What I Never Said

Olivia Middleton's POV

They catch me up on the plan they executed—honestly, they did a pretty good job. Still, they're suspicious. Rightfully so. I agreed to it, but apparently acted like I didn't know a thing. I tell them everything—detention, the common room, the tower... everything except the kiss.

They don't believe me when I say Malfoy saved me. Ron actually snorts, says Malfoy would've been the one to shake the ladder to make me fall, not help me. I don't have the energy to argue. And even if I did, defending Malfoy would only raise more questions—ones I'm not ready to answer. Still, I feel the urge to. It's stupid, but it's there.

Later, I'm back in the dorm with Hermione when she suddenly grabs my wrist. "Now, is there something you wish to tell me?" she asks, eyes narrowing. "Like how you know so many spells—defensive spells, no less. Or how McGonagall and Sprout asked you to demonstrate a spell we haven't even learned yet?"

Her voice is calm but sharp—classic Hermione. I know that tone. And I break. I give in, finally. I've been carrying this storm inside me for too long—about who I am, what I am, the truth about my parents, the pressure, the fear, the isolation. I tell her everything, even though Dumbledore specifically told me not to.

I'm shaking as I speak. My voice trembles. I'm terrified—what if she looks at me like I'm a freak? Like I'm broken?

But Hermione doesn't do that. Of course she doesn't. She just pulls me into one of her bone-crushing hugs and whispers, "I've read about esprit de vie." She's practically buzzing. "Liv, you are one. That's incredible."

I pull back, serious. "Mione, no one can know. Not a single soul." She nods. "Of course. You can count on me. But—really—can you do magic without a wand?" I smirk. "Wanna see?"

There's a goblet of water on my bedside table. I flick my fingers slightly and the water rises, tips—and pours straight over her head. She gasps, sputtering, and I bolt for the door, laughing as I slam it shut behind me. I don't even bother with the common room—I'm already halfway down the stairs by the time I hear her yelling my name.

Later, when she cools off and lets me back in, she isn't mad. She can't be. That laugh—her laugh and mine—was the first one I've heard since that damned letter arrived. It feels good.

"I've got to go see Dumbledore," I say, giving her a quick hug. "See you soon. And... sorry again."

I knock on the door of Dumbledore's office. No matter how angry or confused I am, he's still my Headmaster—and part of me can't help but respect him. "Come in, Olivia," he says politely, like he's been expecting me.

I step inside. "I'd like to know a few things." He nods, patient. I swallow hard. "Who were those people?"

"Your mother's brother," he answers simply.

I pause. The words don't land right. They feel distant. "Why did you do it?"

"I had no other choice," he says, voice heavy. "Your father didn't want you. Your mother left you with me. I had to pass you to the next of kin."

Disappointment clings to every syllable. And still, I feel it—another piece of me shattering. I didn't think something already broken could break again. But it does.

I take a shaky breath. "Who was my mother?"

"She was one of my students. So was your father. They both attended Hogwarts... both Slytherin."

Ah. That explains a lot. Maybe that's why I've always felt more like a Slytherin than anything else.

I square my shoulders. "I'd like to ask the school to arrange a house for me during the holidays and breaks. I won't be a burden to any of my friends' families. And I'm not staying here either." I know I'm only thirteen. I know it sounds ridiculous. But after what I just learned... I'm not even sure I'll come back for third year. I need space. I need control.

Dumbledore studies me quietly. Then, to my surprise, he says, "Alright. That will be arranged."

I nod once, then add, "And a job. Just because I have a roof doesn't mean I have everything. I can sing. Effortlessly. Anything in the music field would be fine."

I don't ask—I state. Because I need this.

He nods again. "Alright. That will be done too."

And I storm out of Dumbledore's office, legs carrying me faster than my thoughts can catch up. I don't stop until I reach the Astronomy Tower. It's always been my place—the stars, the sky, the quiet. Reading and watching the night sky have been my favorite things since I was little. I've always dreamed of seeing the northern lights one day. Aurora. It's beautiful. Mysterious. Out of reach. Just like everything else I seem to care about.

I push open the heavy door at the top, relieved to find it empty. No students. No professors. Just me and the sky. I curl up on the old couch by the window—the one with the perfect view of the stars and the glowing moon—and let myself fall apart.

I don't even try to stop the tears. My father didn't want me. Didn't want me. What could I have possibly done? What could an infant do to be unwanted like that? Was it because I was a girl? Was I born wrong? Was I too much? Or not enough?

The questions pound through my head, ruthless and sharp. I can't stop them, and I don't hear the footsteps until it's too late.

"Oh, I didn't think anyone would be here," a familiar voice says, and I stiffen. I don't look up. "Don't worry, I was just leaving, Malfoy," I say, quickly wiping my cheeks.

"Middleton? Why are you crying? Did something happen? Are you okay?" His tone catches me off guard. He sounds... concerned. And when I finally look at him—really look—there's no smugness, no mischief. Just concern. Real, honest concern.

But I don't want it. "No, nothing is fine," I mutter. "But please—I was just leaving. I don't want to be a burden."

"Burden? What are you talking about?" he says, stepping closer. "Middleton, I'm asking you nicely. What happened?"

"And why do you even care?" My voice cracks as I snap at him. "It's nothing that concerns you. Nothing you should give a fuck about."

He moves closer—too close. We're already face to face, but that step narrows the air between us. I can barely reach his height, but somehow his presence towers over me.

He leans in, his breath brushing my ear. "That's right—I don't care. But next time I ask you something nicely, you answer me nicely. Because I don't do nice."

My heart skips. He's right—he was being nice. Something Malfoy never is.

I start to push past him, desperate to escape, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist—tight. He's not letting go. "Oh, and next time?" His voice drops. "Watch your mouth when you talk to me. Because my mouth might just slip about your little wandless magic trick. Let's not forget—you're no ordinary witch."

He lets go, just like that, and walks out of the tower.

And just like that, the spiral begins again.

I run. I lock myself in my room. And I don't come out. Not for days. I stay in the same clothes. No food. No water. No shower. Nothing. Just me and the weight pressing down on my chest.

Hermione notices. Of course she does. But she thinks it's about the letter. She doesn't ask about Malfoy. She doesn't ask why I'm really breaking.

Because how could I even begin to explain that?

After days of Hermione's relentless nagging, I finally cave. I drag myself to the shower, change into something clean, and force myself to sit near the fireplace in the common room. It feels foreign, like I don't belong here anymore. Like I never really did.

That's when Professor McGonagall enters, her expression tight with concern but stern as ever. "New rules," she announces, and the room quiets immediately.

"Number one: curfew is now 6 p.m."

Like that matters to me. I barely leave the dorm anyway.

"Number two: all students are to be escorted to their classes by a teacher."

I roll my eyes internally. Not like I'm attending class either.

But then she looks directly at me. "No exceptions."

Great. Now I have to go to class.

Days pass, but I'm still not eating. It shows. The once-happy, carefree girl who used to smile and play and laugh now looks hollow—numb, colorless, fading. Every time I step into the Great Hall, all eyes follow me like I'm some kind of ghost. So I stop going altogether. If it's not class, I don't leave the dorm.

And then I hear the news—Hermione's been petrified.

My heart drops into my stomach. I don't even think. I just run to the hospital wing. She's lying there, frozen, stiff, lifeless. I sit beside her bed, gripping her hand and sobbing. The one candle I had left—the one spark lighting my life—snuffed out. Just like that.

Ron and Harry arrive soon after. I can see it in their eyes; this hurts them too. But they know—Hermione means more to me. She was my sunshine in all this darkness. They don't say much. They just hug me. Both of them. I let them. And then we leave.

I don't want to go, but if Madam Pomfrey sees me like this, she'll shove food and potions down my throat, try to nurse me back to health. As if I can go back to normal. As if anything about me—or my life—is normal.

I retreat to my dorm and try to read, anything to distract myself. But I hate the silence. I hate being alone. When I'm alone, the darkness in my head creeps back in.

My Diagon Alley bag sits untouched. I finally open it, just to do something. One book falls into my lap, and with it, a torn page slips out. It looks old—ripped from a book about magical creatures. I don't even remember buying this. But the page... it's about a basilisk.

My stomach knots. I don't know what to make of it, but I know someone who might. I race up to the boys' dorm and push open the door to Harry and Ron's room—but they're not there.

So I wait in the common room, pacing, until they return. As soon as they walk in, I shove the paper at them. They look at it and share a glance. They know what it means. Whatever this is... it's bigger than I thought.

That night, I can't sleep. Not with Hermione like that. I need to see her again, even if it means breaking every stupid new rule they've made. I sneak through the corridors, careful but desperate.

But as I turn a corner, something grabs me.

Hands—strong, rough—clamp over my mouth. I struggle, but I'm weak. I haven't eaten. I haven't slept. I can't even fight back. Panic floods my chest as I'm dragged into the shadows, and then—

Everything goes black.

I wake up on cold stone, disoriented and groggy. My head throbs. It takes a moment, but then I realize—I'm in the Chamber. The Chamber of Secrets. Harry is next to me, barely upright. His arm is bleeding. Badly.

"Go," he chokes out, clutching the wound. "Go through the gate—Ron's waiting outside. Save yourself."

Tears burn at my eyes, and for a second, I want to laugh. He's still trying to save everyone, even now. "God, you can be thicker than Crabbe and Goyle," I mutter. "Listen, I don't know if this will work. It might not. But I have to try."

His breathing hitches. "Will what work?"

I grab his hand, trembling, scared, angry—furious, actually. At everything. At my father, at the school, at the pain, at the secrets. And now this—him, hurt.

"Just give me your hand and trust me. What I'm about to do... it might shock you. I haven't eaten in days, so it'll take everything I've got. We'll have to leave right after, or I'm not sure I'll make it."

He nods, confused, but willing.

I press my hand to his arm. My tears fall against his skin, and I channel every drop of magic I have left inside me, letting it pour through my touch. He screams—it stings. It hurts. But it's working. The wound knits itself closed, skin smooth and whole again.

But it nearly kills me.

My body caves in on itself, my limbs go weak, like they're made of fog. I sway on my feet, dizzy and fading. "Quickly," I whisper, reaching for his hand. "Hold on."

I apparate us to the gate where Ron's waiting—his eyes wide when he sees us—and without a word, I apparate all three of us straight into Dumbledore's office.

Except it's not Dumbledore there.

McGonagall gasps as we land. The instant my feet hit the floor, I collapse. The world disappears into black.

When I wake, I'm in the hospital wing. Five faces lean over my bed—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George. Their smiles are the first thing I see, and suddenly everything doesn't feel so terrible anymore. Hermione throws her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. "Oh, thank Merlin, you're okay," she whispers.

When she pulls back, she looks sheepish. "Sorry—I told them. They wouldn't stop bombarding me with questions." I give her a tired smile. "It's quite alright, Mione."

They fill me in—what happened after I passed out, what they'd faced in the Chamber. I try to focus, but everything still feels a little floaty.

Later that night, we all walk into the Great Hall for dinner. The minute I step in, I'm crushed into a four-person hug—Chris, Cat, Jo, and Rafael. Chris holds on the longest, whispering something I can't even make out. Hogwarts has a way of spreading news faster than howlers, apparently.

We settle at our table, and Dumbledore stands at the front. He speaks of bravery, of gratitude for Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey, and of recovery. Then his eyes twinkle behind his glasses.

"And as a school treat," he says, "in light of recent events—all examinations have been canceled."

The Hall erupts in cheers. Students scream with joy. I glance at Hermione, and she mirrors my expression—a mix of horror and disappointment. We actually like exams.

Dinner is noisy, chaotic, perfect. I glance across to the Slytherin table. Chris catches my eye and grins, then nods subtly toward the end of the table.

Malfoy.

He's already looking at me. Watching. His face is unreadable, but his eyes soften when I meet them. I mouth a silent thank you, careful not to let anyone else see. He nods, understanding. The torn book page—that's what I'm thanking him for. He saved us too, in his own quiet way.

King's Cross Station arrives too soon.

"Really, Liv, my mum and dad don't mind," Hermione pleads for the fifth time. "You don't have to stay alone." I hug her tightly. "No, Mione. I told you—I don't want to be a burden. It's just two blocks from here. I'll be fine. Just... write to me. Visit me once I'm settled, yeah?"

She sniffles and nods.

"You guys go on. I'll see you soon."

I turn and spot him—Malfoy, pulling his luggage from the train.

I run over before I can change my mind.

He looks startled when he sees me, then stands straighter, glancing around to make sure no one's watching. And then—he hugs me first. Arms tight, firm, warm. Nothing like the cold boy everyone else sees.

I freeze for a moment, caught off guard, but then I melt into the hug. He holds me like he means it.

When we pull apart, I say softly, "I never got the chance to thank you properly." He plays dumb. "What are you talking about?"

I laugh and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his right cheek.

He stiffens in surprise, then smirks. "See you soon then, Middleton."

I nod, smiling.

"See you soon, Malfoy."