Where the Sky Knows My Name

Olivia Montgomery's POV

I'm sleeping when I feel someone shaking me. "Liv," Hermione's voice cuts through my dream as my eyes blink open, still blurry and heavy with sleep. "What?" I mumble, sitting up and rubbing my eyes until my vision clears.

"It's Draco," Pansy says from the doorway, looking uncharacteristically serious. I groan softly, already knowing what's coming. "Again?"

I don't wait for her answer—I'm already out of bed, throwing on a robe and following her out.

"What is it this time, Parkinson?" I snap as we rush through the corridors toward the dungeons, my feet slapping against the stone. "Nightmare," she says, quieter now. "A bad one."

That makes me run faster.

By the time I reach his door, I'm breathless and filled with dread. I shove it open.

He's thrashing. Whimpering. His face is twisted in pain, and tears streak down his cheeks. His hands grip the bedsheets like he's hanging on for dear life.

"No, no, no, no..." he mumbles. "Don't do anything to her..." "She's all I've got..."

My chest tightens until it physically hurts. I drop to my knees beside his bed, lean my forehead against his. He's burning up. I want to whisper to him, to say I'm here, I'm okay, I'm not going anywhere. But I can't. The words catch in my throat and burn.

Instead of soothing him, my breathing turns shallow. I can't do this. I can't be strong when he's falling apart like this. I stand up, stumbling backward, heart racing.

"Olive—" Blaise calls after me as I rush out of the room. "What, Blaise?" I snap, louder than intended. He stares at me, stunned, but I don't give him a chance to answer. "This is too much," I say, pacing furiously outside Draco's room. "I've seen too much. He's in so much pain—more than anyone should bear, more than he should bear."

Blaise says nothing, just listens, as I bury my hands in my hair and continue.

"How am I supposed to help him after that? After seeing him like that?" Pansy steps out and gently closes the door behind her. His cries are still faintly audible, haunting.

I turn back to Blaise, voice breaking. "He was my rock. For six years, Blaise. Six bloody years. Even when I thought I was a Muggle-born—he stood by me. He never let me feel less. And now I have to watch him crumble like this?" I press my hands to my forehead, trying to keep it together.

"Hey, hey, hey," Blaise says, stepping forward and gently pulling my hands down to hold them.

"Take a deep breath." I do. Then another. My lungs finally stretch open. "If he's been your rock for six years," Blaise says softly, "don't you think it's time to repay him now?" I exhale slowly, glance over at Pansy, who nods silently, arms crossed like she's holding herself together too.

My voice hardens. "The fact that I know what he's become... that comes out tomorrow. One way or another." I turn on my heel and go back into his room.

I point my wand and whisper, "Relinquo."

His body finally relaxes. His breathing evens out. The nightmare fades—at least for tonight.

I walk out again, ignoring Blaise and Pansy's voices calling after me. I don't stop. I can't.

Because tomorrow... everything changes.

The next day slips by faster than I expect. I hardly see Draco, and when I do—I pretend not to. It's difficult, ignoring someone who takes up so much space in your heart. But tonight, everything changes. He'll know I've found out.

I'm in my dorm, standing in front of the mirror, fixing the last strand of my hair into place. The black dress I've chosen clings to me in all the right ways, a slit on the right leg making it just daring enough. My eyeliner's sharp enough to kill, and the black heels give me the kind of confidence I desperately need.

Tonight isn't just about singing.

I head to the Great Hall early to check the sound system. I'm performing—McGonagall's idea to lighten the mood before everyone leaves for break. The hall looks unrecognizable. Round tables, white cloths, floating candles hanging low. A stage is set up near the front, elegant and just a little intimidating.

The students begin to file in, laughter echoing as they take in the magical transformation. The girls are dressed to the nines—gowns, sparkles, elegance. The boys look like grown men, not teenagers. Tuxedos, smirks, way too much gel in their hair.

I sit at the piano, fingers trailing lightly over the keys, waiting for the hall to fill up. A soft hum buzzes in my chest—anticipation, nerves, something more.

McGonagall steps up onto the stage beside me. "Very well, Miss Montgomery," she says kindly before turning to the crowd. Her speech is expected—something about enjoying ourselves, being brave, being kind. It washes over me like a tide I've already swum through.

Then she gestures toward me. "Now, I'll hand over the show to our lovely lead of the choir."

I stand up, mic in both hands, and I scan the crowd until I find him.

His eyes lock onto mine for a brief second, and I smile. Not the warm kind. The knowing kind.

The music starts. Slowly, softly. I start to sing.

"I know all your secrets."

His expression shifts. Wide eyes. Stillness. Panic.

My gaze drops, just for a second, to his forearm—and then back up. I scoff, just enough for him to notice. Just enough to say, You're not hiding anymore.

I close my eyes before the tears reach the surface. The pain in the lyrics is too close to my own heart. The music dims, letting my voice carry the emotion, raw and untamed. When I open my eyes again, I look directly at him.

He's not just shocked now.

He looks... broken. Angry. Grieving. Like I've stolen the last layer of protection he had left.

And then he leaves.

His chair scrapes loudly. His tie comes loose. And he walks out.

The crowd claps, loud and enthusiastic, but my eyes stay glued to the empty doorway.

I want to follow him. Every part of me screams to. I want to tell him I don't care about the mark. That I still love him. That he doesn't need to be afraid of me knowing.

But I don't.

This time... he has to come to me. When he's ready. On his terms.

I sing a few more songs. My voice is steady, but my chest feels tight. When I finally step offstage, I join the others at the table—but I can't eat a thing. His seat is still empty.

I stare at it like he might return any second.

"Hey, pretty lady," a voice says from behind me.

I turn and light up. "Raf!"

Rafael grins and pulls me into a warm hug. "You were incredible," he says as I kiss his cheek lightly. "Would you like to dance?" he asks, offering a hand. I hesitate for only a moment—then take it.

We sway gently to the slow music playing now. It's soft, the kind that makes you forget the world exists beyond the dance floor. "So, how have you been?" he asks, voice quiet. I glance up at him. "I know in what context you're asking, Rafael."

And just like that, we keep dancing. The world spinning softly around us. And somewhere, far behind my heartbeat, I'm still waiting for the boy with silver eyes to come back.

The night speeds by in a haze of music, lights, and laughter—and then we're all crammed into the Gryffindor common room for the after-party. It's cozy and buzzing, every couch and rug space taken by seventh years who clearly have no intention of sleeping tonight.

Hermione hands me a glass, and I raise a brow. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Firewhisky," Ginny answers, grinning.

Finally, the good stuff.

I'm chatting with Theo near the fireplace, still glowing a little from the performance earlier, when Blaise walks in—with Draco beside him.

Oh. So he did decide to show.

His presence makes the air heavier, tighter, but I pretend not to notice. I keep sipping, laughing with Theo, until a Ravenclaw girl—Meredith, I think—claps her hands and yells, "Let's play Truth or Dare!"

The circle forms fast, like second nature. I settle with Hermione and Ginny. Luna's beside me on the other side, her lion hat long gone but her dreamy smile intact.

The game moves quickly, full of harmless dares and cringeworthy truths. Then Luna turns to me with her usual calm. "Olivia, truth or dare?" I smile. "Truth."

"How many times did you and Draco do it?" Daphne blurts out, and I choke on my drink. She really just said that. Out loud. In front of everyone.

"I-I don't know," I stammer, cheeks burning. I glance at Draco, worried he'll be furious. But he just smirks. "We lost count, didn't we, darling?"

Oh, darling? He knows what that word does to me—and to Ron and Harry.

Next round.

"Harry," I say sweetly. "Truth or dare?" He glares at Draco once more before answering. "Dare." I grin. "Fine. I dare you to kiss Ginny."

"What?!" he and Ginny—and Ron—shout in perfect unison. "It's just a game, jeez," I say, mocking Harry's own dramatic tone.

Harry and Ginny exchange the quickest peck I've ever seen and sit back down like nothing happened, both of them slightly pink.

The game rolls on. Theo leans forward with a mischievous smile. "Truth or dare, Parkinson?"

"Truth," Pansy says, clearly unimpressed. "Alright," Theo teases, "Do you have a crush on someone—aside from your obvious Malfoy obsession—and is that person in this room?"

I snort, trying not to laugh. Draco side-eyes me, then Pansy.

"Yes," she says, cheeks going red. "And yes."

The oohs and giggles ripple through the circle. Draco looks confused, but he doesn't say anything. Then Blaise turns to me. "Truth or dare, Olive?"

"Truth," I answer, trying not to sound nervous.

"Reveal all the details of your first kiss," he says, too gleefully. "No names," I protest immediately. Blaise opens his mouth to argue, but Draco's voice cuts through first. "No, go on."

I inhale and begin, "It was third year. Christmas break. I was staying at his house, and we were on his balcony. He'd just shown me this incredible view of the sky—he knew how much I loved it—"

"YOU LOVE THE SKY," everyone groans at once, rolling their eyes.

I laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Then he asked if I liked the surprise. I was answering him and he just... cut me off. Mid-sentence. And kissed me. Nothing too much, nothing too little. Just the perfect amount." Draco's eyes haven't left me since I started.

The circle gives all the appropriate awws and oohs and teases, but I'm too focused on the silver-eyed boy across from me. "Raf, truth or dare?" I ask quickly, trying to change the topic. "Truth, I guess," he shrugs. I open my mouth to ask something safe, but Luna beats me to it. "Do you like Olivia?"

He chokes on his drink.

The room goes dead silent.

"Yes," he says eventually, still red in the face. I freeze. Draco doesn't. He tightens his grip on his glass so hard, I swear I hear it creak. I laugh awkwardly. "Daph, it's your turn," I blurt. One more round, and suddenly it's my turn again. "Truth or dare?" Blaise asks.

"T—" I start, but Ginny cuts in.

"You already took truth twice. Dare."

I sigh. "Alright, then. Dare." Harry grins, evil and knowing. "I dare you to kiss Rafael."

"What?" I say flatly. "It's just a game, jeez," he throws back my own line with a smirk. I glance at Draco.

Big mistake.

He's glaring at me like I belong to him and I've forgotten that.

But maybe that's exactly the point.

I shrug. "Fine."

Rafael and I both crawl to the center of the circle.

"You don't have to—" he begins. "Let's just get this over with," I cut him off and lean in. I kiss him. Just a peck at first—but he leans in, deepens it a bit.

And that's when I feel it.

Draco's eyes. Burning into me. Daring me to keep going.

I pull away.

Fast.

The whole room feels heavier now.

And Merlin help me, I don't regret it. Because now I know—he won't be able to take much more.

The game finally winds down after a couple more ridiculous rounds, and we all scatter back into our little drunken pockets of chaos. Most of the students head to their common rooms, and my Slytherin friends trail out too, laughing and swaying like tipsy dominoes.

I'm still holding a bottle of firewhisky, pretty sure I've had more than anyone should. Hermione plops down beside me, still mostly sober, the ever-watchful Gryffindor.

"So," she asks, her voice teasing but careful, "you like Rafael?" I snort. "No." It comes out blunt—maybe too blunt—but I mean it. She nods and doesn't push.

The room starts emptying out. Even Harry has wandered off somewhere. Hermione is the only one left sitting there when I stand up.

I don't know where I'm going. I just follow my legs, heavy and numb, the bottle still dangling from my fingers. They carry me through the hallways like I'm not even steering them... until I stop at a familiar door.

My knuckles hit the wood once, twice.

It creaks open.

And there he is—Draco. Barely awake, shirtless, boxers, hair like he's been in a wind tunnel. He squints, trying to see past the hallway light, and then— "You!" I blurt, loud and messy.

His eyes snap open fully, and he grabs my arm, pulling me into the room fast.

I stumble toward his bed and collapse on it. "I was perfectly happy before you came along," I grumble, dramatic as ever, head spinning. He tries to take the bottle from me, but I'm quicker.

"You know I love you," I say, my voice thick, "but you still don't say it back." I take a deep swig. "And I know you smelled someone in Potions." Another drink.

"It was Parkinson, wasn't it?" I squint at him, but everything's blurring.

One more sip.

"I may be drunk," I mumble, "but I know I'm better than her." Draco sighs, gently takes the bottle this time, and sets it on the table. "Alright, let's get you back to your common room."

"I don't wanna go there," I whine, slumping against his chest.

"You don't have a choice," he says, already lifting me to my feet. I sway. I stumble.

"Oops," I say with a giggle as I fall into his arms. He groans, probably rethinking every life decision that led him to this moment.

And then, just like that, he throws me over his shoulder like a sack of sugar quills.

"Hey!" I slap his back lightly. "Put me down, Malfoy!"

He doesn't. He carries me all the way to my common room and up the stairs like I weigh nothing.

Hermione opens the door, eyes widening. "Granger," he mutters, setting me down gently on my bed.

I barely manage a sleepy mumble: "I love you."

Then everything fades.

I wake up the next morning with the worst bloody headache I've ever had in my life. "Here," Hermione says, handing me a potion and a glass of water like an angel in a cardigan. "Thanks, Mione," I croak, forcing a smile.

"We still have classes, let's go," she says, already pulling the blankets off me.

The day blurs past. I barely remember dinner, barely remember getting dressed for patrol. But I do remember walking down the seventh-floor corridor when I bump—hard—into someone. "Shit!" I rub my head. "Sorry, I wasn't—" I look up.

"Draco?"

His eyes are wide, guilty, like a child caught with his hand in the Honeydukes jar. "Just—just walking," he stammers. "Okay," I say softly, and turn to head back. "What were you doing here?" he calls after me.

"Prefect duties!" I shout, pointing to the badge on my chest. He laughs, just a little, and walks away in the opposite direction.

When I return to the common room, I find Ron standing there like he owns the place. Arms crossed, angry as a Hungarian Horntail. Hermione's on the couch, Harry next to her. "What?" I ask, blinking at the tension in the room.

"What have you been doing going to Malfoy's dorm in the middle of the nights?" Ron demands. I whip my head toward Hermione. "You told them?"

"You were just... going a lot. And not coming back for hours," she says, guilt painting her voice. "So you thought you'd snitch?" I say, my voice sharp and rising. "No matter what she did," Harry interjects, "what do you do for hours?"

I stare at him, stunned. "That's none of your business." Ron scoffs. "Well, maybe you should just ask the Sorting Hat to redo your sorting. Slytherin would suit you fine. Not like Gryffindor would be missing anything valuable."

His words hit like a slap. Hermione gasps.

"Ronald!" she exclaims, moving to come toward me. I hold up a hand, stopping her.

Tears well in my eyes. "What I'm doing... is none of your business. But if you must know, I'm helping someone. Someone who's drowning in pain. Someone who was my rock for years." My voice shakes now. "And maybe—maybe—if you were a decent friend, you'd try to understand that instead of judging me."

I pause, then turn toward the door.

"And Ronald?" I say, not bothering to look back. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever said yes to living at the Burrow. And if I regret it now... you're the reason."

I walk out before any of them can stop me. Before Hermione can speak. Before I let myself cry.

Because tonight, I'm not ashamed of who I love. Only of who I thought would understand.

I race up the Astronomy Tower, my chest heaving, throat tight. Everything feels like it's pressing down on me all at once—Ron, Harry, Hermione, the stupid argument, my aching heart. It's all too much.

I drop beside the railing, letting the cool night air kiss my cheeks. The stars above are scattered across the sky like they've been spilled on velvet. I pull out my wand and whisper the words before I even realize it.

"Expecto Patronum."

My lioness bursts out in shimmering silver light, graceful and fierce. She runs around the balcony playfully, leaping toward me, dancing in circles, pawing at the air like she's trying to cheer me up. And it works. I smile for the first time in what feels like hours. I even laugh—an honest, cracked laugh.

"What is that?"

I spin around, startled. "Draco!"

And just like that, my Patronus vanishes.

He stands in the doorway, blinking like he's only half-awake, his voice still low and raspy from sleep. "Where'd she go?"

"That was my Patronus," I say as he walks toward me and sits down beside me. "You can conjure one?" he asks, clearly surprised. I nod and raise my wand again. "Expecto Patronum." The lioness reappears in a swirl of silver light, circling us both, proud and wild.

Draco watches her with a smile tugging at his lips. "Huh. A lioness for the Gryffindor Queen. Fitting."

Exactly what I always imagined he'd say. Like he stepped out of the past—back when we were in the DA and I wished he was beside me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask softly. He shrugs and exhales. "Couldn't sleep." Then he turns to me, his expression gentle but serious. "Why were you crying?" I open my mouth to ask how he knows, but he cuts me off.

"I just know. I always know with you."

That makes me smile. Barely. But it's there.

"I'm just tired," I whisper. "Of everything. Of Harry. Of Ron. Even Hermione. Even... life." He shifts closer, his whole body tensing. I see it in his eyes—the worry, the fear I've triggered in him. "Never ever say that again," he says, his voice low but firm.

Tears threaten again, stinging my eyes. "It was a stupid fight with Ron," I mutter as my Patronus curls into my lap like a protective pet. "Why?"

What do I even say? That I've been sneaking into his dorm to help with his nightmares?

"He thinks I spend too much time with Slytherins," I admit quietly. "Said maybe I should ask the Sorting Hat to re-sort me, that I'd probably end up in Slytherin... and they wouldn't be losing a 'valuable Gryffindor.'"

My voice breaks on the last words.

Draco's expression hardens. "Well... they're not wrong." I turn to glare at him, but he goes on before I can snap. "I mean, not about the valuable part," he says, placing a hand gently on my thigh, "but I think you would've been brilliant in Slytherin. Or even Hufflepuff. You're kind, clever, brave—everything. But you're ambitious, too. You would've fit."

I look back up at the sky, a slow smile tugging at my lips. "You know... at the time of my Sorting, I was actually more Slytherin than Gryffindor."

"WHAT?" Draco yells, making me flinch. "Shhh! Draco!" I nudge his shoulder. "We're out after curfew, genius."

He squeezes my thigh again, shaking his head. "You're telling me now, after six years, that you could've been sorted into my house? That we could've been together all this time? Sat next to each other in class? At meals? On the bloody Quidditch team?"

He's spiraling and I can't help but grin. I cut him off the only way I know how—by pressing my lips to his.

He doesn't hesitate. One of his hands cups my cheek, and the other wraps around my waist as I climb into his lap, deepening the kiss. "Damn you, Montgomery," he mumbles against my lips when I finally pull away.

"Well," I whisper, arms wrapped around his neck, "if you hadn't been such a prat on the train... and the platform... and the entire first year, maybe I would've said yes to Slytherin." He blinks. "What do you mean?"

I smile. "The Sorting Hat told me I was 39% Slytherin and 38% Gryffindor. I panicked and whispered, 'Not Slytherin.' So it put me in Gryffindor." I stroke a strand of hair away from his forehead. "If you hadn't been a jerk, maybe things would've gone differently."

He pulls me in for another kiss, slower this time. When we part, he asks, "Can you teach me?"

"Teach you what, love?" I say, tilting my head. "The Patronus Charm."

I slide off his lap, grinning. "Alright, alright. But this is advanced magic, Draco. You up for it, Mr. Outstanding in Every OWL?" He chuckles. "Let's go."

"Okay," I begin, stepping closer. "The Patronus Charm protects you from dementors and dark stuff. Start with the incorporeal one—no full-body yet. Think of a happy memory. Really feel it. Then move your wand like a circle and say the incantation."

He nods, takes a breath, and lifts his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" A shimmer of silver-blue shoots from his wand, fading fast. "Stronger memory," I say, placing my hand on his arm. He tries again. "Expecto Patronum!"

This time, the light is stronger, steadier, brighter.

"Yes!" I cheer. "Now—let's try for the full-bodied Patronus. You ready?"

He nods, looking only at me. "Expecto Patronum."

And just like that, a massive, roaring dragon bursts from his wand, soaring through the tower in glorious arcs of silver-blue light. We both watch in awe.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

"Thank you, darling," he says, finally looking at me again. "Anything for you."

I nestle into his arms, heart steady for the first time all night.

Under the stars, in Draco Malfoy's arms, I finally feel safe.