Magic Tricks

Magic Tricks

By

Quillsandvalium

Chapter 2: Fun in the Funhouse

The Boy-Who-Lived's head lifted slowly, emitting a groan.

"Where am I?" he moaned, struggling to move his arms. He looked down seeing neon ropes confining his arms and legs to a straight-back chair. His eyes moved up, taking in his strange surroundings. Odd versions of himself stared back at him--fat Harry, skinny Harry, tall Harry, short Harry--from long mirrors on the walls. The bright colors of the room made him squint, and he grimaced at the silly, disgusting atmosphere.

Then something a few feet in front of him moved. Atop a desk lined in fuzzy pink material sat none other than. . . .

"Cliché!" shouted Harry's kidnapper.

"Clown man," the boy replied.

"The Joker, actually," the man replied, letting a bit of vanity escape.

"I don't care what your name is! What am I doing here?" Harry yelled. He struggled to move his fingers into his pockets where his faithful wand was waiting--or not.

"Looking for this?" the Joker asked, waving Harry's wand in front of his nose.

Harry glared. "Now who's cliché."

Meanwhile at the Batcave. . . .

The Batmobile slid to a stop, the top pulled back. Batman jumped out.

"Alfred!" Batman shouted.

"Sir?" the butler replied, approaching the Batmobile.

"Alfred, I just received a call on my 'private' line. . . ."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware that Master Nightwing was in the area."

"It wasn't Nightwing, Alfred. It was a man named Albus Dumbledore--and he hung up on me!" Batman took a seat at his computer, arms crossed.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Dumbledore?"

"He mentioned a boy named. . . ."

"Harry Potter?"

Batman stood again, his face solemn. "Alfred, what aren't you telling me?"

"You may wish to take a seat, Master Bruce." The two men sat. Alfred took a deep breath and began. "He is called the Boy-Who-Lived. No, let me begin with my own story. My parents were, for a lack of a better term, magical. You may find this hard to believe but my mother was a witch and my father a wizard."

Batman raised a brow.

"There is a world that exists outside of your own, hidden from the eyes of muggles--people without the ability to do magic."

Batman leaned forward. "Are you saying that you can do magic, Alfred?"

"No, let me explain," Alfred said. "I am what the wizarding world calls a squib. In other words, I was born from a wizarding family but without the ability to do magic. However, I do keep in contact with the headmaster of the best wizarding school in existence. Albus Dumbledore."

"That's the man who contacted me, but why would Dumbledore ask specifically for me?" Batman asked.

"You are right, that does not make any sense," Alfred replied. "What else did Dumbledore say?"

"He mentioned that kid, Harry Potter, and said that he had been kidnapped by the Joker."

"Oh my!" Alfred's face paled. "Sir, you must save that boy! You must find the Joker immediately. There's no telling what that maniac is doing to the boy!"

The Funhouse indeed held many horrors. . . .

"NO! Please, no! Not that! Don't! NOOOO!!!" Harry erupted in laughter.

"Talk, boy! Talk!" The Joker tossed Harry's sock to the side and raised a huge green feather. He stroked the arch of Harry's foot with the cheap, yet effective torture device.

"What do you want me to say?!" Harry gasped through tears of laughter.

"What is your favorite color?" the Joker asked.

He moved the feather faster.

"Green!" Harry squealed.

"I want the truth!" the Joker shouted.

"Purple! Okay, it's purple!!!"

"See?" the villain say, lowering the feather. "Now was that so hard?"

About that time, a door opened from somewhere behind the Joker. The clown turned, and Harry now had a clear vision of the woman that had entered, if indeed there was a woman beneath the spandex and make-up.

Her jumpsuit was red and black in color and had the symbols that one would find in a deck of cards on it. Harry had the impression that, had there been a magazine called PlayJester, she would have been the woman of the month.

Around her waist, however, was a pink apron which read "Kiss the Cook." Her mitten-covered hands held what appeared to be a chocolate cake--unfrosted.

"What are you doing, Harley?" the Joker inquired.

"I baked our guest a cake, puddin'," Harley replied. Turning to Harry, she added, "I hope you like it."

"Yeah, I actually do like chocolate cake," the Boy-Who-Lived said.

Harley stomped her foot in a child-like pose. "It's lemon!"

Harry stared at her, unaware of what to say next.

"What do you want, Harl?" the Joker asked.

"Oh, right! Our new employah' needs to speak with you. He's in the other room, Mistah J."

Harley walked across the room and sat the cake in Harry's lap. The Joker handed her the feather.

"You two get to know each other better while I go discuss business."

"Yay!" Harley squealed.

As the Joker walked away, Harry looked down at the cake in his lap.

"Why didn't you frost it?" he asked.

"I did!"

"What happened to it then?"

"I baked it in the cake."

"You baked it in the cake? How stupid are you?"

Harley smiled wickedly and replied, "Tickle, tickle, tickle!"

Meanwhile in the other room, the Joker gave a flourishing bow to his present employer. The man stood in the shadows with this back to the clown.

"So, do you have the boy?" the man asked.

"As promised," the Joker replied.

"Very good. Now, hold on to him. Do not harm him. I will put the rest of the plan in action. Now, I shall depart."

A small pop was heard, and the man was gone.