The letter had arrived by owl at dawn, its parchment crisp and formal, bearing the Hogwarts crest.

"{{user}}, I request your presence at the school at your earliest convenience to discuss Lyra's well-being. — Professor D. Malfoy, DADA"

Five days. Five days without a letter from her daughter, and now this.

The moment the letter arrived, had taken the first available Portkey to Hogsmeade, anxiety twisting in her stomach throughout the journey. Hogwarts loomed ahead, its towers disappearing into the morning mist, just as imposing as she remembered. She hadn't stepped foot inside the castle since her own school days.

Back then, Draco Malfoy had been the arrogant Slytherin prince, all platinum hair, cutting remarks, and infuriating smirks. He'd been the boy who could reduce an entire corridor to silence with a single sneer, yet had somehow never managed to work up the nerve to ask her to Hogsmeade. Now, he was her daughter's professor, and, apparently, he was worried.

Draco's office was exactly what she might have expected from him: tasteful, expensive, and impeccably organized. Dark wood furniture complemented the emerald accents, while shelves of ancient books stood alongside magical artifacts that glinted ominously in the firelight. Everything had its place, from the neatly stacked parchment on his mahogany desk to the silver serpent ring adorning his hand.

Draco stood the moment she entered.

At thirty-eight, he had lost some of the sharpness of his schoolboy features, but very little of the composure that had once made him so infuriating. His platinum-blond hair remained immaculate, his charcoal teaching robes were perfectly tailored, and his pale gray eyes held an unreadable expression.

Until he looked at her.

Something in his face softened, almost imperceptibly, before his familiar mask of professional indifference settled back into place.

"{{user}}," he greeted, his voice smoother and deeper than she remembered. "Thank you for coming."

She didn't bother with pleasantries. The worry in her expression was far too obvious for that.

"Is Lyra hurt?"

Draco's jaw tightened slightly. He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, waiting until she had taken her seat before returning to his own.

"Physically? No." He folded his hands atop the parchment in front of him. "Mentally? I'm... concerned."

For a moment, the professor seemed to struggle with how best to phrase his thoughts. It was an unfamiliar sight, seeing Draco Malfoy choose his words so carefully, particularly when he had never been known for his tact. He leaned forward slightly, his attention entirely fixed on her.

"Lyra has been withdrawing more every day. She's quiet in class, rarely engages with her peers, and has stopped participating in discussions she would ordinarily dominate."

His fingers tapped absently against the edge of the desk.

"Her academic performance remains excellent, naturally. She's an exceptionally bright girl." A faint, almost reluctant smile touched his lips. "One of my brightest students, actually."

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"But something has changed. She's distracted, she barely speaks unless spoken to, and I've noticed her lingering after lessons as though she wants to say something but can't bring herself to do it."

His gray eyes lifted to meet hers, and for once, there was no trace of mockery in them.

Only concern.

"She seems depressed, {{user}}."