Dragged into the Dark

Olivia Middleton's POV

We spend the rest of the day together—cooking, laughing, playing Wizard Chess (which, unfortunately, Draco is maddeningly good at), and strolling around the manor grounds. Mrs. Malfoy proudly shows off her garden, speaking about each plant like it's her child. She tends to it herself, and there's something calming about it, even though everything around here leans toward dark elegance. Somehow, I've grown to love this place. It may be cold and grand and a little haunted, but it feels... like something. 

Like the beginning of something real.

The next morning comes too quickly. I'm packed and standing at the door, not quite ready to leave. Mrs. Malfoy pulls me into a hug and leans in close. "You make my son happy," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you very much, sweetheart." I feel her sniffle against my hair, and something warm stirs in my chest.

"Seriously, woman? You don't cry like this when I leave," Draco mutters from behind us, sounding equal parts grumpy and jealous. "I do so, but you don't like it," she says with a mock glare and a soft swat to his arm. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," I say, my throat tight. "I had a great time here. If I ever want to know more... I'll write to you."

Draco steps forward. "I'll walk her out."

He takes my hand in one of his and grabs my luggage with the other as we head toward the front. The elves are already loading my bags into a sleek private carriage. "What do you want to know about?" he asks gently. "Your mother and mine," I say, watching the elves work. "You know they were best friends at Hogwarts."

He nods slowly, like he's only now beginning to believe it might be true. "Draco, you didn't have to go through all this trouble," I say, gesturing to the carriage. "I could've just taken the Muggle train."

"It's not trouble," he says, stepping closer. "I just wish you were staying the rest of the holidays." He cups my face like he's memorizing it, then kisses me—long, slow, and full of everything neither of us has said out loud yet.

"Go," he says softly, "before I or my mother change our minds."

I laugh, even as I hug him tightly. "Thank you, Draco. For everything. This was amazing. I'll see you soon." He helps me into the carriage, and just like that, I'm gone.

Chris doesn't even wait for me to get out. He jumps straight into the carriage the second it stops and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Mr. and Mrs. Wallace are standing behind him, beaming. It feels good to be here—but something in me knows part of my heart stayed behind at the manor.

I spend the rest of the holidays at Chris's, and before long, we're off to the station together, ready to return to Hogwarts.

As soon as we arrive back at Hogwarts, we head straight for Hagrid. He's down by the lake, his huge frame hunched as he tosses rocks into the water, each one skipping less than the last. The tension in his shoulders makes my stomach twist.

"How did it go, Hagrid? The Hearing?" Hermione asks gently, her hands tucked into her coat pockets. She and Ron stand a few feet away, giving him space. Harry and I are perched on a big, mossy rock, watching from a distance.

"So..." Harry starts, nudging me lightly, "how were your holidays?" I rest my head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh. My chest tightens just thinking about Draco. Things are going to be different now—we're back at Hogwarts, and I can already feel the shift.

"They were alright," I say quietly. "Thank you for the gifts, by the way. It was too much. You didn't have to." He just smiles softly, but before either of us can say more, Hagrid speaks.

"The committee members took turns talkin'... goin' on about why we were there. Then they let me speak. I said my bit, told 'em Buckbeak would never hurt anyone on purpose. Said he's a good hippogriff." His voice cracks, and he pauses. "Then... then Lucius Malfoy got up."

My heart stops. So that's why Mr. Malfoy wasn't home for Christmas.

"He started sayin' awful things," Hagrid continues, his tone hardening. "Said Buckbeak was dangerous... deadly."

"And then?" Hermione's voice is tight. "And then he asked for the worst," Hagrid mutters. "Old Lucius..." I push myself off the rock, suddenly needing to move, needing to breathe. I walk toward the shore, the cold air biting at my cheeks. "They're not sacking you, are they?" Ron asks, alarmed.

"No," Hagrid says. But the word is hollow. A moment passes. Then I hear it—quiet, broken sobs.

"Buckbeak's been sentenced to death!" he chokes out, and with a furious shout, he hurls a rock into the lake so hard it splashes halfway across. I gasp, and my feet move before I even think. I run straight to him, throwing my arms around his waist. His body trembles beneath mine.

"Hagrid, I'm so sorry," I whisper. "He doesn't deserve this. None of it."

But the words don't feel like enough. Rage crawls under my skin. Everything clicks—the way Draco had begged me to come for the holidays, how desperate he seemed for me to stay, and now... now I know why. 

Lucius Malfoy wasn't just absent from Christmas—he was busy ruining lives.

The next time I see Draco Malfoy, there isn't going to be a single straight bone left in his body.

It's the day of the execution, and I hate everything about it. My chest feels like it's caving in with every step I take toward the courtyard. How does someone like Malfoy—an insufferable, entitled, arrogant little brat—get his way so easily? And creatures like Buckbeak, kind and proud, have to pay the price for his tantrums.

We're walking toward the courtyard when I spot the executioner. He's already there, sharpening his massive, rusty axe like it's just another chore. When he notices us watching, he flashes a wide, rotten-toothed grin. It sends a chill straight down my spine.

We make it onto the bridge when Hermione finally speaks. "It's just too horrible," she says. "I can't believe they're actually going to kill Buckbeak."

"It just got worse," Ron mutters grimly as we reach the other side. "What is it?" I ask, but I already know something's wrong—then I hear his voice. "What did I say? Father says I can keep the bloody hippogriff's head. I'll donate it to the Gryffindor common room!"

My blood boils instantly. I tighten my grip on Harry's hand as Hermione charges down the steps, wand drawn. We all rush after her. "Ah, come to see the show, have you?" Malfoy sneers. "Here, you can use my binoculars—"

"You! You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!" Hermione snarls, jabbing her wand right at his throat. My heart swells with pride—yes, finally. "Hex him," I whisper under my breath. "Just do it."

But of course, Ron steps in like the saint he tries to be. "Hermione, no. He's not worth it."

She hesitates, wand still trembling against Malfoy's throat. He's whimpering now, like the coward he is. And then she does it—not with magic, but with her fist. A clean, beautiful punch straight to the face. I think I hear cartilage crack. It's the most satisfying sound I've ever heard.

I let go of Harry's hand and stalk forward, wand already drawn. If she won't hex him, I will. "You think you're important just because of Daddy's name and money? You're not. You're pathetic. A walking joke." My wand presses against his skin now. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't believe I'll do it.

"Olivia..." Harry warns behind me, but I don't move. "I can do it. I should do it," I growl. My wand begins to carve a faint bruise down the side of Malfoy's jaw. His jaw clenches, and I want to push harder, hurt him, ruin him—

But Mrs. Malfoy's words echo in my head: You make my son happy. Thank you, sweetheart.

I breathe in sharp through my nose and lower my wand. I turn away. I almost let it go. "You didn't think any of that was real, did you, darling?" Malfoy calls after me, his voice like poisoned honey.

I snap.

I spin, grab him by the collar, and knee him hard in the groin. He drops like a sack of potatoes, clutching himself and groaning in pain. "Leave. Right the fuck now, before I break something else," I hiss through my teeth.

He scrambles up, limping away, muttering something about it "not being over." Pathetic. Hermione walks up beside me, still catching her breath. "It's good, punching Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Not good," Ron grins, "brilliant."

"And relaxing," I add, grinning despite everything.

We rush down to Hagrid's hut, none of us saying much. The sun's lower now, casting long shadows across the grass. We talk quietly about Buckbeak—how peaceful he looks, how maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore might help.

"A great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid says as he gazes out the window. I roll my eyes. The words taste bitter. A great man. Right. "Yeah," I mutter under my breath. "A great frigging man." Hagrid turns toward me, his big frame heavy as he sits beside me on the bench. "Now, Olivia," he begins gently, "whatever he did—he did to save you—"

"No, he didn't," I snap. The words spill before I can stop them. "He didn't save me. Dropping me on a doorstep like a cursed parcel? Leaving me with that miserable excuse of an uncle—he didn't save me, Hagrid, he—"

Hermione slides in next to me, placing a careful hand on my shoulder. It's enough. I shut my mouth before I say too much. The boys don't need to hear this. I breathe out slowly and mumble, "Sorry."

"We'll stay with you, Hagrid," Hermione offers, standing now, her voice strong.

But Hagrid waves her off. "No. Do you think I want yeh lot seein' somethin' like that? You'll do no such thing. Drink your tea, and be off. And Ron—keep a better eye on your pet next time." He hands Scabbers to Ron like he's just passing a mug, and Ron cradles him awkwardly.

"I think you owe someone an apology," Hermione says, stepping closer to Ron. "Yeah, next time I see Crookshanks, I'll let him know," Ron says flatly. "I meant me—" Hermione snaps, but before she can finish, a loud crack bursts through the room. One of the pots shatters, something hits Harry square in the back of the head, and we all freeze.

Outside the window, I see them—Dumbledore, the executioner, Fudge—they're coming.

Harry grabs my hand. "Now." I look back once before we leave. "Hagrid," I say, trying to sound braver than I feel, "it's going to be okay. He'll be fine."

He doesn't answer, and Harry tugs me again.

We slip out through the back door and run through the trees, stopping near the stone circle by the bridge. I can still hear Buckbeak from behind us—his call, his fear. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to cry. If he'd died from age, or even from a spell—I could have helped. I could've brought him back. But beheading... there's no undoing that.

My eyes burn. Harry hasn't let go of my hand once. As we stop, his grip only tightens. I shut my eyes and rest my head against the crook of his neck. His arm wraps around me. I feel safe for a second. Just a second.

Then Ron yelps. "He bit me! Bloody old rat!"

Scabbers jumps out of his arms and darts away. "Ron, wait!" Hermione shouts. "Ron—it's almost dark!" I call after him, already breaking into a run. "Hagrid will help you find him, just wait!" But he doesn't. I chase after him until we both reach the edge of the forest, near the Whomping Willow. He finally grabs Scabbers, clutching him close. I kneel beside him, helping him stand up.

We're about to head back when Ron freezes. "Hermione... Harry... run!" he shouts, pointing behind them. "It's the Grim!" I spin around—and I see him. A huge, black dog. Eyes gleaming. But I know. I know it's not just any dog. It's him. Sirius Black. I saw him in the castle that night. I remember.

He lunges.

His teeth sink into Ron's leg and he starts dragging him toward the base of the tree. "Ron!" I scream, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him back, my wand falling from my sleeve.

But Sirius—his Animagus form—is too strong. Too wild. He pulls us both down into the tunnel below the tree.

And just like that, we're swallowed into darkness—The Shrieking Shack.