THIS WORK CONTAINS SPOILERS.
This fanfiction does not (strongly) deviate from the spoilers of the plot of the Cursed Child. Fanon theories that are not necessarily canon have been inserted.
This work deviates from canon in terms of the time frame. The play is spread over several years, whereas in this fic it will all be happening within Albus' first year.
Betaread by sirenalpha!

ships (will change throughout the story): scorpius/albus, scorpius/rose, harry/ginny, ron/hermione, ...

The first time the Potter family goes to King's Cross makes for a memorable moment. Harry's and Ginny's excitement is unwavering, as if it is their very own trip to Hogwarts, and not James'. They hardly even pay attention to the press. Adults and students are catching up with one another, causing a loud background hum of voices, laughter, and the occasional crying fit. Aside from that, many of them are highly aware of the man who is in their midst. Harry Potter. Saviour of the Wizarding World. Albus braces himself, trying hard to ignore the constant flashing lights, the aurors circling the area, and the overtly enthusiastic parents who try to exchange a word with Mr Vanquisher-Of-Evil.

But now, two years later, more precautions have been taken. They are used to the press, but somehow its absence is uncomfortably noticeable. It is eerily calm, in fact. People make a show out of pretending not to care for The Great War Hero, whilst stealing glances any time they can. Speaking of said hero, last year, he had been elated. Now, he is nervous – almost as much as Albus himself is. He talks with Hermione and Ron, as if he can't speak with them all year. Albus, however, will be gone until summer, but for all the attention he receives he might as well be staying home. He tries to catch his father's eye in vain, and then resorts to staring at Rose. Rose reminds him of his own mother, Ginny. She is visibly thrilled by the prospect of Hogwarts, and gesturing even more animatedly than usual as she speaks. Once again, to Albus' great annoyance, they recall the time Harry and Ron went to school by flying car. It was bearable the first time, and yet, after so many retellings, they still laugh. Only Albus doesn't laugh. No one pays much attention to him either way. The thought of an entire day on the train to Hogwarts saps his energy. Undoubtedly, people will merely think of him as a Potter. Son of. Brother of. He is already tired of it, and it has not even begun. But he is not too tired to miss the furtive glances his father keeps sending his way. Funny how that only happens after Albus decides it's not worth trying to catch his attention anymore.

Finally, they board the train. The entire experience, brief as it may be, is incredibly freeing. Through the windows, he stares at his parents and Lily. Everyone is waving until they fade into colourful blots, and eventually those fade away, too. Though he is only eleven, he suddenly feels both very independent and very alone. No more "Mom, teach me how to ride a broom" and no more "Dad, show me the silver stag again". No more "If I would let him, dad would do literally anything for you," and no more "One day you'll be just as strong as your mom." A part of him wants to run back – yet another part of him is relieved.

Since James boarded the train with his friends beforehand, Albus is left with Rose. The air between them is somewhat strained as they make their way through the compartments. At first, he doesn't look at anyone. It wouldn't surprise him if there was a neon sign above his head reading "Son Of The Strongest Wizard In The Galaxy". After a short while though, he realises hardly anyone pays him much attention, and a sense of relief washes through him. If anything, people are more interested in Rose, who wears a confident smile and greets everyone just a tad too cheerfully. This gives Albus, who is comfortable walking in her shadow, the perfect opportunity to watch the other students. Their faces are filled with expressions ranging wildly from anxiety to excitement.

"We should make a careful choice about where to sit." Rose shakes him out of his thoughts. He sends her a questioning glance. The ride to Hogwarts takes only a day, and if the company is more pleasant elsewhere, who will stop them from moving? There is something very familiar about the way Rose looks at him. He recognises it as the look Aunt Hermione sends Uncle Ron any time he doesn't get exactly what she's at. "Our parents met on this train."

Merlin, she sounds like her mother. Albus waits until she turns around again before shrugging and mouthing "Wonderful" to himself. Their parents could have met later too. He has learnt not to voice his opinion too loudly around her, however, as Rose is certainly more keen to debate any topic than he is. When they walk past a compartment that's empty except for one boy, Albus stops. The boy is resting his head on his hands, hunched over, and staring dully out of the window. They see each other in the reflection, but the other boy doesn't move at all. He looks about as ecstatic as Albus feels.

"You're not going in there, are you?" Rose says almost haughtily. Somehow, her words only make him more determined to do just that. Staring her straight in the eye, he slowly pushes the compartment door open. She inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything. Instead, she spins on her heel. For a moment, Albus watches her strut past several other doors, feeling just a little victorious.

The boy stares at him as he enters the carriage. Albus moves awkwardly to sit down across from him. As soon as he is seated, the blond boy straightens himself. Although there is no more enthusiasm to him than there was before, a certain determination is written across his face. As this happens, a memory flares up in the back of Albus' head, but remains there. He has definitely seen his face before.

"Malfoy." He extends his hand. "Scorpius Malfoy."

"Hi." Albus says, repeating the name over and over in his head. It definitely rings some bell. The newspaper? Or perhaps a name he overheard people talking about? He shakes his hand in return. "I'm Albus." Then, he adds a little more quietly, "Potter."

Scorpius only raises his eyebrows briefly in response, followed by a small nod of acknowledgement. "I'm the son of Draco Malfoy."

Albus gives him another stiff nod. He is relieved that there is no shower of questions about his dad, which he has lived through several times by now. Hearing Draco Malfoy's name brings forth images of a sharp and tight-lipped face splayed over the front page of the Daily Prophet. Though the less than flattering picture suggests they don't write about Mr Malfoy in the same euphemistic tone as they do about his own father, Albus has no clue what the articles were about. What he does know that his father avidly follows any Malfoy-related news. He wonders whether his father would discourage him from sitting with Scorpius, quite like Rose had.

It strikes Albus that the two of them have an odd thing in common: famous fathers. Admittedly, that's not something people typically bond over. Nonetheless, Scorpius must understand the hassle that comes with it. Introducing himself as "Son Of" is not just formal but overdone. If Albus is honest about it, all the pretentiousness is plainly ridiculous to him.

"Hello, son of Draco Malfoy," Albus says in an exaggeratedly posh manner. "I am the son of Harry Potter."

A shy smile spreads across Scorpius' face, and ripples of relief break through the tension within Albus. To his own surprise, he replies with the most genuine smile he has mustered up for a long while now.

"You might have heard already," Scorpius then says, and pauses to look out of the window again. The smile is gone as soon as it came, and instead he looks quite as if he had never changed his expression since Albus had seen his sullen reflection in the window. His lips are still parted, as if he is hesitating to say more. "Of the rumour that my real father could be Voldemort."

These rumours come in wild variations, including illegal use of time-turners and other questionable activities. Perhaps it is fortunate then, that Albus can hardly care less about celebrity gossip. He studies Scorpius' face as he thinks of a proper reply. The cold light that comes from the cloud-clad skies makes his skin ghostly white. He has a pointy chin and a sharp nose, but his eyes are soft and looking at something only he can see. Albus clears his throat, "If that's the case, then I'm glad you took after your mom."

Scorpius turns to him with a perplexed expression, and for a moment they just stare at one another. Just as Albus concludes he must have messed up royally with that comment, Scorpius laughs. It is a short and light sound, ringing through the air briefly. It catches Albus off guard. No one could ever accuse Scorpius of any evil if they heard him laugh, he thinks, but quickly discards the thought.

The headmistress is a strict looking witch, with dark grey hair and a voice that cuts through all hubbub. He wonders whether she too, expects him to be in Gryffindor. Like everyone else does. He wants to be. He really does. Because his parents were in Gryffindor. And James is in Gryffindor. Even his grandparents were in Gryffindor. All Potters and all Weasleys must have been in Gryffindor.

Albus misses hearing Rose's name, but he catches her walking up to the front and sitting down on a small stool. He counts the seconds it takes for the hat to decide. As soon as it touches her head – one, two, three, four-

"Gryffindor!"

No one is surprised. Albus could have sorted her. Four seconds is actually quite long, he thinks. When the names starting with an L come to an end and M begins, Albus finds himself paying more attention. He doesn't miss Scorpius' name, nor does he miss the muttering that flares up in the entire Great Hall. Ignoring the sea of whispers around him, Albus stares straight ahead of him, at Scorpius. It's a familiar sensation, even if they're not talking about him. The headmistress clears her throat loudly, and everyone falls silent. If she can do that with him too, Albus thinks, he might even come to like her.

The hat is silent when it's placed on Scorpius. His face is neutral in a very schooled way, jaw clenched and eyes fixed onto a point far beyond everyone. Albus isn't sure he is breathing. The headmistress is less composed, and automatically moves to remove the hat again before she realises it hasn't said anything yet. She swiftly straightens herself again, and, except for the intense stare, she waits as patiently as she did with everyone else.

Albus has not counted the seconds since the hat was put on Scorpius' head, but everyone notices it takes a bit longer than usual. Then, in a tone that indicates a carefully made decision, the hat muses, "Slytherin."

As soon as Scorpius disappears towards the Slytherin table, Albus' attention falters again. The other names are of little importance to him. He wonders whether he would mind being sorted into Slytherin so much. He has a friend there now, or at least he likes to think he does. Didn't his dad say it didn't matter? And his mom wouldn't mind, right? Could it be that bad?

"Albus Severus Potter."

The headmistress stresses each vowel, snapping him out of his thoughts. Everyone is staring at him. A little embarrassed, he makes his way to the sorting hat. As if it isn't bad enough with the additional embarrassment already, he also estimates the stool to be higher than it is, and lands on it awkwardly with a loud thud that draws some laughter. His face is positively burning. The old hat is placed on his head, and immediately magic begins trickling down his head very softly.

Ah, another Potter, an old voice purrs in his ear.

I am not just another Potter, he thinks, instantly irked.

To his surprise, the hat appears to hear his thoughts perfectly fine, as it replies to his comment. Not just another Potter? You want to set yourself apart, then?

I am just Albus, he thinks with a hint of exasperation. This always happens. Albus can hear the voices echoing in his head. "Oh, the jet black hair!", "And look at those bright green eyes!", "Quite like his father now, isn't he?". He clenches his teeth, staring hard at his hands in his lap. I never asked for being The Son Of Harry Potter. I am not his miniature. I am just Albus, he repeats.

And Just Albus comes out of a family line of proud Gryffindors, the hat muses.

What if I am a Slytherin? The thought escapes him before he can suppress it.

You have the courage and desire for justice of a Gryffindor, the hat argues. You would make a fine Gryffindor.

Not Gryffindor, Albus suddenly thinks, and he falls into a repetitive loop of this thought. So what if people fear he might be in Slytherin? It's his life, isn't it? Scorpius is nice, and he went to Slytherin. Why shouldn't Albus be able to? I'll show them, he decides, I'll show them what good a Slytherin can do.

So it is, and so it will be, the hat says. Slytherin.

And Albus wants to say more, but suddenly the hat is lifted from his head and people are applauding. He blinks, startled. It's done. Mixed expressions roll over the faces of the crowd. He catches James' face, mouth gaping and eyes wide. And he catches Scorpius' surprised face, flickering in and out of sight between the taller students. His heart beats loudly in his chest. It's real now. Albus Severus Potter is a Slytherin.

The memories of his own sorting ceremony are still vivid in Harry's mind. He remembers the hat's words more clearly than ever now. In between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Harry got his place in the house of the lion mostly because he wanted it. Both of his parents, and as he recently found out, all of his grandparents, were Gryffindors. Is it stupid then to assume his children will be Gryffindors too? Now that Albus' ceremony is likely going on this very moment, he isn't so sure anymore. Albus is the only one who ever voiced fear of being sorted into Slytherin, although he supposes Lily has no reason to worry about that yet. Since the revelation of Albus' doubts happened only just before boarding onto the train, Harry told him what he felt obliged to say. That it doesn't matter. And it doesn't, in the end, right? It shouldn't. Only every time Harry imagines his son wearing the green and silver colours of Slytherin, it twists his guts. He can't tell what exactly bothers him, only that he hopes Albus understood his advice well. What you want is taken in consideration, too.

"You're going to wear a hole through the carpet if you keep going at it like that," Ginny comments dryly as she descends the stairs. She enters the living room, and they stop right in front of each other. He tries to smile reassuringly, but it mustn't be very convincing, because she frowns in response. Gently, she runs her hands through his hair, which he knows must be standing on end by now. "Got Albus on your mind?"

Her large brown eyes, framed by freckles and stray locks of hair, peer into his thoughts without any magic. He wishes she could decipher his exact doubts just like that, so he wouldn't have to say them out loud. "What if he really is in Slytherin?"

Ginny arches her eyebrows. "Then that's what you get for giving him Severus for a middle name."

Harry grins lightly. No, Ginny had not been fond of that idea. In all honesty, her second pregnancy was a bit unexpected. Harry had very carefully mentioned that he entertained the thought of paying homage to Severus Snape. Ginny brushed it off, believing strongly that he was just feeling guilty or clinging onto old sentiments. The idea didn't leave Harry, though. Snape had saved their lives, and never asked anything in return. Perhaps it was indeed a sentiment he shouldn't hold onto, but it wasn't like he could ever really let go of everything that had happened. A part of Harry did wish to give something in return, even if he had never been able to stand the man himself.

So he suggested it again, when they were seriously discussing names. Ginny was livid. "Then why not call him Albus, while you're at it anyway?" This had not been a wise thing to say. Ginny had no qualms whatsoever with calling the children after Harry's parents or people who were close to him. She had frankly told him that James and Sirius were nice names, and if they were special to him, that only made them better. Albus Severus was an entirely different story, however. After several more quarrels, they made a bet. If it was a girl, she was going to be called Lily Luna, if it was a boy, he was going to be called Albus Severus. Firewhisky may have been involved that night, but they had been dying to end that ongoing ridiculous argument.

And now Harry has a son called Albus Severus, and he realises that perhaps he should have listened to Ginny. Throughout the years, Harry learnt an important truth: Mothers are always right. Although she is not even his own mother, Ginny has a knack for knowing better. Considering that, and what he knows of Hermione and Ron, Harry indeed believes that being a mother comes with a magic of its own.

Albus Severus. Harry glances at the clock. It's almost midnight by now. The train isn't punctual, but there was never too little time for the sorting ceremony and a proper dinner. "They've been sorted by now."

Ginny rolls her eyes and plays lazily with his hair. "For all I care he should be a Hufflepuff."

Harry embraces her casually, arms around her waist. "Because no one expects it?"

"Exactly," she says whilst drawing him closer, "Imagine the entire Wizarding World somewhat awkwardly processing that the famous Albus Severus Potter is neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin. The Daily Prophet just wouldn't know what to do with itself."

"We're his parents though." Harry suddenly says. He lets go of her and straightens up. "Shouldn't we know him well enough to tell in which house he will be sorted?"

And there he goes again, pacing up and down the side of the living room. Ginny shakes her head slowly whilst watching him. "You're afraid he will be sorted in Slytherin."

Harry pauses for a moment and shrugs. "He hates all this attention." The clock slowly ticks off the seconds next to him. What table is Albus sitting at? Or are they already going up to their dormitories? Is Albus making friends in the warmly toned Gryffindor common room now, after climbing up a moving set of stairs that is always a little overwhelming for the first years? "I know all those unnecessarily curious people can be a true pain in the ass, but he deals with it worse than me."

"He will be fine."

Harry shakes his head, imagining Albus walking down the stairs into the cold dungeon, surrounded by Slytherin students. "If he sees his head plastered on the Daily Prophet with an entire article titled "Harry Potter's Youngest Son Breaks Tradition: The Slytherin Potter" then he's going to go bananas."

Ginny only chuckles. It snaps Harry out of his enervating imagination. How can she not care? Doesn't it matter to her in which house Albus will be and how he will take it? Or is he really just overreacting? "Judging by Albus' reaction to the Daily Prophet, he might as well be allergic to it. Never seen someone avoid any contact with a piece of paper with such determination. He wouldn't read the newspaper for a galleon."

The matter is much less funny to Harry however. He runs his hands through his hair again and again, feeling the familiar prickle of agitated magic seeping through his fingertips. "That doesn't mean no one else does. He will be surrounded by students who do. Maybe some people will try to get into Hogwarts and interview him." Harry grimaces as the memories of Rita Skeeter resurface.

"So he might kill a journalist," Ginny shrugs, and rolls her eyes in response to his startled expression, "He will be fine."

"But what if-"

"I think," she interrupts him sternly then, "That you should let this matter rest for now. Seriously, you're probably more worried than he is."

Harry gives her an indignant look, but then his shoulders slump. Once again, he checks the time. "Of course I'm more worried than he is. He already knows by now."

"Harry," she groans, "Shut up."

Harry makes a vague sound of resignation in response. Just as he wants to begin pacing again, he catches Ginny's glare, and instead retreats to the couch. No invitation is needed, as Ginny sits down next to him and wraps her arms around him. He holds her close, and relishes the feeling of her soft kiss on his cheek. Maybe she is right. Maybe he will be fine.

"Wanna bet the press will know before we do?"

The sentence has barely left his mouth when a pillow collides with his face. Ginny smacks him repeatedly over the head whilst he laughs and tries to push her off.

Maybe it will be fine.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed this, it makes my day! Remarks, critique, ... are all welcome too!