Web of Illusions: Chapter 1
Exit the Old Life
By Davita
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling. I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.
Harry sat miserably in his cupboard, straining to hear the noises above. As soon as Aunt Petunia had come to, she had grabbed Harry by the ear and flung him into the cupboard, along with cries of "You miserable wretch! What have you done? You'll be the death of us all!"
Now, Harry could just hear Vernon's ponderous footsteps as he entered the house. He cringed, knowing that Uncle Vernon's rage when he found out about the--accident—would make Aunt Petunia's anger seem like hugs and kisses by comparison.
And indeed it did. Upstairs, a roar of "HE DID WHAT?!!" reverberated throughout the house.
Aunt Petunia, sitting nervously on the edge of her chair, bit back angrily, "I just told you, Vernon. That freak turned Dudley into a lump of stone and exposed his—his unnaturalness to everyone in the neighborhood. Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do," she continued, wringing her hands, "I'll be the laughingstock of the whole town!"
"WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN HIM IN, THAT'S WHAT!" Vernon thundered. Under the stairs, Harry flinched.
"But what are we going to do now?" Petunia wailed. "That awful Mrs. Green—do you know she had the nerve to accuse our Duddlekins of trampling her ugly flowers—she saw…she thought that the—the boy—was a magician…and now she's going to tell every soul within hearing range…" Poor Petunia buried her face in her hands as her sobbing escalated.
A pause. Then, "A magician, you say?" Vernon asked with a strange glint in his eyes.
Petunia looked up, puzzled. "Well, yes, that did seem to be her impression…"
Vernon rubbed his hands together, gleefully. "Why, that solves all of our problems, Petty! We can get rid of the boy, none the wiser—let him be useful for once!"
"I don't think I see what you mean, Vernon…"
"Just get him a job with some cockamamie traveling circus or the like, let them take him off our hands, and stop by every month to collect his earnings! Tell the neighborhood that we are allowing him to employ his prodigious talents in order to make a name for himself! Just let him do some of his hocus-pocus—no one will ever know that it's not just a clever trick—an optical illusion, so to speak."
Petunia gasped appreciatively. "Why, it's perfect! None of that freakish business around the house anymore, and a nice addition to our monthly income…all we have to do is find someone willing to take the brat."
Vernon grunted portentously. "Well, tomorrow's a Saturday. I'll have time to take him around and hand him off to some oddball performers."
"Well then, it's all settled." Pettunia smiled happily. "I'll go get dinner started."
The next morning saw Harry Potter trailing a jovial Vernon as they set off to look for Harry's new job.
"I heard that there was a circus in town," Vernon muttered. "Surely they could use a practicing magician…"
Harry's eyes widened. "But Uncle Vernon, I don't know how to do magic. You always said that it was just made up, right?"
"Be quiet, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked as he got in the car. "Now, what was that address again?"
Thirty minutes later, the car stopped outside of a large tent. It was soon approached by a tall man wearing a top hat. Vernon rolled down the window. "Excuse me, sir," the tall man said politely, "but there isn't any show until 12 noon. Right now it's just rehearsal."
"That's all right," Vernon snapped. "I'm looking to talk to the manager."
"May I ask the nature of your business?"
"I've got a new performer. A child…er, prodigy, if you will," Mr. Dursley said distastefully. "A real magician. Can do all sorts of tricks."
"A magician, eh?" The man scrutinized Harry speculatively. "Well, he's younger than we usually take them, but…" He paused. "Get out of the car. Let's see what the youngster can do."
In response to a vicious poke from Uncle Vernon, Harry shakily exited the car, followed by his uncle.
"Now, look here, Mister, I told you I wanted to see the manager."
"My dear sir, I am the manager. Now, if you please, what exactly can this boy of yours do?"
Vernon nodded to Harry. "You heard the man. Show him some of your hocus pocus."
Harry stared at Vernon. After five years of being told that anything magic was evil and hocus pocus was strictly forbidden, the boy was unprepared for this sudden permission—or rather, order—to do magic. The maxim that anything out of the ordinary led inevitably to swift and harsh punishment was too deeply ingrained in the boys psyche to allow him even to think of doing magic. Besides, what was there to do? Anytime something freakish happened, it was always an accident—not something that Harry could control.
Maybe this was a test of sorts. In that case, Harry knew just what to do. He nodded to himself. This would make Uncle Vernon happy.
"Uncle Vernon, I don't know how to do magic. Magic is for freaks," Harry recited firmly.
Uncle Vernon started to turn an odd purplish color. "Not now, boy!" he hissed. "Just show the man what you can do, that's right!"
Harry turned large, frightened eyes upon the tall man. "That's right, child, just go on ahead," he said encouragingly.
"But I don't know how!" Harry cried, utterly bewildered.
The man turned to Vernon. "Mister, if this is some sort of joke, please take it elsewhere. I don't have time for hogwash."
Vernon was, by now, a lovely plum shade. "I assure you, it is nothing of the sort!" He turned to Harry, whispering menacingly, "Boy, you show that man your freak stunts or you'll be locked in the cupboard until you beg for mercy—"
Harry paled, knowing that this was no idle threat. Images of a future spent locked in his tiny prison flashed before his eyes—no life outside—only the taunts of his sole relations—and the darkness-- Harry started to cry, quietly and hopelessly.
The tall man gazed at Vernon with distaste. "I suggest, sir, that you take yourself and your sniveling child back home. We have no room in our program for this sort of clowning." The man smiled slightly at his own joke, before returning his attention to Mr. Dursley. "Run along now." He turned away.
Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's arms. "You'll regret this, brat!" he stormed, dragging Harry towards the car. "You'll be lucky if you ever see the light of day again!"
"No!" Harry cried in anguish, squirming out of Vernon's heavy grasp. And as Vernon turned to pursue the boy, Harry started to lift in the air, where he hung, curled into a ball just above Vernon's reach, weeping piteously.
The manager, having turned around at the sound of Harry's cry, gaped in astonishment at the levitating act. He hadn't believed it, but it seemed the boy did know his stuff. Maybe he was just shy—
The manager nudged Vernon, who was currently jumping in the air, grabbing vainly at Harry's feet. After several pokes, Vernon finally turned around. "What is it?" he barked.
"What did you say your name was, sir?" the manager asked, all politeness.
"Vernon Dursley."
"Ah. Well, Mr. Dursley, it seems we may be able to find a place for your boy after all. We'll have to give him a trial, of course…how about a week? Very good. In that case, you can just leave him with us. And his name is?"
"Harry Potter, my nephew. I'm sure he'll be a wonderful addition—"
"Harry Potter," the man repeated, rolling the name over his tongue. "No, that'll never do. How about…Fonzo. Fonzo Sultimbanco—Wizard Prodigy, Magical Phenomenon! Yes, yes, that'll be just fine. Well, Mr. Dursley, I'll see you next Saturday—same time, same place—and we can discuss terms—assuming, of course, that your nephew can contribute—that is, that we can use him. Thank you very much for stopping by. Till next Saturday, then! Goodbye!"
And with that, Vernon Dursley was hustled off, leaving his confused and frightened nephew hanging midair, watching as the only father figure he could remember drove away without so much as a backward glance.
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