Web of Illusions: Chapter 2
Enter the New
By Davita
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling. I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.
Author's Note: I'm posting faster than I had planned to, partially because I have nothing else to do, and partially because I'm hooked on my oh-so-few reviews. I'm pleased with this chapter, despite its shortness, especially the end, which took a turn that I hadn't planned on but that fits perfectly into the storyline. This chapter should also give you more insight into Harry's character.
Harry sat at the back of the trailer that he'd been assigned to, and which he'd apparently be sharing with a clown and a trapeze artist. As soon as Vernon left, the manager, whose name was Eugene Varekai, had told him in no uncertain terms, though not unkindly, to stay out of the way and get his act together. Consequently, Harry had been herded into his trailer and left there.
The first thing that Harry did upon being left alone was burst into a fresh batch of tears. The Dursleys had treated Harry terribly, but despite the fact that they were a ghastly excuse for a family, Harry was still left feeling abandoned, vulnerable, and awfully, unalterably alone. The only family that he had ever known—possibly the only family that he ever would know—had deemed him unworthy, deserted him, sentenced him to make a living off of being a freak... And now, at five years old, he was expected to adapt to a new way of life, to earn his keep, and to perform miracles that were more like unhappy accidents… For several minutes, Harry wallowed in his woe, pausing only to blow his nose when needed, and the trailer echoed with his sobs.
However, even at his tender age, Harry was essentially a practical type, wont to absorb and move on rather than wallow in his grief. To this purpose, Harry's weeping eventually quieted, and he looked out from behind his veil of tears with curious eyes. He took a moment to conduct a survey of his surroundings. Although the trailer wasn't large, it was comfortable and brightly decorated. He had a small sectioned-off area to himself which allowed him a certain amount of privacy. Despite the fact that it was approximately the same size as his cupboard, Harry found that the large window which opened onto the outside made it an infinitely cheerier space. All in all, Harry was left feeling like he'd made a step up in life. Maybe this new form of existence could work out after all…
Having once decided that circus life was at least worth a shot, Harry began to ponder how he could stick around long enough to give it a fair trial. His job here was to do magic, the one thing that he had been forbidden from doing at home. Unfortunately, it looked to Harry as if he could never fit in to either world, since he couldn't control his magic (assuming that was what it was); it came and went as with the vagaries of its own contrary spirit. As far as Harry could tell, there were exactly two ways to stay in the circus; either he had to learn to control his magic, which might well be impossible, or he had to pretend to control his magic using—what were they called?—magic tricks. And that seemed to be the work of a lifetime; Harry had already seen adult apprentices struggling to learn magic tricks, so what was the chance that he could figure it out in only seven days?
Nothing risked, nothing gained, Harry told himself—a favorite expression of his kindergarten teacher, who belonged to a life that now seemed miles and years away. No! Harry ordered, quickly brushing off thoughts of the past. I'm here now. I only need to focus on now and the future, not…back then. He took a deep breath. Nothing risked, nothing gained. Closing his eyes, Harry reached within himself for anything that might feel like magic. He opened his eyes. It had felt empty inside. No magic…only the minor rumblings of a stomach accustomed to hunger. Maybe if he concentrated harder—concentrated on floating in the air, like he had earlier in the morning. Biting his lip, Harry concentrated. And concentrated. And concentrated, until he was afraid that his head would explode and his lip would be bitten all the way through. But nothing happened.
What am I doing wrong? Harry wondered. Maybe he ought to take a more logical approach to harnessing his magic. Well, it always shows up when I'm angry, or frightened… But that's no help, Harry thought suddenly, since he couldn't possibly be always frightened or angry if he wanted to put on a show. Shows were about the joy of entertainment, not bitterness. But then…
Nothing risked, nothing gained… Harry closed his eyes once again, pulling up images of Dudley and his gang chasing him, of Aunt Petunia with her frying pan ready to wallop Harry over the head, of Uncle Vernon's terrible threat … "Brat…You'll be lucky if you ever see the light of day again…" And of a terrifying flash of green light, a man's yell and a woman's cry, and of his own sense of anguished, uncomprehending loss…
Breathing heavily, Harry managed to finally wrench himself free from his living nightmares, only to find himself confronted with a creature no less surreal. Hanging in front of him on level with his eyes was a thick black snake, which slowly uncoiled itself and began slithering toward Harry. Harry sat frozen in place, entranced by this creature which seemed to be an embodiment of his darkest memories. The snake moved sinuously forwards until the pale flesh of its underbelly touched Harry's arm. Harry gasped, feeling the scales gently chafe his skin—before the snake vanished into thin air, leaving only a softly hissed message to confirm its presence—"I'll be back, little one..."
Well, Harry though numbly, I guess I can do magic after all. I hope the audience won't mind if my snake shows up during performances…
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