Chapter 1
In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning in my head ever since.
Not because the advice was any good. Truthfully, my father could not have given me advice with any virtue. He was prone to discarding the simpler things. I was accustomed to embracing everything to its fullest. The advice turned in my head for its convoluted nature.
"Adventures aren't worth the sacrifice of your skills and class, so remember it is better to live a boringly pure life than to throw it all away for the thrill." I resented his ideas so much that I could not help debating them repeatedly in my own mind.
Back when I was a lad, I had lived under my father's shadow. It is undeniable that his role played a great part in my life. But the more time I allowed his poison to sink in the more I became immune. As my body grew to fight back, my white blood cells finally recognized the venom. Captured it and grew to hate it. As a result of this mechanism, I came to not only resent but fight against what he called 'advice'. Creating my own self-efficient way of thought. The opposite. The moment that I drove that poison out of my body I ran.
I became an Oxford man, where I spent my years glued to every piece of poetry from; Japan, France, or even the ancient Romans interested me. The effect of my freedom was all-consuming. So much so that the moment I left my studies I searched for more adventure. That is when I discovered the spreading Feaver in New York. Parties. As we like to call them now, the roaring 20s. The pearls, cocktails, lavish furniture, jazz till late nights. Now, I can't think of them without feeling a strong disgust. We had too much money and free time and all I remember doing was wasting it. Everyone knew that it would be the best moment of our lives and for that, they were trashed. It was one of those stories of when someone shined so bright, they got burned.
I regret it most sharply and find that now because of it, there's not much left for me to enjoy. Life has become exceptionally dull; every day is the same. I wake up early, and go to bed early. Rinse then repeat. I feel now that the world is ruined because of those parties. There is only one person who is exempt from my hatred. And that is James Potter.
I mustn't go into detail now about who he is and of his importance. That is because currently in the story I do not know him yet.
I'll tell you only what you will grow to learn quite quickly.
James is the sun. Everything about him reflects light, the shines so intensely you can't help but try and reach for him. His personality is made for people. The essence of him, his soul, is electric with the love he shares and gives. He's beautiful and I have yet to meet James Potter.
After we won the Great War, on April 6, 1917, the country changed. In a conclusive explanation, the rich got richer, and the poor got rich. Money was everything. I had just gotten my degree in English and after realizing there was no money in my sonnets, I chose to enter finances. I began to invest in the stock market, as that was where the money was coming from.
Unsurprisingly my method did work. And after working extreme shifts by 1922 I had enough money to rent my own little place by the shore. It was not much but it worked. It was a little place painted black. A bit Macabre. However simple inside, it was comfortable, and only 800 a month, which was a deal. Given that it had a wonderful view.
The sea had a special place in my heart. From a young age, I found myself delving into water when I needed an escape. Underneath it is tranquil, quiet. There is no peace like it on earth. I always felt like what I most enjoyed about it was the cold water on my skin. Being surrounded by nothing but water. I could not complain about this little place when that was waiting for me just outside my home.
Another perk of this home was its surroundings, I lived in quite a prestigious area. I was around millionaires, My Nabor In fact had a wonderful home. From what I could see. His floors were made of marble. It looked a bit like a castle. Or what I remember Oxford looking like when I had gone to England for financial affairs.
It was wonderful to look at and that is what I would do most of the time. Stare at that house and wonder who could own such wonderful property. Besides that, I would read and lay around all day. I became bored quite easily. Soon I began to look for anything to do, and it wasn't until I met a man asking me to point the directions to my Nabor's home that life began to catch momentum.
He asked me, "Do you know where I can find the home of a man by the name of James Potter." I looked at him strangely.
"I'm not sure who that is, but if you give a description, I could know it."
"Right. From what I've heard it's ginormous. Looks a bit like a castle? Big enough to have the best parties!" He could not be talking about my neighboring house. Could he? But the description matched perfectly.
"Hm. I think I know where. Why do you want to go?" He scoffed in response.
"Only because Potter throws the best parties in all of New York? And today he will throw one. Why else?"
It wasn't as far-fetched of a claim as I had anticipated. Now that I thought of it his house was quite big and was also lavish enough for one.
"Oh, there is no reason, just head one block to the right, and you will spot it." The man smiled back in response and threw his thumb up in my face.
"Thanks lad!"
As he began to drive away, my mind drifted back to that home, and back to that owner. And the wonder I had possessed seemed now to me, far more vivid.