ENTIRE SUMMARY:The Wizarding World is a changed society after the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Two decades after Britain's liberation and witches and wizards are free to pursue the lives they choose, the boundaries upon ideals and expectations unravelling. One of magic can be whatever they want to be.
Such is the case for most witches and wizards, anyway. Albus is not one of them. Not really, anyway. Being a Potter means he's not really supposed to be anything but what the world wants him to be. Fighting against the unspoken demands of society, Albus strives to pull free of such bindings and become exactly who he wants to be. It is a feat far harder than he could have anticipated.
Funnily enough, he isn't the only one who thinks so.

Warning Tags: Drug Use; Sexual Depictions (Underage); Mental Disorders - Anxiety Disorder


Disclaimer: Once again, I would like to thank the wonderfully marvelous J.K. Rowling for her efforts in creating the Harry Potter universe for people like me to explore. All canon characters and context comes originally from her; I've simply expanded upon it. I do not profit from this enterprise in any way. It is purely pursued for my own pleasure.


A/N: Hi, everyone! So, I feel like I should apologise in advance for this chapter. It is a bit wordy, a bit of an introduction, and I SWEAR that those that come after it are markedly less so. So please hang in there and bear wiht me! I hope you enjoy it.
Also.
WARNING: this story contains depictions of drug use (recreational and otherwise). Please note that these references are of an idealised, 'magical' nature and largely do not reflect actual substance use situations. If you think such references might be triggering, please tread carefully.


Chapter 1: You've Got To Be Kidding Me

"Potter, Albus,"

The near-silent buzz of student whispers abruptly ceased. A disconcerting lull fell over the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Swallowing back the flood of bile that rose in the back of my throat, I lifted my gaze towards Professor Weatherwell. The severe woman scanned the dwindling clutch of first years with pursed lips, the homely roundness of her face and the ruddiness of her cheeks at odds with the sternness of her expression. This was a formality for her, merely procedure; it was just another job on her long list of duties and it was evident that the Deputy had little emotional investment in the matter.

Except… when her eyes settled on me, I swore I could make out a faint spark of curiosity, a glimmer of scepticism that hadn't been there for any of the students prior. Why, oh why, did she have to take an interest in me?

Swallowing once more, I nervously raked my fringe from my eyes and sidled through the immobile bodies of my first-year peers. A soft tap on my back was probably meant to be reassuring, but I couldn't even quell my rising panic long enough to offer a smile of thanks to Rose over my shoulder. I couldn't even lift my gaze to meet the eyes of my godfather; I knew Neville was staring at me, but felt too nervous to respond. It was a miracle I was actually walking at all.

Nearly stumbling up the steps to the raised platform, I sunk onto the little stool beneath the matted old sorting hat that Weatherwell held aloft just above it. The stool was unnecessarily uncomfortable. Or maybe that was just because I was so tense.

When the sorting hat settled on my head, it immediately slipped down to cover my eyes. I breathed a faint sigh of relief; I would be grateful to anything to escape the curious stares of my soon-to-be-fellow students. To avoid the intent gaze of James who had attempted and failed to mask his keen interest with nonchalance and a careless half-smile. To avoid the mellow attention of the professors behind me, the sympathetic winces of the other first years –

"You worry too much."

I nearly fell backwards off the stool when the gravely voice whispered in my ear. It shouldn't have been surprising, really. I'd been cognizant enough to hear the hat break into poetry not half an hour before.

The voice gave a grumbling chuckle. "Don't fret, boy, you have no reason to fear me. I'm only here to take a brief look into your mind." The voice paused, briefly, before continuing with a considering hum. "Hmm, not a bad mind, not at all. Certainly more inquisitive than your brother's, though it appears to be plucking on your nerves like guitar strings."

Biting back the urge to cower further into my already hunched shoulders, I clasped my hands together in my lap to stop them from picking at my nails. They trembled faintly, and I didn't want anyone to see.

"Definitely a desire to prove yourself, and yet you do not strive for power or prestige."

Of course not. What good would power get me? A whole lot more attention, that's what. I think I'd had my fill for a lifetime after tonight. Everyone seemed to have been staring at me from the moment I walked through the doors in the Great Hall. Before that even, from the train. Or maybe that was just my imagination. It was probably my imagination. It tended to get the better of me in such circumstances.

"What you lack in bravery is compensated for by a determined persistence and dedication to your goal –"

What was this, the biography of Albus Potter told in under two minutes? I bit back the urge to hiss at the stupid sentient hat to just choose already so I could get out of the limelight.

"- and yes, even a degree of cunning rests within you, though it has not had the chance to manifest much. Yet offset by a kindness that disfavours manipulative tendency. Where to put you… where indeed?"

I swallowed the rising of nausea that welled in my gorge once more and clasped my hands more tightly as their trembling increased. Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, please not Slytherin…

"Not Slytherin?" The hat chuckled again. Were hats even supposed to have a sense of humour? Or was this hat merely sadistic? "I thought you might think as much. Your brother requested the same, and your father before him…"

Please not Slytherin, not Slytherin. Gryffindor, I have to be in Gryffindor. If I'm not, everyone will think –

"Gryffindor, eh?" There was faint incredulity in the hat's grumble that caused me to wince. "Is that truly where you want to be? Even if it would not suit you perfectly?"

I don't care! I thought directly at the hat, my lips quivering with the urge to blurt out the words and suppressed only by the knowledge that everyone would hear me if I did. I can't be in Slytherin, no matter what you say, and if I'm in Gryffindor –

"Far be it for me to decide that which is most suitable these days," the hat murmured, almost a sigh. "The once-noble houses have been so mixed and churned that it is hardly so simple as placing according to personality traits."

The hat sighed, more distinctive this time, and I had to bite back an irrational upwelling of sympathy for the – the hat. It must be hard to have one's primary purpose in life so disrupted. But then the terror of the moment reaffirmed itself as the hat spoke once more. More firmly this time, decisively.

"Mixed as they are, it almost doesn't matter your placement. You say not Slytherin? I feel that Gryffindor would not be the most appropriate, but then… no, I know where to put you."

There was a thrum of satisfaction in the enchanted voice that caused my gut to roil. Or at least more than it already was. A feeling of dread suffused me. Please not Slytherin! My Dad said that you would listen when I asked –

"Better be…"

I winced at the pause in the abruptly louder voice. Even such a brief, deliberate pause nearly killed me!

The next moment could either make or break my future at Hogwarts.


September the first saw more wizards at Kings Cross Station than any other day of the year. Fortunately – given their distinct obliviousness to the ignorance of the surrounding Muggles, their accidental trips of magic, and their exclamations in magical reference that would leave a Muggle frowning in confusion – the majority of the masses cluttered solely along the long stretch of platform nine and three quarters.

It was a hubbub of activity, with the chatter of students and parents mingling with the screech of owls, the whistles from the conductor, and the audible gasps of smoke bellowing from the engine of the polished train. It was enough to make one dizzy, if only from the fumes of burning coal, and Harry was glad that their drop off was only short. Even if it did mean farewelling two of his children for three and a half months.

Crouched as he was on one knee, Harry couldn't very well see the mayhem that surrounded him. Not that he much cared. He didn't really care for anything save Albus wrapped firmly in his arms, the tension slowly easing from his little body. Not to disappear entirely, of course, but Harry was hopeful that his words had resounded within his second eldest son.

"What if I'm in Slytherin?"

Harry had forcibly pushed the comment aside; Albus shouldn't care for such matters. The world had changed in the last nineteen years, and one of the primary changes was the loosening of perceived stereotypes amongst Wizarding families. That Slytherins were all the spawn of Dark Wizards, and fit only to become Dark themselves, was one of them.

In fact, if Neville spoke truthfully – which he usually did – Harry was of the understanding that Hogwarts was the leader of such changes. The new generation of young wizards and witches was revolutionised. Rigidity eased, the severity of clichés and prejudices slackened. And not only for Slytherin. It was just as common to hear of old blood, the descendants of pure blood lineages, surfacing in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff as in Ravenclaw and Slytherin. There might be some mild surprise, but it wasn't all that worthy of comment.

Yes, things had changed. Albus shouldn't worry about such things as 'house placement'.

A whistle sounded from behind him and Harry eased his crushing embrace of his son to half-turn, glancing over his shoulder as he rose to full standing. It was gradual, but even as he watched Harry could see the tide parting gently, turning to drift either towards the carriages or away from them for students and parents respectively. A brief glance down at his watch and Harry switched his attention back towards his son.

He rested one hand on Albus' shoulder. The small boy blinked up at him with wide green eyes, a solemnity and maturity within them that completely surpassed that his older brother was capable of. Harry smiled. "Don't worry, Al. And ignore James. Whatever happens, I'll always be proud of you."

The words didn't seem to reassure Albus all that much, but he nodded regardless and slipped from beneath Harry's hand towards his mother. Ginny enfolded him in a tight squeeze while Harry scooped Lily into his arms. The girl was huffing indignantly at being 'left behind' once more, her eyes glassy with upwelling tears. Harry could only smile at her antics. Her time would come soon enough. Not too soon though, hopefully. It would be strange to have a childless house once more.

"You make sure you write to me tonight, alright?" Ginny was murmuring tightly into the crown of Albus' head. Her voice wavered slightly with emotion that she refused to release. "I want to hear everything. And if James is teasing you again, tell me that too. I'll set him straight."

"I will, Mum," Albus replied, his voice muffled in Ginny's jumper. That was another thing about Albus that James had forsaken; he was never too embarrassed to embrace his parents in public. Harry was heartily grateful for the fact.

Clinging to him for a moment more, Ginny finally released her son in a rush, as though ripping herself free with a determined jerk was the only way she was capable of doing so. She gave Albus a loving pat to the back of his head, sniffled back tears that had not yet fallen, before nudging him into motion.

"Off you go, then. You don't want to miss the train."

Albus nodded once more, an attempt at confidence that Harry had to admit was flimsily transparent. He only shared a loving glance with Ginny, however, as his son waded into and was lost amidst the crowd. He resurfaced a moment later on the steps of the carriage, half-turned and cast a falsely casual wave over his shoulder.

As Harry waved back, he noticed that he wasn't the only one to do so. A boy just in front of Albus was similarly waving to a point not far to Harry's left. Scorpius Malfoy by the looks of him, Harry realised detachedly, and without meaning to his eyes drifted once more towards Draco, his old schoolmate's blonde hair and smooth, emotionless face standing out like a sore thumb. Draco didn't wave, and even Scorpius only spared two, maybe three formal flicks of his wrist before slipping past Albus into the darkness of the train. It was so proper, so like Draco, the Slytherin boy Harry used to know, had always been, that he found himself biting back a humourless chuckle.

Malfoys still embodied the typical 'pureblood', what had once been the stereotype of Slythering. But no, Albus shouldn't be anxious of being sorted into Slytherin itself. And for all his worries, neither Harry nor Ginny cared a wit about what house their son would be sorted into. What kind of parents would they be if such a thing were to make them love their son any less, disdain him even the slightest? Surely even Malfoy wouldn't hold it against his own son if such a possibility were realised.

And yet, anxious his son was, Albus was a naturally fretful child; perhaps it was a by-product of growing up under the constant threat of James' pranks? Yet even in this situation, Harry did not disregard the childish fears as groundless. Albus was discomforted by the weight of expectation that sat on his small shoulders. Expectations not of his family, of course. Even Ron, for all his posturing, wouldn't spare more than a good-natured bemoaning for any of their family so sorted.

It was the expectations of the rest of the world that mattered.

Britain was a changed country after the dramatic conclusion of the Second Wizarding War. It was not entirely encapsulating; these things took time, of course. And yet, almost from the moment that Voldemort ceased his reign of terror, there surfaced a movement.

A change.

That revolution.

For what had started the war, what had fuelled it' fiery rage, if not the prejudices of old, the traditionalist mindset, the clear-cut lines and boundaries traced over the Wizarding world like a spider's web? Kingsley Shacklebolt had certainly not stood for the way things were and, as the still-sitting Minister for Magic, even nineteen years later, his assertion poured like a river undammed throughout the world of wizards and witches.

The discrepancies between purebloods and Muggleborns were obliterated, torn down as if by a wrecking ball. Why should Muggleborns be treated any differently simply for their heritage?

The distinct segregation from the Muggle world, the wide abyss that yawned between clashing cultures, was gradually bridged. For it would hardly be possible for wizards and witches to hope to progress if they did not embrace the very people with which they shared their country.

Standing rules and regulations were mown down. New laws were sanctioned. Departments were established in the Ministry tailored specifically towards integration of the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Kingsley made it a point to visit the English Prime Minister every fortnight to exchange notes on the day-to-day issues and complications that boiled between their peoples. The Muggle Minister, at first hesitant, learned to embrace Kingsley's eagerness to join their worlds. Muggle Studies became just one of a subset of courses at Wizarding schools that aimed at broadening the knowledge of the youngest generation, and it was not the only one that was compulsory for the younger years.

Assumptions were dropped for what made a witch or wizard; it lay not in their blood, their family, their choice of spouse nor even the wealth that lay in their vaults. Disdain and horror where not turned in equal measure upon those who chose to live in the Muggle world, to embrace Muggle careers and ways of life over the vibrancy yet admittedly archaic lifestyles that wizards and witches had once typically followed. Trifling aspects such as adopting Muggle fashion – a far cry from the long, flowing robes of a typical witch or wizard – had become almost commonplace. There was even a vast and expanding field of research targeted towards overcoming the dampening effects of magic on Muggle technology. They'd been markedly successful so far; Harry could attest to that with the presence of the television in his own living room.

And yet even the forward movement towards a New World did not spit in the face of traditionalist tendencies. For that was not what the New World was about. For those who wished to keep on with the old ways, so long as they quelled their desires to cling to past prejudices and discriminative approaches, could very well do so. There was nothing wrong with that, and though the sharp edges of traditionalist families had been worn down to limit their severity, the families that adhered to the old ways accepted the requirements graciously enough.

It was a good change. A good world. Extraordinary, Harry would even venture to claim. Though magic itself was still coveted, the secrecy of the magic-users themselves had all but disappeared. Citizens could be who they wanted to be, could follow any path they chose, embody whatever stereotype – traditional or novel – that took their fancy. They could even branch away from the stereotypes if they saw fit. It was a good world.

And yet… the loosening of expectations upon the public were not entirely devoid. For where there were stereotypes. Some clichés still remained.. For there must be those that embodied each possible inclination; it was simply the way it was. Harry knew this only too well.

The Darlinghursts were infamous for their eccentricity in the Wizarding World. Like flittering butterflies, their family was renowned for embracing every new trend that erupted. If one saw a member of the Darlinghurst's without the latest piece of Muggle technology clasped in their hands, the world may as well have rocked from its axis.

The Robinstones were similar in their forward movement towards embracing the Muggle world. Each and every member of the family who had married since the end of the war had tied the knot with a Muggle. It was almost a sin to consider that any of their descendants would do anything but.

On the reverse side, the Ursulans were an old, old family who embodied the old ways. No one shunned them for their isolation from the Muggle world, so long as such isolation lacked malevolence. To see an Ursulan in the Muggle world was to see a fish out of water, taking a leisurely stroll along the sidewalk.

The Malfoy's were similar, though not so exclusive. They embodied those who tended towards Wizarding traditionalist conventions yet were lenient when it came to Muggle integration. They were figures still outstanding in the political world. More than outstanding when considering the work Draco had invested and in spite of the blow the war had struck to their name. They were the embodiment of propriety.

Harry was not oblivious to the expectations that were placed upon his own family. He himself was an idol in the Wizarding world; he knew this. It was to be expected that his lifestyle would become a 'stereotype' too. And the Potters were; their small family embodied the new movement, an embrace of the Muggle world like an old friend yet still firmly grounded in the Wizarding world as the much loved Magical Family. They were of goodness, of righteousness, of wizard, in a way that made Harry faintly uneasy to consider. For with Harry as an Auror and Ginny as an ex-quidditch player for the Harpies, the expectations that his children would follow in the typically Wizard career paths, in their image, was… expected.

Even the Weasleys hadn't escaped the eyes of the public, had been tagged with their own brands. 'Family comes first' was the image that typically rested upon the shoulders of each red-head, parent and child. To consider that one wouldn't marry, wouldn't put their careers on hold to start a family, would walk the streets without a rag-tag team of siblings and grandparents and cousins and children, was nearly inconceivable. Harry thought it a good thing that Charlie still worked overseas; as the only Weasley not firmly grounded in the midst of a raucous family, questioning eyes would undoubtedly turn his way.

So no, Albus shouldn't, by every right and every consideration of this New Wizarding World, have any reason to fear being sorted into Slytherin. No child should worry about such things. And yet expectation would place him in Gryffindor, and when he was, those around him, teachers and fellow pupils alike, would laugh easily and fondly and exchange words of "of course he would be", and "trust a Potter to be in Gryffindor!"

It made Harry faintly ill to consider the possibility of the outcome being anything but. Not that he cared what anyone thought of his son. But Albus was his son, and Harry longed for nothing more than the happiness of his family, of his children. Perhaps that too fit with societies expectations? He didn't know, didn't really care. It was simply that everyone else would.

Drawing his eyes away from Draco as the whistle sounded once more, Harry managed to exchange a final wave with Albus before his boy disappeared into the carriage. Dropping his hand to cradle Lily more comfortably on his hip, Harry watched with sorrow and pride as the train chortled into motion. Slowly at first, in creaking increments and spurts of white smoke before picking up pace.

Lily was sobbing in his arms. That was not unexpected, Harry considered, as she had done the same the previous year when James left for the first time. And if her sobs were a little more heartfelt this year… well, Lily had always been closer to Albus.

Turning into the pat Ginny's gave to his arm, Harry followed the gentle flow of the crowd as they departed, slowly departing from the platform. It was over for another few months. Harry tried not to let his own anxieties shake him too strongly.


"… Hufflepuff!"

There was a pause. A brief pause only. Then an upwelling of baffled conversation arose, louder than it had been before. As the hat was lifted from my head, my wide-eyed gaze was met by a sea of confused, curious, and almost accusing eyes.

Hufflepuff. I hadn't even considered that. From the incredulity beaming from James' across the hall, neither had he.

And from the puzzled, almost resentful stares on the faces of those around me, that incredulity was pervasive. I felt my heart sink in my chest.

You've got to be kidding me.


A/N: I hope that wasn't too slow. Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, please spare a word or two to tell me what you think.