BORN TO DIE ╱ DRACO MALFOY
꒷꒦ · ˚.‧ . written by ella . . . © -lostgardens
077 ━━━━━ ❛ honoring a great loss ❜

The next morning, all of Hogwarts was gathered in the Great Hall. Dumbledore was before them, sitting in his large chair at the front of the room, where he usually sat during feasts. It was a required meeting that they were at, and Olivia was assuming it was meant to talk about what happened last night during the final task, which she and Potter had won. But at what cost?

Olivia didn't know what happened to her parents after Dumbledore escorted her, Lucas, and Potter out of Moody's—Crouch Jr.'s classroom. She assumed Azkaban got their prisoner back and her parents returned home. After she had spent however long she did crying on Draco's shoulder—she still wasn't sure of the exact time; it felt like forever and only a few minutes all at once—she'd gone to her room, ignoring her friends' curious gazes that were mainly focused on her red and swollen eyes as she passed them when going through the common room, knowing that they'd have questions. She hadn't been in the mood for questions.

Now, she sat beside Draco and Pansy, with Theodore, Blaise, and Lucas on Pansy's side and Crabbe and Goyle on Draco's, all of them waiting for their Headmaster to begin speaking. He seemed down, for good reason. His elbow was on the armrest of his chair, and his fingers dug into his temple as he rested the side of his head on them. Olivia just stared down at her lap, picking at the skin around her nails. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Today..." Dumbledore's voice slashed through the thick quietness and made her look up, seeing him slowly drop his hand. "We acknowledge a really terrible loss." He fell silent for a beat, seeming to be looking for the right words. Were there any right words to say? How was one supposed to explain how an impostor tricked his way into their school, messed with the tournament, and ended up sending three students to a graveyard to face off against the greatest dark wizard in history, which resulted in one of them being killed? There was no acceptable explanation for that. "Cedric Diggory was, as you all know," he continued as he stood, "exceptionally hard-working,"—he took a few steps forward—"infinitely fair-minded... and most importantly, a fierce, fierce friend."

Olivia felt her chin wobble, so she started biting the inside of her cheek, looking down at her hands once more. She continued to pick at the skin around her nails, causing a few spots to begin bleeding. Then a hand covered hers, and she looked to her side, seeing Draco staring at her with hurting eyes. Her brows pinched as she held in her cries, and she turned her hand so it held his in mise. Their fingers interlocked and their hands stayed in her lap, while she no longer picked at her fingers, and Dumbledore continued.

"Now, I think, therefore, you have the right to know exactly how he died," he told them as Olivia and Draco faced forward. Dumbledore took another, larger, step forward, then walked down the few steps so that he was standing among everyone else, moving so that he was behind his owl podium. "You see, Cedric Diggory was murdered," he announced. Everyone remained silent during his pause, and Olivia felt Draco squeeze her hand a little harder, comforting her. "...by Lord Voldemort!"

Some looked around at the ones beside them, in shock or in fear, while others looked down, showing their sadness from the information, and the rest had their eyes remaining on the man in front of them.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this," he admitted. "But not to do so, I think, would be an insult to his memory." Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, taking in deep breaths through her nose and releasing them through her mouth. "Now, the pain we all feel at this dreadful loss reminds me... reminds us that while we may come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one." Some softly nodded in agreement. "In light of recent events, the bond of friendship we've made this year will be more important than ever. Remember that, and Cedric Diggory will not have died in vain." His voice got stronger as he said, "You remember that... and we'll celebrate a boy who was... kind and honest and brave and true right to the very end."

For once, Olivia agreed with every word Dumbledore said.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

As they were leaving the Great Hall, Olivia's hand still holding Draco's while they walked with their friends, someone called out her name. She and the others turned around to see who it was, only for their eyes to land on Potter. Like all of them, he was clad in his uniform, and like Olivia, he had cuts scattered on his face. He awkwardly smiled, his eyes lingering on the ones behind her.

So Olivia turned, focusing on Draco, who had his eyes slightly narrowed on the Gryffindor boy. "Go ahead," she told him, causing his gaze to find her. Then she looked at the others and continued, "I'll be in the common room shortly."

They seemed to hesitate for a moment, not wanting to leave her, especially Draco, before they turned and continued their journey to the dungeons. Draco lingered a bit longer, looking over his shoulder as he reluctantly pulled his hand from hers, almost pulling her along with him. But eventually, he walked off, leaving her with Potter.

Olivia turned and faced the boy, giving him all of her attention. His eyes stayed on the back of Draco's head over the girl's shoulder as he got further and further away, and then he slowly focused on her when he realized she was staring at him. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, waiting for him to say what he wanted to say.

She and Potter had gone through something together—something traumatic that would forever bond them. But that didn't mean that they were suddenly best friends. Which made her wonder what he wanted. If he wanted to speak of Cedric or what happened in the graveyard, she wasn't going to do that, not being completely ready. Or if he was going to ask why she was still friends with her group after learning that four of the boys had Death Eaters for fathers, then she wasn't going to have it. Especially if he was in regard to Draco.

The truth was, she didn't know why.

No, she did. Draco was not his father. And neither were Crabbe, Goyle, or Theodore, no matter the similarities the four of them showed in their beliefs.

"Uh, I was wondering why your parents were called 'blood traitors'?" he asked, then he looked around at the wandering students before taking a step closer to her. "What did Malfoy mean by that?" His voice was a little lower, surprising her. She would've thought he would be more than happy to expose Lucius Malfoy as a Death Eater.

She sighed, reminding herself that Potter wasn't in the Wizarding World until he was eleven. He must've not known the story behind her family—either out of disinterest or the fact that he just hadn't heard anything, which was hard to do whenever her parents were around. Whispers followed the Mallards everywhere they went, even if they weren't all together. It was the curse of marrying two powerful, pureblood families, the majority of whom were either former Death Eaters or agreed with those views.

Olivia nodded to her right, gesturing for them to walk as they talked. Then she turned and moved forward as Potter stayed in place for a few of her steps, then he caught up to her with a small jog. Her gaze was focused forward, staring out at the students lingering around in front of them, either talking to their friends or walking somewhere, some doing both.

"Since my parents or my family as a whole—now, not formerly, unfortunately—are not blood supremacists or followers of"—her voice got quieter—"Voldemort, they're considered blood traitors by those who are," she began. "Hence Malfoy's attempt at an insult." She paused, glancing over at him, seeing him look at her as if he were thinking about her words. "We're much like the Weasleys in that way," she added, trying to help him better understand. Though she was sure Potter knew what blood traitors were, he was most likely just wondering why her family was considered as such. "My parents are much different than their own, no matter how cruel they can be. My grandparents, my great-grandparents, and so on were all Death Eaters and blood purists. My parents are not and never have been. And since neither of them has any siblings or living aunts, uncles, cousins, or other relatives, those beliefs died a long time ago, despite what people think."

"So, all that's left in your family is your parents, your brother, and you?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Yes." She nodded, then softly smiled. "And our house elves."

Potter had a strange look on his face before his mouth opened as if he were going to speak.

Olivia raised her hand. "Before you say anything, all of our house elves are there under free will as a showcase of loyalty to both the O'Shea and Mallard families. They were set free once my grandparents died, and my parents inherited them. And no, they're not treated poorly, besides my mother having a loud tone. She, nor my father, has ever laid a hand on them or verbally or emotionally abused them—both of them, mostly my mother, just have stern voices. You get used to it after a while," she admitted.

He opened his mouth again.

And her hand was raised again, stopping him. "And before you say anything about that, I heard the way you spoke to that elf, Dobby, in the hospital in second year when he confessed to being the one who was trying to hurt you with that bludger," she reminded him, giving him a knowing look.

He shut up after this, focusing forward.

They walked in silence for a moment, but Olivia knew that their conversation wasn't over.

Potter asked, "If your parents don't share those beliefs with the Death Eaters, then why are you with Malfoy?" He gave her a confused, furrowed-brow look.

Her head snapped to him, almost an offended expression on her own face. "I am not with Draco," she told him matter-of-factly, though after the words left her mouth, she felt a bit less sure about them.

He thought back to them holding hands. "But you were—"

"It's complicated," she interjected, that being the only explanation she had as to whatever she and Draco were or were not. "And trust me, if my mother had a say in anything"—she slashed her hand through the air—"I do—and believe me, she says things; I just don't listen to them—then I wouldn't even be in the same house as Draco, let alone with him," she informed, not exaggerating in the slightest. "She despises him for unknown reasons that I don't even believe are related to him specifically. It has to do with his family somehow."

"Oh," Potter muttered. "It may have something to do with his father being—"

She looked at him quickly, causing his words to falter. Her face was blank, and she faced forward again, holding her chin a little higher. "Draco is not his father," she stated. He wasn't. No matter how much Draco loved to throw that word around to insult Muggle-borns and subject himself to those disgusting beliefs, he would never become a Death Eater. He wouldn't. He wasn't like that.

He wasn't his father.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

Olivia was back in her dorm a little later. She and Potter had gone their separate ways a moment after she'd defended Draco, both of them needing to get back to their rooms to finish packing their trunks, which was exactly what she was doing at that moment. The majority of her things had already been packed, but there were a few odds and ends that she needed to grab. Pansy was already fully packed, as were the others, so they were all in the common room. They'd offered to stay in the room with Olivia, but she had declined, needing some space and time to herself to think about everything that had happened that year.

So when she heard a knock on her door, she was a little confused. She set down the sweater she was folding and walked over to the door. When she pulled it open, peeking around the wood, her eyes landed on the last person she thought she'd see. Dumbledore. The Headmaster stood in front of her, wearing his long robes—the same ones he was wearing earlier—as his beard neatly rested from his chin to his stomach. His hands were clasped onto something that was wrapped in brown paper in front of him as he sent her a soft smile, one that was barely there.

She returned the smile, awkwardly straightening her spine and pulling the door a little further open. "Hello, sir," she greeted him almost sheepishly, wondering why he was there. Well, she was sure it had something to do with the events of the previous night, but he'd never paid her a last-day visit. "Can I help you with something?"

"May I?" He lifted a hand, gesturing inside her room as if he wanted to come in.

"Uh." She glanced behind her, then turned to him. "Sure," she replied, moving to open the door even more so that he could enter and she wasn't in his way.

He took this opportunity and stepped into the room, going to stand right in front of her bed as he looked around and took in the area.

She wondered how her friends and the other Slytherins reacted to the old man walking into the common room and going up the stairs to the girls' dorms. Did he ask them for directions first? Or did he navigate his way to her door all on his own? She wanted to let out a small laugh at the thought, but she held it in, not wanting him to question her about it and her having to admit that she was laughing at him.

As she turned to him, she left the door wide open, feeling it would be odd for her to close the door when it was just her and Dumbledore in there. Not that anything would happen; it just felt odd. She took a small step forward, watching the professor as he looked around her room, not touching anything, just gazing at the blankness of it all. Her hands fell to her sides, and she brushed down her skirt before crossing her arms over her chest. Why was she so awkward all of a sudden? Whenever she'd been in Dumbledore's office the few times she had after one of Potter's incidents or when she requested to go home to bury Tommy, she was there with the utmost confidence. Was it because he was in her space, not the other way around?

When he finally turned to her, she snapped out of her thoughts and focused her eyes on him from where they had been looking at the wood floors. She watched as he took a breath, seeming to have something on his mind himself. "I put you in terrible danger this year, Olivia," he admitted, though she already knew that. But it wasn't completely his fault; Crouch had been the one to say the rules were set in stone and deemed her a champion despite her not being of age. And his bastard son was the one who had been trying to kill her to get out of Potter's way, though she succeeded anyway, but that only resulted in Cedric's death, which was something she knew she wouldn't forgive herself for or move on from for a very long time. And, after all, he hadn't been the one to put her name in the Goblet of Fire, and he hadn't been the one to choose it—the Goblet had done that. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, professor," she assured.

He raised a hand, stopping her from continuing. "I shouldn't have let you go through with the tournament when I knew you didn't want to." He sighed once more.

"It's truly all right." She tipped her head, then shakily inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to keep up a brave face. She met his gaze, offering another smile. "Everything happens for a reason."

"I suppose," he said. "But those things can also be prevented, and they should've been."

He wasn't wrong.

They both fell silent, not having or knowing anything else to say. Then he took a small step forward, lifting the thing in his hands to her. She looked down at it as he told her, "I wanted to give this to you. I hear you have quite the fascination with books."

Olivia took the book from his hands and began unwrapping it. It was "Transformation Through the Ages," a book all about the evolution of Transfiguration. It surprised her that he gave her a gift at all, but if he knew of her "fascination with books," which she was curious as to whom he had learned that from, she would've assumed he would've given her one about Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, but she loved Transfiguration just as much, so it was fine. "Thank you, sir." She looked up at him.

He hummed in response, then brushed past her, moving to leave.

She turned with his movements, watching him. He made it to the door, and she looked away, expecting him to exit on his own. Her focus went to the book, running her finger along the cover and examining the gift as she thought about why he came in there to apologize and give her this. He wasn't a terrible person; she knew that, but it was odd and more different than he had ever acted towards her before.

"Oh, Miss Mallard?" His voice caught her attention, and she looked back up to see him standing in the doorway and facing her again. "Harry told me a peculiar thing when I went to visit him just before coming here to see you," he admitted, a curiosity lacing his tone. "He informed me that his wand connected with Voldemort's when facing him in the graveyard." That must've been what Olivia had seen when the barrier formed around the two enemies and the spirits of Voldemort's victims appeared. "And I was thinking that yours might've as well."

Her brows pinched for a second before she shook her head. "Oh, I didn't actually use my magic against Voldemort," she informed him, and his face turned in surprise. Her nerves suddenly hit her, and she felt as awkward as she did when he first showed up, not wanting to admit how Peter and Voldemort had gotten the best of her, more so Pettigrew than anyone else. It was embarrassing. But she had to tell him, or else he could get the information from Potter. "I was hit with a stunner, and then Voldemort questioned me about my wand and my name, and then he dueled Potter, and Peter Pettigrew took my wand and tied my hands so that I couldn't escape."

The man's brows raised. "He questioned you about your wand?"

Of course, that was all he took from that.

"Yes." She turned to her bed, tossing the book down on it and grabbing her wand before facing him once more. She handed it to him. "He seemed fascinated that it's made from Willow Wood and has dragon heartstring as its core—more so the core than anything," she explained, watching as the man rolled her wand between his fingers, studying it closely, just as Voldemort had done. "I'm not sure why, though." She half shrugged, still staring at her wand.

"Interesting," he mumbled quietly, more to himself than her. He then looked up, and she met his gaze as he handed her wand back to her. She took it, and he clasped his hands in front of him again. "Well, I'll leave you to finish packing." He took a step back. "Have a wonderful and restful summer, Miss Mallard."

"Thank you," she paused, back to feeling awkward, then added, "sir."

And with that, Dumbledore dipped his head once before turning and actually leaving this time.

She blew out a breath once he was gone, and her muscles relaxed. She hadn't even realized how tense she had been. She just shook her head, moving towards the door and closing it. Then she went back over to her bed and finished up her packing before she left the room and headed downstairs to the common room. And when she approached her friends, all of their focus went to her, dying down their conversation. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling stressed despite it being the last day and the day they went home, where she knew her parents would have a ton of questions for her, and then her hands fell onto her hips.

"There you are," Pansy began. "Are you finished packing?"

Olivia nodded. "Are you all ready to go say goodbye to our visitors?" she asked, referring to the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, some of whom she'd actually had the pleasure of speaking with and getting to know, though she wouldn't consider any of them full-blown friends like Dumbledore had been speaking about earlier, but it was still nice to have met them.

Her words made her think back to the beginning of the year, when she had wanted nothing but normalcy and realized she wasn't going to get that when the ship and flying carriage showed up and Theodore had teased her about them having "visitors."

"Yes," Pansy responded, and she and the others all stood up from the couches. She looped her arm through Olivia's as they both turned towards the exit, resting her head on the girl's shoulder for a second before lifting it and facing her with a soft smile on her face. Olivia returned it, and Lucas came up beside them, while the five other boys were behind them.

They began walking towards the door, and Theodore asked, "Hey, Olivia, what did Dumbledore want? He came in here all Headmaster-like and asked if any of us knew where you were."

Olivia let out a small snort of amusement. "I'll tell you on the way."

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

━━━━ ella's speaking !
AHH THEY HELD HANDS!!! sigh my babies are growing up so fast—too fast i fear

the guilt olivia is going to feel next act is so sad- she blames herself so much for cedric's death, even tho there was nothing she could've done to prevent it besides risking (maybe) dying herself ☹️

i hope you enjoyed this chapter and the fact that you got a little insight to different dynamics between different characters, as well as the little bit of lore i added in about olivia's family!!

also, there definitely will be some more harry/olivia scenes in act five, so stay tuned for those!

make sure to comment and vote 🫶🏻

kisses.

━━━━━━━━━━ born to die,
© -LOSTGARDENS, may 2024

word count: 3779.   written: 4.30-5.2.24.   published: 5.19.24.