A/N: Hey all. I decided to try my hand at one of these as well (and possibly get the story posted before The Cursed Child comes and destroys all of my lovely headcanons). I really liked the idea of Al going to Hogwarts and having his own sort of adventures with his friends, without necessarily putting the fate of the world in balance (because there can only be one Harry Potter~). So this story will turn out to be a lot more 'slice of life'-like, at least compared to the original series, but hopefully it will still be fun (I have plans for Albus, mwahaha).

If you guys are interested in this, let me know and I'll keep posting this. I'm going to try and get a chapter done at least every two weeks.

On teachers: Canonically, McGonagall is retired at this time, but I didn't want to completely make up a new Headmaster, so I decided to just promote one of the older teachers. That said, I also 'retired' a good number of the original teaching cast that were McGonagall's age, and had to replace those with new characters. Except Binns. Binns will never retire.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If you recognize the name/can find it in the Harry Potter Wiki, it's not mine.

CHAPTER ONE

Sorting

Albus Severus Potter was nervous.

He couldn't remember ever being more nervous than he was on that day, as he stood in front of the Great Hall with the whole school's eyes on him, waiting for his turn to be sorted. He could hear Professor Crowe, the small, strict-looking witch with dark hair that had come to greet them from the boats, read off the names, could feel the way the room hushed as each first-year approached the Sorting Hat, as the Hat fell over their eyes. She was halfway through the list now, and had just finished reading 'Madison, Benjamin'. It wouldn't be long until she hit the 'P's.

He watched the Sorting Hat, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Beside him, his cousin Rose reached over, giving his hand a squeeze. He squeezed back, grateful that the pair of first years behind him hid the gesture from view. He didn't want to think of how much James would tease him if his brother caught him holding Rose's hand to get through this.

James. His brother's words were still echoing through his mind, his brother's insistence that he would be sorted into Slytherin.

It doesn't matter, Al told himself, remembering what his father had said. He forced himself to relax his grip on Rose's hand, forced himself to breathe. It didn't matter what House he got into. His parents wouldn't care. It didn't matter at all.

Ben Madison was whisked off to Hufflepuff, and Malfoy, Scorpius was called up to the Hat. Albus watched the pale boy walk forward, sweeping his eyes over the crowd of remaining first years. There weren't too many people left. Surely there couldn't be that many students remaining between M and P. He watched, holding his breath, as the Hat fell over Scorpius Malfoy's head, as the whole room held its breath again.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat screamed, and time seemed to resume, the people in the room exhaling as the Slytherin table let out loud cheers, the Gryffindor table responding with a handful of—rather unfair, in Albus's opinion—boos. Scorpius walked off towards the Slytherin table, leaving the seat open for Meadows, Anna, and the cycle began again. And again, and again, and again…

"Don't worry," Rose hissed towards him as Piper, Ava became a Gryffindor. "You're not going to be in Slytherin."

Albus nodded mutely to show that he heard, pulling his fingers out of hers as the girls in front of him moved, to stop James from teasing him. There weren't that many people left. Sooner or later…

"Potter, Albus."

Was it his imagination, or did the room seem to go extra quiet for him? It wouldn't have made any sense if it had. Albus wasn't his father. He hadn't done anything particularly special, hadn't fought in the Battle of Hogwarts or stopped the Dark Lord. He wasn't even the first Potter child to go to this school—he had James for that. He was just—just Albus.

He had to be imagining things, he told himself, as Professor Crowe dropped the hat over his eyes. There was nothing special about him at all.

Nothing special, hmm…? asked a voice, sounding amused. I'll be the judge of that.

Albus went rigid, gripping the edges of the stool tightly. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the voice let out a chuckle. He forced himself to breathe, to relax as the voice started humming thoughtfully to itself, speaking softly.

Now let's see, young Potter, where shall I put you? Gryffindor would be the obvious choice, yes, and I see that's where you want to go—Al felt his heart leap—yes, there's bravery in here, ample amounts of daring, a touch of loyalty, yes…you would do quite nicely in Gryffindor.

There was a moment like an indrawn breath. Al screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the Hat's shout.

But, the Hat went on, there is…something else here…Curious, very curious. Pride…yes, there it is, deep down…resentment—you resent your brother, don't you? No, don't answer that. Probably don't even realize it yourself. Thirst to prove yourself…you remind me of your father, young Potter, in that regard. Let's see…where should I put you?

Anywhere, Al thought, stubbornly forcing himself to remember his father's words. For some reason, the Hat seemed to find this inordinately funny.

Anywhere, you say, but you don't really mean that, do you? You want to be in Gryffindor, or at least you think you do. It's all right here…you want to be with your family. You've never struck out on your own before, have you, Albus? Never truly been alone?

Al faltered, considering the Hat's words. He didn't know what to say to that. Of course he wanted to be in Gryffindor. He had grown up surrounded by Gryffindors, by his brother, by his parents, by all of his aunts and uncles and cousins. And they were all there, waiting for him. All he had to do was say the word, he knew, and the Hat would put him in Gryffindor. It would respect his wishes—that was what his father had said. It would let him make that choice, if it came to that.

But…there was something…off about the way that felt. To step down from this chair and walk over to the Gryffindor table, to sit next to his brother and immediately be enveloped in a circle of Weasley cousins, to spend the next seven years knowing, knowing that no matter what he did, he was part of a much larger group than himself, that he could never fail more than someone else in the group had failed, never succeed more than someone else in the group had succeeded.

It was all very…safe, Al realized. And he wanted that…didn't he?

You see? asked the Hat, as if Al had just worked through a rather difficult problem on his own. You think that's what you want, but it's not, is it? The longer you look at it, the more it seems to fall apart. You would do well, you know, you would do just well enough in Gryffindor. But you wouldn't be satisfied with that, would you, Albus? No, of course not, it's all right here…

But if not Gryffindor, Albus thought, then where?

Where indeed? said the Hat, and Albus got the sense that if it could, it would have been smiling. I have a…suggestion to make, young Potter, although I have a feeling you may not like it…

Al's Sorting was taking forever.

James Potter sat at the Gryffindor table with his cousins, a frown on his face as he watched his little brother sitting on the stool ahead of them. Whispers had begun to break out across the Great Hall as the minutes ticked by, some people keeping time on their watches. The word 'hatstall' had started to crop up in certain circles, particularly coming from Molly, sitting to his right, a pocket watch in one hand as she frowned down at it. Victoire and her siblings watched the Sorting with some concern, but James, who had even taken the trouble to clear a seat for Albus and Rose, was starting to get bored. And irritated. And hungry.

"Do you reckon the Hat's broken?" Fred asked, leaning forward on his arms across from James.

"How should I know?" James asked, keeping one eye on Al as the stretching dragged on. Ahead of him, Louis looked back.

"It's not broken," he said. "He's just hatstalled, that's all. It happens."

"It's not a hatstall," said Molly, frowning in irritation as she looked down at her watch. "He has at least another minute to go before we can call it that."

"No one cares, Mol," said Dominique, from beside her brother.

"I care," said Molly, letting out an annoyed huff. "I bet Rose cares too."

"Well we'll never know what Rose thinks, because at this rate, she's never getting here," said Louis.

James drummed his fingers on the table as he waited, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of Molly's pocket watch. What was going on, anyway? When it was his turn to get Sorted, things had been fairly straight forward. The Hat had taken one look at him and put him in Gryffindor, no questions asked. He knew it took a longer time with some cases, but he couldn't imagine what on earth was taking Al.

His little brother couldn't really be all that complicated, could he?

"Oi, Al…" he muttered under his breath. "Get on with it already…"

Seconds ticked by, and still the hat remained silent. Then, from his side, Molly Weasley let out an 'aha' of surprise.

And the hat opened its mouth.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Silence fell over the Hall. James watched, eyes wide, as Professor Crowe reached over and plucked the Hat from Al's head, looking around at his cousins, all of which seemed to have been struck speechless. Only Molly, whose eyes were still fixed triumphantly on her pocket watch, was smiling, the rest were staring with expressions that ranged from dull shock to mild horror. An entire gaggle of Weasleys, mostly redheaded but not entirely, turned to face him, as though he had somehow been personally responsible for this. And then, as if the Great Hall were waking up, as if the other students had finally realized what happened, the Slytherin table erupted into cheers.

The rest of the Sorting passed without incident.

After Al made his way to a seat at the Slytherin table, amid stares and whispers from members of the other Houses, he got to watch as the Scamander twins, whose mother was supposedly a friend of his parents, got sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and as his cousin Rose, who still looked a little shell-shocked about his Sorting, approached the Hat and was placed—to no one's great surprise—in Gryffindor. He couldn't remember a part of his life where he was separated from both James and Rose, and seeing the two of them sitting together at the Gryffindor table and sending awkward glances his way made him feel…well, a little left out. It was all well and good for the Hat to say that Al needed to learn to stand on his own feet sometime, Al thought, but it would have been nice if the Hat had given him some sort of direction to do so before sending him on his way.

Thankfully, Al was soon distracted by the start of term feast. He watched as the smallest wizard he had ever seen got up to deliver the opening remarks, and then, when he was finished, the feast began. Al had grown up in a fairly well-off family, but he had never seen so much food together in one place in his life, and ate with gusto, filling his plate. He was just reaching for seconds when an older boy materialized beside him, pulling a serving plate closer to them so that Al could reach it.

"Here, Potter—let me help you with that."

Al looked up at him as he finished filling his plate. He was a tall boy, brown-haired, a little sharp-faced. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken, but there was a grin on his face that seemed genuine. A little belatedly, Al remembered some of the more unfavorable things that James had said about Slytherin House and felt a little worried, but certainly they couldn't be all that bad, could they?

The boy extended a hand towards him, sitting back down. "Noah Dennell, Slytherin prefect, at your service. Do you go by Al or Albus, Potter?"

"Al's fine," said Al, reaching up and clasping Noah's hand. The prefect shook it warmly and gestured for Al to keep eating. Al did, eating slowly while Noah talked.

"I must say, what an unexpected surprise it is to have you in Slytherin House," said Noah. "Now, I'm sure you must have heard some…unsavory rumors about our House, given the company you've grown up with, so let me just put those to rest. Those rumors are not true. Slytherin House is no more 'Dark' than any of the other Houses at Hogwarts—except perhaps Hufflepuff, but then again, the Hufflepuffs don't bother many people, do they?"

Al frowned, eyeing Noah suspiciously from a mouthful of potatoes. He wanted to believe what Noah was saying, that was true, but he had heard things. He swallowed a little too fast and nearly choked, then, when he had collected himself, spoke up again. "So all those things about how Slytherin bullies people who aren't pureblood…" he began.

"Well, I can't speak for everyone in Slytherin House, certainly not," said Noah, "But that behavior will not be tolerated while I am a prefect at this institution. Why, our Head of House Professor Stonecroft has spoken at length about tolerance to people of all bloods and backgrounds, and this year we even have a Muggle-born among our number, our own Miss Gisella Flynn."

He gestured at a small girl who sat across from Al, who seemed to be trying her best to eat despite all of the people who seemed to be crowding her. In Al's opinion, she looked profoundly uncomfortable with the attention, although all the people surrounding her seemed to be quite friendly.

"Bet you've never seen magic like this, have you Gisella—."

"Now, this is a fork. Have Muggles got forks?"

"Of course Muggles have got forks, Flint, you blundering idiot. Get away—you're embarrassing her—."

Al glanced at Noah, who seemed to be watching the scene with some element of embarrassment. He gave Al a sheepish grin. "Well," he said. "Perhaps they're a little…overenthusiastic, but never let it be said that we're not trying!"

"I can…see that…" Al said.

"I should go break that up, shouldn't I?"

"Probably should."

"Right, well." Noah stood up, suddenly looking the picture of authority. "I'll leave you to meet your classmates, Al. Let me know if you need anything."

Al watched Noah go, a little bemused, and continued eating. Before the prefect could make it around to that side of the table, another first year girl had already jumped to her feet, shooing people away from Gisella Flynn with a voice that sounded entirely too loud to belong to so small a body.

"Get away from her—get away, you vultures—can't you see you're crowding her?"

The crowd dispersed. Noah, who was still several feet away, looked profoundly relieved. The girl, a little thing with curly dark hair, who might have been adorable had it not been for that voice, dropped into the sudden empty space around Gisella.

"Circe," Al heard her say. "Circe Rosier. Don't worry. I'll keep them off of you."

Gisella gave her a grateful, though still somewhat stunned smile, and Al missed out on hearing her reply when someone clapped him around the shoulder, hard enough to nearly send him face first into his food. He looked up into the face of another boy from his year, one who was grinning. He had dragged along a smaller boy with him, and the other boy was staring down at his feet, looking unsure of himself.

"Nott—," said the first boy with a grin. "Leander Nott, and this is Tristan Lynch. We're in your year."

"Albus Potter," said Al, moving over so that they could sit. "Call me Al."

"We know," Leander said, taking the offered seat. "I was just telling Tristan. My father says your dad's just an old crackpot, but I don't believe a word of it. Right, Tris?"

Tristan, who looked profoundly embarrassed to be even caught up in this, said nothing, just nodded and looked down at the plate in front of him, not meeting Al's eyes.

"Uh—that's great," said Al, not entirely sure what to say.

"I think he's just bitter, you know." Leander sat up straighter, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. He seemed to puff up with the self-importance associated with children who knew more about certain things than they were supposed to. "There's a lot of things I'm not supposed to talk about."

"Want some pie, Leander?" Al asked, because thankfully, the dessert had arrived.

"Yes, please," said Leander, and that sufficiently distracted him for a time.

Al used the lull in conversation to talk to Tristan, who seemed like a perfectly reasonable sort of boy now that Leander wasn't breathing down his neck. The two of them were just starting a conversation about Quidditch—this was a subject that Leander apparently 'knew a lot about', and so he nearly choked on his pie trying to finish it fast enough to join them—when Al looked up, noticing someone eating alone not too far from him.

"And as I was saying, the Ballycastle Bats are definitely coming back around this year, I mean how could they not, best team in the League—Al?"

Leander looked up from his rant, noticing where Al was looking. He blinked, then looked back at Al. "Oh, that's Malfoy," he said. "Scorpius Malfoy." There was that conspiratorial tone again as Leander leaned in. "His family doesn't get around much."

"Scorpius," Al called, making the pale-haired boy look up. "D'you want to come sit with us? We're talking about Quidditch."

Scorpius blinked, as if surprised that someone was actually talking to him. Then, he seemed to come back to himself and let out a disdainful little sniff, looking away. "No thank you, Potter," he said coolly.

Al frowned in confusion, looking back at Leander and Tristan, who were watching Scorpius with expressions that ranged from confusion to anger. Leander, who was angrier than Tristan, let out a huff, turning back to Al. "Never mind him, Al," Leander said. "I heard all about him from my dad. His family doesn't have any friends. They say his grandfather's an old coot—lives in the past—and his dad's almost like a recluse. Now, as I was saying about Ballycastle—yes, Puddlemere's a great team, but—"

But Al had stopped listening, because it was at about this point that he started getting an idea, an idea that would follow him for the rest of his first year at Hogwarts.

That was the moment that Al resolved that he would become Scorpius Malfoy's friend.