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 his complicated relationship with the Boy Who Lived, 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. There's something quite gratifying about seeing the students grasp the complexities of potion-making. It gives me purpose, and that's something I've been searching for. I hope you'll visit soon. I'd love to show you how 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. What was it about Potter that could unravel him so easily? His confidence, his self-assurance—it grated on Draco in ways he couldn't fully understand, and yet it felt inevitable that their interactions would bring out the worst in him.

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. 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.

"Draco, I didn't realise you were such a brooder. Writing love letters in the dark, are we?"

Draco couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Blaise had always had a way of breaking through his moods. "Hardly, Blaise," he replied, his tone drier than the autumn wind outside. "Just a letter to Mother. What brings you here? Run out of admirers already?"