The Mad Hatter decided it was time to begin Harry Potter's education when the teapot tried to eat him.
This was not, in Wonderland, an especially dramatic event. Teapots often bit when they felt underappreciated. Still, the Hatter felt it was a sign.
"Right," he said, prying porcelain teeth from his sleeve. "If you're going to live here—and it appears you are—you'll need to learn the difference between *reacting* and *deciding*."
Harry, who was currently sitting unsupported on a floating cushion despite being far too young for such things, clapped.
The cushion applauded back.
The Hatter eyed it. "Stop encouraging him."
The cushion blushed and sank.
Harry toppled sideways.
He did not hit the floor.
Instead, the floor politely moved out of the way.
Harry giggled.
The Hatter pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be *exhausting*."
---
Lesson One took place at the edge of a path that refused to stay still.
The path wiggled, curled, split into three, then argued with itself until two versions stormed off in opposite directions. The Hatter set Harry down at the center and sat cross-legged in front of him.
"Focus," he said.
Harry stuck his foot in his mouth.
"Yes, that's… good motor control," the Hatter conceded. "But not what I meant."
He tapped his cane on the ground.
The path froze.
For exactly three seconds.
Then it resumed moving, offended.
"See?" the Hatter said. "Authority doesn't come from force. It comes from *understanding*."
Harry stared at the path, brow furrowed in concentration.
The path slowed.
It leaned toward him.
Then it stopped completely, curling protectively around where Harry sat.
The Hatter blinked.
"Well," he said slowly. "That's not supposed to happen."
Harry smiled, wide and pleased.
The path purred.
"Ah," the Hatter said, voice careful now. "You're not telling it what to do. You're… empathizing."
Harry babbled.
"Yes, yes, I know," the Hatter muttered. "That's *worse*."
---
Lesson Two involved shadows.
Shadows in Wonderland were notoriously independent. They wandered off, traded places, and occasionally unionized. The Hatter gathered a dozen of them in a circle, shooing them away from Harry's hands.
"No grabbing," he warned. "They bite."
Harry promptly grabbed one.
The shadow shrieked and flattened itself against the ground, trembling.
Harry patted it.
The shadow relaxed.
The others crept closer, curious.
"Oh dear," the Hatter sighed. "You're a calming influence."
Harry toddled—*toddled*—forward, unsteady but determined. Each step sent ripples through the air, shadows shifting to accommodate him. He giggled when one brushed his ankle.
"Right," the Hatter said briskly. "Next lesson."
---
Lesson Three was about size.
The Hatter placed Harry at the base of a mushroom taller than a house. He snapped his fingers, and a table appeared, laden with labeled slices.
"Eat this, you grow," he explained. "Eat that, you shrink. Eat that one and you'll philosophize for an hour."
Harry stared at the mushroom.
He did not reach for the slices.
Instead, he touched the mushroom itself.
The mushroom squeaked.
Harry grew.
Not taller.
*Older.*
For half a second, Harry's eyes sharpened, posture straightening. His magic surged inward instead of outward, compressing, refining.
The Hatter felt his breath leave him.
Then Harry sneezed.
He was a baby again.
The mushroom fainted.
"No," the Hatter said firmly, kneeling. "No doing *that*."
Harry blinked, confused.
"You didn't change your body," the Hatter explained slowly. "You changed your *state*."
Harry yawned.
"Yes, yes, terribly advanced," the Hatter muttered. "We'll shelve that."
---
By midday—or something approximating it—Harry was tired.
They returned home, where the Hatter attempted to make lunch. The sandwiches screamed when cut. The soup asked too many questions. The spoons tried to unionize with the shadows.
Harry watched from his nest, eyes bright.
When the Hatter turned back, Harry was standing.
Not wobbling.
Standing.
"Absolutely not," the Hatter said.
Harry took a step.
Reality held its breath.
The step landed.
The house tilted slightly to compensate.
The Hatter sat down very suddenly.
"That's enough lessons for today," he declared. "Before you rewrite walking."
Harry laughed, delighted by the sound.
The laugh rolled through the house, knocking books from shelves and convincing the kettle to sing.
The Hatter watched him carefully now.
Not with amusement.
With calculation.
---
That evening, the Hatter wrote furiously in his notebook.
**OBSERVATIONS:**
* Child learns by resonance, not repetition
* Magic obeys emotional logic
* Development is… flexible
He paused, tapping the quill against his teeth.
"Not a prodigy," he murmured. "Something else."
Harry slept, one hand twitching as though grasping at invisible threads.
The Hatter closed the notebook.
"You're not meant for spells," he said quietly, watching the child. "You're meant for *systems*."
He smiled faintly.
"Well," he added, "we can break those too."
Outside, Wonderland shifted its weight, uneasy but intrigued.
Harry Potter dreamed of paths that listened when he spoke.
And somewhere in the shadows, something old began to pay closer attention.