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He envied the rest of his classmates, crowded nervously around him in a sea of black robes and anxious faces. No one talked about their families. None of them had to prove they belonged here.

Not like he did.

Everyone from his family had been sorted into the same house. But his father had told him that the old traditions had died and the four houses of Hogwarts didn’t stand for what they once did. He had told him that he would be proud of him regardless of what house he was in.

"You’re my son. That’s all you need to be for me to be proud of you."

His father didn’t realize just how heavy those words were when laid out over his life. He didn’t understand that his parentage was exactly the problem. When once their family name and all it carried with it would have been a blessing, for him it was a curse.

The Deputy Headmaster called his name, and he murmured an apology as he pushed through the asphyxiating throng. He turned to apologize when he knocked into one boy particularly hard and locked eyes momentarily with a bright green gaze.

As he crossed to the stool at the front of the Great Hall, he could feel the other students’ eyes following him. He came from a family of traitors and cowards--what good would he be to any house he was sorted into?

The Sorting Hat was heavy on his head as it whispered that he could make his father proud by upholding the family tradition. But he was tired of being defined by his family.

His father had told him the old ways didn’t matter anymore, that things were different now. As Scorpius took a seat with his new house, he found he was finally starting to believe it.