A New Chapter at Hogwarts [Drarry] ✔

Chapter 8: Letters and Old Friends

The soft light of late afternoon streamed through the tall, arched windows of Draco's quarters, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The breeze that drifted in through the slightly ajar window carried the crisp scent of autumn leaves mixed with the distant aroma of wood smoke from the hearths burning throughout Hogwarts. Draco sat at his mahogany desk, cluttered with parchment, quills, and a small silver inkwell. The once-pristine surface had become a battlefield of scattered thoughts, and he tapped the quill absentmindedly against his chin, the nib leaving small black marks on his thumb.

He was writing to his mother, and though he was usually good at expressing himself on parchment, today, the words felt heavier, more burdened by unspoken thoughts. Finally, he pressed the quill to the page, the familiar loop of his handwriting forming as he composed his letter.

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you well. How are you settling into the estate in Paris? I can only imagine how lovely the gardens must be this time of year. The autumn roses, as you've always said, must be in full bloom. It's strange to think of you there, so far away from the manor, but I know it was the right decision. Please let me know if you need anything, anything at all.

As for me, Hogwarts remains as busy as ever. The students are full of energy, and teaching is proving to be both a challenge and a joy. The most unexpected news, however, is that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is none other than Harry Potter. Fate, it seems, has a peculiar sense of humour. We've been civil and professional, as one would expect, but it's... strange, seeing him in this role.

Draco paused, the quill hovering over the parchment as he considered how much more to say about Harry. His mother didn't need to hear the intricacies of their complicated relationship, nor the frustration he'd been feeling ever since their argument. He let out a slow breath and continued.

Despite the oddities, I find teaching potions to be fulfilling. It gives me the purpose that I have been searching for. I hope you'll visit soon. I'd love to show you how much Hogwarts has changed.

Take care, Mother. You're always in my thoughts.

With love,

Draco

He set the quill down and leaned back, reading over the letter. Satisfied, Draco folded it neatly and sealed it with a small blob of green wax, pressing his family crest into it with a steady hand. He placed it in the outbox on his desk, where it would wait for a school owl to deliver it in the morning. As the wax cooled, Draco allowed his mind to wander back to the source of his frustration. Harry.

The argument had been gnawing at him. Ever since the Patronus lesson, the tension between them had festered, sharp and persistent. Draco couldn't understand it, couldn't pin down what it was about Potter that stripped him of his composure so effortlessly. The smallest things did it: a look held a second too long, that infuriating calm in his voice, the way he never seemed fazed. Each trivial slight chipped away at Draco's patience until it snapped, leaving him simmering with irritation he hadn't meant to reveal. Potter's self-assurance grated on him in ways he couldn't fully explain, and yet it felt inevitable that every encounter between them would drag out the worst of his temper, whether he wanted it to or not.

Draco sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling the tightness that had settled there over the past few days. Every time he tried to push the thoughts away, they clawed their way back up. The familiar ache of old resentment, the bitterness of their shared history, it all mixed together in a tangled knot.

As if on cue, the fireplace flared with a sudden burst of green flames, and the dark, elegant face of Blaise Zabini appeared. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and his smooth voice filled the room.