Harry Potter goes to WDW

Wilt Dasney

Wilt Dasney

Well-Known Member
Original Poster
No, it's not a resurrection of old ride rumors. Basically, a weekend with no car and a germ of an idea from lovely fellow poster Laura set me off down a path I've never traveled before. I wrote...a fanfic! :eek:

Basically, we had the idea of Harry Potter visiting WDW and then I said it would be fun to write, and my partner in crime egged me on. So less than 24 hours later, here it is. It's a bit long, but I figured some of you might be bored enough to read it. If not, no big. It was basically intended to amuse the two of us. :lol:

Continuity-wise, it fits in before Chapter 2 of Book 1 (The Vanishing Glass) and I tried to keep it where nothing in here contradicts the books. I also tried to keep the Disney details true-to-life, within reason. (My PIC has already informed me there is no Mickey Mouse in Fantasyland, but tough beans, I like him there.) :shrug:

Alright, stay tuned...
 
Wilt Dasney

Wilt Dasney

Well-Known Member
Original Poster
Chapter 1: The Unfriendly Skies

"BUT I DON'T LIKE UNSALTED PEANUTS!"

And with that, Dudley Dursley threw his plastic cup filled with pineapple-grapefruit juice back at the bewildered, unsuspecting flight attendant.

Having left Heathrow Airport just under an hour before, poor Kimberly the Flight Attendant had no idea how long a flight it would be. Certainly, the 10-plus hours from London to Orlando, Florida, wasn't short by any standards. But with the holy terror that was Dudley on board, it might feel more like a nonstop trip from London to the moon.

Kimberly tried to wring out her skirt as best she could, and turned to the much smaller boy sitting next to Dudley.

"Would YOU care for some peanuts, dear?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Harry Potter replied.

With his unkempt black hair and patched-up glasses, not to mention a skinny frame that suggested many nights sent to bed without supper for daring to talk during Vernon Dursley's favorite television programs, Harry Potter didn't look at all like any son of Vernon Dursley.

And that's because he wasn't. A tub of a man with a pinkish hue in his face, Vernon Dursley was in fact Harry's uncle...and not a magnificent one, at that.

Vernon and his angular, bony wife Petunia had reluctantly taken in Harry as a baby after his parents died in a car crash. But while they allowed the boy to live under their roof, they never missed a chance to make it abundantly clear that he existed there merely by their boundless grace and kindness — and lest he ever forget what gracious people his relatives were, a sharp rap on the back of the head from Uncle Vernon's knuckles was there to serve as a reminder.

Dudley was clearly the favored child in the Dursley household, and Harry's pudgy, overindulged cousin made sure to milk that status for every uncouth outburst and attack on Harry he could manage.

But despite all the neglect and harsh treatment he endured from his miserable relatives, here was Harry Potter, on an airplane for the first time, eating peanuts and flying across the Atlantic Ocean to a place he had occasionally heard about from some of the children he knew from school, kids whose parents were surgeons and attorneys and important people of that sort.

They called the place Disney World or occasionally Walt Disney World and to Harry's ears, it sounded like the best place a boy of nearly 11 (his birthday being only a few months away) could go.

Harry had seen a few Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck cartoons on television as a youngster, before Dudley decided such programs were too childish to be aired in the Dursley household, and that was the end of that.

Once, Harry had been allowed to sit downstairs (quietly, of course, and in a corner, well away from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia) while the adults had watched a documentary about luminaries, important people who had changed the course of society in various important ways.

Following a profile of Alexander Graham Bell, the program devoted a segment to a man named Walt Disney, and the name rang a bell with Harry. He realized he had seen the name on the screen before those Mickey Mouse cartoons he remembered so fondly, and he perked up to listen.

Walt Disney had not only made cartoons, the program said, but had spent the latter part of his life working on amusement destinations for families to travel to on holiday. He had established two in the United States, one in California and a much bigger place in Florida, but he died before the second one had opened.

And this place, the massive amusement resort in Orlando which had been designed to outstrip California's Disneyland, was what awaited Harry at the end of this long flight.

He still couldn't quite believe his aunt and uncle had agreed to bring him when Uncle Vernon had won an all-expenses-paid trip for four to Walt Disney World through some sort of magazine sweepstakes. Although his heart had given an involuntary leap when he heard about the prize, Harry's first thought was that the Dursleys, who were about as un-magical as anyone could be, would never agree to visit such a place. But then Dudley had started in on his father.

"Clyde got to go last year, and he said Space Mountain was the best thing he's ever done! I never get anything I want!" Dudley had wailed as he had looked up from a particularly violent movie his father had agreed to let him watch while chewing on one of several Oreo's he had stolen from Harry while Uncle Vernon had laughed and congratulated him on his healthy appetite.

Once Dudley had bullied his parents into agreeing to the trip, Harry was sure that one of Dudley's miserable friends — Piers Polkiss, perhaps — would be invited to accompany the family, while Harry himself would no doubt be dropped off with Mrs. Figg, a neighbor of the Dursleys' with a houseful of cats who always tended to Harry when his relatives went anywhere remotely fun or exciting.

But Mrs. Figg had told Uncle Vernon she couldn't watch Harry for a week when he had called to ask, telling him she had unfortunately scheduled emergency hip surgery for that week. Harry had found this very strange — not least because Mrs. Figg had told Harry on a previous stay at her house that she had already had both hips replaced at some place called St. Mungo's that Harry assumed must be an important hospital in London, because he'd certainly never heard the name. Still, he hadn't voiced his surprise a peep, just happy to be included on the trip, however unwelcome.

"What are you doing, boy?" came Uncle Vernon's sharp bark from two seats away.

"Nothing" was Harry's resigned reply, a truthful statement he had gotten very used to delivering when challenged by his uncle.

"Well, stop slouching and staring off into space like some sort of half-crazed person. For God's sake, if you're going to be along on this trip, you'll at least conduct yourself like a normal human being. Now sit up straight and at least try to pay attention to the picture."

Harry shrugged, happy to at least give the appearance of compliance. In truth, he had little interest in the in-flight movie, a boring love story that appeared to have been filmed for the benefit of little old ladies with no better way to spend their time than disapproving of the private affairs of people who didn't exist.

Dudley, of course, was paying not a lick of attention, instead finding much more interest in kicking the chair of a harassed mother in front of him. Naturally, Uncle Vernon said nothing to him.

"Do you know, I think that man has been drinking?" Harry heard Aunt Petunia say from next to the window after the pilot had come over the public address system to make some sort of announcement about the weather.

"Now, Petunia, don't start bandying about that sort of..."

"I'm bandying nothing, Vernon. I quite distinctly smelled bourbon as we were boarding. I've half a mind to report him to the aviation authorities, assuming we survive this wretched trip at all."

Harry's eyes glazed over, and he decided to try and take a nap. Dudley had been right about the peanuts after all. They were a bit bland. Florida was surely still a long way off, and Harry needed some way to relax his mind and tamp down his excitement. He closed his eyes, and the boring love story vanished into a dream where a tall castle — like something out of a storybook — held sway, suggesting even something as silly as magic might be real.

***

He was awakened sometime later by Dudley squeezing his considerable girth past him to get to the bathroom. Harry looked down at his hand-me-down watch, still set on London time. Not quite two hours had passed since the plane had lifted off. The boring love story was over now, replaced by a film about men with big guns who smoked big cigars and handled big piles of money. Uncle Vernon appeared enrapt.

That castle, so majestic and regal, blue-and-gold spires pointing straight up to the endless sky, had reappeared throughout his nap. It was familiar to Harry, but why? Where had he seen it before? Certainly he had never been invited on any family trips into the European countryside, where such things could still be found. Once the Dursleys had returned from a vacation in Germany and screened photos of the magnificent old structures they had come across in Mrs. Figg's living room. That must be what he had dreaming about, one of those old German castles. Only this one hadn't seemed very old.

As Harry sat pondering this mystery, Dudley reappeared, demanding that he relinquish his seat on the aisle. Harry hesitated before glancing at Uncle Vernon, looking up from his movie about the men with guns long enough to give Harry a clear look. It said that while he had no desire to have his nephew sitting next to him, he wasn't about to let that prevent Dudley from stealing Harry's seat.

Harry sighed and moved into the adjoining seat, and was soon squeezed uncomfortably between his uncle and cousin. This was going to be a long flight.

***

Much later, the announcement came that the plane was beginning its final descent into the Orlando airport. Harry once again felt the odd sensation in his ears that had accompanied the plane's ascent, and thought that he would never be able to get used to flying. It certainly wasn't a mode of transportation he would ever make a habit out of, if he could help it.

Following a safe landing and the all-clear announcement from Kimberly the Flight Attendant, there began a mass scuffle toward the airplane door. These people had been cooped up for a long time and were desperate for the freedom that being on the ground offered. Uncle Vernon pushed Harry roughly into the aisle, where he was again squeezed between his uncle and Dudley, trapped in a disorderly mass of bodies while Kimberly did her best to maintain some semblance of control over the weary travelers.

Harry and his relatives walked through a tunnel and into the bustling airport. It occurred to Harry that he was farther from his home on Privet Drive than he had ever been in his life, and if he were to just take off walking, he could probably blend in with all these people and the Dursleys would never find him again.

Of course, he would also miss his chance to see the magnificent resort dreamed up by the man who had created those cartoons he had enjoyed so much as a younger boy. He decided it wasn't necessarily worth the tradeoff. The Dursleys did feed him after all, however irregularly.

Luggage in tow, the Dursleys marched out of the airport into the bright Florida sunshine. Harry stopped and blinked. It was the middle of May. It was certainly bright here, not to mention hot. Back in Britain, these temperatures would have likely meant that summer was throwing out its final brutal assault to make people long for autumn, just around the corner. Was it always this hot here, Harry wondered as he wiped his brow.

Uncle Vernon barked something, shaking Harry from his reverie. Harry turned and realized his relatives were making their way toward a taxi. He hurried to follow, anxious to see what awaited him.
 
Wilt Dasney

Wilt Dasney

Well-Known Member
Original Poster
Chapter 2: The Two Trains

Checking into the hotel was an adventure in itself, as it turned out. The trip Uncle Vernon had won included free lodging at a place called the Contemporary Resort. It was a funny-looking building, almost like a giant letter A with some sort of elevated rail running right through the middle of it. ("How on earth do they keep the rain out?" Aunt Petunia had wondered aloud when she saw the giant hole in the side of the hotel that the track ran through.)

Once in the massive lobby, Harry saw what the rail was for. A long, sleek train, white with purple trim, actually drove through the side of the building and docked at one of the hotel's upper levels.

"Look, the monorail is back!" squeaked a boy a few years younger than Harry. He and his parents spoke with British accents, which caught Harry off-guard. Did every physician and attorney in the U.K. come here for holiday?

Once the Dursleys and Harry had settled into their room on the tenth floor, Dudley began clamoring to see the sights. Harry rarely agreed with anything his cousin wanted, but he silently backed him up now.

"Space Mountain is the fastest one, that's what Clyde told me when he came back last summer! I want to go on Space Mountain right now, not sit around here!" Dudley demanded as his mother soothed her feet, just liberated from their prison of the all-too-prim high-heeled shoes she had insisted on wearing across the ocean.

"Not now, Duddykins, Mummy's tired," Petunia replied.

Dudley clenched his fists and started looking around the room. It was clear he was looking for something to smash as a testament to his frustration.

Uncle Vernon picked up on his son's dangerous mood and quickly stepped in.

"Don't worry, Dudders, we'll go ride your Spaced Mountain," Vernon said, clapping a porky hand on his son's shoulder. "We'll just leave your mum here to rest up a bit."

"Can I come, too?" Harry asked hopefully.

Uncle Vernon looked at him with an expression that suggested his nephew had just asked him to eat a live squirrel.

Before he could shoot down the suggestion, however, Aunt Petunia weighed in on the matter.

"You're not leaving him here to disturb my nap," she said. "He'd probably burn the room down around me while I slept."

Harry happily absorbed this insult, because it meant his uncle would have to take him along.

"Come on, then," Vernon growled. "Don't expect you'll have the innards to take on these rides Dudley's itching to tame, but you can stand around and watch without causing much trouble, I suppose."

Vernon stalked out of the room back into the hotel, Dudley waddling behind him while Harry brought up the rear.

It turned out the monorail that drove through the side of the building was a sort of exclusive transit system that shuttled visitors to one of the resort's amusement parks — the signature park, in fact, known as the Magic Kingdom.

As he stood near the dock waiting for the next train to pull in, Harry thought about the place he was about to see.

Why would a grown man want to oversee the construction of anything called the Magic Kingdom? Magic was the kind of folderol and nonsense thought up by useless layabouts, worthless daydreamers who contributed nothing to real society. That was what Uncle Vernon said all the time, anyway.

And yet Walt Disney had seemed anything but such a person, from what Harry had heard of him on the documentary. He sounded like a driven, ambitious man, a visionary bursting with work to be done. He had certainly done his job in attracting a no-nonsense man like Uncle Vernon to this holiday destination he had dreamed up, although the fact that it was free had no doubt helped on that score. That, and Dudley's insistence that having never been on Space Mountain was practically tantamount to child abuse.

Another one of the white trains whizzed in through the side of the hotel, this one with green trim. The whole look of it spoke of elegance, speed and efficiency. Harry thought there would be worse jobs than driving one of these impressive coaches through this nice hotel every day, that is assuming anyone was needed to drive it at all. Perhaps when he was older, he could move here and drive monorails for a living, as opposed to whatever dreary career likely awaited him back in Britain.

Harry, Vernon, and Dudley stepped through the train's open doors and pressed into the space within. Dudley quickly crammed into a seat before the other boarding guests could claim them all. Harry was fine with standing. The doors closed, and the train made a smooth launch with hardly a lurch.

After stopping at two more hotels serviced by the train, Harry heard the friendly announcer's voice declare the Magic Kingdom as the next stop, with Uncle Vernon responding with a noise of disapproval at the name. Finally, Harry thought.

As the train sped high above the ground toward Harry's final destination, he got his first true look of the park, and his breath nearly caught in his chest.

Those spires! The blue-and-gold ones from his dream! There they were, drawing ever closer in the distance!

He had been too transfixed with the odd design of the hotel and the track running through the building to take much notice of the park in the distance when they had checked in earlier. But now there was no mistake. The castle in his dreams was clearly visible through the monorail windows. He HAD seen it before, and not in some slideshow the Dursleys had taken on holiday in Germany. It had been part of that television show about Walt Disney.

The pleasant voice filling the cabin announced the name of it: Cinderella Castle.

Harry was underwhelmed at this pronouncement. This awe-inspiring castle was named for a story that mothers read to their children before t__________g them in at night? (Harry felt a slight pang at this thought, since of course he didn't remember his own mother, and Aunt Petunia was nothing like one to him — but that was hardly the point anyway, he reminded himself.)

He knew the story of Cinderella, of course. What child didn't? But still he couldn't shake the question: Why would Walt Disney dream up something so spectacular, so magnificent, so larger-than-life, only to name it after a children's story? It was clear from the look on Uncle Vernon's face that he didn't approve of this fairy tale nonsense. He was doing his best to keep from being impressed at the towering structure, and managing it rather poorly, Harry thought.

The train pulled into the station outside the Magic Kingdom, and the guests spilled out of the open doors. Harry tramped down the ramp into the open air with his uncle and cousin before Uncle Vernon stopped both boys short of the ticket turnstiles.

He pulled out his wallet and extracted three tickets, handing one to Dudley and shoving another one into Harry's hand. The three of them then queued up to wait their turn to enter the park.

Uncle Vernon went through the turnstile first, followed by Dudley. Only Dudley's entry wasn't so smooth. Fueled as he was by a regular diet of candy, cookies and generally anything Harry would have liked to have gotten a taste of, Dudley's bottom had recently come to resemble more the juicier portions of a ham than part of a little boy's body.

Dudley struggled and heaved against the edges of the turnstile booth, doing his best to force his way into the park.

Uncle Vernon began to yell at the young woman taking tickets, screaming things like "Think it's funny to discriminate against my son's glandular difficulties, do you?!" and threatening to have his attorney take the poor girl's house.

After Dudley had finally made his way through the stile, Harry inserted his ticket and walked through. Uncle Vernon spent a few more seconds yelling at the young woman, obviously feeling he had finally made his point when she burst into tears and said it was only her second day on the job. Harry tried to give her an apologetic smile, but was too embarrassed to meet her eyes.

Finally past the ticket booth, Harry looked ahead. An old-fashioned train engine, red with black, chugged past them just ahead, carrying cars filled with riders. Some of them smiled and waved at the visitors about to enter the park. This was hardly the sleek monorail that suggested something of the future in its design. This train clearly was a nod to the past, yet Harry found it charming all the same.

They would be walking underneath the train's tracks next, right through what was apparently the train station. The excitement in Harry grew. He knew they were close now. That glorious castle, and all of the wonders held within its shadow, stood just beyond those tracks.
 
Wilt Dasney

Wilt Dasney

Well-Known Member
Original Poster
Chapter 3: Open Spaces

Harry started off toward the dark space beneath the tracks, when he felt a strong grip on his shoulder. He turned and saw Uncle Vernon's round face just inches from his.

"Don't get any funny ideas while we're in there, you hear me?" he snarled.

"Don't know what you mean," Harry said.

"We're here purely so Dudders can have a good time. All this talk of m...of ma...ma...."

Harry knew what his uncle was trying to say, and helpfully finished the thought for him: "Magic."

Vernon winced, and nodded.

"Quite so, yes. All of that nonsense is just part of the entertainment, you get me? There's nothing real about it."

Harry nodded expressionlessly. Dudley was yanking on his father's arm, his agitation palpable now that Space Mountain was within his grasp.

The Dursleys were very sensible people, and Harry had well learned that even a mention of the idea of magic around them could have severe consequences. They were certainly sacrificing a lot, coming to a place like this for Dudley's sake.

They walked forward and entered the train station. There were posters on the wall for different amusements that apparently awaited. One of them showed an elephant standing tall in the grasses while a boat sailed past. Jungle Cruise was emblazoned on the poster.

"Wonder if they allow you to bring any ivory back from that cruise, eh, son?" Uncle Vernon said loudly, sharing a chuckle with Dudley.

They re-emerged into the sunshine, took a corner, and there it was: the castle Harry had seen so clearly in his dreams, seemingly pure white from this vantage and gleaming in the bright sun.

Harry stood and gazed down the narrow avenue lined with old-fashioned buildings that seemed to run right up to it. It was like being in one of those little towns Harry sometimes saw on television shows set near the turn of the century, except this one had a towering castle at the edge of it.

"Not a spot on the ones we saw in Germany, eh, son?" Uncle Vernon's question was loud and boastful, but Harry could see that Dudley's unimpressed nod didn't seem entirely convincing.

Their bearings established, the threesome began making their way down the immaculate avenue lined with shops. Horses pulling old-fashioned carriages clip-clopped slowly past while families made their way down the street, some sticking to the sidewalks as habit had taught them and others carelessly strolling on the pavement, which was free of traffic, save the occasional horse. Children carried pink balloons in an odd shape, which Harry decided upon further inspection was meant to resemble Mickey Mouse's head, with two smaller circles on top of a larger one.

Having picked up a map, Uncle Vernon declared that they needed to take a right near the castle to get to Space Mountain, so they made their way down the right-hand sidewalk.

Harry came upon a group of people in an exceedingly odd assortment of clothing as he walked down the sidewalk. A man wearing a kilt and a thick angora sweater ("In this weather?" Harry marveled) and holding a monocle to his eye was looking at a map, holding sway over a woman and three children dressed just as strangely. The woman had on a chef's apron and some sort of floppy hat that looked like a squashed hotcake. The boy wore a full-length bathrobe and swimming flippers, while one of the two girls was in some sort of bright purple formal evening gown, the other apparently sporting the long pajama gown she had slept in the evening prior.

As he approached the family, Harry got the impression that the girl in the formal gown had stopped paying attention to her father and was staring at him, trying to get a clear look at his face. He tried to ignore her. Harry was used to getting attention from odd people, but he was never quite sure what drew their notice. Perhaps the strange lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, a result of the accident which had left him an orphan, made them think he was as odd as they were.

"Well, this one sounds interesting," the man in the kilt said to his family while Harry walked past. "'Peter Pan's Flight.' These Muggles apparently think they've got flying down to an art now. Reckon we ought to inform them it ain't pixie dust what does the trick, Nate?" he said with a wink to his son in the bathrobe.

"Dad, can we help with the fireworks like you said we'd be able to?" the young girl in the nightgown piped in. "Change the colors and shapes and things?"

The man's wife gave him a stern look.

He chuckled nervously as he replied. "Now, Sarah, you know that's not allowed. It was just a little joke between us, remember?"

The little girl looked at the ground, clearly disappointed.

Very little of this exchange made the slightest bit of sense to Harry, but he didn't have long to think about it. They had arrived at the entrance to Tomorrowland.

Dudley was practically salivating with anticipation now, as the white dome of Space Mountain reared in the distance. Harry felt a sight bit of sadness at leaving the magnificent castle, but was eager to see what else could be seen here.

Tomorrowland was filled with symbols of space travel, and Harry supposed it all looked a bit like what people from Uncle Vernon's day might have considered the future to be. It didn't inspire his imagination in the same way the castle did, but he couldn't help but be impressed at the approaching behemoth that was Space Mountain. Gleaming and immaculate, it looked almost like a child's spinning top had been blown up to massive proportions and planted here upside-down.

"Ready to tackle this one, son?" Uncle Vernon said. Dudley nodded, but with a hint of trepidation in his eyes.

"That's the spirit," Vernon said, clapping his son on the back.

He turned to Harry.

"You —you can stand out here and..."

"I want to ride, too," Harry cut him off.

Uncle Vernon was apparently too surprised at Harry's boldness to be angered at his impertinence.

"You think you can handle this? It's not one of those children's amusements, you know. This one is made for strapping young pups like Dudley here."

Harry glanced ahead at the queue and saw a small girl, no older than 7, holding her father's hand.

"I think I'll chance it," he said.

"Your funeral," said Uncle Vernon.

They queued up and before too long were in a steep tunnel, dark and lined with strange windows which showed images of constellations and celestial patterns which seemed to move as they walked.

Harry looked over at Dudley and noticed he was starting to shake.

"Don't wet yourself in your excitement, Duddykins," Harry whispered to his cousin.

Dudley glared, but didn't respond in kind. He really was nervous, Harry thought.

Finally, the three of them approached the loading area. Dudley was an unpleasant shade of green. Their rocket-cars approached and they filed in, Dudley and Uncle Vernon in one car, Harry by himself in another.

The ride was themed so that passengers felt they were about to embark on some sort of mission into outer space. It was all very exciting to Harry, who very rarely got the chance to pretend he was anywhere but in his dank, cramped bedroom in the cupboard beneath the Dursley's stairs.

The rocket-cars took off and Harry felt a lurch in his stomach. Soon they were ascending a tunnel lined with bright, colorful lights as voices around them declared the spacecrafts ready for launch.

They emerged from the tunnel into near total darkness and sped off into oblivion. Twisting and turning at speeds he was sure he'd never experienced before, Harry felt liberated. In front of him, he could hear Dudley screaming mixed with snatches of speech from Uncle Vernon, like "...thrilling, isn't it, Dud?"

All too quickly, it was over. Harry had loved the feeling of being completely beyond the reach of his relatives, even for just a few minutes. He wondered if he'd ever be fortunate enough to feel that again.

Back in the open air, Harry looked over at Dudley and actually felt sorry for his cousin. The other boy was sweating and shaking, walking in a tremulous way that indicated he wasn't entirely confident the ground would still be there for the next step.

"Had yourself a real taste of adventure there, didn't you, Dud?" said Uncle Vernon, pulling out his map and apparently oblivious to his son's distress. "What say we trek over to this Big Thunder train on the other side of the park?"

Dudley whimpered something that his father obviously took for assent, and off they went.

Harry, lost in his daydreams of Space Mountain, followed behind his uncle and cousin, barely paying attention to his surroundings.

A minute or two later, he felt himself knocked to the ground and had the impression of rather a lot of hair as he heard a high-pitched squeal.

"Oh I'm ever so sorry, I didn't see you, let me help you up, are you hurt at all?" the girl he had bumped into blurted out in a string.

Too embarrassed to look her in the face, Harry just mumbled "sorry, I'm fine" and got up on his own, hurrying past the girl. He got the impression that she wanted to look at him a little longer, but he had to catch up with Uncle Vernon and Dudley, who certainly weren't paying him a bit of mind.

"Hermione, do try to watch where you're going," he heard a woman's voice say behind him. "I'd think you deliberately tried to run into that poor boy."

"Mum, how could you say such a thing?" he heard the girl protest, perhaps a bit too strongly, but Harry wasn't really paying attention.

More Brits on holiday, he thought. It was almost like he'd never left home, in some ways. But with his attention now back on his exciting surroundings, Harry quickly pushed the large-haired girl with the funny name out of his mind.

***

As it turned out, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad was a high-speed train ride through and around the mountain it was named for. Dudley had decided to compensate for his fear now by picking on Harry relentlessly as they made their way through the queue.

"They bury the skinny ones who fly out of the cars at the foot of the mountain," he said, rapping Harry on the head to complement the point.

"You tell him, Dud," Uncle Vernon said in an indulgent tone, as Harry rubbed his smarting scalp.

Once they had boarded, Harry thoroughly enjoyed the wild train ride and Dudley, to his credit, didn't shriek quite as loudly this time.

Dudley must have been feeling particularly resentful of his cousin's bravery after the ride, though, because he continued his string of insults, trying to goad Harry into anger so he'd get in trouble.

"Probably just glad to have survived that one, eh, cousin?" Dudley said as they walked along.

"I notice you stayed dry, nice going," Harry replied in a cool tone.

Dudley grimaced, and leaned in closer.

"You've had experience at surviving crazy rides, though, haven't you?" he said, more quietly.

"What are you going on about?" Harry said, though he thought he knew.

"Good thing your mum and dad weren't around to ride this one," Dudley went on, in nearly a whisper. "Fast car, crazy turns — they'd probably have jumped out and killed themselves assuming that's how it was supposed to end."

That was it. Dudley had gone too far. Blood pounding in his ears, Harry turned and grabbed his cousin's fat wrist, unconcerned with what his uncle might say.

And then it happened.

As long as he could remember, strange things had occurred when Harry lost control of his emotions, and he could never understand why. If he felt a surge of fear or anger, he could never tell what might result — and this was one of those times.

As Dudley tried to pull his wrist out of Harry's claw-like grip, he suddenly gave a shriek of pain. Harry let go and looked down.

There on Dudley's pink skin was a red lesion, clearly the sign of a burn. As Harry watched, the patch of skin began to peel away, revealing raw red flesh beneath. Harry was stupefied, unable to explain what had happened.

He knew that wouldn't do for Uncle Vernon, though, who was now examining the burn on Dudley's arm as Dudley whimpered and moaned.

"What did you do to him? I told you not to take any funny ideas from this freaky place," he snarled with a very ugly expression, still tut-tutting over Dudley.

"I didn't do anything!" Harry shouted. "He made fun of my parents, and all I did was touch him!"

"I don't want to hear it. You're going back to the hotel, and you can stay there the rest of the trip. Your aunt can lock you in the bathroom for all I care, you nasty little, filthy...."

As Uncle Vernon's indignation wore on, a light went off in Harry's head, the same one that had gone off when he was walking through the airport. And this time he acted on it.

He turned and ran.

"Come back here, boy!" he heard his uncle shouting, but Harry couldn't be stopped. He had had enough of the unfairness of it all. He didn't really care what happened to him now. Anything was better than being stuck with his horrible relatives, especially in a place like this.

"I'm warning you, Potter!" he heard his uncle's voice, more distant and desperate now.

Harry ran harder, disappearing into the crowd.
 
Wilt Dasney

Wilt Dasney

Well-Known Member
Original Poster
Chapter 4: Believing Is Seeing

Having left his uncle and cousin back in Frontierland, with its motif that looked like something out of one of the Western movies that were sometimes screened late at night, Harry didn't stop until he was in the middle of Fantasyland, near the center of the park. He finally paused to catch his breath next to a bright golden carousel. Looking closer, he saw it was named for Cinderella. Just like the castle that Harry had come to love in so short a time, towering up over his right shoulder.

Cinderella was a child's story, Harry thought with an odd pang of bitterness. Just like magic. No matter what this place tried to make you believe, the Dursleys were still just as horrible as ever. There was nothing special about this place after all, he concluded.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and walked past a group of children crowding around Mickey Mouse. Not really Mickey, Harry corrected himself. Just someone dressed up in a fur suit. Walt Disney's vision was one giant fake. In a way, Harry was sorry he had come here, because even though it was magnificent, it was going to take away that small, nagging hope he had always carried around in the back of his mind that things the Dursleys would never approve of might actually be real somewhere.

Alone in his melancholy, Harry was taken aback by the sudden burst of flame directly in front of him about five feet away. It was like the air had suddenly caught fire and just as quickly returned to normal. Another illusion by the Disney people, no doubt, Harry thought. That seemed to be the conclusion of the other people who had been close enough to see it, who had already gone back to their pre-determined paths, scurrying toward rides based on Snow White and Peter Pan.

Harry barely noticed the solitary red feather that floated to the ground in the wake of the sudden conflagration. And he certainly didn't notice the man who stepped over to pick it up — until he nearly walked into him, that is.

"Ah. Pardon me," the man said as he looked at Harry, straightening up from bending over to pick up the feather.

Harry glanced at the man. Just a janitor, dressed in a Disney uniform and carrying a push-broom. Harry glanced at the man's nametag: Brian D.

"No problem," Harry said as he made to walk on.

"Going anywhere in particular, Harry?" the man asked in a deep, melodic voice.

Harry stopped, naturally.

"How do you know..."

"What I know is not of particular importance, my boy. What matters far more is what you know," the man said as he lifted a hand in a regal fashion and locked his eyes on Harry's.

Harry looked at the man hard for the first time. There was something odd about him. Young and clean-shaven, with short brown hair, he didn't stand out at all in his appearance. Although Harry did notice that the flat blue cap he wore didn't seem to match his yellow uniform, which seemed too plain for him somehow. And then there were his eyes. The most piercing blue, and seemingly filled with wisdom most men would have long forgotten they possessed if they had ever gained it to begin with.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said, feeling a bit stupid and intimidated in the presence of this strange man.

"You will, I trust," the man said in that deep voice which didn't seem to match his youthful appearance at all. "It so happens that my shift here is nearly at an end. If you would permit me to dispose of my broom, I would be happy to speak with you further."

Harry couldn't imagine what this man wanted, and yet somehow, he trusted him. He shrugged and nodded.

"Excellent," Brian said. "Wait here, please."

Brian disappeared into the crowd and returned in under a minute, no longer laden with his broom.

"I must confess I'm accustomed to rather a lighter model than that one," the man said, apparently referring to his push-broom.

"How did you get rid of it so fast?" Harry asked.

Brian walked on without answering, and Harry followed, eager to learn more about this man.

"Now Harry," Brian began, just as if he had known the boy for years. "You're here to learn about magic, as I understand, something you've been told all your life simply doesn't exist."

"Um...actually, I'm here because my aunt and uncle couldn't find someone to watch me back home," Harry said.

"Sometimes the reasons we do things are not the reasons we so easily accept, Harry," the man said, looking at him with those penetrating blue eyes.

Harry had no idea what this meant, so he just nodded. This man was very, very strange.

Brian stopped walking, and Harry did the same.

"Harry, if I told you there is magic being made all around us at this very moment, what would your response be?"

Harry hesitated before answering. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, but he had been asked a direct question.

"Well...I guess I'd say it's not real. There aren't any wizards here with magic wands or anything. It's just regular people pretending to be magical, and getting little kids to believe in it and all."

"And if those children — and those with the hearts of children, don't forget about them, Harry — if those people believe they are witnessing magic, is the magic not all the more real for that belief?"

"I...don't really know," Harry managed.

"Who told you only wizards with wands could create magic?" Brian said with a wry smile.

Harry had nothing to say. He was more confused than ever.

"Walk with me again, Harry, if you please," Brian said.

As Harry walked alongside his new companion, Brian stopped to point out different things.

At one point during their tour of Fantasyland, Harry and Brian stopped in front of the Snow White ride. A group of small kids were lined up, trying to get photos with Snow White and her friend Dopey.

"Who do you see there, Harry?" Brian asked.

"A girl pretending to be Snow White and someone in a dwarf suit," Harry said.

"And who do you think THEY see?" Brian said, extending a finger toward two small children who were talking to the characters.

"They see...Snow White and one of the dwarfs," Harry answered.

"And whose vision do you suppose is right?" Brian asked.

"I guess...mine is," Harry said honestly.

Brian continued to look at him complacently, as if expecting more.

"And, I guess...to them, theirs' is," he added, further adding in his mind that they were wrong.

"You have summed it up well, Harry," Brian said. "The way you envision things will always affect how you react to them — and perhaps more importantly, your perception of the world around you can either expand or diminish what you are capable of within it."

Harry didn't respond. This man seemed to be making a very big deal out of some Fantasyland characters.

They walked on, Brian continuing to point out small scenes and soliciting Harry's thoughts — families laughing and singing as they exited the boat ride at it's a small world, a mother soothing her hot, cranky twins with large ice cream sandwiches, a father racing his young daughter toward the carousel and losing on purpose. Real or not, the place certainly seemed imbued with an ability to make people happy, Harry thought.

A little later, Brian stopped Harry again. A girl with blonde pigtails in an pair of overalls, no more than 3, was pointing toward the sky. She was sobbing uncontrollably as her mother tried to console her. Harry looked up and saw one of those Mickey Mouse-shaped balloons drifting inexorably upward, never to be reclaimed.

"Let us observe," Brian said quietly.

Within a minute or two, one of the Disney employees had approached the young girl. It was a young man in his teens or early twenties, making no attempt to convince anyone he was Mickey Mouse. he handed the little girl three balloons to replace the one she had lost, and then pulled an ice cream bar shaped like Mickey out of his pocket to boot, unwrapping it and handing it to the girl.

Overwhelmed and with both hands full, the little girl could only look at the ice cream in her hands and say "Tank yoo" in response to her mother's coaxing. Her tears were gone.

Then she looked up and her eyes doubled in size. Just a few feet away, the girl saw Mickey Mouse standing and waving at her.

Harry looked in the same direction she was, and he also saw Mickey Mouse. He didn't correct himself.

As the girl broke free of her mother's grip and ran toward Mickey, balloons and ice cream in tow, Brian turned to Harry.

"What do you think we have just seen, Harry?" he asked.

"I think we just saw...magic." Harry liked the sound of the word, enjoyed how it felt in his mouth.

Brian smiled, a deep and sincere expression.

"My time is nearly gone, Harry. Could I interest you in a quick flight?" Brian asked, pointing toward the Peter Pan ride.

"Definitely," Harry said.

Harry and Brian waited in line for their turn to climb into a pirate ship and fly over London and then Neverland. There were mermaids, pirates, Indians, and Lost Boys, all having grand adventures just beneath them. Harry never once corrected himself in response to what he saw. He didn't need to. He was here, experiencing this. The exhilaration he felt in his stomach was real. The joy in his heart was real. The magic all around him was real, and no one could tell him otherwise.

After they disembarked, Brian turned to Harry.

"Magic exists in many forms, Harry, including some we have not witnessed here today," he said. "What they all have in common, however, is this — they will never do you any good unless you first believe in them. Belief is the key to all magic, Harry. You might say it's a very powerful form of magic itself."

Harry nodded and smiled. He still wasn't entirely sure what Brian was talking about, but he knew that what he was saying was the truth.

"I must be off now, Harry," Brian said, and as he turned to go, Harry felt a sinking despair in his stomach. He knew that he would have to find his relatives now, and no doubt pay dearly for the welt he had left on Dudley's arm.

Brian stopped, as if aware of what he was thinking, and added "Don't worry, Harry. By the time you make it back to your lodging, your cousin will be just fine, and your relatives will remember nothing of today's unpleasantness. For that matter, you will also have forgotten most of our encounter...save a few important details whose import will remain with you."

"Wait," Harry said as Brian turned away again. "You never told me why you did this, why you spent so much time showing me about magic and faith and all. I mean, why do you even care about what I think?"

Brian cleared his throat before answering.

"These are important lessons for anyone to absorb, Harry, but I believe that for you they are particularly critical. I believe that much of what awaits you depends on them. And — alas — I can say no more than that. Good-bye, Harry."

Brian turned a third time and walked away. Harry watched the back of him get smaller as he strode further into the crowd, and then, suddenly, he was gone — as if by magic, Harry thought, without a hint of hesitation.

Later, Harry would take the monorail back to his hotel room, where his relatives would look up in a way that suggested they had barely noted his absence and were disappointed he had found his way back. There would be no sign of any injury to Dudley.

Later still, he would climb into bed with Brian's strange yet comforting words ringing in his head. The next day, he would remember nothing of Brian himself, although the things he had internalized from the strange man would stay with him, his memories of that day playing back in his head as if he had discovered all the magnificent things about this place on his own. Months later, he would encounter those piercing blue eyes again, but they would be set in a much older face, and Harry would never make the connection with the strange janitor lost forever within the strange folds of memory.

Yet as he stood there in the fading sun, in the moments following Brian's disappearance, what really captivated Harry's mind was a sense of being a small part of something much bigger. Looking around, he realized there was still much more to see of Walt Disney's World — and of his own.
 
Laura

Laura

22
Premium Member
I still think it's a REPLACEMENT for the Vanishing Glass chapter. But I'm not going to debate the issue into the ground. :lookaroun
 

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CaptainMichael

Well-Known Member
Laura said:
I still think it's a REPLACEMENT for the Vanishing Glass chapter. But I'm not going to debate the issue into the ground. :lookaroun
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I would have to agree because if you read both back to back it would be repititious. It would be a good replacement, that's for sure.

It was a delightful read. Good job BJ!:wave:
 

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