A/N: Ok, um, so...about 6 months after deciding not to continue, I got another review and I suddenly felt like writing a proper ending. Really random, I know. And if anyone's actually going to read this you've probably forgotten the whole story by now. I don't even know whether this is still on people's story alerts...but hey. Not that long, but I think it needs an ending, and this suffices :)

And also, I am SO sorry for how grumpy and bitter I sounded when I gave that notice that I wouldn't finish. I surprised myself with how I sounded. Apologies *smiles nervously*

Chapter 11

The sound of Draco's shoes scuffing along the corridor floors was the only sound that met his ears. His chest was heaving. His head ached. He could actually feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. They began leaking across his vision, sending the corridor before him into a crazily blurred jumble. His hands were buried deep in his pockets. His robes swished limply behind him. He wasn't quite understanding the reaction that he was having. It ought to have been what he expected. It was what he had expected...but something about seeing it play out in front of him made it so much more. All he could remember now was the scandalised looks that the whole Gryffindor table had given him. He knew it would be hard to adjust, but right now, it felt as though he was floating in the middle of nowhere, without a house to call home. He was like a feather in the wind that refused to settle on the ground.

Draco mumbled a few words which would appear incoherent and nonsensical to passers-by. It was even nonsensical to him. Somewhere inside he'd half hoped that people would be more accepting and understanding. But now he knew it had just been wishful thinking.

He suddenly came to an abrupt halt beside a portrait of an old wrinkled man in a forest green and silver robe, with a long beard lying in his lap, a monocle held before his eye. And then he realised he was heading towards the Slytherin common room. Draco stared ahead. Did it mean he wasn't sure where he truly belonged? Or was it just a matter of following habit? He breathed in deeply and sighed, looking half-heartedly over his shoulder.

'Are you lost, sonny?' the portrait asked him kindly.

Draco looked up at the portrait from underneath a floppy brown fringe, his expression forlorn.

'...Yeah...I think I am,' he murmured softly.

'Well that's no good at all, is it? Can I point you in the right direction?'

'If only you could...'

'I know this castle like the back of my hand. I'm sure I can help.'

'My heart isn't a castle, though,' Draco whispered.

The wizard cocked his head fractionally. 'What's bothering you, sonny?'

'Oh...nothing...don't worry.'

'I wouldn't say, with my 356 years of experience, that that expression means nothing. Why don't you tell me?'

Draco stared up at the portrait, its kindly face looking down at him, offering nothing more than help. He looked around the cold corridor, pushing his hands further into his pockets.

'If you were so far from home, and you were so lost you didn't know what direction to walk, what would you do?'

'I would follow my heart.'

'What if you're heart didn't know? And everybody tried to tell you that you don't belong?'

'You're heart always knows. You just have to listen to hear what it's saying. If your heart tells you you're home, you're home. Let nobody tell you otherwise.'

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched with a sad smile. 'Yeah...' He bowed his head, wondering where his heart was pointing him. He tried to imagine a voice in his head, telling him which way to go, where to call home. But he heard nothing. He took in a deep breath.

'Where do you think I should be? Slytherin or Gryffindor?'

The portrait looked slightly puzzled. 'The sorting hat places you where you truly belong. You question its judgement?'

'I was a Slytherin. And now I'm a Gryffindor... All of Slytherin hates me for changing, and all of Gryffindor hates me for who I was. I don't know where I belong.'

'Well. It sounds to me like you've changed a great deal if you were resorted to Gryffindor. Why don't you just go along with the change until they realise who you've now become? Gryffindors are brave, courageous, so you go and stick it out. Give them the chance to see who you really are.'

'What if they refuse to see the new me?'

'They won't. In the end, they'll all see.'

The corners of Draco's mouth lifted with a cheerless smile. He slowly began to walk back the way he had come, before he paused and looked back at the portrait. '...Thanks.'

The wizard nodded with a soft smile. 'Of course.'

Draco set off back up towards the main floor of the castle, still unsure of himself, unsure of his confidence to overcome the stares that people would give, the anger that they would show and the discomfort. In his head, the only thing that was going round and round, repeating itself constantly, was that the previous perceptions that people had would stubbornly stick. It wouldn't be surprising. He knew that he had Hermione, who would try and help, but he wasn't even sure that would be enough.

But then he began to run through his head everything that the portrait had said. Stick with it, they'll see it in the end...

Stick with it, they'll see it in the end he told himself, stick with it, they'll see in the end...

'Stick with it...they'll see in the end...' Draco whispered. Yes, they would see. They would. He found a smile creeping onto his face, his stride becoming more confident. Gryffindor was his home. And he wasn't about to let a few angry stares and disagreements change that.

Gryffindor was his home.