Albus S. Potter (blueseaweed) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2014-09-01 12:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | albus severus potter |
Narrative - Albus P.
WHO: Albus Severus Potter
WHAT: Facing the future.
WHEN: Monday afternoon
WHERE: The book shop.
RATING: PG
STATUS: Narrative
Albus didn't know much about his future outside the village. He guessed he could ask Belle or Cressida about it, but he was afraid of the truth. He was so frightened of that truth that he carefully avoided the letter “P” when he perused the graphic novels at the book shop. He knew he'd never use a pen name. He dreamed of seeing “Albus S. Potter” splashed across the cover of a novel for too long to hide his identity.
It would have been easy to discover if his dream came true. He spent hours looking through the stacks of books each week. He could have headed in the direction of the letter “P” at any time. He didn't. Somehow, he thought facing a future kid or wife would be easier than facing a crushed dream. It also felt like cheating. Albus wouldn't go to muggle university in the village. He'd never learn the publishing business or fine-tune his artistic skills. If he did succeed at home, would he be able to live in the village free of resentment? Or would it make the rough waters rougher? He didn't know if tempting faith was wise, but then Louis said something that let Al dare to hope.
He thought about what Louis said more and more as the weeks ticked on. He didn't think his cousin would joke about something so important to Albus, but maybe Al was reading too much into it? Maybe he misunderstood? The uncertainty and anticipation finally got to him.
He chose September 1st for a reason. The day was important to wizarding kids. It was the day they were sorted and the day they met their best mates. Even as the students aged, the first of September remained important. It never stopped being a day filled with hope and nervousness. Al really couldn't pick a better day to peek into his future. It was the first time in eight years where he wouldn't board the Hogwarts Express. He finished that part of his life. But was this a new chapter? He wasn't at a university, but could he find a piece of the village for himself, after all? There was only one way to find out.
He stopped in during the middle of the day since there was less chance of running into anyone he knew. Most of his friends were at school while his family and older mates were working. Al had work too, but since he was solely responsibly for the magazine, he set his own hours. No one would know about today unless he wanted them to.
He was glad he didn't run into his sister. He loved her, but he thought seeing her might make him chicken out. Luckily, he slipped in unnoticed. He didn't head straight to the section he needed. He made a lap around the shop, stopping every so often when a title caught his eye. However, his nerves were on edge so he barely read the summary before returning the book to its proper shelf.
He finally took a deep breath and headed to the “P” section. His heart pounded. He started and stopped a million times. He pretended to peruse “PA” through “PF” before he leaned against the shelves and closed his eyes. He wanted this more than anything. He wasn't sure anyone really understood how much Albus wanted, no, needed to share his soul with the world. It wasn't about fame or fortune. He didn't need those things. He just wanted to write something special enough to touch someone else.
“Alright, Potter, let's do this,” he muttered. “What is the worst thing that will happen? You fail? Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans, right?” He wasn't sure where the quote was from, but he heard it plenty. It never felt so hallow as it did then as he stood several feet away from his life's desire. Sure, he might be happy doing something else, but wouldn't it also always feel like losing a piece of himself?
He almost left. Uncertainty was a security blanket that allowed him to keep dreaming. It was also hurting him. He turned back. He felt like he'd lose his breakfast all over the floor, but he turned back. He walked to the latter part of the “P” section. He ran his fingers over the spines of the graphic novels.
And there it was. He gasped and recoiled as if the book scorched him. His eyes watered. Surely, his eyes were playing tricks. There was a whole row of books written by Albus S. Potter. What if someone else had that name? It was too good to be true. He pulled out the first in the row and turned to the inscription page. There it was. The inscription told him everything he needed to know. It was him. He was a graphic novelist. Not yet. But one day.
He didn't read the books. He didn't look at the drawings. He didn't want to. He wanted to write and draw those things as the inspiration hit. But what he found? It was enough. He found himself.