But, Dad...

“Albus will be my assistant teacher.”

I look away from the pale-haired boy to look at my dad and then look back at the class. I wave, unable to talk in front of everyone. Whispers erupt about the classroom, small chatterings of ‘Harry Potter is my DADA teacher! Harry Potter!’ I look down, a bit discouraged by the fact that I’ll never live up to my dad, especially now since I’m a squib. My dad seems to sense this and he pats me firmly on the back. It’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but it doesn’t work.

I decide to push away and ignore the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m depressed and I go to sit at my dad’s desk, since I’m no actual help.

Considering it’s Ravenclaw and Gryffindor combined for this class, it’s relatively noisy and difficult to concentrate on my book. It really doesn’t help when Rose and some Ravenclaw girl start attempting to out-do each other, hexes and spells being shouted back and forth until Dad shut them both up with a quick reprimand.

In the background of all the noise, I can hear Scorpius’s laughter. How am I supposed to try to rebuild a friendship after three years of no contact? Not to mention my status in the wizarding world...

“Okay, Al, you wanna come help me here?” Dad asks with a smile.

My stomach churns as I slowly set the book down. He never actually told me I had to help teach.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stand there.” He points to a few feet away from him. I shrug and stand there, looking at the floor since everyone was looking at me. “Flipendo!” Dad yells and I fall to the floor. I look up at my dad. What the hell?

The class laughs at me as I stand back up. I scowl, rubbing the scrape on my arm, and mutter, “That wasn’t a fourth-year spell. And certainly not something you’d use against dark magic.”

“That’s what we will use to warm up! I know it sounds stupid, but you all have been away all summer.”

The class groans, probably wanting something more spectacular from Harry Potter.

“Pair up, I guess,” he says. Dad is not teacher material.

I stood at the front of the class with Dad. I kinda watched Scorpius. It was weird to see him again, but four years older. There’s a loud snap and Scorpius is sent over a desk.

“Oops!” his partner yells.

“Bloody hell. Is he okay?”

I stepped over to see blood coming from my friend’s face. “He has a bloody nose.”

“Is he at least conscious?”

“I’m awake, but my face hurts.” He sits up, holding his face.

“Should I take him to the nurse?” I ask my dad, who nods. I help Scorpius off the ground, who was getting blood all over the front of his robes.

We don’t talk as we made our way to the hospital wing, except for him telling me which way to turn since I don’t where I was going.

“What happened?” Madame Pomfrey asks. “Don’t tell me you’re Potter’s boy and you’re Malfoy’s?”

We look at each other and nod.

“A spell went wrong and he fell to the floor.”

“Meh noose is brokin’,” the blond mumbles.

“Okay. Go sit over there!” We sit at an empty bed.

She starts saying something to herself, like we can’t hear. “Goddammit. I’ve already dealt with your fathers always ending up in the hospital wing together from stupidity. I don't want eight more years of your shit.” She sighs. "Stupid family rivalries." We look over to where she is looking through supplies as she continues. “I’m sick of your shit guys. Of course your fucken nose is broken! You’re a Malfoy and this is a Potter that's what happens! Jesus there's another Potter and she's only a First Year. Dear God, please tell me you’re an only child. Thank god there's only one Malfoy kid. Fucken sick of your shit, Potter. Stop provoking him, Malfoy, you dumb shit."

She walks back to us and we just stare at her wide-eyed. She doesn’t seem to care that we heard or she doesn't think we heard. Either way she points a wand at my friend’s nose and there’s another loud pop.

“Ow!” he whimpers, gingerly touching his face.

“Here, have some pumpkin juice.”

As soon as the blonde has downed the juice, she waves us off, back to whatever class. I’m not really sure if Defense Against the Dark Arts is still going on, or if classes have already switched.

“Your nose still hurt, then?” I ask tentatively.

“A bit,” he answers, shooting a smile at me. “Good to see you again, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I mutter bitterly. “The circumstances seem rather unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we could’ve been in the same house together or even just been at the same school at least. But I’m a stupid squib and so instead of saying that in terms of, ‘we haven’t seen each other all summer,’ it’s in terms of... this. My dad being your professor.”

He slings an arm around my shoulder. “Well, we have three years to make up. Will you be eating in the Great Hall for dinner?”

And I can’t help but smile and hope.