elian (brilliance) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-01-04 23:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | albus dumbledore |
NARRATIVE.
WHO: Albus Dumbledore
WHEN: The afternoon & late evening of January 4th, 2013.
WHERE: Central Park
WHAT: After newly arriving in New York City, Albus reads of his future and contemplates going by an assumed identity.
RATING: Totally fine?
STATUS: Complete at 1, 214 words.
NOTE: Albus has asked SHIELD not to tell the HP people he's here, as he intends to do that on his own, or not at all.
With the monthly stipend he'd been granted earlier that morning, Albus proceeded to buy what he needed in order of importance: a beautifully decorated box-set of the Harry Potter series, hot Ceylon tea in a stark-white cup made out of a rubbery, soft material he didn't recognize, and after fruitless attempts to acquire a pipe from a muggle newsagents, a packet of "filtered cigarettes" and a luminously pink lighter. With his purchases, and his wand safely tucked up the sleeve of a "long-sleeved t-shirt" the people at Potts Towers had granted him, Albus had all he needed in order to retreat to a bench by a duck pond and scour through the pages for any trace of his shame. When he'd initially been informed of his status as a work of fiction in this world, he'd thought it too much to hope for that he may feature as a character of minor import only. Few novels featured a wizard as brilliant as he was as only a background character, and while he did not yet know of a Potter named Harry, Albus had been certain that he must feature heavily in the other boy's life, for good or for ill. But then he'd gone shopping. It was an altogether difficult venture when undertaken in the muggle world with a "debit card", and made all the more peculiar by the astute, eager inferences from the Bookseller that he might be a Harry Potter character himself. Even though he'd been told there'd been talking pictures made of the books, she did not seem to recognize him. Instead, she'd guessed that he might be a Weasley. Albus had hid his feelings of surprise behind a kindly smile, while his blue eyes looked steadily in to the muggle girl's. His skill with Leglimency was not as great as he would have hoped by this point in his life, but when used against a muggle it would be as easy as lifting his hand into a wave. The urge to slip into her mind and search for any whisper of Albus Dumbledore was frightfully strong. So Albus nodded and cheerfully offered that he was a Weasley, but probably not one she'd ever heard of. He left before he could -- needlessly -- invade the girl's privacy. Thinking about it now made Albus want to wince, or else disappear among the ducks that quacked pleasantly not far from his feet. Could he be that uncaring others? Could he really be tempted to search a muggle's mind for answers about himself, rather than wait half an hour to read them for himself? It was an uncomfortable thought, often dwelt on, but not right at this minute. A lit cigarette in one hand and the glow of acceptable tea still warming his throat, Albus cracked open the first volume of the series and with dread settled close by his side, began to read of his future. The ducks had long ago fluttered off. The sky was now black, punctured throughout with inexplicable, steady lights. Albus's eyes ached so much he had to shut them every couple of minutes to get rid of the grimy, gluey feeling that was rooted into the corners of his vision. But he was done. One long afternoon darkened into an evening in 7 books were read, 3 wars thoroughly fought, countless deaths and greater mistake than 20 men could make together done. It was every bit as bad as Albus had feared. No, Albus was quick to reassure himself, to pacify the murmuring voices in his head that wanted him to transfigure his own appearance as soon as the last word of the last book was read, not quite as bad. He had not, after all, journeyed into to the Dark quite as Gellert had (and oh, it made his chest tighten until his own heartbeat wavered loud in his own ears to think of his fate). But had he truly been that much better? When his main solace was that he had not conquered and ruined the world himself but, indeed, taken measures to prevent it? Everyone who cared to read the last of these books would know his shame. The strangers in this world and those of his own who had taken refuge in the Pott Towers, Severus and Harry among them. His own actions to both of them were disturbing, understandable in the first case, but in Harry's? There had been a happy ending for the boy, yes, but what right had he to gamble his innocence and well-being on a clever idea? It'll be for the greater good, Albus. lingered through his mind, accented thickly in German and a persuasion as simple and alluring as hot milk. Albus tried to physically turn away from his own mind, but even he could not achieve that. He lit another cigarette and took as substantial drag, holding the smoke into his mouth while he stared without seeing. It was a long time before he blinked. It would so easy. He did not want to face the world as Albus Dumbledore, so he would no longer have his face, his name, his accolades. With Transfiguration skills as powerful and nuanced as his own, it would be barely an effort to sculpt his features and build into some anonymous other. Aberforth had not been wrong when he'd sneeringly classed Albus as a natural liar; already a past and a personality twined together in the back of his mind, concocting something so detailed even family would be fooled. Pass himself off as a Weasley cousin. It could be done. Only SHIELD would know the truth and that, too, could be taken care of if absolutely necessary. But should it? Should any of it? Could he bear to be such an abject coward, when all around him had been so incredibly, wonderfully brave? Albus looked down, smoke being released from between his lips in a thick stream that made his throat tickle. The shame would eat him through the inside out, whatever he chose. Not tonight. It was a ungraceful move on his part and yet, Albus would grant himself that night to decide what he would do. It was a bewildering turn of events even by his standards, and he could, perhaps, be forgiven a smidgen for his uncertainty on how to proceed. He was infinitely glad he'd taken the precaution to request that he tell people from his own world of his arrival himself. Either way, it would be fitting. Albus stood from the bench he'd made his own that entire day, taking another quick puff of his cigarette before flicking his wand at the barely-used thing and casting it into the nether. He would find good, solid tree and a patch of grass to make his own, cast spells to be unnoticed and protected, and then summon a sleeping bag the same arresting shade of pink as his new lighter, and a fire to keep himself toasty until morning. Albus was not yet familiar enough with the geography of this world to apparate, and so he meandered off through the park, looking wonderingly up at this enchantingly new sky and letting his head drift full with nothing more substantial than the fluffy marshmellows he would later conjure to roast on his fire. |