After a long wait, here's chapter three! If you notice, it's longer than the other ones, so be grateful I didn't take longer.
I would like to address a few things. First of all, I made a slight edit to chapter two. I'm not saying what it was, just that it inferred with some of my plans for future chapters. Let's see who can find it!
Secondly, Minaal asked whether this story was set in the U.S. or not. That being a very good question (and I thank you for noticing so quickly), I figured that everyone should know the answer to it. Yes, this story is set in the U.S. Being born and raised in the U.S., I am not completely familiar with British currency and such, and I did not wish to offend anyone with information that I was not one hundred percent sure about. Please understand.
Thirdly, a name has finally been selected for Notepad Girl! Thank you to all who were kind enough to submit names, I appreciated every one of them.
Fourthly, and most importantly, I would like to remind readers of a few important things-
Harry Potter?: Not mine! J. K. Rowling's!
Original Fic Idea?: Again, not mine! This was a challenge by DarkCrimsonFlame3! It was her mind that came up with the idea!
The Story Itself?: MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE! Whatever the hell happens in this story is the product of my crazy imagination.
Fifthly, thank you for the reviews!
All points covered? Yes? Then on with the fic!
Harry sighed loudly as he and Ron stood in line to enter the theatre. Hermione had gone to get food, as they had been waiting for about three hours now, and she was taking an incredibly long time as all nearby places were filled with other people going to see the show. He winced as loud giggles erupted behind them. About five older women were sitting behind them, gossiping and giggling nonstop. It was especially bad as there was a picture of Tom Riddle on the wall by them and, though he was wearing a blindfold, which hid most of his face, they would stop every so often to stare at it, before giggling all over again. If this kept up, Harry knew he was going to go mad.
"Here comes Hermione!" Ron said excitedly, pointing a little ways off. Harry looked and saw that the redhead was right. However, instead of holding bags filled with delicious food, her hands were empty, and her expression was annoyed.
"What happened Hermione?" Harry asked.
"I left my wallet at home!" Hermione snapped crossly.
"What!" Ron yelled. "But what about the tickets? And our food?!"
"Settle down Ronald, the tickets are right here." She held up said tickets for the redhead to see. "I talked to the cashier at the café, and she agreed to hold our food until I could get the money. One of you will have to pay instead."
"I'm broke," Ron said, looking hopefully over at Harry.
Harry reached for his wallet and checked it. "I don't have any cash on me, but I have my debit card. Do they accept it?"
"I believe so," Hermione said. "Let's go quickly; I don't know how long she will hold our food for us."
"Oh no," Ron said. "You're not leaving me here by myself." At that moment, a particularly loud bout of giggles went off behind them, causing him to wince.
"Oh all right," Hermione said. She handed Harry a slip of paper. "The girl at the register gave me this. It's our order number. Just show it to her and you'll be able to pay."
"Got it," Harry said, pocketing the piece of paper. "Now which café is it?"
"I can't remember the name, but it's the one we went to a few weeks ago."
"The one with the really good drinks that warm you from the inside out?" Harry asked.
"Yes! That's the one!" Hermione said.
"Okay, I know where it is then," Harry said. "I'll be back soon."
With that, he took off down the street, leaving his friends and the group of giggling women goodbye.
"Victoria!" Tom snapped.
Victoria was instantly in front of him. "Yes sir?"
"Time?" he said, walking backstage.
"An hour and a half 'til show time sir," she said after a look at her watch.
He hummed thoughtfully. "I want you to go get me a drink from that café on 20th street."
"What would you like sir?" she said after grabbing her notepad.
"A butterbeer," he said after a moment's pause, having no real desire for a drink, but wanting to order someone around anyway.
"Yes sir," Victoria said while scribbling the demand down.
"Also, I want you to call the producers to let them know that I cannot make the appointment tomorrow. If they ask why, tell them I'm busy. Remember, you have to call them at exactly four o'clock. That's right before they leave for their weekly meeting. You won't be able to reach them anytime after that."
"Yes sir. Anything else sir?" she said while writing all the information down.
"No, now get moving," he snapped. Victoria nodded quickly, before walking out the nearby exit. Tom smirked.
Oh how he loved bossing people around.
"Thanks again for the directions Mr. Hagrid," Harry said to the man before him, craning his neck to look him the face. He was an extremely large man.
"Think nothin' of it my boy," the man said jollily in his booming voice. "Goo'bye, and don't hesitate to come ba' soon! You know how much Buckbeak loves it when you visi'," he said, lovingly stroking the head of the cockatoo that was sitting on his shoulder.
"I won't," Harry said, before quickly exiting the pet shop he had gone to so he could ask for directions. It turned out he couldn't remember the way to the café after all.
"I hope our food is still good," Harry mumbled to himself. He walked a few blocks more before taking a right. He could see the café sign a block or so away, when a girl bumped into him.
"Sorry," she muttered hastily. Harry was about to say that it was no problem when the girl quickly took off without a backwards glance, her braid snapping behind her as she zoomed away.
Confused, Harry was about to continue on when he noticed something on the ground. He stooped to pick it up, and discovered it was a notepad. He flipped it open to the first page to see if he could find a name, but he could hardly make out what all the different numbers and words meant. Shrugging, he unconsciously pocketed the notepad and continued to the café.
He reached it just in time to see the girl from earlier ordering a drink, before she checked her watch and took out her cell phone. She reached for her back pocket, and Harry watched as her eyes widened in shock and fear at discovering nothing there. She hastily started searching all her pockets and, though she said nothing, her body language screamed panic. Remembering the notepad he had found after bumping into her, Harry walked towards her.
"Excuse me," he began, "but is this yours?" He held out the notepad and saw the annoyance in the girl's eyes at being addressed while she was searching change into shock and relief. She snatched it from his hand without a word, and flipped it open to a page before she began dialing on her cell phone. A bit put off by her rude behavior, Harry walked over to the register, showing the cashier the slip of paper Hermione had given him. The woman smiled and retrieved the order, and Harry quickly paid. He was just about to walk out, when the rude girl from earlier came up to him.
"I apologize for my behavior earlier," she said in a quiet voice. "Thank you so much for returning this to me. My boss would have been…most displeased if I did not make that call."
He smiled at her. "That's all right; I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with your boss." He held out his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."
She gave him a small smile and shook his hand. "My name is Victoria Grey."
Harry was about to say something when Victoria's cell phone started ringing. She answered quickly, and Harry saw her whole countenance change from quiet friendliness to strictly business. She spoke softly for a few moments, then with a final "Yes sir" she closed her phone with a snap, sighing.
"Well I guess I just bought myself a butterbeer then," she said mostly to herself. At Harry's puzzled look, she said, "My boss sent me out to get him a drink, and he just called saying he changed his mind and doesn't want anything after all."
Harry nodded in reply, before looking at his watch. His eyes widened and he cursed softly. "My friends are going to be so mad. I was supposed to be back ages ago."
Victoria smiled at him in understanding. "Well, you had better get going then. It was nice meeting you."
"Nice meeting you too," he said, before turning around and walking out the door.
Victoria smirked to herself, grabbing her butterbeer when the waitress handed it to her. She had a feeling that this would not be the last time she would encounter Harry Potter.
"Wow…you must not have been kidding about these tickets costing a fortune. We must have some of the best seats in the house!" Harry exclaimed as he leaned over the railing. The Hogwarts Theatre was extremely large, designed like one of the old opera houses, including old architect and a chandelier. The audience seats spanned across the room on an upper and lower level, while there were about four box seats on both sides of the grand stage. Having never been inside the theatre before, you could imagine Harry's surprise when Hermione had dragged them up the stairs, turning down a corridor that had had an arrow pointing down it reading "Boxes Five Though Eight", before pulling them through a curtain where they emerged in a box seat with a large number five on it.
"Yeah, we're lucky that Hermione's uncle was nice enough to give us these tickets," Ron said without thinking, grunting in pain when Hermione elbowed him in the side.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Hermione told me that you two paid for them."
"Uhh…" Ron trailed off.
"Good going Ronald," Hermione huffed, before turning to face her fuming friend. "Now Harry-"
"You tried to guilt trip me into coming by saying that you had spent a ton of money!"
"All right, I'll admit it. But I knew you were going to refuse, and in the end, that isn't even what convinced you to come," Hermione pointed out reasonably.
"Yeah, all of your pestering did," Harry muttered, anger deflating slightly, leaving him with a pout and an annoyed expression.
"Come on Harry, it's no big deal," Ron said patting him on the back. "Let's just enjoy the show."
Harry sighed, but he shot a small smile at the redhead. "Okay."
"Shh! It's starting!" Hermione whispered excitedly as the lights began to dim.
Ron rolled his eyes at her, but focused down on the stage anyway. After taking a moment to stifle his chuckle at his friend's action Harry did the same.
Within seconds the entire crowd was quiet, and the only light left was the bright spotlight. After a few unnervingly silent seconds, a figure dressed in a black tuxedo made his way on stage. Instantly, the audience began cheering wildly. Harry was sitting close enough to the stage to see the man smirk as he bowed before the crowd.
He had never seen Tom Riddle's face before. Any posters or pictures that he had seen showed the man wearing a blindfold which hid most of his facial features. However, he had heard from many of his female classmates that the man was handsome, gorgeous, stunning, hot, and many other flattering—though sometimes extreme—descriptions. Observing the man's face for the first time, Harry could grudgingly admit that they were right.
He couldn't make out the details, but he saw that Riddle had black hair quite similar to his own, though much neater. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly jealous; his own hair was messy and had a tendency to get in his eyes, no matter what ways he tried taming it. Besides that, however, there seemed to be no other similarities shared between them, at least physically. Tom Riddle was tall, maybe around six feet three inches, and his skin was extremely pale. Whether the paleness was caused by the bright stage lights or if he was naturally that way, Harry did not know.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Riddle said from the stage. "I thank you all for coming today. Not only is it my last show here in this town, but it is also the last show of my tour." Many audience members groaned and made other noises expressing their disappointment. "I know, I am also saddened by this. However, I can guarantee that tonight's show will be unlike any other show I've done before, in this country or another. If you have seen my show before, well, forget everything you remember from it! Tonight, you will all witness things that you never have before! These things may seem mysterious, even frightening at times, but remember one thing." He stopped there, taking his time to survey the entranced crowd before him.
"Everything…is magic!"
With a puff of smoke and a loud bang that caused several people to shriek, Tom Riddle disappeared. Harry, whose heart was pounding after such a shock, could only watched transfixed as a dozen or so black robed figures emerged slowly from the lingering smoke. They were chanting softly, words that he could not comprehend, and they kept their heads bowed. Music was playing ominously, a funeral march to match the slow gait. As one, they stopped in the middle of the stage. They slowly raised their heads, revealing skull masks with glowing eyes, so realistic-looking that several people screamed at the sight of them. For several moments, no one moved. However, soon a smooth voice reached the audience from within the sea of black.
"With life, there is death," the voice of Tom Riddle stated. With a bloodcurdling scream, one of the skeletons on the far left gripped its throat, running to the side in pain. It made a sharp turn to the right, and it vanished, sucked up into its cloak, swallowed into nothingness as the black cloth drifted harmlessly to the floor.
"Yet within death…," the skeletons started to disintegrate, vanishing one by one with a whiff of smoke, until there was only one left standing in the middle of the stage. It reached up, pulling the skeleton mask off to reveal the face of Tom Riddle.
"…there is life," he finished.
Having said this, he undid the clasp on his black cloak, swiftly removing it and gripping it in his hand. He walked forward slightly and with careful movements began to lower it to the ground. Instead of collapsing and spreading out on the floor like any normal clothes would do, it slowly began to pile higher on the ground, holding itself upright, looking like a giant black nest on the ground. As Tom Riddle stood up, Harry saw him hold out his other hand, and he could see that he held some tiny object. What it was, he couldn't tell. Looking inside the nest for a brief moment, Harry watched in amazement as it slowly began to fill with something dark brown.
As Tom Riddle dropped the tiny something from his hand, Harry realized that he had been wrong. The nest was not a nest at all, it was a pot. The dark brown substance in it was dirt, and the tiny something…was a seed. What kind of seed, he had no idea. From his view in the box seat, Harry saw the seed sink into the soil soon after being dropped, somehow burying itself beneath the dirt. Tom Riddle bent down, before hefting the somewhat large pot into the air, holding it high above his head as if it were a sacrificial offering to the gods. His eyes were closed in concentration. With baited breath, the audience waited.
Ever so slowly, a tiny leaf poked its way out of the soil. Soon after, a little trunk sprouted as well, barely an inch thick. It continued this way, growing taller, growing wider, sprouting more and more leaves, until finally a small tree was left. The audience cheered.
Carefully, Tom Riddle balanced the pot on his left hand as he reached into his pocket with his right. He pulled out a small red handkerchief. He shook it out, and it gradually became larger, until it was about the size of a table cloth. He lowered it to the ground as much as he could without disrupting the potted tree, covering a section of the ground, before whipping it up, leaving a glass table. Shaking out the cloth again, it disappeared, and Riddle gently used both hands to lower the pot so it was sitting on the table. With a smirk, Riddle bowed before the cheering crowd.
Thinking the trick over, the audience gasped in surprise as small, white blossoms began to grow on the tree. They were even more surprised when oranges began growing on the tree as well. So it was an orange seed! Harry thought to himself. The audience watched as Tom Riddle walked up and picked one of the oranges from the tree.
Like the tree, the oranges themselves were not extremely large, but they still looked to be a normal size. Producing a small pocket knife, Riddle cut the orange cleanly in half, allowing the audience to see the juicy innards of the fruit. After a few moments more, Riddle placed the two halves of orange together and ran his thumb along the line where he had cut it, before tossing the orange into the air and catching it. It was once again whole.
With a wave of his hand, Riddle produced an apple out of thin air and showed off both it and the orange to the confused crowd. He brought the apple to his lips and took a bite, chewing and swallowing, then held the apple up for the audience to see, the inside clearly visible. With a swipe of his hand, the apple was once again whole. A lazy smirk graced his lips as he slowly paced around the stage, tossing the apple and orange back and forth from one hand to the other.
"I'm going to let you in on a little fact I've learned over the years," Tom Riddle said. He continued to toss the apple and orange. "While something may appear one way on the outside, that does not necessarily mean it is the same on the inside." With a snap the knife was back in his hands and he swiftly cut the orange in half, revealing not the same juicy inside as before, but the pale colored flesh of an apple. Doing the same to the apple, the insides were again different, being that of an orange. The audience could only look in astonishment, until with a puff of smoke, the fruit disappeared.
As the crowd cheered, Tom Riddle once again took a bow. "Thank you," he said. "Now that the warm-up is over, how about some real magic?" The scream of the crowd was nearly deafening.
It was times like these that Tom Riddle was very grateful for his magic. Under normal conditions, nearly two straight hours under hot stage lights with no water and no shade would cause even the most experienced performer to pass out. Luckily for him, his magic blocked the heat from the powerful beams, and he knew not even a drop of sweat could be seen on his face. For his next trick, however, he knew one person would not be so lucky.
"Our time together begins to wind down," he said. "But before we must depart, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." He pulled a card, the Ace of Spades to be precise, out of said sleeve, and the audience laughed. With a flick, the card disappeared. "For my next trick, I will require some assistance; someone from the audience actually." As anticipated, nearly every member of the audience raised their hand, shouting out pleas to be his assistant. He held up a hand to silence them.
"I have my own method for selecting someone," he said. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out some black cloth. Raising it to his face, he covered his eyes, and the world was instantly cast into darkness. With a quick knot, the blindfold was set, and he turned towards where he sensed the audience.
"I ask you all to remain quiet while I go about selecting someone in assisting me," he said. With that, he took a deep, mind clearing breath and opened his eyes beneath the blindfold.
While his sight was temporarily eliminated, he could still "see" in different ways. As if he wasn't wearing a blindfold, he could still view the entire audience, yet it was not physically. In place of their physical bodies was a certain light. This light varied from person to person, in color and shade and brightness and even sheer intensity. Though Tom was not completely certain, he believed the light to be a person's soul.
That was what he was seeing now, a see of endless colors and lights. Some he saw, though he could not exactly pinpoint them at the moment, were dull and lifeless, while some seemed to lash out as they flickered, signaling a rather malicious attitude. He avoided these as he continued to rake his eyes through the different colors.
The process by which he selected a volunteer was simple. When selecting a volunteer, he tried to find the most appealing soul of the crowd. They were not always the same at every show. He had picked a cool mint green soul during one of his shows in Paris, and a fiercely flickering red during a show in Sydney. He had even picked a daisy yellow soul in Osaka once! Tonight, however, Tom could not find a color that struck his fancy. He tilted his head slightly to the side to see if he could make out a decent shade in the back of the audience, when a little flash caught the corner of his "eye". Intrigued, he turned to face the direction it had come from—one of the box seats, he realized—and promptly received a shock.
Never before in his life had he seen a soul like that!
Pristine and pure, the soul was a warm white. Not the cold white of snow or the disturbed white of the insane asylums, or even the fake white of too clean houses. It was white like a dove's wings, soft and compelling and innocent. He had only seen a similar color in that of a babe once, but even then the soul had not been nearly as alive. Like the flames of a fireplace, it flickered and danced, almost coy in its movements. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.
It was perfect.
With a smirk and a certain eagerness he had not felt in a long time, Tom Riddle walked to the edge of the stage.
"He's looking right at us!" Hermione whispered to Harry in excitement.
It was true. After scanning the crowd for a few moments, Riddle had "looked" in their direction and his line of "sight" had not strayed since.
"Oh, I hope he picks me!" Hermione whispered, more to herself than to Harry.
Rom shot Hermione a withering look—not that she noticed—and looked grumpily down at Tom Riddle. Harry had really hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with a jealous Ron, but it looked like the fates had decided to be cruel to him. Before he could send Ron a reassuring look, Riddle started walking towards the edge of the stage.
"What's he doing?" Ron asked quietly, jealousy forgotten for the moment. Harry merely shrugged, not knowing the answer. When Riddle came to the edge of the stage he stopped, still looking in their direction. After a moment, he snapped his fingers, a tiny flame appearing on his thumb as though it were a lighter. With his other hand, he produced a piece of paper from his pocket.
With careful movements, Riddle lit the paper on fire, putting out the flame on his thumb after he was sure the paper was properly aflame. He allowed it to burn for a moment, a small cloud of smoking forming above the paper. Before the flame could reach his hand, he made the burning paper disappear, though the smoke cloud still remained. With one finger, he swirled the smoke around, causing the cloud to grow larger and larger. Once it was a fairly large size, Riddle trailed the smoke down to the edge of the stage with his finger, before stepping back.
Instead of following Riddle back, the smoke traveled in a straight line over the heads of a few audience members, before turning sharply upward. It then leveled out again, before repeating the upward movement. It looked as though someone was drawing in black ink in mid air, the smoke line forming a shape that looked exactly like…
"A staircase," Harry whispered in awe.
"But he couldn't possibly mean to-" Hermione started to say, but was cut off by screams from some of the audience.
Tom Riddle had just taken a step forward and was starting to steadily climb the smoke staircase.
Tom listened delightedly to the screams that followed his step off the stage. He could clearly see the stairs he had created, and he had no worry of falling. His direct attention was on that captivating soul sitting in the box seat ahead of him. He paid no mind to the two sitting near it (not only were they not appealing to him, they seemed positively bland in comparison to their companion). His "eyes" were only for the pure white one.
After a few more moments of tense silence following his trip up the smoky staircase, Tom reached the box seat. He stepped off the smoke stairs and stood on the railing, keeping himself balanced easily. Almost hesitantly at first, the crowd began clapping, quickly increasing in volume as the sheer magnitude of what he had just done penetrated their shocked minds. Tom bowed, his sense of balance never waning, before turning to the person he had sought out.
"I believe that I have found my helper," Tom stated loud enough for the audience to hear. He did not require a microphone to make his voice heard throughout the room. "What might your name be?" he asked, having no clue what the gender of the person was. Light and color did not give away whether a person was male or female.
"Me?" a quiet, definitely male voice answered from the white light.
"I'm not talking about the Queen of Sheba," Tom said, keeping the normal bite out of his tone. He was in front of a large crowd after all.
He heard a slight huff. "Well I'm sorry, it's not everyday that a blindfolded man approaches me and asks my name," the voice snapped.
A few members of the audience tittered, and Tom heard a female voice next to the white soul whisper "Harry!" in shock of his behavior.
"So your name is Harry then," Tom said smugly. "Well Harry, if you would be so kind as to follow me, we can proceed with the next trick."
"What, go down that thing?!" Harry said. Tom could imagine Harry giving the staircase an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"I am most serious," Tom said. "If you like I can carry you down," Tom teased. Judging by the voice, Tom perceived Harry to be in his late teens, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He could make out a vague outline of a human shape in the white light, and while it was not particularly small, it was not big. He would have no trouble carrying the boy down the smoky stairs.
The audience laughed at his comment, and he could tell Harry was uneasy. "I didn't even agree to help," Tom heard Harry mutter to himself. "Isn't there any other way we could get down?" Harry asked eventually, a silent plea in his voice.
Not feeling like drawing out the ordeal (plus he was sure the audience was getting impatient), Tom snapped his fingers. Instantly, the smoke line that made up the staircase slowly began to form a square next to the railing which Tom Riddle still stood upon. Not even glancing behind himself, Tom took a step back onto the smoke platform and held a hand out for Harry.
"Come now. You do not have to worry about climbing down anymore. Just merely stand on here and we shall ride our way down."
For several seconds Harry did nothing, until finally he sighed and said "I suppose I have no way out of this." He then stood up and, ignoring Riddle's hand, swung himself over the railing and onto the small smoke platform next to Tom.
Though he did not let it show, Tom was mildly impressed by the bravery Harry showed by swinging himself over a railing into what would normally be certain death. However, he was annoyed that Harry had wanted a way out of assisting him. Insolent boy! Did he not know how many people would kill to help him with a trick?
It did not matter. Tom would just have to teach the boy how grateful he should be.
That pleasant thought in mind, Tom snapped his fingers, and the platform began to lower towards the stage. He felt Harry wobble a bit, and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. It would not do to have his temporary assistant splatter on the audience. Once they reached the middle of the stage, the platform vanished, letting them drop the last few inches onto the stage. Harry stumbled slightly on the landing, but managed to keep himself from falling flat on his butt. Tom landed perfectly with a hint of a smirk at Harry's lack of coordination.
After bowing to the audience's cheers, Tom reached back to untie his blindfold. This accomplished, he tucked the material back into his pocket. He turned to Harry, meaning to explain what they were going to do, but promptly froze, mind cleared blank at the sight that greeted him.
He was lost in a sea of green.
So Tom and Harry have finally met! What ever will become of them?
Congratulations Amaya130! It was your name that was selected! (throws confetti)
The Orange Tree trick is from the movie The Illusionist. I would have mentioned this at the beginning of the chapter, but I did not want to give away what was going to happen. Of course, I tweaked the trick a bit to match the circumstances, but the basic concept is the same. However, the apple/orange part of the trick was of my own creation. Do not steal. I highly recommend the movie, it is wonderful!
The smoke staircase was inspired by a scene in the movie Mary Poppins. I'm sure a majority of you have seen that movie.
All magic tricks belong to me, unless stated otherwise. If you would like to borrow one, please contact me first and get my permission.
Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
Chippy