Dinner at Malfoy Manor

Olivia Middleton's POV

The next morning, I get ready for Hogsmeade, choosing a cute outfit that definitely isn't made for winter. But I figure I'll have my coat on outside, and once I'm inside the shops, I can show it off a little. 

Priorities.

Cedric had asked me to go with him, and I gladly said yes—but I did make it clear it's a friendly date, not a date-date. He agreed. Though judging by the way he smiles at me when we meet near the carriages, I'm not entirely sure he got the message.

Hogsmeade is nothing short of magical. Tiny shops line the cobblestone streets, windows glowing warm and festive despite the chill. It's cloudy but somehow cozy, and a group of carolers sing under the snowfall. I want to join them so badly, but I don't. Cedric doesn't know I sing. That part of me still belongs to me only.

And Draco, of course.

After a while, I tell him I need a bit of time alone to do my Christmas shopping. He nods, understanding, and we split up. I dash through the stores, checking things off my list. For Hermione, books—like she doesn't already own half the library. For Ron and Harry, sweatshirts. A scarf for Cedric, some prank stuff for the twins from Zonko's, fancy quills for Chris. And since I'm going to the Malfoy Manor (still a weird sentence to think about), I pick up a gift for Draco and something small for his mum. 

Thankfully, his father won't be there. Honestly, what would I even get Lucius Malfoy? A hair tie?

Cedric and I meet back up outside Honeydukes. "Got everything?" he asks. I nod, lifting the weight of the shopping bags. "Let's find the others."

We weave through the crowd until we spot our group. Hermione raises an eyebrow when she sees us walking side by side. "Oh, so where'd you two sneak off to?" she asks, teasing. I hush her quickly. "Relax, Mione. We split up to buy gifts and just met back up."

Before she can push further, Madam Rosmerta's voice cuts through the pub. "Sirius Black? Here in Hogsmeade? After Harry Potter?" My heart skips. I glance at Harry—just in time to see him vanish beneath his cloak, already heading for the bar.

We rush after him, but the stairs are blocked. No students allowed up. Great.

"Let's just wait down here," Cedric says, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. His touch is warm, steadying. I slip off my coat—finally—and the cute outfit I'd planned is now on full display. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cedric's jaw actually drop a little.

"Close your mouth, mate. You'll catch flies," Ron snorts. Cedric laughs nervously, still staring. "You look really pretty, Liv." I giggle. "Thank you."

We settle at a table. I stretch my legs under the table and say, "Four butterbeers. My treat."

And then... he walks in.

Draco. 

With Pansy Parkinson.

Seriously?

Of all the girls at Hogwarts, he brings her? I glance away, trying not to let it bother me. But I can feel his eyes burning holes into me from across the room.

I don't make it easy for him. Every time I rest a hand on Cedric's thigh, or he brushes his hand against my waist, I hear the sharp clink of Draco's butterbeer slamming into the table. He's pissed. And he's not even pretending to listen to the girl next to him.

I start to think maybe Chris and Hermione are right. Maybe Draco does have feelings for me. Maybe he's just too much of a Slytherin to admit it.

The pub door swings open—but no one walks in or out. We all exchange glances and bolt after Harry. He's already outside, pacing, cloak now off. He tells us everything he overheard. About Sirius. About his parents.

I sit beside him on a snowy bench and pull him into a tight, warm hug. He clings to me like he's trying not to fall apart.

And I let him. Because I love him. Not like that. But like family.

And I don't know what I'd do if I lost him.

The next day, we all leave for Christmas break—except for Harry. I step off the platform and make my rounds, hugging everyone goodbye. When I finally reach Draco, he's standing to the side, clearly unimpressed by my emotional farewell tour. Arms crossed. Jaw tight.

Before I can say anything, Chris sneaks up behind me and casually slides an arm around my waist. Draco's entire posture shifts. His eyes narrow slightly. His jaw clenches harder. He doesn't know Chris thinks of me as his baby sister.

"Alright now, Malfoy," Chris starts, mock-serious, "no dirty business with my sister over the holidays—"

"Chris!" I interrupt, swatting his shoulder lightly. "Kidding, kidding!" he says, hands up in surrender, but his voice sharpens just enough to land his point. "But seriously, don't break her heart. You're a Slytherin. It'll be very easy for me to kill you."

"Merlin's beard, Chris!" I groan, and then kiss his cheek. He pulls me in for one last hug.

Draco steps forward, takes my luggage without a word, and hands it off to a helper who's waiting by the private carriage. He places a hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me forward. "So, he is your brother?" he asks, glancing at me sideways.

"Practically," I say, stepping into the carriage as he offers his hand like an absolute gentleman.

We talk the whole way to Malfoy Manor. It's... weirdly easy. Comfortable, even. When we arrive, Draco hops down first, then helps me out of the carriage like we're in some sort of royal period drama.

"Your luggage will be in your room," he says as he straightens up beside me.

And then I see it—his home.

The Malfoy Manor looks like it came straight out of a dark fairytale. Massive, elegant, and intimidating. Like it owns every blade of grass surrounding it. "Wow, Draco," I breathe, taking in the vast property. "Didn't realize you were this rich." He smirks and rings the doorbell.

Suddenly, nerves hit me. Hard. I have no idea why, but the thought of his mother not liking me makes my stomach twist. Draco must sense it, because he gently slides his arm around my waist again.

The door opens, and Narcissa Malfoy stands there, regal as ever. Her eyes land on Draco, then shift to me... and to his hand still resting comfortably on my waist. But instead of sneering or narrowing her eyes, she smiles. And it's warm. Surprising. She looks genuinely pleased.

She pulls Draco into a hug and kisses his forehead. He flinches. "Mother, how many times have I told you not to do that?" he groans. "And you must be Olivia Middleton," she says, turning to me. Her voice is soft, almost motherly. I nod.

"Yes, Draco's told me so much about you," she adds, giving me a gentle hug and gesturing for us to come inside. He has? I glance up at him with a smirk. "He has?"

"Don't you dare smirk like that," he mutters, nudging me inside with a gentle push. "Right, I'll show you your room, Olivia," Narcissa offers kindly, reaching out. "That won't be necessary," Draco cuts in, already grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward the stairs.

"Dinner will be ready soon!" she calls after us as he pulls me up to the second floor.

He opens a door to what must be my guest room.

It's beautiful.

The walls are deep forest green. A queen-sized bed with dark silk sheets sits in the center. One side of the room is lined with towering bookshelves, and the other has a sleek en-suite bathroom. The large window offers the kind of sky view you only ever see in paintings.

"I could get used to this," I whisper, stepping inside.

Draco Malfoy's POV

Olivia's eyes widen as she takes in the room, and I know instantly she loves it—even if she tries not to show it. Her jaw drops a little, her steps slow. I watch her carefully, almost nervously. I wasn't sure if it would be too much, too dark, too Malfoy. But her stunned expression makes something tight in my chest ease.

She turns to me, flustered. "Draco, this is too much. Just—I'm fine with any normal room, you don't have to—"

"Nonsense, darling," I cut her off smoothly, already crossing the room to sit on the bed. "Only the best for you."

She follows and sits beside me. A little too close—not that I mind. Her thigh brushes mine, her feet barely touch the ground. Mine are planted firmly, but hers dangle slightly in the air, and it's... adorable. Unfortunately, her nearness is doing things to me I would rather not deal with right now.

I try to focus on something else—anything else—so I gesture toward the shelves and the large window. "I know you like reading," I say, keeping my voice steady, "and the skies. So I thought this would be best for you."

She looks at the window, then the books, then back at me. And then she does it—places her hand on my thigh and kisses my cheek. "Thank you, Draco."

Merlin help me.

I shoot up from the bed, heart hammering, trousers growing a bit too tight. If I sit there a second longer, I'll do what I've wanted to do since summer—kiss her until we forget everything else. And if she keeps smirking at me like that, touching me like that, I'll—

Nope. Not tonight.

I clear my throat, adjusting my sleeves awkwardly. "Erm, dinner will be ready soon. I think we should freshen up a bit and then meet downstairs?" She smiles, casually, as if she didn't just nearly destroy my willpower. "Sure. See you down in thirty."

I escape her room like a man on fire.

After a long, cold bath that I lie to myself is for relaxation, I get dressed and decide to go down to dinner with her. I knock on her door. No answer. Huh.

She's probably exploring. But when I check around the house, she's nowhere to be seen. Not in the library. Not in the gardens. Not even near the Christmas decorations Mother insisted on having this year.

So I go back up, knock again. Still nothing. Hesitantly, I push open her door—empty. But the en-suite door is cracked. No sound of water running, but still—just in case—I step in.

And I see her.

She's asleep in the bathtub. Completely still, head tilted back, a messy bun perched atop her head with a few strands falling loose. The water is filled with bubbles, so I don't see anything... but the way her arms rest gently on the tub's edge, her pale skin glowing under the dim bathroom lights—it's unreal. Ethereal.

I could stare forever. I shouldn't, but I could.

Then she stirs, eyes fluttering open. "Draco! What are you doing in here?" She immediately starts gathering the bubbles around herself, which—ironically—makes it worse. More tempting. More infuriatingly beautiful.

I spin around so fast I nearly trip. "You didn't answer your door. I thought you were wandering, I searched everywhere, and then I knocked again, but—look, I didn't mean to barge in, I swear. I was just coming to tell you that dinner's ready."

She pauses. "Right, sorry. I just fell asleep. I'll be down in a few." I hesitate, then start to turn, but glance over my shoulder.

Mistake.

She's glaring. "Stop staring and leave!" I grin before I can stop myself. "Don't mind me. Just admiring the view, darling."

Her scandalized noise nearly makes me laugh. I exit the en-suite, feeling oddly lighter, and sit back on her bed while I wait. I grab a book—anything to distract myself—and recline against the headboard, legs stretched out.

She makes me nervous. I don't get nervous. Not with anyone. But her?

She walks into the room and everything in me short-circuits. Only a towel. Just a towel. Draped around her body, wet skin gleaming slightly in the candlelight. Merlin, give me strength. "You read?" she asks, voice innocent like she doesn't know what she's doing to me.

I look up, nearly drop the book. "I—" My brain stalls. "Isn't the closet next to the lavatory?"

"Yes," she says, looking flustered. "But my clothes are here. Didn't realize you were waiting in here. And look away, you've already seen enough for one day."

"Oh, please," I smirk, eyes trailing over her before I force myself to look at the ceiling. "I'll never get tired of this view. And yes, those are all your clothes—you can wear them."

"No, no. Now leave. I have to change," she says, stepping over and trying to pull me up. I resist. "Why? It's my house."

"You're not my boyfriend, otherwise it would be okay. But now—leave." I grin, grab her wrist, and tug her toward me gently. "Yet." Her breath catches. I reach up, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. I lean in, slowly, knowing she won't pull away.

And then—

"Kids, din—" My mother's voice cuts through the moment like a sword. She stops short, catching sight of us, and spins back around. "Sorry! I hope I'm not interrupting anything!"

"A little too late for that, Mother," I mutter, annoyed and breathless. "I was just coming to tell you that dinner is ready." I sigh, force myself to break away from Olivia, and walk over to my mother. "Wait for me," I say over my shoulder with a wink, before following her out.

As we head to the dining room, Mother gives me a look. "So, do you like her?"

"I don't know," I lie, sitting down. "I've been harassing her since the day I met her. I doubt she likes me." Mother raises an eyebrow. "You only harassed her because you like her. And she's spending Christmas here, Draco. Not with her family. Think about that."

She's right. I tell her a bit about Olivia's family, and as I do, I hear footsteps. Olivia enters the room wearing a red sweatshirt far too big for her and grey pants that pool at her ankles.

Adorable.

"Sorry," she says, sliding into the seat beside me. "I got carried away in the bath."

"No worries, sweetheart," Mother says with a kind smile. But I'm not sure I'll survive another night like this one.

The food is already laid out on the table when we walk in—roast chicken, chips, sausages, all the things I grew up with. But tonight, it's different. It's not just dinner. Mother cooked this herself. She never does that anymore unless something matters. She did it for Olivia.

"She made everything herself tonight," I tell Olivia quietly. "She knew you were coming."

Olivia looks surprised, touched. I watch her eyes flicker from the perfectly carved chicken to the pie and the cake on the sideboard. Green apple for me. Chocolate for her. And a few chocolate frogs placed neatly beside the dessert plates.

She's quiet for a moment, then takes her first bite—and groans softly. A low, innocent sound that immediately sends heat rushing down my spine. I shift in my chair, suddenly very aware of how tight my trousers feel.

"Oh, my Merlin," she says, beaming. "This is absolutely delicious, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco was right—you're an excellent cook." I glance away, biting the inside of my cheek. Merlin, she has no idea what that moan just did to me.

"Please, call me Narcissa, dear," Mother says graciously. Olivia blushes. "Oh, erm, no. I'm sorry, but I find this concept quite odd. You're the age of my mother—I wouldn't call my mother by her name." Mother smiles, clearly charmed. "You are very polite. How are you friends with Draco?"

Olivia laughs lightly, nudging me with her knee. "Draco is polite too." I raise an eyebrow at her but say nothing. If only she knew the thoughts I'm currently having. Then Mother's tone shifts—gentler, sadder. "Oh, honey... I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

I glance at Olivia quickly. She doesn't flinch, but I see the slight change in her posture. I told Mother, of course—I wanted her to know, to understand why this Christmas matters. Why Olivia being here matters.

"Thank you," Olivia says quietly, her voice thinner now. Mother hesitates. "Perhaps I knew her—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mrs. Malfoy," Olivia says quickly, but her voice cracks at the end. "I don't know who they are... or what they're doing. And I don't want to find out now."

She nearly chokes on the words. I reach across the table and place my hand gently over hers. She looks at me. And despite the pain in her eyes, she smiles.

Something about that soft, trembling smile makes me want to hex the world "I'm sorry, dear," Mother says gently. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh, no, no. That's quite all right," Olivia replies, ever gracious—even when she's barely holding herself together.

Dinner winds down after that. She's quieter now, but still smiles, still compliments everything. "Thank you for the dinner. And the chocolate frogs—they're my favorite."

"Yes," Mother says warmly. "Draco told me you like chocolate, so I put them out just for you." I try not to smirk. Of course she remembered. She remembers everything.

When dessert is done, I glance at my mother and say softly, "Well, if you'll excuse us, Mother."

"Good night," she says with a knowing smile, sipping the last of her wine.

I guide Olivia upstairs, my hand brushing the small of her back.

Tonight, she's already taken over every part of my home. The food. The conversation. My bloody heartbeat.

And I think—this is what it might feel like to have something real.