It was a new school year. Once again. 

The bustling heart of King's Cross Station pulsed with excitement, as would be expected. Witches and wizards hurried through the barriers, their robes swirling behind them as they guided trolleys laden with trunks and owl cages toward the hidden platform of Nine and Three-Quarters. The familiar scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express hissed gently, sending plumes of steam curling like a snake into the rainy, morning air. 

Amidst the cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the occasional burst of magic, families reunited and parted, marking the passage of time in a timeless ritual. Yet, beneath the surface of cheerful chaos, there was an undercurrent of foreboding—a subtle shift in the atmosphere that hinted this year would be different from those that came before.

The usual excitement on the platform was overshadowed by the presence of the new Minister of Magic, Percival Clearwater. Now in the bloom of his early forties, adorned in the finest attire that spoke of both elegance and authority, Percival exuded an air of regality that effortlessly commanded the attention of all who were blessed to find themselves in his presence. His every movement was a symphony of grace and power, captivating the gaze of onlookers as if they were witnessing the arrival of a king in his full splendor. Standing in the way of departing students, Percival fielded questions from a flock of Daily Prophet reporters, his entourage of bodyguards and assistants hovering nearby. His authoritative voice carried over the crowd, adding a layer of tension to the otherwise jubilant scene.

Amidst the commotion, Harry and Albus Potter stepped onto the platform. Albus glanced around uncomfortably, noticing the stares and whispers that seemed to follow them.

"You didn't need to bring me to the station, Dad," Albus said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"But I wanted to be here," Harry replied gently, his eyes searching his son's face.

Albus shifted his weight, avoiding his father's gaze. "Then I'm just asking if you'll—if you'll just stand a little away from me. Everyone's staring at us again."

"Third years don't like to be seen with their dads, is that it?" Harry attempted light-heartedly, though his smile didn't quite reach his son's eyes.

"No. It's just—you're you and—and I'm me and—" Albus trailed off, his frustration evident.

Ginny appeared beside them with James and Lily, who was proudly pushing her own trolley. One look at Harry's strained expression told her that things were off to a bad start.

Harry tried to reassure his son. "It's just people looking, okay? People look. And they're looking at me, not you." 

"They're looking at Harry Potter... and his disappointing son," Albus muttered under his breath.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing.

"At Harry Potter and his Slytherin son," Albus said more loudly, the bitterness in his voice cutting through the surrounding chatter.

Harry cast a helpless glance at Ginny. She met his eyes and gave an encouraging nod. Summoning his resolve, he awkwardly pulled Albus into a side hug before reaching into his pocket and producing a leaf of parchment.

"Third year. Big year," he said, attempting enthusiasm. "Here—is your Hogsmeade permission form."

"I hate Hogsmeade," Albus replied flatly.

"How can you hate a place you haven't actually visited?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Without a word, Albus took the parchment, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it across the platform. Harry watched it roll away, a mixture of hurt and confusion clouding his features as he went after the permission slip. Nearby, James was teasing Lily, using his wizard's cap as a makeshift Sorting Hat.

"I've sorted high, I've sorted low, I've done the job through thick and thin. So put me on and you will know which House you should be in," James chanted dramatically, placing the hat atop Lily's head.

"Stop it this instant," Lily demanded, pushing the cap away.

"Are you afraid of what you'll hear? Afraid I'll speak the name you fear?" James continued with a mischievous grin.

On the other side of the platform, Harry struggled to connect with Albus.

"...there were Dementors all around the school, searching for the escapee, who—and I didn't realize this at the time—was my Godfather! It was extremely shortsighted of them to use Dementors, of course. Any number of students could've been—"

"Well, perhaps if you had been resourceful enough to use Dementors, Pariah Prince would've been caught by now," Albus interrupted coldly.

"What?" Harry blinked, taken aback by his son's sharpness.

Lily pushed the cap away along with James this time. "Mum, he keeps saying it," she complained.

Ginny turned to them. "James... stop being a nuisance."

"I only said she might be in Slytherin. And she might, so..." He shrugged nonchalantly.

Lily's eyes filled with worry. "Do you think—what if I am—what if I'm—"

"Sorted into Slytherin? Then you'll be with Al," Ginny said reassuringly, smoothing a strand of hair from Lily's face.

Ginny glanced back at Harry and Albus, noticing that their conversation was deteriorating.

Harry was rambling now. "Well, there's the fourth year exams—and then the fifth year—very big year—in my fifth year I did—I did a lot of stuff. Some of it good. Some of it less good. A lot of it quite confusing."

"Good to know," Albus replied dryly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond his father.