1st Year: 2/5
PROMPT: CHOICE

 

He never imagined he would be arguing with a hat.

 

Albus scowled, features scrunched up as he sat underneath the raggedy thing. It smelled a little burnt, like Mum’s food whenever she tried to make something new and complicated. The scent made his eyes water slightly.

 

He had also expected the sorting to be more exciting. After all, this was a pivotal point in his life. In actuality, it’d gone by rather quickly, Abbott through Plair, and now as he sat under that great Sorting Hat, Al couldn’t help but think the whole process was rather anticlimactic.

 

‘Ahhh, another Potter. Your father was a piece of work.’ The sentient object’s voice was wheezy in his head, old and itchy sounding, ‘Now… what house do you belong to? Nothing like your brother, I see. You’re a little timid but a hard worker… Maybe Hufflepuff would be a good house for you?’

 

‘No!’ Al thought with as much intensity as he could, ‘Not Hufflepuff! James’ll die laughing.’

 

‘You want to go in Gryffindor?’ asked the hat, and for a split second, Albus thought it just sniggered at him.

 

‘Preferably, yes. My parents and all my relatives were in Gryffindor! Dad said you’d let me choose… But please, not Hufflepuff… I think I might even prefer Slytherin over Huff – ‘

 

‘Slytherin… You could be successful, with some work, in that House as well. Choose, boy. Hufflepuff or Slytherin?’

 

‘Wha – No! That’s not what I meant by choose – why not Gryffindor?’

 

‘If you won’t, I will.’

 

Resentfully, Al picked his choice. The statement ‘Trapped between a rock and a hard place’ seemed to be all too appropriate for this situation.

 

With one last smug snort, the Sorting Hat bellowed.

 

“SLYTHERIN!”

 

The entire hall gasped. Albus heard them. All of them; the sound was horrible. It was followed up by the most terrible hush that had settled on the Great Hall. He opened his eyes; the entire Gryffindor table looked stunned, and he couldn’t find James… but really, Al didn’t want to see him…

 

McGonagall’s voice broke the lapsing silence of the hall as she spoke, tone quiet and too grave to make Al feel any better.

 

“Mr. Potter, please continue to your House table… there are still more students to be sorted.”

 

Face and eyes burning, Albus took the Hat off, his hands trembling in temptation to rip it apart. Instead, he reined it in, ignoring the frozen faces of his Gryffindor almost-peers and proceeded to the applauding Slytherin table, where he was addressed with as many pointed stares and as minimal physical contact as possible.

 

He heard the whispers as he walked towards his new House, “Merlin, a Potter in Slytherin?” “His dad must be furious.” “How the hell did he get in Slytherin?”, which made him even more nervous as he sat at the longtable, awkwardly squeezing himself between a pretty girl with black curls (Nott, was it?) and a large boy who glared daggers at him. Albus swallowed; he wasn’t going to live past his first year here…

 

“Really Potter, how did you get into Slytherin?”

 

The familiar voice jerked Al out of his troubled thoughts.

 

“Scorpius!”

 

The boy smirked and Albus noted momentarily how odd it looked.

 

Putting down his fork, Scorpius gave Al a particularly skeptical look. “So, did the Hat play you? 

 

“No,” Al mumbled gloomily, picking up his cutlery as well and made small tinkling noises against his goblet in anxiety, “I chose Slytherin.”

 

Pale brows shot up comically, the boy looked altogether too surprised than his features would allow.

 

“What?” Albus asked reproachfully, feeling his heart squeeze painfully; full realization at what had just happened hit him like a giant slap on the face.

 

“Well, a Potter in Slytherin… is… a little rare. To say the least. And you chose… against Gryffindor?” Scorpius was picking his words carefully, giving the small boy a serious look. Albus’ eyes were bright, he noted, with tears. The pale boy looked away; crying was something Father abhorred – and the tears made him feel guilty, regardless if he was or was not the cause of them.

 

Al said nothing in reply, but heard the next name called by the Headmistress.

 

 ‘Weasley, Rose!’

 

He turned around quickly – his cousin trudged up to the seat, dragging her feet, no doubt perturbed by Al’s strange sorting.

 

Al’s sorting, however, was obviously not a factor in Hugo’s own, as the Hat barked ‘GRYFFINDOR’ two seconds after it was placed on the boy’s head.

 

A deluge of jealousy and guilt choked him; Al felt his throat burn and he coughed, a deep coolness curling at the pit of his stomach. He finally spotted his brother from the corner of his eye, congratulating Rose; the whole Gryffindor table was laughing and welcoming the girl.

 

“Chin up Potter,” came Scorpius’ voice, dry and amused, bringing Al’s attention back to his own meal, “Slytherin doesn’t approve of the half-hearted.” He had raised up his goblet in front of him in a small toast.

 

Al exhaled; he was sure his Housemates were giving both of them strange looks but as he looked around, but they had all started to dig into the dishes and had better things to do then notice the warm exchange between the two boys.

 

Half-hearted?

 

Picking up his own goblet, which had been filled with pumpkin juice, Al tapped it against Scorpius’ with a clink, then downed his cup. “But I don’t think I’m going to live long enough here to find out…”

 

Scorpius smiled, taking a sip of the juice and grimaced at its sweetness. “Just watch Potter, you’ll be a snake in no time.”