From the Ashes (A Dumblewald Fic): Chapter 1 - The Cage
Well, I promised artemisrampant a Dumblewald fic a while ago. When I promised, I had a really good idea of what I wanted to do with it and where it was going to go. Of course, being me, I never wrote down an outline or anything, just a couple paragraphs of exposition in a notebook and a bigger beginning of the first chapter in a livejournal draft, which was promptly lost by the treacherous interwebs. Then, recently I had a great idea for a Naomily fic and I really wanted to write it, but I felt bad because I promised artemisrampant her Dumblewald fic and I didn't want to be a meaniehead flake. She was very gracious and said I should go ahead and write it, because, I quote, "who can deny the whims of plot bunnies?" Of course, being me, I never had time to write more than a few paragraphs of exposition on my Naomily fic in a notebook and today I had another fanfiction brainsplosion, this time a Skins full cast ALBUM songfic. However, I decided I would be a good girl and find my Dumblewald fic and post a bit of it first, because Skins owns a large part of my soul and that fanfiction is going to get written at some point, so I should probably work on the one I promised someone first. So, the first chapter of the Dumblewald fic may be found below.
The birds were singing loudly, as they are wont to do whenever someone nearby is trying very hard to concentrate. Albus stared at the parchment on his desk, as though waiting for it to magically fill itself with words. Unfortunately, this was much easier said than done, Albus would know. He'd spent a lot of time during his last year at Hogwarts trying to perfect a spell to transcribe mental impulses, for those days when he felt like he just had too many thoughts inside his head, but it hadn't worked. The psychic link between mind and parchment had been simple enough, but fine-tuning that link so that thoughts would be expressed as something more decipherable than squiggles, dots, lines, swatches of black, and the occasional swear word was a lot more difficult. Albus had gone through at least a dozen separate trials of the spell, making minor changes to the incantation each time, coming up with different results each time -- once several pages of rude cartoons, once the sheet music to an entire Stravinsky ballet - but never a coherent paragraph or coherent sentences. Eventually, he realized that it would take longer to design a functional version of the spell than it would to just buy a journal, write down his thoughts, and get on with his life.
At that moment, though, Albus really wished he had taken the bother to finish the spell, there was just too much noise in his head, his thoughts were practically shouting. He fidgeted with his quill and tangled his fingers in his hair. This was the worst he'd felt in ages. While he'd been at Hogwarts, there had been classes, friends, and being the best, smartest, and most talented student of all time to keep him occupied and distract him from these outbursts. Most of the pages in his journal from that winter were filled with hastily scribbled ideas for new spells, inventions, experiments, and fashion statements. He'd been busy and he'd been idolized and respected and he'd been happy. Why wouldn't he have been? He'd had his whole life ahead of him and the future had looked dazzlingly bright -- the world was his oyster. And if the occasional glimpse of his unusual younger brother, at dinner or on his way to class, reminded him that even a genius cannot choose his family, some distraction was always at hand to take his mind off such unpleasant thoughts.
However, there were no distractions now. He sat at his desk, in his own bedroom at home, looking out the window, fidgeting with his quill, and feeling trapped. A few weeks ago, he'd been preparing to set out on the journey of a lifetime with a devoted friend who adored him in a very simple and uncomplicated way. Simple and uncomplicated were high on Albus' list of desirable relationship traits (come to think of it, they were really only one trait). Now, he was at home while his friend traveled the world without him. Now, he was stuck with the very family he spent so much time and energy trying to forget about during the school year -- not only was he stuck with them, he was responsible for them. Albus had never been particularly close to his mother, she'd always been too occupied with caring for Ariana and trying to hold together the thin shreds of her family pride, but now he wanted her back. More than anything else, he wished his mother wasn't dead. He didn't want to be the head of the family. He didn't to waste his life away in Godric's Hollow, waiting hand and foot on his damaged sister and making sure his wayward brother didn't flunk out of Hogwarts or get himself expelled for inappropriate behavior involving goats.
A sudden shriek from below stairs brought Albus out of his sulk with a start. He pricked his ears, trying to hear what Ariana was up to now, but heard nothing. Silence. Assuming Aberforth had taken care of it, whatever it was, Albus turned back to his desk. A reverberating crash, followed by another, even louder shriek, and he remembered that Aberforth was out, walking the goats, and that he, Albus, would have to deal with Ariana's latest tantrum. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he slammed his journal shut, threw down his quill, and hurried out of his room to see what was wrong this time. As he pounded down the stairs two at a time, he sighed again. He couldn't believe his luck -- the most talented young wizard Hogwarts school had ever seen, legally of age to do whatever he wanted, stuck at home, trying to stop his half-mad sister from blowing up the house every other day. It was just so unfair! He was gifted, he was brilliant. He wanted to escape. He wanted to shine. He wanted glory.
The birds were singing loudly, as they are wont to do whenever someone nearby is trying very hard to concentrate. Albus stared at the parchment on his desk, as though waiting for it to magically fill itself with words. Unfortunately, this was much easier said than done, Albus would know. He'd spent a lot of time during his last year at Hogwarts trying to perfect a spell to transcribe mental impulses, for those days when he felt like he just had too many thoughts inside his head, but it hadn't worked. The psychic link between mind and parchment had been simple enough, but fine-tuning that link so that thoughts would be expressed as something more decipherable than squiggles, dots, lines, swatches of black, and the occasional swear word was a lot more difficult. Albus had gone through at least a dozen separate trials of the spell, making minor changes to the incantation each time, coming up with different results each time -- once several pages of rude cartoons, once the sheet music to an entire Stravinsky ballet - but never a coherent paragraph or coherent sentences. Eventually, he realized that it would take longer to design a functional version of the spell than it would to just buy a journal, write down his thoughts, and get on with his life.
At that moment, though, Albus really wished he had taken the bother to finish the spell, there was just too much noise in his head, his thoughts were practically shouting. He fidgeted with his quill and tangled his fingers in his hair. This was the worst he'd felt in ages. While he'd been at Hogwarts, there had been classes, friends, and being the best, smartest, and most talented student of all time to keep him occupied and distract him from these outbursts. Most of the pages in his journal from that winter were filled with hastily scribbled ideas for new spells, inventions, experiments, and fashion statements. He'd been busy and he'd been idolized and respected and he'd been happy. Why wouldn't he have been? He'd had his whole life ahead of him and the future had looked dazzlingly bright -- the world was his oyster. And if the occasional glimpse of his unusual younger brother, at dinner or on his way to class, reminded him that even a genius cannot choose his family, some distraction was always at hand to take his mind off such unpleasant thoughts.
However, there were no distractions now. He sat at his desk, in his own bedroom at home, looking out the window, fidgeting with his quill, and feeling trapped. A few weeks ago, he'd been preparing to set out on the journey of a lifetime with a devoted friend who adored him in a very simple and uncomplicated way. Simple and uncomplicated were high on Albus' list of desirable relationship traits (come to think of it, they were really only one trait). Now, he was at home while his friend traveled the world without him. Now, he was stuck with the very family he spent so much time and energy trying to forget about during the school year -- not only was he stuck with them, he was responsible for them. Albus had never been particularly close to his mother, she'd always been too occupied with caring for Ariana and trying to hold together the thin shreds of her family pride, but now he wanted her back. More than anything else, he wished his mother wasn't dead. He didn't want to be the head of the family. He didn't to waste his life away in Godric's Hollow, waiting hand and foot on his damaged sister and making sure his wayward brother didn't flunk out of Hogwarts or get himself expelled for inappropriate behavior involving goats.
A sudden shriek from below stairs brought Albus out of his sulk with a start. He pricked his ears, trying to hear what Ariana was up to now, but heard nothing. Silence. Assuming Aberforth had taken care of it, whatever it was, Albus turned back to his desk. A reverberating crash, followed by another, even louder shriek, and he remembered that Aberforth was out, walking the goats, and that he, Albus, would have to deal with Ariana's latest tantrum. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he slammed his journal shut, threw down his quill, and hurried out of his room to see what was wrong this time. As he pounded down the stairs two at a time, he sighed again. He couldn't believe his luck -- the most talented young wizard Hogwarts school had ever seen, legally of age to do whatever he wanted, stuck at home, trying to stop his half-mad sister from blowing up the house every other day. It was just so unfair! He was gifted, he was brilliant. He wanted to escape. He wanted to shine. He wanted glory.