Silly Muggles
They write things about dear Draco and horrid Potter together in the Chamber of Secretes.
They write things about Slytherin that isn't true.
Some are kind.
Some are nice.
Most are like me.
I don't give a shit about mudbloods, blood traitors, half breeds, or squibs.
I was a third year when the Dark Lord attacked.
Of course I did help as much as I could, providing bandages and things thirteen-year-old girls can do.
The Dark Lord was murdered by that bastard Potter.
Snape was a traitor to our cause, making us look like fools for trusting him.
Our house name was in ruins.
Our beautiful king was gone and his black knights taken away.
My family's estate was taken from us.
And all because of Potter.
Potter.
Poison on my tongue.
The You-Know-Who for Death Eaters.
Anyway, this is the story of Slytherins after the war.
It was horrible.
They watched us every minute.
While we slept they were there.
By my sixth year, we could stop hiding our ties and scarves.
The idea of the Dark Lord was fading in the masses.
Only those who had lost close members of their dirty families remembered and watched us in the halls with loathing in their eyes.
We bid our time. Waited.
Like the true Slytherin would.
And now, a stir in the black fog has sparked small actions in the Slytherins of Hogwarts.
A new Dark Lord rises.