I walk the line

To avoid the fine;

Ownership not mine.

So please don't whine

This fic's a sign

That I'll forever hate rhyming ever again. For all eternity. Seriously.

I'm making this the last chapter. Not exactly what I had in mind for the end (I had hoped to elaborate the struggles a bit more), but I felt bad for those of you who follow me. I have followers, right? Ooh! Reminder, because -I- forgot—this is non-HBP complaint. Whorecrux? Is that like Draco Malfoy?

Epiphany

Chapter 7

Aftermath

Banks of snow marked the path the house elves had cleared through the now dead garden outside of Parkinson Manor, a reminder that Pansy had to keep half a mind to the frozen pathway to avoid slipping and breaking something on the cobblestone. It was an improvement from being inside, she figured. While in the confines of the library, the glowing fire and the thick blankets placed her in a false comfort and allowed her mind to wonder freely, something akin to upsetting a nest of Cornish pixies in a small area. At least outside, half her thoughts involved the basics of survival, the "I'm cold" and "These shoes have very little tread to stop the slip" pushing through thoughts of "You're an idiot" and "Permission to murder oneself, Madam?"

It had been over half a year since Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts. Afterwards, Pansy had chosen to lock herself in her manor to avoid the questions and accusations from her surviving classmates. Those who had fought for Voldemort and escaped looked down upon her for the lost battle, even going so far as to make mild, if not empty, death threats. None acted upon them, though, much to her relief; the destruction and confusion of the battle left them angry but wary. The victorious side was much the same, although a lot more curious and a lot less vengeful. Pansy disliked the questions and curious, sometimes frightful glances she got from her peers because she wasn't quite sure herself on what happened. That night seemed too surrealistic and jumbled to remember every detail.

Pansy slipped on a jutting stone, nearly tumbling into a cluster of dead rose bushes and slamming down onto her right knee. She winced and cursed herself for not paying attention, to straying to the thoughts she'd tried to avoid since That Night. Slowly getting back to her feet, she nearly fell once again when a voice called out, "Got to be more careful on the cobblestone there, Pans. Wouldn't want to kill yourself after you fought so hard to stay alive."

Instead of whirling around to glare at the speaker, Pansy straightened her back and slowly continued her walk, not facing the decidedly male figure behind her.

"You can't ignore me forever," Draco Malfoy called to her slowly sauntering figure. "I've been trying to call on you for the past four months." He followed after her, black-gloved hands in the pockets of his blue-black velvet robes.

"And I've ignored you on every chance, haven't I? Why haven't you gotten a clue and left me the hell alone?" she questioned, voice as frosty as her numbing nose.

"Mother told me to give you time. And after a couple of months, she wanted to know why the hell I was still home and not keeping you warm in this weather. It's mirrored, don't you think? We're in reversed roles, kinda ironic." He continued on, ignoring her stony silence. "It used to be that I ignored you and you pressed on. Now, you've become the Ice Queen and I'm the loser."

Pansy's eyes narrowed and she turned on him, almost losing her footing. "If you came here to insult me, you may leave it on a piece of parchment with the rest of them. My house elf kindly leaves a pile next to my bedside table every night, so I might remind to send each 'well-wisher' a fruit basket in the morning." She paused and her glare deepened. "Who let you onto the grounds anyway? I had strict wishes on visitation hours."

Draco let out a hallow laugh. "Is that what you call it? 'Strict?' It was harder to apparate into these grounds than into Hogwarts. Your mother invited me via Floo. Said it was a lovely day for tea in the gardens." Draco looked to the bleak sky and the dead shrubberies. "She might want to redefine 'lovely.'"

Pansy sighed and turned to him with a pointed look. "What do you want, Malfoy?" She was straight to the point and her demeanor told him that she was not in the mood to beat around the bush. "So that I may once again be left in peace."

Draco's eyes bored into her own, his steely gaze matching her uncertain one. "I want to see if what happened back then is the same as what happened with me. I want to clarify what you do and do not know. I want to know why you've been avoiding me, and I want you to know why I will not leave you be until I get these answers."

He leaned down low enough to make eye contact with Pansy, a gaze she met equally. She was the first to break away. "I don't…" she trailed off, voice cracking. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't really know what happened when I was in that book," she admitted, watching gravity pull snow down from the dead limbs of a tree. "Time passed differently when I was in there, differently from how it normally acts."

Pansy absent-mindedly picked her way down the track, lost in thought. Draco knew enough not to interrupt her. "Granger's probably read books that were written from before the days of Hogwarts. What's amazing is that, when those words are written, they become immortal. Spoken words die, written words live. It was like that when I was in the book. There was no specific time period. It felt like I'd been in there for hours. It felt like I'd been in there for lifetimes. I had no body to store my reminiscences and I kept picking up other people's feelings and memories. I watched a boy Lachlan tried to seduce—three centuries ago—come to a realization of what the book meant. I watched you pick me up off the table. I watched Salazar Slytherin kiss Morganna LeFaye one last time. I was everything and I was nothing. I wasn't Pansy; I was another stray memory the book had captured."

She stopped and met his gaze straight on with misty eyes. "I watched you tell Lachlan off. I watched you almost get yourself killed. If you had died, I would have had an eternity of self-hatred to deal with. You would have died because I was too stupid to realize that book's true potential."

----

Six months previous: Battle of Hogwarts

"Malfoy. This really isn't good," Granger commented, eyes following the tattered wall hangings and ripped feather pillows. "She's still got her little water monsters to tear things apart."

"Yeah. Pansy was always pretty good with children. Always knew to leave a house elf in charge of them instead of trying to watch them herself."

"I was referring to Lachlan."

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing the Head Girl would pick up on the sarcasm he used in place of the growing anger. "Learn to take a joke. Actually, we decided to redecorate. This way, we can convince Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors we actually live in the squalor of our own treachery. Now, Ravenclaws on the other hand, they're too smart to fall for it. We generally have to pull out the wall manacles to convince them." He shot her a withering glare. "Of course this isn't good, Granger." He gingerly picked up the tattered book from its spot on a table. "And anyway. We don't have to admire the decorations anymore. We've got what we came for."

"Pansy's prison," Hermione commented, eyeing the book warily.

"And Lachlan's future home."

Draco practically dragged Hermione back to the Great Hall by her torn shirtsleeve, keeping his wand and the book in his other hand. He tried his best to ignore her protests. "Malfoy. We need to stop and plan what we're going to do," the shorter girl demanded, trying her best to dig her heels into the stone. "We can't just march in there with this book and demand Lachlan to return to her jail because 'It's where she belongs'."

Draco snorted very un-Malfoy like. "What a day this is. Voldemort storms the castle, Pansy gets possessed, I'm rushing into battle like a Gryffindor, and Red-And-Gold-Bloody-Golden-Trio-Granger is telling me to stop and plan a battle strategy." He paused, letting her catch her breath from the flights of stairs. "My battle strategy is to stall the Dark Lord long enough for Potter to come to his senses. While the Boy-Who-Better-Finish-Off-Voldemort takes care of one pain in the ass, I'm going to be working on the other. Do you have a better suggestion?"

He didn't wait long enough for an answer before continuing his journey.

----

Lachlan's amusement was close to an end. A millennia of years trapped in a timeless tome made for a short attention span. The petty battle at hand had nothing to do with her wishes, which, of course, should come first. Voldemort had lived seventy or so years. She had survived since the creation of time.

"This needs to be over now," Lachlan demanded, one hand on her hip and another gently caressing one of her sprites. "You mortals have so little time and I can practically feel my minutes slipping away. Finish your fighting so we may talk."

Voldemort strengthened his shield and cast a malevolent look at what had once been Pansy Parkinson. "You're in no position to be making demands, Lady. The last time I checked, you were still a mortal teenager and I was the worst Dark Lord to grace wizarding kind in centuries."

Lachlan rolled her eyes and let out a derisive laugh. "Don't even begin to understand me, Lord Voldemort. You are the worst Dark Lord to grace wizarding kind. Yet I'm the one who pushed your forefather into leaving this school. You have roughly seventy years. I have over seven thousand. You have your Death Eaters. I have my sprites. You are a Dark Lord. I am a Fae Queen." With an unspoken demand, puddles of water formed at her feet and her water sprites rose from the depths.

"Good evening, my children" the was-Pansy cooed, stroking stray cheeks of fae that began to swarm around her. "I want this battle over. See to it."

"I think not," another voice added into the conversation. Lachlan's gaze met Draco Malfoy's and she let out a feral grin. The grin increased when she noticed the book he held in one hand, the timid girl he gripped with the other. "I think you're going to call them off," he indicated her sprites, "And are going to return your soul to this tome and let Pansy have her body back."

Lachlan laughed, sending chills down his back. Hermione tugged nervously at his grip on her sleeve and he unconsciously let her free. "I've seen you, boy. I've seen how you treated the girl as if she had no potential. I've molded her around you and what you expect out of a mate. Every point she changed, every molding I made that increased my power, was done for you. You are the reason your Pansy is in this book and I am here. Perhaps I should be thanking you?" Draco did not miss the sultry smile on Lachlan's face. It was one he'd seen Pansy make before he'd… well, before he'd been able to stand Pansy's presence.

"Don't you dare begin to place the blame on me," Draco retorted coldly, fingers tightening around his wand at his side. "You didn't change Pansy from what she already had. You just began to show her the true potential she had to offer and truthfully, I was never attracted to what you offered me, even through Parkinson. What attracted me was the brave, witty, smart girl that existed under an exterior of flakiness brought upon her by lousy parents with a lousy mentor guiding them." Draco shot a quick glance at Voldemort to make his point, not surprised to find Potter and the Dark Lord unsuccessfully passing curses at each other. "I could never be attracted to somebody so fake, so unbelievably manipulative, and somebody who color coded her body to match her teeth."

Lachlan curled her lip up in anger at him. Draco wasn't astonished to notice the blueberry-tint her teeth had taken on. "If you won't join me, then you are against me," she snarled, slowly raising her arms with palms up. The blue glow around her body increased. "It's so sad I'll have to kill you instead. You would be such a useful, pretty boy to have around."

The blasts of raw, blue energy Lachlan shot at him passed right through his protective shield and Draco had to dodge last minute to avoid the blast. Lachlan laughed once and sent another bolt at the dazed boy currently sprawled at her feet. Draco watched in slow motion as the blast came closer and closer, his face reflecting the blue glow. Yet he didn't let go of the book that now contained Pansy's soul. He stroked its spine slowly, closed his eyes, and waited for the blow to hit him.

----

Pansy had lied when she told Draco she had no longer been Pansy when trapped in the book. For the most part, the memories had been so jumbled up to such a confused was-girl; she had given up trying to separate the different issues. Without a brain to direct the flow of thought, it was pointless trying to figure out what had been hers and what hadn't been.

The was-girl that now inhabited book watched the memories fling past, no recollection of past, present, or future. She watched a young Morganna gaze into a baby cradle with disgust at a brother that wasn't really her brother. Anger. She watched the Hogwarts boy stroke the faded-gold lettering on the leather cover of the book. Adoration. She watched long, endless moments of confinement to a bitter water fae weakening powers and rebuilding hate. Loathing.

She watched a confession of love for a new-founded potential, not the false, newly modeled personality that was supposed to have been created. She watched as a brilliant, deadly blue glow slowly came closer to Draco Malfoy with the intent to destroy because he had appreciated a soul for what had been there, just hidden. She watched his familiar eyes slowly close, a small smile slowly come over his features, and she –felt- the tentative stroke over her spine.

Love.

The was-girl stopped and Pansy stepped away from the jumble of memories to individuality. She closed eyes that were no longer there and let the tears slowly stream down her cheeks. 'Please,' her almost-voice echoed through the small room with a cot and a writing desk. 'Don't let it end this way.'

The tears slowly splashed down her face, increasing in intensity and desperation. 'Don't let him die because of me. He loves me for who I am. And I have always loved him.'

'Then don't let it.' Time that wasn't there froze. The memories stopped drowning her. Pansy opened her eyes and gaped in astonishment. Ageless eyes gazed down to her from a halo of auburn curls and an outstretched hand. 'Fight to make your own destiny.'

Pansy gathered up all her courage and reached up to take the hand.

----

Draco was wondering when that blow of blue would explode in his face. He knew that one's life would pass in front of his eyes before death, but his life had finished passing some time ago and yet he was still alive. He cracked an eye open to see where the progression of the light stood. It didn't.

Actually, the light seemed to have struck him at one point. Instead of creating a lethal blow that should have exploded his head open, though, it seemed to have been drawn into the book he clutched to his chest like a lifeline. Forgetting the book housed Pansy's soul, Draco chucked it like a hot potato. And with a very unmanly squeal. The book wouldn't drop. It remained hovering in the air at the point where gravity would have brought it back down again. The glow intensified and Lachlan took a step back.

"You do not," she snarled, raising another hand of glowing, blue energy, actually addressing the book. "I've worked too damn hard to get out of that book for it to put up much of a fight."

A gust of wind slammed into Lachlan, forcing her to drop her hands and take a bracing step back. The until-then forgotten water sprites hit with the gust were forced back into their puddle-states, liquefying with contact. The sprites not hit with the blast of air were not stupid; they did, however, manage to disappear from the vicinity quite quickly.

"I will not give up without a FIGHT," Lachlan shot, throwing herself at the book with clawed hands. "If you will not rest in that damn book, I'll just have to kill this body and find a new one to inhabit." Draco had to shield his eyes when the two came into contact, the resounding glow blinding everything in the vicinity.

An eerie wail filled the room, followed shortly by an anguished scream. Pansy's body was thrown back and the book flew into Voldemort's protective shield. Much like Lachlan's power blasts had done to Draco's shield, Voldemort's faltered and fell; the Dark Lord was slammed in the chest with the novella. If Harry had never picked up a cue before, he couldn't have missed this one. He shouted a curse at Voldemort's confused form and whatever he bellowed at the Dark Lord intensified with the still glowing book. The resulting explosion shook the room and for the first time since the beginning of the battle, silence flowed over the Great Hall. Except for a charred spot on the ground, neither Dark Lord nor book existed.

The book. Pansy. Draco's anguished cry caught the fighters' attention. "NO!" he screamed, roughly flinging himself forward to the blackened circle on the ground, looking for some remains, some scattered ashes as to what had become of Pansy. "Pansy, no," he whispered, oblivious to the uncharacteristic tears squeezing from his eyes. "It's not going to END this way!" He scratched at the floor, ripping apart his fingers.

"No, it isn't," a tired, familiar voice called from over his shoulder.

Draco slowly turned from his crouched spot on the floor, gazing up into a recognizable pair of eyes. He knew just from the crooked, slightly sarcastic smile on her face that she was back. "And I figured that out myself. I couldn't let you die because of me," Pansy Parkinson informed him, wiping at a line of tears.

Her lips twitched for a second, gazing at the liquid on her fingertips. "For Merlin's sake. Grow a pair and stop crying, you silly bint."

He silenced her with crushing hug and even more compressed kiss.

----

Present Time, the winter after the battle

Realization washed over Draco as he gazed at Pansy's back. "You blame yourself," he deadpanned, watching her flinch. "You blame yourself for wanting to change and conform so much that you ignored all your teachings. That because of the changes, you invited an unwilling monster into your body. That the monster almost killed me. You think it was a petty crush that almost got me killed."

Pansy's head scrunched into her body as she hugged herself. "Not a petty crush, but the rest you've got on the dot," she muttered, looking at the ground. She missed it as Draco approached her and was surprised when he pushed up her chin to make eye contact with her.

"Not a petty crush then. And not 'on the dot.'" He paused, letting that sink in. "Yes, you wanted to change and conform. You did ignore your teachings. A monster did make its way into your body. And yes, the monster did almost kill me. None of that is related and you're a fool for thinking it is." He grinned as she bristled at being called a fool.

"I don't know if you heard it or not, but I made it clear to Lachlan she didn't 'mold' you into anything. What you are now, the smart, intelligent, funny young woman was always underneath that superficial exterior. And I hated that exterior. It was the façade of pure blood teachings getting shoved into your brain. It was a lousy mother compared with an even lousier father to dim and try to diminish the personality beneath. All Lachlan did was make you question what you'd been taught, not produce something that wasn't already there. Or don't you think you would've reverted back to the way you were?"

Pansy was silent for a period of time. Draco wasn't going to take that as an answer. "Don't you? Think that you'd be back to the way you were?" He shook her shoulder for emphasis.

She glared at him. "I dunno. I've found myself wearing a bit of pink again. Does that count?"

He laughed, pulling her into another crushing hug. "If it makes you feel better to think that way, then fine. You're a superficial brat because your bra has pink lace. Better?"

She smiled up at him tentatively. "Don't forget the matching panties."

He suppressed a groan at the mental image of solely-underwear-clad Pansy and buried his face in her neck. He had to stoop quite a way. "I'd never forget the matching panties. But just in case, perhaps you'd better show them to me so I can impress them upon my mind."

Pansy pulled away to punch him in the arm. "Not quite that quickly, asshole. Not until at least the second date. And I doubt that'll be all you're 'impressing.'"

Draco Malfoy's laughter reverberated around the Parkinson Manor grounds.

From an upstairs window, Kamalia Parkinson smiled to herself. She moved away from the window, the only sign of her presence the still-billowing curtains. Perhaps she might look over wedding invitations with the Weasleys sometime?

Wedding invitation delivered to both Malfoy and Parkinson manors:

You've been invited to the wedding of a century!

Join the Weasley, Granger, and Potter families as Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley, and Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jane Granger are joined in a joint ceremony of holy matrimony. Further information provided at RSVP request.

For RSVP: Contact Molly Weasley at floo network: The Burrow

Owl from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy

You going?

And if so, with or without the means to ruin their wedding?

-Pans

Owl from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson

Yeah. But it might be safer not to do anything stupid. Between Granger and Weaslette, I'd rather eat a blast-ended skrewt before ruining their days. In fact, I'd probably get turned into one. Pourquoi, ma petite?

-Drakes(?)

Letter from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, shot at him through the floo network

One more remark about how short I am, this letter will be aimed lower and at a faster speed. I'll cut something important off, for sure. You take the fun out of Gryffindor/Slytherin events. Chicken

-P

Note from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson in the middle of a nap, tickled under her nose by Draco Malfoy until awoken

I don't take the fun out of them. I'm merely hesitant to act before that second date I've been promised

-D

Message from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, traced on his chest with a fingernail

Still worried about dying before seeing my knickers?

Whispered into Pansy Parkinson's ear

I'm more concerned with seeing the entire set, now

On a distant isle, a curled-up body sleeps in the cool, ever-summer shade of an ancient oak tree. She hasn't had real human contact in years, yet she's watched humanity and wizarding kind progress through the reflections in still pools of water. She is ancient, yet young, wise, yet naïve, and plainly impatient. She has waited minutes, hours, days, years, centuries, yet every day is the same as the one before.

She still believes in love, no matter how it has evaded her through the years. The love lives deep in her heart, aching as she takes every breath. Her only reprieve is in her dreams. In her dreams, they are together again, for all eternity. He is there to tug on her hair and remind her of her shortcomings. She is there to react with a fierce temper and shouting. They're both there for each other with warm embraces and tentative stroking and less tentative stroking as well. Her dreams are what keep her hoping and praying, She said her good-bye centuries before, but she never really meant it.

She said she loved him, in the past tense. But she still does. And every time she wakes up from her dreams, he disappears, breaking her heart all over again.

This dream is no different. The slight breeze that ruffles her hair across her cheek translates into a dream-lover's trailing caress. She's pulled from sleep by it, whimpering as the distance between them grows. Curiously, though, the trailing caress down her cheek continues, dipping down her neck.

Sapphire-blue eyes lift up in hope, not wanting to disrupt the dream and frighten it away. A pale hand cups her chin and forces her gaze up into ancient eyes, eyes that have haunted her dreams since before time. They're so full of love it hurts. The breeze dies down and she lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Laez."

I finished this for myself because I owed it to my writing. I was reading through some of my old stuff when I came across it and immediately became disappointed in myself. My writing was too good (for me) to not complete it. And there you go. There are fewer letters, but the actual story is longer, so it evens out. I'm mostly happy with the final ending; I was happy to end Morganna's suffering. Perhaps some day I'll go through and re-edit it all and post it on livejournal. I'm extremely happy with how it came out. Thank you for waiting so long (even though I bet most of y'all gave up hope ) and now it's sleepy time. Peace be with all,

-Achi