From the point of view of a Slytherin girl, who is an OC because there aren't really that many Slytherins mentioned in Harry Potter. This story simply gives a different perspective on the battle; one that Harry certainly couldn't have provided. Sooo yeah …. :P

Rose glanced around, her eyes wide. All the other students looked as though they were thinking the same thing that was running through her mind.

Voldemort was here.

He was here and they were all going to suffer.

Her eyes darted side to side as everyone took a step back from Harry Potter, as if being in his presence would somehow make them more of a target. All heads were turned towards him, watching, wondering at what he could possibly have planned to stop this massacre.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, high and harsh.

'What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!'

It was Pansy.

Rose sighed. She had never liked that girl much – she'd always been rather gutless.

Not that she was the only one thinking that.

It was, of course, the obvious solution. The life of one boy, or the life of many. Most people would choose the death of a stranger, albeit a famous one, over the death of those they loved.

And that was the choice that they were being presented with here.

But why oh why did Pansy have to be the first to say anything. As if their house didn't have a bad enough reputation already, let's add 'cowards' to the list of labels we had already been laden with.

Accusing eyes had turned our way, the whispers growing. We knew what they were saying. That we were traitors, elitists, that we couldn't be trusted. Many of us had family among Voldemort's followers – what was to say that we wouldn't turn on our fellow students in the midst of the battle? How many of us were already Death Eaters? Surely the majority, as Slytherin was, after all, the 'evil' house.

Ginny stepped forward, then hurried over to Harry, standing in front of him as though she could shield him from thoughts and words. She was quickly followed by the rest of Dumbledore's Army, who crowded around.

Funny thing, the fact that not a single Slytherin had been invited to join that certain clique. In the tight knot, red, yellow and blue hooded robes were all visible. But there was not a single glimpse of emerald green.

Which made it obvious, really, who they were going to turn on first. Who better to take out your fear on than the house which had been continually scorned, ostracised to the point where to talk to them was to align yourself with the Dark Lord. It hadn't always been this bad, though before the rise of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named there had still been a certain amount of suspicion cast on Slytherin house. We were often seen as cowards, as one of the house traits was 'foresight,' and those with prudence don't usually wish to plunge headfirst into battles they know cannot be won. Astuteness, ambition, cunning – all traits which can make a great leader. Unfortunately, they sometimes gave a taste of power that was over too soon … which could lead to the need for more.

Originally, this was ignored, to a degree, as Slytherin wasn't the only house to have turned out a few Dark Wizards, and it had certainly created some who could more than rival the darkness for the force of their light – Merlin, one of the greatest wizards of all time, being among them.

But it had been Slytherin house that had given birth to Tom Riddle. And while he may have entered into any house and left the same, having been damaged beyond repair by his past, the sorting hat had chosen Slytherin.

And so began the fall into disgrace.

It was easier for Riddle to coax those from his own house, his friends, into joining him, and he had been a charismatic boy, his friends many. Several came to his side, and the other houses turned on those who were left behind. Hogwarts was meant to be the seven most important years of your life – imagine how many students felt, finally sorted into their house, ready for the excitement that awaited them during their years of schooling.

Only to find out that you were in the 'bad' house, and, by extension, were 'bad' yourself. All the other houses hang out with everyone except for you. No-one cheers for your Quidditch team. You grow up distrusted by your students and teachers alike – they whisper at glance at you, wondering who'll be the next to turn out like Voldemort.

Now imagine that someone comes along and tells you that you're not worthless, you're not 'bad.' That you could be part of a family of people who know what you've spent your entire life feeling, and who will help you right the wrongs which have been done to you. For the first time you feel wanted, instead of like an outcast. Some of your friends are telling you how great it is – how it's everything they wanted from Hogwarts, how everyone, even you, is needed.

Becoming a Death Eater seems like a much better deal from this end of the spectrum.

And so become one many did. There was some from other houses as well, usually those who weren't as popular, as brave, as smart, those who were looked down on. But they were brushed over, hidden in the course of history.

And so Slytherin house became what it is today. The house of the outcasts. So closely affiliated with the Dark Lord that to be sorted into it was considered almost as serious as swearing allegiance to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

And so they turned upon us.

Who knows what chaos could have erupted, had it not been for Argus Filch's obsessional rule-keeping.

'Students! Students out of bed! Students in the corridors!' he hurried into the Great Hall, Mrs Norris present as ever. He stopped dead as he saw the scene laid before him, the entire Hogwarts population as it now stood, gathered in front of McGonagall. Confused, he looked to her for support.

She sighed. 'They are supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot.'

For a moment there was silence. Filch looked as though he were attempting to process this pivotal piece of information.

'Oh.' was his only response. 'Sorry Ma'am.'

Professor McGonagall harried down the steps, skirts held in her hands.

'As it happens, Mr Filch, your arrival is most opportune. If you would, I would like you please to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of Slytherin house from the hall.'

There were visible signs of deflation from my house mates. Shoulders slumping, heads lowered. It had finally been voiced. The mistrust that had haunted us for so long.

There was no going back now.

The other houses were nudging one another, whispering. Most likely saying that we'd got what was coming to us. Mr Filch, however, looked somewhat confused.

'Exactly where is it that I'll be leadin' them too ma'am?'

'The Dungeons would do.'

McGonagall spoke with a finality that could not be argued with. We were the enemy now, and would be treated as such.

Slowly, but quickly growing, a cheer started up among the other students. The sounds of clapping and cheers as their fellow school students were accused of being traitors.

Filch did as he was told, shepherding us into a line. 'Alright, come on, no dawdling.' he called.

I stood still as my friends streamed around me, moving at his orders.

No. This was not right. They could not just assume that we were all evil. They could not be allowed to get away with this sort of prejudiced thinking. Slytherin house would never recover from this; we would always be remembered as the cowards who didn't fight Voldemort. And no-one else would remember the reason why we were unable to.

'No.' I said quietly, gazing down at my shoes. Then I raised my chin defiantly, raising my voice along with it.

'No!'