Disclaimer: the ideas upon which this story is based are not mine and are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling
The Slytherin Saviour
Albus sat under The Sorting Hat. His palms were sweating and the hat sat low over his eyes blocking his view.
"So you want to be in Gryffindor do you boy?"
Yes, yes, yes, please!
"For all the wrong reasons."
What! Wait, all the wrong reasons?
Al felt like ripping the hat of his head and screaming at it.
"You would do well in Slytherin...it's were you belong."
No! No! Even Rosie the sure bet to break the family tradition and be in Ravenclaw had managed to get Gryffindor, not even five minutes ago
"But you my boy are destined for something a bit more...different. The second son of the Boy-who-lived. The pure ...Raw ambition"
Ambition!
"To prove yourself of course"
No! No! No!
"It will have ..."
No!
"...to be..."
NO!
"...SLYTHERIN"
The hall was so quite you could have heard a pin drop.
"No" a faint sound, normally indiscernible in the Great Hall, echoed in the caverns space. All eyes flew to the Gryffindor table and people realised the no's weren't echoes of a shout, but where the result of Rose 'Rosie' Weasley muttering them to herself as she stared at her cousin. James, Al's brother, was in shock a few spaces up the table. The sound of everyone turning round to look at the Gryffindor table, bought him out of his trance.
And chaos insured.
James jumped out of his seat and started screaming at al.
"What the hell were you THINKING? I was taking the fucking piss. I didn't mean for you to fucking become a bloody snake!" James arms were waving violently above his head and he was kicking the table in anger. "No brother of mine ..."
James shouting was joined by other members of the Weasley/Potter/Lupin/"Who-ever-granny-Molly-had-adopted-lately" clan
"NO BLOODY WAY"
"Al, tell them it's wrong..."
"It's a joke! It's got to be a joke!"
"Put the hat back on his head!"
"Sort him again"
At this demand from Dominique they all started to call for him to be re-sorted.
"QUIET!" Professor McGonagall, the aged headmistress, stood up from her place at the centre of the staff table.
"This is not the sort of behaviour I expect from Gyffindor's, please control ...MR. POTTER will you stop kicking the table before it kicks you back...yourselves. Albus Potter, you have been sorted into Slytherin. That is final. The hat does not resort; take your seat Mr Potter at your house table, Slytherin."
Mc Gonagall looked towards Albus trembling on the stool as Professor Longbottom lifted the Sorting hat of Al's head. Al flashed his eyes towards one of his father's oldest friends. The look of absolute pity in Neville's eyes switched a button of realisation in Al's head.
"I know you're a Potter" Neville whispered "and that you don't want to be there. It will be hard for you too...but Al...You were sorted in to Slytherin for a reason. The hat see's and knows stuff we will never understand. Please go sit at your house table..."
Al stared for another split second before he nimbly jumped down of the stool and drifting towards the Slytherin table.
"No, NO. I won't let this happen"
"James" Al turned to his brother "Just leave it! Stop making such a bloody scene"
"But Bro..." James collapsed back onto the bench "fine...FINE...but if you're going to sit with those... bloody slimy Slytherin's then...then you're no brother of mine"
Al felt the air change. The electricity between the two brothers sparking. And he lost it. Of all the Potter children Al was the only one with his mothers temper, he was also the only one with his father's patience, making his temper a rarely scene thing.
"SHUT UP JAMES! You have NO right to tell me what to do! So you can take that idea! And SHOVE it!"
"MR. POTTER!"
"WHERE THE SUN DOESN'T BLOODY SHINE!"
Al stopped his rant, panting slightly from the outburst
"Sorry professors. It won't happen again"
And Al sealed his fate by marching to the Slytherin table and throwing his body down on the bench. The hall sat silently through the rest of the sorting. The new house mates of Albus barely making a dent in the boys conscious as he stared down at the golden plates.
"...and enjoy your meal."
Food suddenly appeared on the plates jerking Al out of his thoughts. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing; he could hear the muttering around the hall
"A Slytherin Potter? A Slytherin Potter!"
"What will the Boy-who-lived say?"
"...But isn't he a Weasley!"
"Their always in Gryffindor."
Al ignored them and just dug into his meal, the food melting on his tongue. He was used to it; he was Harry Potter's son. He could remember when on a trip into muggle London when he was five, James had run into the road, in front of a bus. Dad had managed to save the six year old James but he went ballistic at him. They had been so scared of dad that day, all the veins had stood out on his face and his voice was so loud the whole street had heard. The next day was worse though; a reporter from the Daily Prophet had been following them, and those guys hated dad. He was a Quibbler supporter through and through. The whole front page was taken up by a picture of dad shouting at us while we cowered, and since dad has been refusing to give the Prophet an interview for years they portrayed dad as a nutter, who had shut his emotional damage from the war away from the public, and instead took it out on his children. They had even tried to petition the minister's office to get us taken into care, till Aunty Hermione got hold of it and threw it out. Apparently a petition needs more than four names to count. That really was the start of the decent down the slippery slope for the Prophet. They had become a laughing stock and were facing bankruptcy, till Aunty Luna bought it as part of the expansion of the of the Lovegood Publishing Empire, she need the money to fund her trip to the Amazon to follow leads on the existence of the Crumple-horned snorkack...
"A disgrace to the family! Dads going to go mental and he's the calm one, mums going to go bloody ballistic..." James voice floated to the Slytherin table. Al paused with his fork half way to his mouth "Your dad always said there was something not quite right with him, didn't he Rosie. Fred, you heard him, Uncle Ron say it, didn't you!"
Al placed his fork with its un-eaten mouthful back on his plate. He dove into his pockets and pulled out a modern muggle fountain pen. His parents had given it to him for his last birthday. It was a one of a kind, inclusive interchangeable nibs and an endless supply of ink that would automatically change colour to suit his needs. Out of his other pocket he dragged an old bit of parchment which he proceeded to doodle on.
"...Gran will defiantly send him a howler..."
Als hand flowed without true mental guidance, the flowing red ink of howlers and Weasley hair dominated the harrowing sketch of impending doom.
"Your handling them rather well,...I think so any way."
"Excuse me?" Al addressed the blond boy whose features could pass for a cherub if they weren't so angular.
"I think your handling them rather well" the boy repeated with a raised eyebrow "It must have taken you a lot of guts to come sit at this table, especially with loud mouth over there going on and on."
"If I had guts I would have been in Gryffindor"
"Well maybe you're just more ambitious than you are brave."
"Excuse me?"
"...You say that rather a lot you know..." Al cast the boy a deathly glare "...Well basically you're the son of the Boy-who-lived..."
"Tell me about it!"
"...I'm trying to!...So son of Potter...you get a lot of people sucking up to you. You're also quite quiet; I've seen more pictures of your siblings in the papers with your dad than you. ..."
"I hate the paps, I hate the pictures too"
"Precisely, and I can see from your sketches, you're good."
"Well...I'm alright I suppose,...in good conditions"
"Trust me your good and you want to be recognised for that, rather than as Potter's son. That's your ambition!"
"And this has to do with Slytherin because..."
"Uh...duh It's a primarily Slytherin trait."
"No its not! Slytherin are cunning and sneaky and spiteful and..."
"Yeh! To get what they want!"
"So I'm ambitious, not brave"
"No you're just more ambitious than you are brave. Like 51% ambitious, 49% brave cos you have to be pretty brave to come sit down here"
The boys sat in silence for a while getting a feel for the other as the feast carried on around them
"How the hell do you know all that psycho-crap anyway" Al realised what he had said "Bollocks...that came out wrong!"
"It's not really my thing either." The blond's eyes sparkled with hidden mirth. "My mum's a psychologist; it's properly rubbed off on me. ... It is crap isn't it" the two boys started giggling.
"Oh, I'm Albus Potter by the way, but you can call me Al" Al's hand hovered across the deserts.
"I know...I'm Scorpius Malfoy" the blond boy replied as he shook the offered hand.
Both boys' faces carried the first genuine smiles all evening as they considered their new friend.