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The Dementor and the Mind Game
Ender Wiggin opened his eyes, and was his senses were immediately assaulted by a flood of input.
Light. Multiple sources, flickering...candles? Not soft-LED? Wood paneling and stone blocks, not steel bulkheads?
Sound. Multiple sources, raised voices. British accents...that's odd. IF personnel should be a mix.
Touch. Soft bed and covers. Real wool and feathers? Not memory foam? I don't think I've touched a non-synthetic fiber since I was at the lakehouse, back before Command School.
Smell. Polished wood, clean linens, healing potions...potions?!
Despite all the contradictions between what should be and what appeared to be, it was that last, smell, which brought forth sudden comprehension.
This is the Hogwarts hospital wing.
What was that? How did he know that? How did he know that he was in Scotland, at a school for magic? Magic?!
"Harry?! Harry! Can you speak? Are you okay?"
Harry James Potter. Born July 31, 1980. Orphan. Turned thirteen a few months ago. Today is September 1, 1993, and I am sitting in a school for magic.
How did he know these things? The last thing he remembered...how are there two different "last things" I remembered?!
Ah.
The answer came to him immediately. I'm dying. I'm dying, and the IF hooked me up into some sort of virtual reality program, like the Mind Game from Battle School. Maybe they're just keeping my brain occupied, or maybe this program will somehow get some useful data.
Well, probably. It was also possible that he really was Harry James Potter, and had simply imagined the life and times of Ender Wiggin as part of his near-death experience with that cloaked thing. Or maybe he was still floating around in space with a failing suit and a hole through his chest, and his oxygen-starved brain had randomly fired off some neurons and cooked up some fantasy to keep his mind occupied as his life ended. Or—and Ender instantly assigned a very low probability weight to this possibility—through some twist of fate, his mind had somehow traveled through time and space to replace this Harry Potter person. Sure.
Well, in any case, there is really only one course of action to take. If he was Ender Wiggin, and the IF had hooked him into a new version of the Mind Game in order to keep his brain working while they either fixed his body or pulled data out of him, he lost nothing by continuing to play, and there would likely be no choice anyway. If he really was Harry, and had only imagined the entire life of Ender, then this was his real life, and he had to blend in with the Harry he "remembered being" in order to live it. If he was still floating around in space, dying, then there was nothing to lose by continuing the fantasy, with the knowledge that it might very well simply end, or maybe thrust him back into being aware of a lonely and painful death. If he was Ender Wiggin and had taken over the body of Harry Potter, he had to continue to live Harry's life; if Harry ever took over again, he'd want to have something to come back to, and if he didn't come back, then it was effectively Ender's new life anyway. I have to pretend to be Harry Potter, and use events from Harry's recent history to explain any behavioral changes.
"Can you hear me? Harry!"
Right, that's me. Unfortunately, I don't think I could explain away a different accent. British it is. Maybe I can slowly work on "changing" my accent? I'll need to find an excuse.
"I can hear you fine. Sorry, I was just...off in outer space for a moment there. What happened?"
"So let me get this straight," Harry deadpanned. "There is a creature that eats souls. So of course the Ministry of Magic hired them as prison guards, and lets them run around attacking schoolchildren?"
Harry was being very...flat, Albus Dumbledore thought. Certainly different from the animated, heart-on-his sleeve twelve-year-old he had been when he had left Hogwarts last June. It had taken Harry several moments to respond to Remus's increasingly-frantic calls, and after Poppy's examination (and a brief surface scan with legilimency, to confirm that Harry's mind once more occupied his body) Harry still only gave short, uninformative responses, pulling for more information instead of giving any real indication of his mental or emotional state. Granted, the boy had been through what must have been an emotionally-draining experience; Albus still didn't have the courage to ask Harry what the exposure to the dementor had caused him to see and hear, which had obviously had such a profound effect on the boy.
Still, he was desperate to find out what had happened, and Harry was not being very forthcoming. Unfortunately, he couldn't simply ask the boy where his mind (and therefore soul, as they were connected) had gone, without revealing that he and Severus had used legilimency on him; aside from the ethical and legal consequences of such a revelation, it would also guarantee that Harry would never trust any of the staff ever again. Albus had performed another discreet scan of Harry's mind when the boy had woken up, but it had revealed only an image of the stars. Maybe he somehow wasn't kidding about being "off in outer space." Either that, or the boy suddenly became a fairly competent occlumens.
"Well, my boy, it is somewhat more complicated than that," Albus replied, his mind racing to figure out how to keep the gory details from Harry. The boy was simply too young to hear such things. "As you may be aware, the dementors were searching for an escaped prisoner named Sirius Black, the chief lieutenant of Lord Voldemort."
Throughout the discussion, Harry displayed none of the shock or fear that Albus had expected, instead probing with more questions here and there. Curious. Almost before he knew it, Albus and Minerva had explained—in broad terms—the fate of Peter Pettigrew and the imprisonment of Sirius Black (though he held back on notifying the poor boy that Black had conspired to betray and murder Harry's parents). It was surprising, really, how well the boy was maneuvering the conversation to get more information...it almost reminded him...
Oh god, no.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Minerva," Albus said abruptly, cutting off his deputy mid-sentence as he drew his wand and stood from the conjured armchair by Harry's bed. "A most distressing thought has just occurred to me, and this possibility must be investigated immediately. Poppy, do not return Harry's wand to him for any reason. Severus, Filius, stay alert."
An instant later, the headmaster disappeared in a flash of fire, leaving confused silence (and several suddenly-wary professors) in his wake. Before anyone could speak, he returned in the same fashion, now holding a somewhat shabby-looking pointed hat in his left hand.
That's the Sorting Hat.
Without another word, the headmaster jammed the Sorting Hat onto Harry's head, and—ignoring shocked looks from the professors and an outraged "Albus!" from the nurse—unflinchingly kept his wand pointed steadily at the boy's heart.
"Well, well, well," the Hat whispered (or, perhaps, thought) into Ender's mind. "Now this is something I have never seen before, not in nearly a thousand years of peeking into minds. Whatever shall we do with you, Mr. Potter? Or, shall I say...Mr. Wiggin?"
I'm not really sure yet. I don't even think that any of this is real.
"I assure you, Mr. Wiggin, the situation in which you have found yourself is quite real," the Hat replied. "Though I suppose that is precisely what I would say if I were a programmed element from your International Fleet's Mind Game."
You see my dilemma, so I imagine you'll forgive me if I don't believe a single thing you say. It is interesting, though, that you've apparently decided that I'm Ender Wiggin, rather than Harry Potter.
"Indeed, Mr. Wiggin, there is nothing I could tell you that would convince you that this reality is true," the Hat agreed. "And I call you Mr. Wiggin because that is who you are; even subconsciously, you have also come to the conclusion that your mind is that of Ender Wiggin."
Please enlighten me, then; my conscious mind is apparently sufficiently distracted by these rather unusual circumstances that it hasn't caught up to my subconscious.
"Well, given that you'll be taking everything I say with a large grain of salt," the Hat began, causing Ender to snort aloud; the professors started, and the headmaster narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his long black wand. "The most telling point is that your—Ender Wiggin's—mind, given the same circumstances and scenarios that Harry Potter has encountered, would come up with vastly different and nearly universally more effective solutions. Even now, you are considering some of those situations and concluding that Harry Potter was thoroughly average in intelligence even by the relatively low standards of this century, while you were a genius by the much-higher standards of your own fascinating space-time. Simply put, your mind makes Harry Potter look like the idiot child that he was."
Fair enough; I'll allow that to rule out the possibility of Ender Wiggin being the vivid hallucination of a traumatized Harry Potter—after all, there's no way Harry could have accurately imagined having more intelligence. That still leaves a few more possibilities: first, of Harry Potter being the vivid hallucination of a dying Ender Wiggin, as well as this entire reality being an IF Mind Game-style simulation. And, of course, the final and most remote possibility, which you want me to believe.
"...Which is that Ender Wiggin's mind has been transplanted across space, time, and reality into Harry Potter's empty body," the Hat finished. "Indeed, that this is what has come to pass."
If my mind is that of Ender Wiggin, then why do I still maintain the memories of Harry Potter?
"The answer to that question is simultaneously fairly simple and extremely complex," the Hat lectured. "In short, memory is stored in both the incorporeal soul—or mind—and in the corporeal brain. This is why ghosts, as disembodied souls, can remember the past. Brain damage can cause the loss of physical memory, while memory charms modify mental memory; ghosts whose living bodies sustained brain injuries do not have trouble remembering, while those who suffered memory charms in life will never recover what was lost...though it is possible, if difficult and imperfect, to repair memory charms in a living human by using the brain-stored memory as a backup to fill in the blanks. Magic, of course, resides only in living bodies, which is why you will be able to use it, while a ghost would not."
So basically you're telling me that Ender Wiggin brought the memories stored in his software, and is capable of accessing the memories preserved in Harry Potter's hardware. That explanation is very...convenient, and I have no way of testing it without risking brain damage or memory loss.
"Yes, it would seem rather convenient that things would work out this way," the Hat admitted. "And I recognize the futility of trying to get you to believe me; after all, any of the other active possibilities would have me making the same claim."
At least you realize that I'm taking this entire "reality" with a grain of salt the size of Eros. Very well, I will move forward under the assumption that you are telling the truth, simply because doing so will minimize the potential consequences. Anyway, as you know, I had already decided to pretend to be Harry Potter.
"In any case, the staff are growing impatient, and we are out of time," the Hat urged—though the thoughts were transmitted almost instantly, Ender could detect the artifact's haste. "You have passed the headmaster's test, and I will tell him so. Do not worry, I will not inform him of the origins of your mind, or of the tragic fate of Harry Potter. The mind is and should ever be a private sanctuary, despite the headmaster's habit of scanning your mind. Luckily, you have a much stronger mind than anyone would expect from an average thirteen-year-old, so you are naturally somewhat more resistant to legilimency than poor Mr. Potter could ever hope to be."
Ender's eyes narrowed as the headmaster pulled the Sorting Hat off his head. I'll look up legilimency at the first opportunity—if it is what I suspect it to be, I'll never be able to trust the headmaster...or anyone else, for that matter.
"Well?" Albus asked the Sorting Hat pointedly, still aiming his wand at Harry's heart.
"No need to worry, Headmaster," the Hat replied. "There's only one mind in that head, and it doesn't belong to Tom Riddle."
The headmaster's wand arm dropped to his side as his shoulders sagged in visible relief. The other staff members were all either confused by the name (Sprout, Lupin, and Pomfrey) or shocked by the accusation (McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape).
"Well?" Harry asked pointedly, sarcasm practically dripping from his tongue as he mimicked the headmaster. "Do you plan on telling me about the thought you had that was so distressing that you needed to hold me hostage and invade my mind? Why would you think that Voldemort may have been in my head?"
At the mention of the name, most of the assembly flinched or gasped reflexively, and Snape unconsciously rubbed his left forearm. Only Dumbledore appeared unaffected.
They're actually afraid of a name? Are these people for real? This is ridiculous.
"Harry," Dumbledore began, "I do not think this is really the best time—"
"It was a good enough time for you to hold me at wandpoint, sir," Ender interrupted harshly, ignoring the glares he received from the staff members (presumably for his impertinence in daring to speak to the headmaster like a human, rather than the god they all seemed to believe him to be).
Harry Potter is held in great esteem in this society; though familiarity has indeed bred contempt with some of these professors, they are all acutely aware of the weight an accusation from me would carry with the press. Now is the perfect time to press for answers, using a not-so-veiled threat of legal action to help expedite their response.
"I also haven't forgotten about you trying to break into my head—there is only so far you can go as the headmaster of a school, and you have far exceeded those bounds. You have taken undue liberties with me, a student at your school and presumably in your care, and I am owed an explanation. Immediately, or I will seek another means of redress. Sir."
Of the staff members, only Flitwick, Snape, Lupin, and Dumbledore reacted with anything other than shock and outrage at the idea of a student questioning the headmaster. Flitwick merely stroked his chin and looked at the boy approvingly, apparently seeing him in a new light. Snape, of course, sneered and muttered something about "typical Potter arrogance," while Lupin rounded on the headmaster, preparing to vehemently argue Harry's case.
"Yes, Harry," the headmaster sighed, holding his hands up in surrender just in time to prevent Lupin's tirade—the Defense professor had been on an even more hectic emotional rollercoaster this night, and it wouldn't do to have him get any more worked up. "I swear to you that I will explain myself fully, after we have all had a chance to rest and once I have had a chance to gather the required materials and information you will need; it is safe to say that I did not precisely prepare to tell you this tonight, and I would do you a great disservice by attempting to speak extemporaneously on this particular subject. Do you accept?"
"Agreed," Ender snapped, still allowing his face to show his distaste for the deal. The headmaster was stalling for time, but was being so reasonable about it that he had no choice but to accept. "On the condition that we will have our discussion by the end of September. More importantly, and with that agreement in mind, you will explain right now why you felt the need to disarm me, hold me hostage, and force your way into my mind, or I will contact what laughably passes for law enforcement and the press in our world and you can explain it to them."
"Agreed," Dumbledore conceded, eyes widening in surprise at the ultimatum; before, the boy's words had been vague, but this was a specific threat to involve the Ministry and the scandal-loving wizarding press. "For now, the most I can tell you is that my research over this past summer has led me to believe that I have—with your assistance, no less—worked out the method by which Voldemort's spirit survived Halloween of 1981. There was a distinct possibility, given the circumstances, that doing so had imprinted upon you some portion of Voldemort's soul. I was worried that the dementor had taken your soul, leaving that shard of Tom Riddle in control of your body and magic. That is why I kept you disarmed, held you hostage, and used the Sorting Hat to examine your mind. I hoped—particularly in light of the events of last June—that you of all people would understand that I could not risk having Voldemort controlling a student in my school, even if it meant infringing upon your privacy in such an indecent fashion. Forgive me, but I was willing to risk damaging my relationship with Harry Potter if it meant ensuring that Tom Riddle would not be let loose upon Hogwarts."
Okay, that is a much better and more reasonable explanation that I was expecting. I can't just acknowledge that, though, or else he gets back the moral high ground. Well, if what he did wasn't really wrong, then what about how he did it?
"Next time I'm at your mercy and you want to use me for something, take a few seconds to explain the situation to me," Ender demanded, silently acknowledging that Dumbledore's actions were, though flawed, warranted (at least given the information he had at the time). The headmaster winced slightly at his student's tone and mutely nodded. "If you can justify your plan as reasonably as you just did, then I'll probably agree anyway, and you won't have to worry about asking my forgiveness afterward."
"I understand, my boy," Dumbledore said solemnly, realizing that pushing the boy any further tonight could be a colossal mistake, especially since Harry had clearly not forgiven him (and, in fact, might not for quite some time). "Now, if that is all, I suggest that you get some rest; the Welcome Feast is long since ended, and I imagine that you have had a particularly trying day. Poppy, perhaps some Dreamless Sleep potion would be in order? After such a close encounter with dementors, I think it would be prudent, even if only for tonight."
"Indeed, Albus," the nurse agreed. "I was planning on force-feeding it to the boy if necessary—nobody should be subjected to sleep without it, after a run-in with dementors, let alone a child."
Harry had several memories of being under Madam Pomfrey's care, and more than one—most notably, those stays required after each of Potter's end-of-year shenanigans—included the use of this Dreamless Sleep potion. Ender nodded, thinking that it was a reasonable precaution in the face of what would normally have been an extremely traumatic experience.
"Very well, then," the headmaster said. "Minerva, Severus, Pomona, and Filius: when you return to your Common Rooms for the beginning-of-term welcome, please include warnings about the dementors. And as far as the students are to know, Mr. Potter's absence from the Sorting and Welcome Feast was due to the injuries caused by the dementor strangling him. His bruises will be around for several days, and that should adequately explain things. Do not mention the dementor's attempt to Kiss him, as it would only incite a panic. One last reminder: we will have our opening staff meeting before breakfast, and we can bring the rest of the staff up to speed on Mr. Potter's condition then."
The heads of the four Houses nodded in agreement, and promptly swept out of the room, followed reluctantly by Remus Lupin; presumably, they all had a great deal of beginning-of-term work to get to, and had been delayed for several hours already. The headmaster stayed only a few more moments to watch Pomfrey measure out the correct dosage of Dreamless Sleep, before the nurse shooed him out of the hospital wing, glaring hard enough to melt steel—clearly, she did not quite appreciate the implication that she required supervision to perform such a simple task.
"Drink up, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey commanded stiffly, though her eyes betrayed a much softer demeanor. Ender promptly obeyed (easily ignoring the horrible taste, as after growing up on Fleet rations, he could tolerate pretty much anything), since there was little else to learn about this reality for now, and he was truly exhausted. Almost immediately, his head grew heavy and his sight grew dim; apparently, potions could be extremely fast-acting.
"Good night, Harry," the nurse said quietly. "And do try to stay out of here this year."
Ender was glad that the potion would keep him from dreaming. He knew that otherwise, his final thought would dominate his dreams, as they would certainly come to dominate his waking mind.
Because it somehow just occurred to me that I will never see Valentine again.
Author's Note
You probably noticed that I switched between "Harry" and "Ender". It wasn't random; the shifts correspond to changes in POV (third-person, limited by a given character's knowledge and perspective). Thus, the protagonist will be referred to as "Harry" by the majority of characters, and as "Ender" when events are viewed from his own perspective.
Updates will likely not occur on a regular schedule—the first two chapters were posted within days of each other, and this one took over a month. This is mostly because my free time has become much more scarce since the glorious Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar era of posting a chapter per day. Rest assured, I intend to finish this story, even if it takes me several months to do so.
Also, don't worry, there will be JKR-style timeskips (an important thing I learned halfway through HPatLS). It's just that Ender's entrance to a new reality requires a somewhat firmer hand than the bulk of the story; thus, the first story arc will be primarily about Ender settling into his new reality.
Please review, and let me know what you think so far.