The Way

Chapter Three ~ The Way You Affect Me

*Pansy*

Once I got home I hugged my mother in her usual welcome and then dashed for my room. Thank goodness that my mom was smarter than most because she always could tell when I wanted my privacy. She would give me a few hours before she came to talk to me.

In my room I threw my bags on the floor and fell hard onto my bed. Though I wished for them, tears would not come for me, because I wasn't sad. Why wasn't I sad?

I rolled onto my side and fingered the pink coverlet lying across my bed. I didn't like the coverlet. I looked up and saw my armchair near the window. It was pink too. I didn't like that armchair; it was pink. My whole room was pink. I hated pink; but I didn't hate Draco. Why didn't I hate Draco?

I turned over and buried my face into the pillows, growing more and more confused by the minute. Trying to clear my head, I breathed in the sweet smell of my bed cloths. They always smelled of lavender and rosemary, thinning out the smog that was clouding my mind. I loved these herbs that my mother always took the time to mix for my room; I've loved them since I was little. But I didn't love Draco anymore. Why didn't I still love Draco?

"Pansy, sweetheart," my mother called from the hallway, her voice interrupting my thoughts. "Are you alright in there?"

I sat up quickly, straightening my hair for no purpose at all. "Yes Mum; I'm fine," I called back, hopping off the bed quickly so I could lock the door before she came in. It wasn't as though I hated my mother; it was just I didn't feel up to talking to her when I, myself, didn't even know how I really felt. On my way to the door I stubbed my toe on the bed post.

"Would you like to have a late tea with me honey? We could sit in the parlor, just you and me and talk about your year? I know it was...different." I could hear my mother's voice shake a bit at the end. Papa had been one of the Death Eaters at the Ministry the night Harry Potter and five others were found. He had been sent to Azkaban along with Draco's father. I knew my mother was a supporter of the Dark Lord, but she wasn't a huge 'hands on' person.

"Actually, I was planning to just take a shower before dinner," I forced out, biting back my shout of frustration as I hopped on my one good foot. After the pain subsided somewhat I made a face at my bed and kicked it in revenge. I didn't want revenge on Draco. Why didn't I want revenge on Draco?

I hurried over and slowly slid the bolt into its place so as not to hurt my mother's feelings.

"Okay then sweetie," she answered, not the least bit disappointed. "Do you need anything?"

"Er-," I stalled, not exactly sure if I understood her question. My mind was much too clouded with thoughts of Draco; or make that the lack of thoughts of Draco. Everything happening to me was very strange. "I don't really--you know what Mum, could you grab me my childhood album from the parlor?"

There was a small hesitation. "Why would you want that honey?"

"I don't know. I just...wanted to take a trip down memory lane, I guess." I stopped on my way to my bathroom, waiting for her reply. The pause was extremely long.

"Will Draco be joining us for tonight Pansy?" she asked softly.

I stared at the doorway. I waited for the sudden intake of breath at the actual mention of his name. I waited for the rapid flutter in my stomach at the image of his face. I waited for the unexpected weakness in my knees at the mere memory of him. Well, you could probably guess that none of this happened; and oddly enough, you'd be right.

"No Mum. I think Draco won't be dropping by as often as before," was my answer. My mother was silent. Before, Draco hardly dropped by; and for a moment, I was actually relieved to think that he never would again.

"Okay," was her only reply before her footsteps slowly died away.

Somewhat afraid that she would return and attempt to engage me in more conversation, I quickly pulled my self out of my school clothes and hurried into the shower, all the while my mind slowly sorting out what was going on.

I wasn't disappointed with Draco, but I wasn't fine with him either. I didn't hate him, but love was definitely not the reason for it. He had hurt me, but I didn't want some form of merciless revenge on him. So what was my view to him? What were my feelings for this blonde-haired, grey-eyed boy that had been more or less the god of my idolatry? What?

And then it hit me just as the warm water began running down my back. The force of it was enough to knock me senseless, but the mere strangeness of it kept me standing. What I felt for Draco was--there's no other word for it--nothing; absolute, final, pure and undeniable nothing.

When I first thought about it, it seemed irrational. How could you feel nothing for someone? But the more I explored it, the more sense it made. Nothing was what came when I heard myself speak his name out loud. Nothing was what occurred when I recalled the image of his face; and nothing was my only companion when I remembered his every move and every sound.

I felt nothing for Draco.

And it couldn't have made me happier. I was free of my stupid infatuation with him at last. It may not have turned out the way I thought it would, but I liked it. I didn't exactly feel fuller, but lighter. It was as though I had shed a great burden from my shoulders and now I could walk a little straighter than before.

For a long time I remained in the shower, taking comfort in the warm water on my skin. I washed away eight years during that time; eight years of an ignorant crush, of unrequited love, of ill-spent moments and of the Malfoy who had started them all. And I watched eight years of Draco go down the drain. Oddly enough, I had to work to suppress my grin.

"Pansy?" came a sudden voice from outside my bathroom door. I started, caught off-guard by my mother's call. I hated when she Apparated into my room, but grateful of her courtesy not to randomly materialize in my bathroom.

"Yes Mum?" I called, rinsing out my hair.

"I got the book you wanted," she said. I smiled, a great deal more cheerful than when I first arrived home.

"Thank you mother," I called back in my sweetest voice. Her reply did nothing in return to it.

"And Draco's here sweetheart. He just dropped in. He wanted to speak to you, but I said you were in the shower."

I silently prayed that my mother sent him away.

"He's waiting in the parlor right now Pansy." Crap. "Hurry up now, so you can go meet him before dinner is served." Then there was a small pop and she was gone.

I don't think I could have been more furious. What kind of conscience did this guy have if he could just walk right into my home after humiliating me and hurting me like he did? It was uncanny! Then again, this was Draco, and he never seemed to get the hint that people didn't want him around. Oh stuff it; I'm furious and he deserves some verbal abuse now and then.

Quickly turning off the water, I dried my self and then shrugged on my bath robe. I resolved to take as long as I could in hopes that he would get impatient and bored and just leave. So I sat myself in front of my vanity and went to work on brushing my hair until it dried. I didn't even grant him the etiquette to do even this small task quickly enough. But after maybe ten minutes of this, my mother popped in again and insisted that I hurry up. When she had gone, I could do nothing but change and go down to meet a fate I certainly didn't want to see.

And to make it worse, my only form of clothing were my night clothes. Typical that Draco would come on the one day I had nothing to wear because I just arrived home and none of my clothes had been prepared yet. Oh the downsides of being rich; it really was pathetic.

And to add to the humiliation, my mother had set out a nice set of pink, silk pajamas and a pink, silk robe to match. Mortification wouldn't have done me justice.

When I was dressed, I stalled a few more minutes by tying my damp hair back with a, (get this), pink, silk ribbon and then headed down the grand staircase and into the entrance way.

The door to the parlor was closed, hiding my view of the person within it. So, taking a deep breath, I walked to it and slid one door back, two thirds confident and one third afraid.

He was standing next to the bay window behind the desk, his back almost completely towards me. He mustn't have heard me entering because he didn't turn around. For a moment I inspected him, trying to call back the flutter or the weakness or the intake of breath like before. I'm proud to say that the most I could muster was a sigh of utter boredom.

He dressed as he usually did, as if he were going to a business meeting rather than visiting a former friend's house. He donned black trousers, a dark green turtleneck, black cloak and leather gloves tucked into his pocket. He stood much like he always did: one shoulder leaning against the window frame, his arms most definitely folded in front of his chest and one foot crossed over the other.

Wanting to get this over with, I drew his attention.

"Draco?" I called quietly, sliding the door back into place and walking more into the room. He turned around, and for a second there was a look in his eyes that I couldn't place, but I was certain I had seen it somewhere else before. He didn't say anything. "What are you doing here?" I asked, standing in front of the fireplace.

He walked maybe two steps towards me, his arms set stiffly at his sides. He looked awkward and more vulnerable then usual, but I took it to no account.

"I--er...I just dropped by to see how you were doing," he said. I wasn't sure if he knew it, but that was the lamest excuse I had ever heard. I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Really?" I asked, my sarcasm coming from somewhere other than myself at the moment. "Well, I guess I'm not that much different from when you saw me six hours ago." I crossed my own arms, sitting into one hip and glaring him much in the same way Granger did when she wouldn't back down. At the moment, I blessed her dearly.

"Pansy, look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to say those things I said," Draco started, but of course, I interrupted him. I may have felt nothing towards him, but anger was running it very close.

"Oh, I see now. You didn't mean to *say* them, but you meant them, right?" I retaliated, boring my opposing dark eyes into his light ones. To my odd satisfaction, I saw the smallest inkling of hurt in them.

"That's not true," he tried, but I was in no mood to actually listen to him.

I gave a very cold and very dark laugh. "Of course it isn't. Where did I ever get that kind of thought! You've only treated my like dragon dung for the past eight years of our acquaintance, so why on earth would something as ludicrous as you actually saying cruel things to me be true?" I turned on my heel and walked back to the armchair near the far wall, curling into it and staring evilly at him from across the room.

He looked a bit awestruck and more hurt than ever, but I wasn't about to fall for the whimpering puppy, so I remained seated. He walked in front of the fire now, the dancing rain outside and the flickering flames in the grate painting his features with shadows.

"Now tell me the truth, Draco," I said, all sincerity present. "Why are you here?"

I didn't appreciate the elongated pause.

*Draco*

"Draco?" she called from behind, the sound of her voice a tad confident and a bit afraid. It was odd, but at the sound of her voice my stomach flipped and my breathing became rather uneven. Okay, I take it back; odd doesn't do me any credit.

Trying to remember that I was Draco Malfoy and practically ruled the world, I turned around to face my fate. I couldn't have been more unprepared.

She stood near the fireplace, her dark eyes unreadable and her expression implacable. Her head was cocked to one side and she looked so small in the huge parlor. For a moment I was caught back to when we first met, and I found that I was looking at her much in the same way I did when she first walked into my life. I blinked rapidly, focusing on what she was wearing so I wouldn't be held hostage in my memories.

Bad idea.

It wasn't as though she were wearing a guy's fantasy ensemble, but, (I can't believe I'm saying this), she looked--well...cute. Just hex me now.

She wore her night clothes, probably because she had just gotten home from school and hadn't had any day clothes prepared for her. The only reason I had any was because my mother required me to have a top of the line closet at all times. Oh the perks of being rich, or at least being me.

As much as she hated it, I had to admit that Pansy looked good in pink. The silk pajamas were a tad big on her, the way she always liked it, but it did her small frame justice. Her robe hung loosely about her and her slippers finished the outfit off perfectly, because that's what she looked like: perfect. Perfect, save for the fact that she had tied her hair up in a pink ribbon. Just as in our first meeting, I had to exercise the control not to tear it away and let her hair fall around her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me, curious and a bit annoyed as well. At her question, however, I found that I had nothing to say. A right out apology would have sounded weak, but beating around the bush would make me look stupid; but if I didn't answer her soon, she'd know that she was making me nervous.

"I--er...I just dropped by to see how you were doing," was my reply. And the award for the lamest excuse ever goes to...

"Really?" she asked, embodying ever bit of sarcasm that I had inflicted upon her for the past eight years. "Well, I guess I'm not that much different from when you saw me six hours ago."

The way she crossed her arms then and leaned into one hip reminded me of Granger, but it didn't look as menacing and cruel as when the Mudblood did it. In fact, the way she looked at me made me feel ten times worse than I already did.

After that, I couldn't really remember what happened. I recall apologizing, but she didn't take me seriously, and I couldn't blame her. The exact details are lost to me, as every sense other than my sight began to slur together. I found that all my attention had been put to the use of simply looking at her. I wasn't even watching her, but just simply looking at her as though she were frozen in time like a picture, framed by the soft glow from the fire. Suddenly, my stomach flipped again, but this time it was accompanied by gentle tugging where my heart was. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.

But then she turned away from me and at first I was afraid that she would leave with no closure; but she only made her way to the armchair farthest away from me, curling into it and glaring at me from across the room. That was when I moved into the firelight and completely lost myself in my emotions. Yes, you unbelievable bloke, I have emotions too; along with a pulse, a lungs and, whoa be the day I received it, a heart as well.

"Now tell me the truth, Draco," she demanded. "Why are you here?"

What could I say to this?

"At the moment, I'm not sure," escaped my lips. Flash idiot across my face and you would tell no lies. "But hell would have me in no other place." Smooth. And where those words came from, I'll never know.

But it seemed they surprised not only my self, but Pansy as well. Her eyes grew slightly wide and her shoulders relaxed a bit in confusion. So alluring were these small changes that it would have been impossible for me to stay away much longer. One step, two steps, three steps closer did I go until I stood in front of her, gazing blankly down at her form. Her confusion more apparent at this angle, she strived to regain the upper hand of anger on me.

"Don't give me any of that bull-," she started, but stopped; and for very good reason. I had knelt in front of her, my actions no longer of my accord, and reached a pale hand towards her hair, pulling the ribbon from where it imprisoned the sheet of darkness and threw it backward into the fire. As it sizzled and burned, her dark brown tresses fell about her face, falling just past her shoulders and only partly dry. Astonishment claimed her features, and my own face was oblivious to my own rather aggressive motions.

"Pansy, I'm sorry," I said again, boring my eyes into hers. "I didn't mean anything I said on the train, and I'd take it all back if I could. Well," I started, bringing my hand to her hair unconsciously. I just had to touch her somehow, make contact between us. Her hair was damp and soft, filling my nostrils with her fresh and intoxicating scent. "Not everything. I meant it when I said that I liked you best."

She sniffed, unconvinced. "Oh yes, I remember that. You liked me best because I was the easiest to conquer." She stared at me coldly. "How could I forget that?"

Ouch.

"No," I replied, almost whispering. The closeness of her, the heat radiating from her body, the fresh aroma of lavender and rosemary were suffocating me; fogging my vision and leaving room for only one thought: I wanted her. I wanted her more than anything in my entire life. Not wanted in the sense that I would have thrown on the nearest bed and shagged her to death; but wanted her in the sense just to hold her, to kiss her, and to know that she wanted me too.

"Draco," she started, her voice low and enticing. I leaned closer to her.

"I like you best because you're Pansy," I finished, my tone so quiet that I wasn't even sure that she had heard me. And the thought that she hadn't heard was sort of reassuring to me. Any more pathetic and I could have thrown in my Slytherin Prefect badge and applied for Hufflepuffs United.

But as my face grew nearer to hers, I thought nothing more of it. To some deep piece of my heart, I found satisfaction at the anticipation and bewilderment crossing her face before our lips met. Our first kiss.

Crap; now I sounded like a Gryffindor!

Once we touched there was no room for thought, only room for Pansy and Pansy alone. She did push away or even stiffen as I kissed her, but leaned into it almost a determined manner. As for myself, I was caught in the haze that was her alone, wanting to only be closer and closer to her.

But in the position we were in, it was impossible. So I stood up, pulling her along with me and never breaking contact. My hands found the small of her back and I held her tighter, grinning inwardly at how perfectly we fit together. Her silk robe was cool under my hands, but I didn't want cool. I wanted the warmth that was her. So I snaked my hands inside her robe and around her waist, practically feeling the heat of her skin through the material. Her hands stayed immobile on my shoulder, though her kiss grew more and more aggressive. Hey, it wasn't as though I was complaining.

And moreover, I never wanted the moment to end. I wanted us to stay locked in that kiss forever; nothing more and nothing less. Just standing there, our bodies connected by our kiss.

But it seemed that Pansy did not share that same wish.

Slowly, one hand fell from my shoulder, tracing my arm to where my left hand was placed firmly on her back. She was still kissing me, but it was slower and gentler than before. Still, I had nothing to complain about. But then she took hold of my hand and removed it from her, placing her hand palm to palm with my own. I didn't truly care about that, until she ever-so-slowly pulled away on a fraction of an inch, her breath uneven but quiet. I looked down to her, befuddled on my own part that I, Draco Malfoy, had actually kissed Pansy Parkinson. I was ecstatic.

"Draco," she said again, and I pulled her closer, gently, with my right hand at the sound of my name. "Draco."

"Yes?" I asked, trying to suppress the smile that was battling to take over my face. I leaned down again to reestablish contact, but was stopped very abruptly. She pushed me away lightly by our connected palms, her face full of pity and yet void of all emotion at the same time.

"Draco--I think you better go home," she said. She stared at the ground, thoroughly refusing to meet my eyes.

At first I was puzzled, not really understanding what she had said. "What?"

She sighed. "I think you better go home," she repeated more firmly. "Your mother will be worried about you." She skirted around me and headed for the doors, making it obvious that she didn't want to explain herself further. I, on the other hand, wasn't going to let her off so easy.

"Pansy...what are you talking about?"

"Go home Draco."

"Pansy--," I began again, the sure sound of pleading in my voice as I reached forward to stop her from leaving. She anticipated this, however, and turned around, avoiding my grasp. She then stared at me in a way that not only flipped my stomach and made my chest ache, but sent a chill sensation up my spine.

"Just go home," she said, in a very final tone; and if she would have continued, I knew what her last words would have been: 'and just never come back'. It was written in her every feature, in the way she looked and in the way she stood. For a second she held my gaze, my surprised, hurt and confused gaze. But then turned around every so slowly and left through the doors, sliding them closed to my blankly horrified expression.