The Things We Never Say

THE THINGS WE NEVER SAY

Closing Doors

Chapter Six

Things have definitely changed, Draco thinks as he lies on his bed, staring up at his canopy. He is surprised that he doesn't hate the changes. After all, he knows he should, but he doesn't. Instead they make him smile--and very few things have ever made Draco Malfoy smile.

He lies awake while the sounds of sleep slip underneath the curtains surrounding the other beds in his dormitory. He thinks of Hermione because he can think of nothing else.

He rolls onto his side and frowns as a particular word eases its way into his mind--love. It's merely a word, but somehow now when he hears it echoing through his head, it feels like more...more than a word, more than a feeling, more than he's ever known.

He quickly wonders if his father has felt something akin to love, something akin to a warming of the chest, a tightening of the throat, a lightness of the head...or simply a sincere smile--one not brought about by wickedness, but one created from love. He briefly thinks about asking his father, and then immediately laughs. How completely absurd. He can hear the conversation in his mind...

"Father, have you ever been in love?" Draco would ask.

"In what?" his father would reply, looking at him with an expression of absolute disgust.

"In love, Father."

"Never heard of it," his father would say, because that would be the honest truth...

Draco rolls onto his back and begins to stare at his canopy once more. Maybe he isn't experiencing feelings of love. Perhaps it is just the pumpkin pie from dinner--that stuff always irritates his stomach. But even if it is dessert, it doesn't explain why he feels excited to see Hermione the following night. He knows she'll leave the door open for him again, and then he smirks. He doesn't believe Hermione will ever close that door...there is an unmistakable attraction between them...even he can no longer deny that.

* * * *

Draco stands in front of the door. Hermione has left it cracked open for him, and the light from inside spills out into the deserted hallway and across his expensive Italian shoes. He smirks as he pushes open the door.

She is bent over a large tome with a quill scratching quickly down on a piece of parchment. Her hair hides most of her face, but he can practically see the lines of concentration across her forehead. His smirk flips to a smile. It amuses him how she can be so involved with her studies that she doesn't even know he's pushed open the door. But sometimes she surprises him.

"Are you going to stand there all night and stare at me or sit down and do a bit of studying of your own? I happen to know your last Potions mark was a little shy of perfect."

She looks up at him, and there is a smirk pulling her lips in amusement. He is momentarily shocked to see such an expression on her face, but for some unknown reason it makes his smile widen. She's making a joke, and he wants to laugh, but he remains cool.

He shrugs, and his smile dims. "I might just stand here all night."

She laughs lightly and looks back down at the open book in front of her. "Suit yourself. I brought you some pumpkin pastries," she says and points her finger lazily down to the end of the table.

Draco's smile fades. His eyes move down to the silver plate filled with a couple pumpkin pastries. He instantly feels his chest begin to warm, and it spreads through his body.

"How did you know?" he asks quietly.

Hermione lifts her quill from the parchment and glances up at him. His eyes are searching, and she smiles warmly at him. He can see a slight blush creep into her cheeks.

"I...I thought you liked them," she says, and he can tell she looks a little embarrassed or insecure--he isn't exactly sure.

"I do," he admits, "they're my favorite."

"Oh, well, that's good then, right?" she asks shyly before looking back down at her books. He knows she has the habit of burying herself in knowledge when she has difficulties with people.

He walks around the table and sits down next to her. He knows she's trying to focus on her homework, but he knows she's not really reading the words, merely trying to look busy.

He reaches out his hand before thinking it through and places it on hers which is resting on the faded page of the book. She looks up at him suddenly, as if his hand is burning her skin. He smiles slowly and sincerely.

"Thanks."

She looks away from his serious gaze, and her cheeks flush again. This causes him to want to pull her into his arms, but he doesn't. Not yet.

"You're welcome," she says quietly.

He looks away from her long enough to pull out his homework and open his book. As he stares down at the pages, he can't stop thinking about her simple gesture of kindness. He can't remember anyone ever doing something for him out of kindness. It was so simple, too--so simple and so full of meaning.

He sits a while longer, trying to concentrate on his homework, but he can't. He keeps thinking of her--innocent eyed and childlike in her knowledge of his particular favorite sweet. Soon, he looks away from his book and reaches out to her, sliding his hand through her hair.

Her body visibly stiffens and then relaxes, but she doesn't look over at him. Her eyes close slowly as his hand slides down her neck and onto her back. He can hear the deep intake of her breath followed by one long sigh.

"I've got homework to finish," she says.

Draco's lips curl up in a knowing smirk. "You always have homework to finish, but is it really necessary to finish things that aren't due until Christmas?"

She cuts her eyes over at him, and he knows she sees the laughter in his eyes. She smiles in response.

"It's not due at Christmas," she begins, "only just before."

And Draco laughs. He doesn't know why, but it rolls out of him too quickly to restrain, and she looks startled. Then, she reaches out and places a hand on his arm. When he looks at her, she is laughing lightly--perhaps from seeing his own reckless enjoyment. His eyes turn serious.

"Can you postpone it for a night?" he asks as his insides fill with desire, which is mixing so well with happiness.

"Oh, well, I...I really shouldn't..." she stutters, and Draco leans forward.

He can tell she knows she should continue her work, but he also can tell she wants to take a break, spend some time with him. He likes having control of the situation. He likes how Hermione is bending to him--all she needs is a little push and she folds quite nicely into him.

"How about a minute? Surely you can spare one single minute," he whispers, but his hand is already snaking back up into her hair, and her eyes are closing again.

When he leans down and kisses her neck lightly, a shaky breath slips from her lips. "Maybe just a minute," she whispers, and Draco smirks again. She's giving in to him, and he likes it.

Without warning, he takes her mouth with his own, and she reacts quickly, burying her hands in his hair, clutching at his robes. His desire multiplies knowing she wants him just as badly.

Soon, Draco lifts her onto the table, and they kiss in a heated, unstoppable manner that has his breath catching in his throat and his head dizzy and drunken.

She pushes him away with shaky hands before their actions can progress any further. He can see the uncertainty and nervousness mingling with desire in her deep brown eyes. He takes a step back and bites his teeth down hard. He'd like nothing more than to take her right there on the table, but he knows she's not ready--so he waits.

"Worked up an appetite," he says as he walks away toward the end of the table. "Want one?" he asks over his shoulder.

She is buttoning up her blouse and pulling her robes back on. Her cheeks are flushed, and he has to look away lest he walk back over and continue what he started.

"Sure," she says quietly.

He lifts the plate and sits it down on the table in front of her. She picks up the pumpkin pastry and smiles.

"I love these," she says, glancing over at him.

"Yeah? So we do have something in common. How surprising," he comments dryly, but his voice is light, and it stretches the smile across her face.

They eat the pastries, and she studies a bit more before the yawning begins. He's halfway through an Arithmancy problem when he hears her sleepy yawn. He looks over at her.

"Getting tired?"
"A little. I think I'll call it a night," she says, and she begins to pack her things.

He closes his book and leans back to stretch. He assumes it's a little after nine, and he still wants to get outside to practice his flying. She stands up and walks behind his chair. Before she can get around the table, he's up and pulling her close to him.

He kisses her again, and she gasps in surprise. He holds her with one hand on her neck and another on the small of her back; he loves the way she melts into him, the way she drops her every defense and opens up to him.

He breaks their connection and looks into her eyes; they are smoky and a little sleepy.

"You taste sweet," he says, and she blushes.

"It's the pastries," she mumbles as she steps away from him and picks her bag up from the table. "Goodnight."

"Night," he responds as he watches her leave their study room. When he's alone, he smiles. He wanted to tell her that she always tastes sweet and that he loves it, but he can't say such things to her. What would she think? She'd probably think she had some control over him, and that was completely unacceptable.

* * * *

Their nightly rituals of studying and kissing and studying and kissing continue for weeks. And every night he looks forward to it--the rare occasions when they cannot meet for whatever reason always leave him sullen and ornery, snapping at the younger years or verbally abusing anyone in his path. Still he does not know his feelings for what they truly are. Still he denies the truth.

Then, one night on his way to their study room, he takes bottled Butterbeers out of his secret stash and hides them beneath his robes. Upon entering the room, he sees her in her usual position...bent over a parchment, writing.

She glances up and gives him a distracted smile before continuing to work. He pulls the bottles out of his robes and places them down on the table in front of her, and when they clink against the wooden top, she looks up again.

"Butterbeer?" she asks in surprise. She lays down her quill and reaches for one. "Do you know how much I love this stuff?"

He shrugs his shoulders and looks away from her questioning glance because there's something else rising to the surface in her eyes. "Who doesn't like Butterbeer?" he asks, but he does know how much she loves it. He's heard her say it to someone else before, and he remembered--doesn't know why--but he remembered. Now he's glad he did because she's looking at him in a different way, and it's making his stomach feel strange and light.

"Well, thanks. This is a nice surprise," she says, opening the top and drinking.

Nice? Draco hears the word over and over again in his head. Has anyone ever called him nice before? Surely not. It makes him feel odd inside--uncomfortable and unsure, but she's still smiling, and her smile slightly smoothes down the rising edges of his unease.

For the remainder of the evening, as Hermione works through her essays and problems, Draco makes the attempt of looking busy. But the only thing that's busy about him is his mind. Without thinking about it earlier, he realizes that he brought something for Hermione out of kindness and because it was nice. And he's not sure how that makes him feel--he's partly comforted by the new feelings inside him, and then there is a part of him that's screaming in...fear? He shakes his head.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asks, and he looks over at her. He can see the worry in her eyes.

"Nothing. I don't feel like studying anymore tonight. I think I'll go," he says, and the worry in her eyes only intensifies as he stands up abruptly, but he has to go. He needs to get away from her so he can think clearly.

When he gets to the door, he turns and looks at her. She's still sitting down at the table, looking up at him with a searching gaze. He wants to say something, to tell her what's going through his mind, but he can't. He doesn't even know how. So, he says nothing, and he leaves.

On his way back to his common room in the dungeons, Pansy steps out of the shadows, possibly out of a classroom--he can't tell, and he doesn't much care.

"Draco," she purrs in a voice that she thinks sounds like something sweet and delicious. He thinks it sounds like something slimy or sticky.

"Pansy," he responds but does not quit walking.

She slips into a quick pace beside him, and he frowns. "People are beginning to talk," she says.

"People always talk," he answers in annoyance.

"People are beginning to talk about you."

"People are always talking about me." His voice sounds pompous, but he is arrogant, so it can be expected.

"They're saying that it's not like you to spend all your time with just one girl. They're saying you're becoming soft and possibly being controlled by a girl. It isn't right--"
"What are you talking about? One girl?" Draco asks as he stops walking immediately. His throat feels tight, and his mouth is dry.

"Well, you're gone every night and some are saying that they've seen you come back into the common room...smiling. They say it's over a girl."
Draco shakes his head in irritation and continues walking. "I'm not spending all my time with one girl." But as soon as the words leave his lips, the lie strikes him funny in the chest. He was spending all his time with one girl. One girl in particular who would make the entire house of Slytherin scream in disgust or horror--either would have been understandable.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Don't question me, Pansy. Of course, I'm sure. You can tell whoever is talking about me, they best keep their lies to themselves. I am not going soft, and there will never be a girl who can control me. You tell them that," he says, and his voice is angrier than necessary. He knows it's because their words are the truth. He is going soft--he'd taken Hermione Butterbeer, for Merlin's sake. He was angry with himself. How had he left it happen?

"Oh great!" Pansy says excitedly as she grips his arm in her hand. "I just knew they didn't know what they were talking about. And there is the most gorgeous Slytherin fifth year who has been pining over you for weeks. I know she would absolutely love a chance to spend some time with you..."

Pansy's voice goes on and on as they walk toward the common room, but he doesn't hear any more of her words. His mind is angry and clouded. He thinks of Hermione and then pushes thoughts of her away. He knows he's allowed their time together to get a hold on him, and he doesn't like it. He's been so sure that he's had control of the situation, but he isn't so sure. And there's only one way to take back the power--spend some time with someone else...or a bunch of someones.

* * * *

The following afternoon as Draco is walking around the lake, a fifth year Slytherin with long black hair--who's name he can't exactly remember--is holding onto his arm tightly and laughing ridiculously loud.

The air is cool and crisp and he's preparing to take her back inside when she shifts the conversation.

"Draco," she says, quieting her voice and speaking in a hushed seductive manner, "all my roommates are going to be studying for Flitwick's test in the library this afternoon. Would you like to come back to my room?"

Draco's eyes widen briefly. "I can't get into the girls' dorms."

She smiles and then presses her hands against his chest as she leans into him. "Oh, I know you can get around that. You've done it before."

And he had. He didn't know why he was so hesitant to go back to her room with her. She was an attractive girl, and she obviously was willing to give him anything he wanted. An image of Hermione flies into his mind, and it irritates him immediately. So, he pulls the young girl closer to him in a rough manner. She giggles, and he begins to kiss her forcefully. He can't let one girl--one Gryffindor girl--get the best of him. He can't let that have control over his life, over his feelings. He kisses her harder, holding her arms tightly in his hands.

"Get a room Malfoy before you make the rest of us vomit."

Draco pulls away and looks into the sickened face of Weasley. But Weasley isn't alone. He's flanked by Potter...and Hermione.

Her cheeks are rosy from the cold air, and there's snow on her robes. It's obvious she's been outside spending the afternoon having innocent enjoyment with her friends. It would look like the perfect picture of wintertime fun if her eyes weren't pooling with tears she was desperately trying to hide from her two best friends.

"This is disgusting," she manages to say before turning quickly on her heel and walking away. Potter and Weasley follow close behind, and Draco is left behind with a fifth year Slytherin whose name he can't even remember.

* * * *

Later that evening, Draco is sitting on the fifth year's bed. She's getting dressed and talking animatedly about his Quidditch skills before they leave for dinner in the Great Hall.

"Could you throw me my pants?" he asks blandly, and she giggles while she tosses them to him.

When she walks over and encircles her arms around his neck and kisses his mouth again, he wants to push her to the floor and leave, but he has an image to uphold.

He pulls on his pants and his shirt. He gets dressed as quickly as possible; he only wants to leave.

"I'm going to head on to dinner," he says, and she looks disappointed as she continues to fix her hair.

"Oh, okay. Well...I'll see you later then," she says as her cherry red lips begin to pout.

"Sure," he says as he pulls open her door and disappears down the stairs.

On his way to the Great Hall, he can only think of Hermione. Thinking of the girl upstairs smiling in the Slytherin's fifth year dorms makes his skin crawl as if a thousand tiny snakes are beneath his skin.

As he sits down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, he glances in the direction of the Gryffindors. Potter and Weasley are there, but Hermione isn't. And as he attempts to eat his meal, he notices that she never arrives.

He forfeits dessert and makes his way to their study room. Perhaps she's studying especially hard for a test or working overtime on an essay. Walking down the deserted study hallway, he can see the yellowish light seeping underneath the door, and some of the tension eases from his body. She's only been studying; he should have known she would be there. Was he worried? Surely not.

But when he stands in front of the door to their study room, the tension returns to his shoulders, to his face. The door is closed. Perhaps a simple mistake on her part. He reaches for the knob; it only turns partially in his hand because it's locked. Perhaps a simple precautionary measure on her part. He pulls out his wand and casts an unlocking spell. Nothing happens. Not only is the door locked, but it's been magically locked.

Draco steps back and stares in the dark silence. A large portion of arrogance flees his body and is replaced by a sinking feeling. He realizes that sometimes words don't even have to be spoken.

Hermione has closed the door. That, in itself, speaks to him very clearly.