The first time Harry Potter spoke to someone who was not the Mad Hatter, it was not with words.
It was with *attention*.
He sat on the edge of a teacup—because the table had decided it preferred to be a hill—and stared into the air with the intensity of someone expecting an answer. The Hatter noticed immediately.
"Oh no," he said, lowering his newspaper. "You've found an audience."
Harry leaned forward.
The air rippled.
A grin appeared.
Just the grin.
Wide. White. Knowing.
"Well, well," the Cheshire Cat purred, voice sliding out of the empty space between teeth. "If it isn't the little rule-breaker."
The rest of the Cat faded into existence around the smile, stripes blooming across his fur like ink in water. He lounged midair, tail swaying lazily.
Harry's eyes widened—not in fear, but recognition.
The Hatter stood up slowly.
"Morning, Cheshire," he said, tone carefully neutral. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Oh, I was just… watching," the Cat replied. "You've been terribly interesting."
Harry reached out.
The Cat did not vanish this time.
Harry's fingers brushed fur.
Magic flared.
Not outward.
*Inward.*
The Cat inhaled sharply.
"Oh," he murmured. "Oh, that's uncomfortable."
Harry giggled.
The Hatter stepped forward at once. "All right, hands to ourselves. He's still learning what *touch* means."
"Yes, yes," Cheshire said, floating backward a safe distance. "But do you know what *he* means?"
Harry tilted his head.
The Cat mirrored the motion.
"You don't speak yet," Cheshire continued thoughtfully. "But you listen. You listen very well."
Harry blinked slowly.
The world sharpened.
Colors gained edges. Sounds layered themselves into patterns. Somewhere far away, a rule cracked under the pressure of being observed too closely.
The Hatter felt it and swore.
"Stop that," he said sharply. "Both of you."
Harry frowned.
The Cat laughed, delighted.
"Oh, I like him," Cheshire said. "He looks at things the way we do."
Harry reached again—this time not with his hands, but with something else.
The shadows leaned in.
The Cat's grin widened.
"There it is," Cheshire purred. "You see the seams."
Harry cooed.
"Yes," the Cat said softly. "Those."
---
They moved outside at the Hatter's insistence.
The sky had decided to be transparent, revealing layers of other skies beneath it. Cheshire reclined atop nothing, tail dangling through three dimensions at once. Harry sat in the grass, plucking blades that immediately reattached themselves.
"Tell me," Cheshire said lazily, eyes fixed on the child. "Do you know what you are?"
Harry stuffed grass into his mouth.
"Compelling argument," Cheshire conceded.
"He's a baby," the Hatter snapped. "That's what he is."
Cheshire hummed. "For now."
Harry looked up at the Cat and laughed.
The laugh echoed strangely, bending around the Cat like a mirror.
Cheshire stiffened.
"Well," he said carefully, "that's not normal."
The Hatter folded his arms. "Nothing here is."
"No," Cheshire agreed. "But *that* is not Wonderland-normal."
Harry's laugh faded. He blinked, sensing the shift in tone.
The ground trembled slightly.
"Oh dear," the Hatter muttered. "You're upsetting him."
Cheshire dropped closer, eyes suddenly serious.
"Harry," he said, speaking the name deliberately.
The name resonated.
Harry froze.
"Yes," Cheshire murmured. "You hear names too."
The Hatter's breath caught.
"Names are anchors," Cheshire continued. "They tie things to stories. Yours is… loose."
Harry stared at him, unblinking.
"Good," Cheshire said. "Loose is good. Loose means you can move."
Harry leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against Cheshire's nose.
The Cat inhaled sharply.
Something *passed* between them.
The Hatter felt it like a chill.
Cheshire pulled back, pupils blown wide.
"Well," he said hoarsely, "that settles it."
"Settles *what*?" the Hatter demanded.
The Cat looked at Harry, then grinned slowly.
"I'll be watching," he said. "Very, very closely."
And then he vanished.
Not faded.
Not dissolved.
*Gone.*
The air snapped shut behind him.
---
That night, Harry would not sleep.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, which had taken on the appearance of an enormous unblinking eye. The Hatter sat nearby, pretending not to watch him.
Harry lifted one small hand.
The shadows gathered.
Not crowding.
Waiting.
"Don't," the Hatter warned quietly.
Harry hesitated.
Then lowered his hand.
The shadows dispersed.
The Hatter exhaled.
"Good," he said softly. "Very good."
Harry turned his head toward the window.
Outside, unseen but unmistakable, something watched back.
A grin lingered in the dark.
---
Far above Wonderland, where stories gathered before being told, something old and clever shifted its attention.
The child had noticed the watcher.
And the watcher had noticed that the child was already learning how to look back.