Rhyming is a pain in the…
Cough.Hello to all; Not owning HP
I have now taken my liberty
To state that this fic is free.
No money from it comes to me
Pesky lawyers leave me be
And I'm REALLY sorry
For the REALLY long wait-ee.
Rhyming is a pain in my ass. Onto the show!
Epiphany
Chapter 6
Confrontations
"Well damn," Pansy thought. She mirrored her thoughts and made it an exclamation as well. "This righteously sucks."
The fae on the table nodded her head in ascent. "That's what I'm thinking. It took just over a millennia for some poor schmuck to forget the legends and locate that book." It stretched its long legs and let them dangle from the table. "I've had this chance twice. And it was my luck the first idiot who picked up the book was male and several centuries ago. One of his friends was nice enough to clue him in on the history and bam! Dropped like a hot tamale. You're friends weren't that nice, though, deary. Or they were too dumb to realize what I was."
Pansy rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with a mythological monster once removed. "The majority of people now a days have difficulty applying what they know to real life. It's like, 'I was told wingardium leviosa to pick up heavy objects!' and when a house falls on them, the only thing remaining is ruby slippers."
"You'd be surprised how often that happens in history," the fae commented. "Happened to one of my cousins. Another forgot to waterproof her clothing and melted by a mop bucket."
"I have a feeling you're not here for idle chitchat, are you," Pansy wanted to know, sitting cross-legged on her bed and staring at the two halves of her wand on the floor.
"Yeah, but I thought a little catching up on the times would be necessary, you know, if I'm going to take over your body and all. Can't just meander into that hall and be all, 'hitherto' and 'art thou.'"
"Take over my body?" Pansy wanted to discern, taking in the factors extremely serenely for a girl who'd just had this fae invade her dreams enough to cause a severe nightmare.
"You mortals are all the same. You never have time to stop and smell the roses!" the fae ranted, crossing her arms over a flowing gown that looked to be made of water. Instead of wrinkling, it reformed around the position her arms were in.
"It's usually like that when you're mortal," was Pansy's reply. "Compared to you immortals, our lives are merely a speck of dust in the wind."
"But you wizarding folk have longer lives, right?" the fae commented.
"So we're a bigger speck than the muggles." Pansy turned to face the woman giving her a deadpan look. "An… angry speck. That aims for the eyes." She was rewarded with another unnerving bluebell grin. "And scratches the cornea until appeased. You're not making this very easy on me, are you?"
The fae laughed, a sound that reminded Pansy of a roaring waterfall. The girl shivered. "I'm part of the fae. We're not supposed to make life easier on anybody." She stood up and paced about the room. "The problem with being stored in a book for over a millennia is that the book has become my body. What you're seeing? It's only essence of who I really am, my magical powers unhindered by flesh and hair. See?" the fae stuck a four-jointed figure through the table. "Morganna had this all planned out. To leave this book, I'd have to find a willing mind to change. It was a part of her plan; I think she was angry with me for urging her lover into leaving the Hogwarts foundation. She also made sure that I'd have to find a new body, a mortal body, to take over if I ever did leave the book. And the problem with mortality is that you can die, even if you've got an immortal spirit housing the area."
"It's a pity we're mortal then. Me more so than anybody else. I spoil," Pansy muttered.
"Not too much of a problem for me," the fae replied, another grin upon her face. "I have a pretty good head start on this 'morality' problem for when I take over your body. I figure that Voldemort guy's got a pretty good grasp on immortality. He's already 'died' once, aren't I right?"
"You make it sound like I'm going to gift wrap who I am and pass it on. I'm going to sure as hell put up a fight before you can snatch my body and toss out my soul," Pansy spat, hugging herself.
The smile was more feral than mischievous this time. "I'm not going to toss out your soul, love. Just replace it in the book and live your life as you. And let me tell you." Sapphire eyes bore into Pansy's own. "It's much easier, and much more pain free, to give up than fight. I'm not a fair fighter and I've got a millennia of pent-up anger to work free."
(page break- Microsoft Word doesn't save them on FF dot Net)
If Draco was surprised to find himself in front of this particular Death Eater, he didn't let on. In fact, he was rather elated to come across this man in this particular battle; Draco would be able to state his claims and get his point across to Jasper the Draco Malfoy Way and claim that he was merely doing it for the better of the Light.
"What a surprise to come across you at this point in time," Draco drawled, his wand never straying from the eyes behind the mask. "You see, I've been telling myself that I'd come across you this evening, yet I wasn't sure if I'd be entirely graced with your presence."
Jasper flung a disarming spell in Draco's direction and the blonde blocked it with a shield spell. "You see," Draco continued, as if he had such instances in his every day life, "I've been meaning to talk to you about certain subjects… Actually, one Subject in particular, and I've been getting a bit antsy these past few months. I figured what better chance to get my point across, my way, then in the middle of a battle where a few 'accidents' might get the point across."
When Draco's shield did not budge, Jasper sighed, cast his own shield spell, and went to disable a Hufflepuff sixth year. "We are in the middle of battle, Boy. This is no time to talk logic. You fight in the wrong side. If I can't bring you down, I'll leave you for somebody else," Jasper commented. He was surprised to find his feet glued to the floor.
"No, you see," Draco commented, the battle around him forgotten as he toyed with Jasper. "This is the perfect time to talk logic, I think. Any other time, the Ministry might cart me off for my actions. But as far as the Ministry is concerned at this time, I'm on their side, you aren't, and they're not too particular at what might happen to you as I defend my school."
A shot of red sparks grazed Draco's cheek, a thin line of blood to follow. Draco rolled his eyes and reminded himself to watch the shield. It would do no good for Jasper to hex him in the middle of a Heart-To-Heart. "When the Dark Lord deals with you, you shall pay for making a fool out of me, Boy," Jasper spat, eyes bright behind the placid face of his mask. "I shall see to it. He rewards his followers well."
"And what about those followers who invoke the name of another to cover their arses?" Draco wanted to know, concentrating on a full body bind. The spell struck Jasper's shield spell, fought for a moment, and disappeared. "Such as your family members. Do you pride yourself in using your daughter's life to save your own? Your own flesh and blood?"
Jasper's replying laugh, a bitter and humorless one, further sent Draco into his fury. "You think too deeply, Boy. You are a Slytherin as much as I. You should know that I see no life before my own. Pansy was to be inducted to My Lord's side as soon as possible. I merely took the invitation offered to me at the time."
Draco's look of cold rage shook Jasper on the spot momentarily. "The only quality I see as fit for handing over your daughter's life on a silver platter is not one offered by any house, Jasper Parkinson. Gryffindor might be known for its bravery, and Slytherin might be its foil house, but that doesn't mean Slytherins stand for cowardice."
"Just because we're sneaky doesn't mean we don't have guts," another voice chimed in from behind Jasper. The elder man might have been able to reflect Draco's stunning spell, but he was not prepared for Blaise's attack from behind. Jasper Parkinson fell to the floor in a pile, where Draco performed a binding spell and drifted him off to a corner to be out of the way.
"It took you long enough," Draco growled, heading back to the fray.
Blaise shrugged, ignoring the shallow cut on his shoulder. "I stopped to have a friendly chat with your father. He declared himself done with the fighting and tiptoed back to his manor before the ministry appears to start arresting people. I doubt he'll be missed in this battle; the Dark Lord will never notice."
Draco nodded. "I hope not. The last thing I need at this moment is another daring escape from Azkaban."
(Page break, numero dos. Hate MW)
"Stop fighting."
"You didn't say 'please'."
"Please stop fighting?"
"No."
"You're just making this more difficult on yourself."
Pansy sighed in fustration. "Did it ever occur to you in the millennia of planning that your subject might be unwilling?" she wanted to know.
Lachlan sent her a puzzled look. "I can be very convincing when I want to be," was the tough reply.
"Not one?" It was meant by silence. "Your outlook on the human race can't be a good one. Or a recent one, I suppose. The majority of teenagers nowadays agree that compliance is to be avoided. You're clearly not fit to take over my body, but keep studying the human race and you'll be prepared in another century or ten."
Lachlan smirked at her as a steady breeze began to pick up in the room. "The longer you wait to give up, the more angry I become. Seeing as I've had so long to be angry, several more minutes can be lethal. You'd hate to have a damaged soul combined to the book, wouldn't you?"
Pansy scoffed in reply. It was one of the few actions she could still perform, the small sprites successfully binding her to the bed. "You could no more damage my soul than you could fight off Morganna. Stealing my body will only last so long before you become another wondering soul. What will you do in another century when this form no longer exists anyway?"
Lachlan shrugged. "A century is long enough for me to find another solution. I consider this one temporary." She paused, arms at her sides and the hair around her face making it difficult for Pansy to foretell any emotion across the fae's face but a smirk. "Any last words before you cease your tale and begin to tell mine?"
Before Pansy could retort or make a feeble attack of her own, Lachlan pounced. Pansy screeched in pain as an immense pressure came over her mind. It was as if her brain was forced between two bookends on the Bookcase From Hell.
A bystander would have gazed on in confusion until a bright flash of blue forced eyes shut. One moment, Lachlan was standing there, hands against her hips with a smirk on her face and the book on the table long forgotten. Next, she was nowhere to be seen, the only sign of her presence being the slight blue glow that surrounded both Pansy and the tome on the table.
Pansy smirked smartly and sauntered out of the room with a wave to the book. "Don't worry," she called out over her shoulder, oddly icy-blue eyes twinkling through the darkness. "In a few centuries, some sap is sure to forget the stories and pick up that tome the way you did. You can teach her what I taught you and you'll have another body fresh for the picking."
(Page break 3)
It was like floating in an abyss. Things were dark, but she could still defer between shapes. Had there been shapes to defer from; abysses tend to be devoid from all objects.
Breathing, an activity that normally came quite simply to the human body, was also a difficulty. She felt as if each straining breath was like trying to swim in a tub of molasses, chests rising like arms from the mass to keep a body afloat.
More importantly, she felt old. Each word on every page was like it had been inscribed on her body. Time had taken a toll on the book, she knew. The weathered pages were now brittle and torn, the same way the memory of what made her… herself now felt. Every stain, every rip was reflected on the essence of Pansy Parkinson, now forced to the millennia-old book sitting on the desk in the middle of the seventh year Slytherin girl's dorm. And right about now, any hope for survival (and getting her body back) seemed as likely as passing the transfigurations NEWTs before having located the self-help book. With this thought in mind, the essence of Pansy slowly drifted down to a room that she guessed had been Morganna's seal for Lachlan in the book.
A cot rested on the ground of a stone room. There were no windows, no doors, no exits. Morganna would have made sure of that. A small, circular table with a single chair sat to the corner of the small room. And, surprisingly, on the opposite wall sat a dressing table, complete with parchment, quills, and a small pot of ink. Pansy noticed the desk had a single drawer, and although landed in Slytherin house, the Gryffindor curiosity got to the better of her and she slowly pulled it open and paused.
Pile upon pile of letters sat within, all bundled together with green satin lace. Pansy pulled out one pile, and carefully untied the lace, and then unfolding a letter.
She got as far as, "Dear Salazar," before placing them gently back together, tying them back up, and then curling up into a small ball on the cot. She had located Morganna LeFaye's last letters before disappearance on the Isle of Mist.
(Break 4)
Outside of the Slytherin dorms, through the common room, and up the dungeons to the light above, the battle between Hogwarts and the Death Eaters continued. Draco was doing his best to ignore the mysteriously quiet and still bodies lying about on the floor and continued to do his best to take out his opposing foes the best he could. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, frowning in distaste at his sticky and otherwise unclean state. The majority fighting in the room were older students, mainly from their sixth and seventh year. He recognized faces from Potter's "Dumbledore's Army" and smirked without a second thought. He hoped that maturity had settled upon his shoulders since fifth year, but the look of realization on Potter's face when the so called army had been caught was worth dealing with Umbridge. The cow.
With surprise, his attention was drawn to the other side of the room where the dungeons opened into the great hall. The dungeon entrance was slowly moving open and Draco could make out Pansy's dark form slipping into the shadows. He frowned to himself, tiptoeing his way through the fighting and the bodies towards her.
Draco wasn't the only one watching Pansy's entrance into the hall. Granger, observant as ever, sidled her way over to Draco as he made his way through the hall. "What do you want, Granger? I don't feel like dealing with the twelve uses of dragon's blood right now," he commented, dragging his sleeve back over his brow.
She stopped to give him a glare. "She's had that book since the start of school, right?" She paused but only long enough to have her point come across. "And then, this battle happens and one of the most powerful beings of this era comes within range." Another pause, this time added by Draco's impatient and pointed look. "Wouldn't this just be the most ideal moment for the prisoner in that book to take advantage of Pansy, being alone with everybody else around her too preoccupied to assist her?"
"Granger. I am tired, sweaty, and otherwise too irritated to deal with your 'What Ifs.' I'm throwing caution in the wind, like a good little Gryffindor, and making sure that she's alright whether you think it's a good idea or not," Draco replied, surprising Hermione with the steel in his eyes. "If she's not okay, I will be very upset indeed. But I'd rather find out now before something…" it was his turn to pause as he searched for an appropriate word, "Stupid happens that worsens the situation."
He walked off, leaving Hermione in his wake to gaze on. For being a bloody Slytherin, and for coming from a family of Slytherins, and otherwise loathing anything that its rival house stood for, Malfoy was being uncharacteristically Gryffindorish. Hermione shrugged it off and continued forward out of curiosity.
It was a sigh of relief and a fresh breath of air to reach Pansy without any other skirmishes to reach his way. Draco thanked his lucky stars that everybody else in the hall was too busy with the fight to notice the pale-haired boy stop fighting to greet a girl, let alone one he had detested up until recently. "Pansy," he panted, stopping before her and clutching a hand to his chest. "Please tell me you're okay and that bloody book hasn't gotten to you yet."
Eerily blue eyes met his own and a chilly smile lit her features. "What would make you think that the book would get anybody at all? What if I welcomed that little prison with relish, Draco Malfoy?" He shuddered, taking a step back at her icy tone. "That little book can't 'get' me any more than it has, but I must admit that I've helped myself a bit on this one."
"So that's it?" he deadpanned, the fighting behind him forgotten. "You've got what you wanted and she's just screwed for eternity."
"Not for eternity. Just until the next hapless soul comes along, looking for self-improvement. I-" she halted, face lighting up in glee as she looked past Draco.
"My Lord," she curtsied, not looking down with the normal respect people would give to a lord or a lady. Draco could feel his heart drop to his stomach and his stomach drop to his feet. "I've got a lovely proposition for you, one that I don't think you could resist."
Draco slowly turned around to the red-eyed gaze of the one and only Lord Voldemort, who, for now, chose to ignore Draco's presence.
"And what might that be, Miss Parkinson?" the Dark Lord asked. Had he eyebrows, one would be lifted in mock interest.
An equally mock look of bewilderment crossed Pansy's- no. Not Pansy anymore. The look crossed the stolen body's facial features. "You must have me slightly confused with somebody else, my Lord," she replied, a slow grin lighting her lips. "Pansy is otherwise preoccupied at the moment. I am Lachlan and I consider this a… 'test-drive' of my abilities."
If Draco's stomach could drop any further than his feet, it would have; he reckoned it was now nestled tightly amongst his belongings in the Slytherin dungeon, many feet below. In it's place, a gut-clenching dread grew as an unpleasant smile of recognition lit Lord Voldemort's lipless mouth.
The Dark Lord offered Pansy's body an arm and she took it gratefully. "What do I have to offer a member of the Fae Court?" he wanted to know, strolling off amongst the chaos like a walk in the park during the spring.
"Immortality. Knowledge. Power. Just the usual." The responding laugh brought chills down his back and Draco jumped when a hand clutched his arm.
"We have to help her out," Hermione Granger warned, her own brown eyes flashing. "I figure we have about an hour before those two go completely out of hand. As soon as Lachlan gets what she wants, she'll side with him and then I figure it will be only a matter of minutes before Hogwarts is reduced to rubble."
"Morganna was able to bind her to a book. How powerful can she be?" Draco wanted to know, doubt laced amongst his fear.
"Morganna was powerful enough to go down in history books. And she was pissed as hell. And she had Salazar Slytherin's tutoring for several decades. We, on the other hand, have a handful of years dealing with oftentimes mediocre tutoring in several subjects that were regularly disrupted by him," Hermione jerked her head in Voldemort's direction, "Or his lackeys doing his damned best to finish off one of my best mates."
Draco flinched. "What about Dumbledore?" he wanted to know.
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "The one person capable to duel off You-Know-Who will be busy making sure his school doesn't fall to the Death Eaters. Quite literally, I suppose. The best bet we have is getting to the book and transferring the two back into designated areas."
A brief pause as Hermione waited for Draco to add onto that. "What?" he asked, confused at the silence.
She huffed. "The common room. Take me to where she'd be most likely to leave the book. We have to find that before we do anything else."
"Right-o. Follow me." Draco took off down into the dungeons, Hermione following close behind, and their footsteps echoed off into the dark.
(Break 5- the letters)
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 13, February 26th
It's endearing. I always assumed that "endearing" always referred to you when you knew something that I didn't. That I wanted to know, but you were trying to make me find out on my own.
That you pointedly led me astray on, just to laugh at me when I settled for the wrong conclusion.
No. Endearing is those quiet nights, in the middle of a snowstorm, not having left the premise for days on end due to a fear of dying out in the middle of the cold because nobody knows that I'm gone and misplaced. I'm lonely, and I'm tired of being lonely, and there's an odd place in me (the masochist of my personality, I suppose) that misses you being here, to lead me off the correct path and into one that you jokingly know is incorrect.
You really are a bastard.
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 25, June 30th
I hate you. I seriously, absolutely loathe you. Do you know why I hate you?
I can't stop thinking about you. Or remembering you. I stop to pick up a book and I think, "I bet Sal has read this one," or I look into the flames at my fireplace and think, "You'd probably poke them with a metal stick until coals decided to fly at your feet and you'd dance around the room, on fire."
No, I haven't forgotten that. But I wish I could
I loathe you.
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 32, August 3rd
Why'd you have to go piss off the other founders?
You know that if we didn't let the muggle-borns into the school, by the next millennia, wizarding families would have some mutated, six-fingered gene.
Six fingers are not cool. The muggles would have realized something was up.
Do you want spawn that has six fingers and an arm out of the forehead?
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 51, November 31st
I got you, didn't I? There is no November thirty-first.
This is what I've been reduced to. Writing nonsense, that doesn't make sense, just so I may tie it up in another blasted green ribbon and saving it in a private desk in a private place that no mortal will ever locate or read.
I can't break the habit. It's as if these letters are my last hope, the last thread that one day, you'll locate them and read them and then come back to me.
I'm losing it, Sal. I can't hold on for much longer. Please, don't make me grasp on to a crumbling ledge.
As clingy as it sounds, Come back to me. Please.
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 99, January 1st
How much longer am I to glance over my shoulder at the smallest noise, guessing you to be there with your wand raised, that evil grin upon your face, and whispering a leg-locking curse just to watch me hobble around the room after you, until I stop to catch my breath and you whisk me up, over your shoulder and ignoring my protests, and take me off somewhere more private?
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 167, September 22nd
This is getting pretty sad, isn't it?
Maybe I am too clingy.
Or maybe I feel that, if you find these somehow, you'll realize that I still love you and that I'll still welcome you.
Give it up, Morganna. Sigh.
A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin
Letter 213, February 26th
Two years, two hundred letters later. I'm tired of writing, of hoping, of crying.
Good-bye, Sal.
I really did love you.
(End chapter)
First of all, apologies. APOLOGIES. Many times over. Lots and lots of apologies. It's been like… sixteen months. Everything's been happening to me. A happy new years to all (this is my belated Christmas present) and as a New Years gift, I offer a drawing of Lachlan I doodled out a while ago http /img. Photobucket . com /albums /v212 /Achicagoil /drawinglachlan . png Just remove the spaces. It's not the best, and the image is a little dark, and the shadows are WAY screwy (they jump sides of her body bwahahaa), but I had fun nonetheless. I can't promise when another update will be, but… I'll try to have one out. If you want to, feel free to contact me through my LJ. It's www dot livejournal dot com slash users slash fangirlwithak slash. Reviews really, seriously DO inspire me to write (this isn't some cop out, yo), the same way clapping brings Tinkerbelle back to life.