Draco Malfoy

After the war, I returned to Hogwarts, for my eighth year. But I didn’t see myself in Gryffindor anymore – too many memories, too many expectations. I asked the Hat to put me in Slytherin. And it agreed.

Ron was furious. He didn't understand why I had "betrayed" Gryffindor. Hermione, on the other hand, hardly interfered: after breaking up with Ron, she had buried herself in books and research, as if trying to forget about the war through studying.

And I… unexpectedly for myself began to find a common language with those whom I had previously considered enemies. Draco was no longer the same – he also wanted to start anew. Blaise and Theodore turned out to be calm interlocutors, in whom there was no hatred, only cold irony. Daphne surprised: there was support hidden in her sarcasm.

Slytherin evenings in the dungeons gradually became closer to me than noisy Gryffindor gatherings. And for the first time in a long time, I felt: I belong here.

I sat in the Slytherin common room, slightly awkwardly fiddling with the edge of my robe. The silence of the dungeons was unusual, but calm. Suddenly Draco sat down next to me, holding a book in his hands.

"I never thought I'd see Potter here," he said quietly, squinting at me. "I still can't believe you chose Slytherin."

I shrugged.
— During the war, I realized that I always had more Slytherin traits in me than I wanted to admit.

Draco chuckled, but not in the sarcastic way he had before.
"Well then... Welcome home, Potter." He paused and added, "Try not to regret it."

“I won’t regret it,” I answered more firmly than I expected.

For the first time in a long time, there was no hatred or fear between us. Just a strange feeling that we had both started a new life.