A New Chapter at Hogwarts [Drarry]

Chapter 2: The New Arrival

The atmosphere in the Hogwarts staff room was a warm, welcoming contrast to the shadowy, cool corridors of the dungeons where Draco spent most of his time. The circular room was a study in both comfort and history, its walls lined with towering bookshelves that groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, some bound in rich, cracked leather and others encrusted with faded, magical symbols. Magical artifacts, too, were scattered here and there, glinting in the firelight—a silver goblet that had once belonged to a famous Auror, a crystal ball resting on a dark wooden pedestal, its depths swirling with mist. The room seemed alive with the weight of all the knowledge it held.

In the center of the room, a long, polished oak table stretched out, flanked by high-backed chairs, their cushions worn but still regal. The table bore the marks of countless meetings: faint scratches where quills had hurriedly scribbled notes, and rings left by mugs of tea or goblets of mead during late-night discussions. Around the edges of the room, a few more armchairs, upholstered in deep maroon and forest green, were gathered in a cozy semicircle before the roaring fireplace. The flames crackled merrily, casting a soft, golden light that flickered across the faces of the professors who had begun to gather for their meeting.

Draco Malfoy took his usual seat at the long table, placing himself neither too close to the head nor too far. The position afforded him a clear view of his colleagues without drawing undue attention to himself—just the way he preferred it. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing the folds of his dark green robes, which were as immaculate as ever, a subtle nod to the Slytherin heritage that still shaped his identity.

As he glanced around the room, Draco noted the familiar faces of his fellow professors, the people with whom he now shared a sense of camaraderie that he never could have anticipated in his youth. Five years he had been at Hogwarts, and the once daunting prospect of these staff meetings had become a comfortable routine. A quiet sense of belonging settled over him as he took in the sight of the room's occupants.

At the head of the table sat Professor Minerva McGonagall, ever the embodiment of sharp intellect and quiet authority. Her spectacles perched delicately on the bridge of her nose, catching the firelight as she scanned the room with her discerning gaze. Despite her stern demeanor, there was warmth in her eyes, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she observed her staff. Her green tartan robes were as neat and formidable as ever, a reflection of the steady leadership she had offered the school for years.

Beside her, Professor Flitwick was a bundle of quiet energy, the tiny Charms master humming to himself as he sifted through a stack of parchment. His white hair, as bushy and wild as ever, seemed to bounce with his enthusiasm. His fingers, small and nimble, flipped through the notes with an efficiency that belied his age. The occasional rustle of his papers was punctuated by his murmured musings about the latest charm advancements he had been eager to discuss.

Across from him sat Professor Pomona Sprout, the ever-jovial Herbology professor, her round, weathered face aglow with the warmth that always seemed to radiate from her. Her apron, as usual, was smudged with soil, the residue of her latest ventures into the greenhouses. She beamed at her colleagues, wiping her hands on her apron before reaching for the teapot in front of her. Draco noted her usual air of contentment, the kind that came from a life well-lived in the nurturing embrace of the earth.

Further down the table, Professor Horace Slughorn reclined comfortably in his chair, his embroidered robes stretched over his ample frame. Although he had officially retired from teaching, he remained deeply embedded in the school's fabric, now serving as a Potions Consultant. His walrus-like mustache twitched as he surveyed the room, fingers lazily twirling the end of his mustache as he undoubtedly contemplated his next social gathering or the promising students he might add to his vast network.