Disclaimer: If I had any rights to anything Harry Potter related I would be travelling the world, not writing on fanfiction.
Albus Potter was not his father.
He looked like him, but he wasn't at all like him.
For one thing, the hat didn't consider Slytherin for a second. In fact, it took less than two seconds for it to shout Ravenclaw—not giving Albus a chance to make his case for why he didn't belong with the snakes.
For another, his Quidditch talent was non-existent and he had happily stayed away from broomsticks since he dive-bombed into the black lake first year.
He also had a lot of friends, instead of two close ones, and had no desire to save people or chase down death eaters.
Finally, he was good at potions. In fact, it was his best subject.
This is precisely why Professor Herbert (his head of house) recommended him for a tutor when Melissa Holster needed help two months before the OWL exams.
Melissa Holster, a Muggleborne Hufflepuff, wasn't exactly the most talented of witches but she was the nicest. Her dark hair, blue eyes, and long legs had caused Albus to notice her when his hormones started kicking in during third year. Courage to strike up a conversation that consisted of more than 'hey' 'sorry' or 'do you have an extra quill' had evaded him for years which is why, when he walked into the dungeons towards the end of fifth year he wished, not for the first time, that he was a bit more like his father who had been able to make out with his mum in front of a room filled with people, his mum's older brother included.
That day, he did his best to channel his dad though when he told his mother about it later (ruefully including the tripping, the stuttering, and the awkward compliments that ended with a raised eyebrow from Melissa) she suggested that perhaps he had channeled his father a bit too well. But somehow, he had done something right.
"Watcha thinking about?" Melissa asked, winding her arms around her husband's waist.
"Tutoring you fifth year," he answered honestly as they both watched the snow fall outside of the Burrow window.
"You weren't all that smooth, were you?" Melissa giggled and Albus grimaced at the memory.
"It took weeks to grow my eyebrows back."
"And I couldn't for the life of me figure out why Professor Herbert had suggested I be tutored by a klutz."
"Daddy, look what Eliza did to my hair!" Carrie, their nine-year-old daughter who had inherited her mother's blue eyes, said angrily. Albus bit his lip to stop from laughing at her half-shaven head.
"That's easy to fix," Melissa said consolingly, taking out her wand and pointing it at Carrie's head. Within seconds the hair was all one length, just a bit below her shoulders. "Eliza, can you please apologize to Carrie for messing up her hair?"
"Sorry Carrie," 12-year-old Eliza, James' eldest daughter, sang unapologetically. Melissa cleared her throat and Carrie dutifully mumbled,
"Izokay," before smiling brightly and running back outside to join the others in their snowball fight.
Albus smiled again as he pecked his wife on the lips.
He was glad he wasn't his father. James could carry on the tradition of marrying a fiery redhead after they had both had a series of quite unfortunate relationships—Albus was quite happy just the way he was.
A/N: I was bored, this pretty much wrote itself. If you like, go read some of my longer stories. Reviews?