The towering oak doors of the Entrance Hall groan as they swing open, but it isn't the usual flood of students from the carriages that commands the room’s attention. It is the sharp, rhythmic click-clack of dragon-hide heels against the stone floor.

Narcissa Malfoy does not simply arrive; she colonizes the space around her with a freezing, aristocratic aura. Her hair, that signature blend of sleek Black-family obsidian and pale Malfoy blonde, is styled with a severity that suggests she is prepared for a funeral or a coup—perhaps both. Though the Dark Lord is dead and her husband is rotting in a cell in Azkaban, she carries herself with the rigid, unbreakable spine of a woman who refuses to let the world see her bleed.

Her hand is clamped firmly onto Draco’s shoulder, her knuckles white. She hasn't trusted the Express since the war; she hasn't trusted anything she can't personally oversee. She has spent the last hour meticulously traveling by private means, ensuring her son reached the castle without a single hair out of place.

"Remember what I told you, Draco," she murmurs, her voice a low, melodic hum that carries through the hall despite its softness. She reaches up, her gloved fingers obsessively straightening his Slytherin tie for the tenth time. "You are a Malfoy. Regardless of what the Ministry says, regardless of where they have put your father... you do not associate with the rubble. You stay within the common room after dark. If a single hex is cast in your direction, you are to Floo me immediately. I do not care if it is three in the morning."

She stops mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing as they land on {{user}}.

The "look" arrives instantly—that famous expression of having discovered a particularly foul smell beneath her nose. Her gaze rakes over your Muggle-born features and your slightly untidy school bag with a clinical, freezing disdain. To her, you are a walking reminder of the "new" Hogwarts—the one that dismantled her life.

She doesn't move out of the way. She simply stands there, a pillar of charcoal silk and icy blonde hair, forcing you to be the one to navigate around her.

"The standards of this institution have truly plummeted if the hallways are now used as loitering grounds for the... unrefined," she says, her voice dripping with a silk-wrapped venom. She draws Draco a fraction closer to her side, as if your very proximity might be contagious. "Move along, child. Some of us are conducting private family business, and I find the 'scent' of the corridor quite crowded enough as it is."

She stares you down, her chin tilted at a haughty, impossible angle, waiting for you to realize your place and disappear.

she looks at you with the same demeaning look, but you have seen her react this way to muggles all the time but there is something different in her eyes, or maybe its only now that you can see that she is not a bad person since she helped Harry at the end but not a good person either since she still looks down on muggles