Credence Barebone Potter (obscurence) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-01-02 19:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, credence barebone |
narrative; Credence Barebone
Who: Credence Barebone
When: January 2, after his birthday party
Where: His bedroom
What: It's Credence's birthday, and he has Christmas presents, and birthday presents and hopes for the new year.
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Status: COMPLETE.
Credence sat quietly on the floor of his room, his fingers running over the wood of the wand in his hand. Of all the presents he'd received for Christmas this was still the one that he couldn't quite believe that he'd gotten. He'd asked for it, but he hadn't really believed that it could happen. Santa Claus seemed like a myth made up for children who weren't him, and certainly nothing that his mother would have approved of. Then again there was very little in his current life that his mother would have approved of, and that didn't mean that Credence wanted to change a single aspect of it. If Mama wouldn't have approved of the house, or the magic, or the fact that he had crushes on boys at school, and maybe some crushes on people that weren't boys at school, it perhaps only intensified his desire to fiercely enjoy every one of those things while he was here. He didn't need to ask her permission any longer, and while that might be a source of guilt if he thought about it too much, he was choosing not to take it as one. He was beginning to wonder if she hadn't only ever been trying to hold him back - keep him in a place where he hated himself too much to be anyone that could offer the world something, really. And then he'd arrived in Tumbleweed, where everything was different from what he'd ever had at home. And it felt as if the pieces of himself that he'd always been ashamed of weren't anything to be ashamed of really. The wand in his hand was a golden color with an intricate design on the handle of it. The crevices of the design had been stained a darker color, and somehow the instrument managed to be both beautiful and practical at once. Unlike the wand that he'd been using - it was both beautiful, and practical. And while it was more beautiful than the more plain one he'd been working with, it was also far more practical, ironically. Larch wood, the box had said, and a phoenix feather core. Thus far it felt as if every spell he had tried had worked so much more easily than any spell he'd ever tried before. They had told him that wands mattered, and that working with a wand that was your own was easier than working with one that was not, but he hadn't expected that he'd ever have the opportunity to see how much easier. Not really. There was no wizarding world here, and you had to go to Olivanders, and how had Santa known exactly which wand was his anyway? He let the wand sit in his hand, the weight of it feeling completely natural, an extension of his body maybe even. There was a small smile at that thought. In this particular moment, maybe all week long, Credence had been happier than he could ever remember having been. Only when he had thought Mr Graves had wanted to teach him magic, had he been this happy. But it hadn't been true, and as it hadn't been true, the happiness had faded. This didn't seem to be fading though, although some part of him wondered if he had not peaked this month. Could he possibly have anything better at this point? Because the wand was really only a piece of it - a weird physical piece that he hadn't expected to get and a piece that he couldn't explain having gotten - but he seemed to belong here and that was even more amazing to him. Tonight he'd had a birthday party which was something he'd never had before in his life. He hadn't even mentioned he might want such a thing, at least partially because he wouldn't have thought that he could want such a thing. The idea of having friends that would come and celebrate just your mere existence felt nearly as overwhelming as the existence of the wand in his hand. He might be sitting on the floor by himself in his bedroom, but if he were found there holding a wand, he'd only be asked if he'd practiced any spellwork that day. He wouldn't be punished, or criticised, or considered evil because of what he could do. If Helena happened to find him, she might want to see a spell, something that he typically avoided doing, but maybe he could change that because the spells he'd tried earlier hadn't backfired, at least not the simple ones. There hadn't been an unexpected whoosh from the obscurus. They'd been different, but different in a way he seemed to be able to control and that was its own sort of Christmas miracle, maybe as much as the wand. He placed the wand down in the box it had arrived in and stared at it, pushing his hand up to push a hair behind his ear. His hair was getting longer, and as it grew it had grown curls that he had never really allowed to exist, and yet they were there, and he couldn't help but kind of like the look they gave him even if he suspected his mother wouldn't like it. And in his closet were a number of new clothes that he could see hanging there just barely out of the corner of his eye, and he felt as if they'd been right. He wasn't certain they were exactly like everything everyone else wrote, but they also weren't unlike those things. And somewhere between the ill-fitting suit he'd had when he arrived, and the various things he'd picked up to try to make himself look more as if he belonged here, but had only felt as if they weren't what he needed, he'd found something that felt more comfortable. And he felt as if Albus had mostly liked what he'd picked, which was important to him. Albus had taken him in and given him a place with his family even knowing what Credence was - and sometimes Credence still couldn't quite believe that. Albus had given him so many gifts over Christmas, and while the wand felt miraculous because it had felt like an impossible wish, the things Albus had given him mattered almost as much. The fact that he didn't feel as if he were a bother, or someone to be saved, or fixed. In all of the time he'd lived with his mother, despite the fact that he'd done everything he knew how to please her, he knew that he never really had. And despite the fact that he'd cared for his younger sisters, he knew that they could have done all right without him. If he were being deeply honest, he would tell himself that the same was true here. Albus had been without him for most of his life, and it wasn't as if Credence could so deeply make his way into this family in only a year. But he did feel as if he would be missed. And maybe more importantly he believed he was wanted. He'd never had a birthday like this one, to find out that he not only had friends who wanted to celebrate his birthday, but - as real as it could be when there was no way he could ever truly get sorted into Hogwarts - that he would be sorted into the same house as Albus, who felt so much like a father Credence had never really had made him feel nearly dizzy. Credence put the cover of the box back on it, and slid the wand under his bed and then after a moments thought, he reached out and pulled it back out, instead lifting it up to set it on the bedside table. Sure it took up space there that he'd like to have books out in, but there was something about being able to set it there - to see it. He sat it down, lifting his hand off the box and smiling at it for a moment. It felt ridiculous to be so happy over something that was so small, really, and something that so many would have had as children, and likely taken for granted, but he had it now and it was made for him. He pushed himself to his feet and began taking his shirt off to head towards the closet and the pajamas that he needed so that he could go to sleep and rest and then tomorrow he could practice more, and for the first time he found it easy to believe that maybe he could really be a wizard. |