The Way

Chapter Eleven ~ The Way We Lie For Love

*Pansy*

I know that Draco is not exactly the 'happiest little soul on the planet', and that he usually is found sulking for one reason or another; but tonight was just odd. For the beginning of the dinner he kept his head low, not saying anything to anyone and ignoring all of us if we spoke to him. Even when Millicent reached over and whacked him on the shoulder he still didn't look up or move in the slightest. He simply closed his eyes, counted silently to ten, and then opened them again.

So I left him alone.

I chatted with Millie, I offered the subtle alliance of friendship to Graham, and I even got the chance to flash Blaise a smile, returning one back in full force. And though my eyes constantly strayed to Draco, I kept my mouth shut. Something was ricocheting inside his mind and, being one who has had the chaos of thoughts beforehand, I knew he only wanted to be abandoned in the quiet of his thoughts.

But this, on its own part, was difficult. I had suddenly been accustomed to having him tell me everything he is thinking and knowing that he was keeping something from me left a gap in my heart that had nothing to do with being offended.

*Draco*

People say they hate their parents or that they wish they could just run away and never come home.

"Sometimes I just want to kill them," they might say; but we all know that it never really turns out like that--in some cases, at least.

But I couldn't kill my parents. That was an impossible task and by all means the gravest sin you could commit to family honor. And I could not run away because, even though it would shame their name, it would shame mine as well, and honor would once again find its way away from me. Besides, how far can a dying soul get to before they expire?

And, although this is remarkable to even my own ears, I cannot hate them either. I wish I could hate my mother for agreeing to my father's deranged ways, but I can't. In the past years she has done little against my own will, wishing for only obedience and respect as my payment back. She is not a mother to be easily loved, but she is a mother, and mine in the standing as well.

But I cannot hate my father either. I cannot hate this senseless murderer sitting right before my eyes, talking strictly with his wife, his colleagues, and even Mrs. Parkinson with not so much as sheer boredom hiding his true emotions. I cannot hate this man who has taught me to always look down upon others, to always remember that I am pure in blood and a Malfoy, and that if I would just dedicate myself, I could own the world.

I cannot hate this man who has also sacrificed my childhood for the sake of serving his master. He had pushed me away when I cried once after I fell off my first broom and landed on the spear-tipped fence, piercing my back enough to obtain a serious wound. I came to him first, limping into his study with the red of my blood soaking through my shirt. I was scared and asked him what I should do. He pushed me aside, saying he was busy. He told me I had to be a man and deal with things on my own. My mother found me and rushed me to the hospital, where the Healers restored me yet ignored my constant stream of questions on why my father didn't care if I was hurt.

All of this, all these questions, all these memories and all these emotions, were fighting for dominance in my mind. I could barely see the scenery before me, for my eyes were turned in to the battle raging in my brain. I *did* do the spell wrong; I failed to perform it to its highest potential and precise accuracy. I'm dying.

Right when these words hit me with full force something else did as well. I felt a strong blow to the side of my arm and found that Millicent was trying to get my attention. Wasn't it obvious that I wanted to be left alone?

I was ready to burst, to scream and shout and throw a tantrum right then and there. "I'm dying!" I'd scream, cursing everything in sight. "I'm dying and no one gives a damn about it! And it was my bastard father who did this to me."

But of course, a tantrum would be of no help to anyone, especially me. So I simply closed my eyes, took a deep breath, counted slowly to ten, and then opened them again, ignoring Millicent's voice. Finally she took the hint that I was serious in my seclusion and let me be.

When it had already been three hours since we entered the dining hall and the dinner seemed as if it wouldn't be ending anytime soon, I conceived a plan to rid myself of this torture. I was going to merely excuse myself from the table and play the coward by stowing away in my room. My parents would hardly notice my absence and it would be embarrassing for them to go upstairs and retrieve me.

Yet before I could even utter a word a terrible spasm erupted in my chest. I jerked slightly, small enough for no one to notice. But the pain I was experiencing was not unbearable but increasingly annoying. It was almost as if a hand had taken hold of my heart and was tightening its grip on it every second. I coughed once then twice, trying to rid myself of the sensation. Naturally, it stayed with me.

"Excuse me," I muttered to everyone, although Pansy and Graham were the only ones who heard me. I stood up from my chair and grasped its side as I stepped away from the table, the ache in my chest dulling and then rising again.

"Draco, are you alright?" Pansy asked, concerned and frightened. She half stood and reached for me but I pushed her hand away.

"I just need to get out of here," I replied, a bit more hurriedly than I intended it to sound.

She frowned at me. "Draco, how ill are you?" she asked. But I only shook my head, already heading for the doors.

"I'll see you later," I answered, and then rushed out of the dining room and into the hall outside.

*Pansy*

I remained concerned for Draco from the moment he fled the hall all the way to farewells and departures an hour later. My mother and I were the last in line to give our regards to the heads of the house. I wasn't sure if this was on purpose or on accident, but I was slightly grateful and slightly afraid. It prolonged our face-to-face encounter with Mr. Malfoy, yet it left us with no others to comfort the meeting. When our turn had come my mother had to give me a gentle push forward.

"Mrs. Malfoy," I said, taking her outstretched, jeweled hand and curtsying over it. "It was a lovely dinner. I thank you for your hospitality."

Or lack thereof, I thought to myself, noting that neither host bore witness to the little disagreement in the parlor.

"I accept your compliment whole-heartedly," she replied, smiling slightly at me. "My blessings go out to you." Then she turned toward my mother, leaving me with Mr. Malfoy.

I curtsied low for him, letting my hair fall over my face so he would not see my fear. When I straightened my eyes caught directly into his. He revealed no flicker of emotion towards me; there was no vengeful stare, no disgusted glare, and no sick, amused look at how I had managed to survive his little gift.

"Thank you," I said rather coldly. He heard my bitterness and tilted his head to the side slightly, analyzing the thoughts that were shining out through my eyes.

"There is no need for your gratitude," he replied, his voice the quiet whisper that he was known for as well as his temper. "I'm afraid it will not last the night." Then he bowed his head towards me and turned to my mother.

And as he regarded her compliments on the dinner I could feel the heat of anger and dread rise up in my veins once more. I hated the Malfoy tactic of elusive speech; the way they could twist your thoughts without saying much. Draco had done it countless times at school. He had taken the wheels in other's heads and turned them the wrong way, making them think the opposite of what was right.

Mr. Malfoy was doing this to me now, having me ponder a coming horror that was not coming at all. Maybe my gratitude would not last the night, but that was over my own head. I hated his slimy arse anyway.

My mother couldn't have taken longer in her goodbye. She hugged Narcissa Malfoy and inclined her head once more to Lucius before I was able to drag her out onto the foyer, pulling the Portkey out of my cloak pocket and holding it tight in my fingers. Yet as we traveled the far distance to our manor I couldn't help but wonder about Draco, and if Mr. Malfoy's words had anything to do with him.

*Draco*

My father was right, the tables have turned. Already I can feel the lull of heavy sleep take over me, ringing high in my ears and pulsing warm in my blood. Every time I look at my bed I want to just lay my head down and close my eyes, but I know that the moment I do, I will never wake up.

So I had to be content with pacing. I had actually walked my room 257 times before anyone came to check on me.

There was a loud knock on the door and then a muffled yet soft voice following it. It was my mother's voice, and she sounded concerned. There is a first for everything after all.

"Draco, what's going on?" she asked. I stopped and looked at the closed entrance, one eyebrow cocked unbelievingly. She knew I was sick, what else could be going on?

"I'm not well," I replied slowly. There was a pause. Then there was a soft click and the door opened, my mother entering into the room.

"What happened to you?" she demanded, her mother intuition kicking in. She looked at me sternly and crossed her arms. I shrugged at her.

"It doesn't matter." But she wasn't going to take this as an answer.

"Don't talk shit to your mother, Draco. What's going on with you? I saw you leave dinner early, but I thought it to be a temporary excuse for a few minutes of fresh air. When you didn't come back I grew suspicious. And now look at you. Your face is flushed, you're sweating, your eyes are unfocused, and you look dreadful. "

"Thank you."

She wasn't pleased. "I'm serious this time."

"Aren't you always?"

Wrong thing to say. She narrowed her eyes, strode up to me, and slapped me smartly across the face. Ouch.

"I said I was serious," she said firmly, her gaze set tightly onto me. I kept my head to the side, closing my eyes as I waited for the stinging pain to subside.

"So you hit me to make a point? You said so yourself that I was sick." I shoved a hand through my hair; a mere action to prevent me from touching my cheek. My mother sighed heavily, one that sounded apprehensive rather than angry. She rubbed her forehead with one hand and blew out another breath; her other hand resting on her hip.

"How did it get like this?" she muttered, loud enough so I could catch every word. "How did it get to the point where we can't even talk to each other anymore?"

I rolled my eyes. "Tell me you didn't just say that," I said. She looked at me strangely.

"Excuse my sentiment," she replied sarcastically. Waving a hand in response, I turned my back on her and went to sit myself in the winged armchair near my window. Even the small relief of falling onto the cushion seat was enough to calm me to sleep; but the prospect of death and dozing out while my mother was talking held my consciousness.

"I'm sorry to appear rude, mother, but I'm not exactly in a mood to hold a decent conversation. In fact, I'd rather be left alone." I leaned back in my chair and a sudden burst of pain hit me in the chest and then traveled down to my left leg. It was short in coming but the soreness that set in afterward made it hard to move my entire left side. I must have winced noticeably because my mother came to my side, a bit too angry to be worried.

"What's happening now?" she demanded.

I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming out in agony and in irritation. "Pain," was all I was able to muster. That's when I felt my mother's fingers grasp my shoulder and her nails dig into the skin. I looked sharply up at her, her face suddenly filled with worry.

"Draco," she said, quietly and slowly. I waited. "What is happening to you?"

And from the astonishing pleading in her voice, I found the last of my sarcasm and cynical attitude melt away to be replaced with sincerity.

"Mother," I answered, my words more tired than slow. "I'm dying."

*Pansy*

I sat outside under the same tree Draco and I had reclined under the day before I was poisoned. I had intended to go straight to bed and sleep away my troubles until the next day, but sleep was not a place my mind wanted to revisit at the moment. The darkness would be far too terrorizing.

So I had slipped out of my room, down the empty staircase and out through the back door, my black cloak wrapped over my pajamas. Once outside I was able to slow down and breathe in the cool night air. The sound of running water met my ears and I soon found myself under the cherry blossom tree, its sweet fragrance tickling my senses.

I absently reached up and plucked one blossom off of its perch and held it in my fingers. The petals felt like silk under my touch. Smiling, I placed the blossom into the wind, watching as it rode the gallant force and fluttered to rest on the surface of the water. The stream itself was magnificent; the moonbeams casting a silver glow over the water.

Silver.

Already my thoughts had returned to Draco, triggered only by a simple word. The image of his eyes, bright and deadpan, sprang into my mind. But then the vision changed and soon reflected what he probably looked like at this very moment: pained and suffering.

What had happened to him? He was obviously miserable the entire night and the moment he left I knew he couldn't handle being with people anymore. But he couldn't be dangerously sick. That wouldn't play right to what had been going on in the past two weeks. If he was in any kind of trouble he'd tell me; or at least hint at it a little.

And if it had anything to do with Beula Dormiens...

No. Draco knew better than that. I only had a vague view on what Beula Dormiens was, but the affects it had on someone when it was performed poorly was the general punishment enhanced: death with extreme suffering.

And even though he could be targeted as the culprit for many less-than-intelligent actions, he wouldn't be dim enough to withhold the information of his death.

I tore my eyes away from the stream and turned back towards the house; but out of the corner of my eye I saw as the slow flowing stream engulfed the drifting blossom and pulled it to its darkened depths.

*Draco*

She went to speak to my father; probably the worst scenario any teenage boy could endure. Not to mention the fact that females have this strange instinct in them to dominate the world around them and execute any and all who get in the way.

After hearing the more distinct details of my illness, the spell that could save me being Beula Dormiens, and after a few moments of distressed shouts and cries of how stupid I could act at times and how she despised my careless nature, she found it in her to beg my father to save me--that is, if he even knew how. But during her hysteria, I found a speed bump in her rants to ask her why she was so worried. A family belonging to the Dark Lord had to learn how to accept death in all forms and at any time.

But she only stared at me for a very long period of time before she said, "That doesn't erase the fact that you're my son," and then stormed out of my room saying she'd speak to my father. In my disbelief a sudden thought came to me: unconditional love. Go figure.

I had intended to hear what she had to say; my mind was already creating a way for me to sneak downstairs and snatch a word or two from the parlor. But unfortunately, my body had no intentions to venture so far from the comfort of my chair so I had to settle with waiting for my mother's return.

Only it never came.

For an hour and a half I sat there, waiting for the door to open and my mother to walk in with her wand held high or a goblet clutched tightly in her fist. The pain spasms seemed to have taken a long, leisurely break, for I was able to relax in that hour an a half, leaning my head back against the cushion and temporarily ignoring the dull soreness settling into my muscles.

But when the time had passed for her to return I grew impatient. Paying no attention to the ache, I reached across the armrest and tapped my finger twice on the small, clear globe sitting on my nightstand. It glowed a faint blue, and then a servant appeared at my door. It was one of the many new house-elves our family had required, and I could tell he was all but the newest recruit for his tattered garb was filthy beyond belief.

"Young master," he announced. His voice wasn't the normal squeak of the house-elves. It resembled a high note off key, making me wince. "You called?"

"Go find my mother," I said right away. "She should be in the parlor with the master of the house. If they are drawn in conversation, do not disturb them but listen to everything they say. When they finish, report everything back to me. If there is no conversation, inform Madam Malfoy that her son requests assistance."

The house-elf bowed. "Does master wish for any refreshment? Maybe something to give master some strength?"

"Just get my mum," I answered lazily, waving my hand to dismiss him. He bowed again and then disappeared with the cracking of a whip. I was left alone once more.

Another hour whisked past me and I still had no news. The night had long since been young and now it was bent with age, almost reflecting the way I felt at that moment. I felt suddenly old, tired and useless. I felt that dying at any moment wasn't exactly a punishment but a blessing. The throbbing in my body was painful, and the sleep racking at my brain pleaded for me to let it in. I felt literally detached from my own self, acting as two different parts of mind and body. I felt, above all things, pathetic.

But I was soon pulled from my state of hallucination as the door was opened once more and the elf stood there, positively shaking his self to pieces. He was wringing his hands and staring intently at the floor, an entrance very different from his respectable and confident one earlier.

"What's wrong with you?" I questioned. It was a bit rude, but the small act of unkindness brought back what little life I had left in my spirit. I sat up straighter.

The elf looked sheepishly into my face. "He does not wish to save you," he said in the smallest, faintest voice I had ever heard. I leaned forward in my chair.

"What?"

"Master must not be angry," he began, doing the typical 'elf begging but trying to hide it with flattery and excuses'. "I did only what master asked me to do. But Master Malfoy does not want to save master. He is being strict with madam."

"What?" I asked again, though this time it was edged with anger and excitement rather than confusion.

"Madam is begging Master Malfoy to help master," the elf told me. "She be telling him master is her only heir and his too. I is only hearing a little bit, but Master Malfoy says he don't want to waste such Dark Magic on master." He faltered here. "He is saying that he be saving the Dark Magic for something important."

The house-elf fell silent and stared at the ground. I, myself, held my peace until I dismissed him. He bowed extravagantly to me before disappearing, adding in that I was the kindest and most humble master he had ever served. But they were meaningless words, because even though he was only a lowly magical creature, he knew the cruelty that accompanied his news.

My father didn't care if I died. He had said, very bluntly, that my death was not a good reason for him to perform magic he could do only once in his lifetime.

So I was set to die. I mean, what other alternative did I have? My mother wouldn't perform the spell I needed. Knowing her, she was forbidden by my father or else she didn't have the passion or magical stamina to achieve the required power. I couldn't ask anyone in the manor, for their soul purposes were to serve the man who owned them: my father. And any outside help would be immediately executed because of the wrath of one man: my father.

I could owl Professor Snape, or when the time came that I was desperate enough, Dumbledore as well. They were teachers and the most highly respected wizards of their arts; Beula Dormiens would be of no consequence to them. But the Headmaster wasn't exactly Death Eater of the year and Dark Magic would be strictly prohibited to him. And even if I could get a letter to Professor Snape before I died, it would be hard for him to get to me at all. He had been 'forgiven' by the Dark Lord, but father did not exactly welcome him like the old friends they were nowadays.

My list was growing shorter, pulling a neck and neck race to the time I had left to live. Who else? Who else?

And the name I tried my hardest to avoid sprung clear in my mind. Pansy.

The moment she got wind of my troubles she'd uncover the incantation to Dormiens and save my arse in no time flat. She'd have the passion and the powerful stamina, and the object of an once-in-a-lifetime spell would be of no consideration. She'd actually do it.

But it could still go wrong. It had done so with me.

So she couldn't do it either. In fact, she had to be prevented from discovering the words to Beula Dormiens. Otherwise, she would be saving my life in exchange for her own, and I couldn't let that happen. It was final. I'd die. I had already accepted it in some way or another, but it was no longer my concern. My concern was now Pansy and the fact that, were she to discover my condition, she'd go to any lengths to save me.

Which brought me to pulling myself from my chair and snatching my cloak and portkey and walking out the door. And when I got home late that night I fell directly onto my bed and welcome sleep.

*Pansy*

Someone had broken into our house during the night.

I had woken up late in the afternoon, my muscles a little tight from the cold wind blowing into my open window, but it wasn't anything to be worried about.

Wait a minute. Open window?

I sprang up from my bed, snatching my robe off the chair and hurriedly putting in on. I headed for the door but paused and looked back. The window next to my bed was wide open, the curtains rippling softly in the wind. Scared, I reached behind myself for the knob, but when I found it my body froze once more.

I looked back and found that the knob had been blasted right off the door. I touched a finger to the door and it squeaked open at even my slight touch.

Not wasting any time, I bolted out of my room and down the grand staircase.

"Mum!" I cried, looking widely down each floor as I passed it. The oddest thing was that there was no one around. At least two or three servants were already up and working at this time. Five minimum. "Zachary!" I yelled, calling each one by name. "Chloe, Regina! Matthew! Anyone, please. Someone's broken in!"

I reached the second floor and looked to my right where the library and training room was located. I stopped running immediately. All the servants of the house were inside the library, its grand doors thrown open to reveal the chaos inside. Among the dark green garb of staff uniform I saw the swirl of black. It was my mother.

"Mum! Mum!" I called, rushing into the library. But I couldn't get any farther than in the doorway as there were so many people inside already.

"Check the left anteroom, make sure nothing, nothing, is missing. You, top shelf to the right. If those Black volumes are gone.... Zedric, check the stables! Make sure none of the creatures have been harmed." My mother's voice rang out loud and clear over the hum of conversation. She was standing on a table in the middle of the room, pointing this way and that and barking orders at everyone she looked at.

I stared at her for a while before I was pushed against the door frame as a man came hurrying out of the mass of bodies. It was Zedric, most likely on his way to the stables.

"What's going on?" I asked Chloe who was the closest to me. She was pressed against the wall near the door, the skirt of her robes bunched in her hands. She was a tall woman of her late thirties with soft, brown hair that was piled on her head in a bun and almond-shaped glasses. She looked down at me with blue eyes, half scared and half excited.

"There's been a break-in," she told me, taking me by the hand and pulling me into the safety of the hall. "Someone took a portkey right onto our grounds and crept into the library. This morning, when Helena came in for a spell to help tranquilize a hippogriff, she found this entire room ransacked and almost every valuable book thrown across the room. We've been up all morning trying to put everything back into order. Your mother's harassed, making sure nothing has been stolen. But I'm telling you, whoever got in last night was either a very powerful wizard or one hell of a thief. If my guessing is right, he'd have gone for the ancient spoils, hands down." She looked into my worried face then, tilting her head to the side. "You alright, girl? You look flustered."

"He was in my room," I said dully, almost as though my words did not matter. "The knob was blasted off my door and the window was open."

Chloe looked at me with wide-eyes. When she spoke next her voice was high and scared. "He was in your room?" she asked. I nodded. "Bryce, Conner!" Two men came to either side of us in no time. They were twins, with identical black hair and brown eyes. "Get up into the lady's room! The little snake got out through her window!" She seemed very heated over all this, shooing the men until they scurried to do her will. When they had gone she turned back to me, placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Lady, are you alright? Would you like to speak to your mother?"

"Yes," I answered right away, the wheels turning in my mind. Chloe made to take me by the hand, but I pulled away from her grasp. "I'd rather do this on my own," I said to her, returning to my station once more. "I want you to assist the other two in examining my room." My command was a bit harsh and cruel, but I needed her gone. She only nodded and turned to leave, taking no concern in my demanding tone. She recognized me as the noble and herself as the servant.

I returned to the doorway of the library and rose on my toes so I could call out to my mother. But before I even got a chance, another voice rang out from within the depths of the room.

"Madam, the Dassah is missing!"

My mother spun around on the table, turning to where the voice had come from. "What was that?"

"The Dassah," the man yelled again. "It's the only thing that's missing."

I watched as my mother's face drained of all color and her eyes grow immensely wide. One hand was fingering her amber necklace nervously while the other clutched the fabric of her robe tightly by her side. "Tell me you're lying," she replied. There was a momentary pause.

"I wish I were, Madam."

For a minute I thought my mother was going to break into a fit; whipping out her wand, waving it above her head and cursing everything in sight. But she only looked to her feet, the helplessness in her movements hard to overlook.

"That was an heirloom," she said. Her voice echoed clearly throughout the now silent room. "It belonged to my great uncle, a Healer."

"Was it priceless Madam?" somebody asked. My mother's head shot up quickly, the flame of anger once again rising in her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course it was! It was the last book on Earth that held the Beula Dormiens spell. The only other way of knowing that kind of magic is if it has been passed down in your family for many, many...--,"

She faltered here, her eyes going a bit distant. Then she turned to me in the entrance, almost as if she had known I was there all along. But my mind was not on that. I was afraid that I was thinking the same thing she was.

"Draco," she whispered softly, though it was a deafening scream to my own ears. Without even answering her words, I dashed back to my room, dressed, and was on my way.

*Draco*

Did I ever mention that I was an idiot? Because if I haven't, then here it is: I am an idiot.

There is one, small detail that I overlooked on the subject of Pansy; and it is a very crucial detail indeed. If you don't tell her something, she'll find out on her own. She has her ways. It was her greatest tactic against Potter at school, and now she has used it to her own advantage.

When morning rolled around the next day, I greatly loathed it. I slept through it and into the afternoon. But when I woke up, I found myself stiff and sore, discovering that I had not moved all night. Gingerly, I pushed myself to my feet and looked around my room, waiting until everything came into focus. Suddenly, a squeezing pain tore at my stomach and I ran to my bathroom in agony. I leaned over the sink and vomited, my eyes closed shut in disgust. When I opened them my stomach heaved again.

Blood. I was retching blood. And not just a little bit either.

Turning away, repulsed, I flushed it out with cold water and then washed my face. The thought of the loss of so much blood clouded my mind and a cold emptiness seemed to take over me.

After brushing my teeth thoroughly, I fell onto the marble floor, my back leaning against the cold, stone wall. There was no doubt in my mind that this was my last day, although the thought did not do much damage to my sanity. I was not fearful of death, but saddened by its quick coming.

I would never see Hogwarts castle again, graduate from its halls or reunite with fellow scholars. I would never ride a broom again or play Quidditch; pull on my Slytherin uniform and beat Harry for the first time. I would never again walk amongst the roses in the garden, or stroll through the manor on a cool day. I'd never be pronounced soul heir when my parents passed on and the family name and honor would never completely rest on my shoulders. And I'd never see Pansy again; I would have never told her I loved her only to hear the words repeated back to me.

I stayed in the bathroom for quite some time, trying to remember what she looked like. When I broke into their house last night I couldn't help but steal to her room and stand over her sleeping figure. The moonlight did not fall on her face, but just knowing that she was there was enough for me. For as long as I could bear it I stood there, watching her sleep and holding the Dassah in my weak hands. During that time, however, I had a brief thought to leave it on her nightstand so she'd actually find Beula Dormiens and come save me. But I quickly chased the thought away and kept the book within my grasp. She shouldn't waste her only chance of using it on me.

Knowing that if I stayed longer, I'd probably leave the book on her nightstand, so I escaped out of her window and down the road from the manor. If I had used the Portkey to get into their house directly it would have been recorded, and then they'd automatically know that it had been me who broke in. But even as these petty and meaningless memories washed over me, my solitude was cut short instantly.

A sound caught my attention back into the real world and I sat up, listening. A dull thud had sounded from the other side of the door and in my room. It didn't sound like a door and I doubted anyone would be allowed to see me. My father did love his sick authority.

Rising to my feet, I reached for the knob on the door, ready to encounter whatever brave heart had taken it to their conscience to come and comfort me. But before my fingers closed around the smooth handle, the door swung open and I found myself staring into Pansy's face, her dark, entrancing eyes filled with worry. There was a momentary pause, and then she reached forth and pulled me into a hug, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.

"You're still alive," she mumbled into my shoulder. "You're still alive."

"No I'm not," I replied bitterly, though I was returning the embrace with full force. "I'm just dying slowly."

She pulled away from me then and looked at me with a grave expression. "Which is the reason for my being here," she said. Saying nothing, I let her lead me over to the bed and push me down so I was sitting on the edge. She turned then to close the bathroom door and lock the entrance to my room.

"How did you get here in the first place?" I suddenly asked her. I highly doubted that my father would just let her walk in through the front door.

"I used the same method you used to get in my own home," she replied, drawing the drapes closed so the sunlight was not blazing into my room. Inwardly, I thanked her for sparing me the scorching sun but I remained silent to her words. When she had finished her work she came back to me, standing before me in a sort of silent accusation.

She still wore her night clothes, the black satin mixing with the darkness of her cloak. Her hair was pulled back and bound hurriedly, and the haggard look she wore told me that she had come in a hurry.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Pansy asked, her attempts at staying calm failing miserably. I stared up at her with a blank response.

"There wouldn't be a purpose for you knowing," I answered. In her sedated rage she brought her hand up and slapped my across the face. Once again, ouch.

"Why does everyone keep doing that?" I asked rather acrimoniously, looking back at her. She glared coldly at me.

"Here's a better question: why do you have to be such a jackass?"

"No comment."

And then Pansy blew up in my face.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "What kind of moronic idea was running through your head? This isn't some minor detour in the road of life, Draco; this is big. If you had told me sooner I could have--,"

"I didn't want you to get hurt," I interrupted, grabbing her wrist to calm her down. "I was protecting you."

"Bullshit. This has nothing to do with me. You just don't want to lower your pride and ask for help."

I tugged on her arm harder and she was forced to take a step closer to me. "Don't give me that; you know how much I--..." But I couldn't finish the sentence. I was about to tell her that I cared for her, but it seemed too petty and pathetic to mean anything. She got the gist anyway.

"If you did, you would have let me help you."

"I already told you why I didn't tell you."

"And that's why I stand by my previous reaction."

I stood up then, not exactly liking the fact that she was taller than me. But now I towered over her, though she stared up into my face defiantly. "You wouldn't be able to do anything now anyway. You don't know the incantation to the spell."

She stepped away, her hand slipping out of my weak fingers. "What did you do with the Dassah?" she asked, the defiance perceptible. I held my ground.

"It's gone."

"What?"

"It's gone."

"I heard you the first time. Why is it gone?"

I didn't answer. I wouldn't answer. I couldn't answer. The pain had returned, except this time it erupted in my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. I leaned forward only slightly, trying not to show my pain, which on its own part was incredibly difficult. I steadied myself against my bed post, gripping it hard. But thankfully it was only a warning; nothing happened.

"And now I bet you're going to tell me that was nothing," she spat, her anger rising.

I took a chance. "It was nothing."

"Don't lie to me," she whispered. Her anger had hit critical now, but pain fogged my better judgment.

"Pansy, please. Just get out of here," I told her. When I didn't hear her move, I closed my eyes and tried not to notice the pain, gripping the bed post as I continued to speak. "I don't want you here and I don't need you here."

"Why are you saying this?" she asked me, and the pain increased as I heard the hurt in her voice. "I just want to help you..."

"No!" I cried. I doubled over, the spasm in my chest greater than before. I heard her gasp of horror as I let out another cry and dropped to my knees.

"Draco...Draco? Draco!" she cried, but I was deaf to her calls. I had already fallen forward into the darkness.