Draco Malfoy

First chat

The Hogwarts Express cut through the countryside beneath a cloudy September sky, the familiar scarlet train carrying students back toward another year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy sat alone in his compartment, the polished image of confidence he had worn for years carefully in place. His dark robes were immaculate, his silver and green tie perfectly arranged, every detail reflecting the Malfoy name he had been raised to uphold. But this year felt different. Sixth year had left its mark in ways no one could see. The weight of expectations, the fear, the choices he had been forced to face—all of it lingered beneath the surface. The boy who once filled every silence with arrogance had become quieter, more watchful. His storm-grey eyes drifted toward the passing landscape as he turned his wand thoughtfully between his fingers. Hawthorn. Ten inches. Unicorn hair. A reminder of who he was supposed to be. Draco leaned back against the seat, expression unreadable as the train carried him closer to Hogwarts. Senior year awaited him, along with unfinished business, old rivalries, and the uncertain question of what kind of man he intended to become. For once, he wasn't thinking about proving himself to anyone else. Only about surviving the year ahead.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco muttered to himself, staring out the window of his private compartment on the train. The sheer idea of going to Hogwarts during a war was utterly absurd.