Our lives alibis

1. First year. Children of a sacrifice ?

POV ALBUS

My name is Potter.

Not Harry, no.

Albus Severus.

I am the son of a hero, with an impossible name. Not easy to live.

Why am not my name James, or Fred?

Albus is a tribute to the former Director of Hogwarts, who sacrificed himself for my father.

Severus is a tribute to a Hogwarts teacher, Slytherin house director, who also sacrificed himself for my father.

A bit heavy, as an inheritance.

Severus, it's also related to the color of my eyes, and my grandmother. I never understood the link, but I always knew that I was different. Because of my eyes?

My brother is a true Potter, according to my mother: brave, burnt and slightly rebellious to the established order.

My sister is a true Weasley, according to my father: redhead, stubborn and direct. A little boy missed.

And who do I look like?

To two teachers who died long before my birth?

Who am I, really? Why am I here?

My mother often looked at me strangely, even before I entered Hogwarts.

This entry, I had waited and dreaded for a long time.

Expected because I have always loved to learn, observe, deduce. My grandmother Weasley often said looking at me: "It's a contemplative, this child. I'm not sure it was a compliment. She was much more comfortable with my brother or my cousins. I never liked fighting, playing soldier or football. I liked to know, to understand.

Dreaded because I was afraid that the Severus side, so Slytherin, take precedence over the Potter side, so Gryffindor. I did not want to be the only Potter not to be Gryffindor, even though I was not particularly brave. Slytherins were bad guys, in our family legends.

I remember that morning on pier 9 3/4. How I clung to my father's hand. How afraid I was that the Sorting Hat made the wrong choice. Let him discover my true nature. My taste for the shadow and the secret. Afraid everyone knows I was different.

My father always looked at me with infinite tenderness, but that morning he knew how to find the words to reassure me, and I understood that he would always be there for me, that he would always love me, even though 'he is coming. Even though I was different.

I also knew that I could not really count on James to help me, too busy with his friends, and the girls.

ooooOOOOoooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOO

During the distribution ceremony, I prayed to be in Gryffindor, under the mocking glance of my brother, who had not stopped telling me on the train that I was a Slytherin at heart.

The Sorting Hat hesitated, mumbled, and thought I was dying on the spot.

And finally, he said loudly, "Gryffindor," and I breathed.

Then he whispered, "You'll regret it," and I shrugged.

Evidently, the Sorting Hat was right.

I cried whole nights a few months later not to be in Slytherin.

ooooOOOOOooooooOOOOOooooooOOOOO

The first year was a bit difficult. I struggled to fit in with Gryffindor students, noisy, athletic, and James ignored me.

It was not easy to be called Potter, and to be the son of a hero. Always those curious looks, these legends about my father. For me, it was my father, my support, and that's all. It was James who carried high the family torch of heroism. The exploits he told me made me want to disappear underground. I did not want to talk about it with others. I fled all those who spoke to me about him. I think I fled everyone in the end.