The Things We Never Say

THE THINGS WE NEVER SAY

Against Better Judgment

Chapter Two

Draco scowls down at a cowering first year as he walks along a corridor toward the great hall. It's time for the last meal of the day but he isn't hungry. His mind isn't on food. It's somewhere completely different. Up ahead, laughing and talking with her friends, is someone who causes the lines to deepen around his frowning mouth. His lip turns up in disgust. The odd thing is, he is more disgusted with himself than he is with her. He feels uncertain with himself lately. He finds he second guesses almost everything he feels and knows.

One thing he knows is that he hates her. There are so many different things he hates about her. He hates the way she always receives higher marks than him. He hates the way she answers every question thrown her way without hesitation. He hates the fact that she was sorted into Gryffindor. He hates her friends. He hates that she's a Mudblood.

He hates the way she rests her chin on her hand when she's weary. He hates the way she throws her head back and laughs, and he can hear it no matter how far away he is. He hates the way she smiles when she's being playful with her friends. He hates the way he thinks of her at night before he shuts his eyes no matter how hard he tries not to. He hates the way he dreams of kissing her in the dark. But most of all, he hates that he knows and feels all of these things.

He enters the great hall and walks toward the Slytherin table. Pansy is talking about something, but he can't focus on her high-pitch dribble. He's angry. Granger ruins everything, he thinks as he sits down beside Goyle. His plate is filled with food, and he never asks for this. The younger Slytherins cater to him, and tonight it pisses him off. He is never in want of anything. He gets everything he asks for. Then, why does he feel the particular question of, can I have her, on the tip of his tongue? He wants to bite it off for unconsciously forming the words inside his mouth.

"Something wrong, Draco?" Pansy asks, her voice burning through his thoughts like acid.

"No," he mutters. Without meaning to, he looks up and across the crowded hall. Somehow every head in the great hall is positioned just so. How unbelievably annoying. He can see her perfectly. He mumbles a curse and looks away. After all, it makes him nauseated to see her smiling.

Like the pull of an invisible force that doesn't give a damn what he wants, Draco looks up again. She is there, so very far away, and smiling. He can't stop watching. He can tell she doesn't care for the particular dessert of choice tonight by the way she turns up her nose. The smile on her face reminds him of a happy child--not that he ever knew one, but he can imagine. He wonders what has her smiling so often. Is it Weasley's idiocy? Perhaps it's Potter's "Hero of the known world" charm. Thinking of her friends irritates him. He wants to look away from her, but he can't. He no longer has control over his wants...unless of course some part of him wants to sit and watch her, to study her.

In an incredibly shocking second, she looks up and their eyes meet. She looks unaffected. He can feel his eyes widen, and in a moment of madness he wants to grab Pansy's arm and ask, "What expression is on my face?" He hopes it's a look of apathy. With her all-knowing eyes watching him, he still cannot look away, and he finds it strange that she doesn't turn away either. He wonders what she's thinking, why he even cares, and then after a series of rapidly changing memories, he thinks of the kiss. He licks his lips. This causes her to look away, and the moment is lost.

* * * *

The sun is high in the afternoon sky when the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor--a woman named Tonks that Draco has a strong aversion to--decides to hold the lesson outdoors. The heat isn't unbearable, and there is a nice breeze blowing across the grounds, but Draco is irritated. He can't stand how happy and alive the Gryffindors look in the sunlight. He glances around at the Slytherins, who all look misplaced in such a bright cheery atmosphere. He feels sullen and wishes he were back in the dungeons where it is dark and no one notices if he's watching Granger.

The day's lesson covers hexes and the importance of knowing how to properly cast a few specific ones. Draco becomes bored. He knows how to cast every single hex the professor goes on and on about, and he smiles. He knows how to cast other things as well.

When casting begins, students stand in front of mounds of pillows conjured by the professor. Pansy waits across from him with her eyes nervous. She knows how proficient Draco is with hexes.

"Okay, you can begin," the professor says.

Draco points his wand at Pansy and throws the first hex. Her legs collapse beneath her, and she crashes down onto the pillows where her arms proceed to flail around until he performs the countercurse. She stands slowly to her feet, but Draco isn't watching her. He is looking through the couples and finds Granger.

She is standing across from Weasley, grinning. Before he realizes what he's doing, he pulls his wand up and speaks a hex. It flies across the grass and hits Granger square in the chest. Ron shouts in shock and rushes to her side; Draco smirks. Granger falls over backwards, her eyes open and staring.

"What happened?" the professor says, rushing to Ron's side.

"Someone must have lousy aim," he says, helping Granger to her feet.

The professor stands up and looks around. "Everyone please be careful when you are aiming your hexes. Are you okay, Hermione?" she asks.

Draco is still watching this scene play out when he sees Granger nod and then look over at him. He is too surprised to look away. The expression on her face isn't anger; it looks more like the face his father always reserves for him--disappointment. Something rolls in the pit of his stomach. He realizes she knows he threw the hex in her direction, and he doesn't know why she doesn't tell someone...Weasley, Potter, anyone...but she says nothing. And in an odd transition, he thinks of kissing her angry mouth. This causes him to scowl and turn back to Pansy, holding up his wand as he hexes her without warning.

* * * *

Day after day passes and still Draco is unable to push the memory of a kiss he shared with someone he passionately hates out of his mind. He finds it irritating that he stares at the back of her head in lessons and wishes she would turn around, but she never does. Not only does she not make eye contact with him ever, she also goes out of her way not to speak to him--not even when he provokes her. She simply walks away. And it makes him so angry because he wants her to say something. He wants to hear her tell him how horrible he is. He wants her to say anything, but she doesn't. So, he only thinks of her more.

He feels a deep sense of shame at the knowledge that his lips came in contact with someone who has dirty, tainted blood. He wonders if the shame he feels should be more severe, because he didn't hate it. No matter how hard he tries, when he remembers the kiss, he can't make himself hate it. He also can't forget it.

This is what he is thinking of one night when he is wandering the halls of Hogwarts. He is supposed to be making rounds, checking for out of bed students, but none of those things cross his mind as he walks. The steady click of his expensive shoes on the cold stones creates a rhythm his body slips into as he wanders. This walking rhythm does not cease until he unexpectedly rounds a corner and finds he is standing at a dead end, and he is not alone.

He has stared at the back of her head so many times now that she doesn't even need to turn around for him to know who is standing before him. It's Granger.

* * * *

She is standing in front of a window. Her wand hangs loosely in her right hand, dangling at her side; her left hand is around her upper arm. He stops walking and stands in the silence. He is surprised when she speaks.

"This hall is clear, Malfoy," she says his name, and he can hear the bitterness on her tongue. But he frowns, and a question forms in his mind.

"How--"

She interrupts, "How did I know it was you?" She chuckles and even to Draco's numb ears, he can hear the hollow tone it holds. An uneasiness forms in his stomach--Granger isn't supposed to have hollow laughter. It reminds him of a winter wind blowing across his face when he is already frozen. He begins to say something, but she does not give him time to reply. Perhaps she doesn't care what he has to say. "No one else in Hogwarts wears expensive Italian shoes but you."

Draco ponders her answer for a whole minute, wondering how someone like Granger would know what expensive Italian shoes sound like when hitting the ground, and he is briefly impressed. He looks down at his black leather shoes before speaking. "I suppose it's hard to see others with so much more than you've ever had. I can imagine you've never known anyone with such fine taste," he begins to say, pompously, while boosting his already inflated ego.

She doesn't turn around when she responds to his acrid tone, and he is thankful he can't see the expression on her face. "On the contrary, my grandfather wore the very same shoes. I merely think it's a shame that someone as petulant as you should remind me of someone so wonderful."

Draco is taken aback. He has never associated Granger with anything to do with families. He has always thought of her as something less than human, but now he is forced to view her differently, and he doesn't like it at all. While he stands there, staring at the back of her head, he wants to say something but he can't think of the proper words.

When she turns around and crosses her arms over her chest, the expression on her face isn't of hate; it looks more like weariness to Draco. "This hallway is clear, Malfoy. There is no need for you to hang around." Even her voice is full of fatigue. He wonders how he didn't notice it before, and part of him misses the fire he knows is absent. She watches him, and Draco can't understand why he doesn't turn away and leave. He finds he can't move his expensive Italian shoes a single inch in a backwards direction.

She drops her arms by her sides and tilts her head slightly to the right. He feels like she is peering into his mind, and he frantically wonders if she has that particular skill. He tries to shut out all thoughts of her, but in his panic he immediately thinks of kissing her.

Hermione frowns up at him. "Malfoy? Why are you still here? Don't you have others hallways to patrol?"

He looks away from her and gazes over her head at the view out of the window behind her. When he looks back down at her face, she is watching him curiously. "You don't speak to me anymore."

He isn't surprised to see her expression turn to one of shock. Her mouth opens slightly, and he can tell she is processing his words very, very carefully, looking for anything suspicious.

"What?" she asks.

"You don't speak to me anymore," he repeats and feels unsure of why he chose those particular words.

"Malfoy," she says, and her voice sounds hollow again, "we never spoke. As for words passing between us, I merely grew tired of wasting any energy at all on you. In fact, I have no idea why I'm bothering to now."

Draco watches her as she moves past him, and suddenly he doesn't want her to leave. He says the only words that he knows will halt her departure completely. "What about the east tower?"

She stops walking, and he can see her back stiffen in response. She doesn't turn around. He assumes it's because she is afraid of what she will see in his eyes. He can only imagine she thinks he is baiting her for something dreadful.

"What?" she whispers.

"The east tower," he repeats and begins to feel his throat tighten uncomfortably. "What happened that night?" He is amazed at how quiet his voice sounds in the stillness. He feels anxious, and he wonders why he cares what she thinks.

He watches her turn around slowly. Her wand is held tightly in her right hand, and he knows she is prepared for any surprise attack. But Draco doesn't want to attack her--not in the way she suspects. She begins to shake her head.

"I-I don't know," she says apprehensively. Her knuckles are white from her tight grip on her wand.

Draco takes a step closer to her, and she pulls her wand up, creating a barrier between them.

"Are you going to hex me?" he smirks.

"If I have to," she replies seriously.

"I don't want to hurt you, Granger. I only want to know what happened that night."

He takes two long strides in her direction, and stands in front of her. Her wand is pressing painfully into his chest, but he doesn't care.

"You're practically a man, Malfoy. I think you can figure it out. It was a mistake...a simple, disgusting, complete lapse in judgment--"

He reaches out and grabs her upper arm; she is startled by this, and lowers her wand. He is surprised to feel how cold her skin is and how it suddenly reminds him of his mother. He had never thought of Granger as cold, but he thinks there are many things about her he doesn't know. She stops talking and looks up at him; he sees the nervousness in her eyes. He knows it is very, very rare to witness Granger unprepared.

"What are you doing?" she whispers, and the words fall from her lips like an escaping breath.

But Draco doesn't answer. He doesn't know what he is doing. He can feel her cold skin warming beneath his hand, and he can't stop imagining her lips against his. He looks down into her eyes, and she has the expression of a trapped animal that knows what awaits around the corner. Then, he feels disgust expanding in his chest. What right does she have to look at him that way? No other women ever look at him with such a face, and he can't understand why he is still holding her so gently.

He squeezes his fingers tighter around her arm, and she winces. "I hate you," he finally whispers.

She nods her head slowly. "I know," she replies. She reaches up and tries to pull his fingers off of her arm; he is hurting her, and he knows this. When she is unsuccessful, she looks up at Draco and sighs heavily. "I'm tired."

Draco can hear the exhaustion and defeat in her voice. He loosens his fingers, and her face softens slightly. With another intake of breath, her shoulders sag, and she hangs her head. Draco feels powerful, and yet awkward. He is holding Hermione Granger's arm in his hand, she is not fighting against him, and even more so, she is submitting to him.

In a burst of honestly he whispers, "I am tired of thinking of you." She nods her head but says nothing. "I am tired of thinking about what happened in the east tower. It disgusts me, and shames me." Again she nods her head, but she then looks up at him.

Without another thought, while staring into her weary eyes, he leans down and puts his lips against hers. He knows she is surprised, but not shocked. He knows this because within the first five seconds of the kiss, she puts her hands on his chest--a sure sign she wasn't completely sideswiped by his actions.

Draco deepens the kiss and instantly remembers the sweet taste of her mouth. She moves her hands slowly and easily against his chest. It arouses him just as it did before, if not more so. When he pulls her body against his, she doesn't object, and he thinks she accepts it willingly.

He isn't sure how long the kiss lasts, but it seems to last too long. When she pulls away to end the kiss, he immediately thinks it didn't last long enough.

With her small hands on his chest, she backs away from him before dropping her hands. He watches her in the silence. He feels as if she wants to say something, but she takes one last look at him, turns away and says nothing. He almost wishes she had said something because now he knows his thoughts of her will only multiply.

As he makes his way back to the dungeons where his empty bed waits for him, he listens to the sound of his expensive Italian shoes click against the floor, and curses. Now he can't even listen to his own damn footsteps without thinking of her...as if she hadn't penetrated enough areas of his mind already.