The Way

"Love conquers all." ~ Virgil

Chapter Eight ~ The Way I Come Running

*Draco*

"I am afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that Miss Parkinson here is dying," the Healer told me three days later.

I was sitting in the armchair next to Pansy's bed once more, watching as I had done for the last ten days and focusing every last bit of magic inside of me for her to open her eyes. It was the eleventh day of her coma, and the Healer had come in that morning to cast her daily healing spells and pour her daily healing potions. But she had stopped before she performed the last spell and simply left the room. I didn't think much of it; in fact, I was glad she had left early. I liked it better when it was just Pansy and my self.

But now she had come back, in the first beginnings of evening, to tell me the one thing I never wanted to hear. It seemed she had already told Mrs. Parkinson, and Mrs. Parkinson asked her to tell me. She would have done it herself, but I imagine she is in the privacy of her own room now, crying a plague on the world for doing this to her only daughter and child.

As for me, I was in complete and utter denial.

"She can't be dying," I said firmly, still staring down at her still body. I was slouched in the chair, my elbows set onto the armrests and my hands folded in front of me. For a moment the Healer didn't say anything, but then she found her courage and explained it to me.

"At the moment she is physically stable; her body has no fatal injuries or mortal wounds. But I'm afraid her mind has been damaged far beyond our reaches. Indian Lotus isn't a poison to be taken lightly, Mr. Malfoy. As you are probably aware of, it was the Sleep of Death in Greek mythology. It has not changed since ancient times, only the fact that it is much more painful now. What has happened to Miss Parkinson is that she is trapped so far into herself that it would take a miracle for her to get out and awaken. And because she is confined so far away, her body will start to lose itself in the sleep too, until one day she will just shut down entirely, having died no stranger than in a peaceful sleep. I've tried pulling her back to the surface, but there just isn't magic strong enough for that. She is dying, Mr. Malfoy; and in a few days time, she will be gone."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This woman was talking absolute nonsense to me. Pansy wasn't dying; she couldn't be dying.

"But we saved her," I replied in my same, quiet and firm tone. "I reached her in time."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy; in time to save her physical body, but there was no time for you to save her mind. As I have said previously, she-,"

"I don't need you and your endless jabber, wench," I cried out, finally looking at her with rage and hate; not for her, but for the situation. "She can't be dying and if she is, there must be a cure. Every malady has a cure!"

The Healer shrank away from me, knowing that, though she was several years my senior, she could say nothing to a pureblood heir in the area of which she stood upon. "Sir, I have tried my best to search for some, asking quite a number of experts myself. There just isn't one that is strong enough and safe enough to pull her out."

"Then you're not trying hard enough!" I stood from my seat, the billowing black cloak I had worn against the cold rippling about me.

"I am afraid I can do no more-,"

"Then leave," I told her, making my hostility quite clear. "We have no further uses for you. I will find the cure for myself, since it his obviously out of your intellectual reach." Without even the smallest inkling of an apology, I stalked past her and out the door, hurrying down the stairs in earnest. I didn't even look back at Pansy, knowing that if I took that one second to do so, it would be a second I could put to better use saving her life.

My cloak spilled behind me, coating the entire staircase with darkened shadows in my wake. It reflected the smoke of kindling rage within me.

I hurried to the second floor, stomping through the halls in spoiled determination. Once I found the oak doors I was looking for I kicked them open, much too infuriated to do otherwise.

"Everyone out," I bellowed, calling the attention of all the servants sweeping, dusting, reading and tidying the room. "Everyone out now." I didn't care if it took longer without help or not, if there was a cure of Indian Lotus, it wouldn't matter how long Pansy stayed in her unconsciousness. Besides, I wanted to do this on my own. I wasn't partial to help.

As quickly and quietly as they could, every servant skittered out with their brooms and feather dusters in hand. They closed the doors behind themselves, a wise choice to anyone with eyes. The moment I was alone I began tearing books off the shelf. I threw aside the ones that had no relevance to illness and medical mechanics. But anything that had 'cures', 'healing potions', 'miracle spells', 'Greek mythology' and the like I tossed onto the table in the middle of the room.

The Parkinson library wasn't anything close to the Malfoy one, but it was the size of our Slytherin common room and it was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves overflowing with books. Though some Slytherin's were not known for their genius, it was ancient tradition for the pure lines to be granted the highest standards of education. I mean to say, Voldemort was Head Boy in his day, now wasn't he? And my father received his job by his undeniable brilliance.

My father. My heart began to beat with much more pronouncement then before. My jaw tightened and I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. He had done this to Pansy. He had done it to her out of sheer insanity, for there was no other explanation for it. He had always wanted power over others, though he wanted it in the form of the Dark Lord's right-hand man rather than being the Dark Lord himself. Pulling off a testing was just a way for him to get his kicks about being Mr. Head Death Eater.

Using the loathing sting for my father to better use, I drilled through the entire collection of books in maybe half the time it would have normally taken me. I had already spent three and a half hours filtering down to the helpful ones and I was no where near to solving my problem. So I set to work searching everything, cutting no corners and leaving nothing to chance. I checked anything and everything that sounded, even looked, like it could help Pansy. I was that determined.

By the time another three hours rolled by I was becoming desperate. I had found not a single book that came close to mentioning the Indian Lotus, let alone a cure. I had also broadened my search for spells that could fix numerous illnesses; but the rarity of the Lotus was so advanced that there weren't even tales or legends based on it. But there had to be something. Anything could be fixed with magic. Anything save for death; but that was a whole other story...right?

Frustrated, I pulled over the third to last book of my pile. I looked down at the cover and suddenly felt my heart stop beating. It was a book based on the Dark Arts; one that contained advanced and very dangerous spells on ancient illnesses. I peeled back the cover without hesitation, flipping through section after section, trying to find one that came close to what I was looking. Then I found it. The heading was written in black ink; so black that it was a menacing blue.

BEULA DORMIENS: TO RETURN THE DORMANT TO THE LIVING

It was much more specific than I was hoping for. I retrieved my wand from my pocket and lit the tip, casting even more light onto the page instead of the slightly dimmed chandelier light hanging above me. My eyes took in everything I read and my brain registered it; but my heart felt heavy with dread as the meaning of what I this spell could do hit me.

Beula Dormiens is not to be dealt with lightly. It is Dark Arts so advanced, that it can only be performed on a living mortal once in a lifetime. To disregard this rule is fatal, as Beula Dormiens can also be a less potent form of Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. But take heed to he who performs Beula Dormiens as well, for the spell can only be performed by a person once in a lifetime also. To go against this would be to reverse the final outcome, and draw the performer into dormancy as well.

Beula Dormiens is an ancient spell, brought about by the early Egyptian wizards. But unlike the spells performed in their era, no other object is required save for the wand, as the spell is too dark to entail otherwise.

To activate the spell, began as said thus. Hold the wand in your left hand, fingers clasped firmly around the handle. Point the tip directly to the person you wish to revive and hold it steadily above their heart. Calm your breathing and heart rate, as nervousness and anxiety can penetrate the magical field and destroy the entire process.

The incantation at the bottom of the page must be said clearly and without falter.

WARNING: If the spell is not performed to its highest rank and exact perfection, results may vary to the borders of disaster. Do not attempt this spell if you have a severe fear of death.

Well, that was merry, wasn't it? A spell you could only use once but had to be performed to maximum perfection or else all is lost? Talk about the unfairness of the Dark Arts. I could practically feel my heart right down to my feet as my entire body went numb.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't do Beula Dormiens even if I could. I wasn't the cleverest wizard in school, that was Granger's stupid title, and I didn't have the confidence to achieve this spell because that was Potter's idiotic strategy. I didn't even have the motivation to perform it because the Weasel had already stolen that tactic off the shelf. I couldn't do it even if I had the confidence, the motivation and the cleverness. And even if I attempted the spell, I could trap Pansy in her mind forever or add to the horror by reversing the effect on my self.

In a fit of rage I slammed the book closed and hurled it at the oak doors. The pages flailed when they assumed contact and the book fell to the floor, its pages thrown open to stare at me where I sat. I could feel the anger rise up in me even more now; the selfishness of my upbringing scorching me from within. But something else masked the fury and hatred I was creating inside. It was something I had felt before, but not in such intensity that it took a few moments before I could place it.

Defeat. It stung my throat with its sound and pierced my lungs with its treachery. So there it was, the only way to save Pansy and I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it because I was weak, pathetic and broken. And the Lotus was much too rare with its symptoms for me to have hopes in finding another cure. I bent my head low, shamed. Defeated.

For a long time I sat there, soaking in the misery that was my loss and wallowing in sorrows like some bloody girl. And all I could think of was her. I didn't return to her. I was afraid she'd be gone when I got back. I was afraid that she'd vanished without a trace and I'd have to live with the image of her empty bed where she had once lain. I'd rather live forever with the memory of her lying as if only in light slumber on her bed. If I forced myself hard enough, maybe I could convince my self over the years that she really was just sleeping, and that she had probably woken the next morning. Maybe, if I concentrated hard enough, I could imagine a world without her. She wouldn't really be gone; she'd be alive with her presence. I would--

No. No, I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't abuse her memory like that. And I couldn't give up like that either. Deep down, I knew that the thing I truly feared was hurting my self during the spell; that had always been my barrier: my self. But for some odd reason, I didn't matter anymore. For all I was aware, I didn't care if I lived; just as long as Pansy did. I loved her so much that I would give my life for her. I loved her.

I stood up hastily, striding over to the book near the door and snatching it back up. Not even considering the rest of the household gone in sleep, I kicked the doors open once more, my eyes never leaving the page of the spell. I memorized all the way to her room, reciting it down to an art by the time I was at the top floor.

I was so lost in my concentration that I didn't even notice when I threw the book over the rail or whipped out my wand and blasted her door off its hinges. The huge, black door flew into the room, landing on the floor and sliding to the foot of the bed; the bed where she still lay, waiting.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

I turned around, my body language unaffected by the distressed call. I looked down the stairwell and saw the Healer running towards me, Mrs. Parkinson at her heels with three servants in tow. It seemed that the racket I had created did not sit well with any of them.

"Draco, darling, what are you doing?" Mrs. Parkinson cried out, losing the edge in her voice when she called me 'darling'. "I know you're distraught with what is happening to Pansy, but you can't deal with it like this!"

She thought I was just acting out due to my anger when, in truth, I was causing such an uproar because I had become deaf; deaf to the subtle sounds and revolutions of every day life. It was as if all my senses had turned off and all my thoughts swept away save for one: the one that held the words to Beula Dormiens. I was acting out due to my intense determination.

Without even realizing what I was doing, I whirled around to face them, wand at the ready. The darkened ebony of my wand gleamed in the hall's dim light, sending a flash of white across my face. With an expression of absolute emptiness, I pointed my wand down at them from the top of the stairs and muttered a single word under my breath. Simply by the adrenaline running through my veins the Freezing Charm worked flawlessly. They froze ten steps away from me, each one staring up with wide, bewildered eyes. But I had better things to do.

Turning my focus back into the depths of the room, I strode over to her bedside, gazing down at her light form. Shifting my wand into my left hand, I pointed its end directly above her chest, precisely where her heart still hopefully beat with life. My breathing had become rapid, and my fear was mounting higher and higher. But I didn't back down. I couldn't back down and I wouldn't.

Calming my nerves, I closed my eyes focusing everything into that moment; a moment that would determine everything that mattered to me. The words materialized in my head and I wasted no time in reciting them. This was for her. This was because I was in love. This was because I was in love with her.

"Treguna," I started, pronouncing every syllable with the greatest of care. I wasn't even sure what language the words derived from, but I wasn't going to mispronounce them and ruin everything. "Mekoides trecorum," I continued. I focused everything onto Pansy, using every emotion, every thought, and every ounce of magic I could tap into. "Satis dee."

A dark, black light began to form in the small space between my wand tip and Pansy, slowly growing bigger and bigger. I stared at it for a while, and then past it, into her face. For a moment I saw something flicker there. Was it the sheen of revival? I held my breath, waiting for the flicker to return; but it didn't. Instead, the black light had grown so great that it consumed the entire room, drawing us into a blinding darkness. Suddenly, my body went cold.

Had I done it wrong? Was it, in fact, turning against me instead of saving her? Had I done it wrong?

Then, from absolutely no where, a searing pain burst from somewhere inside my chest. I tried to scream, to let some of the agony escape me through a cry, but my voice had been ripped away from me only to be replaced with an echoing silence. I had done it wrong. I had done it wrong and now I was dying because of it. I was dying alongside Pansy. We would die together.

My knees fell out from under me, stinging as I hit the stone floor. A horrible sensation came over me as the odd feeling of something draining out of me took over, but that was the oddest part. By some strange occurrence my hand that held my wand was still locked in position right above Pansy's heart, frozen there with no way of breaking loose. And it was like Pansy was the one draining whatever it was out of me and into her. I could feel the rippling sensation travel over my body, down my arm, through my wand and then fall into her. It was painful, yet mind-boggling.

With what little strength I had, I forced my head up, looking at her one last time. At the sight of her face a memory flashed through my head. I was eight and it was the day I met her. She looked like a china doll, in a black dress with a sheet of dark hair. Her light skin, the white bow, her black eyes. The way she looked even smaller sitting on one of our huge armchairs. Then the memory was gone, one more wave of pain, and then I was lost into the darkness as well.

*Pansy*

Have you ever been thrown into an empty room with no lights and nothing with you? Or have you even experienced darkness so precise that it seemed to be more alive than you were? Or how about fallen into sleep, had the worst nightmare in history, and then have that horrid fear that you'd be stuck in the nightmare forever because you just couldn't wake yourself up? If you have, then you'd have some idea of what it felt like to be trapped by Indian Lotus.

I don't know exactly how I could explain it, but it was as if my entire body had shut down and yet my mind was still going while also frozen in one moment. All I knew was that I was trapped in night; in a night that would never end, waiting for a dawn that would never come and a day that just didn't exist. It was a fate worse than death; which was saying a lot due to the fact that I was dying.

Oh yeah, I knew I was losing in the battle for my life. I could just feel it, even though I was completely numb all over. But somehow the prospect of death did not scare me, only the thought that I'd never see anyone again; that I'd never see Draco again.

I knew it was him who had come to my rescue. I knew he was that fair angel bounding up the stairs towards me only seconds before I collapsed. He had come running the moment he thought I was in trouble. And I couldn't deny it, but a swelling of joy had erupted when I figured that out, even though I was poisoned.

So when I saw that rip of light through the darkness, my heart leapt right into my throat. Well, if I could have felt my heart, it would have leapt. It was the whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' bit that freaked me a little. As grateful it was to see light through my eternity of night, I couldn't help but wonder: am I dying? People always said to not go towards the light if they wanted you to stay alive, so did that apply to now?

But it was so inviting, like being locked inside all your life and then suddenly the doors are opened and before you stands the entire world. It was a temptation that I could not resist. I headed for the light...

When I awoke, my eyes didn't flutter open like a princess' would in a fairy tale. They simply opened, as if I had only blinked. It took awhile for me to register where I was, having had no use of my body for who knew how long.

First thing I did was find out where I was. Was I in Heaven, or in Hell? Or was I was in that random place of Purgatory or was it Limbo? Was I even dead? Very slowly, I looked around the room, my eyes darting around because I wasn't sure if I could move my head. A pink canopy above me, a stone wall in front of me and a pink, fabric drape outlining what looked like a doorframe. I was in my room.

So I was alive. I great weight was lifted off me as I let that single thought sink in. I was alive. I was alive. I. Was. Alive.

Slowly, very, very, very slowly, I sat up, closing my eyes through the effort. My entire body was sore, from the aftermath of the Lotus and the result of being stuck in bed for what could have been a lifetime. My heart beat painfully against my chest, sending an aching ripple through my body. But that didn't matter, because my heart was beating, slow and steady. I was alive.

I sat up straight, ignoring the scream of protest from my back. I focused my eyes on the doors before me. No, not doors; just a door. One door stood, basically unharmed, where I left it while the other looked as though it had been blasted from its hinges. It lay immobile at the floor of my bed.

Wondering what on earth happened, I raked my hand through my hair, so glad to feel its soft texture through my fingers. I was alive. I took in a deep breath, the cold air refreshing, and then, as if drawn, I looked down at my side.

Draco lay next me, silent, still and asleep. I hadn't even felt him there, let alone noticed him. He lay on his back, the covers pulled just to the middle of his torso and his arms at his side. I couldn't tell if he was breathing, but I wouldn't have noticed even if I checked. I just stared at him.

He was the one I had missed while I was trapped. His was the face that I thought of when I had lost hope. He was what I had wanted to live for. I didn't even know why I was feeling this way about him, but I didn't have the energy in me to deny it.

I shifted my weight so that I was leaning over him, staring down at his face. For a second something about him struck me as odd; he did not seem to be alive, with his face drained of even their pale color and his body radiating no warmth. It was strange.

Slowly, I raised a hand and brought it to his cheek. I could feel the coldness of him on my skin, the softness of him on my entire body.

And then, without warning, his hand shot up and snatched my own, the movement so fast and so fixed that I didn't even see it. I didn't pull away and I didn't scream; I didn't even jump. It was almost as though I expected it.

His eyes opened then and locked directly into mine. The expression on his face was typical, strong and impassive, imposing and cunning as well. We held one another's gaze for just a moment, my dark eyes looking down to him and his gray ones looking up to mine.

Then, with such earnest and intensity that it struck me dumb, he sat up and pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around my entire body and resting his head against my collarbone. At first I was caught by surprise, though my expression did not change in the slightest. But then I brought my hands up and cradled his head to my shoulder, my cheek to rest on his hair. And then I knew that he had brought me back, he had saved me.

As we sat there, the sun began to climb its climb into the sky, its rays gliding over the entire manor. Trailing behind it was a soft wind, barely skimming the grass with its soft whisper. It blew down along the river, where the ashes of the Lotus flower still sat at the water's edge. Then, with the quietest whistle, the wind blew the ashes into the river until they floated away and were consumed by the water.

*******

A/N: The End. NOT! Muahahaha, like this is the end of the story. Yeah right, I got way too many tricks up my sleeve before this baby is done. Remember, this is the dark side of romance. Everything that has happened so far is just the tip of the iceberg. Draco and Pansy's romance isn't going to be light and fluffy like a Gryffindor romance, so keep that in mind.

Anyway, I would like to take this time now to thank Miss Breezy Columb aka Apolla2 for basically giving me the entirety of this chapter. Without her 'mild brilliance', I would still be sitting in my room, staring at my computer and praying God would send me a Heaven-made author to do this chapter for me. Thanks Breezy, you are the Great One.

But to get on with it, I hoped you guys liked this chapter and would please review. Chapter nine will be done much sooner than this one was so stay tuned. Oh! And extra points to anyone who knows where the incantation "Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee' comes from. I'll tell you in the next chapter, but fifty million zillion dollars to anyone who can find its origin! Good luck and God bless.