The Quiet Between Us

Olivia Middleton's POV

We walk into my house, and I still have Draco's coat draped over me. It smells like him—mint, and some expensive cologne I can't name but instantly recognize. It's only resting on my shoulders, so I slide my arms through the sleeves properly. Of course it's too big for me, but it feels warm... grounding.

We sit on the couch—he takes one end, and I settle on the other, facing him.

"Let the firing begin," I say with a small, playful smile. He chuckles, then asks, "You're a metamorphmagus?" I smile, nodding. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So... you live here? Not with your parents?"

"They're not my parents."

His brows pull together, but he doesn't say anything—just waits, the kind of silence that urges me to fill it in. "Here," I say, handing him the letter from Austin. I don't know why I keep it. That letter did nothing but tear me apart. So why do I still carry it?

He reads it, slowly. Then looks up at me, eyes soft. "I'm really sorry, Olivia."

The way he says my name makes my chest ache. No one's called me that in years. It was always Liv, Livia, or Livvy. But Olivia... it sounds different from his mouth. Whole. I give him a weak smile, feeling the lump rise in my throat.

We sit in silence for a moment before he finally breaks it again.

"Why were you storming to Dumbledore's office? And what's with the wandless magic?" I stiffen. "Sorry, that's the one thing that's off-limits. I can't tell you. Not yet." His jaw tenses. He's pissed, I can tell. But I can't risk it. Too many people already know. And sure, he's being nice right now, but his family... I can't forget their past. Not until I'm sure—absolutely sure—I can trust him with my life.

"Do you... want to talk about it? I mean, your parents?" he asks gently, shifting closer. I nod, scooting toward him too, and take a breath.

"I'm not their daughter. Dumbledore told me everything. He left me with them. Said both of my parents went to Hogwarts. Slytherins. My dad didn't want me, so my mum gave me to him, and he dumped me with her brother. Snape said he was friends with my mum, but I don't know who they really are. If they're alive. If they care. I just..." My voice cracks, and tears well in my eyes. "I just don't want to know. Not now. Maybe not ever."

He reaches out, placing a hand on my thigh—bare skin where my dress has a slit. His rings are cold, and the touch sends goosebumps rippling down my leg. My cheeks flush instantly.

"Remember that day I was in the Slytherin common room for the first time? With Chris and Rafael? I ran out of Dumbledore's office and bumped into them..." I trail off, watching his face. "Besides you, Hermione, Chris, and Rafael, no one knows Austin used to... you know. Abuse me. Please don't tell anyone."

He doesn't respond with words. Just stares at me for a moment, then reaches down and takes my hands in his. He pulls me into a hug—tight, warm, and real. One arm wraps around my waist, the other cradles the back of my head. His face finds my shoulder, and I lean into him. We just breathe there, holding each other.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he murmurs against my skin. "No one deserves that. Especially not someone like you."

"Thank you," I whisper. He pulls back, slowly, but doesn't fully let go. One hand stays on my waist, the other wipes a tear from my cheek. Our faces are inches apart. His eyes flick down to my lips, hesitating.

I gulp. "I—um, can I ask you something now?" He sits upright again, his hand still resting on my thigh. Nods. "How did you know it was me?" He looks away, suddenly interested in the fireplace. "Your ring. Remember in detention? I said nice ring."

That was fast. Too fast.

"Yeah... and why did you help me?"

"I didn't help you," he snaps. "You found the paper yourself."

Right. Defensive.

"The day I came into your common room with Chris and Rafael... you retraced your steps when you saw me. Why?"

"Can we not talk about it?" he says tightly, his grip on my thigh tightening.

"Sure," I say softly, backing off, scooting a little closer instead. He doesn't stop me. His arm slips around my waist again, pulling me gently to rest on his chest. "So... you're not Muggle-born?" he asks, his voice lighter now, amused.

"Half-blood? Maybe even pure-blood? Who knows?" I shrug. "But yeah. Definitely not a Muggle-born."

Not a Mudblood, he doesn't say—but I hear it anyway. The relief in my chest expands.

"Draco... thank you. For not telling anyone about the wandless magic," I breathe, head resting against him. He doesn't answer. Just holds me tighter. His scent wraps around me. The fire crackles in the background. And for once, in the quiet, I don't feel alone.

A few hours pass before Nyra flies in through the window, wings stretched wide as she lands—surprisingly—on Draco's shoulder instead of mine. I blink. Traitor.

He doesn't seem fazed at all. Just smiles a little as he takes the two letters from her beak. Then, as casually as anything, he starts stroking her feathers and talking to her like she's always been his owl.

"This one's yours," I say, handing him the envelope with his name on it. He glances at it. "Hmm. Hogwarts letter. Dumbledore must know I'm here. That old man doesn't miss a damn thing." He opens it, eyes skimming quickly. I don't bother opening mine. I just set it on the small table next to the couch and lean back again.

"What? You're not even going to look at yours and se—" He cuts himself off mid-sentence. Then glares at me. "No. Don't you even think about it, Olivia Middleton. You're going back to Hogwarts."

My jaw drops. "How did you—?" He scoffs. "I'm not thick like that Potter."

"Hey," I say, nudging him. "He's my best friend. True, but hey!"

"And I respect that," he says with a shrug, "but I also know when you're about to make a stupid decision." I sigh. "I don't know, Draco. It's just... too much. Going back there after everything..."

"Nonsense, darling." His tone softens, full of quiet certainty. "I'm always there with you. You know that."

Darling.

He's called me a hundred names in the past—most of them cruel or sarcastic. But this one... this feels real. Warm. Like it came from somewhere deep inside him.

I rest my head on his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat anchor me. A soft smile finds its way to my lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

We stay like that, talking about nothing and everything, until the words fade away and sleep slips in. His arms stay wrapped around me. His head rests gently on mine. Mine on his chest. And for the first time in ages, I feel like maybe... just maybe... I'll be okay.

The smell of sizzling bacon pulls me out of sleep before I even open my eyes. I blink at the ceiling, realizing I've somehow taken up the entire couch. Draco's not there. I'm still in last night's clothes—dress bunched awkwardly, his coat thrown somewhere across the floor.

Rubbing my eyes, I stretch and make my way toward the kitchen. The stove's on. Bacon crackles in a pan. A kettle whistles gently, and the scent of tea lingers in the air. But no Draco.

Then—bam. He appears from the side, nearly jumping out of his skin when he sees me.

And he's shirtless.

Flour on his hands. Hair slightly messy. Abs carved like art. Muscles flexing as he adjusts the bag of flour in his arms. And that V line—Merlin help me.

"Oh—you're awake. Sorry, hope you don't mind," he says, walking over to the stove and stirring something. "I was starving, figured I'd make breakfast." He starts whisking pancake batter like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Why don't you freshen up? Breakfast'll be ready soon."

I nod, still too stunned to speak. Draco Malfoy. Shirtless. Making pancakes in my kitchen. What timeline is this?

I rush upstairs for a quick shower—hot water, lavender soap, and a few moments to regain sanity. Then I throw on a dark green sweatshirt and denim shorts, letting my hair air-dry as I head back downstairs.

"It smells amazing," I say, sliding into a seat.

He smiles, setting a plate in front of me: fluffy pancakes stacked high, drizzled in maple syrup, strawberries on the side, and crispy bacon. A cup of tea steams next to it.

"Wait—no," he says suddenly, pulling the plate back before my fork lands. "I forgot to ask how you like your pancakes."

"I don't really like strawberries," I admit, "but I love chocolate."

"Alright then, let me fix you a new plate—"

"What? No way! This looks amazing. I'm eating this." I snatch the plate back and take a bite. "Oh my Merlin," I say with my mouth full. "This is delicious. Who knew Draco Malfoy could cook?"

"No one could, and no one will," he mutters, stabbing his fork into his own plate. "It's my mum's recipe."

So that's the secret.

After breakfast, we chat for a while. I tell him about my job, my salary, my shift schedule, the quiet neighborhood. It's oddly nice—normal, even. Later, I make us milkshakes—chocolate, of course, with extra drizzle. He takes a glass from my hand, raising an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Something Hogwarts doesn't offer," I grin, settling beside him.

He takes a sip. "It's delicious."

"Thank you."

He nods toward the garage. "So, two vehicles, huh? Your car's cool and all, but I'm more interested in the motorbike. Gimme a ride sometime?"

"Perhaps," I smirk.

He leans forward, setting his milkshake down and holding out a hand. "Let's make a deal. I know you can't ride a broomstick even if your life depended on it. So—I'll take you flying, and you take me riding on that bike."

I shake his hand.

"Deal, Draco."

Soon enough, it's lunchtime. I have to head to work, and he's got to go home.

The moment we step outside, I watch the change happen. His expression shifts—jaw tightening, eyes hardening. Back to his usual face. Not the one from this morning, soft and sleepy and shirtless, but the one he wears at school. Cold. Arrogant. Untouchable.

"So," I say, raising an eyebrow, "I take it we're back to last names now?"

He just nods. Typical.

I stop walking for a second and look up at him. "Thank you. For yesterday... for breakfast. And I hope everything I told you, everything that happened between us in the past few hours... stays between us."

He doesn't say anything, just studies me.

"No one knows about my job," I continue. "Not the real one. Not even that I can sing. Only Dumbledore and Snape know. As far as the students go, they think I work at the bookstore in town. You're the first to actually know the truth. So please... just keep it to yourself."

He smirks slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But darling, you have an amazing voice. I'm sure Flitwick would kill to have you on his choir."

I smile, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around him. "No. Not yet. Just you knowing I sing is already too much."

He's stiff for a moment—classic Draco, unsure how to process affection in public. But then his arms slide around my waist, and he hugs me back. Tighter than I expect.

And for a few seconds, the wall he always keeps up with the world... it drops again.