Pureblood Wizard

October 21st
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Last Active: Dec 2 2017, 11:38 PM
Don't be shocked when your history book mentions me; I'm young, scrappy, and hungry: I am not throwing away my shot.

I. home run, slam dunk, touchdown, pass

You were a business transaction. Your mother's father was the king of a tech-free empire, his shark-like business moxie wrecking lives and compiling gold like an ancient dragon. He was ruthless, sneaky, and always two steps ahead. Unfortunately for him and his business, that moxie did not pass down to his son - instead, his daughter. But a boardroom full of men did not believe a woman to be capable of successfully carrying on the Astor legacy; they believed her too soft - too gentle. Obviously the men's club had never truly met Astrid.

Her father made clear to her that he could never leave her with his business, that only a heir would be appropriate - and anticipating this, a plan developed in her mind. She went out and courted one of her father's inner circle confidantes. Your grandfather's passing was a curious tragedy; a death with no understood culprit. With a rock the size of a star and her belly swollen with you, she announced triumphantly to the room of board members that she would be taking over the company until you were old enough.

Conveniently, your uncle had disappeared.

They had no choice, for your grandfather stipulated in his will that only an heir of the Astor family would inherit the empire. But when you were born, she named you not as an Astor - but as a son of a Prince, so to remind the suits in her company just where you came from. Just how much more important you were than them.

Just how fragile their lives were.

ii. mi casa es tu casa so it ain't no holding back

Naturally, you were raised as the king you were. With the 'royal' blood of purity entwining in your genes, you deserved far better than everyone else. You were a tool for your mother's revenge; a vehicle for her successful plans - but she doted on you. Instead of plastic keys and stuffed animals, you had a pair of trained serval cats, your own fashion designer, an assistant for toy runs, two nannies, and your own private cook.

You know, for baby mush.

However, just before your first birthday, an anonymous letter was sent to your mother, warning her that a company refusing to meld muggle technology and magical experise rarely stayed running - and perhaps if she could not see that, she should know they were aware the only reason it was running was you. Instead of seeing her once or twice a day as she gave instructions to your caretakers, suddenly you were with her all the time. You went with her to work, playing on the floor with magical projections of her employees' ideas, staring down funny men and eating their pens during meetings, and sitting on her hip whenever she felt the need to remind people why she was the boss.

Without you, she had no hold on the company. You were her most coveted and religiously watched commodity. A security detail was added to your toddler team.

As you grew older, this team grew. You are polylingual, learning the complexities of each language from people flown in directly from the country. You learned history from John Keegan. You practiced mathematics with John Horton Conway. You learned experimentation and the foundation of science with E.O. Wilson. Neil Gaiman taught you the merits of theatre, reading, and writing.

The only thing you did not succeed at was the arts. Your fingers never could create what bloomed in your head, and learning an instrument just took too much time to see the payoff. You grew frustrated with these, blaming your teachers, and gave up.

But then, there was a peculiar letter that arrived on your eleventh birthday. Although your mother didn't want to allow you to go, she told you that Hogwarts was one of the only magical schools in which technology didn't work. Why that mattered was beyond you, but it seemed to be a deciding factor in whether or not you would get to go.

And thank merlin that you did.

iii. bask in the glory of all our problems

Nastasya saw your letter inviting you so far away as an opportunity. You would learn from the school where magical greats of all sorts had emerged and she would stay in charge of the family business. You would return together each summer to solidify the future she planned for you.

Before you left for Hogwarts, packed with the best of everything Nastasya could find, you were provided with two more bits of knowledge that would change your view for the better.

Vasily, your mother's bodyguard, taught you how to roll with punches and serve them back two-fold, for no son of Astrid would ever lay broken on the floor. Vasily told you to introduce yourself in one of two ways - first, as a prince...then, as a soldier. Noah for those intelligent enough to see what was in front of them....Noah Prince, to follow a smile that mimicked a predator's baring of teeth for those who were not.

The second? As you gave your mother one last hug before stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, she whispered to you. <i>"Consider Hogwarts the picking grounds for the family's next generation, my little prince. This castle will be your own just as our home is. Never cede your ground."

And thus began your journey to Hogwarts.

iv. I could love you just like that

Hogwarts was the best thing that could have happened to you. Immediately placed into Slytherin before the hat even touched your hair, you did find a home within Hogwarts. True, you got in more altercations than was necessary for a little boy of your age, quickly carving out your place as someone not to be crossed. Your temper burned too quickly without the watchful, judging eyes of your mother.

But there were others that you began to look up to. First, you watched the oldest students and the way others listened to them - and began to follow their mannerisms with your own classmates. Then you found professors that genuinely were excited when you thrived; truly wanted to see you grasp difficult concepts and not because they were forced to. You found outlets in classes that took a lot of physical and mental power - namely, DADA and Quidditch.

Soon, you started to gain friends. You'd never had a friend before, not really. But there were those who were not scared away from furious faces and sharp fists; those who seemed to flock to your leadership and celebrated your successes. The first time you had felt pride in something they had done, you'd had to leave them alone to sort out the weird feeling. Was it okay for others to succeed? Did it take away from your own abilities?

Age brought you the insight that every person had their strengths - that was the way it was at home too. Your mother was not ruthless physically, which was why she had Vasily. Vasily did not have knowledge of muggle abilities, which is why they had Vlad. And Boris was a shadow, capable of getting them information when no one else could manage.

So you began to collect your own inner circle of talented Slytherins, extending that to a smart Ravenclaw or two, and even a Gryffindor when the need was great. You did exceedingly well in courses you found useful and cared less in those you thought fruitless. You used Quidditch and the lessons Vasily taught you over the summers to hone your body; your studies to sharpen his mind; your classmates to refine his mouth.

To your mother's public dismay and private delight, by the time you were seventeen you had decided you wanted nothing to do with offices and expense reports. You wanted to do something far more exciting.

Like get paid to nearly die during an exhilarating Wronski Feint.

v. i'm gonna swing from the chandelier

Quidditch takes a lot out of you during practices only to feed it back thrice-fold during the games. You live off of the screams and the cheers of your fans; would simply cease to live if you couldn't get on your broom and feel the clouds dissipate over your skin.

There is nothing that fills you up quite like having your fist curl over that tiny golden ball; of seeing the disappointment and frustration on the other team's faces. You work hard so you can play hard - and you play hard so you can romp even harder. The life of a Quidditch star is exactly what you need in your life. You need to be seen; to be praised for your talents. You need to be recognized as someone important; to feel like you are doing something important. You like feeling as if your actions work as one component of many moving parts.

If your team were a body, you would be the fist.

Sure, you get into altercations on the field now and again. One of your favorite things to do as your sharp eyes look out for even a glint of movement is to hassle your opposing seeker - but you sleep very well at night knowing your mother is happy running the business she always wanted and you get to do whatever you want between your time on a broom.

That freedom tastes sweet.

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