Desert of the Real
Rating: T
Genre: Many.
Pairings: Complicated.
Warnings: Mind fuckery.
PRELUDE TO DISCLAIMER: You do not need to be familiar with ANY of the worlds below except HP (books 1-7). In fact, if you know nothing about any these other worlds, which I find highly unlikely, you won't even notice that they have anything at all to do with the story and the disclaimer will just confuse you. Sorrynotsorry. But seriously, there is no prerequisite of knowledge beyond a basic understanding of the English language and J.K. Rowling's canon, so don't be intimidated.
(Admittedly, there may be a couple references that stand out because I actually mention them by name in the story, but these won't be obscure. If they really matter, I'll explain in-text; if they don't, I won't. Besides, google exists for a reason.)
Disclaimer: I own Lexi and all other noticeably original characters, as well as a few original settings. I own my magic theories and other postulations. I own this story, the skeleton plot, changes I've made to other stories' plots, and infinite subplots. What I do not own are all the settings, characters, plots, and chunks of text that can be recognized from elsewhere. The following worlds and their aforementioned constituents, listed in no particular order, belong to their respective owners: Harry Potter, Firefly/BDM, Stargate: SG-1, Stargate: Atlantis, Hunger Games series, Maze Runner series, Demolition Man, Andromeda, Dollhouse, Shrek, King Arthur stuff, Castle, Men in Black, Warehouse 13, Eureka, Star Trek, The Things They Carried, The Handmaid's Tale, various poems, various songs, NCIS, Sweeney Todd, Doctor Who, Percy Jackson, The Matrix, Lost Girl, Dustlands series, "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" by G.G. Marquez, "A Hunger Artist" by F. Kafka, "Sea Oak" by G. Saunders, "The Demon Lover" by E. Bowen, "The Yellow Wallpaper" by C. Gilman, "Jealous…Parrot" by R.O. Butler, "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" by H.P. Lovecraft, Beetlejuice, "Tell Tale Heart", "The Cask of Amontillado", "The Raven", and "The Haunted Palace" by E.A. Poe, Diablo I/II/III, The Island of Doctor Moreau, Tank Girl, Xena: Warrior Princess, Heart of a Dog, Dark Matter, Final Destination, Star Wars, The Haunting of Hill House, Wanted, The Face of Another, Twilight. If you recognize anything in the fic that isn't mentioned here, you're imagining things.
Authorial pre-error justifications: My understanding of Russian extends to "nyet" and "vodka." Russian-speakers, pin all the blame on Google Translate. Non-Russian-speakers, don't quote me. On the subject of language, I'm from the U.S., so feel free to Brit-pick, but keep in mind character PoV language as well. Also, I am not a philosopher or a scientist, and while I have done some research, this is an experimental project, not something I can make money on, so if some things are inaccurate, please tell me just in case I go on to use stuff incorrectly in RL, but for this fic, I don't care enough to spend that much time on it; please don't ruin my story with your logic unless it's directed at in-world inconsistency, threats to suspension of disbelief, or other story-related elements.
Final Note: Out of necessity (not laziness or dishonesty, I swear), I may occasionally quote directly from HP, especially PoA. The challenge, for me, is to stay as close to canon as possible in order to use it against itself until it inevitably falls apart. Unless you all have been religiously rereading the entire series over and over again for years (or else have photographic memory), some things, in particular the insignificant things, are gonna be a bit hazy. Do you remember, for example, who Dean Thomas suggested the next DADA teacher would be at the end of PoA? Of course not.
Besides, in order to show the gradual erosion of canon, I need to show you how the monkey wrench distorts the original text — meaning that even as I quote directly from HP, I may change it, whether slightly or very obviously, so that when the consequences of the change pop up later, they won't come from nowhere or seem contrived. In other words, I have to set a snowball rolling downhill rather than just randomly plop a giant chunk of ice in the middle of Hogsmeade to mow down The Three Broomsticks. If I merely summarize some things, it'll break the story's flow, and if I rephrase them, it'll still be plagiarism (masked as originality, which is worse), so I won't bother with either. Nonetheless, I respect the Rowling. Therefore, direct-quote passages will be marked before and after by this symbol: π. If the passages have been changed drastically but still retain the majority of the quote, they will instead be marked by a ₪ .
I also respect readers. After all, if a voice echoes in a cave and no one's there to hear it, the voice might as well not exist. If you have a problem with anything, let me know.
Prologue: Substitute Reality
When Harry invited Lexi to join him and his friends in their compartment on the way back to London, he wasn't thinking about keeping secrets. It was easy to forget that she wasn't there when Professor Trelawney predicted Voldemort's return, that she didn't know Hermione had gone back in time to save Ron from Wormtail, that she wasn't even around when Sirius visited Harry in the hospital wing. He wasn't thinking about anything but the whirlwind of demonic fire that had consumed the hundred dementors who were tearing Harry's soul from his body.
He trusted her instinctively. Besides, Lexi had the ability to charm a tiny ball of flames into a hyperactive mini-dragon that made Exploding Snap a lot more fun.
₪ As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, Hermione gave Harry, Lexi and Ron some surprising news.
"I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I've decided to drop Muggle Studies."
"But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty percent!" said Ron.
"I know," sighed Hermione, "but I can't stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was driving me mad. I've handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I'll be able to have a normal schedule again."
"I still can't believe you didn't tell us about it," Ron groused. "We're supposed to be your friends."
"I promised I wouldn't tell anyone," said Hermione severely. She looked suddenly at Lexi, who was smirking into the book she'd pulled out as soon as they'd settled. "I mean..."
"Dumbledore told me everything," Lexi reassured her without looking up.
"'Course he did." Ron rolled his eyes. "You're his favorite."
Lexi barked a disturbing laugh, startling Harry, who was watching Hogwarts disappear from view behind a mountain with sorrow. "If by favorite you mean he'd be happy if I didn't exist."
Hermione gasped. "You don't mean that!"
Lexi looked up at her; her dark brown eyes were unfathomable. Harry sometimes had the feeling she was far older than any of them, even though she had just finished her first year.
"He tells me things because he's afraid of what would happen if he didn't."
"That's not cryptic at all," muttered Ron.
Lexi shrugged.
Harry glanced back to the window where the castle had disappeared, frowning.
"Oh, cheer up, Harry!" said Hermione.
"I'm okay," said Harry quickly. "Just thinking about the holidays."
"Yeah, I've been thinking about them, too," said Ron. "Harry, you've got to come and stay with us. I'll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I'll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now, thanks to Lexi—"
"A telephone, Ron," said Hermione. "Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year..."
Lexi snorted. Ron ignored them both.
"It's the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay, and we'll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work."
This proposal had the effect of cheering Harry up a great deal. "Yeah... I bet the Dursleys'd be pleased to let me come... especially after what I did to Aunt Marge..."
Feeling considerably more cheerful, Harry joined Ron and Hermione in several games of Exploding Snap, convincing Lexi to add her dragon to the mix. When the witch with the tea cart arrived, Harry bought himself a very large lunch, though nothing with chocolate in it.
But it was late in the afternoon before the only thing that could make him truly happy turned up.
"Harry," said Hermione, gazing past him. "What's that thing outside your window?"
Harry turned to look outside. Something very small and gray was bobbing in and out of sight beyond the glass. He stood up for a better look and saw that it was a tiny owl, carrying a letter that was much too big for it. The owl was so small, in fact, that it kept tumbling over in the air, buffeting this way and that in the train's slipstream. Harry quickly pulled down the window, stretched out his arm, and caught it. It felt like a very fluffy snitch. He brought it carefully inside. The owl dropped its letter onto the seat between Harry and Lexi and began zooming around their compartment, apparently very pleased with itself for accomplishing its task. Hedwig clicked her beak with a sort of dignified disapproval.
Crookshanks sat up in Hermione's lap, following the owl with his great yellow eyes. Ron, noticing this, snatched the owl safely out of harm's way.
Harry picked up the letter. It was addressed to him. He ripped open the letter and shouted, "It's from Sirius!"
Lexi, apparently more interested in this than her untitled book, straightened from her slouch and peered over Harry's shoulder.
"Read it aloud!" Ron urged.
Harry grinned.
Harry read and reread the letter from Sirius all the way into King's Cross station. It was still clutched tightly in his hand as he, Ron, Lexi, and Hermione stepped through the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters. Harry spotted Uncle Vernon at once. He was standing a good distance from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, eyeing them suspiciously, and when Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry in greeting, his worst suspicions about them seemed confirmed.
Mr. Weasley turned from the beautiful, olive-toned woman he was talking to and, though he didn't hug Harry, his smile warmed Harry from somewhere in his chest down to his toes. The woman called to Lexi, who was standing stock still behind Harry, frozen in shock.
"Blue?" said Lexi.
The woman smiled. She had a deeper complexion than Lexi and much darker hair; Harry didn't think they were related. Nonetheless, Blue embraced Lexi as Mrs. Weasley had him, and while Lexi did not return the hug, her eyes were suspiciously bright as she looked unseeing over Blue's shoulder at Harry.
"I see my parents!" said Hermione happily, standing on the balls of her feet to see over the noisy crowd of students, pets, and guardians.
"Why are you here?" Lexi asked when Blue released her.
Blue's chestnut eyes sparkled. "I heard from somewhere you needed a place to stay."
Lexi chuckled, ducking her head.
Harry frowned; where was Lexi's family? Like Harry's relatives and Hermione's parents—who were now besieged with questions from Mr. Weasley as their daughter looked on fondly—Lexi's muggle parents should know all about Hogwarts and, therefore, the Hogwarts Express. Then again, Blue's accent, though faint, was distinctly cockney, not American; Lexi must not be returning home.
Before Harry could ask, he was swept up in a tide of farewells and propelled towards his relatives.
"I'll call about the World Cup!" Ron yelled after Harry as Harry bade him, Lexi, and Hermione goodbye.
Trying to put his concern for Lexi out of his mind, Harry wheeled the trolley bearing his trunk and Hedwig's cage toward Uncle Vernon, who greeted him in his usual fashion.
"What's that?" he snarled, staring at the envelope Harry still clutched in his and. "If it's another form for me to sign, you've got another—"
"It's not," said Harry cheerfully. "It's a letter from my godfather."
"Godfather?" sputtered Uncle Vernon. "You haven't got a godfather!"
"Yes, I have," said Harry brightly. "He was my mum and dad's best friend. He's a convicted murderer, but he's broken out of wizard prison. He likes to keep in touch with me, though... keep up with my news... check if I'm happy..."
And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon's face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last, though a shroud of sorrow from the year behind him hung on his shoulders like a rain-soaked cloak.