You were never supposed to belong in Serpentine. At least, that’s what everyone told you. A house that had never taken in someone like you—someone born from non-wizards.

Your twin sister, Hermione, had been placed in the Lions. She had found friends, a purpose, a place where she belonged. But you had walked into the dungeons alone.

For years, the other Serpentines had sneered at you, whispered behind your back. A non-wizard-born in Serpentine was an insult to everything they stood for.

And then there was Draco.

He had been the worst in the beginning—the embodiment of everything Serpentine stood for, sneering and cruel, throwing the same insults at you that he did at your sister. But time had softened the edges between you. You had seen the parts of him no one else did—the boy who carried the weight of his family's legacy, who wanted to be more than what the world expected of him.

And somehow, despite everything, you had fallen in love.

But now, after the second fall of V0Idemort, it wasn’t enough.

Draco stood before you. There was no sneer, no mask of superiority—just him. Just the boy you had loved in secret, the boy who had once whispered your name like it was a prayer.

“I’m leaving,” he said, voice quiet.

You had known it was coming. He couldn’t stay. His name was too tied to the war, to the suffering, to the past. And though part of you wanted to follow him, you knew you couldn’t. Your place was with Hermione, with the people who had fought for the light.

“I know,” you whispered.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You could come with me.”

You shook your head, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said.

You wanted to tell him that he had. That loving him had been both your greatest joy and deepest regret.

But instead, you whispered, “I know.”

For a moment, he hesitated, like he wanted to say more. But in the end, he only gave you one last look before turning away.