Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This story is based on characters that were created by J.K Rowling
Feldon was one of those brilliant street performers everybody talked about but nobody knew, because he always kept to himself. He mainly performed card tricks, juggling, and a straitjacket escape for the finale. Anything for the muggles.
At first he dressed in Muggle clothes during his shows, but soon realized that the muggles expected some sort of costume, to increase the illusion that his magic was real. Which it was. He used no fake decks. The juggling balls would linger in the air a little too long, and he could throw them up in impossible patterns. Only once had he had any trouble with a straitjacket escape, and the memory still made his stomach churn.
A long time ago, when he was still a gangling teen-ager, Feldon had ridden his wagon into town and had begun setting up his show immediately. He began as usual, executing his tricks from behind a large table covered by red felt. Quite a crowd had gathered, and everything was going smoothly. Until the escape. He always chose a volunteer from the crowd to do up the knots, and this time his finger had pointed to a small plump boy with a rat's face. The boy had come meekly forward and announced that his name was Peter. He began to do up the knots timidly, but Feldon could feel enthusiasm in the fingers and sense a powerful magic in the binds. Just his luck! He had chosen a real wizard. He began to chew on the insides of his cheeks, as he always did when nervous. He wasn't much more than a squib, really. His magic was good enough to impress the muggles but wasn't worth much more than that. It took only a few half-hearted struggles for him to realize he was trapped. In front of over a hundred muggles! He gulped and tasted blood.
"Boy," he whispered, keeping his voice low enough that only Peter could hear. "If you let me free myself, you can have anything you like from that box under the table. I give you my word of honor."
Peter eyed the box. Its contents couldn't be seen from where he was standing, but it looked intriguing. He considered. It was worth a shot. Gradually Feldon could feel the magic in the binds lessen and was able to free himself from the heavy canvas. The public applauded and dropped money into his hat.
As the public began to disperse, Peter just leaned against the table, a smirk on his face. Then he went over to the box and examined its contents. It was full of muggle magic tricks – a large assortment of cards, ropes, silk and dice. All worthless. He rummaged to the bottom and pulled out an old book entitled Potions from the Grave. On the cover was a picture of a woman screaming, bees flying out of her mouth. Feldon's heart sank. It was the one valuable item in the box. The book contained spells written both by and for muggles that weren't very well known in the wizarding community. Peter cradled the book in his arms and smiled.
"What do you want that for?" Feldon asked sharply. "A muggle wrote that. You wouldn't be interested."
But Peter just continued smiling and tucked the book delicately inside his jacket. Then he turned and sauntered away, leaving Feldon fuming and puzzled. At last he just sighed, packed up his wagon and rode off, the rusty wheels squeaking dejectedly along the cobbled London streets.