Chapter Text
Albus had always known something wasn’t quite right with him.
Not that he was wrong, per se, he simply knew he was… aloof. Odd. Different. And he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly made him feel as such an outcast in his own skin.
Perhaps it was the weight on his shoulders, all the pressure to live up to being The Chosen One’s most physically alike son. Or maybe all the expectations his last name imprisoned him in. To make matters worse, not only his last name carried an enormous weight, but his first and middle name did as well. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape; it was all a fucking joke to his heroic father, wasn’t it? How could he ever know what it’s like to carry the legacy of being named after the dead? And much worse, named after war heroes, as he says so.
Albus knew the stories, he grew up listening to his aunts and uncles and every goddamn family friend talking about Dumbledore’s wisdom, Dumbledore’s bravery, Dumbledore’s insight. Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that. Was he really that great of a man? If so, how could they ever expect Albus to reach all his mighty reputation?
There was also Severus Snape, who left the complete opposite of Dumbledore’s legacy, if you could say so. Albus didn’t grow up listening to tales of wonder about Snape’s life, he always met silence regarding his middle name’s inspiration figure-- and he knew why. Snape hadn’t always been a good man, but to his father’s eye, he died an honourable one and he deserved a tribute.
What traces could Albus ever have of those men? What similarities? How could Albus ever learn how to be himself if even his names didn’t belong to him? He felt like he was born with his life already written, and he never understood HOW would it make a difference if he chose to live or not in this freaking life, considering he was just a supporting act in his own story.
It wouldn't matter. So he chose not to act. He chose to just stand by and let the life they created for him be lived. Motionless.
At 11 years old, Albus wasn’t sure if he was expected to go to Gryffindor or Slytherin, in regard of his name’s influences. Slytherin had always been slurred in his family, so he was scared that if his fate was to end up there, his loved ones would hate him. Even more.
But.. He was also scared of being sorted into Gryffindor and ending up hating himself .
He couldn’t bear the anxiety and indecision anymore, nothing made sense for him.
Until he met Scorpius.
Kind, cheerful, vivid Scorpius Malfoy, and everything changed. How could someone who carried such a heavy last name as his own still be so… joyful? Why did he seem so carefree if he had to fulfill countless expectations? He didn’t understand how or why, but he wanted, so badly, to know the answers. He wanted his vivacious spirit to infect him, he wanted to be surrounded by his sweet and innocent aura, more than anything.
As it was expected from his last name, Scorpius was almost surely going to be sorted into Slytherin. And, to follow his desire, Albus knew exactly what he had to do.
So, for the first time in his life, he reached a conclusion about himself: he knew what house he belonged in.
Later, after the Sorting Hat announced that he, the son of the mighty Harry Potter and the skillful Ginevra Weasley, was sorted into Slytherin, the Great Hall stood silent, with all the teachers and students looking at him in disbelief. Meanwhile, he determinedly walked to his house’s table and sat beside his new friend, feeling proud of finally, finally , doing something that for once felt right and genuine. Something just for him, and no one else.
And Albus, he must admit, felt fucking good in a way he hadn’t felt in long, long time.