The air at Hogwarts had never felt more suffocating. You were the last of the Blacks, and that title was both a burden and a curse. In Slytherin, you’d once been proud of your lineage, of the power that came with it. But now? Now, every time you looked at the house crest, it felt like a stain, a constant reminder of the dark history you couldn’t escape.

And then there was Hermione.

From the moment you shared that dance at the Yule Ball, something inside you had shifted. What started as a connection between two people from different worlds slowly morphed into something far more complicated. Your relationship with her was a secret in some ways, not just to the rest of the school but to yourself. You’d never imagined you’d be in this position—not in a million years. A Slytherin, dating a Muggle-born? It was unheard of, but it was real, and every moment with Hermione only solidified that.

But the whispers followed. “Mudblood,” they said, not just in the halls, but in your own house. Malfoy’s insults stung more than they ever had, his betrayal clear in his eyes whenever he saw you with her.

As the days passed, the pressure became too much. The Gryffindor common room became your refuge, where the judgment of Slytherins was replaced by the warmth of true friendship. Harry, Ron, and Hermione accepted you in ways you hadn’t expected. But every visit to their world made you feel like you were losing part of yourself.

“Are you okay?” Hermione’s voice broke through your thoughts, her eyes filled with concern.