Words of the Heart

This was a pinch hit inspired by another wonderful work of art from one of my fave artists. It just moved me. Its over at Hawthorn & Vine and its entitled "Closed Door" by Leopion. First, I love anything Leopion does and jumped at the chance to write a fic inspired by her amazing work. I hope you enjoy this. I was fascinated by a bracelet on Draco’s arm and the rest came from there. The title of the fic is taken from a James Earl Jones quote: “One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter.” I feel that sums up this couple, the art and this story perfectly.

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The door slams so hard; it rattles the picture frames on the walls.

He chuckles quietly to himself. Draco Malfoy loves annoying Hermione Granger more than anything.

The self-righteous little swot is his Ministry-appointed officer. Once a week, for a year, she comes to his office for a meeting. She inspects the Ministry-appointed silver bracelet that encircles his wrist. Apparently, the Granger-created device tracks dark magic and other prohibited spells. It is attune to his body’s special brand of magic and, somehow, just knows if any prohibited spells are cast.

Draco imagines she must be flustered at never detecting anything amiss. It is a year, and nothing. He only need endure this for three more months and he is a free man.

Firmly, he puts Hermione Granger from his mind and gets back to work. He runs Malfoy Industries and there are responsibilities and duties weighing heavily on his shoulders. Someday soon, he will be free of this intrusion.

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The door rattles as she pulls it with some extra force for maximum impact.

The nerve of the low-life, idiotic, pureblood git. Telling her she has no business meddling in his life. This is her job to check on reformed – or so it is believed – Death Eaters. It is her job to ensure they live up to the code of conduct they swear to uphold in exchange for remaining Azkaban-free.

It baffles her to try and understand how Draco Malfoy continues to live in luxury, works at a job he enjoys and traipses through life, seemingly, with no thought to his choices and actions. She suspects nothing pierces that icy exterior.

Soon, she thinks to herself, soon she will be free of these mandated visits.

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The hinges creak loudly as she exits in a puff of curls and unintelligible mutterings underneath her breath.

Draco grins broadly. One month down. Two to go.

Granger tries to maintain an aloof demeanor but his quips rile her by the end. Were he a more honest man, he would admit he enjoys her visits. But he is not quite so introspective, nor does he wish to dwell on the knots that twist his stomach the day before her visits. He ignores the strange tingles caressing his skin at the mere sight of the once gangly witch now transformed into a delicate, lovely woman.

Draco forces his attention back to the documents that are quite important. He snorts; certain Hermione Granger does not give him a second thought.

He is wrong.

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The door jamb sticks when she exits his office.

She finds nothing, again. Were she sincere with herself, she would admit it does not come as a surprise.

Draco Malfoy is more than reformed. She knows his story well: forced to plot against Dumbledore, flees the scene unable to commit the act and runs to the Order seeking sanctuary. He is given a haven and, under Remus Lupin’s tutelage, becomes a double agent. She knows these visits are merely a façade meant to protect his role in the war.

A ruse. A lie.

It is similar to what she tells herself in the night, when she lies awake fighting the warmth flushing her body at the thought of him. Clandestine caresses, whispered wishes and denied desire – she alone knows these feelings, intimately. She confides in no one. Instead, in a most un-Gryffindor-like manner, she ignores the truth.

She laughs at the insanity of the situation. She mentally bats away at the fantasies her mind insists on creating. Draco Malfoy would never be interested in her. Best to stay the course.

She could not be more wrong.

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The door bangs against the wall, nearly coming off the frame, and swings a bit before settling.

Draco rises from his desk, smirking. He shuts the door gently, asking his secretary to not disturb him for the remainder of the day.

Today’s visit with Granger is worth its weight in all his vaults at Gringott’s. His retorts actually cause her hair to stand on end. He is fascinated by the absurdness of their banter, and its result. He is fascinated by the way her pupils dilate in passionate anger. He is fascinated the way her bosom rises and falls in fury. He is fascinated by the rouge blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. He wonders if it covers her entire body.

He continues to twirl his quill round his fingers, deep in thought.

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She uses her wand to ‘Alohmora’ the door, and pays no mind if it shuts behind her.

Marching and mumbling about ways to ‘slice ferrets’, she catches herself and wonders if she will be able to make it through the last month. He is an unbearable arse who enjoys taunting her. This is a game to him. She vows to not allow him to rankle her further. Just one last appointment and then she will no longer endure his company. She need not see him again, should she so choose.

Yes, never. Never again.

She stops to ponder and, absentmindedly, twirls her hair, which is no longer standing on end.

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The door clicks shut, very softly.

The silence is stifling and Draco cannot breathe. This is their last meeting. Merlin, he cannot breathe. Did he actually say what he . . . yes, he did. Bile rises in his throat; his stomach churns in disgust – at himself.

He did not mean to say those hateful things. He cannot grasp how their silly and light teasing escalated. All he knows is that he crossed the line.

Closing his eyes, he sees her beautiful, chocolate eyes go wide. Her tiny body is rigid in shock. Her peaches and cream complexion blanch in horror. She says nothing. Instead, she turns to exit quickly and quietly.

His head drops down on his desk. He is at a loss. He is lost. She is lost – to him.

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She shuts the door as silently as possible.

What is there to say? There is nothing to say. She is speechless. His barbs, his cruel words wash over her like a tsunami. She is drowning and cannot breathe.

Hermione rushes from the scene of recent horror. No visible blood is spilled but her life force is drained. Nothing tangible is shattered but her heart lies in shards inside her chest. No calls for help are heard but every fiber of her being is screaming in pain.

She hates herself for feeling anything for him.

She escapes to the comfort of her home but knows she cannot evade the memory or erase the words. The moment replays in her mind, like a broken 8mm film camera. She laughs at her Muggle analogy.

Sliding down her door, she laughs until the tears come. She mourns for the loss she feels yet does not quite comprehend.

***************************************
The knock on her door is nearly indiscernible, at first.

Hermione feels as if she is in a trance. A sharp and determined bang jolts her upright. A second thump followed by a string of curses force her to realize she is awake and not dreaming. Calling out, she does not open the door and remains with her ear to the smooth wood, listening.

All is still.

Suddenly, she hears his voice. Draco Malfoy is outside her door. He is pounding on her door in a very un-Malfoy-like fashion. He is demanding to be let in.

He is speaking . . . words. Words are pouring from him like water from a jug. Words of emotion, words of truth, words of living in denial, words of fancying her for some time, words of admitting his weakness.

He is confessing. Confessing how lovely she is, confessing how he is drawn to her, confessing how he cannot bear to not see her again, confessing of how sorry he is and of his feelings – for her.

He is pleading. Pleading to see her, pleading to be let in, pleading for forgiveness, pleading for a second chance – or, in his case, third or fourth.

Silently, she listens. Freely, her tears flow.

She struggles with herself. She is afraid. Her guarded heart is fragile, she knows. However, her guarded heart already belongs to him.

With trembling hands, she turns the knob and opens the door. She takes in his appearance. His shaggy platinum blond hair is in disarray, his fine pants are creased and his expensive shirt is untucked, wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes are rimmed red and his lips are pressed together. Concern, fear and hope dance across his features. Draco Malfoy is a mess.

Draco stares at her. Her long, curly hair drapes her lovely face, her small body is shaking slightly, and her eyes are swollen and tinged with tears – tears he caused. Her cheeks are flushed red, her lips are plump and her eyes are wide and innocent. Hermione Granger is beautiful, and never more so than at this moment.

He steps closer and slides one arm round her waist, the other tilts her chin up. Carefully, he measures the situation before placing tentative kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her chin and, finally, her lips.

Hermione presses closer to him and winds her arms round his neck. She kisses him back. Their urgency grows as he nibbles on her lower lip and soothes it with his tongue. She opens her mouth and they both groan as their kiss deepens.

They taste, relish and lose each other to their emotions and sensations. The kiss is erotic and sensual, awakening long-dormant feelings and unveiling the need to share unspoken words of the heart.

Draco pulls back and gazes into her face. She smiles and sighs, nuzzling into his chest. Not letting go of her, he turns and shuts the door with a muted snap.

One door closes but two hearts are open.

- fin -