This one never got posted in the fest, because I am teh stoopid and chose my own prompt. NICE ONE. Anyway, there's nothing to stop me posting it myself, so here you go.
Name: la_dissonance
Prompt: #130: Light reading, couch, mystery, mistake, choice.
Word Count: 946
Beta: asnowyowl
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: More pre-slash than anything else, along with my attempt to figure out how a Slytherin!Al might work. I don't think I've quite got it yet, but I did manage to use all the prompts. The first sentence (italicized) is a direct quote from the epilog of Deathly Hallows.
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"The sorting hat takes your choice into account."
If Al's father had never said those words then perhaps everything would have turned out differently.
Or maybe that had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was all the other things that did him in.
Maybe if all the other compartments on the Express hadn't been full, James wouldn't have taunted Al until Rose felt she was duty-bound to defend him. Maybe then he wouldn't have burst out that hopefully he would end up in Slytherin after all and then wouldn't they all be sorry? Then James wouldn't have said you would never, and Al wouldn't have said just watch me before crying silently at the wall for the next ten minutes.
But maybe none of that would have mattered if Al hadn't seen That Boy get Sorted a few students ahead of him, and thought for a moment that maybe being in Slytherin wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe he would be Al's friend...
It tuns out that the Sorting Hat does take your choice into account, but it doesn't distinguish between a reckless, spur of the moment choice (the kind brought on by cruel brothers and bossy cousins and captivating strangers) and the one you would have made on any other day. And it doesn't let you take choices back, no matter that it was all a mistake and not Al's fault.
So Al was stuck in Slytherin, to his mother's thinly-veiled horror and his father's promised understanding and James's grudging respect. He learned fast those first few weeks – that the only way to avoid landing on the bottom of the heap in his House's never-ending power plays was to stay out of them entirely, that a book made a good shield from the other students (and everything else), that That Boy would never be his friend.
Al read a lot at school. Behind a book, he never had to pay attention to how he still noticed That Boy. He would move around the common room, playing their pointless games and winning more often than not. He was the acknowledged leader of the first-years before even a week had passed, and by fourth year, he had even a good number of the upper year students in his thrall. He never made any overtures toward Al, and Al understood. When you played to win, the only people who mattered were the other players.
While reading a book, it was easy for Al to pretend he didn't care.
Occasionally he would even forget, but the boy would always do something to make him remember again. Like the first time he got a girlfriend, for example. Al had found himself unable to forget for an unusually long while after that time, and after the next time too. But not the time after that. You can get used to pretty much anything.
But it didn't really matter what Al thought, whether he remembered that he cared or forgot. The boy would never take notice of Al. Al knew this, knew it as one knows of one's own existence.
Maybe that's why it came as such a shock when, in their seventh year, he finally did.
"What are you reading?" He – Scorpius, Al reminded himself, the boy does have a name - perched on the arm of Al's couch and peered over his shoulder.
"Oh, it's nothing – just to pass the time." Al was so surprised that all he could feel was a detached sense of puzzlement. "What are you doing here?"
On the other hand, Al should have seen it coming. With no upper-year students to vie with, and the current batch of first years duly subjugated, he - Scorpius - must have nothing to do with himself. For all intents and purposes, the game was already won.
The thought traitorously occurred to Al that maybe all the boy's maneuverings up to this point had been to get into this position of power from which he could do whatever he wanted - preferably Al, preferably repeatedly. Al very quickly fought to regain indifference. That was a thought he might have had third year, for goodness' sake, before he had recognized his crush for what it was and gotten over it. He was past such things now.
Scorpius draped himself gracefully into the corner of the couch that Al wasn't occupying.
Al dragged his eyes forcefully back to the page.
The boy leaned closer, as if he were actually interested. "Because you're a mystery, Al, that's why."
Al tried not to react to the unexpected familiarity. He didn't care what the boy called him.
"No, I'm not." Al raised his book to hide his face.
The boy pushed it down with a finger. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you."
Al grunted noncommittally. The sooner he went away and left Al alone, the better.
"You're a mystery," he repeated. "One I intend to solve. What are your secrets? What do you care about? What do you think about here in your corner? Who are you, really?"
"And you care why? You never even talk to me. Besides, we've slept in the same dorm for six years, you already know me."
"Oh, but I don't, and that's why you're so fascinating. How could you have kept yourself secret this whole time?"
Al knew why he had only become so fascinating now, of all times. Scorpius had nothing better to do. Al wasn't sure how he felt about being the boy's pet project, but it wasn't like there was much Al could do about it. Scorpius always got his way in the end.
