Disclaimer: This is a rewrite of Harry Potter and The Cursed Child. If you have not read it, you may not want to read this fic, as there will be definite spoilers.
- Year One -
Albus Severus Potter has never felt more relieved nor more disappointed as the Sorting Hat places him in Gryffindor.
Of course, the Hat would chose Gryffindor. He is a Potter, after all. His fears of landing in Slytherin were unfounded. Yet, as he approaches the Gryffindor table and glances back at Scorpius Malfoy, his only friend, he can't help but feel…
Maybe Sytherin wouldn't have been so bad.
He takes a seat at the table of scarlet and gold and accepts the slap on the back from a third year. But he can't force a smile.
Across the table, his older brother, James, puts his fingers in his mouth and sticks out his tongue, wiggling it at him.
Albus looks down at his empty plate, so finely polished it reflects his dismal face.
Gryffindor, the house of his father, the house of his older brother. How could he possibly fit in here among them? Two giants, surrounded by fame, basking in it. They belong here. He doesn't.
He looks back at the stool where a young girl waits as the Sorting Hat lowers to her head.
Can he take it back? Is it too late? What might the Sorting Hat say if it could read his thoughts now?
The broom under his hand refuses to rise. "Up! Up, you stupid thing!"
But it just lays there in the grass, mocking him. The other students laugh. They've all managed to summon their brooms to their hand.
He's glad his untidy hair covers his burning ears. Stupid broom. Stupid school.
"Come on, Albus," says Scorpius, a few students down the line from him. "You can do it!"
He thinks of his brother, whose broom reportedly came to his hand on his first try. When Madam Hooch blew her whistle, he rose into the air and flew circles around his classmates. A natural, just like their father.
Albus kicks the broom, making it bounce. He doesn't care anymore if he ever figures out how to make it rise off the ground.
- Year Two -
It strikes him one breakfast, as he glances at Scorpius sitting at the Slytherin table and wishes he could be there with him, that there are no rules stating a student has to sit with their house. In fact, there are no labels or signs at any table designating it belongs to one house or another. Younger students simply follow the older ones, blindly falling into an order that was never mandated.
Albus glances around the room, at the other house tables and head table, wondering if they can all hear his thoughts. Would anyone try to stop him?
There's only one way to find out.
He picks up his plate and marches over to the Slytherin table. No one pays him any mind at first, then the noise in the hall dims to a hush.
Albus ignores them and keeps his eyes fixed on his friend, who grins widely and slides down the bench to make room.
The Slytherins glare daggers at him as he takes a seat. He's a Potter and a Gryffindor, after all. But Scorpius gives him a slap on the back, and that's all that matters.
They tuck into their meal, and the din of hall rises again as though nothing out of the ordinary happened.
He should have known that wouldn't be the end of it.
Back in Gryffindor Tower, his classmates stare him down, led by his older brother.
"Shrewed Slytherin!" He taunts. "Shifty Slytherin!"
Albus pushes by them, heading for the stairs.
"Why don't you join them if you like them so much?"
"Someone get me the Sorting Hat, and I will!" he shouts down the stairs before slamming the dormitory door behind him.
His eyes take in the red hanging curtains, and it makes him sick. He strides to his bed, and yanks. When they won't come down, he uses a severing charm - the first time he's been able to do it - and rips them from their rings, leaving scarlet tatters hanging. He throws the curtains to the floor and stomps them with his feet.
They shine back him, at as red and pristine as ever. He wishes he knew a spell to make them change color.
He doesn't belong here. He never belonged here.
Albus excels in Potions. He relishes it.
Ever since he heard his father didn't do well in it, that James flounders in it, he pushes himself to be the best, to claim this one thing for himself that no one else has.
Their potion bubbles an ugly grey-green.
"What do we need?" asks his classmate, a boy with brown hair and freckles.
Albus skims his Potions book. "Crushed bicorn horn."
He weighs the ingredient and adds it. Then he stirs twice, counter clockwise. The potion turns a perfect bubblegum pink.
His classmate beams and claps, then remembers he's not supposed to be happy at being paired with the outcast and collects himself.
- Year Three -
"They're looking at me, Al. Not you."
Albus shifts, moving a little further from his father. It's not who they're starring at, it's that they're starring, that his dad tolerates it, that James has a penchant for it.
"Slinking Slytherin!" James taunts as he rushes past with his school trunk.
"That's enough, James," his dad says.
But James doesn't listen. He never listens. He reels himself in in front of their parents, but once they're gone it's always a different story.
"Maybe try making some more friends this year," his father suggests.
Albus sighs. His dad just doesn't get it.
Albus hates Hogsmeade. The shops are pleasant enough, and he might actually enjoy the small town if he could visit on his own. But the streets are packed with Hogwarts students – students who think him the weirdest kid in school for defying his own house and preferring the company of Slytherin.
He doesn't care what they think. They aren't why he's here.
His friend wonders the shops, heavy eyes traveling the length of the shelving. But Albus doubts he's actually looking at anything.
The Head of Slytherin house pressured Scorpius into going, said it might do him some good to explore a new environment, to find a retreat from the grief of his mother's passing.
But it seems clear Hogsmeade isn't much of a retreat as Scorpius face scrunches, struck by some thought or memory. He looks down at the floor, taking deep breaths to collect himself.
Albus lays an arm across his friend's shoulders. "Ready to go?"
Scorpius nods, not looking up from the floor, and Albus steers him out of the shop and down the street.
He doesn't need Hogmead. He doesn't even need Hogwarts. This right here, him and his best friend, this is all in the world that matters.
