Corners and Confessions

Olivia Middleton's POV

I'm told to stay in the Hospital Wing for a few more days, but I've already missed so many lessons that I practically beg Dumbledore to let me attend classes again. He agrees—well, he kind of has to. I promise to rest during my free periods and return to Pomfrey afterward.

I'm already late for Potions, and I foolishly hope Snape might be understanding for once. "Ah, Miss Middleton. You're late," he says in that familiar icy tone, not even looking up from his cauldron.

"Yes, Professor, I—" I begin, but he cuts me off instantly. "No excuses. Five points from Gryffindor. Now, take a seat by the door, next to Mr. Malfoy, so he can catch you up on what you've missed."

Ugh. Of course.

I quietly make my way to the seat beside Draco, who wordlessly grabs my book and flips to the correct page—394—then slides his notes over for me to copy. As helpful as that is, I can't help but think I'd prefer Hermione's notes instead. Still, I smile and say softly, "Thank you."

"No problem, darling," he replies, voice low, giving me that smirk. "How's your ankle now?" I glance sideways at him and echo his words from the other day. "'It comes and goes.'" He chuckles under his breath. "Oh, so you were listening."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you intend me to?"

Before he can reply, Snape's voice slices through the room again. "Miss Middleton, why bother coming to my class late if you're not going to pay attention?"

"Sorry, Professor," I mutter, eyes back on my book. I lean closer to Draco and whisper, "Wow, he clearly saw you talking but still won't give me a warning. Favoritism much?" I shake my head, copying his notes with half my focus. My thoughts keep drifting back to last night. What if Draco hadn't shown up? What if Black had gotten to Harry?

"Werewolves only respond to the call of their own kind," Snape lectures at the front. "Aaaaawwoooooo," Draco howls softly, mocking a werewolf. I roll my eyes at him. He's acting like a child. Snape grits his teeth. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

I'm still half-distracted when Draco mutters, "Damn it!" I snap my attention back to him. "What?"

"We have an assignment. Two rolls of parchment. Due Monday morning. Were you even listening?"

"And?"

"And... Quidditch is tomorrow." I blink. "Okay? Your Quidditch uniform's not red and gold or yellow and black. It's Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Not Slytherin." He sighs dramatically. "I know, darling. But I want to watch. Strategy and all that."

"Isn't that the captain's job?"

"Flinch is a git," he says, like that explains everything. "So, Olivia... I was thinking maybe you could write it for me?" I close my book slowly and turn to look at him. "And why would I do that?"

He slides a hand onto my thigh. My body stiffens. A shiver rushes up my spine and my cheeks burn.

"You wouldn't want everyone knowing about the summer, now would you?" he whispers, his lips close to my ear. "They'd believe me. Not a blood traitor. Every word—even if it never happened." My breath catches. I swat his hand off my leg, fury boiling inside me. "Fine. Just this once. But I'm not doing it for free. I have other assignments too. You owe me."

I try to refocus on Snape's voice and tune him out, but I can still feel Draco's eyes on me. "Oh, darling," he murmurs, leaning back lazily in his chair. "There'll be plenty of times you'll listen to me. If you know what I mean."

My eyes widen, and I glare at him.

He just winks.

The next day, we're all packed into the stands, cheering our hearts out for Quidditch. The sky's a mess—cloudy, stormy, and spitting rain that soaks through our cloaks—but no one seems to care. I've painted my right cheek red and gold for Harry, and my left cheek yellow and black for Cedric. I cheer for both of them—loudly.

Cedric's the Hufflepuff captain after all. He spots me in the crowd, grinning as he flies past, and blows me a kiss. My cheeks flush instantly. Even with the rain, I know it's obvious—I'm glowing red.

The match turns intense fast. Harry is trailing just behind the Hufflepuff Seeker, both of them soaring dangerously high into the stormy sky. And then—suddenly—the Hufflepuff Seeker slips, plummeting from the air.

"Aresto Momentum!" I shout, my wand pointed at him. The spell slows him down just in time—he lands safely, dazed but okay. But the moment I lower my wand, my heart nearly stops—Harry is falling too. His limbs are limp, his broom gone. My throat tightens.

"Aresto Momentum!" I scream again, wand shaking as I cast. He freezes midair, suspended just inches above the ground, before he's gently lowered and quickly rushed to the Hospital Wing.

By the time we're all gathered around him, he's pale and unconscious. "He looks a bit peaky, doesn't he?" Ron says, trying to break the tension. "Peaky? What do you expect?" George scoffs. "He fell over a hundred feet," Fred adds.

"Let's walk you off a tower and see how you look," George mutters. "Probably a right sight better than he normally does," Harry croaks weakly, eyes fluttering open.

I nearly cry from relief.

"Oh thank Merlin, you're okay!" I gasp, throwing my arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. I probably shouldn't—he's clearly sore all over—but I can't help it. I needed that. I needed to feel he was real and safe.

We stay like that for longer than we should. I don't let go until Hermione clears her throat beside me. "Ahem... How are you feeling?" she asks gently. I pull back but stay seated on the edge of his bed—my ankle still makes walking a pain.

"Oh, brilliant," Harry says, sarcasm thick in his voice. "You gave us a proper scare, mate!" Fred says, clapping Harry's foot gently. "Lucky for you, Liv here reacted quicker than Dumbledore." Harry squints, slipping on his glasses. "What happened?"

"You fell off your broom—" Ron starts, but Harry cuts in.

"No, I meant the match! Who won?" I lightly smack his shoulder. "Seriously? That's what you're worried about right now?"

"Ow! No, I mean—just curious!" "No one," a familiar voice says behind me. I turn to see Cedric entering the Hospital Wing, his hands landing softly on my shoulders from behind. "I asked Madam Hooch for a re-match. It's only fair."

I tilt my head back, grinning up at him. "A true Hufflepuff, aren't you?" He smiles, bends down, and kisses my forehead gently. My lips press into a thin line, cheeks burning with heat. Yeah... definitely glowing again.

A few days later, my ankle's fully healed, and unfortunately, that means it's time to hand over the assignment I wrote for Malfoy. I make my way toward the dungeons, planning to just toss it at him and leave—but of course, he steps out of the Slytherin common room right as I arrive.

"Well, well—" he starts, smug as ever. I don't give him the chance. I shove the parchment into his hand and turn to walk away, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back toward him.

"I was talking, darling. Don't ever walk away when I'm talking," he says, loosening his grip just slightly. I glare. "Get on with it, Malfoy."

He smirks. "Now, I know you're not working this Christmas, so why don't you spend it at Malfoy Manor? Think of it as a thank you for the assignment." I raise an eyebrow. "Why would I ever do that?"

He steps closer, pushing me gently into the shadowy corner near the stone arch. "Don't forget about the summer, darling."

"How many times are you going to hold that over my head?" I cross my arms. "And besides—Mione knows. I already told her." His hand lands on the wall beside my head, the other resting on my waist. His breath is warm when he says, "I know you didn't. So stop lying—and accept my request."

I scoff. "Even if I say yes, which I'm not right now, what about your father? He hates me."

"He won't be there. It'll just be me and my mother. She's been dying to meet you—I've been talking about you..."

"You have?" I ask, smirking now. "Wipe that look off your face," he mutters, clearly annoyed he let that slip. "Just tell me if you're coming or not." I giggle and place a hand gently on his cheek. "Alright. Until Christmas Day. After that, I'm going to Chris's."

"Great. She'll be happy to hear that," he says, breaking into a grin.

I leave the dungeons and head to the Slytherin table to find Chris. Once I spot him, I slip into the seat beside him and spill everything—what happened over the summer, my job, the weird tension with Draco, and how I'll be spending Christmas at Malfoy Manor.

At first, he's hesitant—clearly protective—but when I promise to spend the rest of the break with him, he relaxes.

Now comes the hard part—telling Hermione.

I kiss Chris goodbye and walk over to the Gryffindor table, already rehearsing what I'll say. "Mione," I whisper, leaning close. "I need to tell you something. Tonight."

Later, we're in the common room, sipping hot cocoa and chatting about tomorrow's Hogsmeade trip. I'm trying not to bounce with excitement—Ron made it sound magical, and I still haven't been.

Once we're finally in our dorm, Hermione turns to me, arms crossed. "Okay. Spill."

"I'mgoingtospendChristmasatMalfoyManor," I blurt in one breath.

She blinks. "What?"

So I tell her. Everything. The bits I skipped last time—Dumbledore's office, the forehead kiss, how I kissed him on the cheek, the page in the book, the assignment, breakfast, and now this ridiculous offer. Her eyes soften. "Liv... I'm sorry about your father. You didn't deserve that." She hugs me tight.

Then she pulls back and smacks my arm. "OW—what the hell?!"

"Why didn't you tell me about Malfoy?" she demands, folding her arms. "Because you'd kill me!" She sighs. "No, I wouldn't. Chris is right—he clearly has feelings for you. That's why he's been harassing you so much."

I grin. "Well, he harasses Harry more. Maybe he likes him too?"

We look at each other—and burst into laughter.

She wipes her eyes, but her voice turns serious. "Just... be careful, Liv. I still don't trust him. He's a playboy. He could break your heart."

"I know. I'll be careful. And... thank you. For being so understanding," I whisper, hugging her again.