he had an unusual love for reading. His grade school teacher always gave him a funny look when he asked to borrow books, and an even funnier look when he politely asked for him not to inform the Dursley's that he was doing it. He had spoken to the principle a few days later - something or other about family environments - but neither the principle nor Harry paid the man any mind.

The spider was nearly to the floor when Harry pulled out his most recent borrowed book. It was A Children's Guide to Ancient Egypt and really quite good. The pictures were wonderful to look at, even if the poor light in his cupboard made them hard to see.

Then, just during his digestion of the Pyramids of Gaza, a shocking sound erupted next to his bed. Harry literally leaped upwards and hit his head against the staircase above him.

Standing (more crouching since he was a grown-up, and grown-ups don't fit very well into small closets) not a foot away from his cot was a red headed man holding a short, polished stick, and looking quite bewildered. Harry stared, wide-eyed, pressed as far back in his cupboard as possible without melting into the wall.

"Ah… hello there. You need to come with me straight away, I'm afraid it is a bit of an emergency."

Harry blinked up at the man owlishly. "How…?" People only appeared in strange places in fairy tales, and the last one he had read dealt with a particularly evil wizard. His green eyes narrowed.

The man blinked back. "Blimey, you've grown up a fair bit, haven't you now. I haven't see you in… six years." He collected himself and a stern expression was fixed on his face. "But we haven't the time; you need to come with me, Harry, to Hogwarts."

"How do you know my name?" the youngest and only Potter blurted, "And how did you get here? And what is Hogwarts? And what are you talking about?" If desperation had a range of pitches, they would be right on tune with Harry's voice. The boy was terribly confused and not afraid to let it be known.

"Ah, I suppose your aunt and uncle haven't explained apparition yet, which is perfectly understandable. Listen, Harry, I'll explain everything I can once we get to Hogwarts, but it is imperative that we go as soon as possible - you aren't safe here."

Harry set his jaw. Definitely not, he liked his cupboard, even if he didn't like the Dursleys', and he rather liked the spider who shared it with him. "No."

The man sighed, and gave a slight smile. "Now, Harry, I know your family must have taught you not to apparate with strangers, but this is an emergency." And for the first time, the man looked around. "And what are you doing in here? This isn't a safe place for a child to play at all - my boys did the same thing at your age, though, always getting themselves into places they shouldn't…"

Harry just stared. There really was nothing else for him to do - not a single word of what the man was saying made even a sliver of sense, and he quietly decided that he was one of those lunatics uncle Vernon was always raving about.

"Now," the man continued, apparently unaware of Harry's confused state, "all you have to do is…" the man stopped abruptly. "Is that a muggle contraption?" He pointed up at the light bulb with wide eyes. He was about to poke it when Harry shouted at him. "What?"

"It's hot," Harry said with all honesty. He had accidentally run into the bare hanging light bulb several times himself, and had a small burn on the back of his hand to prove it.

"Hot? It produces heat? How? And what is that funny little chain hanging down?"

Harry decided that the man really must be a lunatic, after all, who didn't know how to turn on and off a light bulb, or that after being on for a few hours, it was hot enough to burn. He shrugged politely. "Electricity, I think. And the chain is like a light switch…"

"Fascinating… and it stays on for as long as you want it to?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. Until it burns out."

"Right." The man apparently found his original, frantic train of thought and pulled his eyes away from the glowing bulb and proceeded to blink rabidly to reduce the blue spots in his vision. "Now then, we must be going. Just come along and grab hold of my hand." He stuck out a large hand adorned with hair the same red color as his head.

"Sorry, sir." The uncomfortable feeling that had receded during their light bulb talk had returned in full force and he was terrified to take the man's hand. He wasn't sure why, but he knew something would happen.

The man inhaled deeply. "I understand, however, this is for your own safety. I will not leave you here, Harry, if I do you will surely die." He grabbed the startled boy by the shoulder and pulled him close in to his own body, so close that Harry could have fit inside of his large overcoat. He then waved his polished stick, said an unfamiliar word, and the two of them, with A Children's Guide to Ancient Egypt in hand, disappeared from number four, Private Drive, forever.

When Vernon Dursley came down stairs the next morning, he found an empty kitchen and an empty cupboard.

The next week, after a call from the elementary school, he was interviewed by the police, who quite poignantly asked why he had not reported his nephew missing. Vernon's response was to make an expression similar to that of a fish, and watch helplessly as they opened up the cupboard under the stairs.

A month after that, Vernon and his wife were charged with child abuse.

Five months after that, Harry Potter was forgotten.

To Be Continued.
A.N.

Thank you for reading.

I hope to have an update by next week.

If you'd like to say something or notice an error you'd like me to correct, please leave me a review, or send me an e-mail.