The Way

Chapter Four ~ The Way You Were

*Pansy*

Now believe me when I say that I did not want that kiss. Honestly, I didn't; but wait for a second--I need to explain myself.

When he came towards me I was little more than confused. When he threw my ribbon into the fire I was a tad frightened. When he ran his fingers through my hair I was very uncomfortable. And before he kissed me, he whispered something, though I didn't hear a word of it.

And the kiss.

It was unexpected, that was for sure. Draco wasn't one to act belligerent--never mind, yes he was. But anyway, the way he did it wasn't normal. The soft brush of his lips, the gentle pleasure at my reaction and the way in which he was none too aggressive. It was almost as if he wanted to kiss me because he actually liked me.

But I didn't like him; I couldn't even tolerate him anymore. So why didn't I pull away sooner? Because I wasn't sure; I wasn't sure if my feelings for him had truly disappeared. I needed to know if I could still care for him, still want him and still love him. When he pulled me towards him I only grew more forceful, searching, almost praying, for the ache inside me that was for Draco. But I found none.

It wasn't as though I didn't enjoy it; anyone who was anyone would wish to be kissed that way. Strangely enough, I could feel this sense of need inside of him; especially when his hands went under my robe, the tingling of his skin piercing the thin fabric of my clothes. But other than the sprig of the pleasure that accompanied our kiss, there was nothing else.

So it was final; I no longer needed nor wanted Draco Malfoy. Knowing this, I lost my force, pulling his hand away from me and holding it against my palm. Between our touching hands there was air; empty air consisting of a void. I broke contact then, but only pulling away a fraction of an inch. I couldn't part any farther, for his hand prevented me from it.

"Draco," I had said, much too quiet for the request I was about to give. But he pulled me only closer, and I didn't want that. "Draco."

"Yes?" he asked. The corners of his mouth twitch, giving the inclination that he was trying hard not to smile. I didn't want him to smile; moreover, I didn't want him to smile because of me.

So I pushed him away by our hands, surprising him no more than I did myself.

"Draco--I think you better go home," I said, staring at the ground and avoiding his eyes. I could almost see the perplexed look on his face. One minute we were caught in one another's arms, in one of the most intimate of connections, and then next I'm sending him home like a naughty little boy causing trouble. It would have puzzled anyone.

I don't remember much after that other than getting out of there. He protested at one point, but I sent him on his way and closed the doors on his face. I didn't wait for him to leave and I wasn't even sure if he was going to. My plan was to go in my room and stay there forever, but at that exact moment, my mother came by.

"Did Draco go already Pansy?" she asked, passing by with a letter in her hand. She wasn't looking at me, but was reading the letter avidly.

"Yes," I said, though I wasn't even sure about that fact. I looked at the envelope my mother was holding and noticed that the crest on the seal was one of a very large and very menacing 'A'. "Azkaban," I whispered, staring strongly at the parchment in my mother's hand. I looked at her and she returned my gaze. "Papa," I whispered again, and she only nodded before heading for the kitchen.

Since his capture, Papa has been writing to my mother and me weekly from his cell in Azkaban. He sends his love and says that he's sorry he isn't here for us, but between the lines are evil plots and praises for the Dark Lord. First off, no one is allowed to contact anyone outside of the island, let alone a close-knit party of Death Eaters. Then again, since the dementors fled the fortress and wizard Aurors have taken their posts instead, money can be a valuable trading token. Oh the perks of being rich.

Glancing back towards the closed doors of the parlor, I headed after my mother, having the feeling that Draco had already left for his manor. A Malfoy was not one to dawdle at the scene of his greatest humiliation or his greatest disappointment. And though I didn't feel sorry for the wrong that I did not commit, deep inside I felt the stirrings of pity.

Shaking off the feeling, I went to follow my mother into the dining hall. She was sitting at the head of the ancient ebony table, her head bent over the letter and her fist clenched around a small, purple vial with a gold stopper. She didn't show it, but I knew she was angry about something by the red flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Mum, what's wrong?" I asked, stepping into the room. She looked up abruptly, as if the sound of her daughter's voice was foreign to her.

"What? Oh--nothing's wrong sweetheart. Nothing...nothing at all." But she trailed off, and I knew she was lying to spare me disappointment. I went to sit next to her, sliding the envelope towards me. The handwriting was most certainly my father's, and the letter was addressed to both my mother and myself.

"What does he say this time?" I asked, very much interested. If I had to admit it, I was the biggest daddy's girl in the world. Ever since I was little all I had to do was think of wanting something and my father would get it for me. Oddly enough, he was much more of a family man than most Death Eaters; he loved my mother with all his heart and he loved me with all his soul. Yet through all this, the respect and loyalty he had for the Dark Lord never wavered.

My mother sighed. "He says his usual honey, not much news when you're in a cell." She grinned at me, and I couldn't help but return the smile.

"Read it to me?" I pleaded, using my sweetest voice and batting my eyelashes like a good little girl. My mother rolled her eyes.

"Oh alright then, if you insist." She held up the letter and cleared her throat as an affect of a dramatic dialogue. "Here we go:

Dearest Family,

I sit here in my cell with nothing but dark clouds and a dank, stone floor for company, yet I am not saddened. Why? Because my mind is filled with the thought that when I get out, I will see my family again.

Zhyerra, how is everything my wife? Is the house out of sorts due to my absence? But no, it couldn't be; you are there and nothing can go wrong when you're around. I miss you darling.

And to my girl Pansy; how was your school year sweetheart? I'm sorry I wasn't there to pick you up from the train. You know that I wanted to and that I miss you and love you very much."

Here, my mother paused and held up the purple vial. I noticed that the crest engraved in gold on the front was our family's own. If you looked hard enough, you could see the Dark Mark hidden in all the intricate lines and patterns.

"Here is a little something that I bought for you Pansy. I asked one of the guards to order it for me; I told him that I only wanted to get my little girl a present in celebration of her first year as a school prefect. I ordered it from a Gypsy woman in India. She told me it was a special concoction that she brews and has an exceptional fragrance. I want only the best for my little girl.

But to my Zhyerra, I have business matters to discuss with you--

"--and this is where he cuts to the Dark Arts and how I should stay faithful to the Dark Lord; just the same old same old Pansy. Here you go honey."

She handed me the vial and I slipped it into my robe pocket. It was cold to the touch and sent shivers up and down my arm. "Thanks Mum."

"And how is Draco sweetie? Will he be coming by again later?"

"No," I replied abruptly, and dashed out of the room before she could ask another question, calling out my excuse of my haste as I left. "I'm a bit tired my self mother; I think I'll take dinner up in my room for tonight."

I didn't wait for her approval. I headed for my room, bolted the door once more and fell onto my bed, throwing my robe and slippers on the armchair near the window. For a while I stared up at my canopy, thinking of what had happened in the parlor. But soon, I realized that reliving it would do me no good, so I snatched the album my mother brought off the floor where it fell and sat at my vanity with it. Flipping through it, I paused on the first page showing a picture of Draco and myself in it.

It was from when we first met. Our parents had me sit very proper and regal in an armchair while Draco stood beside it. They had taken so long for the picture that you could see the boredom on our faces. Now my picture self was slouching back in the armchair, legs swinging over the edge and my hair beginning to muss up. Draco, apt as he always acted, let fall his dignified stance but was slouching over the chair's arm, head resting on hand and finger tapping excessively. He turned to me in the armchair and whispered something, making me actually smile and laugh a bit. He smiled in return, and then we went back to being bored.

And that's when I realized that this Draco, this Draco in the picture at the age of eight, was one that I wouldn't mind having. Maybe it was the fact that he looked so innocent, or that he didn't really have the motive yet to hide things from me and use me as just another crony. Or maybe it was the fact that we actually looked like friends in this picture.

I closed the cover of the album and went back to my bed, falling asleep without any dinner and far too many problems swimming inside my head.

*Draco*

The downfall of losing the one thing you want is the haunting fact that it's the only thing you can think about.

I left Parkinson Manor maybe three seconds after she had gone. Malfoys don't dawdle at the scene of their greatest humiliation or their greatest disappointment. The Portkey deposited me in the gazebo in our rose garden, so that's where I am at the very moment, three hours after 'The Encounter'.

The rose garden is beautiful at night, with every color rose known to wizard kind blooming from every inch of green earth. My mother was fond of white roses and my father red. Mother said white revealed the importance of purity and father said red revealed the importance of ancient blood. The core of our family: pureblood.

But in my opinion, I admired the black roses the most. By myth and legend, they were symbols for demons, the black rose. Personally I thought it was because of the contrast that the two made together; a rose, the most exquisite flower, that represents the allure of evil mixed with black, the essence of darkness and turmoil.

But Pansy was different from all three Malfoys on the outlook of roses; very, very different.

Her family came to stay with us when we were both ten; Mr. Parkinson and my father had vital business together in which they could not afford the wasted time of Apparating back and forth from one another's home. Our mother's saw it as a good way for even their little ones to bond, so Pansy moved into our Manor for two weeks. It was fall at the time.

Every day, after I had my finishing lesson with my tutors, I was allowed the entire afternoon to myself. During these rare moments of privacy, I would come down to the rose garden and sit in this exact gazebo, not doing much more than sitting and looking at the array of colors in bloom.

One day, as I came running through the gate surrounding the area, I saw Pansy standing in the old, dark marquee, leaning over one side and smelling the roses. I didn't see her very often, as we both had separate finishing lessons and the manor being so big; so I wasn't sure how to act around her. I didn't want to leave, because this was my house and I always came to the rose garden after lessons.

"Er--hi Pansy," I stammered, walking slowly through the pergola's entrance and into the shade. She didn't jump or turn around, but answered me nonetheless.

"I'm sorry if I'm not supposed to be here, but I love roses so much." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as a small breeze whipped by and lifted her hair. "You have a very pretty garden. Do you like roses?"

Now I wasn't about to tell her my favorite was the black ones, because the idea that a ten-year-old boy liked roses wasn't a fact that could intimidate most people. So I just shrugged and sat on the bench. "Actually, I don't much care for roses myself."

"Oh. Well, you come down here everyday, so I thought they appealed to you in some way."

The way she spoke would have impressed most people, but it didn't do much to me as we had both taken are vocabulary exams today. Upper class wizarding families were known to be educated beyond average, so it applied to the children as well.

"So what about you," I started to ask. "What's your favorite rose?"

"I don't have a favorite," she told me, turning around and sitting on the rail. "I love them all."

"That doesn't make any sense," I told her. "You have to have a favorite. My father and mother's are the white a red ones, because they represent the purity of blood; and I like--well I did like--the black ones because they are symbols from legend and myth. So how about you, what's your favorite?"

She looked at me then, very strongly, and said "You don't always have to like things for a specific reason, Draco. But you can love things just for what they are. The roses make me happy, so I love them all." She turned around then and plucked a pink rose from the nearest bush. She hopped down and sat very close next to me, handing me the flower. I took it without question, staring at it with a confused look on my face. "So what makes you happy, Draco?" she asked, and then got up and walked away, back into the house. I stayed there until dinner time, staring at the pink rose in my hand.

I learned something important from her that day, and now I know the answer to her question. In all my life, if I looked back on it, I was never really happy unless she was there with me. I didn't show it, but I was happy at our fourth year Yule Ball. She was with me and didn't reproach me about ignoring her all night as I held my grudge against Granger. When we were made prefects together, we had fun abusing our position, even though it was against school policy; and in the rose garden five years ago, I felt content just sitting there with her.

My answer to her question is her; she is what makes me happy. She is what I can love for who she is. She's my rose.

Now all I have to do is make her see that.