Word from the Author: I thought I'd throw this concept out here and see how it goes. An exploration of Albus Severus Potter, his life and exploits.
Warning: I'm not sure I'd describe it as Ginny!bashing, per se. But for the purposes of Albus' characterisation, he's not overly fond of his mother. My apologies to anyone who feels offended by any such depictions. However, since Harry had to go and be the 'Golden Boy' in the end, after all, I feel this fic is cosmically justified for the rectification of natural balance. Harry did his bit, now it's Albus' turn to take the world by storm...!
Also, slash. Of the Albus/Scorpius variety, in fact. However, as far as I can see, it will likely be a slow and steady development thereof. Anyway.
Disclaimer: No infringement was intended upon the intellectual property of J.K.Rowling. This should in no way be construed as an illegal appropriation, just think of it as 'borrowing,' if you must. Thank you.
À L'Œuvre
Chapter 1
Impressions
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If there was one thing Albus was most curious about in the world, it would have to be his father. Given who his father was though, this probably mightn't have seemed like the most curious of things to be interested in, if only because Harry Potter was, indeed, an enigma to the Wizarding World at large. And if there was one thing the Wizarding World was not big on, it was being left in the dark. But that was exactly what the most famous Wizard of their time had done. His father had gradually, so slowly most hadn't even realized what he'd been doing until it was too late, withdrawn himself as much as possible from the public eye, so as to live a quiet life with his family. And to the best of his ability, over time, he had managed to do so.
However, this 'enigma' that his father allegedly was wasn't what fueled Albus Severus Potter's curiosity, not at all, because in truth, he probably knew his father far better than anyone else. What was of interest to him though was why his father expended so much energy trying to pretend, going out of his way to uphold this image that the world had made for him, the one he supposedly detested. Then again, based on what he knew of his father, Albus could understand, at least to a certain extent, why he his father would try to do so. His father hated to disappoint the people he cared for, far more than he resented the added, unwanted attention it oft brought him. Still, the need to hide his true self, simply for the sake of hiding, was something that Albus couldn't quite comprehend. However, when he thought about it, there were also certain aspects of himself that Albus didn't understand yet either, so he was, for the moment, willing to wait and see what knowledge time would bring him.
If there was one thing Albus was immensely grateful for, it would have to be that he was his father's son. Albus was proud to have been born a Potter, even more so because out of all the Potter children, he had bred truest to the line, right down to the piercing eyes of emerald that had originally come from his grandmother, Lily Potter, née Evans.
Although his father had no pictures of himself when he'd been Albus' age, Wizarding or Muggle, Albus had been granted the privilege of viewing memories of his father's younger years in the penseive that had once belonged to his own namesake. If not for the scar, and the quality of Albus' apparel compared to what his father had been forced to wear, cast-offs that weren't worthy of his much adored father, Albus could've been looking into a mirror, a surprisingly detailed, panoramic mirror, that is.
And unlike the other Potter children, there were a few other traits that Albus had inherited which seemed to have been lost on the others.
Parseltongue, the serpents' language, beautiful and deadly, sharp but oh so sweet to hear and comprehend. It held such depth compared to the restraining tongue of humans and Wizards alike. Every single sibilant hiss that escaped held a wealth of meaning. It was music and it was song. It seeped beneath the skin and slithered through one's blood. And yet, this was not something Albus had ever told anyone. Not even his father. He wasn't ashamed of his gift. Shame wasn't what held his tongue, it was this unbidden instinct that rose from within him and which told him that any card he could secret away and hold up his sleeve had the potential to become a trump.
In this too was the other thing that Albus had inherited, but unlike his father, he had embraced – his Slytherin side.
It made for an interesting dynamic, Albus thought, whenever he and his older brother, James, named for their grandfather, interacted. Though perhaps interacted was too kind a term for it. More often than not, the two of them in a room together resulted in insults exchanged and, on the rare occasion, fists. The latter always, of course, being started by James. It was only once his brother lashed out at him that Albus would take it upon himself to defend. Never once had he stooped so low as to begin any such brawling himself, to do so would be beneath him, according to his Slytherin code.
Thinking about it, most of their arguments stemmed from exactly this point. Somehow, in spite of all the barriers and masks Albus assembled, James was always ready to accuse him of being a Slytherin. And what's a Gryffindor to do, really, when somebody says anything as insulting as that?
Deny it, of course, which everyone other than James was always ready to believe. When anyone else looked at him they saw obedience, quietude, calm and self-containment, all impressions created within their own minds for their own purposes, instead of seeing the truth. In reality, what they should have seen was the poise, the smooth surface that lies about its hidden depths, the tightly controlled masks or the darkness that separated him from others. But because they couldn't, his protests that he wasn't a Slytherin, damn it, were easily accepted. It was as simple as them seeing what they wanted to see, when in fact Albus was a Slytherin through and through, ready to manipulate by pretending to emulate the mildly distasteful traits of a Gryffindor by 'hating' all that the noble House of Slytherin stood for.
He hadn't always known what to call it, this side of himself. When he was younger he had assumed that everyone thought like him, subtly and with ulterior motives. It had made him a very cautious child, unlike his brash and brazen big brother. It wasn't until some time passed that Albus realized he was different, not nearly so trusting as either his older brother or his baby sister. He was always well liked by other children that his father invited over to play with them, but he never really felt any kinship to them beyond a passing sense of acquaintance.
In truth, it could be said that there was a certain darkness that shadowed Albus. It was what encouraged him to linger on the outskirts and observe before ever taking action. Every move he made was calculated and precise. No wasted movement, no excesses, nothing that left gaps or openings, unless of course he chose for them to exist.
Such was the case with Quidditch. Their father had been adamant that both James and he learn the sport, to keep fit and active and all that. The only reason he participated was because it made his father happy, and also allowed for more time spent with him. Despite the fact that their father was one of the best Seekers of the age, he always made Albus and James play each other. Friendly rivalry between siblings, Albus recalled his father once referring to it as. In reality though, it was hardly that. Albus always lost. Or rather, perhaps it would be more appropriate to say, he always let James win. The bragging that resulted was more amusing than anything else, because in all truth it was empty, meaningless, based not on actual prowess but merely on Albus' own whims, and so Albus let it continue. Because he knew that it would be far worse to beat James, given that he would then have to put up with the constant whining for a rematch. It had happened once, and that was how Albus had learnt his lesson early on. As a result, he nipped that annoyance in the butt by handicapping himself massively. Oddly enough, by doing so, in almost every pursuit, it actually helped Albus in the long run improve on his already existing skills – his ability as a Seeker only being one such example.
Albus knew already that in this he also took far more after his father than anyone else. Despite Albus having been a well-nourished child, his body had for some reason decided to simply ignore all the incentives his father had tried to provide for him, and as such he remained, much like his father had been and to some extent still was, small but sleek… and fast, both on foot and on broom, as well as with a wand.
While, of course, they weren't allowed to practice magic, what with Lily still far too young to do anything beyond dream about going to Hogwarts, at least for another two long years, James having just finished his first year, and Albus himself only set to begin once the holidays were over, all the Potter children were well versed in all aspects of the magical education that didn't actually include the use of magic. Wand movements were one such aspect, among others.
Only in the privacy of his solitude did Albus allow himself to be his best. Albus knew that his father was also reluctant to let others see his power, if only because, even now, Harry Potter was afraid of being judged on the merit of the lightning that could be seen, etched as it was into the skin of his forehead. This was one way in which Albus and his father differed however. Not only was Albus' forehead unblemished, he also didn't need a scar to tell him he was powerful. Unlike the Boy Who Lived, who had grown up for the most part completely ignorant of his true worth and potential, Albus had known of his power his entire life, had felt the magic coursing through his veins, bubbling up and over from his core.
There was greatness to be found within him, he knew, and some day, in the not too distant future, it would be achieved. Of that, Albus was certain.
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To Be Continued…
Another Word from the Author: Well, there endeth the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed the beginnings of what I imagine if I continue this would be another of my freakishly long fics, that just keep on bloody growing on me. Especially as I have many, many ideas to explore through this medium. So, please, by all means, if you enjoyed this and would like to see it continued, do not hesitate to say so.
Humbly,
Kamikumai.
