Fear Is a Choice

Olivia Middleton's POV

The day drags on, but I pass the time reading. There's not much else to do. Every few minutes, my eyes flick toward the door, hoping—expecting—Harry to walk in. But he doesn't. Not even a glimpse. Not even a note.

Instead, Ron arrives, both hands full of food. I nearly cry just from the smell. Merlin, I've missed the Great Hall's meals.

"Let's eat up," he says with a smile, and we sit together, chatting like we always do. He's been around more since everything happened—watching me like a hawk, treating me like some fragile porcelain. Like a little sister he's sworn to protect. It's sweet. Kind of grounding, honestly.

When I'm done eating, he takes the plate from me and sets it beside the bed, then wipes his mouth and looks at me with a hint of hesitation. "Do you know why all of this is happening to you?"

I shake my head, fingers twitching toward the tape on my bandaged arm. "No. I want to open this bandage because it keeps burning and itching, but Madam Pomfrey said I wasn't allowed to. Not yet." Ron stands, eyes scanning the room. "Well, she isn't here. Go ahead—open it. I'll tape it back again."

I hesitate, then peel the tape away, careful, slow. My breath catches. "R-Ron," I whisper, but it barely escapes my lips. He doesn't hear. "What did you—" He turns, and one glance at my face pulls him straight to my side. His eyes follow mine to my arm.

His hands wrap around my wrist as he inspects the mark. He rubs at it, frantically at first, trying to wipe it away like it's some ink or curse smudge. But it doesn't budge. It's real. It's mine.

The Dark Mark.

I just stare. Stare like my soul's left my body. I can't breathe. Can't move. I feel cold even though my skin burns. "Liv?" Ron says again, gently, kneeling beside me. "Liv?" He shakes me lightly, and I finally turn to him, eyes wide, lips trembling.

"I... I don't know, Ron. H-how it got there. You have to believe me—"

"I do," he says instantly, fiercely. "You do?" I whisper, the weight of his trust suddenly unbearable. He nods. "But I think I know who might have an idea."

I blink at him. "Who?"

"When we brought you in the other day, Pomfrey told us to get Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. Snape looked... actually worried. McGonagall kept saying, 'it happened.' And Dumbledore, well... he just stared at your hand. For a long time."

I look down at it now. At the mark. I don't even want to touch it, but I do—fingertips brushing over the shape. It's like ice and fire at once. I close my eyes. Let the tears fall silently.

Ron sits beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. I collapse against him and sob into his shirt. He holds me close, one hand stroking my back. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.

"I wanna talk to them," I whisper. "Ask them what else they're hiding."

"You want me to come?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. I nod.

We march straight to Dumbledore's office. I don't even knock. The doors slam open—magic crackling around me like it's part of my anger. Every teacher turns toward us. Thank Merlin, Umbridge isn't here.

"You!" I shout, eyes locking on Dumbledore. "You've done nothing but lie to me. Manipulate me." I storm in, Ron closing the door behind me. "How the bloody hell do you expect to explain this?" I hiss, yanking up my sleeve and showing them the mark.

Dumbledore nods, and the other teachers file out silently. Only Snape, McGonagall, and he remain. "My child—"

"No!" I cut him off, my voice shaking. "Don't you dare 'my child' me. I want the truth. The whole bloody truth. Right now!" Ron squeezes my hand. Stands beside me like a shield. "Take a seat," Dumbledore says calmly. "We'll both sit," I say coldly.

"Only you, Miss Montgomery."

"Ron is not going anywhere," I snap. I sit, chin high. "Please. Continue, Professor," I add with venom. "Your name is Olivia Montgomery. As you know, your mother was Aurora Montgomery." He glances at Snape, then McGonagall. "But your real name is Olivia Riddle."

My stomach drops.

"You are the only daughter of Lord Voldemort."

I don't breathe.

"Your mother ran from him before you were born. She hid you. When you were born, you bore the mark. She tried to protect you."

McGonagall speaks next. "Your mother was an inegalee sorcière—a forbidden witch. Voldemort thought she could serve him. When he realized she wouldn't, he... turned on her. The night Harry's parents were killed, he also went to your house. But he never found you."

Snape steps forward. "Your mother put a curse on you. One that would only break when someone loved you truly—your soul, not your looks or power. That's why we tried to keep you from Potter. But we failed."

And here's the part that kills me: I know they all think it's Harry. That my magic reacted to him. I have been closer to Harry from the start. We have faced my dad-- Voldemort before. But deep down, I know it's not. Whatever bond I share with Harry, it's nothing compared to the way I feel when he is around. That insufferable, sharp-tongued, platinum-haired asshole. But that's not my focus right now.

"I... I'm your godfather," Snape stammers, resting a hand on my shoulder. My mind spins. My heart threatens to collapse under the weight of it all. "My mother was a pureblood," I say, voice breaking. "Who were those people you left me with?"

"Who told you she was a pureblood?" Dumbledore counters. I shoot him a glare. "You don't get to ask me questions when all you've done is lie. Answer me."

"Just some random Muggles."

My face contorts. "Just... random Muggles?" I repeat, stepping toward his desk. "Do you know how much those random Muggles hated me? Do you know how they tortured me? How I was beaten by Austin? Do you know how scarred I am because of your choices?"

I turn to Snape. "And you," I whisper. "You call yourself my godfather? You lied to me too. I expected betrayal from strangers." I look back at Dumbledore. Then Snape again. "But you? You were the only family I had left..."

My vision swims. My knees give out.

And everything goes black.

I wake up in the middle of the night, my fingers still laced with Ron's. He hasn't left me. I don't know how many days I've been unconscious, but his loyalty is unwavering, his presence grounding. I let him sleep while my mind wanders, spiraling deeper into the mess my life has become.

My gaze shifts to the mark. It doesn't hurt anymore. I run my fingers along it—nothing but skin now. Smooth. Normal. As if it was never there. But I know better.

Harry still hasn't come to see me. Maybe he saw the mark and couldn't face me afterward. Maybe he left me behind entirely. And if the others find out... would they even want to be around me anymore? I mean—who would want to stay friends with Voldemort's daughter?

My stomach twists at the thought.

Did the curse break because of Harry? Or... Draco? And if it did, if that was the moment—then does that mean one of them loves me? Part of me says it has to be Harry—everyone always assumed it would be him. Before of the history he shares with Voldemort. Maybe the professors kept trying to keep us apart for that very reason. A kiss that broke something ancient. But...

What if it was Draco?

What if it's always been Draco?

I shove the thought down. It's the least of my worries right now.

By morning, Ron stirs awake. He sees me and smiles groggily. I smile back, soft and small. I made a decision last night. I'm done mourning the past. I'm done hiding from the truth. Who my parents are... that was never my fault. I'm not ashamed of my name. I refuse to be.

"How are you feeling?" Ron asks, handing me a glass of water. I take it gently from him. "I think I'm supposed to say I'm okay. So... I'm okay." He watches me a moment, unsure. I meet his gaze and say flatly, "I think Harry saw the mark. That's why he hasn't come."

"Do you want to see him?"

I shake my head. "No. I can't control who my parents are. If he wants to see me, he will. If he doesn't... that's his choice. I want to see Mione, Ginny, Fred and George. They're the ones who matter. They need to know. And Chris, if he's around."

"Alright," Ron says gently, and heads out. I roll my sleeves down and try to distract myself with a book. Just as I'm settling in, the door creaks open again. Footsteps. I peek over the edge and freeze when I spot him.

Malfoy.

He's storming through the infirmary, flinging open curtain after curtain with an annoyed grunt. He reaches my bed, gives me a puzzled look... then moves on. "Malfoy?" I call. He turns. "O-Olivia?" His brows furrow like he's seeing a ghost.

I nod, deadpan. "Obviously."

He steps closer, really looking at me now. "What did you do to your hair? And your eyes. They're different."

"Long story," I mumble. I'm not about to tell him I'm the daughter of the Dark Lord.

"Are you okay? I haven't seen you in a month, darling," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. My breath stutters at his touch. My eyes flick to a badge on his robe. "What's this?" He glances down and smiles smugly, taking my hand in his. "You'll be proud—I'm the leader of the Inquisitorial Squad."

I raise a brow. "A group made by Umbridge? For extra credit?" He nods proudly. Merlin help me.

If I want to keep him away from the truth, I need to distract him—so I feed his ego. "Wow, Malfoy. That's... very impressive. I am proud. My friend—can I still call you that?"

"No," he pouts, "Whatever happened to 'close friend'?" I chuckle softly, remembering the bar. "My close friend, then. The leader of an elite group. Very fancy."

He grins.

"Liv?" Hermione's voice cuts through the moment. We both turn to the door. Draco glances at me, then stands up like a true gentleman. "Take care, Middleton," he says, lifting my hand and kissing the back of it. I smile, warmth fluttering in my chest. Why can't he always be like this?

"Actually... it's Montgomery," I say quickly. He pauses. "My mother's name. I'm taking her name now." He nods slowly. "Alright. See you later, Montgomery."

"What was he doing here?" Fred asks, plopping down next to me. "Just... doing his Squad duties. Gloating," I shrug as George takes the other side. "Ron said you wanted to talk to us," Hermione says, voice gentle. Ginny hovers at the end of the bed. I glance at Ron—he nods, pulling the curtains shut around us. I cast a muting charm.

"There's something you should know. About me." My voice already shakes. I take a breath and say it.

"My real father is Lord Voldemort."

The silence is heavy. The twins and Hermione shoot to their feet. Ron stays beside me, his hand firm on my shoulder. I roll up my sleeve. The dark mark earns a round of gasps. I explain everything—what Dumbledore told me, what it means, and how I've decided not to let it define me.

"Liv, you're right," Ginny says, managing a small smile. "You can't control who your parents are."

"And you absolutely shouldn't be ashamed," Hermione adds, tears in her eyes. "You're the most loyal, caring, lovable person there is," Fred says, moving to sit beside me. "And I'm proud to call you my sister," George says, sitting in front of me.

"But we're angry," the twins say together. "What? Why?" I roll my sleeve down, confused. "It took Ron to convince you to stay," George says. "To live with us," Fred finishes. "Hey! He's your brother too. And mine. No insults," I scold, smacking them both lightly.

But before anyone can respond, a voice cuts through the curtains.

"How could you?" Harry's voice is sharp. Ginny yanks the curtains open. "Harry—" I start, but he doesn't let me. "No. Shut up. How could I be so stupid? Or did you cast a spell on me? Was it all some plan to trap me and hand me over to your father?"

The words burn, but before I can react, Ron pins him to the wall.

"One more word out of you that hurts her, and I swear it'll be my wand against your throat."

"Ron!" I grab his shirt, trying to pull him off. "Harry," I say, steady now. "You have two choices. One—you sit, you listen, and you hear the truth. Or two—you walk away, and we're done."

He says nothing.

I take that as his answer.

"Good." And I begin. I tell him everything. Again. By the time I finish, Harry's face is pale. His voice is small. "Oh my... I'm sorry. I—I was wrong. I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"It's okay," I say, hugging him. "That's it?" Ron blurts. "You're forgiving him that easily?"

"That's why we love her," Hermione says gently. "She doesn't hold grudges. She forgives, she loves deeply, and she'd turn the world upside down for us." I smile, truly smile, for the first time in days. "Ron?" I glance at him. "Maybe apologize to your best friend?"

"Right... sorry, mate," Ron mutters awkwardly.

And just like that, a real laugh escapes me.

A genuine one. Finally.

I'm out the next day. The news spreads like fire—that my mother cursed me—but Hermione and Ginny jump in quickly to twist the story. They've come up with a rumor that explains the sudden change in my hair and eyes. It's far from the truth, but it works.

I'm in my dorm, curled up with a book, when Harry, Hermione, and Ron barge in, grinning like lunatics. I shut my book and push my glasses down my nose.

"What are you idiots smiling about?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione flops onto her bed. "You know how Umbridge isn't letting us use spells and how useless our Defense classes are for the OWLs... we were thinking... maybe you could teach us?"

"You mean, tutor you?" I ask, glancing at Harry as he sits beside me.

"Not just for exams, brownie," Ron adds with that ridiculous nickname—because of my hair and his undying love for snacks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "For what, then?" I ask as Harry takes my hand gently.

"To defend ourselves," he says, but Hermione cuts in quickly, "We want both of you to teach us. To fight You-Know-Who. Harry's had real experience... and you, well, you know more spells than half the professors." I blink. "Who would even want to be taught by me?"

"We're meeting some people at the Hog's Head tomorrow. Plus... Sirius gave us the idea," Ron says. "Alright," I say with a nod. "Count me in." Hermione lets out a cheer and throws her arms around me. "Yayy!"

The next day, as we head toward Hog's Head, Harry leans close and murmurs, "Mostly babe, you'll be doing the teaching. Everyone thinks I'm mental anyway." Ron scoffs. "It's either you or that toad with a pink bow." "Thanks, Ron," Harry deadpans.

"I'm here for you, mate," Ron replies, overly dramatic.

Upstairs, the room is packed. Mostly Gryffindors. It's got the same vibe as that bloody Inquisitorial Squad—just with less green and more nerves.

There's an awkward pause. Hermione looks at us, clearly waiting for someone else to start. But she clears her throat and stands. "Hi," she says weakly.

Great start, Mione.

"You all probably know why you're here. For those who don't—we need a real teacher. Someone who's fought the Dark Arts. Not someone banning wands in a magic school," she continues, but a boy interrupts.

"Why?"

"Why?" Ron echoes, clearly about to lose it. "Because You-Know-Who's back, you git." I reach over and place my hand on his to calm him. "So he says," the boy shrugs. "So Dumbledore says," I jump in, but he cuts me off again. "No, the point is—where's the proof?"

"If Potter could tell us more about how Diggory died," another voice says.

My grip tightens on Ron's hand. I can feel Harry's eyes on me. Hermione's too. Harry stands, jaw tight. "I'm not going to talk about Cedric. If you're here for that—leave." Two people do. "Is it true you can do a Patronus?" Luna's voice drifts in from beside Rafael.

"Yes!" Hermione jumps in, "And so can Liv!"

The three of us take turns telling the others how Harry's saved us all countless times over the years. But Harry shakes his head. "No. Look—it sounds great when you say it like that, but the truth is, most of the time I was lucky. I always had help—Hermione, Ron... Liv."

He looks at me as he says it, and I squeeze his hand.

"Real life isn't like practice duels. When you're out there, it's not a game. You don't always get a second chance. You don't know what it's like until death's breathing down your neck—or you watch your friend die." He sits down, eyes distant.

"He really is back," Nigel mutters. Harry gives a small nod. "You-Know-Who—" Cho starts, but I interrupt. "Voldemort," I say sharply. "Like Hermione said back in second year: 'Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.' If you're going to fight, fight right. Throw the fear out of your head. Fear isn't real—it's just a choice. Danger is real. But fear is something you create."

I place a sheet of parchment on the table.

"If you're in, stand up and sign your name. But know what you're signing for." One by one, they do. Every single one of them. "Harry and Liv will train us," Hermione says. "The power couple," Ron mutters under his breath. I shoot him a glare, but my smile betrays me.

"We'll update you with the plan," Hermione finishes. "And this parchment is jinxed—if anyone betrays us, we'll know."

On our way back to the castle, Harry says, "First thing—we need a secret place to practice."

"The Shrieking Shack?" Ginny offers. "Too small," Harry says. "The Forbidden Forest?" Hermione suggests, looking at me. "No way in hell," Ron replies before I even open my mouth. "What if Umbridge finds out?" Ginny whispers.

"Who cares?" Hermione says, surprising all of us. "It's kind of thrilling, breaking the rules."

I squint at her. "Who are you and what have you done with Mione Granger?"

Harry chuckles. "Alright, spread the word—everyone needs to come up with a secret practice spot over the next few days."

We all nod.

Something's changing. I can feel it.

And for once... it feels good.