BORN TO DIE    ╱    DRACO MALFOY
꒷꒦ · ˚.‧ . written by ella . . . © -lostgardens
030 ━━━━━━━━ ❛ the dueling club ❜

The sound chattering all around the room made Olivia's already pounding head hurt even more. She wanted to be there in class, but she also didn't. Her brain hurt, and she wanted to hurl from pain, but she was tired of not being in her classes. She ignored the feeling and the shock looks and gasps all around her as she walked in.

From what Pansy and Lucas had told her from their many visits over the past few days, the rumor that she had died had made its way around the castle, and she had fought the urge to roll her eyes at her schoolmates gullibility.

One well-shared rumor was suddenly the most factual topic out there, according to those around her—and Rita Skeeter, of course. It was not a story unless Rita covered it. It was bloody ridiculous. You'd think her classmates, second-year students, would have a little more sense in their small brains.

Continuing to ignore the burning, curious eyes and gossiping whispers, she made her way around the table to where her friends and Malfoy stood, waiting for class to begin. Pansy was the closest to her, then it was Lucas, Malfoy, and Daphne, while Theodore, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle stood behind them.

"How are you feeling?" Pansy asked, looking at her with a small, caring smile.

The girl had been no less than overbearing during Olivia's recovery (which needed to only last a couple of days, in Olivia's opinion, but no one seemed to agree). Olivia knew that her friend meant well, but it was sometimes too much caring. It was almost sickening how many times she had been asked, "How are you feeling?" and "Are you alright?"

She couldn't stand another second of it. But she didn't want to upset the girl, or any of the others, for that matter, with the truth or her harsh words, so she painted on a smile and mustered up the response she knew would satisfy them.

"Fine," Olivia replied. That was a lie. She rubbed a hand over her robes that covered her bandaged wound. "Three days stuck in the hospital wing and four days not being able to attend classes were worse than being stabbed and completely unnecessary," she joked.

Pansy to give her a pointed look, which was a clear indication that she didn't find it amusing (the joke or the incident).

Olivia breathed out a chuckle. "What? I can't make jokes about someone trying to kill me, now?" She lifted her hands slightly, causing her wound to stretch, and she bit back a grimace. It was taking a lot longer to heal than she thought it would, but, of course, she kept that to herself. There was no need to make them worry more than they should.

"You can," Pansy began, biting away the skin on her lips, then sighed. "It's just... They haven't found the person, and I'm worried," she added, looking down at her shoes.

Sighing, Olivia gave her a small, trying-to-be-reassuring smile. "There's no need to be." She placed her hands on the girl's shoulder, giving them a small squeeze as she looked her right in the eye. "I promise."

Pansy nodded, though Olivia could decide if she was convinced or not.

"Gather 'round!" Lockhart called out, interrupting either girl from saying anything more. The chatter, whispers, and looks quickly ended, and Olivia was glad for it. "Gather 'round," the professor repeated, walking across the long table as the students stepped forward. "Can everyone see me?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Can you all hear me?" His voice was full of pride.

Olivia rolled her eyes, turning forward to face the table. Unfortunately.

The professor came to a stop at the end of the table, furthest away from Olivia, which she silently thanked Merlin for. She fully believed that if he were alive today, he'd disdain Lockhary just as much as she did.

"Excellent." Lockhart smiled, turning around to face the opposite end of the table. His eyes immediately fell right on Olivia, which she silently cursed Merlin for. I thought we had a mutual understanding, Merlin! "Ah, Miss Mallard! Good to see you've returned." He lifted his hand, casting his attention on her for a moment with a bright smile on his face.

She just glared in response.

Letting out a breath, he dropped his hand and looked to his feet, then back to the other students with another charming smile. "In the light of the dark events of recent weeks, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club," he explained, moving towards the other end of the table in small steps, "to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves, as I myself have done on countless occasions." He paused, looking down at his feet with a smile. "For full details, see my published works."

Olivia rolled her eyes, unimpressed by the way he could make every single thing about himself. She watched as he unclasped his cloak and threw it towards the group opposite her, causing them to gasp. Two girls reached for it, but only one got it, and Olivia's face twisted with disgust. She really couldn't see the appeal of the man, and she was surprised the others could.

"Let me introduce my assistant," Lockhart said, lifting an offering hand. "Professor Snape."

Olivia laughed at this, clasping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Assistant," she mumbled behind her hand, looking up at Snape. He was glaring at her, warning her to stop laughing, and she tried her hardest.

"He has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration," the blonde man continued, his tone full of nothing less than pride. Olivia hoped Snape would rid him of that soon. "Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry." He pointed a finger around the room while his other hand rested on his hip. "You'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him. Never fear."

He sounded so sure of himself. What a pity.

Olivia watched closely as Lockhart smirked, then turned to face Snape as he drew his wand. Snape looked bored as ever—he always did—but he also had something calculating behind his dead gaze, which made Olivia excited to see what was to happen next.

The two professors stepped towards each other in even steps, their eyes locked, preparing for their duel. They raised their wands to the ceiling with bent-at-the-elbow arms, putting them right at their noses. They dropped their arms, straightening them out almost painfully, and half-body bowed to one another.

As he turned, Olivia watched Snape, seeing his flat-of-emotions face and abyss eyes as he walked away from Lockhart, who also had his back turned while taking even steps away. Snape's expression did not falter; he did not blink—not even so much as a twitch of his mouth.

If he hadn't been walking, he could've convinced someone he was a statue.

Once the professors came to a stop at the opposite ends of the table, they turned to one another, preparing their wands. "One," Lockhart said. "Two." Neither professor moved. "Three."

"Expelliarmus!" Snape cast, not missing a beat, of course. He took a step forward, pointing his wand right at the blonde man, and a ripple of magic, almost like one that would appear in water if a fish came to the surface or someone dropped a rock in, came from the tip of his wand. It hit Lockhart square in the chest, and Olivia bit back her excitement.

She loved duels.

Lockhart shouted as he went flying backward, landing right on his back with a loud thud. Students laughed, and Olivia decided that she would too. She had wanted to but didn't at first, in case no one else would. She didn't want to look completely cold-hearted.

"An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape," Lockhart said after he stood up, strutting over to Snape. "But if you don't mind me saying it was pretty obvious, uh, what you were about to do." He continued his struts. "And if I had wanted to stop you, it would've been only too easy."

Rubbish, Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to first teach the students to block unfriendly spells, professor," Snape offered, staring at Lockhart with his usual blank expression.

Lockhart looked around worriedly, probably thinking about his reputation. He then put on a small yet bright smile, which Snape snarkily tried (and somewhat failed) to return. "An excellent suggestion, Professor Snape," the man praised, raising his voice with gleam. He turned around, facing away from the Potions Master. "Well, let's have a volunteer pair," he added, looking at each student.

Olivia was about to volunteer herself when Snape looked at her. He narrowed his eyes for a moment as if he were thinking, then he looked away.

"Um, Potter, Weasley, how about you?" Lockhart asked, focusing on the two Gryffindors.

"Weasley's wand causes devastation with the simplest of spells," Snape reminded him, sounding completely serious, which he was. "We'll be sending Potter to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

Olivia chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. She heard Pansy beside her do the same, and they looked at one another, their eyes speaking the same thought. He wasn't wrong.

"Might I suggest someone from my own house?" Snape asked, though it really wasn't a question. Olivia grew even more excited. She'd love to duel with Potter. The dark-haired man threw up his hands in question as he raised his brows, and Lockhart looked at him with a worried look. "Malfoy, perhaps?" he added, and Olivia felt a peg of betrayal.

The excitement that caused a smile on her face dropped in an instant. She could've sworn her eye twitched as she glared a hole in the side of the man's face with her slightly hurt (yet she wouldn't admit that) gaze. Why couldn't she duel, Potter?

Snape quickly turned to the annoyance, ignoring Olivia's look, and pointed at him. He threw his thumb over his shoulder as Malfoy moved past Olivia, not paying any mind to the glare she was giving him, and made his way onto the table with a smug smirk on his face.

The twat took out his wand and strutted over to Potter, a menacing expression on his pale face. Potter met him in the middle as Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. She was acting like a child—but what she had uttered to Snape when he told her so a year before rang in her mind. She was a child. There was no denying that, so she could act that way until she wasn't.

"Wands at the ready," Lockhart instructed, sounding unsure.

The two boys lifted their wands just as Snape and Lockhart had done moments before, putting them right at their noses.

"Scared, Potter?" the annoyance taunted.

"You wish," Potter returned.

They dropped their wands, turned away from one another, and took their steps towards the end of the table, while Olivia watched with frustration.

When they faced each other again, Lockhart said, "On the count of three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent." He raised his wand tellingly. "Only to disarm. We don't want any accidents here." He paused for a moment. "One," he began. "Two."

And of course, Malfoy being Malfoy, he didn't know how to listen to simple instructions. "Everte Statum!" he called out, taking two steps forward and shooting the spell right at Potter. Olivia would've been impressed. But it was Malfoy, so she wasn't.

Potter went flying back, landing oddly on his side. The Slytherins laughed, besides Olivia and Lucas, while the rest of the room fell into whispering chatter and gasps. Snape looked pleased as well.

Potter scrambled to his feet, lifting his wand at Malfoy, whose smirk had suddenly disappeared. "Rictusempra!" A light of magic shot from his wand, hitting Malfoy and sending him flying backward, just like he had done to Potter.

Olivia let a smile crack on her face when Malfoy landed on his bum, and all of the other students, save for the Slytherins, laughed. Snape looked down at the blonde boy with disappointment, then grabbed his robes and pulled him up aggressively. He gave Malfoy a little push back towards Potter.

The Slytherin lifted his wand once more, and Potter matched him as Lockhart reminded them, "I said, disarm only." He was clearly annoyed, which pegged Olivia with a little gleam. A little, not a lot.

"Serpensortia!" Malfoy ignored the man. He took two steps forward, which Olivia determined was his way of casting, and pointed his wand at Potter's feet. A snake—a serpent; how Slytherin of him—appeared, hissing at the students it passed as it slithered towards Potter.

Murmurs fell from the students lips as Malfoy looked proud of himself and Potter looked a little startled by the creature in front of him. The blonde boy turned to face the dark-haired professor, seeking approval. But Snape didn't look at him and moved forward.

"Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it for you," Snape said, walking towards the boy.

"Allow me, Professor Snape," Lockhart chimed, causing Snape to come to a stop. He drew his wand, aiming for the serpent. "Alarte Ascendare!" A screech sounded as the magic hit the snake, but the snake wasn't gone like the professor had planned. It had shot up into the air, hissing wildly, but came back down with an apparent thud.

Olivia sighed, already wanting the dueling club to be over, as the students gasped. She was bored. She hadn't gotten to duel yet, and she was itching to do magic again. A week spent between the hospital wing and her room was the most dreadful week of her life. With the nagging of her friends (and sometimes Malfoy) checking up on her, not being able to attend classes so that she could heal (it was a mere stab wound; nothing too drastic), and not having any reason to do magic while lying in bed, doing nothing, she had almost gone crazy.

That was why she was not daring to tell anyone, especially Snape and Lucas, about the uncomfortable pain she had been feeling. She was sure she was fine. And if she wasn't, so be it. Another week of nagging friends, bedrest, no classes, and no magic wasn't something she was going to risk having to experience again.

The snake continued to hiss, and Olivia's attention was caught in her thoughts when Potter stepped forward. Her brows furrowed. What was he doing? Going towards the snake was what he was doing. He began hissing at it.

No, it wasn't hissing. Her eyes went wide, and her brows shot up to her hairline. He was speaking Parseltongue. That couldn't be. Could it? Olivia sent Snape a confused and slightly shocked (even if she hated to admit it) look. His dead eyes were swimming with something unreadable, which confirmed her suspicions.

Potter was a Parselmouth. Like her. Like... him.

Olivia listened closely, trying to capture what Potter was saying. And if the uncomfortability of her aching and still-healing wound wasn't enough, him speaking clear and perfect Parseltongue was the cherry on top. He was telling the snake, who had focused on a Hufflepuff boy, to leave him alone, though everyone else around the room only heard hissing and a menacing tone. They only saw Potter talking to the snake, hissing at it, and it, in turn, staring at the Hufflepuff boy and threatening him.

It looked bad for Potter; Olivia would admit that much. And the Hufflepuff boy looked frightened. Of the snake hissing at him or of Potter? She couldn't tell. Perhaps both. She felt Snape's gaze lingering on her face, and she knew what he was wondering. He knew her status, so he knew that she understood what the boy was saying.

Was Potter instructing the snake to continue, or was he trying to stop him? That was the question Snape was trying to ask with his eyes, but Olivia didn't pay him any mind.

She took a step up, hiding her wince of pain caused by her side, and moved to stand next to the professor on the dueling table. She watched Potter closely as everyone else did the same. The snake continued to hiss, and Potter continued trying to derail it.

Olivia wished she could have said something to the snake to try and get it to leave the boy alone or to her schoolmates to reassure them that Potter wasn't menacing. But she had to save face, so she stayed silent.

She couldn't add another thing to help fuel the fire—the belief that she and her family were dark wizards. She couldn't do it. She had to protect her family name. And if that meant letting the others believe Potter to be playing some kind of twisted game, then so be it.

The snake finally turned to Potter, baring its venomous fangs and hissing at him. The boy stared at it through his circle glasses, not blinking. The serpent's mouth shut, and it just stared back. They were speaking to one another with their eyes, thinking the same thoughts. It sounded silly, but it was the truth.

"Vipera Evanesca," Snape said, pointing his wand at the snake—something he should've done long before. He hit the serpent right in the middle of its body, and it burned into mere smoke, disappearing from sight but leaving a lasting impression on everyone in the room.

Murmurs echoed around the room as Olivia looked up at Snape, giving him a wary look. The furrowed brows and worried look she got back in return were not what she had expected from him. She didn't know it, but she looked weak, pale, and downright unwell.

"What are you playing at?" the Hufflepuff boy the snake targeted asked, looking at Potter with confusion and a small amount of anger.

Potter furrowed his brows, looking at his classmates, then Lockhart, and finally Snape, who had glanced up from Olivia for just a second.

And then Olivia started coughing. Badly.

It was one cough, then two, and then next thing, it turned into a full-fledged fit of them. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, like her lungs were being crushed. She placed her fist over her mouth, trying to stop the fit and muffle the distraction of her aching lungs.

Without thinking, Lucas rushed to her side. "What's wrong, Livvy?" he asked, worried.

She tried to answer, but she couldn't. She could feel everyone staring at her as she fell to her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her hands planted themselves on the cold wood of the dueling table, and she chocked out a wet cough. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but when she opened them, she saw a pool of blood beneath her.

But it didn't look normal, and it certainly did not look healthy. It was black.

The blood was black.

Before she could think about it for too long, the wet coughs continued. The whispers around the room grew louder, and for a moment the attention was taken away from Potter, which she was sure he was grateful for, and fell onto her.

Snape bent down, brows furrowed, and mind racing. He lifted her chin so that she could meet his gaze. And he must've seen something on her face because his eyes flickered even harder with worry and his face fell flat. He let go of her chin as she continued her fit and looked back down to the ground, and he scanned the room. Lifting his wand as he looked back down at her, he cast a quick diagnostic and looked over it.

Quickly, he yanked her to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her arm as she continued to cough, and he led her off the table. Ignoring Lucas's worried questions and the curious and slightly frightened looks he was receiving from his students, Snape dragged Olivia to the large double doors and left without another word.

Lucas followed in pursuit, trying to keep up with the man's large steps. Olivia had stopped coughing by the time they reached the hospital wing; now she was heaving black blood, choking on it, and barely breathing due to it filling her airway.

Madam Pomfrey rushed over to them in an instant. "What happened, Severus?" she asked, worried, helping Olivia to the closest bed.

"What's wrong with her?" Lucas looked between the professor and Pomfrey, not missing the glances they sent to one another. "What's wrong with my sister?" He sounded as if he were about to cry, and if Olivia could have muttered a word without the groggling of blood in her throat, she would've reassured him that she was fine.

The truth was, she didn't know if she was fine. She didn't feel fine in that moment. She could barely think.

Not answering Lucas, Snape looked at Pomfrey and said, "I cast a diagnostic; she seems to have some sort of infection in her wound." His voice was steady, almost as if Olivia weren't on the verge of death.

With this, Pomfrey worked quickly, and Snape pulled Lucas away from Olivia's bedside. But Lucas, much like his sister, didn't do anything without a little protest. Snape admired and hated it all at the same time.

"No, I'm not leaving her. Get your hands off me. Let me go!" Lucas exclaimed, glaring at the professor as he tried to wiggle his way out of Snape's grasp, which was dragging him towards the door.

"Lucas," Snape began, his tone flat—emotionless. "She'll be fine. Madam Pomfrey knows what she's doing, but she doesn't need you in her way," he explained, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, almost fatherly.

Lucas breathed in and out, studying the man for a moment before he sighed. He knew Snape was right. He didn't want to be in the way—he never wanted to be in the way. So he sat on the opposite side of the room, waiting for what felt like forever for Madam Pomfrey to finish up.

Once she drew back to the curtain that was blocking his sight of his sister, the older witch stepped up, looking tired and stressed. Snape stepped closer to the woman, giving her a questioning look. "You were right, Severus," she began, sighing. "She had an infection in her wound. I don't know how I could've missed it."

"It's not your fault," Snape assured.

Pomfrey sighed, nodding smally, then glanced over at Lucas, who was giving her a curious look. Her gaze fell off of him just as fast as it had landed, and she focused on the man in front of her again. She tried to quiet her voice, perhaps so that Lucas could not hear her next words, but he had exceptional hearing, so he heard every worried-filled word.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen before," she admitted, placing her hands on her hips. She looked even more worried as she thought back to Olivia's wounds, which made Lucas curious. What was so different about this? It had just been a stab wound. Infections happened before; there should be nothing different about this one.

But Lucas knew his sister and their family's (both sides) history too well, not to doubt the impossible and unlikely. He sighed, looking away from Pomfrey and to his hands, where he had been picking at the skin around his nails while waiting. His fingertips were battered with torn skin and prickles of blood, but he didn't care.

"Come." She lifted a hand towards the curtain Olivia lay behind, her eyes still trained on Snape. "I'll show you."

Lucas stayed quiet as the professor and matron went behind the curtain and whispered to themselves, speaking of Olivia's condition. The infection she had sustained. And once they came back out, Lucas raised his head and watched them closely. Both of their expressions were flat, not showing any signs of what they were thinking, and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Lucas, you can see her now." Pomfrey gave him a weak smile, drawing the curtain back.

He stood as his eyes fell onto his sister, who was lying on the bed with a thin, itchy blanket over her legs and torso—he knew when she woke, she'd make some comment about that; she always did. Her skin was paler than usual (which was saying something); she looked sickly, and that almost frightened him. Almost.

He knew his sister, and she was a fighter. She would pull through. She was fine, even if she looked like a ghost. He grabbed a chair that was just off to the side, ignoring the burning looks of the two adults, and sat by Olivia's bedside.

And he stayed there as the day turned to night and the sun fell so that the moon and stars could rise. He didn't speak when Pansy and Daphne had shown up to check up on her just before dinner, telling him that the boys would visit Olivia in the morning, and he didn't go to dinner when they left. He stayed with his sister until the next morning, not realizing he had fallen asleep halfway through his watchful night.

He didn't wake up, not when the nightmare that he had never discussed with anyone but his journal clouded his mind, not even when the sun shone right in his face, not until Olivia threw something at him.

He peeled his eyes open, meeting his sister's gaze as a small, tight-lipped smile took over her face. He blinked away the sleep that was fogging his mind, ignoring the remains of the nightmare, and sat up in his chair.

"Good morning," she greeted, sitting up further on the bed.

"Morning," he replied. Mornings were never good, he thought.

"You missed everyone," she told him, acting as if she hadn't almost died the day before. "Theodore wanted to wake you, but I told him not to," she added, looking around the room, her eyes training on Colin, who was still petrified. A moment of silence passed over them just before she sighed. "You could've told them to give me a better blanket," she joked, giving him a pointed look. "This one's too itchy."

"Sorry, I was too busy fearing for your life," he muttered, causing her expression to falter slightly. He rubbed his eyes in regret, knowing that his words were harsher than they should've been. It wasn't her fault someone stabbed her.

"Right," she sighed. "Lucas, I am fine. It was just an infection, completely normal," she assured, picking at the skin around her nails.

No, it wasn't completely normal, Olivia. Pomfrey said so herself. That was what he wanted to say, but he didn't want to put a damper on her seemingly good mood, so he stayed quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he finally said, nodding as he ran his hands over his day-old slacks. "I'm glad you're all right and feeling well," he added. And that was the truth.

But what he didn't know was that she wasn't feeling all right. In fact, she was feeling something she'd never wanted to admit, and it wasn't just because she had almost died twice in the span of a week and a day. Olivia was scared—not for herself, but for the boy that sat beside her.

Her nightmare had changed. Something completely different than the ones before. This one starred her brother and featured lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood. It seemed so real, and it rattled her. She had woken up just after he had gone to sleep during the night—four a.m., her usual time.

She had watched him while he slept, seeing the familiar signs of a nightmare—a face twisted in dismay, incoherent murmurs falling from lips, the ache of mind, and the sweat coating pale skin.

She had never known that he had nightmares. Perhaps it was just a one-time thing. Or perhaps it was an inherited trait from their family. Another damnation from their ancestors, right? They'd already had more than their fair share. What was one more?

But she kept what she had learned of her brother to herself as they sat there in silence, as Pomfrey came in to check up on her, and even as she insisted on being released and got her way. They walked back to the common room, both staying silent, and went their separate ways when they entered—she went to the left and went to the right.

Lucas was hiding things from her, and she wondered why.

It was a nagging thought that she knew would stay with her until she confronted him about it. If she confronted him about it, that was... Who knew what might happen in the following days, perhaps even the following years?

Who knew, indeed?

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

━━━━ ella's speaking !
welp, that was something lmfao

i hope you enjoyed, and make sure to comment and vote !! 

kisses.

━━━━━━━━━━ born to die,
© -LOSTGARDENS,        oct 2023

word count: 4894.   written: 10.8.23.   published: 10.17.23.