BORN TO DIE ╱ DRACO MALFOY
꒷꒦ · ˚.‧ . written by ella . . . © -lostgardens
066 ━━━━━━━ ❛ deny, deny, deny ❜

After a night's sleep and the horrors of her nightmare, Olivia felt only slightly better. Which only meant that she was no longer panicking and wanting to rip her hair from her skull. No, now she was simply annoyed—frustrated, even—that she had to be a part of the bloody tournament. She had no other choice. Crouch had made it clear that the rules were set in stone, and for some reason, she had been chosen alongside Potter. Someone had inserted her name into the goblet without her knowledge. Someone whom she now had a vendetta against. Someone she hoped looked over their shoulder each chance they got because they knew she would find them one day. Someone who would rue the day they were born.

She was practically stomping down the dungeon's corridor as she made her way to Snape's classroom. It was the early hours of the morning, around six, but she knew the insomniac professor would be awake, either marking assignments or preparing for his classes. He always was.

She didn't even knock when she reached the door; she just pushed it open and entered with more booming steps. And, as she suspected, Snape was sitting at his desk, staring down at a stack of parchment with his inkwell open next to him and his quill in hand. His eyes found her eyes instantly, and she could've sworn she saw a little hint of surprise in them. But if she had, it was quickly gone, and his expression was blank as she closed the door behind her.

Her focus was on the dark wood of the door in front of her for a long moment as she took in calming breaths, then she turned and focused on the professor her parents seemed to share all their secrets with instead of the one the secrets were about. Her mind flashed back to the night Snape and her mother had stood at her door, whispering about needing to tell her something. She still wondered what that was, but she wasn't going to ask, for now.

She studied the man quietly as she made her way over to his desk, seeing the creases of stress between his brows and on his forehead and the dark circles forming on his pale skin under his eyes from lack of sleep. Then she dragged over a chair and planted herself in front of his desk, leaning back lazily and folding her hands together.

He raised his brows. "Is there something you need this early in the morning, Olivia?" His voice had its usual monotone drawl, and Olivia hated it.

The girl inhaled deeply, sitting up straighter, then lifted her chin slightly. "I just wanted to assure you that I didn't put my name into the Goblet of Fire." The man opened his mouth to speak, but Olivia continued. "I'm aware that I said it last night, but I just wanted to tell you face-to-face. And if you would relay this to my mother, that would be appreciated."

"I believe you," Snape assured. "And so does Dumbledore."

Upon hearing this, she let out a sigh, her body somewhat relaxing. "I have a horrible feeling about all of this," she admitted, letting a little worry show in her expression. She adjusted the way she sat a few times, almost like she was anxious. And she somewhat was, not that she'd admit that fact to anyone.

She watched as Snape's thoughts ran around in his head before he opened his mouth. She thought he was going to say something to settle her mind. Make her feel slightly better about everything. Give her some more reassurance. But all he said was, "Me as well," leaving an even larger pit in her stomach.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

Later, she was sitting in a large room with Cedric, Potter, Fleur, and Krum. The boys stood behind her while Fleur sat beside her, all of them clad in their schools' respect robes, with Rita Skeeter and her photographer in front of them. The snap of a large camera sounded, and a blinding flash shone in their eyes. Rita took a step forward after the photograph for The Daily Prophet was taken, and Olivia shook her head, blinking a few times as her vision slowly came back.

"What a charismatic quintet," said the woman, who was wearing bright red lipstick and staring at them. "But you"—she pointed at Olivia—"could've done something different." She rested her chin on her hand, looking the girl up and down as she studied her. "I don't know what it is, but something could be changed."

"Bite me," Olivia retorted nastily.

No one else uttered a single word, as Rita stood up straight, dropping her hands to her sides and humming in slight offense. She took a moment before she lifted her chin confidently and moved forward, coming closer to them. "Hello," she greeted them. A few more steps with her heels clicking against the floor, and then she stuck her hand out for Cedric to shake. "I'm Rita Skeeter," she introduced herself, moving onto Potter's hand. Then she took Krum's. "I write for The Daily Prophet."

Olivia rolled her eyes, knowing all too well what the woman wrote.

Rita grabbed onto Fleur's hand, shook it, and then harshly took Olivia's as the girl stared up at her with a bored gaze. The woman simply ignored the look, taking her hand back and waving both arms in the air like she had realized something and was being a fool with her words. "But of course you know that, don't you?" She smiled proudly. "It's you we don't know," she continued, gesturing towards the five of them and letting out a chuckle. "You're the juicy news." The blonde, whose hair reminded Olivia a lot of Draco's, placed her hand against Fleur's cheek. "What quirks lurk beneath those rosy cheeks?" She rubbed her thumb on the girl's pale skin, then smacked her face, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make Fleur flinch. She turned to Olivia, who still had her eyes trained on the woman. "What secrets lie behind those dead eyes?"

Olivia watched her hand move forward, coming closer to her face, so she swatted it away. "Don't touch me again."

Rita retracted her hand and moved to Cedric, rounding the side of Olivia. "What mysteries do the muscles mask?" She lifted her arm, using her hand to ruffle the Hufflepuff's hair. "Does courage lie beneath those curls?" The reporter dropped her arm, using both to grab onto Cedric and Potter as she stood between them. "In short, what makes a champion tick?"

Cedric looked down, giving Olivia a wide-eyed look that amused her.

"'Me, Myself, and I' want to know," Rita admitted, then dramatically leaned back. "Not to mention my rabid readers." She laughed, practically leaning her head on Cedric's shoulder as he gave Potter a horrified expression. She turned to the others, her smile no longer bright but now almost a smirk, like she was seeking gossip. "So, who's feeling up to sharing?"

No one answered, all slowly turning away from her.

"Shall we start with the youngest?" Her gaze was fixed on Potter. "Lovely." She grabbed his robes, not even giving him a moment to think as she pulled him away harshly.

The two disappeared into a broom cupboard a moment later, and Olivia let out a breath. It felt like forever that they were in there, as she just studied her nails boredly. She just wanted this to be over already. Then finally they exited, and Rita made her way back over to the remaining four. She grabbed Olivia's arm, dragging her up from her seat. "Come on, dear," she encouraged, pulling Olivia along with her to the cupboard like she had with Potter.

When they entered, it was a little crowded, and Olivia sat down on the window sill while Rita sat in front of her. "I will be using a Quick-Quote Quill, if you don't mind," the reporter told her, but didn't even give her a second to reply. "So, Olivia..." She paused, smiling. "Liv... Can I call you Liv?"

"No," Olivia replied, her tone flat.

Rita didn't let the response dampen her smile. "All right." She nodded, glancing over at her Quick-Quote Quill that was writing away while Olivia just glared at her. "Why is it that you've found yourself in this tournament as a mere thirteen-year-old?" She fell silent, still not giving Olivia enough of a window to respond. "Why did you enter this tournament? I should ask," Rita corrected herself. "Is it because you have a need to be hated among your peers, or are there some other reasons you hold close to your chest? Are there darker reasons you would want to be in a death trap?"

Olivia just inhaled, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other and her hands clasped on top of her knees with her eyes narrowed. "I didn't enter," she answered, her voice reminding her of Snape's due to its monotonousness. That was the only question she was going to answer. She was going to set the record straight, and that was it. "And I'm fourteen, almost fifteen."

"Oh, yes, of course you didn't." Rita nodded, giving her a knowing smile.

The woman didn't know anything.

"Do your parents approve? Are they supportive?" The blonde's brows were raised questioningly. "I've heard of your"—she paused, moving her head from side to side as if she were searching for the right word to use—"sparse relationship with them." Olivia felt her blood boiling, and her hands tightened around each other as she kept her focus on the woman sitting in front of her. "Is that getting better now that you're facing this feat?"

Olivia simply did not utter a word.

Rita's smile grew tighter, most likely becoming irritated with the girl's lack of cooperation. "Are you looking to uphold that nasty reputation you have? Or are you looking to win this tournament and finally get on everyone's good side?" she continued, her mouth moving but her words not even ringing in Olivia's ears.

The girl just breathed in and out, trying to keep calm as her gaze slid over to the working-hard quill, wondering what it was writing about her. Rita's voice and knowing looks fell from her mind as the woman went on and on, still asking questions with no answer. The quill just kept jotting away on the parchment, and Olivia felt her body heating with frustration.

She didn't even want to be in the bloody tournament in the first place. Yet there she was, in an interview with Rita Skeeter. A reporter for The Daily Prophet. A woman who spewed nothing but lies in her reports. And it was all because she had been forced into being a champion due to stupid rules and whomever placed her name forth. It made her so angry. So frustrated and upset. She wondered if Potter felt the same since he had been in the same sinking boat as her. Knowing him, Mr. Optimist, he would find the silver lining in all of it.

She hated that he could do that and she couldn't.

"'Olivia Mallard, the demon girl' as everyone calls you? Or 'Olivia Mallard, the Triwizard Tournament winner'? Which would you like to be?" asked Rita, snapping Olivia's focus back to her.

The girl's eyes were slightly wide and angry, annoyed with the questions. "Do you have any real questions for me? Or are you just going to continue to ask what I've heard all my life?" Well, she hadn't been asked about being a tournament winner or if her parents approved of her being in this death trap, but the idea was still the same. She did something that stepped over the line in the slightest, and people wondered if she was going to be disowned or cursed by her parents for it due to her 'sparse' relationship with them, as Rita Skeeter so poetically phrased it. Or if she was going to suddenly become an angel child.

Rita didn't have a response, and her quill had even stopped moving.

Olivia stood up hastily and began making her way back to the door. Then a thought came to her mind. She turned around, grabbing the quill that had picked up its writing, and snapped it in half while Rita stared at her with wide eyes, horrified. She tossed the two pieces of the broken quill at the woman, who just caught them against her chest with her mouth agape. The girl ignored the look and just faced the door again, exiting without another word.

She scrambled over to where her fellow champions stood and brushed past Cedric, grabbing her bag off the floor and ignoring the feeling of the others' gazes on her. She couldn't believe she had missed classes for something as ridiculous as a photoshoot and a stupid interview with an always-lying reporter.

She slung the strap of her bag onto her shoulder, rushing towards the door of the room they were in. Rita was standing in the doorway of the broom cupboard, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes following Olivia's movements from behind her square-rimmed glasses. Olivia's hand fell onto the handle, pulling the door open and walking out.

"Nasty attitude on that one," Olivia heard Rita mutter before slamming the door shut.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

Olivia was now in the Great Hall, not paying any mind to the snarky looks and snide remarks sent her way. They didn't matter—not the nastiness thrown at her or who was doing the throwing. When she first entered through the double doors, when the antics were at an all-time high, she'd acknowledged a few of them, mostly coming from Slytherin and Gryffindor, and the ones handing them out quickly went silent and looked away.

The only confidence they would ever have when dealing with her was when she wasn't facing them; other than that, they were scared little twats who shivered at her gaze. She knew this. They knew this.

Her friends sat with her, eating their lunch and talking amongst themselves, without a care in the world. She just pushed hers around with her fork and stayed silent, not in the mood for socializing. Some Durmstrang boys sat near them, mostly talking with Draco and Theodore, but Olivia didn't pay them attention, and they granted her the same. Her mind was running as she tried to calm it with deep inhales and exhales, and her body ached already, tense from stress.

She was focused on her plate when Snape came up behind her. "Olivia." The professor's voice caught her attention, causing her to slowly turn around and look at him over her right shoulder. She heard all of her friends fall silent, and she could feel their eyes on her. She just continued looking at the professor, who was staring down at her with a blank expression, per usual. "Dumbledore would like to see you in his office," he told her.

Her stomach formed a pit. "If this is about me breaking Rita Skeeter's quill and throwing it at her, she had it coming," she quickly defended herself as she swung her legs over the bench and stood, grabbing her bag from it.

Snape furrowed his brows in confusion. "What?"

"Nevermind," Olivia replied, not wanting him to ask more questions than necessary.

The man didn't push, probably not caring. And then he led her out of the Great Hall, as the eyes and whispers followed them. Their walk was silent, leaving time for Olivia's mind to race with the possibilities of whatever Dumbledore wanted to see her about.

Perhaps it was about what happened with Rita, but Snape just hadn't been told the details. Or perhaps it was about her first task in the tournament, and the Headmaster wanted to speak with each champion individually. Then Olivia thought better of that; she knew he'd probably want to tell them altogether or not at all to give them a little surprise and keep the suspense. She was sure that he would go with the latter, being the vague and secretive wizard he was. Perhaps it didn't have to do with either one of those things, which was a good chance but one that she didn't want to think about for too long, seeing as though she had no clue as to what it could be about.

She and Snape stopped in front of the Griffin statue, and the professor muttered the password, not loud enough for Olivia to hear. The statue began turning, revealing a spiral staircase, and then the two began climbing it, with the man in front of the girl. Once they were at the top, they walked down a short corridor, coming up to a familiar door. Snape knocked, and they heard Dumbledore inside say, "Come in," and so they did.

As Snape opened the door, the brightness of the headmaster's office caught Olivia's eye. She looked around, taking in the place she had only been a handful of times before her eyes drifted to why she was there. And that reason was not something—someone she wanted to see. Two someones, actually.

Her mother stood just in front of Dumbledore's desk, clearly angry with a scowl on her face, and her husband was by her side. She was clad in one of her usual long dresses that had sleeves that covered the length of her arms, bowed out at her wrists, and hung longer on one half than the other, covering her hands. Her dark, with a tint of red, hair was half-down, with an intricate braid holding the top half up and out of her face. Olivia's father, on the other hand, had his arms behind his back, his hands clasped together, and he was dressed in his usual attire—a white button-up shirt, a patterned tie, dark gray slacks with a matching suit jacket, and shiny black dress shoes. His hair was styled nicely as well. They were the perfect couple, but only on the outside.

Clodagh rushed over to Olivia with calculated steps before anyone could even say anything. She grabbed Olivia by the shoulders, leaning in closer. "Did you put your name in the blasted Goblet of Fire?" the woman asked, seething with anger.

Olivia pulled away from her, narrowing her eyes. "No. I didn't, mother," she retorted, lifting her chin and straightening her spine as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not bloody stupid."

"Debatable." The woman sighed, looking away from her daughter.

Raising her brows, Olivia took a step forward, dipping her head to catch her mother's eyes. "I beg your pardon?" Her tone was full of disbelief. The woman may have been her mother, but she had some nerves on her. Olivia was anything but stupid. Yes, she made some questionable choices and sometimes said things that she didn't mean, but she was not an idiot. "Look, I would trade places with anyone if I were able, but I'm not. I don't even plan on winning—it's a waste of my time."

"No. You will not slack in this, Olivia Katherine," her mother stated harshly, focusing back on the teenager in front of her. "Whether either of us like it or not, you were chosen for some reason, though the reason why and how your name got into the Goblet of Fire in the first place"—she sent sharp looks at Dumbledore and Snape before facing Olivia again—"is still unknown." She moved forward only slightly, her bright blue eyes boring into her daughter's. "You're a Mallard and an O'Shea by blood, and we do not give up or not put forth our utmost best. Meaning, neither will you."

Olivia scoffed, rolling her eyes as she looked to her left for a moment. Then she turned back to the woman. "So I have your vote of confidence, then?" She asked, raising her brows and dropping her arms to her sides.

"Sure," her mother clipped, not sounding completely truthful. She glanced back at Andrew, her husband, who just gave her a knowing look. Then she focused back on Olivia. "Don't disappoint us, daughter," she added, turning around before Olivia could even reply and going to the fireplace she had no doubt come from when she got to Hogwarts—it was the only way in and out of the castle. She lifted her hand, holding her floo powder in a small bag in the other, ready to dump a handful into it, but she seemed to hesitate for a moment.

Olivia sighed, ready for them to be gone.

Meeting her gaze, Olivia's mother asked, "Are you still friends with the Malfoy boy?"

Olivia felt her face heat at the mention of Draco, and she wanted to curse herself for the feeling and for letting her mother catch her off guard. "Yes," she answered slowly, glancing at Snape. The man's blank expression did not falter, but she swore if he had told her mother anything about her and Draco's friendship, she'd lose it on him. "Why? What does he have to do with anything?" She focused back on the woman and crossed her arms again, almost protectively of herself, narrowing her eyes.

Clodagh rolled her eyes. "If you won't stop being friends with him, at least keep it strictly that, nothing more," she instructed her, seeming disgusted by the other options of what the two could be. "I will know if it becomes something... more." Her lips curled like she smelled something rancid.

Olivia could've sworn they'd already had this conversation before... Oh, wait, they had!

"I hadn't planned on it becoming anything more anyway," Olivia said. Was it the truth? She couldn't give a definitive answer to that question, not knowing the truth herself. She, about two or more years prior, would've been able to give an absolute yes, but now... she didn't know.

"Good." Her mother nodded.

"And what about my studies?" Olivia threw her arms up. "You don't want me losing my perfect marks now, do you, mother?" She asked, her voice full of arrogance, knowing that her mother was all about appearances. That much had been clear to her from the first time she could walk. "However, am I supposed to focus on this tournament and still keep up with having the highest marks?"

"I'm sure you'll manage," Clodagh countered. "Remember to be the best."

Olivia wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to curse the woman. She wanted to tell her that she wasn't going to listen to her. She wanted to be able to tell her that she didn't believe she could do it without being ridiculed. But that wasn't how the great Clodagh Eileen O'Shea (Mallard) was, and she knew she never would be. "Yes, mother," Olivia clipped.

And with that, Olivia watched as her parents stepped into the fireplace. Her mother threw the green powder down on the bottom of it as she said "Mallard Manor," and they disappeared into the green flames. She turned around without wasting another second. Snape said her name, reaching to grab her arm, but she dodged him and made her way to the door. Opening it, exiting, and closing it behind her, Olivia was back in the corridor. She quickly made her way down the spiral staircase, down the corridors, and to the courtyard, where she was hoping her friends were.

And her hopes were granted.

She stopped beside one of the columns, leaning against it with her arms crossed. Her eyes fell on her friends, sitting and chatting beneath the tree they always sat under when they were out there. It was the tree they had been sitting under when she and Daphne had their little spat, and her old roommate decided to walk away from the group. But her gaze was trained specifically on the blonde boy she was confused about—the one that made her confused. He was laughing, his face bright with a smile.

In that moment, she'd realized she liked it when he smiled. Not his typical smug smirk or teasing grin, but the smile he had on his face now. The one that lit up his face and softened his features. His eyes even looked less gray and a little more blue. It made her heart beat faster, and her cheeks grew warmer as a small smile of her own curled at the corners of her lips.

The smile died just as quickly as it came, though, and she stood up straight at the realization of his effects on her, inhaling deeply. After a long second, she began walking towards them, pulling the strap of her bag tighter on her shoulder. She sat down beside Draco as everyone focused on her.

"Hey, are you all right?" Pansy asked, a grin still on her face from where she had been laughing like Draco.

Olivia's mouth curled into a smaller version of the gesture on her friend's face, placing her bag beside her. Her eyes found Draco's for a moment, seeing him staring at her curiously before she focused on her best friend again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She was fine.

≀⋆⁺₊⋆ ꗃ 𖦹⨳✺

━━━━ ella's speaking !
14.4K reads?? omg, thank you !!

olivia >> clodagh and rita

make sure to comment and vote 🫶🏻

kisses.

━━━━━━━━━━ born to die,
© -LOSTGARDENS,        mar 2024

word count: 4201.   written: 3.3-6.24.   published: 3.28.24.