The Way

"This is one of the miracles of love: It gives...a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted." ~ C.S. Lewis

Chapter Seven ~ The Way You Hold Me

*Draco*

The Healers said that muggles called it a coma, though they knew nothing about it save for the fact that the victim remained unconscious for a very, very long time. But wizard Healers knew better than simple-minded muggles.

Pansy was lost; lost somewhere in her own mind, forced there by the potion and trapped there by the magic. She was stuck, dormant, inside herself, the Lotus flower reaching so far with its deathly sleep that it locked her within her own self.

But one thing helped me cope with her divine sleep: she was still alive.

Mrs. Parkinson had arrived just in time. I met her in the Entrance hall and explained everything within a matter of seconds. Through her distress and sadness, she was able to fetch one of her powdered unicorn horn potions and hold Pansy awake long enough to call someone from St. Mungo's.

She had thought Pansy had gotten rid of the potion. When she received the letter from her husband he was so prudent with his punishment to poison his own daughter that Mrs. Parkinson hadn't the slightest clue what was going. When Narcissa, my mother, cleared it up for her the next day, she was determined to warn Pansy and throw out the Indian Lotus. But my mother convinced her to keep her hysteria to herself or else the Dark Lord would be very disappointed; and she didn't want the Dark Lord disappointed. So the secret was safe for another day.

The next morning however, she had intended to rid her daughter of the vial while she was showering, but hadn't been able to find it anywhere in her room. We wouldn't figure out until later that it was with Pansy while she was in the shower, sitting silently in her robe behind the locked bathroom door. Mrs. Parkinson had assumed that her daughter had gotten rid of it herself, so she thought the risk was over. But despite the risk, she was infuriated with the attempt.

So while Pansy spent a long morning in the shower, her mother had collected her traveling cloak and had taken a visit to Azkaban fortress, taking quite a few servants with her. It was vital for a visitor to have no less than ten guards with them, as the wizard prison was no longer under dementor protection. To the great anguish of Mrs. Parkinson, she had absent-mindedly taken all thirteen house servants with her and had only left the fifteen that did their morning chores outdoors.

Her visit had ended in vain though, as Mr. Parkinson refused to even look at her and stayed curled away at the back of his cell. He knew why she had come, and he couldn't face the rage of his wife while he was still wallowing in the shame of what he had done to his daughter. But to my great relief, it had cut her visit short and there hence brought her home in time to save Pansy's life.

And here she was, a week later, lying motionless in her bed, her face unnervingly serene. She had not improved in seven days but, in my opinion, had only gone farther and farther from me and into her mind. For seven days the live-in Healer who was attending to her had been giving her potions and spells silently every morning and evening; and for seven days she would leave the room without any word of hope that Pansy would awaken soon. For seven days the medical attention only did so much as to keep her alive so she wouldn't slip into the oblivious state of death, but for seven days Pansy was as good as dead, not moving and not waking.

And for seven days, I never left her side.

I sat in the armchair next to her bed, watching over her day and night. Mrs. Parkinson didn't mind; in fact, she was glad that I remained beside her even through these tough times. She would have done it herself, but she couldn't look at her daughter without breaking down and crying.

So I had taken the duty of watching her inert form; sleeping there, eating there, spending every waking minute there. The only time I left was when I went to the bathroom to shower amongst other things. Otherwise I was always at her side; doing nothing to help but watch her.

Watch her and talk to her.

I told her what it was like outside, how the weather was and if the sun was shining that day. I told her how her mother was doing, what she had for dinner that night and what she wore every morning. I told her how I sat and watched her all day, wishing she'd open her eyes and then falling quiet when she never did. But more importantly, I told her I was sorry.

I told her I was sorry for ignoring her for eight years, that I was sorry for not paying her attention and that I was sorry I didn't treat her more like a friend. I told her I was sorry for using her on the train, and that I was sorry I kissed her in the parlor the same night. I told her I was sorry for making her hate me and that I didn't mean to disregard her feelings for me in the years before. I told her I was sorry I didn't tell her my favorite rose was a black rose and that when she woke up I'd take her back to the garden and show her where they grew next to the pond. I told her I was sorry I didn't come sooner, or else she would be awake right now and none of this would have happened. And then I'd close my eyes, and without even saying the words out loud I'd imagine myself telling her that I was falling in love with her, because no one could break my heart like she was doing right now and mend it back together just by opening her eyes.

For seven days I did this, and for seven days she listened to me through dead slumber. Then on the eighth day, I left her side.

It was very early in the morning; so early that the sky was still completely black with the night's shadow. I had already showered and dressed, sitting next to her bed in my regular shirt and trousers. I stared at her in the moonlight, watched as the pale beams illuminated her face and made her look almost alive for a second. For a moment my heart lifted; I was convinced she would wake up soon, that her eyes would flutter open and she'd look at me and smile. But when I found she wouldn't, my heart fell to the ground with a deafening silence as it shattered into nothing. She wasn't coming back for a long time. She couldn't hear me and she didn't know I was there; all she knew was that she was at peace in a magical sleep, and it would be much later till she woke again.

At that moment I remembered a story my nanny read to me when I was four. It was about a girl who was put under a magical spell that made her sleep until her prince came and kissed the sleep from her. But I knew a kiss would do nothing for Pansy, because she wouldn't feel it and she wouldn't know it. But as her prince, I could do something better.

Before I left, I stood at the foot of her bed, staring at her long enough to etch her figure in my mind. I was doing this for her, though I wished for no reward in return. But by my sheer courage, I was going to face the man I ever truly feared: my father.

I took the Knight Bus to the Ministry of Magic, the only way to get to Azkaban Prison. As I headed for the right fireplace, many of the employees stared at me, recognizing me right away as Lucius Malfoy's son; and it wasn't from just the family resemblance. I made sure to wear the family crest on my traveling cloak, flaunting our family's name and history as I stalked through the hall. To my great annoyance, many of the wizards and witches glared coldly at me; to my great contentment, every witch and wizard stayed out of my way.

As I reached the grate that was specifically assigned to Azkaban, I met up with a very large and very nasty looking guard. He glared down at me as I came closer, tapping his wand in his hand.

"Going to visit someone, I presume?" he asked me, attempting and failing to sound intelligent in any way. But in any case, I blamed my reaction on my nerves and continuous anger.

"Not at all, sir," I replied monotonously. "I'm a national felon sentenced to life in prison and I decided to take this route because I thought the scenery was better."

It took the extremely dumb guard a long time before he figured out I was lying; time that I could have put to better use getting to where I desperately needed to go. But after he discovered that, low and behold, I wasn't really a felon, he stopped me from entering the grate still.

"Maybe you haven't heard boy, but you'll require a parent guardian and no less than ten guards; Ministry policy."

I stared blankly at the man, standing up straighter so he could get a good view of the Malfoy crest embroidered on my cloak. His eyes widened in silent surprise; the exact reaction I had counted on. "A Malfoy needs no guardians of any sort," I answered. That was the ticket.

The guard stepped aside quietly, handing me the Floo Powder as he did so. I took it without a word and threw it into the fireplace, trying to hold on to my courage and fury. As the green flames leapt up around me I closed my eyes, focusing completely on Pansy's silent form still laying dormant back at the manor. The trip ended much too soon; funny how that always happens when your destination is an unpleasant one.

I landed lightly on the rocky shore, but opened my eyes only when the sounds of air and sea rushed past my ears.

There it sat before me, a menacing shadow draped with a heaven smeared with blackness. A curtain of rain separated us, though the cold pierced through me and drew me forward. The crumbling stone walls, the dead, withering plant life and the sense of total isolation leapt out at me from all sides, but by some miracle, I pressed on. The water soaked through my clothing, but I took no heed to it. If I had to confess it, I was much too frightened.

"Visitation on what grounds?" the sentry at the huge, barred doors asked. The voice from the drawn hood was soft and light, so I guessed it was a woman hidden in the darkness of the drawn hood.

"By the look of things, I'd say wet grounds," I replied, shrugging. The woman lifted her head a bit, and I was able to see her blue eyes by the one light hanging over the entrance way.

"Where are your escorts?" she asked. I held her gaze for a moment.

"Didn't bring any," I replied lazily, though my insides churned in apprehension.

She replied, in a low, lazed voice, "You are aware that they are required for your own safety?"

"I am aware."

She looked down at me, impressed. Then I saw as her eyes fell onto the crest and realization dawn on her face. "Follow me," she said, and opened the gate with numerous taps of her wand.

I followed her through the courtyard, the darkness much too thick to see anything save for a void of gloom. Receiving an uneasy feeling from the surrounding darkness, I assumed the weather mimicked how joyous the prison could be.

After opening yet another heavy door, the sentry led me down a damp, dingy hall lined with barred cells. The lights in each one had been put out, though the residents didn't seem at all at rest. Dull cries and unsystematic screams could be heard through the solid bars, each one sounding more agonizing than the last. My guide must have noticed the slightly horrified look on my face, for she said, "I know it's surprising, but after a few days, you get used to this kind of thing. It's the dementors. They may be gone, but anything as horrid as them always leave their mark."

I couldn't find words in response to that.

"So, who are you visiting? All I know is that it's one of the convicted Death Eaters."

"Didn't you already know? Isn't that why you let me in?" I asked as we rounded a corner and headed down yet another hallway lined with cells.

The woman shook her head. "I didn't see which line you belonged to, but I could tell from the design of the crest that you descended from a long line of purebloods; and the only strict purebloods in here are Death Eaters."

"Draco Meleagrant Malfoy, only son and heir to Lucius Galahad Malfoy," I answered, settling for the formalities for once in my life. The woman glanced back at me for a moment, but then kept walking. If it hadn't been for her hood, I could have sworn there would be a very frightened and surprised look on her face.

"Malfoy, huh?" she asked, nodding to two other cloaked and hooded wizards patrolling the halls. "By the way, the Arthurian names are a nice touch."

"Thanks," I replied rather dully.

The sentry stopped at another barred entrance, but then tapped her wand against it and it disappeared abruptly. She waved to me to follow her down the narrow passageway. The lump in my throat grew slightly bigger.

"So Galahad; wasn't that the pagan name for King Arthur's most trusted and closest knight?" she interrogated.

I stared fixedly at the flooring. "Yes," I replied. She looked back at me again.

"You don't sound too happy about it. Don't you like that name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Galahad was a traitor," I told her, and then resolved to my silence once more. She must have got the hint, because she didn't say another word until we arrived to the area where my father was kept.

They called it the Hole, though more descriptive names could have been given to it at any time. It was a row of cells, all protected with seven high security spells. Each one, however, did not have iron bars guarding its entrance. Instead, each held a solid, obsidian door with nothing but a small sliding panel set into the middle of the dark stone.

"It's brutal punishment," the woman told me, answering my unasked question. "They receive no light whatsoever. Day and night, rain or shine, they are plunged into an eternal darkness. We lock them with nothing but their crimes until they slowly go insane."

I stopped in my tracks, much too sick to continue on. I knew my father had done something terrible, breaking into the Department of Mysteries; but to know that he was thrown into a sentence that could destroy everything that was him was nauseating. The sentry noticed my absence and returned to my side.

"Don't think like that, Malfoy; you've got nothing to worry about."

I looked up at her, my face impassive once more but my mind reeling. "Why would you say that?"

"Because," she answered, walking up to the last black door and sliding away the small opening. "Your father is Lucius Galahad Malfoy, the only Death Eater unaffected in any way." I stared at her blankly. "Come and see for yourself," she told me, and stepped away as I came forward to look through the small opening.

The small square in the door gave little light, but it was enough to see what I needed to see. The same blonde hair, the sharp, pale face and those eyes--those eyes that were lightest black and darkest white--were unmistakable.

"Father," I said monotonously from the door. He kept his face in profile, not looking me full on.

"Well, if it isn't my own flesh and blood come to visit me," he replied in the usual deep, sultry voice. "As you already know, I was expecting you."

"I'll leave you two to this," the sentry told me, and headed off down the hall. "I'll be in the passage of you need me."

"Making alliances with Ministry officials, I see," my father said quietly as the woman walked away. "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer; I am impressed, Draco."

As my eyes adjusted slightly, I could make out the worn, simple bed my father was sitting on, the porcelain sink and the chamber pot tucked under his bed. But as dingy as these things appeared to be, my father looked out of place. He was still unbelievably clean with his hair combed thoroughly down his back and his prison robes looking less miserable than the other convicts. Leave it to my father to remain cunning even through times such as these.

"Why did you poison Pansy?" I demanded, not even offering the civility of introduction. For a moment my father said nothing, just stared at the wall. But then he stood up from his bed and disappeared into the surrounding darkness. I couldn't see where he had gone and for a moment I thought he had disregarded me once more. But then I was caught by surprise when he appeared not two inches away from the small square of light, his cold eyes the only thing I could see.

"If I do recall, Draco, Pansy is not my child and I was not the one who endangered the mission." Not once did he blink, and I could tell he was smirking behind the closed door, thinking himself clever and his son oblivious. "So how on earth did you receive the idea that I had poisoned Pansy in the first place?"

My patience had been tried, test-driven and bought, and I had nothing left of it to give my father save for my full park of impatience. "Lay off the bullsh*t, father, and tell me the truth," I snapped, my hands balled into fists at my side. "I know for a fact that, no matter how badly the Dark Lord threatened Mr. Parkinson, he would never put his daughter's life at such risks. I also know for a fact that when you write, because you're left-handed, sometimes you drag your hand so the ink smears on the parchment."

The confused look in my father's eyes was satisfying. He moved away from the panel then, but I heard a tedious thud as he leaned against the heavy door. "While your language disgusts me and your attitude repulses me, I can't help to wonder what your insufferable jabber is leaning towards."

"I asked Mrs. Parkinson if I could read the letter her husband sent her along with the Indian Lotus. Mr. Parkinson is right-handed, father; yet the entire letter was lightly smeared, as if the writer was very weak from lack of food or light. It was you who sent the letter and vial because Mr. Parkinson flat refused. The Dark Lord has nothing to do with this, he doesn't even know about Mr. Parkinson backing down from the mission, and how could he? When was there a time you could have told him, father? While you were being captured by the Order or in the past weeks that you've been locked away in a high security prison?!"

I was screaming by that time, causing an uproar in the neighboring cells; but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but one person, and she was lost somewhere that I couldn't follow her to.

"Well," my father whispered behind the door. "I didn't think anyone would figure that much out. More to the point, I'm impressed it was you, Draco. I never put you against such clever standards."

Depend on my father to burn my ego. "So it *was* you," I stated, breathing deeply. "You tried to take matters into your own hands and command the testing instead of the Dark Lord."

His eyes appeared then, and to add to my irritation they were detached, glazed and overall uninterested. "I thought you were clever, Draco, because if you were you would know to keep your voice discreet."

"Tell me the antidote."

He leaned away then, staring down at me through the darkness of his cell. The quiet in his eyes matched the silence of his words. "Do senses deceive me or have you learned to care for Miss Parkinson?"

Sadly for him, I was in no mood to chat any longer. "Tell me the antidote now," I said, with more of a threat than I intended.

"There is none," he responded in a cold drawl, giving the notion that what he was about to say would be a sick enjoyment for himself.

"I said cut the sh*t. Tell me the antidote now or--,"

"Or what?!" my father suddenly bellowed, charging for the door. His eyes were practically jumping at me through the obsidian door, filled with rage and an insane malice. Against my will, I stepped back in fear, my jaw set and my heart pounding. "What will you do, Draco? What if I wasn't lying and there was no antidote? Because in truth, there isn't, never was and never will be a cure to Lotus. She's lost, that's what it feels like, doesn't it? As though she's trapped somewhere that you can't reach her?!"

The Ministry officials were coming toward us, the woman along with two other hooded guards. It seemed my father was creating quite a raucous, and Azkaban would not settle for it.

"How do I get her back?" I yelled back, too scared and too angry to speak otherwise. But contrary to my cries, my father lowered his voice dangerously; a way I was much too familiar with.

"You can't."

"Come on Draco, let's get you out of here," a voice said behind me, accompanied with two delicate hands placed on my shoulders. I looked up and saw the woman sentry standing there, moving me away from the door. The other two officials were busy opening the door and restraining my father. But I could see no more for I was being pushed down the narrow passage.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that; this is no place for a boy to find his father." She sounded remorseful, as if my father's behavior were her fault. But somehow I accepted her sympathy in vain.

"How do you know I'm not like him? I am a Malfoy as well; and we know our reputation," I shot back, moving forward out of her reach. I expected her to fall silent, struck dumb by my rudeness. But instead, she took it without question.

"You're not your father. You are your own person, and Malfoy is only your name, not who you are."

I could find nothing in reply.

In silence, she led me to the ward's office. Without thinking I took the Floo Powder from her and in no time was back at Parkinson Manor standing wet and dirty in their parlor. I made my way back to Pansy's room, my world nothing but a haze. As I entered her room I didn't bother to turn on the lights; I couldn't look at her.

I went silently to her bathroom and closed the door, locking it automatically. I intended on staying in that shower for as long as I could, drowning myself in the scalding hot water. But there was something pulling me back, pulling out. I dried and dressed, the tugging feeling still nagging at me. When I opened the door again I found the source of it.

She still laid there, her hands cold as ice on the covers and her eyes shut against the world. But regardless to all this, it was her pulling me back. So, I went back. I walked to her side and sat back down in the armchair, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head, tired and worn.

Seven days ago I had read that letter, and for seven days I sat here trying figure out what had happened. Not until the seventh day did I realize it was my father's fault, and it wasn't until the eighth day did I do something about it. And now...now there was nothing I could do.

I looked back up to her. She looked peaceful, as though she were in a better place than here with me. I watched her for a long while, the moon our only source of light once more. But tonight would be different than the previous ones. Tonight I wouldn't talk to her like I usually did; what difference would it make?

Slowly and silently I crawled into bed with her, pulling the covers over both of us. I lay next to her and wrapped her in my arms, slightly amazed by how warm she felt as opposed to her frozen state. Gently I laid her head against my shoulder and buried my face in her hair. The Healer washed her every day, and she smelled like the old Pansy now, sweet and refreshed...almost like the roses she adored so much. I fell asleep then, cradling this dead weight in my arms. And before I drifted off into unconsciousness, I remember saying three, powerful words to her.

"I love you."

A/N: I KNOW!!! I KNOW WHAT I HAVE DONE WRONG, SO DON"T SHOOT ME! I used a swear word, this I am aware of. >audience gasp< But I wanted to stay within Draco's character and he's not exactly Mr. Goody-Two Shoes like I am! =) But notice that I actually didn't use the word but bleeped it out, so ha! You can hold nothing against me because Draco would have just sounded like a wimp if he didn't let his rage take over once in a while.

And for all those with an education, did you catch my enlightening moments in there? Galahad, otherwise know as Lancelot or Lancelet, traitor to the king by ensuing in an affair with Queen Guinevere? Or maybe you noticed that the section Lucius is kept in is called the Hole, similar to the isolation cells in Alcatraz? Did you catch those??? If you did, kudos to you guys! If you did not, sign offline right now and read a book. Just kidding.

Otherwise, thanks to all my reviewers, especially amazon-princezz. Your review was very in depth and quite a good kick on my ego-booster. Thank you so much!

Besides me bad words, (pardon my French, Breezy), I hope you guys like this chapter. Read and review please, as always. God bless and good night!