- O L I V I A -
I stood with Fred and George as we watched the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons making their departures, everyone waving and cheering. After several days had passed, the spirits had slowly begun to lift. The night of the final task seemed to be a distant nightmare, blocked out of our memories for our own good.
"What a year," George said thoughtfully beside me.
I scoffed, "I'll say. Every year I think that Hogwarts couldn't get more eventful than the last, but it never fails to surprise me."
They chuckled, nodded in agreement.
Somewhere behind me, I heard my name. When I turned to see who it was, I saw Draco standing just a few feet away. "Can I talk to you really quick?" he asked.
I smiled slightly, "of course."
As I started to walk away, following him to somewhere more private, Fred whispered, "be careful."
I followed Draco back into the entrance hall and down a dark and quiet corridor. He stopped and turned back to face me when he deemed we were far enough away from everybody.
"What's up?" I asked, trying hard not to remember the last time we talked.
He looked down at me and I saw a look in his eyes that I had never seen before. He looked strained and exhausted, like he hadn't slept in a week. "Olivia, I'm scared," he whimpered. "I don't want to go home. I don't want You-Know-Who to be back." His voice was shaking and his lower lip quivered.
"Draco, sweetheart," I gasped, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."
He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight. I heard him stifle a sob into my shoulder. I had spent so long trying to forget about him that I never thought of how he might be feeling about Voldemort's return. I had to experience my greatest fear this year, my fear of my identity. And now, he was facing his. He wouldn't openly admit it, but I knew that he was terrified of his father. Seeing how much this predicament scared him, and seeing how pressured he felt to follow orders, I truly hurt for him. I had never seen the snobby, arrogant Malfoy look so helpless.
He started to pull away. I caressed his cheek, desperate to comfort him. "I never thought this would actually happen. My father always spoke of his return, but I didn't believe it," he said sadly.
I nodded, understanding. I had overheard Ms. Vance and the rest of the Order members speaking of the possibility, but I dismissed it as outlandish paranoia. Now it was here. It was happening. "Maybe it isn't," I said hopefully. "We don't know anything for sure. All that we have is Harry's word."
Draco looked surprised. "But you're friends with Harry. Do you not believe him?"
"I do believe him, but there's a piece of me that's skeptical. There isn't any proof."
He didn't look so sure. "I hope so." In the dark of the corridor, I could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. Voldemort's return was already tormenting him and he hadn't even left the school yet. "I keep having this dream," he said, breaking our eye contact and looking down at his arm. "I have his mark on me. What if that's the future? What if that is what I become?"
I didn't know what to say to him. Of course that wasn't what I wanted to happen, but escaping the vice grip that his father had on his life seemed nearly impossible. And if he somehow managed to, he would certainly be on Voldemort's bad side. Instead of speaking, I pressed a gentle kiss into his cheek. "That isn't who you are. Draco, you aren't evil. It isn't your fault that you were raised by a man who's only concern is power and how to get more of it."
"But it is who I am. Sometimes, I have these thoughts. Thoughts that say that I am better than everyone around me. They say that I need to defend the Pureblood way. The first word that I think when I see Granger is mudblood. Sometimes, I feel this furious thirst for power. I enjoy pushing Crabbe and Goyle around, getting them to do my bidding. I am just as bad as my father is. No matter how hard I try, I can't get them out of my head. I can't control it." He was getting visibly angrier as he spoke, upset with himself for allowing those things to cross his mind. His hands, which had fallen away from me, were in tight fists at his sides. Everything about him was tense with a mixture of fear and anger.
I shook my head. "Draco, that's okay. That is what you have been conditioned to think. The important thing is that you know that it's not right."
He wouldn't look at me. Instead, his eyes were trained on a spot on the cobbled floor. "I don't want to be like him. I'm tired of being what he wants me to be. But I don't want to disappoint my parents. Everything I do is already a mistake to them."
Even though his situation was the complete opposite of mine, I could empathize with his desire for validation. I had never sought approval from my parents, but I looked for it in everyone else around me. I had always felt an immense amount of pressure—most of it self-imposed— to be perfect, to prove that I was nothing like my parents. That was why I tried so hard in my classes. That was why I played quidditch. That was why I did anything the way that I did. But unfortunately for Draco, the pressure that he felt was not pushing him in a positive direction. "I'm so sorry. I wish that there was something I could do, some spell I could cast, that could make that all go away. But I can't. You deserve so much more than this." I was at a loss for words. I knew that nothing I said would make his pain and turmoil go away, but I wanted him to understand that he wasn't alone in this fight.
"I definitely don't deserve you," he said, the nervousness back in his voice. His hand reached up and grabbed my chin and he planted a firm kiss on my lips. It was a familiar sensation that I hadn't felt in so long, and I hadn't fully realized how much I had missed it. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I didn't mean it to hurt you. I wanted to protect you from this," he whispered. And suddenly it all made sense to me. He wasn't just upset that our involvement caused my big secret to leak. He was scared that his darkness would scare me away or hurt me in some way. He didn't want to drag me into his path of destruction.
"It's okay," I whispered, "I'm not afraid of the dark."
- D R A C O -
The trip back to London felt longer than ever before. I spent most of the journey staring out the window of our compartment at the English scenery as it flew by. Beside me, Pansy clung to my arm as Crabbe and Goyle stuffed their mouths with sweets from the trolley. Pansy carried on gossiping about other students, which I did my best to tune out. Instead, I lost myself in thought.
The taste of Olivia's kiss still clung to my lips, even though a whole night had passed since we spoke. I was grateful for it though, as it took my mind off of everything else around me falling apart. I contemplated going to find her, but I thought better of it. We had agreed to keep our relationship (if you could call it that) a secret. It was safer for both of us to stay quiet, but it was so hard to be away from her for so long. All that I wanted to do right now was find an empty compartment, pull the shades down, and feel her soft lips against mine again. But that wasn't possible.
I imagined that she was in the same compartment as always with her Weasley sidekicks. In years previous, I had seen the three of them sitting together, and usually laughing. Sometimes they were joined by other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I remembered the overwhelming jealously that the sight made me feel.
I had always been so jealous of their friendship, not because I liked Olivia, but because I had never had something as genuine as that with my friends. I was jealous of that level of companionship.
I was also jealous of those Weasley boys. In my head (or rather, the head that my father created), I knew that I was better than they were. I had money and status that they were too poor to even dream of, and that was how I treated them. But wealth wasn't everything. I was jealous of them and their family. Being an only child often grew quite lonely, no matter how much money your parents had. They always had each other, no matter what. You wouldn't see one without the other. And I was jealous of the love they got from their parents. They didn't have much, but the love made up for that. Their dad, Arthur, worked long and hard days at the Ministry to put all seven of them through school, which was incredibly admirable of him. They clearly wanted to create the best life possible for all of the children, even if it didn't involve a huge mansion, luxury robes, or fancy broomsticks. And they were all so happy with the things that they did have. I would kill for a life like that.
No, I wouldn't. I would not kill.
The shrill sound of Pansy's voice pulled me out of my own thoughts. "—explains why she's such a suck up. Don't you think Dracy?"
I pulled my eyes away from the window. "Who?" I asked.
"Olivia Riddle, silly," She huffed.
I had to hold myself back from defending her. That would look too suspicious. "I don't know," I sighed. "I've never noticed."
"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"
I shook my head honestly. "No, not really."
She scoffed and let go of my arm, crossing hers and turning away from me. Maybe she would finally leave me alone. But, alas, I was wrong. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like it," She muttered.
"Nothing has gotten into me."
She didn't like that answer. "Every since you went out with that stupid girl, you've been such a stick in the mud."
She's not stupid, I thought to myself. In fact, she was at the top of her class. "It has nothing to do with her," I said. That was only halfway true. Yes, I was tired of dealing with Pansy's snobby nature, but what she had done to Olivia really pushed me over the edge. "You're always on about the same things. It gets a bit boring."
"You're the one who usually starts it!" She said, raising her voice slightly. She was kind of right. I did occasionally speak very negatively of the others around us, but that was merely because that was what I was taught. "Maybe I should go find Blaise. He would listen to me."
"By all means," I said, knowing that she wouldn't actually leave. She wouldn't leave my side no matter how hard I tried to push her away. That would be social suicide for her. I could say whatever I wanted to her and she would always come crawling back. Just as I thought, she stayed put.
I was doing it again. I was using my status as a way of manipulation.
For the rest of the train journey, that guilt ate at me relentlessly. A small voice in my head whispered that she had deserved it, that was her punishment for speaking to me like that. But in my heart, I knew it was wrong. She was not lesser than I. I had spoken to her in the same way that I had seen my father speak to many people, including my mother. That was unacceptable.
I wanted to apologize, but that would be far too out of character. I had to remind myself that, even though I was trying to better myself as a person, I couldn't let it show.
Our compartment remained relatively silent until we returned to King's Cross, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle's munching. When the train started to slow, I could feel my heartbeat quicken anxiously. This was it. I was going home in defeat, unable to escape this vicious cycle.
I could see my father's head of silvery blonde hair among the crowd on the platform. His arms were crossed stiffly across his chest, a scowl permanently embedded on his face. An uncontrollable fear bubbled deep inside of me, making me feel sick to my stomach. But I was used to this feeling. That was how his face always made me feel.