𝑩𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 | 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒐 𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒇𝒐𝒚 | 𝟑

| twenty |

Chapter twenty; December Twenty-Fifth

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As soon as her feet touched the ground and her knees bent to stick the landing, Olivia let go of Hermione's hand. She took a few steps off to the left and took in harsh breaths that reacted against her lungs. It pained her to take those much needed breaths but she had to do what was necessary. Her lungs stung and it wasn't long before she started coughing into the thick fabric coating her arm.

Through the fabric she felt a gentle hand on her back as it rubbed circles around the top of her shoulders while she continued to muffle her coughs into her sleeve. She thought it was Hermione, until she spotted her shoes treading footmarks into the snow that had not long fallen into the ground. She realised then that it was Harry who was rubbing her back as she coughed violently.

Once she was done, she straightened out and turned to the Boy Who Lived. Harry stood already looking at her while offering her a small closed mouth smile. Olivia returned the gesture and croaked back her thanks as Hermione reproached them. Olivia exhaled, her warm breath crystallising as it hit the drastic cold temperature that layered them like a blanket.

"Remind me to give you some more of the Pepperup Potion later on." Hermione said.

"You're not my mother Hermione." Olivia croaked, her voice raw from the coughing she had done over the week, "I can take care of myself."

Hermione smiled sadly. Olivia hadn't been well since they had left the White Cliffs of Dover a month or so ago. What started as a simple, common cold had to their knowledge at least turned into a chest infection of some sorts. No amount of potion would clear the source of the problem fully and she was only left with temporary release.

It was why she was layered from head to toe in clothes. Incase she grew worse, incase the chest infection developed into something Hermione couldn't control..

"I know," Hermione said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "but you refuse to take care of yourself, somebody has to do it."

Olivia sniffled and rubbed the tip of her red nose, "You shouldn't be burdened with taking care of me Hermione. I'm not some old, dying—" She couldn't continue as she chocked on another cough. When she was finished she straightened up and nodded once at the girl, "Fine."

At that they turned to watch as Harry slowly stepped though the snow that had laid peacefully across the ground. As the dark sky blanketed them and the lights illuminated the streets, Olivia took the time to look around. She saw the park her and Ron had had their first argument in when they were nine, about whose turn it was on the swing. She then turned to the corner next to the gates where she had slipped on the ice just before Christmas when she was thirteen with Cedric. Then there was the graveyard that sat in the centre of Godric's Hollow and she remembered the day she apparated from Hogsmeade when she passed her exam.

The point was; everywhere she tuned, there was a memory of some form.

She kept looking around until her eyes found the corner she used to walk round to get to her house. The one she grew up in with her adoptive parents. The one she took her first steps in, the one she received her Hogwarts letter in. The one she burned down to the ground. She didn't dare turn that corner. She didn't want to see what was left of her childhood home.

"I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion." Hermione spoke uncertainty.

"No," Harry protested, "this is where I was born. I don't want to return as someone else."