The Way

Chapter Nine ~ The Way Darkness Comes

*Pansy*

Don't think that Draco and I ended up like some fairy tale in a storybook. Because we didn't. The knight in shining armor rode in on his valiant steed and rescued the princess; but happily ever after was everywhere but near. Things, however, did change. And for the better, I might add. But I knew it wouldn't last.

For starters, my mother couldn't have been happier. I'd never seen her eyes light up so quickly and the color flood back into her cheeks like that since, well, never. And I had caused her joy by just walking into the parlor. Well, sort of walked in. Actually, Draco was half dragging me since I was still trying to remember how my legs worked.

The moment he slid back the parlor door my mother was on me before I had even looked up. She held me tight and started crying; crying joyous tears and mumbling nonstop in my hair. Over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a very relieved, middle-aged woman I had never seen before. She was dressed in flawless white robes with Hermes' staff embroidered on her chest and I guessed she was a Healer from St. Mungo's.

After a few minutes of bawling and hugging, my mother moved on from me to Draco, snagging him into an even tighter embrace, if that were possible. I collapsed into the closest armchair, my legs shaking and my back sore from lying on it for so long. But at the sight of Draco's face I couldn't help suppress a small smile. My mother was rocking back and forth, thanking him over and over again for saving her little baby and stroking his hair like a loyal little puppy. Draco seemed a bit overwhelmed, and I could see surprise, shock, embarrassment, joy and nothing spread across his face.

After a while my mother let him go, rather reluctantly, and ushered all three of us through the other door of the parlor and into the living area. She practically shoved us onto the sofa and called the servants to fetch us drinks and biscuits. She, herself, did not sit down while the Healer took a seat in the armchair next to the fireplace.

"Oh Draco, you don't know how thankful I am," she said, for about the millionth time. She was leaning against the mantelpiece and staring at him as if he were the immaculate Holy Grail itself. "By the way darling, how on earth did you do it?"

"Yes," the Healer said, leaning forward in her seat and resting her chin on her hands. "I am very interested as well. Not even our most brilliant researchers could find even the slightest charm that could stir Pansy, let alone bring her fully back to life. Please tell us, how did you manage it on your own?"

I glanced at him, leaning back against the soft cushions of the sofa. To say the least, I was very curious indeed. Not to be offensive to Draco Malfoy, but he wasn't exactly top of our year and he had at least some trouble in all our classes save for Potions; so how was he able to accomplish what even the wizards and witches at St. Mungo's couldn't?

"I used the Dark Arts," he half whispered, staring at the ground. He spoke as if he didn't want anyone to hear, but sadly for him, everyone did. I wasn't the least bit miffed. I had suspected the Dark Arts, for what respectable good witch or wizard would spend their time trying to invent a spell that could cure an unbelievably rare poison? My reaction, however, won most subtle from the contestants of three. The Healer gasped, sitting back in her chair and clamping her hand to her mouth. Quite the contrary to her, my mother's chest swelled with delight and she beamed down at Draco.

"And what of the Dark Arts did you use, Draco?" she asked, smiling widely. Draco did not return the smile, but the smallest hint of pride flicked across his eyes.

"Beula Dormiens," he replied. My mother nodded, earning a horrified squeak from the Healer.

"Zhyerra, I am appalled! How can you stand there and listen to this young man as he boasts about using illegal magic? Not to mention that he is an underage wizard in training!"

My mother glared coldly at the woman, her Slytherin colors finally showing. "Grace, I think your duties here have been fulfilled. You may return to your own home or to your post down at the hospital. We are in no more need of your services." She clapped her hands twice then, and one of the men servants appeared in the doorway. "Please retrieve Miss Grace DuWhall's things and escort her to the door please."

I shot a glance at the Healer, Miss DuWhall, and noted that she looked very insulted indeed. But one death glare from my mother sent her trailing behind the man servant without so much as a few disgruntled huffs.

"Well, that takes care of her," my mother said the moment the door shut closed. "Now Draco, tell me exactly how you preformed Beula Dormiens. I, myself, remember learning it back when I was just your age; and even then my scholars were much too afraid to deal with it." She rested her elbow on the mantelpiece and gazed down at him. I had always known that my mother had this strange ability to make herself cunning and imposing when she wanted to, almost as though she pulled a veil down over herself that radiated the light of power. She had done it just now, and I realized why she was such a highly praised Death Eater.

And because of my ongoing admiration of my mother, I didn't notice that Draco was speaking, telling the story of how he had brought me back; starting with the moment he caught me after I passed out.

To be honest, I was captivated. Everything he said, from sitting at my bed side night after night, to taking a journey to Azkaban alone, to meeting his father and to finding out I was dying shocked me. Well, I hadn't known I was dying, so the shock level on that piece of information was doubled. But everything else...I was speechless.

"I was angry that she was dying, so I decided to do something about it. I went into your library, did a brief research and performed the spell on Pansy. It's not as big as you think it is," Draco concluded, leaning back against the sofa. He spoke as if he did nothing more than pull a cat out of a tree. Then again, Draco had never been the hero before, so he didn't know exactly how to act.

My mother, however, only smiled at him. I suspected more praise and congratulations from her, but she merely sighed and said "Draco, I think it is you who needs the rest now. Go on home, dear, and when you're both better...well, I leave that up to you." She walked over to him, her black robes trailing across the ground, and pulled Draco to his feet and into another hug. "But I want to thank you." She paused and held him at arm's length. "You are not your father."

At this, Draco only nodded and then turned to leave; closing the door behind him in only three long strides. I looked back at my mother and saw that she was staring after Draco with misted eyes. But she quickly wiped them away before the tears could fall. "Well darling, I'll be with you in a minute. I just want to owl Gertrude to tell her you're alright." Gertrude was Millicent's mother, and I knew Millie would have been worried about me. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend. But before she left, my mother gave a look that told me all I needed to know. Once she left, I jumped to my feet, (or at least, tried to jump), and bolted through the door after Draco. When I entered the entrance hall he was coming down the stairs, fastening his cloak about his shoulders and reaching into his pocket for the Portkey.

"Draco," I called, my voice sounding feeble and tired against the echoing stone. He looked up then, those damn eyes of his, impassive once more. I wanted something in them to make what I was going to say easier. I mean, it was what would have been expected of me, but still.

He stopped at the very bottom of the stairs, staring at me. His hair was tousled, but it didn't look untidy; not like Potter's. Everything about Draco was clean and precise, even when he hadn't meant it to be. He stared at me, his lean body lost in the folds of his magnificent cloak.

I walked up to him, not meaning to take my time but not having the strength to go any faster than I was. But Draco, being Draco, didn't say anything to me but kept a civil silence; a silence reserved for only an heiress to the family name. When I reached him my knees buckled and I fell, but thankfully, my knight was still on duty and he caught me in time...again.

"Sorry about that," I muttered as he pushed me to my feet. I looked up into his face, not really sure how to show gratitude other than just coming out and saying it. "Thank you," I said rather feebly, staring at his chest instead of those blank eyes. I rung my hands together, and then before I could ponder the idea any longer, I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down into another hug, stronger this time though, leaning my head against his. "Thank you," I said more strongly this time.

I held him tight, even though he didn't return the hug; but I knew he felt it and accepted it.

"All right then, you better go," I finally said, releasing him and stepping away.

We stared at each other for a moment, an understanding forming between us, then he said, "I'll be back tomorrow," and was gone in a rush of wind, the Portkey whipping him away from Parkinson Manor much too soon.

*Draco*

The moment my feet hit solid ground once more I fell to my knees. I was tired, weaker than I had ever felt in my life and sick beyond anything in the world. That was probably why I was so removed at Parkinson Manor, especially from Pansy. I didn't want to show that I was ill, more or less because I knew Pansy was still feeble from the Lotus. When I had relived the events of the past week to Mrs. Parkinson, I was afraid that I'd pass out at any minute. I had hurried through the tale as quickly as I could without being suspicious, not really paying attention to what I was saying or elaborating on any of the details. I just had to leave.

Thankfully, Mrs. Parkinson must have noticed something was wrong with me, so I was pleased when she sent me home instead of interrogating me about Beula Dormiens. Pansy must not have noticed, but I would make amends with her when I was feeling better. Even when she hugged me before I left I was nauseas, but her small arms were cold against my back. I wanted to stand there and let her freeze me over until the sickness washed away but I knew I couldn't. Before she had even properly bid me farewell, I was gone.

Now I was back in my own room, back amongst my own expensive furnishings and amongst the people I call family. I unhooked my cloak and left it on the floor, something I normally wouldn't be caught doing. I dragged myself to my bed and fell down onto the cool satin sheets. I knew I was beyond regular illness, having performed Dark Magic far beyond my years. This was the toll I had to take for the spell and if I thought hard enough, it was worth it.

Hot bile rose in my throat and I could tell a fever was setting in, but if I didn't eat something soon, I would surely perish from pitiable hunger rather than noble suffering. Trying hard not to think of the dizziness that settled around me, I pushed myself to my feet and fought to remain standing. When I was sure that I wouldn't keel over, I walked out of my door and down the grand staircase, concentrating very hard on every step I made.

As I descended the stairs I vaguely noticed the entire staff of servants rushing about on every floor, dusting this and sweeping that, making everything was in its right place and trying not to kill one another in their frenzy. Cleaning spells were flying here and there, and I remember having to duck from an extremely violent Folding Charm as it whizzed from one side of the second floor to the other. A very unfortunate butler was struck with it and his limbs began to abruptly jerk from this way to that, trying to fold themselves into a neat little pile. Needless to say the man was in much pain and five other servants had to rush to his aid and undo the charm.

Disregarding their odd tidying frenzy, I descended the first floor landing at last. I walked as quickly as I could towards the kitchens, thankful that the maids had the sense to steer out of my way as they bustled about. But when I had almost reached the hall leading to the kitchen I stopped. I'd have to pass the parlor on my way and the door was opened, indicating that my mother was in there. I didn't want to see her or talk to her, but I was already feeling starved as it was. Intending to just slip past her, I rushed quickly and silently across her door.

"Draco," my mother called as I flashed past. Damn. I stopped and backtracked, looking into the room. She was seated in the winged armchair in front of the fireplace, her back towards me. I looked at her through the mirror over the mantelpiece, our eyes meeting briefly in the glittering glass. My father had that mirror put up there for me specifically. He hated it when I'd spy on his business when I was little, so he'd had that mirror placed there so he would always have a clear view of the door.

Through the mirror I could tell that my mother was tense about something. She was dressed plainly and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. There was a letter in her lap and the grip she had on it told me that whatever it said had caused the strange behaviors experienced around the house.

I walked in, the heat from the fire causing me to break out in a sweat and doing nothing to help relieve me of my fever. "Hello mother," I said. I extended her nothing more than that.

"You're back," she replied, stating the obvious. "So I assume Pansy is...?" she offered me the decision to finish or remain quiet as he stared at me through the mirror.

"She's alive," I said. My mother shifted in her seat.

"I am happy to hear that." And remarkably, she was not lying. She stood up then and turned to me, her face soft yet stern. She wore a cotton grey dress with long sleeves and black buttons down her front. The skirt rippled about her and they hid her feet as she walked to me. She looked down at me, her silver eyes unreadable as always; the exact replica of my own. My mother was a tall, lean woman, her elegance enhanced by the perfect match she made with my father. I was almost her height, but she still held three inches above me. She stared down at me now, inspecting my face. Then the back of her hand was on my forehead, checking my temperature.

This was the mother I could almost love, one that was on the brink of humble.

"You've a fever," she said, taking her hand away. I was surprised to see true concern spread across her face. "Your face is flushed and you're thinner. What happened to you?"

"I haven't been eating. I've been taking care of Pansy," was all I said. No need to explain the Beula Dormiens to her. Apart from being proud, she would be furious. Since the recent whereabouts of my father, she had been very strict on keeping to the good side of the Ministry. Underage wizardry of the Dark Arts wouldn't exactly be keeping to her wishes. In fact, I was still awaiting the owl from the Ministry expelling me from Hogwarts for performing such magic.

"In that case, I expect you to eat well tonight and get to bed early. You need to be rested by tomorrow morning." She turned away then, walking back to the mantelpiece and placing the letter on it.

"Why?" I asked, though I knew she had already given me the dismissal. I should have taken it, seeing as the fire wasn't exactly curing me of my ailment, but curiosity held me back. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"You've been gone for over a week; I wouldn't expect you to know," she said strongly.

I wasn't backing down. "Then tell me."

"We all must be up and about early in the morning; and wear your casual dress robes." She tugged down the sleeves of her dress, a sure sign of her nervousness.

"Why my dress robes?" I asked, my suspicions mounting. My mother stared into the fire.

"Someone is coming."

"Who?"

The fire made her eyes look white, a strange affect that I couldn't figure out. "You're father is coming home," she said.

Damn.

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