Overture
Harry squirmed in his seat. The red velvet fabric wasn't very comfortable after three hours. He had begged his parents to bring him to the rehearsal of their latest production, not truly realising how long their work hours were. Harry would have regretted it if not for the simple fact that he was completely mesmerised by the goings on.
He watched the actors dance across the stage and go through scenes. He had nearly memorised every line from the first act.
He watched them sing and cry, spreading their arms out with tears down their faces. He listened to the musicians practice the various pieces, matching each note to the actors' movements.
He watched the light technicians scurry about, the set designers testing props, and the costume designers chasing people down for colour swatches.
It was chaos and he loved every second of it.
Some time passed and Harry was escorted by a nice lady to the Green Room after she explained that she needed to do a safety check on the warding spells on the stage. Harry happily obliged because that meant he got to go behind the scenes to see where all the real magic happened, pun intended. He watched in amazement at all of the different witches and wizard folk scurrying around with bundles of cloth, wood, and other assorted items.
One nice-looking wizard in dark blue robes caught him staring and sent Harry a small wave before calling out to another wizard who was holding a large, very wobbly stack of props.
The lady opened the door to the Green Room, which was helpfully painted a bright green colour, and gestured for Harry to go inside.
Just as he was getting comfortable on the couch - much softer than the harsh velvet of the house seats - he caught sight of a flash of red hair.
Jumping up, Harry sneakily set off the dim hallway, trying to follow the trail of his mom.
He twisted and turned down random halls and through a multitude of doors, doing his best to keep a far enough distance to not get caught, and stay close enough that he wouldn't lose sight of his target.
He came to a stop outside a mostly-closed door. Between the frame and the handle was a small crack of light and sound, ripe for eavesdropping. He could make out the sound of two voices, his mom and dad.
"I know, Lily-flower. I just really want to get it this time!"
"James, I know how hard you've been practising. You just need to believe in yourself, you've got this."
"Are you sure?" The hesitant tone in his father's voice was so far removed from the casual confidence Harry was used to hearing.
"I bet you could do it right now. Go on, show me. Worst case is that it doesn't work and you are one step closer to succeeding."
Harry listened as James took a deep breath before he began to sing. Now, Harry has heard his dad sing plenty of times before; around the kitchen, accompanying his mom's music, and even in the shower. But Harry had never heard him sing like this before.
Rich and powerful, the deep timbre of James' voice shook Harry to his core. The now-familiar swell of emotions rose within him, used to the feelings his mother's cello could evoke. But this was so much more. The power behind the song pulsed, sending chills down Harry's spine as goose bumps appeared along the flesh of his arms. All around him, the walls faded away as the images of scenes flashed before his eyes, matching the words that flowed from James’s mouth. Harry gasped in delight as he looked all around.
Someone grabbed the back of Harry's collar and dragged him away from the door, effectively dispelling the mirage. Harry turned around but his protests died on his lips at the sight.
"Uncle Wormy?"
"Kiddo! What are you doing back here?" Peter Pettigrew half-heartedly glared at the boy in front of him. He was wearing dark blue -almost black- robes, indicating he was a stagehand. Harry had seen some of his fellow stagehands scurrying around with props and the like earlier. Harry suddenly found the floorboards extremely interesting.
"Um...well I, uh-" A shout coming from the general direction of the stage interrupted Harry's pathetic scrambling.
"Sorry, Kiddo. Got to go, you remember how to get back to the front?" Harry nodded, watching as Peter walked off. He ducked behind a conveniently placed, Harry-sized set piece as his parents walked out of the room and made their way to the wings.
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He found his good friend, the uncomfortable red velvet seat in the third row of the house seats, and sat down to watch the first proper dress rehearsal of the performance. Harry mumbles along with the dialogue and hums the melodies to the musical numbers. His eyes track his father across the stage, waiting for his favourite scene - his dad's solo.
As James' solo began, the technicians in the wings began the fire-effects spell, creating a swirling fire dragon. It roared and danced across the stage, matching each beat of the music. All the while, magic poured out of James's voice and weaved an intricate scene before Harry's eyes once more.
Then, a shout.
It drew Harry's attention as the illusion from the music faded. Refocusing on the stage, his eyes widened as he realised what happened.
The technicians had lost control of the spell. The dragon roared, enraged, and exploded into bright white flames. The curtains lit up and practically disintegrated from the heat. People were screaming and running around. The musicians had all stopped playing and tossed their instruments to the ground. The technicians had run onto the stage with their wands drawn, shouting any spell that came to mind to subdue the inferno but none worked.
Finally, Harry's legs unstuck themselves as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. He leapt up from the chair and ran towards the blazing stage in search of his parents. He felt as though his blood was boiling under his skin, his sweat had evaporated from the heat before he even realised it was there.
Before Harry even reached the stage, he felt arms encircle him and drag him away.
Harry and his saviour reached the exit in a fit of coughs before Harry doubled over, exhaustion pulling him down to the cool pavement. With his cheek pressed against the concrete, Harry glanced up to see the familiar face of Peter Pettigrew, who was anxiously staring at the large doors from which the two had just emerged.
Smoke billowed out from the doors and the now collapsing roof. Harry and Peter sat side-by-side, their eyes not leaving the building, still scanning for faces that they knew deep down, they'd never see again. Silent tears spill down Harry's cheeks and down his chin, making a small wet patch on his shirt but he couldn't care less.
Mediwizards buzzed around, chattering and performing spell after spell on all the witches and wizards who had escaped the burning theatre.
As the last of the theatre walls crumbled and the fire finally died out, Harry made up his mind. He'd become the greatest actor there ever was, and he'd carry on his father's legacy.