Harry Potter learned very quickly that falling was not always vertical.
On his third day in Wonderland—or perhaps his third week; the clocks had begun to lie outright—the floor beneath his nest of hats decided it had somewhere better to be. It tilted politely, then slid away entirely, sending Harry drifting downward in a slow, lazy spiral.
He did not scream.
He watched.
The Mad Hatter, who had been pouring tea into a cup that objected loudly to being filled, glanced over just in time to see the baby float past his shoulder.
"Oh bother," he said. "You've found *that* hole already."
He leaned over the edge of the absence where the floor had been, cupping his hands.
"Mind the concepts on the way down!" he called. "They're sharp today!"
Harry responded by hiccupping.
A trail of bubbles drifted from his mouth. Each one popped into something else—a clock face, a question mark, a feather—before vanishing again.
The Hatter sighed and went back to his tea. "He'll land eventually."
---
The rabbit hole was not dark.
It was crowded.
Harry drifted through layers of impossible geography: staircases climbing sideways, doors opening into themselves, libraries stacked spine-first so the words leaked out like steam. He passed a river flowing upward, its water humming softly, and a field of floating keys arguing over which lock deserved them most.
Gravity flirted with him, then lost interest.
At one point, Harry passed himself—older, taller, eyes sharper—walking briskly in the opposite direction. The other Harry paused, stared, and tipped an invisible hat.
Harry gurgled in response.
The future shrugged and continued on.
Eventually—because eventually always arrives whether it is invited or not—Harry landed.
The ground was soft, springy, and faintly judgmental. He rolled onto his back and stared up at a sky composed entirely of teacups, each pouring a different color of cloud.
A white rabbit stood nearby, checking a watch that had begun melting in protest.
"Oh no," the rabbit muttered. "Oh dear, oh dear, this is *not* scheduled."
Harry kicked his legs.
The rabbit froze.
It leaned closer, peering down at the baby. Its nose twitched.
"You're not on the list," it said accusingly.
Harry reached out and grabbed the rabbit's tie.
The tie turned into a snake.
The rabbit screamed, leapt backward, and fell into a cupboard that slammed shut on its own.
Harry blinked, then laughed.
The laugh echoed.
Doors opened.
Eyes appeared in tree trunks, teacups, and the underside of reality. Creatures gathered—not close, never close, but near enough to observe.
"This one bends things," whispered a mushroom.
"He hasn't been here long," murmured a path.
"Is he *allowed*?" asked a clock, shivering.
Harry rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up, wobbling. He should not have been able to do this. His muscles were too small, his balance too untrained.
Wonderland disagreed.
Harry sat up.
A hush fell.
"Interesting," purred a voice from nowhere and everywhere.
The Cheshire Cat appeared in the air, first as a smile, then as eyes, then as the rest of him assembling lazily around the grin.
"Well," the Cat said, tail flicking. "You're either very lost or very early."
Harry stared.
The Cat tilted his head. "No fear," he noted. "That's unusual."
Harry reached toward the floating grin.
The Cat vanished.
Harry's hand closed on empty air.
The grin reappeared behind him.
"Ah-ah," the Cat chided. "You don't grab what watches back."
Harry frowned, then slowly smiled—a small, uncertain echo of the Cheshire grin.
The Cat went very still.
"Oh," he said softly. "Oh, you're *that* kind."
He circled Harry, padding through the air as if it were solid ground. "You see, little human, Wonderland does not change people. It reveals them."
Harry gurgled.
"Mm," the Cat agreed. "Yes. Exactly."
He reached out and brushed a claw gently across Harry's hair.
Magic flared.
Not wild. Not explosive.
Precise.
The air sharpened. Colors deepened. Somewhere far away, a rule snapped quietly in half.
The Cat withdrew his paw, examining it thoughtfully.
"Well, that's inconvenient," he murmured. "You've already started rooting."
Harry yawned, then toppled backward, landing on nothing at all.
The Cat chuckled.
"I suppose introductions are in order," he said. "You may call me Cheshire. Most do. Some regret it."
Harry snored.
Cheshire's grin softened.
"You won't remember this," he said. "Not consciously. But it will remember you."
He plucked a single hair from his own fur—silver-striped and humming faintly—and tucked it behind Harry's ear.
"Consider it a placeholder," he said lightly.
The ground tilted again.
Harry began drifting upward this time, carried by an invisible current.
"Back to the Hatter with you," Cheshire called. "He worries when things go missing."
The Cat dissolved into laughter as Harry floated away, the sound lingering long after the smile disappeared.
---
The Hatter caught Harry one-handed as he emerged from the ceiling.
"There you are," he said, tucking the baby against his chest. "I was just about to send out a search party."
Harry burbled happily and promptly fell asleep.
The Hatter eyed the silver-striped hair tucked behind Harry's ear.
"Oh," he said quietly. "You've met the Cat."
He adjusted his grip, expression turning thoughtful.
"Well," he added after a moment, "that explains the falling."
He carried Harry back to the nest of hats, humming a tune that bent around itself.
Outside, Wonderland shifted again—paths rerouted, doors relocated, futures quietly revised.
Harry Potter had gone down the wrong rabbit hole.
Wonderland was no longer sure which of them would survive the experience.