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Sorting Hat, Please Listen To Me

Starring: Albus S. Potter

"Pontner, Rachel." I wince as I realize how much closer Professor McGonagall is to saying mine. I fiddle with the edge of my robes as Rachel Pontner is sent to Ravenclaw. Professor McGonagall removes the Sorting Hat from the girl now squeaking with happiness and racing to a woman who is probably her older sister.

Merlin's beard, I haven't mentally prepared myself properly for this.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat and opens her mouth, and at that moment of panic, I hear myself shout, "Wait!" at the top of my lungs. I regret it right when the words escape my mouth.

The whole Great Hall turns to me, their stares are like daggers. I glance around trying to find familiar faces. James had his fist clenched and is now waving it threateningly at me. Teddy Lupin had metamorphosed into a man that resembled a chicken and turns away from my gaze. Victoire had buried her face beneath her hands, trying to hide in her embarrassment. Luis had his hand smacked on his face in what looked like a face-palm.

I turn around and look at Rose, who raises her thumbs up awkwardly, wearing an expression torn between admiration for having the courage to shout out, and bewilderment at what drove me to do such an absurd thing.

Holy hipogriff, I don't think anyone had ever done that before.

"Ahem," Professor McGonagall adjusts her glasses. She tries to erase the look of disbelief from her face and regain her composure, but I had already seen it. She sweeps a stray strand of hair from her face.

I wonder how that strand of hair escaped in the first place, especially from that tight bun she had on her head.

Merlin, Albus, this isn't the time.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she says.

I grin nervously. "I, um, need to go to the loo." I say, feigning the movements of somebody with the extreme need to extricate. I laugh skittishly.

Professor McGonagall, and I'm guessing the rest of the Great Hall as well, arches her eyebrows in stupefaction.

"You can't wait until after –" she begins to reason, but I cut her short.

"Nope, I'm sorry." I bounce up and down trying to add to the extremity of the false pretenses I was pretending to be in.

"Oh, very well then. Quickly." She waves her hand dismissively.

I nod obediently and sprint out of the Great Hall.

Oh dear Lord, save me now! I pace back and forth outside the Great Hall, counting the seconds I've been away from the room. I have no idea where the loo is, nor did I have any real need to find it.

"I can see the rumours forming already – 'did you hear about Harry Potter's son? They say he had diarrhea, that's why he rushed out right before he was about to be sorted!'" I begin my monologue. "Merlin, what's mum and dad going to say?" I imagine a tiny red envelop exploding in front of my face during my first breakfast at the Great Hall, the voices of my entire family echoing embarrassing messages about me, like how I had shamed the family name, and bringing up that time I thought my grandmother was a troll and attacked her, just to spite me.

Honestly, I wouldn't have been this nerve-wracked if it weren't for the blasted train ride. Yes, my first ride in the Hogwarts Express, tainted with whispering and people coming up just to comment on 'how admirable my father was,' and telling me of the war that their parents told them as one of those happily-ever-after bedtime stories. A tale I'd heard squat about until other people had told me about it. It took an excruciating amount of effort to pretend I'd known all about what they were saying every single time it happened. And let me tell you, it was extremely infuriating to have people randomly drop by your stall and wake you up from a nap just to say that they wanted to be just like your father, or to just show you his Chocolate Frog card. It wasn't as if I didn't already know how my own father looked like!

"Aww, is itty-bitty Potter afraid of going to the loo?" I hear a very irritating voice and feel an unsettling chill ride up my spine. I turn to my right and see a very unfriendly face with his lips pouted, probably because he was just blowing into my ear a moment ago. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that I have just met the infamous Peeves.

"Just shut up," I snap at him. I'm nervous enough without a pesky poltergeist literally breathing down my neck.

"I'll bet you're nervous about ending up in Slytherin," he provokes. "Itty-bitty-Potty is scared of –"

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?" I shout. "'Sides, I'm not afraid. I just showed some Gryffindor courage by saying I had to go the loo."

"Looks like you've shown more Slytherin trickery to me, fooling everyone. I would know." He cackles. "I live to make people's lives miserable."

"Aren't you dead?" I say.

He flicks my face. I don't think that was something I should've said to a poltergeist that doesn't do anything but cause mayhem.

Just before he's about to make another insulting retort, I intercept him. "I think I need to go back now. I-I've been gone long enough. Um, bye!" I quickly run back inside into the Great Hall before Peeves can do permanent damage to me.

I enter and find that Professor McGonagall had continued with the sorting even during my absence. Janiston Twiddle was just sorted into Hufflepuff when everyone notices me.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat and announces "Potter, Albus" so quick I have a feeling she was afraid I was going to ask to leave because of another ridiculous request.

Is it just me, or did the whole Great Hall suddenly become deafeningly quiet?

"Potter, Albus," Professor McGonagall repeats after noticing that I hadn't moved. Merlin, did my name really sound that . . . I can't even find the right words to describe my name.

Okay, okay, I know I was named after the great Albus Dumbledore, but did they really expect me to live up to that kind of a wizard? With the added fact that my second name was 'Severus,' (which, by the way, sounds really evil, malicious, dastardly, and any other words synonymous to those previously mentioned. Not to mention rather reptilian) and that my father was the Great Harry Potter and my mother was one of the brave Weasleys.

Too many expectations!

Oh, I know now, my name sounds really old.

I gulp and take the deepest breath I can take before dashing towards the stool as nonchalantly as I can manage. Unfortunately, 'nonchalant' isn't an adjective that best describes Albus Potter.

I stumble on my robes when I climb the chair, and don't even have time to adjust it when I am engulfed by darkness. I feel the cloth of the Sorting Hat slightly poking my shoulders. I crinkle my nose to try and make it move a little higher so it's easier for me to breathe.

Then . . . silence.

"What's supposed to happen now?" I accidentally announce. I clasp my hands over my mouth.

Bugger, I wasn't supposed to say that out loud!

Extremely panicky, aren't you? A voice said in my mind.

"Whoa –" I almost shout out loud again, but I force it back and think it instead.

What – who – what – who are you? I shout in my mind.

A hat that is more than enchanted, I was charmed to help young wizards be sorted! The voice starts to sing. I –

Intercepting people is now becoming a very bad habit of mine.

Okay, okay, so you're the Sorting Hat! Brilliant! Ahem, Gryffindor, please.

Well, well, well, now this is a familiar situation. Are you demanding me to put you into the house of your choice? Don't you trust my judgment?

I swear I hear the mad hat cackle in my head.

Of course I trust you, Mr. Sorting Hat sir, but you see, I've thought about this. I've thought real hard about this and –

And, it was my turn to be interrupted, and in my own mind! How very ironic indeed.

I can see your mind. I see how much you've thought. Immediately eliminated any chances of you being sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, eh?

I clear my throat. Merlin knows why I did, because I was doing all the talking in my head anyway so it wasn't exactly necessary.

It's not that I'm too stupid to be in Ravenclaw, I'm just not fond of riddles, books, etcetera. I begin to reason with the hat.

And too mean to be in Hufflepuff, eh?

I secretly laugh at peoples' demise. Not a very Hufflepuff-ish trait, yeah?

With each word you say, I'm becoming more and more convinced that you belong in Slytherin.

"SLYTHERIN?" I shout out loud. I hear the faint clapping and cheering (or jeering?) of the Slytherin table when they realize that, "Wait a minute, that wasn't the hat."

SLYTHERIN? You can't be bloody serious. There's no way I'm in Slytherin. I'm in Gryffindor. My blood screams red and gold!

Your mind, however, reeks of silver and green.

My mind has no smell.

Your blood can't be gold.

It's metaphorical.

As is the smell of your mind.

Why are you being so difficult?

I'm a hat; I can be difficult.

That doesn't make any sense.

I'm a hat; I don't have to make sense.

And for a few minutes, we remain silent. It is only broken when the stupid hat almost pulls one over me.

"Better be –" the Sorting Hat almost announces. I reach up as high as I can and cover the slit he has for a mouth.

"Hold your hippogriffs you stupid hat, I'm not finished with you yet!" I shout.

Merlin, not again, I wasn't supposed to shout that out loud . . . its all your fault, you stupid hat.

If I were so stupid, they wouldn't have entrusted me with the task of sorting young witches and wizards into their respective houses. The Sorting Hat says matter-of-factly.

Don't be a wisenheimer.

Don't be a hypocrite.

Okay, let's make a deal. The faster you sort me into Gryffindor, the faster I'll be off your trail. D'you understand?

I understand, but I don't necessarily agree. Slytherin would bring out your talents.

So can Gryffindor, I bet.

No betting.

Then I'm sure Gryffindor will be good for me as well.

You're blinded by the expectation that you must be in Gryffindor because your father and most of your family was there.

The only reason why I'm blinded is because you're covering my eyes.

And after my last comment, the Sorting Hat falls silent.

Did I offend it or something?

Oh dear.

"Oi! You there?" I shout again, tapping on the hat still on my head recklessly.

I faintly hear the grumbling of several students, complaining about how hungry they are and that I was taking too long to be sorted.

Oi! Mr. Sorting Hat, sir! I think the students are getting hungry.

It's not me that they're mad at.

I think I've caused enough trouble during the few hours I've been here, thank-you-very-much.

You're on the road to becoming even more troublesome than your father.

And guess what house my father was in? Gryffindor!

He was supposed to be in Slytherin.

But he bargained to be in Gryffindor, and you let him be in Gryffindor! Why not me?

Because I know that you would prosper in Slytherin alone.

I don't think the house that a wizard is in affects their success that much!

If that's the case, it shouldn't matter if you're in Gryffindor or not, then?

That's not what I meant.

You couldn't have meant anything else.

You're really being difficult.

I hear the hat's laughter echo. Whether it's only in my mind, or all around the Great Hall as well, I can't say.

Are you ready to be sorted into Slytherin yet?

No, I'm not. I'll never be ready. Not Slytherin.

Well, now that's a shame.

Not Slytherin.

Yes, Slytherin.

Not Slytherin.

Yes, Slytherin.

Not Slytherin times infinity.

Yes, Slytherin, times infinity squared plus one.

I don't think you're allowed to do that.

And what makes you say that?

It's against the rules.

What rules? I have never heard of such rules.

It's one of those rules that don't have to be written.

Well, that's a shame. I follow my own rules anyway.

I bet you follow the 'don't put Albus Potter into Slytherin' and 'sort him into Gryffindor' rules, right?

I have never heard of those rules either.

Please, Mr. Sorting Hat, sir. You're not stupid. I was kidding. It's just . . . I know that I belong in Gryffindor. I've been dreaming about it since my brother James was about to go into his first year at Hogwarts. I imagined sitting by the fireplace in a common room adorned with red and gold, filled with students who are as brave and bold as me. I feel it in my blood – I belong in the house of Godric Gryffindor.

I pause and gather my thoughts before continuing.

My father told me, while I was being tormented about my brother who kept saying I'd end up in Slytherin, that I had a choice. He said that you would give me the same choice you gave him when he was sitting here those many years ago. So here I am, begging you to put me into Gryffindor, where I truly belong.

Well, all right then.

All right? That means –

I am ready to sort you now.

This is it. I release my clasp on the Sorting Hat's mouth and I brace myself. I did it. I made the choice. I'm going to be in –

"SLYTHERIN!"

I hear people clap.

I feel the hat being pulled from my head, but I can't accept it. I grip onto the hat and slam it back into my head.

You tricked me, you stupid hat! You said you would put me in Gryffindor!

I never said that. I just said I was ready to sort you.

"That's not fair!" I shout as Professor McGonagall wrestles the hat from my grasp and successfully pulls it away.

"You may now take a seat with the Slytherins now, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall whispers to me.

I stand up from the stool, still unable to believe what was happening.

I glance at the Gryffindor table, where several of my relatives were scattered all over. James' jaw dropped in disbelief, but he doesn't tear his gaze away from me. I look at Rose, who is still lined up waiting to be sorted, and see that she, too, has a giant 'O' for a mouth.

I take my time walking to the Slytherin table – the part of the Great Hall I never thought I'd ever have to visit. Everywhere, people's gazes were following me. I bet none of them could believe that I – half Harry Potter's son, and half a Weasley – ended up in Slytherin. It was inconceivable.

"My whole family's going to kill me," I mutter to myself as I walk a bit faster over to the table, hearing Rose get sorted into Gryffindor in passing. "I'm going to be disowned . . . "

I finally make it to the Slytherin table, still consumed with feelings of defeat and being hoodwinked into entering some messed-up alternate universe. I find it extremely unfair that Rose got sorted into Gryffindor like the rest of our family, and I didn't! Well, except for Luis, who's in Ravenclaw, but it's a lot easier to accept a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin in a family filled with Gryffindors.

I'm going to have to live in Hogwarts forever. It's my only chance for survival.

I take a seat next to . . . someone, I have no idea who. I rake my hands through my hair and bury my face in my hands. Even without actually seeing it, I know the Slytherins are staring at me with disbelief. I'm the only Slytherin member of my entire family, after all – even my extended family members were mostly in Gryffindor!

I stare at the Sorting Hat as it was placed over the head of its last victim, hoping that if I stared at it long enough and with the right amount of intensity it would just catch fire.

. . . It didn't.

And right when he declares the final witch, Annelise Warrington, a Hufflepuff, I sigh. I guess the Sorting Hat is harder to bargain with than I thought.

REVIEW!

And that concludes the misadventures of Albus Severus Potter!

I really enjoyed writing this fic. I've created this whole image of who I imagined Albus to be in my mind, so I hope I wrote it out well. I wanted the fic to be funny, since it's just a kind of short oneshot, and so I wanted it to be worth the read. And yes, Albus is supposed to be a very smart sounding eleven-year-old.

I know I was really mean to him in this fic, getting him into all kinds of trouble and on his very first day at Hogwarts, but... as sadistic as it sounds, it was really fun "torturing" him like that. Other than that, I hope the "intelligent arguments" between the Sorting Hat and Albus were written well enough. Those two really amuse me to no end.

Also wishing to be in Gryffindor - Schoe B. (dooby-doo) :) !

PS. Reviews are loved and awarded with lavish gifts and delicious desserts ;)