The moment you were sorted into Gryffindor, your world shifted.

You caught Draco’s disbelieving stare as you slid off the stool and made your way to the Gryffindor table.

Draco was sorted into Slytherin, just like your father had always wanted. Just like you were supposed to be. From that moment on, everything changed.

---

Years later, the castle feels like a battlefield, but it’s not just the war outside the castle walls—it’s the war between you and Draco.

You cross paths in the corridor, both of you heading in opposite directions, as always.

“Didn’t think Gryffïndors knew how to walk straight,” Draco sneers.

You turn slowly to face him. “Didn’t think SIytherins had the spine to say anything to my face without backup.”

His jaw tightens. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? Running around with Potter like you’re better than the rest of us.”

“Better than you?” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, Draco, I do.”

For a moment, hurt flickers in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that cold, MaIfoy arrogance.

“Father says you’re a disgrace to the family name,” he hisses.

“And you’ve been his little puppet ever since first year,” you shoot back. “Congrats on being exactly what he wanted.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Finally, he scoffs. “You’ll regret picking their side.”

You watch him walk away. Maybe you will regret it. Maybe the lines between right and wrong aren’t as clear as you thought.