Archive of Our Own ^beta

Scorpius pulled his scarf snug as he ventured through the courtyard. The late October air was crisp and nippy, making the tips of his ears turn red. When he rounded the corner into the grand cloister, he situated himself on the rail, adjusting his book bag strap.

It was part of a daily routine to meet here with Albus so they could go back to the common room together. 

Since it would take his best friend a few minutes to cross the entire span of the castle from the greenhouse, Scorpius decided he had time to pull out his Charms notes to review. FindåΩing his place, he began to skim the list of this week’s incantations. He furrowed his brows, suddenly noticing his lack of organization. He’d written the items down as they were presented rather than alphabetized, leading it to be a less effective way of going through his notes.

He quietly mouthed each incantation three times, partially for practice, but mostly for memorization. One would think the noise of a bustling corridor to be a poor place to study, but Scorpi

us didn’t find it mattered if he focussed hard enough. 

“Macie, stop that! He’s a Professor!” a voice pierced through said focus. 

“I’m just saying—he’s quite fit for his age!”

“How old do you think he is, anyways?”

“I’d much rather have to look at him than ancient ol’ Slughorn for the entire period.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I want to know what he looks like! I don’t have Potions until Thursday!”

“Plus he has such a nice voice.”

A chorus of giggles drew Scorpius’s attention to a group of sixth year girls walking by. They enthusiastically huddled together while chattering. His head cocked in intrigue as he attempted to eavesdrop on more of the conversation. Their pace was brisk, however, so all he could catch was ‘tall’.

The third year let himself wonder what that had been about for only a second before dismissing the interruption and returning to his notes. 

Scorpius waited a whole fifteen minutes before a hand clapped onto his shoulder. He jumped and was met with a pair of bright green eyes.

“Sorry I’m late!” Albus was smiling crookedly, somewhat out of breath, “Someone spilled an entire pack of Wickedly Sticky Chewing Gum and the whole hallway was backed up with people whose feet were basically glued to the floor! People were shooting Scourgifies all over the place! One girl got hit in the face and all of her makeup vanished, and she started crying.”

Scorpius threw his head back and laughed, “Did you get stuck, too? Tell me you did!”

“No, no,” Albus shook his head, “I just took the long route around. There was no way I was going to fight my way through that.”

The blonde laughed again and tucked his parchment back into his bag.

“Come on, let’s go. I’m getting chilly,” Scorpius said, leading the way back into the castle. 

While the pair weaved their way through the vast halls and winding staircases, they spoke casually about this and that. Albus reported his predictions for the upcoming Quidditch match (this opinion was determined off of vibes only), then Scorpius bemoaned about how he’d been craving some of his mum’s chocolate cake as of late. 

Yes, the one she only made around Christmas time.

The school’s chocolate cake just didn’t taste the same, you know?

When they descended down towards the dungeons, Albus gasped, “Oh Salazar! I forgot about the Potions reading we had to do for tomorrow!”

He slapped his palm against his forehead and groaned.

“I told Delphini we would play board games tonight… Do you remember which chapters we were supposed to cover? Maybe I can read them super fast!”

“Al, we were supposed to read five whole chapters by tomorrow! How could you forget? You had a whole week, mate.” 

“I dunno! I just forgot!” Albus exclaimed.

Scorpius sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes, “I already read it. I can let you look at my notes, I guess. But you owe me your dessert tomorrow as payment because those were really long chapters!”

“Deal!” 

Immediately convinced, his friend stuck out his hand. With begrudging enthusiasm, Scorpius grabbed it with a resounding pop, and they shook.

“Speaking of Potions, I think I heard something about Slughorn being absent, and he might have a substitute. Do you know anything about that?” Scorpius inquired.

Albus casted his gaze upwards, a speculative expression briefly crossing his face before he shook his head and shrugged.

“I haven’t heard anything. And the Headmistress didn’t mention anything about it during announcements. But if that is true, you know Panju is going to see the bloke as a fresh target for pranks,” Albus predicted, snickering.

“He has spent so much of his time in detention, he’s gonna get held back or something,” Scorpius agreed.

“Hey, I’m not complaining if he keeps losing points for Gryffindor,” said Albus. 

Both boys shared a round of chuckles. They turned to the the Slytherin Common Room entrance with grins on their faces. 

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

Potions class was the first class of the day for young Scorpius Malfoy. He and Albus had just finished breakfast before they sluggishly trudged into the classroom. By this time, his question about the potential substitute had long been forgotten. Admittedly, they had stayed up far too late due to getting distracted by the new comic book James had offered to share with them. It was a thrilling new volume of the Hex Files, which was about a team of two cursebreakers who were specifically assigned extra mysterious and dangerous cases.

It was fine that they stayed up until two! Really!

It was a great opportunity to test how long they could maintain a Lumos charm! 

Or so Scorpius told himself.

Regardless, the boys were quite sleep-deprived and the idea of going over material about uncommon antidotes, ironically, did not sound particularly energizing. 

They dropped into their seats and with dead weight, laid their heads on their shared station.

“I don’t want to be here,” Albus mumbled.

“Me neither. Do you remember anything from my notes?” Scorpius asked.

“No. Do you?”

“Give me five more minutes. My morning cuppa didn’t do much for me.”

The two deflated further, grateful for the few minutes pause before class ramped up. The remainder of the student body shuffled in, and the morning energy amongst their classmates was unexpectedly lively. Time meant nothing to Scorpius, so he hadn’t even realized that the class had technically started seven minutes ago. 

Professor Slughorn was late.

“Pardon me for my tardiness, class,” a firm voice called over the chatter.

Scorpius and Albus shot up fast as firecrackers. 

The room fell into an anticipating silence, and chairs creaked against the bodies adjusting to twist around. 

With gray eyes as wide as saucers, Scorpius gawked at the person who was absolutely not Professor Slughorn.

The Professor gently shut the door behind him with the hand that was not cradling a four inch tome. With no urgency whatsoever, the man moved towards the lecture podium. Dragonhide oxfords clacked steadily against the stone floor as he walked past. His heavy cloak billowed gracefully, almost powerfully behind him. With a flick of his wand, all of the cauldron’s burners ignited. 

He reached the podium, dropping the tome down with a mighty thud. He faced the class with a cool and assertive confidence. His robes seemed exquisitely expensive and were absolutely custom fit. His hair was neat, being swept stylishly to the side. Three rings adorned his fingers, and they glittered when the candlelight hit them just right. The substitute looked as important and professional as Scorpius knew him to be. 

Their Professor braced his hands on either side of the podium before leaning forward with a knowing and mischievous smirk stretching his lips. 

“Good morning, students. Professor Slughorn had to take an unexpected leave of absence, so I shall be your Potions professor for the rest of this month,” announced Draco Malfoy.

Albus’ hand reached over to close his friend’s jaw that had practically hit the desk.

“Now, I normally work in Potion Development for the Ministry, but I was kind enough to offer my time as your substitute when Headmistress McGonagall called in for the last minute favor. Therefore, you may call me Professor Malfoy.”

A searing heat engulfed Scorpius’s face as dozens of eyes instantly found him. A cloud of whispers and murmurs filled the room like a dense fog. 

His father continued, projecting his voice above the commotion, “I understand we have some reading material to review before the brewing lab begins. Now, open your textbooks and turn to page three hundred and ninety four.”

Father and son locked eyes. 

The Malfoy senior’s grin grew wickedly wider while the Malfoy junior’s heart rate grew exponentially faster. His ears rang with adrenaline that surged through his veins. Mortification paralyzed his nerves. 

Scorpius wanted to die.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

“Say, you there, lad,” Professor Malfoy pointed at Scorpius, “What is your name?”

The boy froze mid-dice of his frog brain.

He slowly looked up in disbelief. With a strenuous amount of self control, his face did not twist into an utterly baffled expression of: are you actually asking me that right now? He ignored the snickering from the table behind him.

“Uh…Scorpius Malfoy, erm….Sir…” was his stilted response.

Okay, calling his dad ‘Sir’ was really, really weird. 

A flash of something akin to amusement flickered in his father’s eyes.

His father must have thought so, too.

“What a fine name you have, boy!”

“I’ve never been particularly fond of it.”

“What?”

“What?”

“... Anyways, your simmer is absolutely perfect right now. Be sure to add your frog brain in exactly three even portions or it shall drop the temperature too low, and you will lose potency,” was the instruction. 

Scorpius nodded obediently, resuming the task, “Understood, Sir.”

Albus stifled a giggle.

Scorpius diced more aggressively.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

Malfoy (child) could not escape the Potions classroom soon enough once class was dismissed. He didn’t even wait for Albus to pack up his bags before making the hastiest exit he’d ever attempted. His father did not stop him from bolting, and he did not wait to see if he had tried. 

Scorpius darted down the hallway, taking a sharp left to brace himself against an empty alcove. His chest heaved as his head fell into his hands.

“My father?!” Scorpius cried dreadfully, “My father is the substitute?!”

Albus almost ran right past the alcove before spotting his friend at the last second, almost tripping to pivot so quickly. He stumbled awkwardly into the alcove and grabbed Scorpius by his shoulders, shaking him violently.

“Your dad?!” Albus cried excitedly, “Uncle Draco is the substitute?!” 

“This is terrible!”

“This is awesome!” 

Said the two in unison.

“Awesome?! How is this awesome?” demanded Scorpius.

“Well, it means you’re going to probably get perfect marks on the rest of the month’s assignments,” suggested Albus sagely, “It’s obvious that he won’t let you do poorly because that would make him look bad.” 

Scorpius sputtered indignantly.

“That’s not a good thing! What is wrong with you?” 

He took a deep intake of breath. 

“Besides, Mum would be livid if she found out he did that…” he added as an afterthought.

He buried his face in his hands, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Oh this is horrifying. Everyone will make fun of me! They’re going to call me teacher’s pet or something! They’re going to think Dad’s gonna give me straight O’s just because I’m his kid! What if he treats me differently? What if I do something wrong and he gives me detention? That would be just as humiliating as getting perfect grades! Why didn’t he or Mum owl me a heads up? The rest of the month! He has to be my teacher for the rest of the month! He’s never seen me at school, Al! What if I muck something up while he’s here–or get in trouble–and he thinks I’m a complete failure?! Aaagh!” 

Scorpius threw up his arms in defeat, succumbing to the feeling of the very foundation of Hogwarts crumbling beneath his feet.

“Why would he do this?!” 

“Hey, hey,” Albus interjected, crouching down before him.

He rubbed his arms as he forced Scorpius to look at him. Fear, panic and embarrassment painted every pore on his face. Albus offered a comforting smile.

“Calm down, Scorp. You’re overthinking it. Probably.”

Scorpius narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! You know your dad, I know your dad. Hogwarts is not going to blow up because your dad is substituting for a while. Do you really think the Headmistress would let him teach if she didn’t think it wasn’t a good idea?”

Scorpius huffed stubbornly.

“No one is going to make fun of you. Your dad isn’t going to embarrass you. Everything is going to be perfectly fine. For Salazar’s sake he’s your dad.”

Scorpius took a second to mull over his friend’s words. Scorpius reminded himself of all the ways his father has supported him, all the ways he showed his love for him, all the ways he did his best to make him happy. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, he knew that. 

Scorpius loved his dad.

His dad loved him.

Albus was right.

Everything was going to be fine.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

“Professor Malfoy?” a girl piped up, somewhat distressed.

Scorpius followed his father as he made way to his classmate’s brewing station.

“Yes, Miss Osbourne?”

The girl sighed in defeat, gesturing to her cauldron.

“It’s not turning lavender. It’s only staying this pinkish color. I don’t know what to do! I added exactly 5.3 ml of Wart Oil as instructed, and made sure to stir it six times clockwise…” she worriedly referenced her recipe manual, “I double checked everything.”

Professor Malfoy furrowed his brows and picked up the leaflet before glancing down at her cauldron. He assessed the situation with a tone that was firm, but understanding; a tone that was all too familiar to Scorpius.

“I would suspect it wasn’t the Wart Oil at all,” he concluded, “I believe your mistake was made earlier in the process. It’s rather easy to overcrush dried Fang Beetles, as brittle as they are. The brew is not salvageable and you must start over. Don’t feel discouraged, there’s plenty of time left in class to brew another batch to completion. This time, don’t go so heavy-handed on the Fang Beetles. Try a wooden pestle instead of granite.”

He offered her a sympathetic, but brief smile before tapping the cauldron with his wand, the entire batch disappearing in a poof. 

The girl sighed in defeat, before leaving her station to re-gather her ingredients with newfound determination.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

Each evening at supper, Scorpius tended to avoid looking at the Professor’s table. It was easier to ignore the erumpent in the room with all of his friends surrounding him. The boisterous noise of the Great Hall also acted as a distraction from being too self-conscious. But the young third year couldn’t help himself. Every now and then he would glance over, finding the platinum blonde head of hair (of which he himself inherited) in the lineup of adults. 

Right then, his dad seemed to be in a friendly conversation with Professor Flitwick. They raised their goblets and clinked, both of them sharing amusement in whatever they were speaking of. He watched for too long, however, because not a beat later his father lifted his eyes to him.

There was a barely perceivable arch in his brow, and he subtly raised his glass towards him.

Scorpius ripped away his gaze as if being caught, then promptly started poking at his beef stew. 

Lydia Longbottom, fellow Slytherin, eyed Scorpius with knowing curiosity. She sipped her pumpkin juice primly, waiting on how long it would take for Scorpius to have another bite.

When he finally did, she leaned closer.

“So… It’s been a week. What’s it like having your dad as a teacher?” she asked bluntly.

Scorpius choked on the carrot that had just been placed on his tongue. He painfully swallowed as he fought for air. Albus paused with his own mouthful of food to see if he needed to call over Mr. Malfoy to save his choking child. Grabbing his water, Scorpius guzzled it all then slammed the glass down when his trachea was cleared. 

He shot daggers at his friend. 

“It’s fine,” he coughed out tightly, “Nothing weird or uncomfortable about it at all.”

“Are you suuuure?” Lydia drawled.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“Come on, Lydia!” her twin Ethan elbowed her, “Leave him alone. Imagine if we had to learn about Herbology from Dad? I’d imagine that would be super strange and embarrassing!”

Although Lydia’s counterpart was a Ravenclaw, the duo were inseparable and often bounced back and forth from their respective House tables for meals. Lydia hummed, yielding to her brother’s argument, but not before shooting a sneak peek at Professor Malfoy herself.

“Do you think Mom and Dad know he’s here?” she whispered to her brother, intentionally loud enough that Scorpius could hear. 

“Shut up, Lydia,” Ethan warned. 

He paused.

“I think Mom knows.”

Scorpius scowled.

Salazar…no one had yet outright asked him about it except for Albus. 

Sure…he could hear the gossip echo down the hallways; and yeah okay, he got funny looks when he was seen entering or exiting the Potions room. But to his surprise, people so far had not been outwardly vocal about the double Malfoy event. As the sole heir of a long, long line of only children, Hogwarts had probably not housed two Malfoys at once in centuries, if ever—definitely a topic worth gossiping about. It was like a school-wide open secret that everyone was privy to.

Scorpius wondered if people feared being reprimanded for talking too loudly, keeping the buzz to a minimum. 

Was it bizarre to see one of his parents in a school setting, talking with his Professors as if they were mates, and instructing his fellow peers on his line of expertise? 

Yeah. 

It was. 

And okay, he hadn’t found the courage to say more than a handful of words to his own Merlin-darned dad. This in of itself was exceptionally bizarre because he and his father were quite the conversationalists with each other at home. 

Had he adjusted to the formal, cordial but friendly cadence his dad used when speaking? 

Nope. 

Sure hadn’t. 

What would you call even that, his customer service voice?

Was he anxious that this was all some grand Slytherin-rooted ploy by his father to check in on his only son?

Oh yeah, absolutely. 

“I owled my dad about it and he said he said he had no clue that Hogwarts would even consider Uncle Draco competent enough to teach,” chimed Albus nonchalantly.

Scorpius considered feigning sickness tomorrow. 

But the thought of worrying his dad made him refrain.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

Flying was one of Scorpius’s favorite classes. He continued it as an elective in his third year simply because it was easy and fun. Plus, he really did want to try to make the Quidditch team at some point. The young Malfoy made final adjustments to his protection gear, tightening the laces on his shin guards. He double checked that his breastplate was flush to his sternum, then gave an extra tug on his arm straps.

Since he spent an extra bit of time applying a coat of Grip Paste to his broomhandle, Scorpius was the last to leave the locker room. 

“Wait just a minute, son,” bolstered a voice that stopped him in his tracks.

Scorpius turned to see none other than his father leaning against one of the lockers. He looked very smug. A familiar pair of flying goggles dangled from his pinched fingers.

“Are you forgetting something?” 

The boy sighed and moved to snatch the goggles that he had received as a birthday gift this summer. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he mumbled, cringing internally.

His father tsked. 

“We don’t want any eye injuries now do we? What if a bee flew into your eye?”

“A bee?”

“Or what if you crash into a tree and get impaled by a pine needle? Do you really want to put Madame Pomfrey in that position?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly.”

“What are you even doing in the locker room?” diverted Scorpius.

“Reminiscing! Did you know I also attended Hogwarts? I even played on the Quidditch team! I haven’t been back in years” — literal bollocks — “and I feel like these lockers were so much bigger when I was your age.”

His father hummed thoughtfully as he meandered to Scorpius’s locker. He gave it a once over.

“Huh…that’s a coincidence,” he mused.

“What’s a coincidence?”

“I was assigned this exact same locker.”

Scorpius watched his father trace ‘Malfoy’ engraved nameplate with his finger. His eyes softened as his cocky expression melted into something tender. They embraced a moment of silence.

“Fly safe, won’t you?” his father requested gently.

He nodded, “I will.”

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

The Longbottom twins were always a joy to study with. 

Ethan was a phenomenal study partner, and Scorpius worked well with him. Their conversations always exhausted the topic of choice, and they enthusiastically shared whatever input came to mind. Whenever the planets aligned and allowed the two boys to work together on a project, you bet Merlin’s beard they got a big, fat shiny “O”. Oddly enough however, Ethan’s most favorite subject, Transfiguration, was the one he was the worst at. 

Lydia on the other hand, while intelligent and smart in her own regard, just didn’t have the same kind of educational eagerness. She tended to hold mild interest in many things, rather than a searing passion for a select few. She typically worked independently, merely enjoying the company of her friends as she did so. 

Ethan would forever be jealous of his sister for her weirdly impressive talent for Transfiguration.

“Do you remember the runic sequence for the Edgar function?” Lydia mindlessly asked.

Ethan and Scorpius shared a look.

“Not everyone here is taking Advanced Arithmancy, Lydia,” Scorpius mocked, “so no. I can’t remember something I haven’t been taught.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Jeeze. Sorry, I was just asking.”

Ethan turned back to his own homework.

“I’m so into my astronomy report I can’t even begin to start thinking about arithmancy. It’s actually super fascinating! Did you know that some magical flowers' growth is determined by planetary positioning? There’s a specific species of Hydra-Lily that only blooms when Mercury is in retrograde. And if you harvest them at that perfect time, their magical properties are the strongest!” Ethan beamed.

“I didn’t know about the Hydra-Lily, but there is also a hotspring in India that helps recharge your magical core when Venus is closest to the sun,” provided Scorpius, “Here—let me show you—”

But as he reached across the table to select a nearby book, his arm bumped into the candelabra that was placed a bit too closely.

The metal object clanked loudly against the desk and its flames immediately set the entire book ablaze.

Lydia shrieked, launching herself from the table.

“Scorpius!” she cried.

“Oh shit!” Ethan gasped.

In a panic, Ethan threw over his uniform cloak in an attempt to snuff out the flames. But the fire was already too big, and his cloak became its second victim. 

“What do we do!” Scorpius hissed, frantically looking around.

“I don’t know–why is it growing so fast?!”

“Hurry–where’s your wand?”

“Where’s your wand?!”

In an absolute frenzy, the children ravaged their belongings for their wands. A chair was knocked over and a glass bottle of pumpkin juice shattered when it fell from Lydia’s bag. 

“Is that pumpkin juice?! Why do you have pumpkin juice!” Scorpius let out a wail of grief.

“I’m sorry that I get thirsty between classes!” she shot back, avoiding stepping in the mess.

“For Circe’s sake—did anyone find their wand!” 

“Aguamenti!” 

A wave of water washed over the table, dousing the flames entirely as the stream cascaded over the tabletop. It continued until the entire table and all of its belongings were sopping wet. 

Scorpius clutched his chest as he turned to the direction of the miracle caster. 

Professor Malfoy stood behind him, a stern look cementing his face.

The three dared not to move.

The professor scrutinized the scene before him. He started flicking his wand in a rapid series of motions, muttering incantations as he went. 

The chair uprighted itself. Any evidence of spilled pumpkin juice vanished. Ethan’s cloak was as new as the day of delivery. There was little to be done about the scorch marks streaking the table, and the book…

 Well…formerly a book… 

A charred black brick remained while the scent of burnt leather wafted through the air.

“P-Professor Malfoy…” stammered Ethan.

“What happened here?” demanded the adult.

“I–I uh…I accidentally knocked over the candle. It happened so fast! I didn’t know what to do, we were trying to find our wands—” Scorpius began, but his father’s lifted hand silenced him.

“Enough—I understand. Why there isn’t an anti-inflammatory ward on every single book in this library is beyond me, but you clearly need to learn to be more mindful of your surroundings. I will have to report this to Madame Pince, but you three best be grateful she was not the one who discovered this unbecoming accident.”

Scorpius bowed his head, chastened.

“Yes, Sir…”

“And this poor book,” Professor Malfoy pulled out a handkerchief to retrieve the all but destroyed text, “It never asked to be burned. What would your mother think, going around carelessly burning books?”

The entire trio physically cringed.

“I didn’t mean to...”

“I know you didn’t.”

His father gave his son a knowing look. He dawned a small smile before wrapping the remains in the cloth.

“Shoo! Be on your way. I’m certain Madame Pince won’t want to see any of your faces for at least a week after I bring her this.”

He waved them off dismissively. Lydia and Ethan rushed to pack their things before dashing through the labyrinth of bookshelves. Scorpius walked with his father to the end of the aisle before they were to part ways.

“Uh…are you…you’re not going to actually tell Mum about this…right…?” he asked meekly.

Merlin knows this didn’t need to become a whole family affair.

His father scoffed.

“Do you take me for a snitch, boy?” 

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

That evening at supper, the Malfoy family owl swooped in and dropped an envelope above Scorpius’s head. Scorpius barely caught the mail before it landed straight in his soup. The boy glared at the owl.

“Come on, Nuntis, I thought you were getting better at your aim!” he chided the bird.

The owl cocked its head reactively, his blank face going unchanged before launching out of the Great Hall. 

“Who is that from?” Albus asked.

“My Mum, I think.” 

He glanced at the ornate monogram on the seal, HGM. 

Scorpius tore open the letter.

My little star Scorpius,

Eugh! He was thirteen! She could quit with the ‘little star’ bit anytime now!

I wanted to check in to see how you are doing since I know this month is a little…different for you. Your father hasn’t given me any real updates since the start of his post, more so going on about how strange it was to be back at Hogwarts as a professor. You know how he gets all wrapped up in his own thoughts and such. 

His reminiscing goes on for pages. 

Did you know we shared our first ever kiss in the library? Still makes me giddy thinking about it!

Mum! Ew!!

I have been thinking about you two non-stop. I miss my two boys dearly and the house feels so empty without either of you in it. I cannot wait for Christmas break so I may get to squeeze you again! 

How are your classes going?

Have you tried out for the Quidditch team this year?

How are your friends?
Are you behaving for your father?

Let me know if you need me to send you any new supplies or books!

I love you! Sending lots of hugs and kisses!

-Mum

Scorpius’s eyes widened at the last question, a surge of panic spiking his heart rate. He looked up at the head of the professor’s table to find his father. Professor Malfoy met his gaze quickly, and Scorpius gestured to the letter. He tried to convey his question with urgency, shaking the letter in his hand. 

His father grimaced. Then, he made a “zipping” motion across his lips.

Scorpius took that as a good sign before cramming the letter into his book bag.

He would write her back tonight. 

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

When Panju had suggested they sneak out of the castle to go try out forbidden flying techniques, Scorpius jumped at the idea. Panju came prepared with written directions (provided by his Uncle George) on where to locate a secret passage that would pop them out to the flying lawn undetected. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time—really, it did!

First, they would meet up by the grand staircase; then, they were to find a two-headed rabbit portrait that served as their entrance, go through the passage and boom—exit the castle. 

Simple, right?

Turns out, simple plans are rarely ever that simple.

What was meant to be a quick, B-line path to freedom was actually a slow and monotonous journey. The cobweb-filled, decrepit hallway took many unexpected twists and turns. The layout was more akin to that of a natural cave rather than something that was deliberately engineered and constructed; its walls expanded and shrank randomly as they went further into the abyss. At some points, the boys had to walk in a single-file line when the walls became too narrow to comfortably fit them side-by-side. At others, they had to crouch and duck their heads to keep from scraping against the ceiling. It was so dark, in fact, that their Lumos lit up maybe two feet’s distance ahead, making the entire ordeal feel disorienting.

Scorpius had begun to question the integrity of his friend’s intel, growing more anxious with each step over where they were being led. They must have been walking for nearly half an hour by now!

“Are you sure this is the right way? It felt like we ended up making a u-turn a while back,” Scorpius queried.

“Mate, my uncle has never given me bad directions,” his companion assured, “I’m sure this is the right way.”

“If you say so,” said Scorpius skeptically.

With exceptional comedic timing by the castle, the two were forced to stop by a fork in the road.

Panju bit his lip as he pulled out the crumpled paper from his pocket. He hovered his wand tip above it to see clearer.

“Well? Which way?” Scorpius pressed, peeking over his shoulder.

“Hold on!”

The brunette flipped the paper around and then back again. His brows furrowed in contemplation. He scratched his head.

“Well that can’t be right.” 

“Oh no.”

“There’s nothing on here about a fork… He made it sound like it was just one, continuous tunnel,” Panju began to re-read the paper a third time.

Sure enough, no mention of any diverging routes was scribbled down. The direction’s specificity abruptly ended after finding the painting. Instead, it merely jumped to the part where one was supposed to exit right outside of the castle. 

“Well…do you want to head back?” proposed Scorpius.

“No! We came all this way! Plus, who knows when we’ll have another opportunity to sneak out again. Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

Shoving the paper into his pocket, Panju rested his hands on his hips. He seemed to mull over their options, looking between left and right hallways.

“My gut says to go right!” he declared.

Scorpius wanted to tell him they should turn back, and that there would be plenty of other chances to sneak out. A part of him believed they were severely lacking a solid plan at this point, and wasn’t entirely confident in just winging it. 

On the other hand, he couldn’t ignore the way their expedition was turning out to be a little exciting. The same day-to-day lessons and schedules were beginning to feel mundane, and Scorpius could use a dash of unknown adventure to spice things up. Against his better judgement, he let the Gryffindor lead the way. 

Taking a turn right was a good decision because the pathway eventually grew to be the size of a normal hallway. Thankfully, the corridor did not go on for much longer. When they reached a dead end, they were faced with a large wooden panel and it was clear they had found their exit. Warm light was seeping out through the cracks where the door was not flush to the walls. That was somewhat concerning as the outside of the castle, the area they were aiming to get to, should not have been lit up at all. 

Panju experimentally knocked three times.

It sounded hollow.

“What if this is the wrong exit?” Scorpius questioned.

“Then we figure it out. We don’t have time to explore the other route, so we’ll have to make do with where we are.”

“I guess so. I really don’t know where we could be since there were so many turns back there.”

Panju exhaled and pursed his lips.

“I know… I didn’t think the directions could be wrong. To be fair, all the other directions I’ve got worked out! This is the first fluke!”

Scorpius smirked at that.

Panju moved to push open the door, but it didn’t budge. 

He pushed harder.

It creaked a smidge. 

“Ugh! Help me here, will you?”

Scorpius squeezed next to Panju, bracing his shoulder against the wall. The boys heaved their bodyweight against it. The hinges were rusty and stubborn, unwilling to move an inch. 

“Push…harder…!” Scorpius strained.

A deep groan sounded as the doorway finally yielded to their efforts. With a final shove, they forced open the door, and it swung open at full force. 

They tumbled out of the wall and onto a heap on the floor, toppling over each other in attempts to catch themselves. 

“Ow!”
“My side!”

“Move your leg!”

The boys scrambled to sit up. 

The room they had stumbled upon was a warm, fancifully decorated parlor. The walls were lined top to bottom with portraits and antique-looking decor. A grand fireplace stood proudly at the end of the room, its flames flickering with content. Old and ornate furniture was situated around the room, and nestled in the corner was a small wet bar. 

Having never seen this room before in his life, Scorpius felt a rush of dread with the realization he had no idea where they were in the castle. 

“Um…I don’t believe you two are supposed to be here?” 

Scorpius and Panju whipped their heads over to one of the sofas that was closest to the fire.

Professor Malfoy was lounging easily with his feet propped up on an ottoman. He held a book in one hand and a tumbler in the other. 

He stared at his intruders with bewilderment. 

“Where is here?” Panju asked, using his knee to push himself upright.

Scorpius elbowed him.

The Malfoy senior rose and met the two, crossing his arms.

“The faculty lounge,” the professor narrowed his eyes, “Which is supposed to be completely off-limits to students. But now that I’ve had two students fall right through the wall, that claim may need to be re-evaluated. I’m sure the Headmistress will be thrilled about that news. What are you doing here? And past curfew no less?”

The professor loomed over the boys at full height, scrutinizing the troublemakers with a calculating stare. 

“I–I uh…we–we got…lost?” Panju lamely tried.

“Got lost? Trying to go where exactly, Mr. Weasley?” 

Panju twiddled his thumbs, struggling to buy himself time to formulate an excuse. 

“To–to the um…the…kitchens…? Because we were hungry…?” 

Professor Malfoy offered an extra few seconds for any procured elaborations, but when none came he switched his attention to the Slytherin. 

“Right. Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you go ahead and tell me the truth instead? Or at the very least, humor me with a more convincing lie.”

Scorpius bit his lip and tried to meet his companion’s gaze.

“Eyes on me, son,” his father snapped.

Now completely cornered, Scorpius crushed under the weight of the pressure. The idea of devising an excuse as to why a Gryffindor and Slytherin were sneaking about the castle, past curfew, in the scenario that they were caught, hadn’t even crossed the young boy’s mind. Scorpius scolded himself; he should have known better. Salazar, was he being a tragic excuse of a Slytherin, wasn’t he? 

This was a whole other level of embarrassing!

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“We were trying to sneak out of the castle to go flying, Sir,” he admitted.

“And why would you need to sneak out to do that? You both take the elective flying class, and are eligible to try out for house Quidditch teams,” his father investigated further, “There are also no rules against flying during your off period if you keep to the campus’ flying lawn.”

Panju groaned, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

“Speak up, Mr. Weasley.” 

“We were wanting to try flying tricks that aren’t allowed,” he repeated louder and with more clarity.

Professor Malfoy’s face cracked and a smirk stretched at his lips.

“Ahhh, I see. I must admit that an understandable, albeit still not admissible, reason to sneak out. Ten points from Gryffindor and ten points from Slytherin.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Panju said.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed in you boys. Clearly your scheming needs work. The lack of preparedness you showcased tonight is rather unfortunate for you. Perhaps your fathers ought to hear about this.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but slap his palm to his forehead while Panju coughed to hide a bark of laughter. 

Their professor placed his hands on each of the boy’s shoulders and began to usher them out of the lounge.

“Come. It seems I must walk both of you to your dorms. Merlin forbid you get lost on your way back,” he remarked sarcastically.

And like sheep, the Professor herded them through the halls. 

Panju was dropped off first, and Professor Malfoy did not dismiss himself until the boy was safely behind the Fat Lady. She scolded the Gryffindor, having been woken up to make way for his entrance. She pointed her nose upwards when greeting the other Slytherins, to which both reciprocated with a mild sneer.

They made their way to the dungeons.

It was quiet, Scorpius not quite sure if he should try and make conversation with his father. He didn’t like that he had been caught so blatantly, and failed to make a read on how upset his father actually was with him. Graciously, his father spoke first.

“What if things had gone wrong tonight? What if you had made it out to the pitch and one of you got hurt? There’s a reason those maneuvers are forbidden. It might have taken a lot longer for you to get help since no one was around, and no one knew where you would be. If you really want to experiment with flying tricks, perhaps we can invite your friends over to the manor during the holiday break? At least then you can be supervised, ” his father counseled.

His voice was sincere.

Scorpius lifted his head to that.

“Really?” he asked, trying to put a cap on how optimistic he sounded.

His father nodded once.

“Of course. I think it could be really fun,” his father conceded. 

They stopped at the dungeon entrance.

“Now, I will have to disclose the events of tonight to the Headmistress, since it did shed light on a security violation. But please, for the love of Merlin, try to be smarter about breaking the rules in the future? The only reason Potter and Weasley are alive to this day is because they just had to make friends with the smartest witch known to Wizarding-kind,” his father gestured vaguely around him, rolling his eyes, “So if you would be so kind, utilize that smart that I know you have in you.”

Scorpius grinned at his father, welcoming the squeeze of his hand on his shoulder.

“Now get to bed. And I better not hear anymore about you falling out of forgotten secret tunnels, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir!” 

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

In a very passive aggressive turn of events, Professor Malfoy assigned a pop quiz the very next morning.

Scorpius knew the ending of last night’s affairs were too good to be true. 

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

By the final week of Professor Malfoy’s attendance at Hogwarts, Scorpius had managed to settle into his class. He wasn’t sure he would ever feel totally ‘normal’ about constantly seeing his father around the school grounds, or referring to him as ‘Sir’, but it wasn’t as nearly as jarring as it had first been. Even if the oddity of the experience would linger, Scorpius surmised he could get used to it if he needed to. He was also pleasantly pleased that the novelty of having his father as a teacher wore off rather quickly throughout the school, so any outward jabs or acts of teasing fizzled out on their own. 

He also developed a newfound fondness for Potions.

Scorpius was good at potions, but definitely wasn’t the best. He would run into a lot of little problems throughout the brewing process that would stump him, then would become frustrated at being unable to find solutions himself. He struggled with the exactness that brewing demanded (slicing ingredients a certain width, getting odd and specific measurements just right, etc.) and maintaining that consistently was its own additional challenge. This shortcoming resulted in imperfect brews more often than not. 

But having his father’s patient guidance and instruction really helped boost his confidence in the subject. His father was articulate in his direction and helped simplify complicated techniques. If Scorpius needed to be shown a step a second time, his father was happy to provide a demonstration. Questions were always welcomed with precise answers. Involved class discussions added intrigue to the minute and forgettable details. This extra support aided Scorpius immensely, and his next two brews earned him O’s! 

Since his father never really spoke about work or potions in general at home, Scorpius had failed to understand the depth of his father’s understanding in the craft. But this lack of knowledge was remedied during his father’s in-depth and interesting lectures. 

Unexpectedly, Professor Malfoy seemed to have gained a shining reputation in his short time.

“I wish Professor Malfoy taught Potions here the whole time,” a fifth year student said to Scorpius directly, “He’s actually really good at explaining recipes. I noticed that Slughorn kinda rushed through the steps, but I actually understood what Professor Malfoy was saying when explaining the boil-cure potion!”

Scorpius blinked.

“Yeah…I guess he is really good at explaining stuff.”

“And he just knows so much!” another student chimed in, “I didn’t realize that my cauldron was faulty, and when I followed the instructions to a T, it still didn’t turn out right. Professor Malfoy was the one who realized that my cauldron was the problem. I think any other teacher would’ve just thought I was lying or actually doing something wrong.”

The young Malfoy reflected on this for a second, processing that people were beginning to view his father as an actual teacher instead of just being his dad. 

“I didn’t even know a cauldron could be faulty,” admitted Scorpius.

“Me neither! He said sometimes they wear down with use, and that mine had a thin spot towards the back. He said something about losing even heat distribution because of that,” the girl shrugged, “Mine was a hand-me-down so I guess it was just old. I was really impressed that he figured out the issue.”

Scorpius’s chest bloomed with pride.

“I’m a bit sad that this is his last week here,” she added on.

Scorpius was inclined to agree.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

Professor Draco POV

It was the last day of class for Professor Malfoy, and the last class he would have teaching his son. He made sure to be in his classroom early before any of the morning third year students could file in. He spent the time finalizing his curriculum notes for Professor Slughorn, who could reference back to see what was covered during his absence. They were very detailed in a way that Draco considered them to be a bit overboard, going as far as highlighting specific students’ strengths and weaknesses by the end of his lessons.

He was a pragmatic man after all, and thought it was tactful to give Horace a good foundation to get back into the swing of things.

As he went over his work, his mind couldn’t help but ponder over the last month.

He had been a bit hesitant at first to accept the temporary substitute position at Hogwarts. Instantly, his mind barraged him with countless reasons as to why he was so unfit for the role. 

He thought himself too impatient.

He was too brash.

He was too inconsiderate of others. 

Also, had they glossed over the fact he had zero teaching experience? Just because he knew how to brew potions didn’t mean he could teach children how to.

He didn’t even know how to really talk to children. He practically ignored every other child that wasn’t his–who was in attendance at said school by the way! 

Certainly there was some sort of conflict of interest with that, right? 

As a teacher, could he be fair?

Would it be strange to be equals with the professors who had once taught him?

And besides all that, he was far too infamous.

What was Minerva thinking? 

Allowing him of all people to teach at the establishment that almost fell due to his past actions?

The idea made him shutter. 

He had been ready to submit a formal declination, had it not been for Hermione. His wife on the other hand, well, she had been ecstatic for him over the opportunity. When he countered her enthusiasm with why it was a bad idea, Hermione had simply disputed with, “Why not?”

She launched into an explosive monologue and began to list off all the reasons he should take the position. She argued he was so well-versed in his Potions Mastery, that there was no way he couldn’t regurgitate the information to learning pupils. She also reminded him of how much he had changed since his own attendance at Hogwarts, and that any concerns about his character were simply untrue and a product of his own insecurities. To really hammer in her point home, Hermione, with the force of an entire dragon, threw in his face about how much of a good father she believed him to be. Draco didn’t think praise could be delivered so aggressively, but by the end of her argumentative crusade, he felt abashed by not believing himself to be a good enough candidate.

“The only good reason you should not take this offer is if you do not want to take it,” Hermione had sternly concluded.

And so, that very night, Draco had sent an owl to Headmistress McGonagall to accept her invitation.

Nerves had rattled him the days leading up to his first class. He had exhaustively studied Horace’s syllabus and refamiliarized himself with the textbook materials in preparation. He had a final, reassuring pep-talk with Hermione over the floo the first night he arrived. 

If he was honest with himself, the whole fuss was one giant distraction for Draco. 

What if he disappointed the Headmistress?

What if he disappointed the students?

What if he disappointed his son?

But when he walked into that classroom and saw Scorpius, the best thing his life had ever given him, sitting there at that student desk, Draco realized there was no other place he’d rather be. 

Draco’s train of thought was interrupted by the sound of student chatter. He righted himself quickly, standing at the podium as the class’s attendance grew. When Scorpius and Albus made their way in, a pang of affection stabbed his chest.

Scorpius, his son…

There was nothing that could have prepared Draco for the overwhelming feeling of pride and joy of seeing his boy at Hogwarts. Watching him walk down the same hallways he had, taking the exact same classes he had, and making friends the same way he had pumped his system full of nostalgia. 

It was an absolute privilege for Draco to instruct his son, as well.
He hadn’t realized how uninvolved he had truly been in Scorpius’s education, but why would he be? The kids lived in a magical castle in Scotland, far away from their parents for most of the year. It had created an invisible barrier that he wasn’t aware was even there. But breaking down said barrier had been exhilarating for Draco. 

He loved being able to see how his son’s brain operated in ways he would never get to see at home. It filled him with glee to recognize how similar Scorpius was to his mother in that regard. Scorpius took school very seriously. He was diligent with his assignments and spent long hours researching in the library. The kid took fantastic notes, and exercised an admirable amount of self-discipline about upkeep on his schoolwork. Yet, somehow, the boy still made time to be a child. 

It made Draco’s heart happy to know Scorpius had friends with whom he could make mischief and memories with. Albus was his best friend, and knowing the boys continued to take care of each other at school was an enormous comfort to him. The boys were each other’s rocks. He begrudgingly realized he owed yet another thanks to Potter. 

It had been a very insightful and productive month being Professor Malfoy, and Draco learned he rather enjoyed the position. Turns out it was kind of fun to talk about your own profession to a room full of kids, especially since they had no choice but to listen to you. The environment of a school was far less staunch and aloof than his day job at the Ministry, which he had actually grown bored of in the past year or two. Things were still professional, but he could be far more lax in his day-to-day which was a nice break. 

The students grew on him, as well. Even the ones who lacked personal interest in the topic seemed to at least be invested in that day’s lesson. He found it fascinating how some individuals could grasp the material better than others, and he took it upon himself to see if he could offer those lagging behind better understanding. He enjoyed revisiting the basics of potions for the first years while also divulging into more advanced discussions with the seventh years. Each day brought him unpredictable challenges that he faced head on. 

On a petty note, he may have found some personal gratification in the rare occasions he got to take house points away from Gryffindor. 

If you were to ask him, Draco would say he didn’t think he minded being a teacher. 

Snapping out of his thoughts for a second time, Draco cleared his throat.

He scanned the room and was met with expectant looks. He tried not to linger on Scorpius too long, but he couldn’t help but admire his son for just a second more.

“Good morning, class,” Draco began, “As you know, today is my last day as your Professor. I wanted to start off this period by saying that it was an honor to have taught you this past month. I must admit, I almost declined the offer. I feel that spending time with each and every one of you has been truly a pleasure. I am happy I decided to accept. I am delighted by the classes we have shared together, and I hope one day our paths will cross again.”

The students murmured amongst themselves, as if unsure of how to react to his little speech. Draco was surprised to see Albus lift his hand. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Just uh…thanks for teaching us. It was really nice. You made this class fun and you’re a really good teacher, Uncle Dra–Professor Malfoy,” Albus acknowledged.

Several of the students nodded and voiced their agreement. Scorpius nudged him, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“What, I mean it,” Albus defended.

Gratitude rippled through him.

“That is very kind of you to say. I appreciate it more than you know.”

He cleared his throat, straightening his robes.

“Now then, let’s finish our lesson. If you recall…last week we began to ferment a batch of Eel’s Eye. The ingredient should be ready for incorporation into a brew, so if you would all go back to the ingredient cabinet and grab your jars.”

The classroom shuffled to retrieve their Eel’s Eye.

───── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────

In the last remaining moments of the class, the students worked to clean up their stations. The class’s batch had been a wild success with only a few students’ batches becoming subpar. Draco had easily been able to identify what improvements could be made for next time.

As the children began to repack their textbooks and quills, Draco called over the chatter.

“Scorpius!”

His son hauled his pack over his shoulder, “Yes, Sir?”

“If you could stay back for just a few moments, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Uhh ohhh, are you in trouble?” a classmate teased lightly with no real malice.

“Shove off, Mackey,” Albus sighed.

As the class began to clear the room, Albus gave Draco a small wave to which he returned with a curt nod. 

Scorpius waited until the room was completely empty before moving to the front of the class.

He hesitated before speaking, “You wanted to talk, Sir?”

Finally, with great relief, Draco could remove the teacher’s hat that had been snug atop his head. 

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, Scorp.”

Scorpius let out a deep breath that he seemed to have been holding—possibly all month. 

“Oh thank Merlin. I didn’t think I’d ever get to call you ‘dad’ again,” he joked.

Draco chuckled.

He couldn’t help but reach over to ruffle his son’s hair. He might be a little old for it, sure, but Draco didn’t care.

“I just wanted a moment to talk to you, is all. I just…it’s been a little odd the past few weeks, hasn’t it?” he asked casually.

“No kidding! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to substitute for Professor Slughorn! Do you know how stressed I was that first week! A warning would have been nice!” Scorpius balked, but he was smiling.

It was as if they were back at home, chatting together in the parlor over tea. 

Nothing had changed.

“I know, I’m sorry, son. But surprising you was so much more fun! I couldn’t help it. You should have seen your face!”

“Ugh! And hearing you call me ‘Mr. Malfoy’, that was the most bizarre thing ever!”

“I felt like I was addressing my own father,” Draco admitted with a grimace, “So yeah, I didn’t love calling you that. But I had to stay professional.”

“Hearing you call Al ‘Potter’ was actually pretty amusing.”

“That one came too easily to me, trust me.”

They shared a laugh. 

“I thought it was going to be horrible…having you be my substitute,” Scorpius confessed, “I…I was really embarrassed at first. I thought people would tease me or you were going to treat me differently. And…well…actually…”

Draco’s expression turned more serious.

“I was worried that you would see me here, and think I wasn’t as good of a student as I should be. I was so scared you were mad at me when I got in trouble those few times… Or maybe you’d see that I’m not really as good at potions like you are, or–or that…”

Scorpius trailed off, bashfulness overcoming him as he looked to his feet.

“Or that what?” Draco prompted.

He squeezed Scorpius’s shoulder, forcing the boy to look at him.

“You can tell me.”

“I was worried you were going to be disappointed in me.”

The sentence hit Draco like a fatal stunning hex. All the air was sucked from his lungs and he wasn’t sure if he would die of suffocation or a heart attack first. He gaped at his boy for several seconds, searching his face carefully. Before he even knew he had moved, Draco pulled his son into his arms, crushing him in an embrace. He pushed his son’s head into his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Scorpius. Oh my boy, Scorpius. You could never disappoint me. Not now, not ever. Whatever could I have done to make you think that?” Draco breathed, a familiar sting of guilt ricocheting inside of him. 

“Nothing–I was just worried you would be,” Scorpius, muffled by Draco’s robes, replied.

He felt his son wriggle his arms to wrap around him. He held Scorpius for who knows how long, before pulling back to look him right in the eyes. He could see Hermione’s trademark worry shining through them. He couldn’t stand for it. 

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Draco assured, “You, Scorpius Malfoy, make me the proudest father I could ever be. Every Single. Day. I took this job so I could see you, to see how you were doing. What I saw, what I see, is an incredible young man. You are doing so well, son. You’re doing amazing in all of your classes, you are kind to your friends. You’re having fun and your teachers think you’re such a bright student! Sure, you’ve made some mistakes–but everyone does that. What’s important is that you learn from them. That you become better from them. And you are doing exactly that. I love you so much, Scorpius. I am so proud of you.”

Scorpius was trembling, and he quickly rubbed his eyes to stave off tears. He nodded furiously, a single hiccup escaping him. 

“I love you too, dad,” Scorpius sniffled, “Thank you… You know, I–I really did end up like having you as my teacher. And, I will miss you when you’re gone.”

He moved to give Draco another hug.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Draco smiled, “You know, I think your mum is jealous that I got to spend so much time with you.”

“I wrote her back, though!” Scorpius recounted.

“I know, but she still feels left out. To make sure you don’t forget about her, she sent me this to give you.”

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small paper box. Using his wand, he tapped it and it enlarged.

Scorpius took the box to lift the lid. He gasped.

Inside was a perfectly untouched, delectable-looking chocolate cake. The ganache was glossy and a dense chocolate aroma hit Scorpius all at once. In white frosting, his name was elegantly written across the top, a star replacing the ‘i’s’ tittle. 

Scorpius was salivating.

“Really! She made it?!”

“Just for you,” Draco nodded.

“But she only makes this at Christmas!”

“Then I guess you better write her a very good thank you letter. She bent her self-imposed rules in half just so you could get a little piece of home.”

Scorpius beamed. He carefully tucked the cake under his arm, “I can’t wait to share this with Albus tonight.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Did you want some?” Scorpius faltered as he began to turn away.

Draco shook his head, “That’s alright. I can wait until Christmas or I can guilt-trip your mother into saying how it isn’t fair that you got a cake and I didn’t. Either way, that one is all yours.”

Scorpius covered his mouth to hide his widening grin. 

“Can I walk you to your next class?” Draco offered suddenly.

“Yeah…I think I’d like that.”

The pair left the Potions classroom and began moving their way back upstairs.

Once they reached an upper floor, they steered in the direction of Divination.

“Oh! Mr. Malfoy!” Headmistress McGonagall called from behind.

The two pivoted, apt with attention as the Headmistress scurried to catch up.

“Yes, Headmistress?” asked the two Malfoys in unison.

She studied them for one brief second, caught in her own realization.

“Er…Pardon me. Professor Malfoy. May I see you in my office?” she clarified quickly. 

Draco jerked with his head for Scorpius to go on.

“Go to class, I’ll see you at supper before I leave.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you later!”

Scorpius went off.

Draco accompanied McGonagall to her office.

“How can I help you, Headmistress?” Draco inquired cooly as they situated themselves around her desk.

McGonagall didn’t say anything, instead procuring a bottle from her private cabinet. Two flute glasses magically appeared onto the desk, allowing the bottle to begin filling one of them on its own.

“Champagne, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“Is there an occasion?” wondered Draco.

“Well, perhaps I was a bit too hasty with the drinks,” the witch pulled her glass closer to herself. 

The bottle filled up the second glass regardless.

“Nevertheless. Depending on how this conversation goes, there may indeed be something to celebrate.”

“Then by all means, enlighten me, Headmistress.”

McGonagall, with a twinkle in her eye, lifted the crystal flute glass to her lips without taking a sip.

“You have not been on our roster for very long, and as we agreed upon the position is to be temporary. However, during your time here, our reports have shown a significant improvement in overall class performance for our Potions program. According to trends, average marks are rising and student satisfaction with the course has increased by no small amount. In so many words, Mr. Malfoy, you have proven to be an impeccable teacher and the students absolutely adore you. Beyond that, they are clearly benefiting from your instruction…” she trailed off deliberately.

Draco swallowed, his hands becoming slightly clammy as clenched them into fists in his lap.

“My greatest appreciation for the notoriety,” he said carefully, “But…I fail to see the celebration in simply being a proficient substitute.”

“I mean no discredit to my dear colleague, but it is no secret that Horace is slowing down. He simply cannot keep up with the occupational demands—well, at least not as precisely as he used to. There is also another development,” there was a twinkle in the witch’s eye, “He plans to retire after this school year is complete.”

She leaned back in her chair, leisurely taking a small, preemptive sip of her champagne.

“I have known about his plan to retire since the beginning of term, and have discreetly kept the position open. I must confess, the resumes and prospects I received were not…satisfactory. Many Master Potioneers are more than qualified to fill the position on paper, but simply lack the right attitude or character that I require. Lo and behold, luck seemed to be on my side. Horace’s absence this month was abrupt and unexpected, but ended up resulting in the best interview I could have conducted.”

Draco’s head was pounding with the drum of his heartbeat, his throat becoming dry. That champagne looked as though it could properly quench his sudden thirst. He leaned in closer, as if he wasn’t entirely hearing what was being said.

“Headmistress McGonogall…are you proposing…”

Her sly and knowing look morphed into one of gentle understanding. She placed her glass on the desk.

“Mr. Malfoy, The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would officially like to offer you the full time position of Potions Master. You have proven yourself to be an exceptional addition to our staff, and we cannot think of a better candidate better suited to fill the position long term.”

The room began to slightly spin, and Draco was grateful he was sitting down.

“I understand this is a massive proposition, with lots of considerations on your end. I do regret having made this offer to you with such little notice. But, since you are exactly the type of person we want, I am happy to be patient and give you until the end of this calendar year to come back to me with your decision–”

“I’ll take it!” Draco blurted.

He let out a shaky breath that had been stuck in his lungs, allowing the room to steady itself in his vision.

“I mean…yes… Yes. It would be my honor to accept the position of full time Potions Master.”

McGonagall could not hide the surprised pleasure that graced her aging face. Draco had not seen such a full smile spread on her lips ever before in his life, to which he felt quite accomplished to have witnessed it for himself. The witch hummed as she processed his immediate decision.

In the end, she lifted her glass.

“It seems then, we do have something to celebrate tonight after all.”

Draco knocked his glass to hers with a ting!

“I believe this is absolutely something worth celebrating.”