Whispers, Winks, and What Ifs

Olivia Middleton's POV

As soon as the first task ends, I bolt toward the champions' tent, heart hammering with relief. I throw my arms around Harry the second I reach him, careful not to touch the spots where he's clearly injured.

"You were really brave, Harry! And the Horntail? Oof!" I say, peppering kisses onto his cheeks. "Thanks, Liv," he laughs, gently setting me back down.

That's when I see Cedric walking in, freshly mended by Madam Pomfrey. He's still got scorch marks on his arms, but his smile? Wide and proud—and entirely for me. He opens his arms without a word, and I don't think twice. I run to him. He scoops me up, spinning me like I weigh nothing.

"You did really great, Ced," I say once he lowers me to the ground. Then I frown, pointing to the burns. "But you weren't careful."

"Thank you," he says, his hands lingering on my waist, "but I was careful. I'll be okay. So don't worry, yeah?" Before I can argue, George peeks his head through the tent flap. "Hey, love. Let's go—we're celebrating Harry's win in the common room."

I nod and slip out with him. As we walk across the pitch, his arm loops around my shoulder like always. Then he glances down at me. "He still hasn't confessed, has he?" I shake my head. "So... does our little Livvy like anyone else?"

"Maybe," I reply, fighting a smile.

"Who is it?"

"I'm not telling you. I'm not telling anyone—yet."

We reach the portrait hole, and I murmur the password. The common room is chaos—glorious, roaring chaos. Everyone's chanting Harry's name: "Harry! Harry! Harry!" Even the portraits are clapping. George and I join in as the twins lift Harry onto their shoulders. I weave through the crowd and drop down beside Hermione.

"Where's Ron?" I ask. She raises her eyebrows and tips her head toward the boys' dorm. "You're kidding. Still?" She sighs, confirming everything. "Yes, Harry!" one of the twins yells from across the room. "Knew you wouldn't die. Lose a leg, maybe—"

"—or an arm!"

"Pack it in altogether?"

"Never!" they cry in unison.

Harry throws the golden egg into my lap with a grin. Seamus snatches it from me dramatically and kisses it. "Open it, Harry! Let's hear the next clue," he says, lobbing it back. "You all want to hear the clue?" Harry shouts, and the whole room explodes in cheers.

He cracks it open—then immediately regrets it. A horrific screech splits the air. The twins drop him to cover their ears. I flinch, slamming my hands over mine. "Harry! Blimey! Close the damn egg!" I shout.

He fumbles with the lid and finally seals it shut. Silence crashes down. Everyone groans and winces. "What the bloody hell was that?" Ron's voice cuts through the room.

Every head turns. He's at the foot of the stairs. Awkward. Everyone knows about their stupid fight. Hermione and I exchange a look. "Alright, everyone, go back to your knitting," George calls, casually shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets.

"This is gonna be uncomfortable enough without you all nosy sods listening in," Fred adds. The room clears like magic. I mouth a quick thank you to the twins.

Ron steps forward. "I reckon you have to be barking mad to put your name in the Goblet of Fire," he says. Harry raises his brows. "Caught on, have you? Took you long enough."

"I wasn't the only one who thought you did it. Everyone was saying it." True. They were. Even Cedric thought Harry cheated—for weeks. "Brilliant. That makes me feel loads better," Harry mutters, looking around. "At least I warned you about the dragons," Ron offers, sheepishly.

"Hagrid warned me about the dragons."

"No, no, I did. Don't you remember? Near the Black Lake? I told Hermione to tell you that Seamus told me that Parvati told Dean that Hagrid was looking for you."

I blink. What?

"Seamus never actually told me anything—he forgot, I think—so it was really me all along." Ron drops his gaze to his shoes. "I thought we'd be alright, you know... after you figured that out." Harry shakes his head. "Who could possibly figure all that out? That's completely mental."

"Isn't it?" Ron mutters, almost smiling. His eyes flick to me. "Boys," Hermione says, her voice thick with emotion. Then she turns to Ron, eyes narrowed like she's not done yet. "Now, enough with the drama, Ronald. Is there something you'd like to say to Liv?"

She gives him a gentle shove in my direction. He shuffles forward. "Erm, yeah. It was really wrong of me to say all that stuff. I'm sorry."

"Said what?" Harry asks, looking between us. "Nothing," I cut in quickly. "It's okay, Ron." I smile at him. "Really."

The next morning at breakfast in the Great Hall, I'm curled up beside Harry, head resting on his shoulder. Hermione's across from us, animated as ever, ranting about how Rita Skeeter is writing total rubbish about her and Harry. Ron's next to her, trying to stay out of it, but I can tell he's only half-listening.

Across the hall, I notice Cho Chang glancing over at us—again. "Erm, Cho keeps staring at you guys," Ron mutters with a mouthful of toast. Harry and I both glance her way, just as she snaps her head back toward her giggling friends. Smooth.

Just then, Nigel walks up with a huge box cradled in his arms.

"Parcel for you, Mr. Weasley," he says in that sweet, eager voice. He hands Ron the box but keeps his goofy grin locked on Harry. It's painfully obvious he's starstruck. Ron frowns. "Thank you, Nigel."

Nigel still doesn't move. Hermione elbows Ron. He sighs and says, "Not now, Nigel," elbowing him back lightly. Hermione and I exchange looks. "Seriously?" I ask with a brow raised.

"I told him I'd get him Harry's autograph," Ron admits with a shrug.

Ron opens the box. "Look, Mum sent me something." He pulls out a bundle of fabric that unfolds into something hideous and shiny. My jaw drops. "She sent me a dress," he groans. A few Gryffindors around us snicker. Harry grabs something white out of the box and lifts it triumphantly. "Well, it does match your eyes. Is there a bonnet?"

"Aha!" He passes it to Hermione like he's presenting a crown. Ron glares and pushes Hermione's hand down. "Nose down, Harry." He turns to Ginny, who's beside us, and holds out the robes. "These must be for you." Ginny takes one look and wrinkles her nose. "I'm not wearing that. It's ghastly."

Hermione and I burst out laughing. Ron stomps back, scowling. "What?"

"They're not for Ginny, Ron," Hermione giggles. I lean in, grinning. "They're for you." The whole table starts laughing now. Poor Ron's face turns redder than the strawberry jam.

"Dress robes," I explain helpfully.

"Dress robes? For what?" he asks, clearly horrified.

"The Yule Ball," I say, smirking. "And honestly, Ron? Better dress robes than getting a howler from your mum."

After breakfast, we head to the "practice" for the Yule Ball. I say "practice" like that because I'm not entirely sure how one prepares for public humiliation by dancing in front of their professors and enemies, but here we are. Gryffindor's paired with Slytherin—of course—while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff get to suffer together elsewhere.

Mr. Filch fiddles with some ancient-looking instruments off to the side, and I spot Professor McGonagall deep in conversation with Snape. Gryffindor lines up on the left side of the room, Slytherin on the right, like we're about to duel instead of waltz.

"Silence," Snape drawls, his voice like ice water down the back of my neck. McGonagall steps into the center of the room. "The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception."

"On Christmas Eve night," Snape adds, moving beside her, "we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity." That makes me snort. Well-mannered frivolity? Have they met the Weasley twins?

McGonagall paces in front of our group. "As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward."

"And we mean this literally," Snape says. "Because the Yule Ball is, first and foremost... a dance."

Cue every boy in the room groaning like they've just been assigned ten feet of parchment on Goblin rebellions. The girls, on the other hand, immediately break into whispers about dress colors, dates, and who might ask who. "Quiet!" Snape snaps. "Now, I would like to make one thing abundantly clear. This is a complete and utter waste of time."

McGonagall clears her throat loudly and glares at him. "We will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching the name of your house or our school by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons," she says sharply.

I hear George whisper behind me, "Say that five times fast, Fred."

"Babbling, bumbling band of baboons. Babbling, bumbling band of baboons. Babbling, bumbling—"

"Shh," I hiss, trying not to laugh as McGonagall approaches Ron and Snape stalks toward Pansy. "Mr. Weasley," McGonagall says. Snape raises an eyebrow at Pansy. "Miss Parkinson. Stand up." Ron stands like he's walking to the gallows. Pansy rises much more gracefully, obviously loving the attention.

"Thank you, Pansy," Snape says as they both make their way to the center of the room. "Now, ladies," McGonagall begins, "at some point during the evening, you will be approached by these dumb boys—" Snape cuts in smoothly, "To which he should have etiquette." He bows slightly toward Pansy. Ron copies him, awkward as ever.

"Now, we will accept," McGonagall says, guiding Ron's hand into Pansy's. "Hand on my waist, Mr. Weasley," she instructs, placing her own hand on his shoulder. From the corner, I hear Malfoy and his lot snickering.

Snape doesn't miss a beat. "I swear... if I hear a single snicker, Mr. Malfoy, your father will not hear from you for a long time." I snicker. "Let's begin," Snape says, eyes cutting toward me for half a second.

"One, two, three," McGonagall counts as Ron and Pansy begin demonstrating the steps. Ron looks like he's counting every second until this ends. "Now," Snape calls out, "all the girls, please take position. The boys will... magically find you."

He flicks his wand. Every boy in the room jolts up like puppets on strings, scattering around to find their assigned partner. I stand still, trying to look calm, even though my heart is thudding. The Gryffindor girls are all ending up with Slytherin boys, and vice versa. Great.

A few semi-decent options walk past—Theo, Blaise—guys who are usually polite to me despite their House. Please not Draco, I think, silently begging the universe for mercy. Then I hear him.

"Thinking that I wouldn't be your partner, Middleton?" Draco's voice comes from just behind me, smooth and smug. I don't turn. "Shit," I mutter under my breath.

He steps into position in front of me, all cool confidence and sharp smirks. "Not getting rid of me so easily," he says, eyes glittering with amusement.

"Now, positions!" McGonagall shouts.

And just like that, the torture begins.

We straighten up. Say what you will about Draco Malfoy being a complete git, but the boy has manners. He offers his hand and bows slightly. I hesitate for a breath, then place my hand in his. He pulls me closer with surprising ease, and I gasp—quiet, but not quiet enough that he doesn't smirk. His hand settles on my waist, mine on his shoulder. We don't break eye contact.

The music starts, and just like that, he leads.

We move into a box step, smooth and steady, ignoring the groans and low chatter from around the room. But it fades quickly. Because soon, I notice it—everything around us stops. All eyes are on us. But I only see him. He looks down at me, and I look up at him, our height difference suddenly feeling like part of some carefully choreographed play.

He twirls me. Once, twice. Steps back, then pulls me in again—flawless, still locked in each other's gaze. I forget the professors, the Slytherins, even the Gryffindors watching from the sidelines. It's just him. Me. The music.

And when the song nears its end, he spins me again—faster now—then dips me low. I let out the softest laugh, breathless, still staring into those pale, unreadable eyes.

Then the world returns.

Applause breaks the spell. The room is clapping. I blink, suddenly aware of everything. He helps me upright, but his hand doesn't leave my waist. We're both smiling—awkward, uncertain—but smiling nonetheless.

"Say, Middleton," he says, voice softer than usual, "will you do me the honor of going to the Ball with me?" I inhale, trying to stall. I don't want to say no—not after he saved me from that intruder, not after... this. "I'll think about it, Malfoy."

Professor McGonagall walks over, clearly impressed. "You two are exceptionally good. How do you know how to waltz?"

"I took classes," I answer, a little shy. "And my mother hosts formal balls every season," Draco adds, perfectly polite. "I've picked up a thing or two." McGonagall shakes her head. "Well, good for you. Bad for the rest of us. You two aren't Hogwarts champions, and if you show up dancing like that, the rest of them are going to look like trolls."

We laugh, a little awkwardly, then leave the room with the others, heading back to the common room. Later, as we're all lounging around, I glance at the boys. "So... who are you guys asking to the Ball?" They just shrug.

The rest of the day flies by. Before I know it, I'm in my dorm with Hermione and Ginny, brushing out my hair and already half under the covers. Then the words burst out of me. "DracoaskedmetotheBall." Hermione blinks. "Seriously, woman. Breathe."

Ginny leans in, grinning. "What was that?" I sit up and look at both of them. "Draco asked me to the Ball."

"WHAT?!" they shriek in unison, launching onto my bed like overcaffeinated pixies. "When did he ask you?" Hermione demands. "And what did you say?"

"Um... today. Right after we danced. I told him I'd think about it."

Before Hermione can launch into a speech, Ginny interrupts, practically glowing. "You guys looked so good together. Elegant. Gorgeous. Like a fairytale." I blush. "Thanks, Ginny." I glance between them. "Did anyone ask you guys?" They both nod.

The next day, I'm heading to Charms with the Slytherins when Rafael walks up beside me. "Liv, can I talk to you?" he asks, and I nod, letting Hermione go on ahead. He shifts on his feet, looking awkward. "Erm, I was just wondering... if you'd like to go to the Ball with me?" he says, sheepish and nervous.

I can't bring myself to turn him down. "I'll think about it?" I say gently, and he nods. I head to class, slipping into my usual seat beside Hermione. The lesson flies by, and as we're packing up, Professor Flitwick's voice chirps from the front of the room.

"Anyone wishing to join the choir—or even lead it—please contact me by Friday, before the Yule Ball." I glance across the room and catch Draco already smirking at me, bouncing his eyebrows. I shake my head at him, lips twitching, and walk out.

I have a few hours free, so I head to the Black Lake with my book. I sit under a tree, back pressed against the bark, when suddenly someone drops from above. "Boo!"

"Bloody hell, Ced!" I shriek, swatting at him with my book. He laughs. "Sorry, sorry," he says, dropping down beside me. I close my book and shift to face him. "Cedric, can I ask you something?" He nods, curious.

"Did you get the clue for the next task?" He sighs. "I can't tell you that." I pout dramatically. "Alright, alright, enough with the guilt face," he groans, and I grin in triumph. "I did get it. But I know what you're about to ask, and I can't help him, Liv. That'd be cheating."

He's right, and I nod. I can't really argue with that.

Then his tone softens. "Erm... Liv. Did someone ask you to the Ball?" I nod. "Did you say yes?" I shake my head. "It's Dean, isn't it?" he asks, eyes fixed on the lake. I giggle. "Geez, no. That thing in the hall was just the twins messing with you." "Yeah, they succeeded," he says, chuckling.

Then he turns to me, cups my cheeks gently. "Liv... will you go to the Ball with me?" Oh, hell no. How many boys are going to ask me and completely scramble my brain? "Ced," I say, holding his hands carefully, "I haven't answered the others yet. I'll let you know by Wednesday?"

He nods. Of course he does. He's always kind.

The next day, we're all lounging in the common room when Harry asks me to the Ball. Internally, I scream. Perfect. Just what I need—another name on the list. I give him the same line I gave the others. "I'll think about it."

But honestly? I don't know who to say yes to. They're all my friends. What if I say yes to one and hurt the others? I need Hermione.

"Mione!" I call, spotting her in the courtyard. "Yes, Liv?" she says, smiling. I sit down and spill everything. Her eyes go wide. "Wow. A guy from each house?" she laughs. "It's not funny, Mione," I groan, lightly swatting her arm.

"Alright, alright." I sit up straighter. "Who asked you?"

"Victor Krum," she says with a little smile, "and I said yes."

"WHAT?!" I nearly shout, and heads turn. She hushes me. "Shhh!" "Well, I mean... it's good. He's been staring at you since the moment he arrived. So, let me just say: about time." She blushes and I rest my head on her shoulder. "Now what about my problem?" I mutter.

"You do what you think is best," she says, leaning her head on mine. "Wow. Really helpful, Mione," I say sarcastically. She just giggles.

The next morning, I'm walking to Potions with her when Cho passes by me and mutters, "slut," under her breath. I freeze. Hermione whips around. "What is her problem?" she hisses. Padma catches up with us, sliding into the seat beside me. "Is it really true?" she asks.

"What?" I blink. "That four guys asked you to the Ball?" I stare at her. "How do you know that?" She opens her book casually. "The whole school does. Apparently, Pansy heard you and Hermione talking." I look up and notice the stares. The whispers. The judgment.

Disgusting faces. Like I'm... what Cho called me.

It's not my fault they asked me. I didn't ask for this. But the looks burn. I can't take it.

Snape hasn't arrived yet, so I grab my bag and stand up. "Mione, tell Professor Snape I'm not feeling well," I say quickly, and bolt out of the room.

I run to my dorm, heart pounding, shame prickling under my skin. I don't deserve this. I didn't do anything wrong. But it doesn't matter now.

I have to choose someone.

Sooner rather than later.