Chapter 1: Introduction Part 1: Albus Potter

Currently undergoing revisions – I did a bit of soul-searching lately and that led me into a bit of Grammar-nazi-ism. I'll be making some character and plot changes so if you're a new reader, enjoy! If you've already read the story and are hoping to refresh your memory, refresh away.

Introduction Part 1: Albus Potter

This story has been in my head for awhile and I finally decided to put it down to pen and paper. Please be gentle.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Albus Potter had always known that he was different from the rest of his family.

There had been many signs starting from the moment that he was born. While his older brother James and younger sister Lily entered the world wriggling and perfect, his parents struggled in vain to cope with the various magical maladies that had afflicted him as an infant. He spent the first six months of his life at St. Mungo's, constantly prodded by mediwizards and mediwitches, as mysterious illnesses battered his young body. It came much as a relief to everyone when Albus procured a miraculous recovery and celebrated his first birthday.

In his early years he seemed to look and behave like all other Potter/Weasley offspring. He was red-headed, freckled, and had a tendency to eat his weight's worth. He chased House-elves, practiced small pieces of child's magic, and grew to love Quidditch. When Lily was born, he and James lovingly made room for her as Weasley children were used to doing, though it was him that took the time to show her the ropes while James was off gallivanting with the older children of the family.

Then, quite inexplicably, the differences began to show.

While his siblings grew to be bold and outspoken, Albus was polite and reserved, too shy to ask for anything he needed until it was pointed out by his mother. He possessed a raw sensitivity to the world around him that became easily exploited by his older brother. He was even bullied by Lily when it became clear he could not refuse her demands. While the other children gasped in excitement when Uncle Ron told the heroic stories of how their parents had fought in the Wars, it was Albus who noticed his father standing idly by the corner, haunted by undisclosed expressions of loss and hardship. For these reasons he secretly became his mother's favorite child, even if Ginny Potter would never admit it.

When the entire Weasley family gathered for Christmases and New Years, Albus was always content to sit shyly in the corner, watching his cousins flock around James to listen to his brother's entertaining stories. That was his position in the family: a genuinely sweet boy who was genuinely liked by all, but not really the life of the party. Out of all the members of the tightly-knit Weasley Clan, he grew closest to Rose, who was also outspoken but in her own rational way. She seemed to understand him better than anyone.

Of course Albus still had to undergo the same privileges and trials that all Potter-Weasley children did. They were the offspring of Wizarding heroes and were treated like such. Albus had never gone anywhere without being greeted by smiles from adult strangers. Many times he had been offered sweets and small tokens for doing nothing but having simply been recognized, although his mother constantly warned him not to accept them.

And rightly so. Along with the procession of fans and curious onlookers that often seemed to pass by the Potter Mansion, there was the occasional Death-Eater supporter or pure-blood manic who swore to avenge the demise of the Dark Lord. These threats were often suppressed quickly by Ministry security but did not do well for Mr. and Mrs. Potter's nerves. All they could do was remind their children day by day to draw as little attention to themselves as possible, be respectful to others, and to always exercise caution.

It was no surprise that-given his natural reservation and the careful way that he'd been raised—Albus did not make a lot of friends outside his family. There were the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods and the Thomases (the latter had a son their age whom Albus and Rose got along with splendidly) but Albus had always considered them a part of the 'Potter circle' from which his early childhood years could never be detached from.

That all changed at the age of nine. His brother James and their cousin Fred received their letters to Hogwarts and, in celebration of this coming-of-age, his parents had agreed to allow Albus and Rose to tag along with them to Diagon Alley.

It was a bright summer day. Albus wanted to accompany his brother to The Original Ollivander's, Diagon Alley's iconic rebuilt wand shop, but James insisted it was too momentous of an occasion to have a 'spotty loser' for an audience. As Al watched James disappear into Ollivander's, he felt utterly resentful that once more his brother was getting everything he'd always wanted until Rose pointed out:

"Cheer up. Let's go visit Uncle George at Weasley Wizard's Wheezes. It's right down the road! Can we, Uncle Harry?"

Harry Potter cast a quick look at Ginny, who was impatient to enter Ollivander's before James and Fred could destroy anything, and said: "Why not? But stay put, or your mother and I won't be able to find you."

Weasley Wizard Wheezes was instantly recognizable by its vividly colored exterior and spinning doors. A life-size statue of what looked like their Uncle George guarded the entrance but Albus knew, of course, that it wasn't George. The one time that James had joked that George was becoming more self-absorbed for having a statue of himself outside his own shop had resulted in stern looks from all the adults in the room; from then on, the children knew never to poke fun at the memorial of their deceased uncle Fred.

From the windows Albus and Rose could see the shop jam-packed with children, all tugging at the sleeves of their parents, pointing to this and that. It was then Albus noticed one boy standing outside the store, his hand pressed up against the window, indicating that he dearly longed to be inside.

The boy's hair was a very pale blond, so blond it was almost silver, and slicked back in smooth tendrils over his scalp. His skin was very pale and drained of any color like he had never spent any time outside. It contrasted sharply against his black robes, which were very elegant but looked as if they'd been worn many, many times.

When he noticed Albus staring expectantly at him, he leaped back and instantly wore an indomitable sneer.

"What are you looking at?"

Albus wasn't quite sure how to respond. He had never met someone so openly aggressive. Rose took charge.

"Well, aren't you going inside?" she demanded.

"Why would I? It's a joke-shop. It's full of childish rubbish," said the boy with a derisive curl of his lip.

"My uncle owns that store and that was very rude of you," snapped Rose.

"Your uncle-" The boy stopped, and a familiar look of recognition flooded his face. "Oh, you're them, aren't you? Red hair, freckles…you're the Potter children."

Albus cleared his throat and said hoarsely: "Well, just me. Rose is my cousin."

The boy eyed him from head to toe, his smile fading. Suddenly, his arrogant expression was replaced with a look of something so sharp and hateful that Albus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

The boy folded his arms."Well aren't you a piece of work. Bit ugly for a Potter, aren't you?"

Albus turned bright red and was about to open his mouth when Rose stepped in: "Don't mind him, Al. His parents probably didn't raise him right."

The boy's face darkened as though a shutter had fallen across it. He stepped menacingly forward, clenching his white hands into fists. "Don't you go calling my parents any names."

Rose raised her chin. "Well I don't know about you, but if I were your parents, I would have taught you to be respectful to people, especially those that saved the Wizarding World."

"Rose," muttered Albus.

"And if I were your parents," countered the boy, stepping in closer, his eyes glittering, "I would have told you to shut your mouth, you filthy-"

"Scorpius." An elderly man's voice interjected sternly as a shadow fell over the three of them. The boy's face flashed momentarily in fright and his fists uncurled.

Albus turned and saw a man who looked like an identical, older version of the boy, with similar color-drained hair and pale skin. The man's eyes were bright silver, lined with deep purple eye circles that paralleled the world-weary wrinkles lining his face.

"Father," mumbled the boy, whose name was Scorpius.

"What are you doing, standing outside the joke-shop?" snapped his father, "How many times have we told you not to run off, and especially not to run off to this particular store? Come along. Your mother's getting her robes done at Madam Malkin's, and then we're going home straightaway."

He noticed Albus and Rose standing there and inclined his head. "I apologize if my son was rude to you. He is a very troubled boy."

Albus shook his head and said quickly, "No trouble at all, sir." Rose grunted beside him, indicating she felt otherwise.

"Draco Malfoy? Is that you?" Albus heard the familiar sound of his father's voice and felt slightly relieved that his parents were here to alleviate the situation.

But the arrival of Harry Potter seemed to have the opposite affect. The atmosphere instantly tensed and the silver-haired man's entire body stiffened like he'd been hit with a Petrifying curse.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," he said in clipped tones, acknowledging Harry's presence with a nod of his head. "And Mrs. Potter," he added when Ginny appeared behind Harry's shoulder, towing along a happy-looking James and Fred, who appeared to be carrying wand cases. "It has been awhile."

"How are you doing, Draco?" asked Ginny politely.

"Very well," replied the silver-haired man with a slight strain in his voice. "I was just picking up my son to meet Livia at Madam Malkin's. We'll be no trouble at all here. Please send my assurances to your brother."

"No, of course not," said Harry. Something about the way his father's mouth turned down made Albus feel as though his father had seen something that perturbing. "I was wondering, perhaps-if you and Livia wouldn't mind-we could sit down and have a cup of tea? It is awfully coincidental that we bumped into you at Diagon Alley-"

"No, no," interrupted the silver-haired man hastily, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. "It's getting late and we'd best be going. This isn't a place that we're…very much welcomed…" his eyes twitched towards the bustling joke-shop as though he expected the statue of Uncle Fred to burst into life.

Scorpius lowered his head at these words, glancing furtively at the joke-store with a mixture of anger and wistfulness.

Ginny noticed this and stepped forward tentatively. "Your son seems as though he very much wants to go inside. If you wanted I could speak to George…I'm sure he'd make an exception-"

"No, no," repeated the silver-haired man forcefully. He ushered the boy down the street, blocking his view of the joke-shop. "We really must be getting on our way. It was pleasant seeing you again." He added the last line as an afterthought though it was very clear that he had not found the encounter pleasant at all.

Albus stared after the pale-skinned father and son, confused by what he'd just seen. For a fraction of a second, the boy's head swiveled back and met Albus' gaze defiantly with deep, startlingly blue eyes. Then, the boy turned away and disappeared from view behind his father's billowing black cloak.

All in all, it was a very odd encounter. Later, after the Potters had dropped Rose off at Uncle Ron's house and were settling around the living room, Albus dared to venture the question:

"Who were those people we met at Uncle George's shop, dad?"

Harry had been sitting on his favorite armchair, holding a worn copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and staring absent-mindedly into the distance. At the sound of his son's voice, he returned from his reverie and looked at his Albus with a smile.

"Old acquaintances. The Malfoys."

James, who had been proudly brandishing his new wand in front of Lily, stopped what he was doing to join the conversation: "The Malfoys? That was them? What the bloody hell were they doing outside Uncle George's shop?"

"Language, James," warned Ginny without looking up from her book.

"I'm just saying, mum. Uncle George doesn't want them there, so they should've stayed away, don't you think?"

"But why?" inquired Albus curiously. Uncle George was one of the most good-natured people he'd ever met.

Harry exhaled and set his spectacles down on the table in front of him. "The Malfoys are an ancient, pure-blood family. As such was the way back then, they became drawn into Lord Voldemort's cause and what he was trying to accomplish." The three children nodded. They were familiar with the story. "That man you saw—Draco Malfoy—was a schoolmate of mine at Hogwarts and he became a Death-Eater by the age of sixteen. You must understand," and here he paused to give his children a stern look. "He didn't have much of a choice. A boy of sixteen… given a task and a moral choice most adults would never have to face. Voldemort was a very frightening person and had too much power over him—over everyone. No matter what you might hear on the news, I truly believe that Draco wanted to the war to end as much as the rest of us and to his credit, he's been living a good honest life since it did. The problem is there are many people who still believe the Malfoys have Death-Eater ties and that is why they cannot walk the streets easily, even to wander into a joke-shop." Harry smiled sadly. "And for those who have suffered losses at the hands of Voldemort, it can be easy to blame families like the Malfoys for everything that's happened."

"So is that why Uncle George reacted that way?" asked Albus quietly, "Because of what happened to Uncle Fred?"

"Not only your Uncle George, but quite a few others." Harry let out a contemplative sigh. "It must be a very difficult life they lead. Your mother and I have tried to—well, let's just say that Draco Malfoy has a great deal of pride and isn't the sort to accept any sort of help."

James let out a loud derisive noise.

At this, Harry turned to his eldest son and said, sharply, "James. I want you to listen to me. No matter how much your friends at Hogwarts goad you into thinking the Slytherin house is full of scum, you can't listen to them. It's true that Slytherin has been guilty of crimes in the past, but it is not a house of evil. There's been enough prejudice in the Wizarding world, you hear me? I don't want you treating anyone differently from how you would treat your family."

James sighed and ruffled his jet-black hair as he always did whenever he was trying to wave off a serious comment. "Dad, I doubt I'll be making any Slytherin friends soon."

"And what if you're sorted into Slytherin?"

James eyes darkened. "I'd rather be sent home." With that, he took his newly purchased wand and marched up the stairs into his bedroom without further discussion.

It was this particular recollection that Albus would carry on for the next two years before his own entry to Hogwarts. He would remember the look of disgust on his brother's face when his father had even mentioned the idea of him being sorted into Slytherin. He'd recall the aura of fear and apprehension that had shadowed the Malfoys like a black cloud on the day that he'd spotted them outside the his uncle's store. He'd see the longing on Scorpius Malfoy's face as he peered into the joke-shop, forever barred from a life of acceptance, and the notion of that possibility of being in Slytherin—paired with that subconscious belief that he was different—prompted apprehension to rattle in Albus' ribcage. He just knew, with a deep convicton that extended far beyond reason, that something else was held in store for him.

And so, two years later, on the morning he boarded the Hogwarts Express, Albus turned to his father for comfort and asked the one question that had plagued his mind since that day in Diagon Alley.

They gave me a choice. His father's reply continued to echo long after the train had left the station: "Albus Severus, you were named after two great wizards. One of them was a Slytherin, and he was the bravest man I'd ever met."

They gave me a choice.

The words weighed on him but did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. Like many children of Albus' age, he was simply impervious to parental advice.

The apprehension continued as Albus entered the great Banquet hall with the other first-years, even with Rose clutching his hand with excitement. He stumbled clumsily past by his applauding Gryffindor relatives (including James and Fred, who most recently had joined the fray) and they winked and flipped their thumbs at him for encouragement, while his own stomach conducted somersaults. He hoped from the deep wells of his heart that he would not disappoint them.

As the Sorting began, the word 'SLYTHERIN' prompted him to flinch every time he heard it, so much so that he began taking note of the first-years that had been sorted. Avery…Nott…Mulciber…Malfoy… history seemed to be repeating itself. A small hope began to rise within him. Surely, if the sorting was based on lineage, it would place him with his brother and cousins, right?

Potter, Albus. Oh Merlin. It washis name being called out now and someone was pushing him forward. His feet swam across the stage and then he was sinking into the dusty blackness of the Sorting Hat, his heart hammering in his chest.

And then silence. No voice, no choice offered to him as his father had promised, just a deep panic that was escalating at the back of his mind.

…But why was he panicking? He took long, deep breaths. Because he wanted to be sorted properly, of course. The obvious choice was Gryffindor so that he could be with the rest of them, surrounded by them. James, Rose…

A thought entered his mind. Did that truly mean he would be sorted properly or was that simply the place where he wanted to be because he had never experienced anything else? He'd known from a very young age he didn't truly carry the complete makings of a Potter. He had always felt slightly altered from the Potter genetic chain, capable of being different, capable of something else…Suddenly, he realized the growing panic in his brain was not panic from fear…it had transformed into a gnawing, desperate desire…a desire that had been waiting for him to find it…and now he had.

Could it be that he was different because he wanted to be different, to stand out from the rest of them, not to be forever overlooked in the house of Potters? Because perhaps the real challenge in life was to forge one's own path…and now Albus knew. This wasn't bravery or intelligence or kindness; it was ambition, a burning ambition that seemed to trump all else-

The Sorting Hat opened its wide brim and roared: "SLYTHERIN!"

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Reviews appreciated!

Love,

Missuswitch