Unspoken Words, Unmatched Bonds

TW - Mention of rape.

Draco Malfoy's POV

After Olivia tells me about the intruder, I hesitate to leave her alone. Every instinct in me fights it. But she assures me she'll be fine—and of course she will be. She's brave. Braver than I'll ever admit to her face. And technically, we're allowed to use magic in self-defense now, so I try not to spiral.

Still, I check on her. Every morning. Every evening after she finishes work. I tell myself it's just precaution, that I'd do it for any classmate, but that's a lie. It's always been her. Every time I see her house still standing, her silhouette moving behind the curtains, a knot in my chest loosens.

I want to take her away from all of this. Just grab her and fly her somewhere safe. But I can't bring her to the Manor—not with my father there. He doesn't know she's not Muggle-born. And if he knew who her mother was... No. Too risky. Her mum was in Slytherin. My mother's best friend, apparently. If Father made the connection, it'd be catastrophic.

He'd call it betrayal. Say I'm dishonoring the bloodline. His voice echoes in my head even when he's not around—pure-blood this, sacred family that. I was raised to believe I should only love someone of "worthy" blood. But when I look at Olivia... none of that shit matters. I don't even know what she is, and I don't care.

I've never understood why she affects me like this. It's not her body—though if I'm being honest, she's stunning. But it's something else. Her soul, maybe. Her passion, her fierce loyalty, the way she'd walk through fire for the people she loves. That's what gets me. That's what keeps me coming back.

I could have any girl I wanted at Hogwarts. Same goes for her—boy or girl. Even that Diggory git is clearly interested, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think she liked him back. But I'm not a Gryffindor—I don't do brave confessions or public declarations. And rejection? That's never been a problem for me. But with her... rejection would break something in me I'm not sure I could fix.

And she's always been kind to me. Even when I didn't deserve it. Even when I've been cruel to her or her friends. She still looks at me like I'm human. Except for that one time she almost hexed me over Buckbeak—fair play, I deserved it. But Merlin, she looked hot when she was in control. Something about the fire in her eyes made me want her in a way I hadn't before.

I'm definitely dominant. She's definitely not. But the idea of her turning the tables, just once, pinning me down—fuck, that image stays with me longer than I want to admit.

Still, I make a choice. A stupid one, maybe, but a necessary one. I'm going to push her away. Keep her safe. If I ignore her enough, insult her enough, maybe she'll stop looking at me like that. Maybe she'll hate me and move on. Safer for her. Safer for both of us.

But I don't trust her friends. Not with her safety. I know she does, but I don't. So I keep checking in.

It's Thursday morning when I fly past her place. She's there. Relief. That evening, I check again. She's home. Good. Friday morning—same thing. But something feels... off.

Both her shoes are still outside, untouched. The slippers inside are oddly placed—one's fallen off the stairs, the other's upside down. Weird. My gut twists, but I force myself to look away. Maybe she's just messy. Maybe I'm overthinking it.

I fly off before I do something reckless—like storm inside and pull her into my arms.

That night, I can't even go check on her. My father comes home drunk. Beats my mother. I stay. I protect her. I have to. I will never leave my mother alone again.

Just like I'll never leave Olivia. Not really.

Even if she never knows it.

The next morning, she still doesn't wake up.

Mother's barely holding it together, and my father? He doesn't give a damn. He stopped caring after she lost the baby that came after me. Not that he's ever been proud of me either. But that's how it's always been—we endure him. Pretend it doesn't chip away at us.

She finally stirs sometime late at night. I help her sip a potion, mend what I can with magic, and when she drifts back to sleep, I leave. I need to check on Olivia.

When I reach her place, something gnaws at me.

Both slippers—same exact positions as yesterday. One fallen from the stairs, the other upside down. No movement. No signs of life. I land my broom, trying not to think the worst, and peer through the windows. No sight of her in the living room. Not in the kitchen either.

I mount again, fly up to check the upstairs windows. Nothing. Her bedroom curtains are drawn, but even from the smallest gap, I can tell it's empty. I head toward the bar next. Maybe she stayed late?

Closed. Locked. Lights out.

My gut twists. Then I remember—the phone number she gave me. Muggle thing. I fly straight into the city, find one of those red telephone booths, and punch the numbers in.

No answer.

I try again.

Still nothing.

Shit.

She told me exactly what to do in emergencies. I follow every step. Still nothing.

Now I know. Something's wrong.

I don't know where Granger lives in this sprawling, bloody Muggle city, so I can't reach her. And where the hell are Olivia's friends? Hasn't anyone checked on her? The slippers haven't moved in two days. That's not right.

I go back. I break into the house.

Living room—empty.

Kitchen—clear.

Backyard—door's busted open.

My pulse spikes. I run upstairs.

Bedroom? No sign of her.

Guestroom? Nothing.

I search the entire house, my heart hammering in my chest. Every empty corner mocks me. I head back down, rummaging for Granger's number, tearing through drawers, notebooks, everything.

Nothing.

"Fuck!" I yell.

And then—I hear it.

A muffled scream. Her scream.

I freeze. My ears sharpen. Another cry, this one clearer, raw with pain—and then, silence.

Please. Please, darling, make a sound. Let me find you.

As if she hears me, another scream rips through the air before it's silenced again. I follow the sound—it's coming from below. A door. The basement. Locked. "Alohomora!" The spell bursts the lock open.

I take the steps two at a time—and stop dead.

She's on the ground.

Hurt.

Bound.

Bleeding.

Some bastard's on top of her. She tries to scream, and he hits her. Her body is covered in bruises—her face, her arms, everything. My vision goes red. I'm frozen for a split second, jaw clenched so tight it could snap. Rage coils in my chest, so violent I feel like I'll explode.

He notices me. Gets off her. Comes at me.

I raise my wand. "Stupefy!" He goes flying into the wall. "Levicorpus." He dangles upside down like the pathetic scum he is. I run to her. She's unconscious. I strip my coat off, wrap her in it, and carry her upstairs to her room.

She won't wake up.

I search her bathroom cabinet. Thank Merlin, she's organized. Labels everything. I grab what I need—wound cleaner, ice packs, the right salves. Back in her room, I clean every cut. Carefully. Gently. Her skin is burning. Her face is swollen. Her whole body's trembling, even in sleep.

I dress her in soft sweats, cover her with her blanket. Place a cold, salted cloth on her forehead, just like my mum used to do for me. I pull a chair beside her bed and take her hand in mine.

She looks so small.

So fragile.

He wasn't feeding her—she's thinner than I remember. And those dark circles under her eyes... the spark I loved in them is gone. My fury simmers low and slow in my chest, but I don't move.

I don't leave her.

I hold her hand until I fall asleep in that chair, watching her breathe. Because now I know—I'll burn the whole fucking world before I let anyone hurt her again.

I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of water splashing... and sobbing. Olivia's not in the bed. Panic flares through me as I sit up, heart already racing. Then I hear it again—water, sharp and relentless. I rush toward the bathroom and push the door open.

She's in the tub.

She doesn't see me. She's naked, sitting in the bathtub with scalding hot water pouring from the showerhead, streaming over her like punishment. Her skin's flushed red from the heat, and she's clutching a container, pouring more of it over herself, rubbing frantically at her skin—at the bruises, at the places he touched her.

My chest splits open.

"Olivia," I whisper, stepping inside, not caring that the water soaks my clothes. I kneel beside her, reach out, try to pry the container from her hands. She holds it like it's the only thing keeping her anchored.

"Darling, let it go. It's too hot—you're burning yourself, please..." My voice cracks. "Please, let it go."

She finally loosens her grip. The container clatters to the floor, and she folds into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees, sobbing harder now—louder. My hands hover over her. I still don't touch her. I just sit beside her, soaking wet, helpless, listening to her cry like I'm not even there.

She doesn't say a word. Doesn't look at me. It's like I'm invisible.

I want to tell her she isn't alone. That she'll never be alone again—not if I have a single breath left in my body. "Olivia," I murmur eventually, voice soft but steady. "You've been in here for hours. Come to your room. Just lie down. Eat something. Rest. Please."

She lifts her head. Her eyes are red, puffy. Shadows stain the skin beneath them, deep and hollow. She nods once.

I grab a towel, wrap it gently around her, and ask, "May I?"

She nods again.

I pick her up and carry her back to the bed. She lets me. I find something soft and loose in her closet—just anything—and help her into it. She sits on the bed, arms around her knees, staring into the dark like there's nothing left to see. Still silent.

It kills me. I want her to talk to me. I want her to scream, to cry, to rage—anything. I need to know what happened. I need to decide what to do to the bastard who did this to her. But I also know healing doesn't look the same for everyone.

She finally speaks, her voice hoarse, brittle. "Draco." I look at her instantly. "Yes, Olivia?" I move to sit on the bed beside her. She doesn't flinch. That's a relief. "Where's that guy?" she asks, barely above a whisper, but her eyes—Merlin, they're full of fire and tears.

"Tied up in the basement," I say, quiet, controlled. She hugs her knees tighter. "Call the cops. Just press 1. Tell them about the intruder. They'll come." I nod. I get up and go downstairs, grab the phone, then come back up. She's lying flat now, staring at the ceiling. I sit beside her, close, because I can't be far.

I make the call, say everything she told me to say. After I hang up, I go downstairs again, cancel the spell and let the bastard drop hard onto the concrete. The police arrive fast—which, for once, is a Muggle thing I can actually appreciate. I show them where he is. They cuff him, take him away. I want to go with them and finish the job, but I don't leave her.

One of the officers—a woman—comes upstairs. She wants to talk to Olivia. I stand beside the bed, arms crossed, ready to step in the second she needs me. But Olivia glances at me. Gestures. She wants me next to her. I sit down, and she takes my hand.

She tells the officer everything.

How he broke in late Thursday. How the back door was already broken when she returned home. How he grabbed her before she could react, dragged her to the basement. How he almost raped her, how he beat her. Every word is a dagger. Every detail makes me want to tear that man limb from limb.

She doesn't deserve this. She never did.

When the officer turns to me, I give my statement too—leaving out the magic, of course. The officer says Olivia needs to come to the station to file everything properly. "With all due respect," I say, holding her gaze, "I think what she said here is more than enough. She doesn't have the strength to say all of that again."

The officer pauses. Then nods. "Understood." After she leaves, Olivia turns to me. "I'm spoiled now," she whispers, broken. I pull her into my arms. I hold her tight. "Don't say that, darling," I murmur, stroking her hair. "Don't you ever say that."

She cries for hours. I let her. I stay. And when she finally falls asleep in my arms, I still don't let go.

The next morning, I make breakfast and bring it upstairs. She's still asleep. I don't wake her. I set the tray down on the table and head for a shower. When I come out, she's awake—but the food is untouched. She's curled up on the bed, facing the other side.

"Olivia," I say gently, not masking the concern in my voice. "You didn't eat?"

"I'm not hungry," she murmurs without turning around.

I sit beside her, careful this time, and place a hand on her shoulder. She flinches—just barely—but relaxes once she realizes it's me. Damn it. I shouldn't have touched her without asking. "Darling, you have to eat something," I whisper. "Your body needs strength to recover. Please... just a little."

She sits up, shakes her head. I don't push. I've learned not to.

Then, quietly, she takes my hand and lifts it, inspecting my fingers. Her brows knit. I'd healed her burns without thinking, but forgot about mine. She traces them with her thumb and whispers, "Sorry... you hurt yourself when all you were doing was trying to save me." She leans forward and kisses my fingertips. My breath catches. I close my eyes.

"Don't apologize, princess. It's not your fault," I say, my voice rough. I rub soft circles on her back until she sighs and lays down again. Within minutes, she's asleep.

Days pass the same way. I bring her food—she doesn't eat. She cries. She sleeps. And I stay, watching helplessly, aching with every breath she takes. But I know healing isn't linear. She needs time. And I'll give her all of mine.

Then, one afternoon, I'm in the kitchen making lunch when I hear soft footsteps behind me. I turn. She's there—showered, wearing fresh sweats, her hair still damp. She sits at the table, head low. "Hello," she says quietly.

My heart stumbles. I dry my hands quickly and walk over. I place my palm on her forehead—she doesn't flinch. Relief floods me. But she's still warm. Too warm.

I don't say a word. She sniffles, eyes glassy. I serve her a plate and set it in front of her. "Thank you," she whispers, offering the smallest smile. And it hits me like sunlight after weeks of grey. She's eating. She's smiling. She's trying.

I sit down beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she says softly. "Thanks to you." I hesitate, then ask, "Erm... totally your choice, but—do you want someone else to know? Maybe Granger?"

"No," she says immediately. I nod, respecting that. Then she surprises me. "What did you tell your parents?" She's worried about me? Even now?

"They know what they need to know," I say gently. She nods. "Okay." I set my fork down, watching her carefully. "Can I ask you something?" She nods again. "Why didn't you use magic? I mean... I know you can do wandless spells. Can't you?"

Her jaw tightens. She looks down, then says, "I can. But I need my wand nearby. And when he..." Her voice catches. She breathes in sharply. "When he took me, my wand was upstairs. In my room."

Tears fill her eyes again. "Okay," I whisper. "Sorry." I inch closer, slow and careful.

After lunch, we move to the couch. We sit in silence, but it's not awkward. It's peaceful. I could sit like this with her forever. She leans toward me slightly. "Can I?" she asks, gesturing to my chest. "Of course, darling," I say, opening my arms.

She curls into me, her head resting over my heart. I exhale slowly, wrapping her in my arms. She sighs too—like some invisible weight has lifted. We stay like that until sleep takes us both.

But in the middle of the night, I feel her breathing shift. She mumbles in her sleep, thrashing a little. "No... no, don't touch me. Help... somebody help..."

My stomach drops.

No. No, please, not again.

I sit up and gently shake her. "Olivia. Love, wake up. You're safe." She gasps awake, terrified, and I pull her into me. "It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe. I promise." Her breathing slows, but she doesn't fall back asleep. I stay awake too, watching over her.

Another week passes, and she gets stronger every day. She's eating again, showering without me reminding her, even playing the piano. I catch her singing softly once. Cooking, too. She's still healing—but she's almost there.

I don't want her to stay here alone. I don't care what my father says.

So I ask her to stay at the Manor.

"No, Draco," she says, her voice firm, yet there's a trace of playfulness in her tone. "I'm not going to come to The Manor. I'm perfectly okay now, and you don't have to worry about me being alone here, because I'm leaving for the Burrow tomorrow."

She pours tea into the cup and hands it to me.

"I'm sorry to worry about you," I say, sarcasm slipping into my voice. It feels nice, in a twisted way, that I'm back to my old self and she's back to hers. But there's a carefulness in me now that wasn't there before.

She meets my gaze with a small smile. "I know that you worry about me, but I'm going over to Mione's today. So, I'm safe."

"And you've been here for almost a month," She says, the words slipping out before she can stop them. "Go back to your house, please, for me. I'm tired of you being here." I watch her hide her giggles behind her hand, but she can't quite contain them. I raise an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair.

"Yeah, like you'll get tired of me, ever," I tease, rolling my eyes at her. She grins at me, completely unbothered. "Alright then, when are you leaving for Granger's?"

"Around four," she replies, biting into a cookie, her eyes never leaving me. "Alright then, I'll leave with you," I say, standing and brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face before I plant a quick peck on her cheek. She blushes immediately. Damn, she's cute.

I watch her as she packs in her room. Time with her always slips away faster than I expect. I've already gotten lost in the detective novel she'd been reading two months ago. "It's already 3:50 and you're still not completely packed," I say, noting how she's running around the room, clothes and books scattered everywhere.

"Yeah, if you'd actually helped me, I would've been done by now," she grumbles, hitting me with a pillow. I roll my eyes, pushing the book aside. "Ask me nicely, then." She raises an eyebrow, sighing dramatically. "Alright, Draco, will you pleeeeease help me pack?"

She says it in this exaggerated, almost teasing tone, and I can't stop myself from glancing down at her—she's bent slightly, her loose t-shirt giving me an unfortunate view. I try to keep my eyes focused on her face, but it's impossible.

"Sorry," I mumble, quickly clearing my throat and mentally kicking myself. "Draco, you don't need to walk on eggshells around me," she says with a wink, standing up and continuing to pack. "Go back to that flirtatious bully phase of yours."

I sigh, walking over to her drawer. I pick up a lacy piece of her lingerie and hold it out in front of her. "Here." She stares at me, wide-eyed, her face turning red in an instant. "Where did you find those?" she asks, hurriedly shoving them into her bag.

I can't help but laugh out loud.

She playfully punches me in the stomach, and we finish packing together. Soon, we're standing outside her house.

"Alright, Middleton. See you soon," I say, my words awkward and clumsy. I've always been terrible at goodbyes.

She pulls me into a hug, her tiny frame fitting perfectly against me. I lift her off the ground, not even thinking twice about it. We stay like that for a moment, both of us resting in the silence. Her head is tucked into the crook of my neck, and mine rests on her shoulder. We both sigh, a shared understanding passing between us—things won't be like this at Hogwarts.

I gently set her back on her feet, but she doesn't pull away.

"Thank you, so much, Draco," she says, her voice soft, full of gratitude. "I... I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come to rescue me. No matter how much I thank you, it'll never be enough."

Then she pulls my face down to hers and kisses me. I don't hesitate. I smile into the kiss, my hands finding their way around her waist. I lift her again, never breaking the kiss. She tastes like chocolate, but with a hint of strawberries. I can't stop myself from smiling as I pull away.

Her lips are still curved into that soft, shy smile, and I'm the one who blushes this time. After one last lingering glance, I leave, my heart beating fast in my chest.