The Way

Chapter Ten ~ The Way The Table Turned

*Pansy*

The day Mr. Malfoy returned home is a day I shall never forget. This is saying something, as my life seems to be made up of unforgettable mornings and nights. Oh the perks of being a Slytherin.

The first thing I can recall of that day is waking up the morning after I 'came back'. To my own astonishment, I was extremely tired the night before. One would think that eleven days of lying unconsciously in their bed would pretty much rest the person up for a couple of days, but that didn't seem to be the case for me. The energy I had burned simply walking around the manor must've been the only energy I had, because I remember sleeping once I returned to my bed and then waking up to sore muscles, a dull headache and a clouded sky.

It was late in the afternoon when I decided to get up, and the moment I had pulled myself out of bed my mother came into my room. She opened the door slowly, though I could tell that there was nothing to be calm about. She looked frazzled, as if she had spent the entire morning pacing the living room and scratching her head as she tried to solve something.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. She sighed heavily and lifted her left hand, showing the manila letter that she held there. The moment I spotted it my eyes grew wide and I drew back the smallest bit. I had learned not to trust letters any more. "Who's it from?" I asked.

My mother lowered her arm. "It's from Narcissa," was her answer.

I let out a sigh; just as long as it wasn't from Azkaban.

"She's inviting us over for dinner tonight," my mother told me. She stood straighter and leaned a shoulder against my door post. "It's a welcome home dinner. Pansy, Lucius Malfoy came home today."

Damn.

"I'm not going," I said, already climbing back under my covers. I was really defeating the purpose of Draco bringing me back by sleeping all the time, but what else was I to do? I'd certainly pick an eternity of slumber rather then dine with my potential killer.

"I know you don't want to Pansy," my mother began, walking into the room. "But I'd really appreciate it if you did."

"Why? So he can drop an unpreserved Mandrake root into my drink when I'm not looking? Mother, I'm afraid of him," I confessed, going to any lengths to evade this dinner at all costs.

"I know, I know." She knelt at my bed side, leaning on her elbows on the mattress. "But I'll be there, and the Bulstrodes, and the Zabinis. Don't forget Crabbe and Goyle." I glared at her, letting her know exactly how much that information didn't help in the slightest. "Alright look, Lucius Malfoy is the only Death Eater to get off without any criminal charges. His hearing was two days ago, according to Narcissa, and he was let off with not a negative word against him. It seemed he had a pretty decent defense and very accurate evidence. Not to mention their connections within the Ministry and the money they burn on keeping those connections."

I leaned against the headboard, listening.

"And I'm not saying it was wrong of him to lie like he did and that he should stay in Azkaban and rot to death; but he should have at least attempted to save the other Death Eaters. They asked him for his word, for or against the other convicted Death Eaters and do you know what he said? Nothing. Absolutely nothing in response. He left them all there, including your father."

"Won't the Dark Lord punish him for is disloyalties to his fellow servants?" I asked, not really caring for the answer but trying to steer the subject away from me for as long as possible.

"No; and why would he? Our Master cares only for his servants loyalties to him, not one another. Lucius did not give the Dark Lord's name so he will be left unharmed by both the Ministry and us." There was a definite note of resentment in her tone. "Which brings us to the dinner. I'm not lying to you honey, but this dinner is intended for the wives of the convicted Death Eaters. Honestly, I don't know why we're having a meeting, but I've got to be there."

"So go," I said, failing to keep the harshness out of my words. "You don't need my permission to be there and you certainly don't need me to bring you." Stale thunder sounded from far off into the horizon and a heavy rain began to fall. "And now it's raining, just another reason to stay home and not go."

She pushed herself off the ground and sat on the edge of the bed. "Everyone will be expecting you. You know the embarrassment of not attending such a big event."

"Its dinner and some Dark Arts, not exactly the Yule Ball, mother."

"Millicent will be there. Her and Blaise, little Vincent, and Gregory. And what about Draco?"

I yawned. "What about Draco?"

"He'll want you to come," she said. I shook my head.

"It's his house; he can brave the terrain alone." I stared at her and she stared back. "You just don't want to go alone, do you?" I asked.

She didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."

I brought my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them and staring at the comforter. "Can't you just go alone?" I pleaded. My mother sighed again and lifted my head back up with her hand. She looked me square in the eyes.

"Pansy, it's not just that I don't want to go alone; it's about you too. You need to show your pride, sweetheart. I want you to walk in there with your head held high and show Lucius Malfoy that he can't touch you. You need to show him that your father was not a coward and that you are no daughter of a coward either." She tucked my hair behind my ear. "For your father and yourself, Pansy," she said. I breathed.

"Do I have to wear pink?" I asked. My mother smiled.

"Would you if I asked you to?"

"No."

"Then my answer is the same as yours. Wear whatever you like." She leaned over, kissed the top of my head and headed for the door. "The dinner's at eight, so we'll be leaving at seven thirty." Then with a wave of her hand, she had closed the door behind her.

*

By the time the clock struck seven I was ready. It had taken me all day just to get out of bed, shower and dress; already assuming that I had to travel very slowly as my body didn't seem to really want to move at all.

I had decided to wear my pale blue robes, the pastel color making my hair look darker than ever. It was a stunning ensemble, one that our own seamstress designed for me. I had on a long, flowing skirt of blue silk with a blouse that matched. I had wrapped my satin midnight blue cloak around my shoulders and placed a simple blue headband on my head. Sapphire earrings, sapphire pendent and silver woven bracelet and then I was done, ready to wait the next half-hour before we had to leave. I did not bother with make up, I was far too tired and it hadn't been my style to use it until the end of fifth year.

Fifteen minutes later, my mother came into the room, dressed in silver robes and a silk cloak that glistened when she moved. Her jewelry was simple as well aside from the ornate family ring on her right hand.

"You're wearing blue," she said tilting her head at me and smiling. "I thought you had told Mademoiselle Carina that you wanted that color changed to something darker, like green?"

"I almost did," I told her, "but I decided that she was right in picking this color."

"Everyone will be dressed in darker colors," she told me. I shrugged.

"I am aware. I only wore this to annoy Mr. Malfoy, if you don't mind, mother. He does have this strange dislike for bright things. You wouldn't think so, however, considering his hair."

She laughed. "And how could I be prouder with a girl like you for a daughter?" she said. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs." And then she left, still smiling.

I sat on my bed for a little bit longer, prolonging our departure. I still didn't want to go not just because of Mr. Malfoy but because of everyone being there. For some reason I didn't really want to see my friends, not even Millicent or Draco.

I looked towards my vanity and saw myself in the mirror. I was skinny and pale, my eyes an incredibly darker brown even compared to my hair. I wasn't pretty like Blaise but I wasn't exactly plain like Millicent; but I didn't have the sometimes cruel impulses as Blaise nor the surprising kindness of Millicent. I was just Pansy. And it wasn't that I hated who I was or how I looked, and I didn't exactly love it either. But I'd love it tonight, for the sake of keeping my pride. I'd be a different Pansy than I was in my room; I'd be nothing but nobility and imperialism. I would prove our Parkinson name.

Securing my silver clasp on my cloak, I headed out the door after my mother, grabbing the Malfoy Manor Portkey off my vanity as I went.

*

Twenty minutes later I found myself slouching in an armchair in the Malfoy parlor, my head resting lazily on my hand, staring into the fireplace and trying not to get involved with the rapid cat fight occurring behind me consisting of Millicent trying to rip Blaise's hair out. Draco was only slightly affected by this mishap, and he stood off to one side of the two girls shouting idle instructions to Crabbe and Goyle on how they could better restrain Millie if they each hooked on to one of her legs. Marcus Flint, Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard didn't help the cause; they were standing protectively on either side of Blaise, but they were coaxing Millicent forward as they did so.

My mother and I had been the second to last to arrive. The moment we appeared in the entrance hall, one of the human servants guided me into the parlor and my mother into the living area. Typical dinner procedure; children in one room and adults in the other until the dinner had been served and we reunite in the dining area.

As the man opened the door for me my eyes quickly found Draco. He was leaning against the wall near the fireplace, his arms folded over his chest and one foot propped against the wall as well. His head was bent low, staring at the floor. He wore the usual black, the only difference in his appearance being that his clothes look much too expensive and he looked absolutely dreadful while still retaining an elusive glow.

Also in the room was Crabbe and Goyle, each sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, not saying much and basically sulking. They both wore what looked like brown robes, though Goyle's looked more like dirt rather than manure as Crabbe's did. Malcolm and Marcus were there, though they had collapsed in the sofa near the wall and Graham sort of moped in a corner, being the new recruit in the group and far too shy to sit near anyone.

Millicent, in dark grey robes that actually complimented her large figure, was standing over by the window, watching the rain outside and talking animatedly about her summer so far. She had a glass of water in one hand and was emphasizing her words with the other, even though it didn't seem like any of the boys were listening.

It seemed to me that no one had actually heard or noticed the servant and myself entering, so the man cleared his throat very loudly. When they all looked up he announced me and then left, closing the door behind me.

"Pansy," Millicent cried from across the room. "So you really are alive?" she asked good-naturedly. I couldn't help but smile.

"Since the last time I checked," I replied. She nodded to me, beaming as she did so. I turned my gaze over to Gregory and Vincent who had turned around in their seats to see me. I smiled whole-heartedly at them and they returned the gesture twenty times over, nodding enthusiastically. They weren't exactly men of many words.

I received a respectable nod from Malcolm and grunt of approval from Marcus, but I didn't mind so much. Sometimes, those two could be complete idiots and sometimes only idiots. Acknowledging me was already beyond either's standards. I didn't receive any sort of greeting from Graham, however. He was blushing when I looked at him and I could have sworn he was about to wet himself. Feeble little first year afraid of an heiress. I almost felt bad for him.

"But you're wearing blue," Millicent said, coming over from her place at the window. "You never wear blue, especially this bright. Our parents won't approve, although I don't mind it so much."

"Do I look that strange?" I asked.

She shrugged, grinning. "Not so much as usual."

"You look fine," Draco said from behind me, and we both turned our heads to look at him. He hadn't moved; his head was still angled toward the floor, but his eyes had flicked up and were resting upon my own. Suddenly I was struck with the oddness of our situation. How were we to act in front of everyone? They had all seen how obviously mad I was with Draco when I got off the train and he had put up the veneer that he wasn't on pleasant terms with me either. But we weren't angry at one another any more, although I wasn't about to roll out the red carpet for him anytime soon.

And he had said so many things to me, apologized to me, called me beautiful, and spoke to me at my bedside while I was asleep. He had saved me from the Lotus and he had kissed me, too.

"Thanks," I said, moving over to him as Millicent turned to Crabbe and Goyle again and began telling the rest of her summer story. I stood in front of Draco, looking up into his face as shadows swirled with his flaxen hair and tainted skin. "You're ill," I said, not sounding at all worried although I really was. He shrugged, unfolding his arms and placing them in his pockets.

"I'm alright," he said. "The question here is, are you okay?"

"Of course I am," I replied vaguely. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He lifted his chin. "Because I saved you."

"Exactly why I'm perfectly alright," I answered quietly. I hadn't meant to say it, but it was the truth either way. He stared at me, not really searching for anything but just looking. "Is your father here--," I began, but Draco interrupted me.

"I don't want to talk about my father," he said, placing both feet on the floor. I nodded.

We fell silent then, neither of us finding any more words to say to one another. So we just sort of stood there, letting Millie's voice consume the quiet, the crackling fire creating the perfect background for her. I remember unconsciously moving toward Draco, taking refuge in his arm and dreading the dinner even more.

But then, just when she had reached the moment when she had been sitting in her room and received the letter telling how I had been poisoned, the parlor door was opened once more. I broke away from Draco as we all turned around to see who had come. The same man who had brought me stood there, hands behind his back and chest thrown out in a would-be stately manner.

"Beloved heirs and heiresses, I present to you Miss Blaise Reignah Zabini, daughter and heiress to Preston and Venus Zabini of the Duncan and Zabini Clans." The man bowed to his side and extended his hand, revealing the girl standing behind him.

We all gasped; well, save for Draco, he merely furrowed his brow in confusion. If she hadn't been announced as Blaise Zabini I would have mistaken her for an Irish Goddess because, let's face it, she looked incredible.

It was one of those 'miracle over the summer' things, though Blaise had taken it to a whole other level. She had already been pretty before, but now, in only a little of two weeks, she looked dazzling. Her bright red hair had reached its full potential now, radiating such heat that it put the blazing fire to shame. The soft gold of her skin was just perfect and her green eyes could even put Potter's to disgrace, seeing as they were the only respectable feature on him.

She had donned a hunter green dress of Roman fashion, the one strap fastening on her shoulder with a gold clasp and the sleeves sweeping her arms elegantly. The floor-length skirt fanned out at her feet and a thin, sheer cloak was wrapped about her shoulders.

"Blaise," I managed, smiling widely at her. "You look amazing."

"Why thank you," she replied sauntering into the room as the servant closed the door behind her. She didn't exactly reply kindly, though I didn't take it to account. I walked over to her, intending to ask her how her summer so far was, but she quickly looked past me and locked her eyes onto Draco, an eyebrow rising suggestively. "Good evening to you, Draco. And how have you been?"

I stared at her, looked back at Draco and then to Millicent. Millie returned my gaze, though her eyes were wide though not in surprise. Blaise speaking to Draco? It was enough to baffle all of us. Blaise had always been somewhat of a closed girl. She could be offensive and outgoing at times, but other times she remained close-mouthed, resolving to staring evilly at anyone who passed by. But the matter of Draco had always been a different subject. Being in his presence terrified her and talking to him was just plain horrific. I knew it had taken all her strength to question him back on the train. We all didn't look into much, but we suspected she was shy around him because of who he was and the family he belonged to. Or at least, she used to be shy with him. Now, however, she was contradicting herself greatly.

I turned back to her, trying to figure out what had happened to the Blaise we all knew.

"I'm decent," Draco replied monotonously, his answer reflecting the confusion on his face. Blaise's lips curled into a seducing smile.

"I'd say you're more than decent," she answered, boring her eyes into his. I heard a strangled noise from behind and Greg, Vince and I both saw as Millicent choked on her water, trying not to spit it out over the carpet. The three of us fought to sustain our laughter, as it seemed that no one else had noticed Millicent's performance.

I abandoned Blaise and walked to her side, slapping her on the back as she tried to obtain air. "What was that for," I hissed in her ear, still giggling silently with Crabbe and Goyle. I looked up and saw Marcus and Malcolm stepping forward and greeting Blaise. They hadn't seemed to show this much enthusiasm for any one else before hand but hey, who could blame them?

"Was it just me, or did Red over there just give Draco a line?" she managed to get out between silent hysteria and momentary gagging. The four of us broke into laughter then, earning smug looks from Baddock, Flint and Blaise who had all moved over to the sofa.

Still laughing, I sat down on the arm of Greg's chair as Millie placed her glass on the mantelpiece and stood by the fire. At that moment I forgot why I hadn't wanted to come. It felt good to be back amongst the people I knew; the people I called friends. The laughter we shared was almost enough to push out thoughts of Mr. Malfoy and my fear.

Soon enough, all of us had gone back to quiet conversations, my worries leveling out as I fell back into social mode. Crabbe and Goyle had engaged me in quite an entertaining conversation about an incident that happened to them in third year up at the Shrieking Shack. It involved flying mud, Weasley laughing and Potter's head floating out of no where. I didn't really believe anything they said, after all, it was Crabbe and Goyle, but it felt good to laugh with them. I had usually taken the two boys for granted, but from what had happened to me and what I was dreading, I didn't mind them so much. Most of their grunts and guffaws made sense to me anyway.

Millicent, however, wanting to be the speaker than the listener, moved over to feeble little Graham in the corner. He was staring at Blaise in a kind of awe, not even noticing when Millicent came up to him. But when she had clapped him on the back in greeting and began teasing him about Blaise silently, he looked to her, smiling at her friendliness yet turning red from either embarrassment or Millicent hitting him.

Over on the sofa, Flint and Baddock were in a heated conversation over Quidditch, each trying to coax Blaise to agree with either one or the other. I couldn't help but snort as Malcolm attempted to persuade her by explaining the pros and cons of the Irish National Team to the United French League. Blaise knew as much about Quidditch as I cared for Neville Longbottom; less even.

The only one who didn't appear to be having a good time, however, seemed to be our dear host. Draco remained in his shadowed area, eyes wandering and his posture slowly failing. But--no, his eyes weren't wandering; they were locked onto something, locked onto me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring discreetly at me, his arms still in his pockets and his head still slightly bent. It was a bit unexpected, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Knowing that he was looking at me made me feel safe, like a guardian angel watching over their charge.

I looked back at him and smiled. He didn't return the smile, but slowly nodded. It was a kind gesture by his standards and it was enough for me. But I noticed from the side that Blaise's attention had been torn away from the Quidditch argument to Draco and me. I could see her bright green eyes darting from my face to his, an emotion present there that I hadn't noticed before. Pushing her strange behavior aside, I returned to the boys, catching their last attempt to figure out the mystery of our Second Year Christmas. It had something to do with drugged cakes and a broom closet, and I decided that I didn't want to know the whole story.

It was only a few minutes later when Millicent's full, echoing laughter broke the silent buzz of quiet conversation. No one really acknowledged it, but I turned around on the armrest to see what was so funny. Millie was laughing heartily, thumping Graham's back as she doubled over in laughter. The poor boy looked close to fainting.

"Ah Pritchard," Millicent answered, calming down and shaking her head. "I can't believe you. Blaise isn't anything to be worried about; the girl is as dainty as a flower and twice as harmless. She can't even ride a broom!" She turned to me and pointed at him, grinning broadly. "Go on and ask Pansy as well, she'll tell you a mouth full on Zabini. The girl's a pushover."

I cleared my throat, aware that Malcolm was listening now and turning my way. "I really couldn't say anything about Blaise that could justify her," I answered, hoping I sounded neutral. The conversation had attracted everyone in the room now, even Draco and Blaise herself, who had mysteriously made her way over to him and was practically crawling on him. I laughed silently, her actions amusing me.

"Aw, come on," Millie joked, unable to keep a straight face. She looked at Blaise from across the room, her attitude friendly and cheery. "It's true though, that this dame is no stronger than a treacle tart, but she's got one lashing tongue. Say one thing to her, she'll kill you with her words. Just a little harlot with glares though."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed along with Malcolm who really couldn't help himself. I tried not to, but in all honesty, if Millicent couldn't get a snort out of you, no one could. Blaise, however, seemed utterly offended by Millicent's rants about her. I couldn't recall a time when her cheeks flushed so noticeably and she raised her chin in defiance, glaring maliciously at Millie.

"There!" Millicent cried, pointing at Blaise and laughing harder. "That's an evil eye, that one. Use that on a Hufflepuff and you'll be sweeping away smoking ashes in no time."

"That's enough now, Bulstrode," Blaise injected, her voice fierce yet quiet. "I don't want you talking about me."

Millicent stopped laughing but kept looking at Blaise good-naturedly. "What's wrong with you Red? A few weeks to fill yourself out and you think you're higher than any of us?"

That was the breaking point for everyone. Vince was laughing so hard he literally couldn't breathe and Greg was slamming the chair as he fought for air. Malcolm let out one big 'ha' before he could close his mouth and even Flint couldn't help releasing a few little growls of amusement himself. Even Draco grinned; a huge, very natural grin as he leaned his head back against the wall and winked at Millicent. She took his congratulations and bowed theatrically.

The subject of our delight, on the other hand, did not take this comment as well.

"Stuff it, Millicent, or you'll find this lashing tongue will give you a few well-placed thrashes," Blaise hissed, her anger prominent now. The boys let out a low 'oh' as they looked from Blaise to Millicent. Draco and I remained quiet.

"I don't know what's gotten into you lately Blaise, but I'm not exactly fond of it. Besides, what can you say that will hurt me? You've got nothing." Millie crossed her arms and grinned at Blaise, her defense launched. It was true; no one had anything on Millicent. It was either the girl's implausibly clean record, (by pureblood principles), and no one would be stupid enough to black mail her. It was *Millicent Bulstrode*; six foot two Millie with her shoulder-length brown hair and her muscular frame. She was the essence of physical power.

But Blaise seemed to have overlooked these vital pieces of information, because what she said next was completely out of line, no matter what family or house or species you belonged to.

"Oh really?" she hissed, an evil glint in her eyes. "Well, innocent little Millie's got nothing to hide does she?" Millicent nodded, perfectly confident. "Well, if you put it that way then I guess you're right. Hmm...but that doesn't make much sense, now does it? I mean, if you've no secrets, what's the deal with your father?"

Never before, in the history of time, has anyone ever seen the color drain from a Bulstrodes face faster than Millicent's and the grin simply fall away to be replaced with unbelievable fear.

"So that's the spot then, isn't it? You don't want anyone to know about your father. I would have thought so." Blaise crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side in accomplishment.

Marcus, being the absolute moron that he is, asked, "What about her father?"

Blaise looked to him, then back to the slowly angering face of Millicent.

"Don't say a word," she hissed from across the room, her hands in fists. Like the viper of a girl would listen.

"'What about her father', you ask?" Blaise began; her voice cold, stiff and pleased. "Hasn't it ever occurred to any of you why Millicent is always sickeningly neutral and even humorous at times? Don't you ever wonder why she looks the way she does when her parents, the lovely Gertrude Denise Contegall and the handsome Bryce Earnest Bulstrode, look nothing like her?"

"Don't," was all Millie could say in reply, too scared and too furious to do anything else.

"Her father beat her," Blaise finally said, a manic smile curling her red lips. "He hated the way she looked, bizarre and grotesque, the exact opposite of her parents. When he came home after a very violent Death Eater meeting, he'd beat the hell out of her, screaming how horrid she looked and how he wished she was never born. Our dear Millicent here never wanted us to know though; it would kill her ego too much. She didn't want the truth of how she looked to be expressed by the only people she cared about. Besides, if your own father can't love you, why should anyone else?"

There are only two things in the world that can get Millicent Bulstrode angry. One, if you belong to a different house. This explains her crude behavior at the Duel Club in second year when she caught the Mudblood in a headlock. Millicent hates anyone who isn't a Slytherin, and she puts on the pretense of big, dumb and menacing when she's around any of them. It's her tactic of striking fear and provoking fights.

The second thing is if you insult her.

Everyone called Millie ugly, disgusting, revolting and hideous. They say she was dumb and illiterate, and that she wasn't even decent enough to pass as a flobberworm. Now, in my opinion, none of this is true. She may not have been beauty of the year, nor was she the cleverest little devil to graze Hogwarts's halls. But that didn't mean she had no credit to her stature.

To understand Millicent, you'd have to take a long, hard look at her. After that, you'd be able to point out the deep handsomeness of her face, her flawless brown hair, and her magnificent height. When she spoke to you she presented herself as an educated scholar, not exactly valedictorian, but clever enough for the senses. And when you took the time to know her, she could be kind; but only when she wanted to.

And Millie knew all this; yet she also knew that everything else said about her, everything bad, was true as well. It was her fear and her haunting.

And Blaise had hit the mother load of hate.

It wasn't receiving the news on Millicent's father that shocked us, all of us; but more of the fact that Blaise had said it at all. A pureblood never downsized a fellow ancient line such as she had done. I mean, every last one of us hated the Weasleys, but we could only go so far as the hurtful teasing, none of us could express something as personal as that. Getting them fired and thrown onto the streets, yes; but personal tribulations, sacred ground.

It was maybe a split second before anything happened. The dull surprise of what had been revealed still lingered heavy in the air, the fire doing nothing to warm the sudden cold. I had only enough time to even ponder revenge on Blaise for what she had done before there was a flash of grey and screams began to erupt in the parlor.

Millicent had launched herself across the room, her legs powerful enough that one jump was adequate to squash Blaise. The red-haired imbecile, however, wasn't exactly sharp enough to get out of the way. But, thanks to her knight-in-ugly-armor- Flint, she was shoved to the side in the nick of time. Flint, nonetheless, was pulverized.

As fast as my legs would carry me I rushed to Millicent's side and helped her up, sort of stepping on Marcus as I did so. I tried holding my best friend back, but let's face it, I was an ant trying to shove a mountain.

"Millie, she's only doing this to get to you," I cried over her shouts and Blaise's. "She's trying to get a rise so she has a reason to hurt you!"

"What are you on about Pansy? She can't hurt me if I kill her!" Millicent bellowed, surging forward once more. Blaise quickly abandoned her enraged cries and backed away to avoid being tackled again. I noticed as she pretended to trip and land in Draco's arms. Sadly for her, Draco dropped her. On purpose.

"Millicent!" I pushed her back forcibly by her arm. My voice was so strong and solid that it stopped her struggles against Vince, Malcolm and I and she stared down into my face. When I spoke next it was firm and powerful, though I did not raise my voice above normal tone. "You know the consequences awaiting every one of us if we provoke a fight within our own circle. Don't seal yourself a fate that was granted unto me."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco, who had leaned over and whispered something to Blaise, look abruptly at me. The remembrance of the incident in his movements made me flash back into the darkness, but I pushed that aside, focusing on what was happening right here and now. Blaise, pissed at the prospect of Draco looking at me and not her, threw her arms around his neck in attempts to regain her footing. Unconsciously, Draco shoved her away and she tripped onto the sofa.

"Pansy," Millicent whispered, the sound of pain so foreign in her voice that it made me catch my breath. "No one was supposed to know about my father!"

My free hand clenched into a tight fist. "I know," I replied. Millicent sighed heavily.

"I couldn't tell you either. I didn't want anyone to know that my father was a bastard; there are already so many stupid assumptions about me. Daughter of a bastard must be one too, right?"

"But massacring Blaise won't give you back your justice."

She only growled and shot Blaise a look of pure venom. "But it'll give me her blood." And she wasn't joking either. When Millicent wanted to pound you, she wanted to *pound* you.

"And then what?" I demanded, tightening my grip on her arm. "You leave Blaise within an inch of her death and our parents will punish you far worse. If you don't care what happens to you, think of your mother. She'd be crushed."

It looked as though I had finally convinced Millie to calm down and leave it be, but here came the sad excuse for a girl to come and stir the dragon once more. Draco dormiens nunquam titallandus.

"That's right Bulstrode," she began, sitting up from the sofa and brushing her hair out of her face. "Think of your mother, the woman who stood to the side as you cried and screamed for her to make your father stop. You know that she wanted to strike you just as much as he did, she just never had the nerve."

"You know, you really need to learn when to just stop," Draco whispered from the side, though he didn't sound like he cared if the girl died. In fact, neither did I anymore, for that matter. She had had an opportunity to shut the hell up and she didn't take it. Let her fight her own battles from now on then.

"Okay, she's just gone too far now. Go on, go on; it doesn't matter to me anymore. Go damn her soul for all I care." I let go of Millie and she didn't need telling twice. She charged for Blaise again, though this time the idiot got the hint and tried to run away.

And that is how we ended up as we were. I was trapped sitting in front of the fire while Millicent attempted to rip out every hair on Blaise's head and braid it into a rope to hang her by. Don't look at me like that, those were her exact words.

But right when the riot was reaching its climax and I was about to get in there and kill Blaise off myself to save Millicent the trouble, the servant walked back in. He didn't say anything to recognize the chaos; he only cleared his throat again and announced dinner.

It was a miracle if ever I saw one. With only a few well said words from Draco, everyone returned to calmer water and filed out of the parlor. Blaise had quickly straightened out her robes and hair while Millicent disregarded her looks as she tried to hurl a chair at the other girl's retreating back. By Draco's command, Gregory walked up to her, forced the chair out of her hands and pushed her out the door, all with a very confused face, as if he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.

I was last to leave the room. I still didn't want to go to dinner, to see the same horrid face that I feared when I was little as I feared it now.

"Don't worry," Draco whispered in my ear, coming up behind me quickly and taking hold of my wrist. "You're staying with me."

Relief swept over me as he led me out the doors and into the huge dining room. The table was ridiculously long, almost reaching the lengths of the House tables back at school. It was customary for the Head of the House and the Guest in Question to seat at or near the head of the table; lucky for us, Lucius Malfoy was both. His wife was sitting to the right and the next highest guest would be to his left.

Draco, however, was obligated to sit at the other end of the table, symmetrical to his father. Other guests and their heirs or heiresses could either sit with one another, or go by rank at their end of the table.

Without even asking me or regarding my reactions, Draco led me to the chair to the right of his and pulled it out for me. I didn't need him to say a thing. I quickly sat down as he pushed me in, taking his stand at the end of the table. I looked up to see where the others were sitting and I noticed my mother placed next to Narcissa. This was odd, seeing as Madame Pritchard, being the newest recruit, would have that honor.

Shrugging it off, I returned my attention back to our end. Millicent had taken her seat next to me and Baddock sat next to her. I could tell she was still fuming and that she'd be stiff and irritable for the rest of the night.

Turning to see where the other component to the mayhem was, I found her passing Draco with wistful eyes. She was heading for the seat across from mine, but the servant was already seating young Graham into it. Scowling at them both, she had to resolve to sitting farthest from us, next to Vince. She looked positively disgusted.

Then a bell was rung and the silent chatter died away instantly. A woman dressed in clean white and black robes entered the room and said, "I am pleased to announce the arrival of Master Lucius Malfoy, current holder of the Malfoy fortune, and fourth descending heir to Acollon Malfoy." She bowed low and, as she did so, the huge double doors were opened once more and in he walked, dignity, regality and smugness shining as bright as ever.

Click went the sound of his shoes, thud echoed the crash of his cane on marble, and swish whispered the din of his robes. I didn't look up, couldn't look up. Everyone had rose to their feet, (except Draco whose obligation was to not sit till his father greeted him), and was staring at him as he came closer, all their chests thrown out and heads held high. But not mine. I kept mine neutral, staring at the space behind him, almost daring myself to look him in his eyes and scowl.

He didn't notice me however; in fact, he didn't seem to notice anyone. He headed straight for Draco, looking down at his son when they were only five inches apart. There was a momentary silence and then Lucius leaned forward and whispered something in Draco's ear. The muscles in his shoulders clenched and his fingers twitched, itching to lock themselves into a fist. Whatever it was his father was telling him, it wasn't good.

Before he walked away he kissed Draco on the head, as was custom, and then proceeded to his seat. When he sat we all did, and then the conversations were turned on once more.

But I couldn't talk. All I could do was sit there and stare at Draco, wondering how he could look even worse than before in only a span of eight seconds.

*Draco*

I didn't want to go to the dinner. I wanted to lock myself in my room, wedge myself in the dark corner at the back of my closet and wait the dinner out, as I had done countless times before when I was little. But of course, my mother would have no such thing and demanded that I attend. Even when I tried to explain that I was ill beyond reason she only responded with the same speech on how it was customary for the heir to be present and that my father would love for me to be there.

I was about to tell her that her last statement wasn't a winning argument, but one look from her eye shut me up and got me dressed. Later that night I found myself practically dying in the parlor as Millicent droned on and on about her summer. Honestly, how much can one person do in less than two weeks?

I had taken refuge in a corner afraid that, were I to sit down, I'd fall directly to sleep and never wake again. My stomach churned, my head throbbed, I could feel the heat of fever burn within me and the numbness of cold enclose around me. I closed my eyes to the parlor, hoping the whirling sensation taking over me would just stop and let me suffer peacefully.

But at one point in my rippling haze of sickness I heard one of the servants announcing someone's name and then leaving. In his wake was none other than Pansy, still pale and slightly shaken though looking far better than when we had last seen each other.

And she was smiling; that was one of the first things I noticed differently about her. Millicent had said something to her and she smiled weakly, though it was a smile nonetheless. I almost couldn't remember seeing her smile, and the thought occupied me until I realized I was saying something to her.

"You look fine," was my reply, thought I really wasn't sure what I had just commented on. She looked at me.

"Thanks," she said. Then she was in front of me, leaving Millicent behind to jabber with Crabbe and Goyle. As she came near I caught the sweet smell of lavender and rosemary. It filled my senses and cleared my vision slightly. I inspected her closer this time and noticed she was wearing bright blue, an odd choice for the circumstances of this evening; but I let it go.

"You're ill," she said to me, looking up into my face. I wanted so much to cry out yes and fall into the chair beside me, let her care for me and feel her hand on my skin, but I didn't. Instead I just shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from holding her hand or touching her hair.

"I'm alright," I said. "The question here is, are you okay?"

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" she asked, staring at me.

"Because I saved you," I replied. And I wasn't joking. Even at that moment I couldn't let the thoughts of that spell out of my mind. What if I had done it wrong? What if I *did* do it wrong? Is something happening inside of her that I caused? Is my sickness actually a slow working process of the consequences involving Beula Dormiens? And what if this dinner would be too much for her, would she collapse any minute?

"Exactly why I'm perfectly alright," she said. I stared at her, not believing the words that had come from her.

She trusted me. She had put her trust in me that I had done everything right and that I need not worry. It warmed my heart and yet froze it solid.

"Is your father here--,"

"I don't want to talk about my father," I replied automatically. She fell silent though she wasn't at all offended. Together we shared a rage directed for my father, though hers was more fear whilst mine was pure revenge. We were silent then, letting Millicent's voice wash over everything. Then she leaned her forehead against my shoulder and clutched my shirt, the fear of meeting her impending murderer of a man she had known most of her life reflecting every move she made. Very slowly I placed a hand on the small of her back, holding her to me with great care. Seeing her so afraid hurt more than anything I had known before.

But then the moment was broken as the parlor door slid back open and the man who had been brutally folded up last night stood in the entrance. Pansy had pulled away from me now to see who had come, though she still stayed closed, her back barely grazing my chest.

When the servant had finished his announcement he bowed out extravagantly and left us with Blaise, although it wasn't the Blaise any of us had known before. Everyone sort of gasped but I thought that was a bit of an inappropriate reaction. If anything, we were all much more confused than surprised.

She had gotten prettier, I guess. Her hair was redder, her skin was fairer, and her form was more noticeable, but other than that she seemed more or less the same. What struck me as truly odd was the way she presented herself.

Zabini was afraid, a trait recognizable to anyone with eyes. Sure she had one hell of an attitude when you provoked her enough and yes, her glares could cut steel, but other than that the girl was a coward. She'd never had the confidence Pansy had when it came to the things we did. Maybe Pansy never really had much fun in mocking Potter as I had, but she never hesitated to show her support. Blaise would simply fall back to feeble smirking and dodgy glares.

But now...Now she held herself with enough confidence to spare. She sauntered into the room, her alluring robes brushing behind her. Everyone was impressed, to judge by their reactions, but I was confused. What had caused this strange metamorphosis?

"Blaise," Pansy cried, rushing to meet her. "You look amazing."

Blaise barely noticed her. "Why thank you," she replied, though her eyes barely lingered on her before they looked past hers and into mine. I stared back, not exactly appreciative at her behavior towards Pansy. "Good evening to you, Draco. And how have you been?"

I was sick, I felt sick, and I looked sick. Everyone in the parlor could tell I was ill. Needless to say, her question was beyond stupid in my book and my intentions to greet her in any way were disintegrated due to her lack of observation and my growing petulance.

"I'm decent," I replied, not in the mood to emphasize on my point. And neither was the prospect of engaging her in much conversation appealing either. She was looking at me in an odd way, a way I wasn't exactly comfortable with. She responded in some way, one that was a bit provocative and very much not to my taste, and it also made Millicent choke on her water. Women.

Discussions broke off then, everyone falling into their own cliques. But I stayed where I was, remaining as the ever silent host; a ghost watcher taking care of his charges, no matter how pathetic. But as I looked around the room, I found my eyes always tracing their way back to Pansy.

It was paranoia if I ever saw it. I was constantly checking her; was her skin too pale? Her eyes a bit unfocused? She leaned back against the backrest of Goyle's seat and smiled as the two continued with their stories. Was she tired? Was she faint? Would she pass out?

I took a deep breath then, calming my nerves. She was fine; she was finer than ever and was enjoying an evening with people she knew, people who were her friends. I looked back at her, sweat drenching my back. Was it from stress or from fever?

And now she was looking back at me and smiling. I sucked in a breath, determined not to show my struggle. If she could be here after eleven days of near-death coma, then I could certainly withstand being here during one, meager virus.

She waved to me and I nodded in turn; that small action alone causing a wave of dizziness to overtake me. She looked away then and so did I, a bland taste erupting in my mouth. Was it bile or blood? I couldn't make out the difference. I had half decided to excuse myself out of there and grab a drink from one of the servants, but before I could move Blaise was in front of me, blocking my way.

"Hello again, host," she said calmly. I took a deep breath and almost choked on it; the fragrance she was wearing was intoxicating, and it seemed she had bathed in the vile poison. I took a step back and hit the wall, wishing I could just push her away and disregard the rudeness of the action. I wasn't an expert on the matter, but I was pretty sure girls weren't supposed to smell like rubbing alcohol, dead blossoms and propylene carbonate.

"Hey," was all I could force out, coughing on her scent. She smiled at me and patted me on the back, her less than weak motions doing nothing to help me. I pushed her hand away gently. "That's alright; I'm okay."

"So I take it you and our dear Pansy over here are on good terms once more?" she asked, throwing her red hair over her shoulder. I nodded, trying to suppress a yawn.

"Yes. We settled our differences."

She was still smiling after I said this, though it looked a little more forced now. "Oh, well that's always good news."

"Right," I replied, not very enlightened by this encounter yet far too civil to tell her to get lost and leave me to my torment. Damn that stupid pureblood handbook.

"Look," she suddenly said, stepping closer to me. I backed away from her and up against the wall. Not a good choice, as she was now leaning against me and looking into my face. "You seem very ill. I'm not sure that this is the right scenario for you to recover in."

"Can't argue there," I said dully. She tilted her head at me and brought her hands to my face, her touch cold and inviting on my feverish brow. It would have been easy to melt into her touch, but there was something missing in it; and that something was Pansy.

She grinned at my reaction. "Would you like to me to take care of you?" she offered. I answered her before she could properly finish her sentence.

"No."

"Your loss then," she whispered, and backed away so I could stand comfortably. There would have been an odd silence that would have followed had it not been for Millicent's audible chatter and her resounding laugh throughout the parlor.

"Go on and ask Pansy as well, she'll tell you a mouth full on Zabini. The girl's a pushover." Millicent had young Graham pinned to her side and was looking joyously at Pansy. Pansy, however, didn't seem to want to be in the spotlight. She cleared her throat weakly, looking nervously around herself.

"I really couldn't say anything about Blaise that could justify her," she replied, aware that everyone in the room was listening to her. She shot me and Blaise a glance and I could have sworn a smile of amusement had played across her face.

I was so occupied on why Pansy had looked at us like that that I had toned out until Millicent's words broke through my stupor.

"What's wrong with you Red? A few weeks to fill yourself out and you think you're higher than any of us?"

And that was it. For the first time that night I grinned. I mean full out humorous grin and my head didn't even hurt either. I leaned back against the wall and chanced it; I winked at her. And by the smile that caught her lips I could tell she was proud. Leave it to Millicent to strike where you're weakest.

But then something terrible happened. Right now I can't really recall what Blaise had said in response, but in no time the discussion had turned over to Millicent's father. It was an area we never explored before, as Millicent wasn't one to reveal her personal life over hot chocolate and pow wows.

"What about her father?" Marcus asked. Even though I had only caught tidbits of the argument I knew that that question had just guaranteed us bloodshed.

"Don't say a word," Millicent hissed from across the room. Blaise's hand clenched at her side nervously, but her facial expression did not betray her.

"'What about her father', you ask? Hasn't it ever occurred to any of you why Millicent is always sickeningly neutral and even humorous at times? Don't you ever wonder why she looks the way she does when her parents, the lovely Gertrude Denise Contegall and the handsome Bryce Earnest Bulstrode, look nothing like her?"

"Don't." But not even Millicent could stop Blaise now.

"Her father beat her. He hated the way she looked, bizarre and grotesque, the exact opposite of her parents. When he came home after a very violent Death Eater meeting, he'd beat the hell out of her, screaming how horrid she looked and how he wished she was never born. Our dear Millicent here never wanted us to know though; it would kill her ego too much. She didn't want the truth of how she looked to be expressed by the only people she cared about. Besides, if your own father can't love you, why should anyone else?"

And then I saw it at work. The heavy flush of embarrassment washed over Millicent, only to be replaced by the burgundy of hatred. Her jaw tightened, her shoulders hunched and her hands were shaking so hard that she couldn't even pull them into fists. But I was smart. Even before anyone could comprehend the line that Blaise had crossed I was already inching away to the other side of the fireplace, knowing that being within three feet of Blaise would be hazardous to my health.

Sure enough and as if on cue, Millicent came flying across the room, eyes blazing fire and hair flying around her face. I had almost time to ponder how much damage she could do to Blaise when Flint dove for her and pushed her to safety. Needless to say Flint was pulverized.

Blaise was thrown practically at my feet, her dress wrinkled and her gold hairclip getting lost somewhere in the fiery tangles. I stepped back again, not wanting to dirty my own robes. I knew I should have helped her up, but the mixture of what she had done and her deafening shouts of defense held me where I stood.

Pansy had rushed over to calm Millicent, but the girl was obviously ticked and she lunged once more. Blaise, in an act of surprise, tripped over herself and fell towards me. Her fingers closed around my cloak and her face fell onto my chest but I couldn't help it; she had come so suddenly and I wasn't exactly the catching type. I held out my arms for her...and then dropped her. And even though this isn't something I should be saying, I'm not so sure that none of it was on accident.

"Sorry," I said to her, leaning forward and offering her a lethargic hand. She took it and looked into my eyes.

"That's quite alright," she said breathlessly. I frowned at her.

"But I dropped you."

"No harm done."

I shrugged. "Right."

Then Pansy's words caught my ear and I glanced at her, her words bringing back everything. Her dark room, her sleeping form, the potion vial. And in that instant Blaise had thrown herself at me once more, looping her arms around me. In surprise I leaned back and sucked in a ridiculous amount of her burning fragrance. It was so despicable and repulsive that I pushed her away only hard enough so she fell into a sofa. I was gasping for air, my own struggles unnoticed by the greater mayhem. If Blaise wasn't going to die from a pounding then surely I would take that duty from her airborne poison.

But as I was regaining my composure something amazing happened. When the dragon had been calmed and the victim, (who had started the rage in the first place), was safe, she went for the red flag and stirred up trouble once more. It was either very stupid or very brave; and since thick bravery, (meaning Potter), was a low in my book, I would have laughed at her words had I not been plagued with such an illness.

And I even informed her that she should have ceased.

But the fight raged on and soon it was heading for worse. The only reason I attempted to calm everyone was because they were giving me a headache. But at the moment Millicent skirted around Malcolm and had her hands on Blaise's neck, the servant returned to call us for dinner.

All I needed to say was 'stop or I'll hex you all' and everyone fell silent. When they had left the parlor I grabbed Pansy and led her to the dining room. She didn't seem to mind at all, but I needed her beside me for either my reasons of watching or knowing that she was next to me. And then I waited. I waited, standing next to my chair with my heart pounding in my chest. I'd see my father again.

Far too soon the maid entered and announced. I barely heard a word and I didn't even notice everyone standing and bowing their heads; my eyes were locked on the door and I held my breath as it opened.

Click went the sound of his shoes, thud echoed the crash of his cane on marble, and swish whispered the din of his robes. His own eyes stared into mine alone, grey against grey and determination against dull fear. Then they flicked to my right, the motion so quick and unbelievably fast that it was completely unnoticeable. When he reached me we stared at each other, impassive and inexpressive. For a moment I thought he was just going to hold my stare and then move on to his seat; but he didn't.

He leaned forward then, towards my ear. I braced myself.

"And the irony keeps on coming," he whispered, his tone pleased. I didn't say a word. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Well, that isn't exactly the clever son I had come to know. Ah well, I guess that's why you have a father, to point out the details to you.

"I see our dear Pansy is still alive; alive and well. But you...oh, the consequence is far too great to leave hanging. You performed Dark Magic. Beula Dormiens. Have you no mind? The tables have not been eliminated, they have been turned."

My heart stopped.

"Let's do something this weekend. It may as well be your last."

Damn. Damn. Damn.