"Fame Isn't Everything, Mr. Potter" (Albus Severus, Snape)
Author: Anonymous
Prompt/Prompt Author: Albus Severus is sorted into Slytherin, where being the Son-of-the-Boy-Who-Lived is even more problematic than it is elsewhere. The portrait of Snape that hangs in the Slytherin common room helps him through it, and Albus Severus gets to know the man whose name he bears. Through the friendship, both come to terms with their relationships with Harry. / squibstress
Title: Fame Isn’t Everything, Mr. Potter
Characters: Severus Snape (in portrait form), Albus Severus Potter. Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, and others mentioned in passing
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~3000
Summary: Albus somehow manages to get Sorted into Slytherin, and has a difficult time understanding it. Professor Snape’s portrait, however, sees things more clearly.
Author's Notes: Seeing as how I adore portraits, and Snape, and character studies, there was just no other prompt for me. I have to admit, I thought this would be more Snape-centric than it turned out to be, but once I got started, this happened. It’s more pre-friendship than established, but I hope it still works for you!!
“Albus Severus Potter, you were named after two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was the bravest man I ever knew.”
The words rang in Albus’s skull as he boarded the train. Truth be told, he really was afraid of being sorted into Slytherin. His mum and dad had been careful over the years never to really come out and say anything bad about Slytherins, but Albus was smart. He knew they were different from the others, even if he didn’t quite understand why. It was just the way of it, he supposed. Jamie had been sorted into Gryffindor last year and Al had seen how chuffed his parents had been about it, despite them always saying they’d be happy no matter what house any of them wound up in. Hufflepuff Teddy had been at Hogwarts for years now. Between the two of them, he had heard stories. And of course, there was always the off-handed comment by Uncle Ron at dinner when the adults thought no one was listening. Slytherin House was definitely not what any of them would prefer.
“No need to ask who you must be,” a high voice drawled from behind him. “You must be the younger Potter.”
Albus turned, eyes narrowing. Before him stood a slight blond boy with pale features. “Yeah,” he said curtly. People always recognized him. He had heard the whispers at the Platform and as he walked down the aisle of the train. It usually made him feel good to know he resembled his dad so much, but today a tiny, surprising prick of annoyance blossomed in his stomach.
“Is this your compartment, then?” the blond boy gestured.
Albus looked around. He hadn’t really quite gotten as far as actually stepping foot inside the empty compartment, lost in thought as he was, but he wasn’t about to let anyone know that. “Yeah,” he said again gruffly, sitting down on one of the benches.
The blond boy rolled his eyes. “May I join you?” he spoke slowly, as though he thought Albus might not understand, pointing at the opposite seat.
Al suppressed a tiny smile. Despite the boy’s apparent confidence, Al could see he was rather nervous. He chewed on his lower lip when he thought Al wasn’t looking, and he rubbed a bit of his cloak between the fingers of his left hand as though it soothed him. “Yeah,” he replied.
“Is that all you know how to say?” the boy said petulantly as he slid into the opposite seat. “What a train ride this will be.”
Al chuckled. “My name’s Al Potter,” he said, sticking out his hand.
The blond rolled his eyes again, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward and he relaxed minutely. “I know that. Mine’s Scorpius Malfoy,” he said as their hands met.
****
”Ravenclaw!”
The commanding voice of Minerva McGonagall rang out across the Great Hall. Al clapped, alongside all the other first-years, as he watched his cousin Rose get Sorted.
Rose had always been book-smart, like her mother. She and Albus had loved to hide themselves away in a room or in the garden and reenact scenes from their favorite books or look through Aunt Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts: A History and dream about what it would be like to finally be away at school. Rose had always wanted Ravenclaw. Al had never been sure.
Al looked around. Jamie was stamping his feet and applauding, watching a beaming Rose make her way to the Ravenclaw table. On the other side, he saw Teddy give him a quick wave before turning and grinning at Rose, giving her a thumbs-up in congratulations.
Next to him, Scorpius sat, eyes focused completely on the Sorting Hat. His fingers smoothed the same wrinkle in his cloak over and over.
”Albus Potter!”
Al closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
****
”Well, well. Another Potter, eh? And what have you to say for yourself?”
“I-I don’t know what to say. Sir.”
“Your parents, grandparents, brother-all Gryffindors. I suppose that’s what you want as well, hmm?”
“Is it?”
“How interesting. Courage. A clever mind. Plenty of talent. Not surprising in the least, there. And oh, my, yes, a thirst to prove yourself. The same words I spoke to your father.”
“Yeah. Everyone tells me how much like him I am.”
“I see. Oh yes, I see quite clearly. Do you have any last requests, young Potter?”
“I want to-no.”
“Well, then. In that case, there is only one option. It had better be … Slytherin!”
****
Albus walked over to his new house. It felt like he was in a dream, or under water, or in some strange alternate reality. He heard the claps and cheers from the Slytherin table, but to him it felt like the rest of the room was silent. Appalled, perhaps, or embarrassed. Had he done something to be embarrassed of? How had he even gotten into Slytherin anyway? It was the hat’s decision, after all, although his dad had always told him the hat would take his wishes into consideration.
As he sat down, he barely acknowledged the handshakes and friendly claps on the back from his new housemates. He looked across the room. Teddy smiled broadly-too broadly?-and pumped his fists in the air before turning away to talk to his friends. Rose smiled at him half in excitement, half in pity, but he couldn’t tell whether she felt sorry for him or whether she was just disappointed not to have him in Ravenclaw with her. James, across the room, looked at him and laughed. From where Al sat, it looked almost cruel. A minute later, Scorpius Malfoy joined him. Al looked away.
****
After the welcoming feast, Al made his way down to the Slytherin dormitory alongside the other first-year students. He didn’t know a single one of the other four boys with whom he’d be sharing a room, but everyone seemed to know exactly who he was, and gave him a wide berth, as a result. Al could tell that they weren’t exactly mean-spirited. It was just that everyone, including himself, seemed not to know what to make of his Sorting.
In the Common Room, he stood apart from the others, barely listening to the Head Girl droning on about meal times and class schedules. His eyes roamed, taking in everything. The dungeons were much nicer than he had envisioned; the furniture was inviting, and the wall hangings made the room warmer and more snug than he would have thought possible. He wondered how much of that had changed since his parents’ time; somehow he had gotten the impression that the dungeons were grey, cold, and damp. His classmates seemed to be paying more attention to the Head Girl than he was, but each of them threw speculative glances at him. Albus ignored them.
On the wall above the fireplace behind them, a pair of black eyes glittered.
****
“So you’re Potter, eh?” One of the boys in his room asked neutrally as he unpacked his trunk.
“Yeah. Albus-er, Al, for short,” Al said, holding out his hand.
“We know who you are,” another one, a shorter, ginger-haired boy, replied.
Albus slowly lowered his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “You know who my father is.” As he turned away to unpack his own trunk, he felt both proud and irrationally angry.
****
While the other four boys had quickly settled into camaraderie of sorts, Albus had organized his corner of the room neatly and quietly. He sat on the bed, legs crossed, and watched as the others tried out some basic spells on some old parchment. Al noticed them glancing at him from time to time, but he wasn’t yet sure whether it was to make sure he was still watching or to make sure he wasn’t daring to join them.
Sighing, he pocketed his wand and slipped out the door, fully aware that the others were watching him.
He reached the Common Room and noticed it was completely empty. Curling up on what promised to be a very comfortable couch, he gazed into the flames in the fireplace and thought idly to himself that they were the same color as his eyes. Maybe this was where he had been meant to be all along.
****
“Well, well. Mr. Potter.” A dry, snide voice startled Albus awake.
Sitting up quickly, he fumbled for his wand and looked around for the mysterious voice. The room was still empty. He must have fallen asleep on the couch.
“Another new celebrity, it would seem.”
The voice was above him. Squinting upward into the darkness, Al saw the portrait of Professor Snape staring down at him.
“L-Lumos,” Al whispered, shaking his wand. Nothing happened, and he looked away hurriedly, his cheeks flushing.
Severus Snape chuckled softly. “Did your famous father not teach you the most basic of spells?”
“Of course he did!” Al said defiantly, then added a soft “sir.” Looking down at his wand, he mumbled, “It always worked at home.”
Professor Snape’s eyes narrowed at the boy’s use of “sir.”
“If you have not yet noticed, Mr. Potter, you are no longer at home,” the portrait intoned. “You are in a dungeon. And, despite having a warm bed just in the next room, you have chosen a couch next to a fire that does not yet give off heat without even the presence of mind to bring a blanket.”
Albus blinked and looked at the fireplace. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, sir. It just happened.”
“Do classes not begin this morning, Mr. Potter?” Professor Snape asked.
“Yes, sir,” Albus answered. Then his eyes widened. “I haven’t overslept, have I? The others, they wouldn’t have left me here-”
“You are in Slytherin House,” Snape said. “They might indeed. Or would they?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Albus said, a bit panicked. “Not yet.”
“You have not, in fact, overslept,” Snape said after a brief pause. “As you might have learnt for yourself, if you had bothered to cast a time-telling charm. You do know that one, do you not, Mr. Potter?”
Albus flushed again and nodded.
“To be a Slytherin is to be cunning and clever, yet twice tonight you have either failed or forgotten to cast spells you admit to knowing. You have allowed yourself to fall asleep without any precautions to timeliness, on your first day of classes at Hogwarts, no less. And you have taken no steps toward ascertaining the characters of your fellow First Years. Tell me, Mr. Potter-why were you Sorted into Slytherin House?” Snape asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” Albus said, looking down at his hands.
“How like your father you are,” Snape said softly. “He, too, arrived at Hogwarts drenched in fame but lacking even the smallest measure of sense. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you expect your fame to win all your battles for you?”
“No,” Albus answered sharply. “And it’s not me who’s famous, is it, sir?”
“You are famous because your father is famous, Potter,” the portrait responded, its voice increasing. “You are famous because your features betray your parentage. You are famous because your namesake is Albus Dumbledore. And-”
“And I’m famous because my other namesake is you, sir,” Albus interrupted.
The portrait paused for a moment. “Yes. I had heard that your parents, in their … fondness … for me, decided to burden you with my forename,” Snape gritted.
“It’s not a burden, it’s-” Albus paused. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Even the smallest measure of sense,” the portrait repeated, “would teach you to be burdened by such a name. Or have your parents taught you nothing?”
“They taught me plenty,” Albus retorted strongly. “They taught me about magic, and about the war, and about being good to others, and how to be brave like you, and-”
“Brave.” The portrait stretched out the word as though it were unknown.
“Dad always said you were the bravest man he ever knew,” Albus said. “He said we should always think about the sacrifices that other people made so that we could have a better world to live in, and that things aren’t always what they look like on the outside so we have to learn to be patient and look deeper,” he continued, reciting clearly familiar words.
“So.” Snape said. “Your father instructed you to be … brave. And yet here you are, in Slytherin House. Clearly you did not pay attention to your lessons, Potter, or you would have been in Gryffindor alongside your nitwit brother.”
“He thought you were brave, sir, and you were a Slytherin,” Al pointed out. “Bravery isn’t just for Gryffindors,” he continued, mimicking his mother’s tone of voice.
“What is bravery, then, Potter?” Snape asked pointedly.
Albus took a deep breath. “Dad always said that being brave wasn’t the same as not being afraid. He said it was alright to be afraid, but that you still had to do the right thing, even if it was really difficult or scary. He said bravery meant facing your fears.”
“And what fears could an eleven-year-old boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, possibly have?” Severus drawled.
“I-” Albus stopped, mouth shutting. He inhaled, suddenly realizing what had happened. “I was afraid of being Sorted into Slytherin,” he said slowly.
“But then, when the hat was placed on my head, I remembered what Dad had said. About facing my fears. And I wanted him to be proud of me. I want to be as brave as he is, sir, and as brave as you,” Albus continued, voice picking up speed. “And there was only one way to do that, and that was not to ask the hat to put me anywhere. I had to let the hat figure it out, and not fight it, and if it chose Slytherin, then I would have to face it. And-”
“Go on, Mr. Potter,” Severus said softly.
“And if it chose Slytherin,” Al continued, “then even though I look like my dad, and have Dumbledore’s name, and yours, then at least I’d be different. I love my dad, and Jamie too, I guess, but in Slytherin, I could figure out how to just be … me.” Al sat back on the couch with a look of astonishment.
“Well done, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “If you wish to succeed in Slytherin House, you must always know what your true motivations are. Know who you are, and know whose you are, if you are to live up to any of your names. Your father, senseless dunderhead that he was at times, at least always knew for what cause he fought.”
Albus barely suppressed the corners of his mouth twitching upward. His namesake, Severus Snape, had just complimented him. And if he wasn’t hearing things, Professor Snape had also just sort of complimented his dad. “Yes, sir,” Albus said. “I want to be a good Slytherin. A brave one, and a clever one, like you.”
“Flattery is a weak man’s game,” Severus said. “Still. There is the smallest ember of promise in you, Potter. Do not waste it.”
“No, sir,” Albus said. “I won’t.”
Just then, the doors to the dormitories opened. In a tangle of robes and book bags, the other students straggled out, pausing when they saw Albus sitting calmly on the couch.
“Oi, Potter,” the ginger-haired boy said. “What’s all this? Planning to be late your first day?”
“No,” Albus said. “I’ll be along in a minute. I’m just talking with Professor Snape.”
Snape, in his portrait, drew himself up and folded his arms across his chest.
“Whoa,” a Second Year girl said. “But he never talks to anyone!”
“We’ve tried a hundred times,” another boy said.
“Mr. Potter,” the portrait spoke, his voice cutting easily through the hushed whispers. “I would suggest you hurry, if you do not wish to be late. I do not take kindly to students losing Slytherin points on the very first day.”
“Yes, sir,” Albus said, standing up and rushing for the door to his room. Turning around, he looked up at the portrait shrewdly. “And-thank you, sir. From me, and from my father,” he said, too softly for the rest of the muttering crowd to hear.
Snape’s eyebrows drew together as he stared down at the young man. “Your father may not use you as a messenger, Mr. Potter. Anything either of you has to say to me may be done in person. I trust I have made myself clear.”
Albus grinned. “Very, sir.”
“Come on, Potter, you’re going to lose us points!” a black-haired boy whined. “Hurry up!”
“Right. One minute!” Albus said, and ran off to his room.
The other students in the Common Room stared dumbfounded at the portrait of Professor Snape, who had resumed his normal intimidating glare.
A second later, Albus emerged, still in yesterday’s clothes, robes thrown hastily on and bag slung over his shoulder. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s go.”
After the crowd of students had jostled themselves through the door, Snape closed his eyes. Those eyes, those same green eyes, but in a far more perceptive mind than he would have imagined possible in a Potter.
“Well done, Harry,” he whispered to himself. “This one may yet be worthy.” Opening his eyes, he wrapped his cloak around himself and resumed his silent, frozen watch.
Prompt/Prompt Author: Albus Severus is sorted into Slytherin, where being the Son-of-the-Boy-Who-Lived is even more problematic than it is elsewhere. The portrait of Snape that hangs in the Slytherin common room helps him through it, and Albus Severus gets to know the man whose name he bears. Through the friendship, both come to terms with their relationships with Harry. / squibstress
Title: Fame Isn’t Everything, Mr. Potter
Characters: Severus Snape (in portrait form), Albus Severus Potter. Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, and others mentioned in passing
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~3000
Summary: Albus somehow manages to get Sorted into Slytherin, and has a difficult time understanding it. Professor Snape’s portrait, however, sees things more clearly.
Author's Notes: Seeing as how I adore portraits, and Snape, and character studies, there was just no other prompt for me. I have to admit, I thought this would be more Snape-centric than it turned out to be, but once I got started, this happened. It’s more pre-friendship than established, but I hope it still works for you!!
“Albus Severus Potter, you were named after two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was the bravest man I ever knew.”
The words rang in Albus’s skull as he boarded the train. Truth be told, he really was afraid of being sorted into Slytherin. His mum and dad had been careful over the years never to really come out and say anything bad about Slytherins, but Albus was smart. He knew they were different from the others, even if he didn’t quite understand why. It was just the way of it, he supposed. Jamie had been sorted into Gryffindor last year and Al had seen how chuffed his parents had been about it, despite them always saying they’d be happy no matter what house any of them wound up in. Hufflepuff Teddy had been at Hogwarts for years now. Between the two of them, he had heard stories. And of course, there was always the off-handed comment by Uncle Ron at dinner when the adults thought no one was listening. Slytherin House was definitely not what any of them would prefer.
“No need to ask who you must be,” a high voice drawled from behind him. “You must be the younger Potter.”
Albus turned, eyes narrowing. Before him stood a slight blond boy with pale features. “Yeah,” he said curtly. People always recognized him. He had heard the whispers at the Platform and as he walked down the aisle of the train. It usually made him feel good to know he resembled his dad so much, but today a tiny, surprising prick of annoyance blossomed in his stomach.
“Is this your compartment, then?” the blond boy gestured.
Albus looked around. He hadn’t really quite gotten as far as actually stepping foot inside the empty compartment, lost in thought as he was, but he wasn’t about to let anyone know that. “Yeah,” he said again gruffly, sitting down on one of the benches.
The blond boy rolled his eyes. “May I join you?” he spoke slowly, as though he thought Albus might not understand, pointing at the opposite seat.
Al suppressed a tiny smile. Despite the boy’s apparent confidence, Al could see he was rather nervous. He chewed on his lower lip when he thought Al wasn’t looking, and he rubbed a bit of his cloak between the fingers of his left hand as though it soothed him. “Yeah,” he replied.
“Is that all you know how to say?” the boy said petulantly as he slid into the opposite seat. “What a train ride this will be.”
Al chuckled. “My name’s Al Potter,” he said, sticking out his hand.
The blond rolled his eyes again, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward and he relaxed minutely. “I know that. Mine’s Scorpius Malfoy,” he said as their hands met.
****
”Ravenclaw!”
The commanding voice of Minerva McGonagall rang out across the Great Hall. Al clapped, alongside all the other first-years, as he watched his cousin Rose get Sorted.
Rose had always been book-smart, like her mother. She and Albus had loved to hide themselves away in a room or in the garden and reenact scenes from their favorite books or look through Aunt Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts: A History and dream about what it would be like to finally be away at school. Rose had always wanted Ravenclaw. Al had never been sure.
Al looked around. Jamie was stamping his feet and applauding, watching a beaming Rose make her way to the Ravenclaw table. On the other side, he saw Teddy give him a quick wave before turning and grinning at Rose, giving her a thumbs-up in congratulations.
Next to him, Scorpius sat, eyes focused completely on the Sorting Hat. His fingers smoothed the same wrinkle in his cloak over and over.
”Albus Potter!”
Al closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
****
”Well, well. Another Potter, eh? And what have you to say for yourself?”
“I-I don’t know what to say. Sir.”
“Your parents, grandparents, brother-all Gryffindors. I suppose that’s what you want as well, hmm?”
“Is it?”
“How interesting. Courage. A clever mind. Plenty of talent. Not surprising in the least, there. And oh, my, yes, a thirst to prove yourself. The same words I spoke to your father.”
“Yeah. Everyone tells me how much like him I am.”
“I see. Oh yes, I see quite clearly. Do you have any last requests, young Potter?”
“I want to-no.”
“Well, then. In that case, there is only one option. It had better be … Slytherin!”
****
Albus walked over to his new house. It felt like he was in a dream, or under water, or in some strange alternate reality. He heard the claps and cheers from the Slytherin table, but to him it felt like the rest of the room was silent. Appalled, perhaps, or embarrassed. Had he done something to be embarrassed of? How had he even gotten into Slytherin anyway? It was the hat’s decision, after all, although his dad had always told him the hat would take his wishes into consideration.
As he sat down, he barely acknowledged the handshakes and friendly claps on the back from his new housemates. He looked across the room. Teddy smiled broadly-too broadly?-and pumped his fists in the air before turning away to talk to his friends. Rose smiled at him half in excitement, half in pity, but he couldn’t tell whether she felt sorry for him or whether she was just disappointed not to have him in Ravenclaw with her. James, across the room, looked at him and laughed. From where Al sat, it looked almost cruel. A minute later, Scorpius Malfoy joined him. Al looked away.
****
After the welcoming feast, Al made his way down to the Slytherin dormitory alongside the other first-year students. He didn’t know a single one of the other four boys with whom he’d be sharing a room, but everyone seemed to know exactly who he was, and gave him a wide berth, as a result. Al could tell that they weren’t exactly mean-spirited. It was just that everyone, including himself, seemed not to know what to make of his Sorting.
In the Common Room, he stood apart from the others, barely listening to the Head Girl droning on about meal times and class schedules. His eyes roamed, taking in everything. The dungeons were much nicer than he had envisioned; the furniture was inviting, and the wall hangings made the room warmer and more snug than he would have thought possible. He wondered how much of that had changed since his parents’ time; somehow he had gotten the impression that the dungeons were grey, cold, and damp. His classmates seemed to be paying more attention to the Head Girl than he was, but each of them threw speculative glances at him. Albus ignored them.
On the wall above the fireplace behind them, a pair of black eyes glittered.
****
“So you’re Potter, eh?” One of the boys in his room asked neutrally as he unpacked his trunk.
“Yeah. Albus-er, Al, for short,” Al said, holding out his hand.
“We know who you are,” another one, a shorter, ginger-haired boy, replied.
Albus slowly lowered his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “You know who my father is.” As he turned away to unpack his own trunk, he felt both proud and irrationally angry.
****
While the other four boys had quickly settled into camaraderie of sorts, Albus had organized his corner of the room neatly and quietly. He sat on the bed, legs crossed, and watched as the others tried out some basic spells on some old parchment. Al noticed them glancing at him from time to time, but he wasn’t yet sure whether it was to make sure he was still watching or to make sure he wasn’t daring to join them.
Sighing, he pocketed his wand and slipped out the door, fully aware that the others were watching him.
He reached the Common Room and noticed it was completely empty. Curling up on what promised to be a very comfortable couch, he gazed into the flames in the fireplace and thought idly to himself that they were the same color as his eyes. Maybe this was where he had been meant to be all along.
****
“Well, well. Mr. Potter.” A dry, snide voice startled Albus awake.
Sitting up quickly, he fumbled for his wand and looked around for the mysterious voice. The room was still empty. He must have fallen asleep on the couch.
“Another new celebrity, it would seem.”
The voice was above him. Squinting upward into the darkness, Al saw the portrait of Professor Snape staring down at him.
“L-Lumos,” Al whispered, shaking his wand. Nothing happened, and he looked away hurriedly, his cheeks flushing.
Severus Snape chuckled softly. “Did your famous father not teach you the most basic of spells?”
“Of course he did!” Al said defiantly, then added a soft “sir.” Looking down at his wand, he mumbled, “It always worked at home.”
Professor Snape’s eyes narrowed at the boy’s use of “sir.”
“If you have not yet noticed, Mr. Potter, you are no longer at home,” the portrait intoned. “You are in a dungeon. And, despite having a warm bed just in the next room, you have chosen a couch next to a fire that does not yet give off heat without even the presence of mind to bring a blanket.”
Albus blinked and looked at the fireplace. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, sir. It just happened.”
“Do classes not begin this morning, Mr. Potter?” Professor Snape asked.
“Yes, sir,” Albus answered. Then his eyes widened. “I haven’t overslept, have I? The others, they wouldn’t have left me here-”
“You are in Slytherin House,” Snape said. “They might indeed. Or would they?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Albus said, a bit panicked. “Not yet.”
“You have not, in fact, overslept,” Snape said after a brief pause. “As you might have learnt for yourself, if you had bothered to cast a time-telling charm. You do know that one, do you not, Mr. Potter?”
Albus flushed again and nodded.
“To be a Slytherin is to be cunning and clever, yet twice tonight you have either failed or forgotten to cast spells you admit to knowing. You have allowed yourself to fall asleep without any precautions to timeliness, on your first day of classes at Hogwarts, no less. And you have taken no steps toward ascertaining the characters of your fellow First Years. Tell me, Mr. Potter-why were you Sorted into Slytherin House?” Snape asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” Albus said, looking down at his hands.
“How like your father you are,” Snape said softly. “He, too, arrived at Hogwarts drenched in fame but lacking even the smallest measure of sense. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you expect your fame to win all your battles for you?”
“No,” Albus answered sharply. “And it’s not me who’s famous, is it, sir?”
“You are famous because your father is famous, Potter,” the portrait responded, its voice increasing. “You are famous because your features betray your parentage. You are famous because your namesake is Albus Dumbledore. And-”
“And I’m famous because my other namesake is you, sir,” Albus interrupted.
The portrait paused for a moment. “Yes. I had heard that your parents, in their … fondness … for me, decided to burden you with my forename,” Snape gritted.
“It’s not a burden, it’s-” Albus paused. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Even the smallest measure of sense,” the portrait repeated, “would teach you to be burdened by such a name. Or have your parents taught you nothing?”
“They taught me plenty,” Albus retorted strongly. “They taught me about magic, and about the war, and about being good to others, and how to be brave like you, and-”
“Brave.” The portrait stretched out the word as though it were unknown.
“Dad always said you were the bravest man he ever knew,” Albus said. “He said we should always think about the sacrifices that other people made so that we could have a better world to live in, and that things aren’t always what they look like on the outside so we have to learn to be patient and look deeper,” he continued, reciting clearly familiar words.
“So.” Snape said. “Your father instructed you to be … brave. And yet here you are, in Slytherin House. Clearly you did not pay attention to your lessons, Potter, or you would have been in Gryffindor alongside your nitwit brother.”
“He thought you were brave, sir, and you were a Slytherin,” Al pointed out. “Bravery isn’t just for Gryffindors,” he continued, mimicking his mother’s tone of voice.
“What is bravery, then, Potter?” Snape asked pointedly.
Albus took a deep breath. “Dad always said that being brave wasn’t the same as not being afraid. He said it was alright to be afraid, but that you still had to do the right thing, even if it was really difficult or scary. He said bravery meant facing your fears.”
“And what fears could an eleven-year-old boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, possibly have?” Severus drawled.
“I-” Albus stopped, mouth shutting. He inhaled, suddenly realizing what had happened. “I was afraid of being Sorted into Slytherin,” he said slowly.
“But then, when the hat was placed on my head, I remembered what Dad had said. About facing my fears. And I wanted him to be proud of me. I want to be as brave as he is, sir, and as brave as you,” Albus continued, voice picking up speed. “And there was only one way to do that, and that was not to ask the hat to put me anywhere. I had to let the hat figure it out, and not fight it, and if it chose Slytherin, then I would have to face it. And-”
“Go on, Mr. Potter,” Severus said softly.
“And if it chose Slytherin,” Al continued, “then even though I look like my dad, and have Dumbledore’s name, and yours, then at least I’d be different. I love my dad, and Jamie too, I guess, but in Slytherin, I could figure out how to just be … me.” Al sat back on the couch with a look of astonishment.
“Well done, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “If you wish to succeed in Slytherin House, you must always know what your true motivations are. Know who you are, and know whose you are, if you are to live up to any of your names. Your father, senseless dunderhead that he was at times, at least always knew for what cause he fought.”
Albus barely suppressed the corners of his mouth twitching upward. His namesake, Severus Snape, had just complimented him. And if he wasn’t hearing things, Professor Snape had also just sort of complimented his dad. “Yes, sir,” Albus said. “I want to be a good Slytherin. A brave one, and a clever one, like you.”
“Flattery is a weak man’s game,” Severus said. “Still. There is the smallest ember of promise in you, Potter. Do not waste it.”
“No, sir,” Albus said. “I won’t.”
Just then, the doors to the dormitories opened. In a tangle of robes and book bags, the other students straggled out, pausing when they saw Albus sitting calmly on the couch.
“Oi, Potter,” the ginger-haired boy said. “What’s all this? Planning to be late your first day?”
“No,” Albus said. “I’ll be along in a minute. I’m just talking with Professor Snape.”
Snape, in his portrait, drew himself up and folded his arms across his chest.
“Whoa,” a Second Year girl said. “But he never talks to anyone!”
“We’ve tried a hundred times,” another boy said.
“Mr. Potter,” the portrait spoke, his voice cutting easily through the hushed whispers. “I would suggest you hurry, if you do not wish to be late. I do not take kindly to students losing Slytherin points on the very first day.”
“Yes, sir,” Albus said, standing up and rushing for the door to his room. Turning around, he looked up at the portrait shrewdly. “And-thank you, sir. From me, and from my father,” he said, too softly for the rest of the muttering crowd to hear.
Snape’s eyebrows drew together as he stared down at the young man. “Your father may not use you as a messenger, Mr. Potter. Anything either of you has to say to me may be done in person. I trust I have made myself clear.”
Albus grinned. “Very, sir.”
“Come on, Potter, you’re going to lose us points!” a black-haired boy whined. “Hurry up!”
“Right. One minute!” Albus said, and ran off to his room.
The other students in the Common Room stared dumbfounded at the portrait of Professor Snape, who had resumed his normal intimidating glare.
A second later, Albus emerged, still in yesterday’s clothes, robes thrown hastily on and bag slung over his shoulder. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s go.”
After the crowd of students had jostled themselves through the door, Snape closed his eyes. Those eyes, those same green eyes, but in a far more perceptive mind than he would have imagined possible in a Potter.
“Well done, Harry,” he whispered to himself. “This one may yet be worthy.” Opening his eyes, he wrapped his cloak around himself and resumed his silent, frozen watch.