Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize as belonging to J.K. Rowling. I am not making money off this story; I am simply writing it for my own amusement and that of those who may stumble across it.

A/N: I'm in the planning process of a next generation fic at the moment, so I'm writing all these little oneshots to kind of set the stage for that. So I'll update this periodically as I write more. Just be aware that this is not a full-length story, just a collection of several short stories. Hope you enjoy.

CHOICES

"It is our choices...that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." -Albus Dumbledore

Sorted

"Potter, Albus."

This was it, then. This moment. Everything - the goodbyes at King's Cross, the train ride with Rose and James and James's friends, the boat ride across the lake (two people had fallen in, much to everyone's amusement), the trek up the lawn toward the looming castle, the greeting from the deputy headmaster Professor Wickham, waiting and waiting and waiting to be let into the Great Hall, his momentary distractedness because of the hundreds of floating candles and enchanted ceiling, the anticipation - everything had been leading up to this exact moment.

Albus Potter took a deep breath. His cousin Rose squeezed his hand and gave him what he knew she meant to be an encouraging smile. Albus just felt queazy. He made his way up in front of all of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and sat down on the three-legged wooden stool. Professor Wickham gave him an indiscernible look as he set the patched old Sorting Hat on Albus's head.

The brim of the hat fell right down over Albus's face, hiding his view of the rest of the school. He was somewhat grateful no one could see his face.

"Ah," a voice said in his ear, making him jump. He hoped no one noticed. "What a bright mind we have here." Could the Hat read his mind? "Well of course, how else do you think I know where to put you?"

Albus had to admit, he hadn't thought of that.

"Now, you have quite the mind here. Very open to knowledge and eager. Eager to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Please, Mr. Sorting Hat, he thought, remembering his father's words from the train station. I want to be in Gryffindor.

"Well, that is a bold request," the Hat mused. Albus felt a jolt of pleasure. Bold, that's right. "However..." His heart plummeted. "You are very ambitious and clever, aren't you? You'd do very well in Slytherin."

"No," he whispered desperately. "Please."

"Just like your father." The Hat seemed to sigh. That gave Albus pause.

Just like my father? He pondered that. He had been told his entire life how much he was like his father. Random people Albus had never even seen or heard of often stopped Harry Potter on the street, thanking him for something or other. Albus usually tuned these conversations out, assuming the people were associated with his father's work, which he wasn't interested in.

However, the conversation inevitably turned to Albus every time. People always leaned down to him - like he couldn't hear them just fine if they stood up straight - and said, "Oh, but don't you look just like your father?" It wasn't that though that bothered him, though he was well aware of his looks. (He'd always felt the urge to say, "I don't see the resemblance" completely deadpan just to see what people would do. But that was something James would do, and his mother would kill him for being rude.)

The follow-up questions were worse though. "Do you make as much trouble as your father did when he was your age?" they sometimes asked. Albus always replied that he didn't; that was James's job. They always laughed as though he'd just told an outrageously funny joke, though he'd been completely serious, and then they usually ruffled his hair, which he hated.

Sometimes they asked him if he was as good at Quidditch as his parents. "Of course not," he always wanted to answer, "I'm eleven." He was by no means an awful flier - he really enjoyed Quidditch, and the Potter family often played pickup games in their back yard - but what if he weren't? What if he was absolute rubbish at flying? Would that make him less of a Potter? No. He didn't think it was fair that everyone just expected that of him.

And if people weren't comparing him to his father, they were comparing him to James. James was the jokester, the prankster, the trouble-maker, the charming one. Anyone who knew James seemed to think an appropriate greeting for Albus was a joke. Albus didn't even particularly like jokes. He always just stared at people when they told jokes, which he knew bothered them. It was kind of amusing for him. James always told him how weird his sense of humor was.

And when people weren't telling jokes, they were telling stories about pranks they'd pulled or seen someone else pull, as though that would interest him. Albus hated pranks. He didn't understand why humiliating someone was so much fun.

Unless it was James being humiliated. That was okay.

"Just like my father..." he whispered to himself. He didn't like how that sounded. He thought about what his dad had said earlier that day on the platform. He had sounded sincere when he'd said it would be okay for Albus to be in Slytherin.

And what if he were a Gryffindor? He'd never thought twice about it before; he'd always wanted to be in Gryffindor - had never questioned that. But as he thought about it, he realized what being in Gryffindor would entail: always overshadowed by James, always struggling to live up to his father's reputation, always striving to make a name for himself outside of the stereotype people seemed to have already created for him. He'd already spent the last eleven years overshadowed by James and his father.

James was only eighteen months older than Albus, yet he always got to do everything first. He had walked first, talked first, learned to fly first, gotten his own broom first, went to his first professional Quidditch game first, had gotten to go to Hogwarts first. James was sorted into Gryffindor first, would be on a house Quidditch team first, would probably have his first girlfriend and first kiss first, would go to Hogsmeade first and take Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid first. James was always first.

Albus wanted to be first at something. The first Potter in Slytherin didn't seem such a bad start. What was so bad about Slytherin anyway? Albus suddenly couldn't remember why James and his uncle Ron detested them so much. They couldn't be that bad, could they? He had accidentally bumped into that Scorpius Malfoy boy earlier, and he had been perfectly civil about it, and he had just been sent to Slytherin a few minutes ago.

"Still so set on Gryffindor?" the Hat asked, sounding hopeful.

"No," Albus whispered. "No, I don't want to be in Gryffindor, Hat. I'm sick of doing everything second. I want to be first."

"Yes. Alright."

The Hat sounded almost gleeful when it shouted for all to hear, "SLYTHERIN!"

James was already on his feet, preparing an almighty cheer. The other first years at the Gyffindor table had already made room for him. Half of the Gryffindors had their hands half-raised in applause. All came to a screeching halt as the shout rang through the Hall.

Professor McGonagall would later say she had never heard the Great Hall so silent.

Nothing happened for a solid thirty seconds. Then Albus began to make his way toward the silver-and-green-clad table.

The Slytherin table seemed to finally realize what was going on as a hesitant round of applause started up.

Albus was very aware of the shocked stares he was receiving as he made his way to his new house table. He didn't care though. He held his head up high as he took a seat next to Scorpius Malfoy. He was not ashamed.