BORN TO DIE ╱ DRACO MALFOY
꒷꒦ · ˚.‧ . written by ella . . . © -lostgardens
031 ━━━━━━━━ ❛ the willow tree ❜

It had been a few days since Olivia's little bout with the infection, and she'd done everything to forget it. It wasn't that big of a deal, but she still had to fight her friends and Pomfrey over the idea of bedrest—she ended up winning in the end. Snape had been quiet about the whole thing and even got Matron to agree, only talking to Dumbledore about it. That had confused Olivia, but she never pondered it too long.

Her mind was on something else.

Her brother, Lucas, the one she had practically raised, was keeping secrets from her, and she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt a little. They never kept secrets from one another, so why was he now? Despite the hurt, she hadn't dared to ask him about it—it would only lead to disaster, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

One thing keeping her somewhat distracted from her thoughts was the fact that everyone in the bloody school was talking about her. Well, they always talked about her—to her face, behind her back, in her presence, even when they thought they were out of earshot—but now it was worse. The idea that she was some kind of dark witch was even stronger now that she'd almost died twice, coughed up heaps of black blood, and was back on her feet a mere night's rest later. They thought that she was something unholy. And, to be frank, they were completely wrong.

But she was not a dark witch (in the way everyone thought) at all.

"Everyone is staring at you, Olivia," Theodore whispered, looking around the room and glaring at anyone who sent him a judgy look for sitting with Olivia. He was stating the obvious, and he knew that, but he still believed it should've been addressed.

They were in the study hall, doing their homework—this was something they did once a week. Most of the time, students were allowed to do their work whenever (not past the due date) and wherever (on the school grounds) they wanted. Olivia hated the study hall and had opted to stay in the common room to do her work (she did her best thinking there), but Pansy dragged her out, kicking and screaming.

Well, Olivia hadn't actually been kicking and screaming, but it was close enough.

"I know, Theodore," Olivia muttered, not looking up from her book. Just one more thing, and she'd be done. Just one more thing, and she could get out of there and away from the whispers, long sideways stares, and gossip. It was bothering her more than she'd admit. "Let them."

And with that, she was done. She shut her book with a huffed snap and abruptly stood. Her fast movements caused some students to flinch away from her, and she wouldn't of been surprised if they stopped breathing for a second. She was truly hated, wasn't she?

Ignoring those students, she made her way over to McGonagall, handing her assignment in. The aging witch gave her a curious look, almost unsure. Olivia fought the urge to roll her eyes and asked, "May I go now?"

McGonagall gave her a short nod and watched as Olivia turned around and walked back to her table. The girl gathered her things, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. She really needed some time with Tommy; he was the only one who ever made her feel better. His chaotic calmness was something she quite admired.

Her friends and Malfoy watched her closely, but she didn't utter a word. Neither did they. And with a sigh, she slung the strap of her bag on her shoulder and walked away. She pushed through the double doors of the hall and exited into the candle-lit corridor.

The doors shut behind her, and her shoes sounded against the floor as she paced forward. She had a plan for the rest of her night—get back to her room, take a long shower, get ready for bed, lay with Tommy until she fell asleep, and continue her study on her nightmare. But that plan left her mind as soon as she turned the corner.

And she screamed. A scream so loud that the ones in the study hall heard it. Malfoy looked up from his book and towards the doors before he turned to his friends, who looked just as shocked as he was sure he did.

Wasting not another second, he shot up from his seat and raced out of the room. He didn't even notice his friends and schoolmates following him, nor did he notice McGonagall calling after him. The pit in his gut was strong, and he was sure that scream had come from Olivia. And the thought of her being hurt...

Turning the corner in a sprint, his eyes immediately fell on the girl. She looked so broken—fallen to the floor with tears streaming down her face. He slowed his steps as he crept towards her, unsure what was wrong. She was looking up at the corridor wall, but he couldn't seem to pull his eyes off her.

He fell to her side, pulling her into him. She didn't push him back or resist his notion. To his surprise, she curled further into his embrace, and the selfish part of him was glad. He rubbed her shoulder as she sobbed, not paying any mind to the others, who had finally found them.

Olivia continued to sob, and Draco felt as if his heart was breaking. She was hurt—not physically, like he had feared, but this was so much worse. She was crying, but she never cried. Why was she crying? And with that thought, he finally looked up where she was staring. His eyes went wide.

Her mind raced with panic as she sobbed while Malfoy held her—while he comforted her. She would've been disgusted—probably would've pushed him away—if her world hadn't been turned upside down with just one tragedy.

Tommy was there, on the wall, stabbed through the stomach, bloody and unmoving like Filch's cat had been. But the difference between Mrs. Norris and Tommy was that Mrs. Norris had been petrified. Tommy was dead.

He was dead.

"Presently came the night, sadly, to greet her. Moon in her silver light, stars in their glitter, then sank to moon away. Under the billow, still wept the maid alone—there by the willow," Malfoy read the words on the walls—the words that were written in blood—in Tommy's blood. Olivia had stopped crying when he said, "That sounds like poetry."

"It is," she muttered. "It's from..." That was when it hit her, and the sadness in her heart turned into boiling anger. She blinked, then again, clearing the tears from her eyes, which clung to her long lashes. "It's from... The Willow Tree," she informed, lifting her head from his chest.

Her eyes roamed around the still-as-statues students, landing on a particular blonde that she had once trusted. Daphne looked uncomfortable, much like everyone else, but Olivia couldn't help but notice the way she shifted from one foot to the other, looking around as she picked at her lips with her battered-by-skin-picking fingertips. She looked guilty. Good.

"The Willow Tree?" Malfoy asked, drawing her attention back to him. His brows were furrowed in confusion, his cloudy gray eyes searching her worriedly, and that was when she noticed how close they were. She backed away slightly, not missing the flash of hurt on his face. "Isn't that your favorite poem?"

"Yes." She pulled away from him completely, standing up and walking towards the wall. Her eyes were trained on her cat—her stabbed and bloody cat—her now-dead cat. He looked frozen in time, and Olivia wished he'd only been petrified, but she knew better. He had a metal stake through his body; his eyes had lost their electic green and were now dull, and his fur had lost its soft shine.

He was dead. And his killer was once a friend to Olivia, someone she had trusted, someone she had defended, shared her books with, helped with her homework, someone she had charished as a person—someone she thought about often. Someone she had considered as a sister...

That was all gone now—ruined. Tommy was dead—murdered—and Daphne had done it. She had used Olivia's favorite poem, the poem she had gifted to her in a first-edition book of one of her favorite English poets, as a way to taunt his death. But why? Why had she done it? Why would she do it? Tommy was Olivia's world, her everything; perhaps that was it. But again, why?

That was the million-dollar question, but Olivia wasn't going to ask it quite yet.

She would've noticed the errie silence of the corridor if her mind was calculating everything—every word ever spoken between she and Daphne, every time they had been around one another, whether it was in the library, the common room, their shared classes, or even their room. Nothing was left unchecked.

"Who would've done such a thing?" McGonagall asked, moving past the students and toward Olivia, so that she could get a better look at the situation.

Daphne Lenora Greengrass  "I don't know," Olivia said, not looking away from Tommy. "No one had any reason to hurt Tommy, even if they had a problem with me." It was true. Despite knowing that Daphne had done it, no one had any reason to harm him, not even her.

Before she could even think about it or anyone could say anything else, she grabbed Tommy and pulled him from the stake that was stabbing him. She heard gasps from around her, but she ignored them as she brought her beloved cat to her chest, not caring about the blood soaking into her robes, and held him tightly.

She didn't want him to be gone. She didn't know if she'd be able to handle it.

"I'm sorry, Miss Mallard," McGonagall said, actually sounding sincere. "He seems to be dead, not petrified." Olivia knew this; McGonagall knew this and knew that Olivia knew this, yet she still addressed it. What was with people doing that today? First Theodore, then McGonagall.

"I know." It was quite again after that, and Olivia kissed the top of Tommy's head. "Tot ziens, mijn schat. Ik zai je wreken; ik zweer het," she whispered, only for him to hear. Goodbye, my darling. I will avenge you; I swear to it.

And so she would.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

The next morning, Olivia was awake. She hadn't slept, not being able to without the warmth of Tommy by her side—not having enough power to go through her nightmare with the knowledge that he wouldn't be there to comfort her when she woke.

Her eyes were heavy, but every time she closed them, even when blinking, she saw the sight of her cat stabbed and hanging on a wall, the words from her favorite poem taunting his death—taunting her. She felt numb. He was gone and had taken her with him. Her soul, her happiness, the light in her life—it was all gone.

He was her life, and now he was gone. 

All she could do at that moment was give him a proper burial, not the spure-of-the-moment, no-other-option one they had done the prior night after Dumbledore and Snape showed up to the scene. He was in a box. Her cat was dead, lying in a box. Pathetic. The two professors, the headmaster and long-time potions master, had questioned her, asking if she knew who had done it. She lied, of course, saying that she didn't.

They believed, though she wouldn't of been surprised if Snape had read straight through her blank, no emotion, I-am-numb-and-not-planning-the-downfall-of-my-roommate expression. He had always had an act of knowing how she was feeling, and she hated it.

So there, in front of Dumbledore's office's door, she stood, holding the box that Tommy was in. She was in fresh clothes, not finding it satisfactory last night to lay in the robes coated in her cat's blood. She had taken a shower and gotten ready for the day just as if it were any other. But it wasn't.

She was at Dumbledore's door so she could ask him for permission to go home to bury her cat alongside her ancestors. She had gotten the password to the spiral staircase from him the prior night, in case she needed anything. Shifting the box to one hand, she lifted her left to knock on the door and then waited.

"Come in," she heard Dumbledore's say from the other side of the door.

Olivia opened the door and saw the old wizard sitting at his desk. The room was warm, his phoenix sat purched on his wooden bar, and Dumbledore's office was decorated with secrets, information, and important objects.

Her eyes caught onto the sorting hat, which sat on a high shelf, as she stepped in, letting the door close behind her. She fought the urge to roll her eyes or glare at it, deeming that it was too childish. The hat was just doing its job when it said all of those wretched things. You're a monster.

"Ah, Olivia," he greeted, setting down his quill so he could focus solely on her. He seemed shaken, like something was bothering him—Olivia could sense it. Perhaps it had something to do with the pertrifaction as of late, or perhaps not. Before she could think about it, his eyes fell onto the box she held, and he asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I may go home for the day to bury Tommy in my manor's cemetery." She stepped forward, standing right in front of his desk while holding the box with both hands. "I want him to be somewhere familiar—he loved going into the cemetery—and somewhere that I can visit him often," she explained.

"I see." He nodded, glancing down at his desk in thought. When he looked back up at her through his half-moon glasses, he sent her a barely-there smile. "Of course you can." Standing up from his desk, he walked over to the fireplace. "I assume you've used the floo system before." He glanced at her, throwing up an offering hand at the fireplace with rasied brows.

"Yes, many times," she admitted, easing forward.

"Right." He stepped aside, letting her grab a handful of floo powder. "You have no classes today, so you're fine to stay at home for as long as you'd like, but I do need you to return before curfew," he explained as she stepped into the fireplace and faced him. Olivia nodded. "And when you do return, all you have to say is 'headmaster's office' and you'll come back here. Once again, you only have 'til before curfew," he added, giving her a pointed look. "I hope everything goes well, Olivia."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. And with one last look, she said, "Mallard Manor," and threw the floo powder down, letting the green flames that reminded her of Tommy's eyes come to life and swallow her whole. When the flames died, Dumbledore's office was no longer what she saw.

The manor was just as she remembered, unsurprisingly. Cold, lifeless, dark—much like her heart. She stepped out of the fireplace and onto the dark tile. She only had 'til curfew, so she had the whole day to be there. Whether she was going to be there that long was still up for debate in her mind.

There was a snap, and then... "Miss Olivia! You're home!" Trinky rushed over to her, her eyes wide with admiration. Olivia gave her a weak smile as the house elf looked her over, her eyes landing on the box. "What has she brought home from Hogwarts?"

"Nothing of excitement, unfortunately," Olivia admitted. "Tommy was... He was killed."

Trinky gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Trinky is sorry, Miss Olivia! Tommy was a sweetheart. Who would do such a thing, Miss Olivia?"

"No one of importance, Trinky. Don't worry, they'll get what's coming to them," she assured, though she didn't believe it gave the elf comfort. Ignoring the wide-eyed look, she side-stepped the elf and walked into the sitting room. She half-expected to be greeted by her parents. She didn't know if they were home or not, but she didn't stick around long enough to find out.

Making it towards the back door that led to the gardens, cemetery, and backhouse of the manor, she went to the right. That was where the cemetery was. It was like second nature to her. She couldn't even count on her hands how many times she had walked the path in search of her beloved cat. That would never happen again.

She came to a stop at the metal, black fence of the resting place. Not wasting any time, she opened the gate, letting herself in. As she passed her ancestors graves, she looked for an empty spot for Tommy. Much to her surprise, there were no buried pets there—Tommy would be the first and also the youngest (even compared to the people).

Once she found an empty spot, she pushed past the dead autumn leaves. That was when she remembered that her birthday was in just a few days. Happy birthday to me! She sighed, not wanting to think about the dreadful day. She bent down, setting the box on the ground, and searched around for a shovel.

After a minute, a snap sounded, and she quickly looked over, only to find Bobbin staring at her with wide, concerned eyes. It was like the house elf knew what she needed because she had a shovel in her thin hands. "Bobbin has brought Miss Olivia a shovel and a helping hand," she told her.

"Thank you, Bobbin," Olivia muttered. Her shoulders relaxed a bit as she walked over to where she had picked to bury Tommy. "I think this is a good spot for him. What do you think?" she asked, looking down at the ground beneath her feet before meeting Bobbin's gaze.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Olivia," Bobbin agreed.

And with that, Olivia dug a small, six-foot-deep hole for Tommy (after a little arguing with Bobbin). "Tot ziens, Tommy," she whispered. That was her final goodbye before putting him in the ground and piling the dirt back on top. After the dirt was packed down, Olivia threw the shovel to the side.

Luckily, for them, the ground of the cemetery was charmed to hide the scent of rotting bodies. Not only to make being out there after a freshly buried body more suitable for the nose, but also so that animals wouldn't dig up those freshly buried bodies. It was a grusome thought, but necessary in truth.

Olivia took a step back, looking over the fresh-tossed dirt of the unmarked grave. Tears streamed down her face, causing the cold to bite her skin even harder, but she didn't bother asking Bobbin to cast a warming charm (since she couldn't do magic outside of school) or wipe the tears away. She wasn't afraid of the house elf seeing her weakness—they were family, after all.

With a snap of her bony fingers, Bobbin made a small headstone appear. Gray cobblestone, marked with:

Tommy
24 September 1991 — 1 November 1992
Beloved Pet and Friend

It was a nice gesture, one that Olivia greatly appreciated. She eventually made her way out of the cemetery after a moment of crying, staring at the grave, and being comforted by the house elf on her right, who held her hand. She was prepared to go back to her room for a couple of hours, perhaps eat some of Bobbin's infamous snickerdoodles, maybe even read—just something that would keep her mind off of school, Tommy, her friends, and revenge for a moment.

But when she reached the back door of the manor, there her mother stood, arms crossed over her chest and a questioning look on her face. Olivia shifted on her feet, crunching the leaves under her boots, and wiped her face dry. Bobbin, who was beside Olivia, squeaked in fear, nodded to the Mistress of the Manor, and then disappeared with a snap of her fingers.

"Why are you home?" her mother asked boredly.

"My cat was murdered, and I came to bury him in the cemetery," Olivia replied, stepping onto the wood porch. She was not in the mood to deal with her mother. "I was just about to leave," she added, sidestepping her mother. She walked into the manor, preparing to rush back to the fireplace, say 'headmaster's office,' and go back to Hogwarts.

"I take it you're upset," Clodagh continued, following Olivia into the house. The sound of the door shutting behind them echoed, but both ignored it. "It was just a mere cat, Olivia Katherine," she added.

Olivia wipped around to face her with a scowl, suddenly angry. "No! It was not just a mere cat, mother," she shouted, cutting off whatever words her mother was about to say. They were now back in the sitting room, and the door to the study swung open, and out stepped Olivia's father, looking confused.

"He was my world, my everything, and my best friend. I know that holds no weight with you because you barely around him, but—"

"Does this have something to do with the Malfoy boy? After all, he is the one that got you the bloody thing," Clodagh inquired, placing her hands on her hips. She didn't miss the small flinch Olivia gave her.

"No, this has nothing to do with him. Nothing at all," Olivia assured, bringing the volume of her voice down. "This is about my cat and betrayal," she admitted. Confusion ran across her mother's face, but no words left her mouth. Olivia's father just stood off to the side, not knowing what to say, confused as ever about what was going on. "I know you say not to show weakness," Olivia said, wiping a tear from her cheek, "and I try not to, but my heart hurts because of this."

"Now, Olivia..." her mother sighed, running a hand over her face.

"I also know that you don't know what true loss feels like," Olivia continued, her anger and sadness growing stronger. Despite that, she kept her voice steady. "You hated your parents, and you were glad when they finally passed on, and you've lost no one else of importance in your life, so you wouldn't understand." The courage to bring up her mother's past was something she didn't know she had. She wasn't scared of her mother or what she'd do, but that topic was forbidden to everyone, including Andrew.

"You don't know—"

"And to expect a heartless witch like you to sympathize is something I know not to do," she added, raising her chin in strength. Inhaling deeply, she took a step back, nodding to her mother. "So, goodbye for now, mother. I'll see you when the school year is over." And with that, she walked away, leaving her father and mother speechless.

Despite the harshness with which she spoke to her mother, she felt quite proud of herself. But that only lasted for a moment. Her mother was a vile woman, cruel to the bone, but she didn't deserve to have her past thrown in her face. Who was Olivia to tell her how she felt when her parents died? Her daughter, but still.

Ignoring the slight guilt she felt as she grabbed a handful of floo powder, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning around, she saw her mother standing in the doorway, looking in a way Olivia had never seen her before—hurt.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Olivia. You're right, I don't understand, but I hate that you think I'm heartless," Clodagh admitted. "I'm not heartless. And I hope you discover whoever hurt your... who hurt Tommy, and make them pay in a way only you can," she added, running her hands over the front of her dress. "I hope to see you before the school year ends. Maybe come back for Yule."

"Right." Olivia nodded, nothing but surprised at her mother's words and tone. "Lucas wants to see Hogwarts during Christmas, but I'll talk to him and see if he's changed his mind or not," she added before turning back to the fireplace.

Stepping in, she faced her mother once more. "Headmaster's office." She threw the floo powder down, and the familiar flames swallowed her once more. When she made it back to Dumbledore's fireplace, she saw Snape standing in front of the old man's desk, looking down at the bearded man. Both pairs of eyes snapped towards her, and they went silent. Not breaking eye contact with them, she stepped out.

"Ah, Olivia, I expected you back a little later," Dumbledore greeted. "I hope everything went alright."

"It went fine, sir," she responded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Tommy is now resting easy at the manor." She clasped her hands together, resting them in front of her as she came to stand next to Snape.

"That's good," Dumbledore said, sending her a smile.

It was silent after that. Both professors stared at Olivia, and she stared back at them with suspicion. Olivia finally broke the silence. "I will best be going then. Things to do, people to see—you know, all of that," she muttered, shifting on her feet. "Goodbye."

She turned away from the two, blowing out a silent breath as the forced smile fell off her face. She just wanted to curl up in bed and not get up 'til classes started again, but she knew, with her sleep schedule, that was unlikely to happen. Plus, she had a few mysteries and things to do—that wasn't a lie.

She had a long to-do list, and she knew she'd better get on it.

Olivia's To-Do List:
1. Discover why Daphne killed Tommy
2. Recheck the roll of supplies received on my birthday
3. Figure out what secrets Lucas is hiding and why he's hiding them
4. Plot revenge on Daphne
5. Discover who opened the Chamber of Secrets before the trio (unimportant but do it anyway)
6. Don't get caught doing any of this

Finally, she understood what that mystery note that she had received on her birthday and still sat under the floorboards of her room meant.

Don't trust anyone.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

━━━━ ella's speaking !
yeah, that happened lol...🏃🏻‍♀️

once more, the text written on the wall/malfoy read is an excerpt so from "the willow tree" by william makepeace thackeray—it is not my work !!

i hope you enjoyed!! make sure to comment and vote 🫶🏻

kisses.

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

word count: 4506. written: 10.11.23. published: 10.17.23.