Albus' Avarice: As a secular psychological concept, greed is, similarly, an inordinate desire to acquire or possess more than one needs. It is typically used to criticize those who seek excessive material wealth, although it may apply to the need to feel more excessively moral, social, or otherwise better than someone else. - Wikipedia
Avarice
In which Albus beats lightning.
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See, sons, what things you are,
How quickly nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object.
~Shakespeare – '2 Henry IV'~
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Albus has always been the Thunder. To his Dad, his brother and his sister. To his cousins, even, and most of them don't look even remotely like him. People talk about his huge family with dramatic gestures and wide, expressive eyes and they end with Albus. Like he's the Tag-Along or the Aftershock. It used to bother Albus a lot more than it does now; he's had time to get used to it.
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When Albus tries out for the Quidditch team everything changes. The seventh year seeker drops out in favour of passing her final exams and Albus throws aside all inhibitions. This is his Chance. Albus grabs it with both hands and holds on tightly as it bucks and spirals out of control.
Albus is not letting go of this. Not ever.
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The board is surrounded by people; the only words that Albus has time to read before being engulfed in newly discovered admirers are:
Albus Potter - Seeker
And that is all he needs to read.
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James is a tough Captain and not one to sugar-coat or bubble-wrap predicaments. Albus loves the Quidditch training sessions. He might be a third year, but as he catches the Golden Snitch in sixty-seven seconds, Albus knows that he is good.
Not just good. Albus is the Best. With a capital 'B'.
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Albus grits his teeth and ducks his head against the hail, just his luck to be playing for a potential position with the Wimbourne Wasps when he can barely see three inches before him. The bubble-headed charm may stop his glasses from fogging, but the overall issue of sight still stands.
Watches and glasses glint gold against the mist. Albus lunges and has to pull out of dives with off-form regularity. His hands slip down the handle of his broom and the wet sound of sleet. And then there is the Snitch. Albus reaches out with one hand.
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Through the celebrations Albus smiles and grins and keeps his fist clenched tight around the snitch – the wings still flapping feebly.
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When Albus pulls on the yellow and black uniform something inside of him twinges. He smiles, grabs his broom – Lightning Strike; tell you anything? When he steps out of the tent it is to screams and shouts. Ruffling his hair in a James-esque fashion, Albus shoots into the air at the ear-blasting explosion of noise.
A three and half minutes later, Albus is running across the pitch, trailed by his enthusiastic team members towards his family. They cast him into the air and pull him into their box where he is hugged within an inch of his Existence.
Maybe he isn't so much the Thunder to his family's Storm.
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Albus doesn't believe in Life and Death. He believes in Here and There and Then and Now and Soon and After. He believes in Light and Dark and Stars and Suns and Magic. He believes in True Love. And the power it holds. Albus believes in Things.
Albus swoops through the air, alone. He can't hear anything except the wind rushing past his ears. All he can see is a blur and Albus laughs. This is his One True Love.
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Albus can't pinpoint exactly when he needs to be more than Seeker. Maybe when Lily gets engaged: maybe when Uncle Charlie disappears. Anyway, Albus becomes Captain. There are more tear-streaks though, there's nothing anyone – even Albus – can do about that.
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Until Albus needs more again. He can't just play Quidditch, even though he is the Best and Captain and Seeker. Albus realises what he needs around the time Teddy breaks-down. He needs to beat his family.
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Albus plays harder and harder. His record time is narrowed to thirty seconds, he needs to be better. He needs to make everyone know his name. Everyone Must Know His Name.
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And then they do. Albus smiles because he has finally beaten his Storm of a family. He feels the electricity of the forked light singe his Lightning Strike's tail and it spurs him on faster: Faster. Somewhere far behind him, Albus hears the rumbling sound of thunder.
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Albus falls. He spreads his arms wide in a desperate attempt to remain airborne. The wind rushes past him, Albus screams and screams. He sees the terrified eyes of team members as they chase after him. They nose-dive, but Albus is gone.
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Crack! James yells, standing in the spectator's box. He attempts to wrestle his way from the booth; his family behind him. There are screams and tears and clenched fists and panic but they can't get past the guards who have predicted their moves and so they watch, helpless as Albus is carried off the pitch on a stretcher.
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Then next time the public sees Albus he is in a wheel-chair. He waves and talks and smiles; no one can see the bitterness and sorrow hidden in the green depths of his eyes.
Only Albus knows the pain – not physical, partial-paralysis isn't painful; but mental. It rips at iron bars and roars and there's a thudding beat drumming away in the back of his mind.
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Only Albus knows the Truth: he will never be able to walk again. Never be able to fly again. His One True Love will fade and vanish like summertime rain.
Only Albus knows the Fear.
Only Albus knows the Dark.
Only Albus knows the Fall.
