Chapter 4 The Decision

If somebody woke him up right now on his bed and told him he had been dreaming Scorpius would believe him—or her as usually his mother played the role—straight away, because everything he saw was so very dreamlike. He dreamt about Hogwarts this whole summer and all he remembered was the tentacles of the great mysterious octopus in the lake waving at him and blurred shimmering lights across the bank—his brain could not form a proper image simply because the castle's beyond his imagination.

As the first years walked up the stairs to the Great hall led by a small white-bearded wizard called professor Filtwick, Scorpius held his breath. Actually he didn't have to, because it was taken away at the very first sight of the scenery behind the heavy wooden door—

Magical. A stupid word for wizards, but reasonable in the case of describing the Hall that he saw for the first time. Magical, that's the word.

Hundreds of candles, probably thousands, floated above them and lit the hall with almost dazzling light; Artificial night sky with a million stars replaced the ceiling like his mother described; Four long tables, each representing a different house reached across the hall to the far front end; The broad walkway between the tables on which they walked one by one following professor Filtwick. Senior students sat along the tables, eyeing them with friendly smiles (and not so friendly ones). Professors, all wearing formal robes, sat facing them on a table laid horizontally at the very front of the hall, with the headmistress Minerva McGonagall at the middle, sitting on a big high-backed chair.

She stood up and smiled, rather sternly, towards them, her emerald robe glistened in the candlelight.

'Welcome to Hogwarts.'

Professor Mcgonagall started a talk, but Scorpius's attention was not on her at all. He grew nervous, and a bit restless. It was then, looking around, when he finally noticed the sorting hat—carefully placed on a round stool, looking perfectly still that people would not suspect at all that it was just a normal worn-out brown hat that could not, of course, sing.

Yet it did, in a few minutes' time, winning a round of loud enthusiastic clapping when it finished.

Scorpius did not clap. He was staring fixedly at the hat, buried in thoughts. Albus Potter said he was a Slytherin and he could not wipe the sentence out of his head.

They could be friends, he had said. But really, could they? His expression was vague and his eyebrows twitched. He only said it for the sake of being polite.

Albus Potter grew up among the Gryffindors. All of him was labelled with bright, heavy red and gold, as opposed to green and silver, the Slytherin color, Scorpius's color.

But he hated this identity. He didn't resemble his father, or grandpa, or the rest of the family, all of whom took pride in being in a family full of Slytherins, enjoying the sarcastic glory of wearing the same badge as worn by a group of bullies. His school life was never supposed to be predetermined—predicted and pitied by a boy he barely knew. He was not what he thought he was.

He had to change all of this…he had to be someone else than a Slytherin.

He should let the Gryffindor boy know that 'a pity' is a conclusion too carelessly drawn for him.

The sorting ceremony began. One by one students were called forth and the crowd awaited. Silence, clapping, names, silence. The process went on and on and it seemed to Scorpius's anxious heart that his name was never going to be called. Neither was Albus's.

But the moment came at last with a loud 'Scorpius Malfoy!' .

His legs carried him forward, and he sleepwalked to the three-legged stool. It screeched a bit when he sat down.

The hat fell on his head and he was surrounded by darkness.

He was not very surprised when he heard a small voice that seemed to be growing out of his own head.

'Ah, A Malfoy! I remember putting many of your family members in Slytherin. So where should I put you, child?…' The small quivery voice sounded thoughtful.

A sudden wave of panic rose inside him. Scorpius could feel his hands began to tremble on his lap.

He didn't want to be put into where everybody else goes…

Please Mr. Hat, I'm definitely different from the rest of the Malfoys, just…see me, see the Gryffindor side of me…

But did he have anything Gryffindor inside him?

He did, he had a great relative who was a Gryffindor. Sirius Black. He did. I did. Thought Scorpius. How could I forgot!

'Not all of them.'

He was not aware that he was actually speaking, and that everybody's attention was on him in the Great Hall; Minerva Mcgonagall was eyeing him with surprise. For the voice from the hat had gone silent, and there's only silence and the darkness around him.

'Mr Hat?' He whispered.

It was a few more seconds before he heard the voice again. This time the voice was gentler, but it sounded serious.

'I could read your mind, child. You do not have to speak. I could feel it… your hatred towards the house of Slytherin…I don't know the exact reason, but I sensed your desire…its about a friend, and a relative, isn't it?'

Yes, but not yet a friend, and not so close a relative.

But I think we have the right to choose our own path. That's what I care, and that's what he—the man who left the family—believed.

Scorpius said, silently, and firmly.

Another long pulse, and the hat sighed.

'Years ago, sitting on the very same chair, the boy's words impressed me. Those words…so similar…uttered from a young heart, full of unwavering righteousness, of fierce enthusiasm.

But in you, my child, I found persistence. It's something that is small and hidden, but wonderful, and sometimes extremely powerful. And it made you stand out. It made me hesitate as well.'

Scorpius listened. He nodded, but he could not speak. Just nodding. His forehead sweating. His breath heavy.

'It's a difficult choice just like the one I had to make for Mr. Black. But it would be a good one, yes…but you must be prepared for what's going to happen to you.'

'But remember to always hold onto the choice you made, even in the most difficult times. I believe you would become a good Gryffindor. Congratulations, my child.'

With that said, the hat gave a small cough, and uttered to the crowd,

'Gryffindor!'

from the writer:

no time no see guys...sorry for not keeping my words(to return in June turned out to be impossible). I've been leading a hectic life working on my studies these months...the good news is I will update three chapters in a row as a compensation. Plz continue to support the story~

love from Severusthegreat

p.s If you are thinking about the 12th Doctor and Peter Capaldi somewhere in the middle of this chapter...well, you've got my point