Closed Doors (PG-13; GG/PP)
Title: Closed Doors
Claim: Gregory Goyle/Pansy Parkinson
Word Count: 1308
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 32 - Compassion at potterverse100
Author's Note: Directly after Past Indiscretions and Into the Furniture Graveyard. This should be the last of this section of story.
He thought it would be simple to stop her tears. After all, he’d seen girls cry in front of Draco just to have a few of his words and a smile stop the hysterics before they ever started. This was different though. For one thing, she refused to look at him or even let him stand in front of her. Her shoulders hunched over and her hands wrapped around her middle so securely that he couldn’t unwind her.
For a moment, he gave up and let her continue to sob. It was a quiet sound, after all. No one would be alerted of their presence here if they only had these sobs to go by. What bothered him was that she didn’t want his help. He’d made her cry. He should be able to make it better.
“Pansy? Why don’t we sit down? Let’s get away from the door.”
His reasoning got through to her and she let him lead her further into the room to where a comfortable chair hid behind a dresser with a penchant for kicking anyone who got close. The material was worn and faded but its wide seat and high arms were perfect as a furniture hug. She looked small and forlorn against the deep red pattern.
“Thank you,” she murmured between sobs as he offered her his handkerchief. It wasn’t as clean as it should have been but he’d been remiss about his laundry lately. The House Elves weren’t as eager to take care of his clothes now that he wasn’t one of the chosen few to be in the Malfoy circle. When she tried to hand it back, he shook his head and leaned against a tall column that looked strangely out of place in this forlorn room. It wasn’t damaged in anyway that he could see but he left it alone. Someone had a purpose for putting it here.
“So, I’m assuming you aren’t doing well?”
Her dark hair swung as she moved her head back and forth but she still wasn’t allowing him to see her face. Now that he’d made her cry, he was desperate to do something to make her stop. If he was a humorous person, he might try for a joke. Unfortunately, Draco had once made him promise never to tell another joke… but Draco wasn’t here anymore.
“I’ve had people run and hide whenever I come around but never have I had them start crying. I didn’t even threaten to hit you.” As a joke, he had to admit as the words came out of his mouth, it fell flat. He would have to practice if he ever wanted to be truly humorous.
She seemed to think the same as she stopped sobbing long enough to stare at him in consternation. “Why would I cry if you were going to hit me? I’d probably make sure I got the first blow in.”
“It was a joke,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn red with embarrassment. “I’m not good at those sorts of things but I was desperate.”
“Because I’m crying?” He nodded and she started to laugh in between the sobs that still threatened to turn back into something more. “You probably only see the bad sort of crying or the kind that people use to get something they want. This was the good kind. The healing kind. I haven’t been able to cry….” And she was off again.
This time, he sat quietly. If this was good for her, he didn’t want to get in the way. Obviously, he wasn’t going to ask her again if she was doing okay. There were many other things he needed to find out once she stopped crying. Like, did she think that allegiances could be switched even if history proved otherwise? Had she ever felt that her life up to a certain point was null and void and could be reworked so that it meant something? Was her world bleak and gray and without texture when he wasn’t around? Would she come with him if he asked?
Before she could stop this time, he’d talked himself out of it. She was too tender still. What she needed was people who could make her life what it had once been. He threatened to tear down everything that wasn’t already rubble at her feet.
“Why am I here?” she asked, her face a mask of irritation even though her red rimmed eyes were still full of tender emotions. “Did you need to show me old furniture?”
“I was concerned about you.”
“Don’t be,” Pansy interrupted before he could get any further. “I’ll be fine. I always am. It’s enough that my father is a fugitive and my mum’s a vegetable and my sister’s don’t need me for anything. I’ll be fine.”
“You say that but I don’t think you mean it.”
Her hand connected with his jaw, leaving an imprint he’d feel for days. “Don’t you dare tell me what I mean or don’t mean. Just because your keeper is gone doesn’t mean that you know me. That you’ve ever known me.”
He was mildly surprised when she didn’t leave. Instead, she sat in the chair as if she was the queen of the region and he was the interloper in her kingdom. “You look like a Gryffindor in that chair,” he said suddenly, as if they’d been having a pleasant conversation and were the best of friends. He’d never had one of those but had seen plenty of them.
Pansy laughed gleefully, hiding her mouth with a trembling hand. “Really? I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like being a Gryffindor. You know what House I wouldn’t have minded being in? Hufflepuff. Have you ever imagined what they must be like over in their little den? They always look like they’re having so much fun, walking through the halls thick as thieves. Makes you wonder if they’d shun one of their own, doesn’t it?”
“Really? Hufflepuff? I would have pegged you for a Ravenclaw.”
More gleeful laughter. “Never. That group is worse than the Slytherin. They eat their young. I’m positive of it.”
“Do you mind so terribly being a Slytherin?” he asked, forgetting that he was dangerously close to the previous question that set her off.
This time, she ignored him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much. Have you been holding out on us all these years?”
“Didn’t think anyone cared what I had to say. It was always better not to rile Draco. Once people just assumed I couldn’t talk because of a genetic defect, I decided to play along. It’s easier to be what people think you are than what you truly are meant for.”
“Does that help you sleep at night?” she asked but the sarcasm was noticeably missing from her voice. Instead, she sounded sad and weary. “Will you always let people define who you are?”
He shrugged, unsure what she wanted to hear and how he could answer her that wouldn’t sound as if he was insane.
“Aw, you’re right. The silence suits you. I think I’ll head back since you’ve decided to go back into quiet mode.” This time, she got up and he saw that nothing would convince her to stay with him for the time being.
He’d had his chance. If he’d only known how to reach her while she was wrapped up in the pain instead of hiding behind her shelter of anger, he might have been able to tell her his plan. Now, he was once again on his own.
“Bye,” he hollered after her as she stalked out of the room. The slamming door was her answer and it got her point across. “I love you.” Those were the words she always missed, usually because he said them behind closed doors.
Claim: Gregory Goyle/Pansy Parkinson
Word Count: 1308
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 32 - Compassion at potterverse100
Author's Note: Directly after Past Indiscretions and Into the Furniture Graveyard. This should be the last of this section of story.
He thought it would be simple to stop her tears. After all, he’d seen girls cry in front of Draco just to have a few of his words and a smile stop the hysterics before they ever started. This was different though. For one thing, she refused to look at him or even let him stand in front of her. Her shoulders hunched over and her hands wrapped around her middle so securely that he couldn’t unwind her.
For a moment, he gave up and let her continue to sob. It was a quiet sound, after all. No one would be alerted of their presence here if they only had these sobs to go by. What bothered him was that she didn’t want his help. He’d made her cry. He should be able to make it better.
“Pansy? Why don’t we sit down? Let’s get away from the door.”
His reasoning got through to her and she let him lead her further into the room to where a comfortable chair hid behind a dresser with a penchant for kicking anyone who got close. The material was worn and faded but its wide seat and high arms were perfect as a furniture hug. She looked small and forlorn against the deep red pattern.
“Thank you,” she murmured between sobs as he offered her his handkerchief. It wasn’t as clean as it should have been but he’d been remiss about his laundry lately. The House Elves weren’t as eager to take care of his clothes now that he wasn’t one of the chosen few to be in the Malfoy circle. When she tried to hand it back, he shook his head and leaned against a tall column that looked strangely out of place in this forlorn room. It wasn’t damaged in anyway that he could see but he left it alone. Someone had a purpose for putting it here.
“So, I’m assuming you aren’t doing well?”
Her dark hair swung as she moved her head back and forth but she still wasn’t allowing him to see her face. Now that he’d made her cry, he was desperate to do something to make her stop. If he was a humorous person, he might try for a joke. Unfortunately, Draco had once made him promise never to tell another joke… but Draco wasn’t here anymore.
“I’ve had people run and hide whenever I come around but never have I had them start crying. I didn’t even threaten to hit you.” As a joke, he had to admit as the words came out of his mouth, it fell flat. He would have to practice if he ever wanted to be truly humorous.
She seemed to think the same as she stopped sobbing long enough to stare at him in consternation. “Why would I cry if you were going to hit me? I’d probably make sure I got the first blow in.”
“It was a joke,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn red with embarrassment. “I’m not good at those sorts of things but I was desperate.”
“Because I’m crying?” He nodded and she started to laugh in between the sobs that still threatened to turn back into something more. “You probably only see the bad sort of crying or the kind that people use to get something they want. This was the good kind. The healing kind. I haven’t been able to cry….” And she was off again.
This time, he sat quietly. If this was good for her, he didn’t want to get in the way. Obviously, he wasn’t going to ask her again if she was doing okay. There were many other things he needed to find out once she stopped crying. Like, did she think that allegiances could be switched even if history proved otherwise? Had she ever felt that her life up to a certain point was null and void and could be reworked so that it meant something? Was her world bleak and gray and without texture when he wasn’t around? Would she come with him if he asked?
Before she could stop this time, he’d talked himself out of it. She was too tender still. What she needed was people who could make her life what it had once been. He threatened to tear down everything that wasn’t already rubble at her feet.
“Why am I here?” she asked, her face a mask of irritation even though her red rimmed eyes were still full of tender emotions. “Did you need to show me old furniture?”
“I was concerned about you.”
“Don’t be,” Pansy interrupted before he could get any further. “I’ll be fine. I always am. It’s enough that my father is a fugitive and my mum’s a vegetable and my sister’s don’t need me for anything. I’ll be fine.”
“You say that but I don’t think you mean it.”
Her hand connected with his jaw, leaving an imprint he’d feel for days. “Don’t you dare tell me what I mean or don’t mean. Just because your keeper is gone doesn’t mean that you know me. That you’ve ever known me.”
He was mildly surprised when she didn’t leave. Instead, she sat in the chair as if she was the queen of the region and he was the interloper in her kingdom. “You look like a Gryffindor in that chair,” he said suddenly, as if they’d been having a pleasant conversation and were the best of friends. He’d never had one of those but had seen plenty of them.
Pansy laughed gleefully, hiding her mouth with a trembling hand. “Really? I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like being a Gryffindor. You know what House I wouldn’t have minded being in? Hufflepuff. Have you ever imagined what they must be like over in their little den? They always look like they’re having so much fun, walking through the halls thick as thieves. Makes you wonder if they’d shun one of their own, doesn’t it?”
“Really? Hufflepuff? I would have pegged you for a Ravenclaw.”
More gleeful laughter. “Never. That group is worse than the Slytherin. They eat their young. I’m positive of it.”
“Do you mind so terribly being a Slytherin?” he asked, forgetting that he was dangerously close to the previous question that set her off.
This time, she ignored him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much. Have you been holding out on us all these years?”
“Didn’t think anyone cared what I had to say. It was always better not to rile Draco. Once people just assumed I couldn’t talk because of a genetic defect, I decided to play along. It’s easier to be what people think you are than what you truly are meant for.”
“Does that help you sleep at night?” she asked but the sarcasm was noticeably missing from her voice. Instead, she sounded sad and weary. “Will you always let people define who you are?”
He shrugged, unsure what she wanted to hear and how he could answer her that wouldn’t sound as if he was insane.
“Aw, you’re right. The silence suits you. I think I’ll head back since you’ve decided to go back into quiet mode.” This time, she got up and he saw that nothing would convince her to stay with him for the time being.
He’d had his chance. If he’d only known how to reach her while she was wrapped up in the pain instead of hiding behind her shelter of anger, he might have been able to tell her his plan. Now, he was once again on his own.
“Bye,” he hollered after her as she stalked out of the room. The slamming door was her answer and it got her point across. “I love you.” Those were the words she always missed, usually because he said them behind closed doors.