The Pilgrim’s Badge


A note on Pilgrim badges: Pilgrimage is a tradition that goes way back to the Greeks, who would make a yearly pilgrimage to the Oracle at Delphi, or to the Oracle of Zeus. A great diversity of religions practice this tradition, making a yearly voyage to a place that contains special significance to them. This journey was often long and arduous, and the longer and harder; the greater the pilgrim’s devotion.

Particularly in the Middle Ages, pilgrimage was considered a responsibility and obligation of faith. Many of the Lords and nobles of the time would make their yearly trip; yet the peasants and workers often could not afford this luxury. A peasant would be ambitious planning even one trip in his or her entire lifetime, and any of the laity who managed such a trip were counted among the most devoted and pious in the community, and well blessed for being able to do so.

It is unclear when, but there came a practice of collecting souvenirs from the destinations to which pilgrims traveled. These became known as the pilgrim’s badges , as they were generally some kind of ornament or broach, which could be displayed as evidence of their journey. They would often represent the relic or symbol of one of the saints of the Catholic faith, or just a message that had specific significance. Crosses dedicated to a particular saint were especially popular, but the badges existed in a wide variety of design and significance. In this way, pilgrims were supposed to be able to carry the lessons they had learned during their journey with them always, especially the peasants who were only able to make the trip once in a lifetime. Also, for peasants, the pilgrim badges were passed on to other generations, so that present may learn from the past, and remember the long, hard journey their ancestor had made, and what they had learned from this experience.

-- Compiled with notes from Wikipedia.com

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Chapter One: Casting a Stone

He was already mildly irritated that afternoon, and when his friends had caught him staring at her again, while she sat with the rest of her crowd, across from him in the Three Broomsticks, it just increased his temper. It had been going on for weeks; he found himself watching her. There was something compelling about her laugh, and the sparkle in her eye that captivated him, and he started to watch her more and more – it had become an addiction. He couldn’t understand how someone with her lot in life – a Weasley, poor, surrounded by holier-than-thou Gryffindors all day long, that red hair! – could smile and laugh so easily, and frequently as she did.

After they had noticed he wasn’t paying attention, and had discovered what had pulled his focus, he’d silenced their comments with a thunderous glare, and stormed away. After wandering the street of Hogsmeade for a good hour, his temper growing darker with every step, he decided that it was time to gather his group and head back to the school – heckling a few first years might exorcise his terrible mood. The day was far too sunny for him, and it was harder to spread misery in the sunshine.

He figured that they were all hovering around the Shrieking Shack; it had become their pseudo-territory during Hogsmeade weekends, and without a leader, he doubted that they would have enough imagination to consider any other possibilities. He spotted Crabbe and Goyle, with the rest of the Slytherin guys, standing in a half-circle with their backs to him. He was about to join them, when a flash of light blinded him.

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes, when the light flashed again. Scanning the area, he tracked the source, and scowled. He took the few steps left between him and the group, and listened to their conversation, and his anger flared again.

“If you’ll excuse me, you big gits, you’re blocking my way,” the youngest Weasley snarled. Her eyes were blazing with anger, and she was clutching her wand in her hand, prepared to hex anyone should they give her any trouble.

“What’s a Gryffindor like you doing here all by her self?” Goyle questioned, in what he supposed was a Malfoy-like sneer

“The pleasure of your company was just too much for me to handle,” she said brightly, with an acerbic bite to her voice that made it clear that the exact opposite was true.

“Where’s your precious Potter?” Crabbe demanded, as the rest of the Slytherin guys burst into laughter. The icy glare she gave him stopped his laughter in his throat, and the memory of what the Bat-Boogey Hex had done to Malfoy crossed their minds.

Draco Malfoy pushed his way through the group; tossing his Housemates aside as he made his way to the front of the group, right in front of Ginny Weasley.

“What’s the deal, boys?” he asked his friends, looking around. The shinning light blinded him yet again, and he focused his sight to a pendant tied around the Weasley’s neck with a length of white ribbon. It was a Galleon-sized, blue-tinged silver medallion, embossed with a large letter ‘A’, surrounded by an elaborately engraved design. He stared at it, as it glinted in the sun, and he thought he saw some strange shadow moving within it.

“Just your minions acting mindlessly as always, Malfoy,” she quipped, her wand raised threateningly. He tore his gaze away from her pendant, and took a good look at her – Gryffindor-ish bravado aside, there was a hint of fear in her eyes. She was surrounded by five, older and larger Slytherins, and quite alone.

“What does the ‘A’ stand for?” he found himself asking, without really knowing why. She started, a bit surprised, looking down at the necklace.

“What’s it to you, Malfoy?” she asked, suspiciously. He could feel the eyes of his Housemates on the back of his neck, knowing that they were incredulous at hearing the first thing he’d ever spoken to a Weasley that wasn’t an insult, and he that he’d better recover somehow, or be forever disgraced.

“Curious as to how a poor little Weasley like yourself got her hands on something like that, that’s all,” he said, snidely. Her eyes widened, sparkling in fury, and her cheeks turned pink.

“Family heirloom, Malfoy. Much like that whole ‘arrogant-evil-git’ thing is passed down through your family, so is this,” she spat

“Well, then it must be pretty worthless if your family hasn’t sold it yet, to pay for new robes…obviously, that’s something you’ve never had,” he said spitefully, casting a look up and down her body. She stared at him, frozen, for a second, before she lunged forward, catching his jaw with a vicious fist. As he fell backwards, she jumped on him, thrashing wildly at him with an uncontrolled rage.

“Stop it! Stop it this instant!” the sharp voice of Professor McGonagal cut through the shocked yelling of the Slytherins as they watched the littlest Weasley pummel their friend. “What in Merlin’s name is happening here? Ginny Weasley, get off of him this instant!”

She was wrenched away from him, arms still swinging, the sound of her outraged cries punctuated by McGonagal’s disapproving voice.

“Imagine, one of my own House, attacking another student! Ms. Weasley, a Prefect!”

“Ask him what he said! About my family and me! Prefect or no, Professor, no one says anything like that and gets away with it!” the little red-headed powerhouse snarled at the teacher, who was flustered by the lack of contriteness on the student’s part. She looked around the scene, spotting the five Slytherin seventh-years, and making note that she was the only Gryffindor.

“Weasley, Malfoy, both of you shall report to the Headmaster’s office as soon as we get back to Hogwarts,” she declared shrilly.

“But Professor, she attacked me!” Draco protested, outraged, while trying to stem the flow of blood gushing out of his nose. She’d probably broken it with her second swipe at him. The teacher took a second look at him.

“Malfoy, go to the Hospital Wing right now. As soon as Madame Pomfrey is finished with you, you shall report to Professor Dumbledore’s office immediately,” she said, with an air of finality, as she strode away, pulling the Weasley briskly along with her.

* * * *

Standing in the darkest corner he could find, he glared at the Headmaster, who was sitting calmly in front of them, encouraging the Weasel to help herself to the bowl of sweets on his desk. The old man’s eyes glanced at Draco, before he looked back to address the huffing Professor McGonagal.

“Are you sure I can’t offer you a Fizzing Whizzbee? They are rather delightful, Ms. Weasley,” he said. Ginny Weasley smiled at him, but shook her head. Her hands were still shaking with her suppressed anger, and not even the kindness of the Headmaster would be able to alleviate that. She really needed to knock another few blows to Malfoy’s head before she’d start to feel better.

“Albus, I found these two students brawling in the middle of the town! They need to understand that this behavior is not acceptable in any case, and especially not from two Prefects!” Professor McGonagal began her disapproving ranting once again, pausing to fully glare at the redhead, as if to express her extreme displeasure that she was a Prefect of her own House. Draco ignored all the conversation circling around him; he was busy staring – once again – at the redhead.

“Perhaps you could tell me what started this whole ordeal, Ms. Weasley?” Dumbledore asked.

“He was just being a bigger git than normal, so I figured that it was my duty as a Hogwarts Prefect to try to knock some sense into that thick head of his,” she said, with a smile on her face. A high-pitched noise, mingling shock and outrage, was emitting from McGonagal’s throat, and Draco had to hand it to the girl – she certainly wasn’t afraid of pushing anyone’s buttons.

“I see. Ginny, I assure you, knocking sense into people serves only to knock even more of it out of them – something I’ve tried many times with my own brother. And Draco, have you anything to say? Perhaps you could explain what it is you said to provoke Ginny?”

“Just the truth, Professor. Some people aren’t quite as capable of dealing with it as others,” he said, without looking at Dumbledore. From the angle he was at, he could make out that strange pendant the Weasley was wearing, and once again, he was drawn to it – it could make out some strange pattern of shimmering light that was moving across it. He was so entranced with trying to figure out the mystery behind it that he didn’t see the Headmaster’s long look in his direction, and the slight shimmer of recognition that flashed in his eyes as he followed Draco’s gaze to spot what he was staring at.

“I see…” he said, his voice containing a certain quality that made Draco uneasy, causing him to snap his head away, and noticed a completely unsettling twinkle in the old man’s eye. “I see that we are at a bit of an impasse. I suppose that if I were to ask you to reconcile and become good friends, it would be a fate worse then death?”

“It would be a fate worse than the one that comes after death,” Ginny responded quickly. Dumbledore smiled, but after catching McGonagal’s disapproving sniff, his face became neutral again.

“Since that is the case, I will restate that fighting, dueling, hexing, jinxing of any student for any reason is forbidden in this school. I’ll let your respective Heads of your Houses deal with the details of your punishment, and leave you with the warning – the next time there is fighting between you two, I will insist upon friendship and complete amiability,” he said darkly. Ginny frowned at him curiously, wondering just how he could ensure that two enemies would spontaneously become friends. Then, remembering his reputation as the most Power Wizard Our Time, she figured that he would have ways of ensuring that came about.

“Are we dismissed?” Draco asked snidely. Dumbledore nodded, and watched as he stormed out of the room.

* * * *

Sinister was the only word that could describe his mood. His day had taken a complete downturn, and there was no hope of reversing the decline at this point. His meeting with Snape had gone quite as he’d expected it to – he’d been berated for fighting another student (although his proclamations of innocence did not fall on death ears), but most importantly, for allowing a girl half his size, and a Gryffindor to boot, to pummel him so completely as to have him fall to the ground, helpless. After a lecture about House pride, he’d been sentenced – three days’ detention. He was well aware that it wasn’t for cornering the Weasley or provoking her, but because she’d been successful in nearly breaking his nose.

Upon returning to the dormitory, he found the Common Room bustling with his fellow Housemates, and unable to bare the thought of facing them and listening to the obligatory, inane “we’ll get the Weaslette next time, Malfoy, huh huh huh” grumblings, he planned on taking a detour straight to his room, when one of the minions called out his name.

“Malfoy! Hold up!” Nott called, chasing after him. He was holding a package in his hand, causing Draco to stop and wait for him. His eyes, however, should have struck fear in the heart of every mortal in the room – as they reflected his mood exactly. “This came for you, just a few minutes ago, from your father, through the usual means. He also wanted me to pass a message along, about how this will be a great tool for the Dark Lo—“ he was saying before Draco thrust his fist into his stomach, cutting off his speech.

“Perhaps we should discuss this where there aren’t so many people listening,” he hissed softly, dangerously, wanting to howl in frustration over his dimwitted Housemates. No wonder the Boy Who Should Have Died and his friends were always winning their little battles – his people at least knew how to keep a secret.

Nott looked up at Draco as though he were brilliant, and followed him along, wincing slightly in pain as he regained his breath.

“Now, tell me about the message,” Draco said. Since the year his father had been thrown into Azkaban, there had been a secret system of delivering messages put into place in the Slytherin dormitory. Only a select few students were aware of it, and monitored it carefully, lest it be discovered. It wouldn’t do for Dumbledore to find out that Voldemort’s spies were in fact his own students.

“He delivered this package, and said that I was to give it to you directly, and that you were to keep it safe. It’s supposed to be a great tool in the fight with the Dark Lord, and that it’s really important that you keep it with you, and don’t let it leave your sight. He said that they think it the best plan to hide it in plain sight – it took them years to find it, and now that they have, it is your greatest duty to make sure nothing happens to it after all the work they went through to get their hands on it,” Nott rambled on, excitedly. Draco surveyed the small box he handed him – it was rather too small to be a ‘great weapon’, but with magic, you could never be certain. At least Nott was a complete fool and hadn’t opened the package before turning it over to him.

Nott leaned in as Draco started to open the box. He glared at Nott, until the other boy took the hint, scowled and left the room, leaving Draco alone. He ripped the packing paper off the box, and eagerly lifted the lid.

And saw, white ribbon and all, Ginny Weasley’s pendant lying on a bed of cotton at the bottom of the shallow box. The silvery-blue ‘A’ glinted up at him infuriatingly. He shut the lid quickly – how could that possibly be an important weapon? The Weasley’s worthless ‘family heirloom’? He surely must be mistaken. The knock she’d given him to the head must be addling his brain.

He looked again, cautiously sliding the cover off the box. He looked down, and blinked. And there it still was, shimmering blue on that infernal bed of cotton. Inspecting closer, he looked for the stranger light pattern that had been reflecting off of it earlier in the afternoon. And he saw nothing, just the letter ‘A’ staring up at him.

In disgust, he buried the box in his trunk, and flopped down on his bed, fuming. It had been a rough day, after all.

* * * *

He awoke, a few hours later, with his heart pounding furiously, as if it wanted to beat itself right out of his chest. He sat up, gasping. There was a throbbing in his head, and he was filled with emotions he didn’t understand – lost, desperation, anger, and sorrow. A need he couldn’t describe propelled him forward, as he crawled out of the sweaty, tangled bed linen, over to his trunk. Whipping open the lid, not caring who he woke with the noise, he tore through it in the dark until his hands grasped the small box that had arrived that evening.

He ripped off the lid, and with shaking fingers; he lifted the pendant and held it up for closer inspection. It was glowing; emitting a faint blue glow that cast an eerie shadow over the room. He wrapped his fingers around it, and squeezed it as tightly as possible – as if someone were about to come along and tear it from his grasp, and he was squeezing desperately to keep it in his possession.

Holding tightly to the pendant, he stood up, still feeling shaky with residual nervous energy from the dream. He need to get out of the room; there was so much feeling within him that the room walls couldn’t possibly contain it all.

* * * *

He quickly ducked around a corner, as he saw a flickering light moving along the hallways, and heard the accompanied footsteps. He listened quietly, and as the footsteps approached, he peeked around and saw the other late-night hall-wanderer. Holding her lit-up wand, Ginny Weasley was walking through the hall, her head down, scanning the floors for something. He tightened his grasp on the pendant the closer she came, guessing what she was looking for.

“Uh-oh! What have we here? A little Gryffie, out of her bed!” the unmistakable voice of Peeves rang through the hallway.

“Peeves! Be quiet!” she hissed, dulling the light from her wand as the malevolent spirit drifted closer.

“Haven’t given me a reason to, little Gryffie! What would Filch say if he were to see the red Gryffie that set off the Dungbombs wandering around the hallway?” Peeves said, his voice taking on his sing-song tone.

“He won’t say a bloody thing, Peeves, or I’ll tell him where you hid your bag of balloons for your water bombs,” she threatened quickly. “I’ve lost my badge, I’m just looking for it.”

“Badge? She has a badge? What badge do you have, Gryffie?” Peeves asked, suddenly interested, forgetting all about telling on her.

“My pilgrim’s badge. You know very well which one I’m talking about, you keep stealing the ribbon I wear it on!” she snapped, knowing now that her threat had worked, and that Peeves wouldn’t alert Filch to her whereabouts, and beginning her search of the floors. Draco was reluctantly impressed by how well she was handling the spirit. It showed a certain cunning he was very certain that Gryffindors didn’t possess.

“A!” Peeve sang loudly, prompting a fierce look from the Weasley. She looked back down, and he started again. “A – C – D – M!”

“Honestly, Peeves, do you not even know your proper alphabet? If you’re not going to help me look for it, then shove off, so I don’t get into trouble!” she snapped.

“Find it, find it, find it!” he sang, before his barely-visible image faded away, and swift gush of wind signaled his exit. The Weasley sighed contemptuously, before she took another few steps in his direction, looking down at the floor.

Draco was about to step away as quietly as possible, until he felt a rather strange sensation – as if someone or something was giving his rear-end a mighty boot – pushing him out of his hiding place, stumbling to keep his balance. He clutched the pendant desperately in his hand as he stopped in the middle of the hall, in full sight of one Ms. Ginny Weasley.

“Malfoy!” she cried, clearly shocked. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing out here at this time?”

“I’d ask you the same thing, Weasel,” he answered, coolly, as he took a moment to withdraw his wand from his pocket and cast his own light in the dim hallway. He ran his eyes over the Weasley; she was wearing a nightdress and a pair of fuzzy slippers, obviously woken in the middle of the night. He wondered what had done that.

“I asked you first!” she snapped viciously.

“Looking for something?” he asked snidely, in response to her confrontational tone. Her eyes were brown, the dim glow from their wands casting a soft glow on her face. They were also wide with worry.

“If you must know, I’ve lost my pilgrim’s badge. The pendant you were so rude about this afternoon,” she said, sighing, as she searched over the floor. Draco’s eyes were snapped away from watching her when the pendant that was clutched so tightly in his hand started to warm up, rather considerably.

“That ugly old thing you were wearing? Surely it can’t come as a great loss, Weasel, it couldn’t have been worth very much,” he laughed cruelly, watching her eyes narrow in anger.

“Some things are worth more than just money, Malfoy,” she answered coolly.

“Answer I’d expect from a Weasley…most things you have wouldn’t be worth any money, I guess,” he hissed, as the warmth of the pendant grew almost unbearably warm, fuelling his anger. The longing and sorrow that he had felt when he’d woken that night seemed to be filling him again, combining with the anger, creating an incredibly unpleasant feeling. He gasped in sudden pain as the pendant began to burn his flesh.

“Malfoy? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he could hear her demanding, somewhere in the distance. The pain increased, and he tried to open his palm, to release the pendant, but his muscles contracted painfully around it, making it impossible.

As he stumbled to the ground, he managed to speak through the blinding haze of pain filling his senses.

“What does the ‘A’ stand for?” he gasped.

“My badge? Why do you want to know what it stands for? You took it, didn’t you Malfoy! Give it back to me!” she yelled, her voice full of anger and hurt. The sound reverberated through him, as the waves of pain increased intensely.

“What does it stand for?” he croaked out, feeling as if the very flesh of his hand was burning away.

“Give it back to me, you bastard!” she yelled. Suddenly, the anger exploded within him, overcoming all sensations, even the pain, and he stood up, pushing himself off the ground effortlessly. Looking down at his shaking hand, he could only see red – the red of an incredible anger he wasn’t sure he could control. He looked up at the Weasley, standing cautiously a few feet in front of him, her wand pointed at him threateningly. Her eyes were wide, still, but this time with fear. Meeting her eyes, he felt the anger well up again, and he cried out as he tried to contain it.

“Get out of here,” he groaned. There must have been something in his voice that convinced her, because she heeded his command. She turned, and ran quickly away, as the burning in his palm returned, bringing him to his knees, as he cried out in pain.

His whole body was shaking, as the anger and the pain overwhelmed his system, until he couldn’t control it any longer and he dropped to the floor, the world becoming black around him.

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Whew. Peeves and Dumbledore are hard characters to write!

Chapter 2: Ripples in the Water

He awoke to silence. It was kind of silence that can only exist in a place entirely empty and devoid of other living things. There was a throbbing pain in his head, and he slowly opened his eyes, wincing and squinting as his vision cleared. Looking around, he swore viciously, as the realization that he hadn’t a clue where he was or how he got there struck him with the force comparable to a Bludger.

He considered the possibility that he was somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, as it seemed like he was in a small clearing, surrounded by forest. As he sat up, he could make out, in the very dim light, something that looked like two paths intersecting in front of him, both disappearing into the tree line. Near where the paths crossed, off to the side was a small pond. Draco thought that he could be in the Forest, except there was a distinct lack of the usual creepy and frightening noises that kept most students away from it.
Draco forced himself to stand up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, and tried to force his brain to analyze the situation and figure out where on earth he was. As he absorbed the eerie silence of this place, and the strange atmosphere about it – it felt as if it were a location that was ageless and had existed for millions of years, yet was untouched by time, as if preserved.

“Oh bloody hell, am I dead?” he muttered, as that thought passed through his head. He thought back to the last incident he could remember – Ginny Weasley’s necklace acting crazy in the corridor. With a start, he glanced down at his hand, and realized that he was no longer holding it. Stretching out his palm, he gasped in horror as he saw the outline of the pendant burned into his hand. He traced over the red and blistering skin with a finger, distinctly making out the shape of the ‘A’. “Perhaps I’m not dead after all…and that bloody badge better not have something to do with this.”

His speculations and curses were cut short as he glimpsed a stirring of light coming from across the pond. Walking cautiously towards the edge, he squinted, trying to make out the shape of something coming towards him. Looking up into the sky, he spotted the moon, full and brilliantly yellow, but it did not seem to be casting any light on his surroundings. But there was a dot of blue light beginning to move through the trees, growing stronger as it seemed to move towards him.

Draco watched in amazement as the blue light came closer, and the water in the pond before him began to act very strange. Ripples, formed at the very center of the body of water, began to swell, growing as they moved outwards to the banks of the pond. He scanned the area, searching for anything that may have caused them to form, and found nothing. There was not even a strong breeze moving through the air that could have caused that strange movement in the water.

He gasped sharply when a figure appeared out from behind the trees, across the pond. They were cloaked in darkness, but the blue light that had first caught Draco’s attention seemed to be emanating from where their throat would be. He watched with amazement, as the figure seemed to glide over the landscape, making their way towards him. He squinted in the growing harsh light, half-blinded the shimmer blue, making it impossible for him to see any of the figure’s features, or to identify them. He tried, inconspicuously, to find his wand, digging through his pockets, but it was to no avail. It had vanished.

“Who the bloody hell are you and why have you brought me here?” he demanded, when the cloaked figure had come within a few feet of him. Squinting in the light, he noticed the source of the blue light filling the small clearing, and casting a glow over the water – it was Ginny Weasley’s pilgrim badge, the shape of which was now burned into the palm of his hand. He unclenched his fist at that thought, and inspected the burn – the blisters had faded, but the skin was still raw, the shape of the ‘A’ unmistakable in his skin.

“The Pilgrim has reached a crossroad, with a choice of two paths before him. One has been walked many times before, and the path it follows will return to this crossing. The other has never been taken, and it is unknown where it will lead,” the multi-tonal voice said. Draco was struck by the sound of it; the voice seemed to possess an ageless quality, much as his surroundings, the tone of it making it seem ancient and wise. It was low and sweet; definitely the voice of a woman. But there was a quality of sadness in it that struck a chord in his memory.

“If one path always returns to this point, then if you take the other path, and it is a mistake, you won’t be able to come here and fix it by taking the other one,” Draco said, feeling compelled to speak the thought flashing through his mind.

“Unless it is a mistake to take the other path,” the figure said.

“How do you ever find out?” he asked, stepping forward, his eyes fixed on the shimmering necklace. Its light was drawing him in, much like it had done earlier in the day when its wearer was Ginny Weasley. The figure pointed its arm, out towards the rippling water in the pond.

“When a stone is cast, the first ripple in the water moves outwards. The ripples that come after that first one follow the same path; there is no other way for them. Because that is the effect of the stone, Pilgrim.”

“You’re bloody talking in riddles!” he sneered angrily. The eyes beneath the cloak, bathed in the blue light, glittered at him strangely.

“You are at a crossroads, Pilgrim. Your stone has not yet been cast; you are not bound to follow the same path as those before you. You possess a choice; to throw your stone into the water and bind yourself to the trail the ripples follow or to take the knowledge bestowed upon you by the previous pilgrims, and find the right path,” the voice spoke. Draco felt as if someone had poured ice down his back; his insides suddenly felt cold, a sensation he recognized as the effects of fear.

“How do I know which path is the right path?” he asked, looking behind him at the two roads in the forest. They seemed no different to him.

“You carry the Badge, and you seek the knowledge that failed the others before you. By learning through their footsteps, you shall see how the stone is cast, how the ripples are created,” the voice explained. Draco felt his palm burning at her words. He remembered the necklace; the Weasley had called it her ‘pilgrim’s badge’.

“You have the pilgrim’s badge – how can I carry it when you have it?” he demanded.

“Find it’s meaning – take a path, Pilgrim. You must learn by their pilgrimage before you can carry the badge of their trials.”

“How do I know which path to take?” he asked again, glancing once more at the two roads by them.

“The wrong path will take you back to this crossroad, Pilgrim. Take a path, learn from their trials, earn your badge,” the voice said again. Draco felt his temper flare as his mind tried, through his pounding headache, to work through the frustrating riddles this person (witch?) was feeding him. Before he could formulate the proper snarky response, the figure faded into the darkness, and the blue light from the badge seemed to disappear.

Which left him alone, in a strange clearing by a pond, with two paths before him. As he walked away from the edge of the pond, where that damned water was rippling madly as if to mock him, he uttered a steady stream of curses as he stepped onto the road. He looked ahead, down each of the paths, his palm still burning smartly as a constant reminder of what he believed had got him into this mess. Stupid Ginny Weasley, he thought maliciously, when I get back to Hogwarts, she’s going to wish she’d never had that ridiculous necklace.

As it was his right hand that had been burned with the ‘A’, he figured that the right path was as good as any for him to follow. With a deep breath, an enormous sense of trepidation, he put one foot forward, and started to walk down the road that veered off the right.


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If you're feeling confused, you're supposed to be! ; )

This was a transition chapter -- the real "action" starts after this...

Some of this scene is evoking a memory of something I've read before, but I can't figure out what...if you have any idea or it seems familiar to you, let me know so I can give credit (and it's been driving me INSANE).

More to come soon-ish!

Eek! Here it is, the next chapter in this story…this is also where things get really wacky, so hopefully you’ll still be with me at the end of the chapter. There will be a lengthy Author’s note there, that should probably be put here, but for the sake of keeping everything “a surprise” until after you’ve read it, it will be appended to the end of the chapter! I hope you enjoy it *I’m so nervous that everyone is going to hate this!*

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Chapter 3: Echo and Narcissus

The road he had chosen was barely lit, and he couldn’t see much in front of him. There was a faint light glimmering somewhere in front of him, and without any other options, he just slowly made his way towards that glimmering light. His mind still reeling, trying to make sense of what the hooded figure had been saying. Stupid speaking in riddles…sending me on some kind of strange, magical quest without proper instruction. Just wait until my father hears about this, Draco fumed silently as he picked his way over the rough terrain of the path.

He was getting closer to the light – that much he could tell. It was only a few feet away from him, but it had ceased to be merely a glimmering light. It was growing in strength, almost to the point where it was blinding him. He kept walking towards it, not quite sure what it was that compelled him to continue on the path. The throbbing of his burned hand increased, sending waves of pain throughout his body. It increased with each step he made closer, until it reached at point at which he couldn’t bear it any longer – the combination of the blinding light and the blinding pain in his palm overwhelmed his senses.

“It seems I chose wrongly,” he gasped, a hint of irony in his voice before the pain caused the gasp to turn into a shriek, and the blinding light completely surrounded him.

* * * *


Narcissus walked through the woods, reveling in the quiet and peace of the forest, golden in the sunlight. He could hear the rustling through the trees, and the occasional sound of women giggling. He had hoped to escape their attention, needing to be alone for a period of time, and enjoy the golden light filtering through the trees without the unwelcome attention from the group of wood nymphs who lived in this forest. Narcissus had been told, by his mother, many times that he was blessed by the Gods with great beauty and this had made him an object of constant adoration wherever he went. Life in the village was often unbearable, constantly surrounded by females vying for his attention and favor. While many of Narcissus’ friends envied the attention and could not understand his disdain for it, Narcissus loathed it all. He had yet to meet any that was worthy of his affection, and the attentions of those who were unworthy merely grated on his nerves.

The heat of the sun as it reached midday caused Narcissus to empty his water pouch earlier than he intended, so he walked in the direction of the small pond that he knew to be close to him. When he reached it, he knelt down and filled his water pouch, and brought it up, dripping with the cold and sweet water up to his lips. As he was about to take a drink, movement off to the side caught his attention. He turned his head, swiftly, to catch whatever it was that had followed him here. He gasped in disbelief and dropped the water pouch that he’d been holding as his eyes took in what he saw. Standing before him was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Hearing his gasp, she froze before him, standing perfectly still, terror apparent in her golden eyes. The golden sunlight filtering through the trees encircled her, highlighting the fire of her hair and casting an ethereal glow about her. She was small, her features fine and delicate. Her eyes were a dark, glowing golden color like he’d never seen before. She had cloth draped over her small form and her hair was wild and loose. Everything about her had a aura of timelessness and freedom – she was obviously a wood nymph, one of the beauties of the forest whose song filled the branches of the trees they protected.

He stood slowly, afraid that if he moved too quickly she’d run away, back into the dense parts of the forests where the trees would hide her from him. He took a step towards her, drawn to her beauty and light as if enspelled, and she flinched, preparing to flee.

“Please, do not go,” he said breathlessly, hardly able to breath in the presence of her beauty. She turned her golden eyes on him, and he felt as though his heart had stopped. Her eyes, reflecting a deep light of ageless knowledge he could never understand, swept over him, pausing when they reached his face. There, they lingered for many moments, and Narcissus felt each of them as his heart thundered in his chest.

“You, Narcissus, are the one they all sing of, the man of great beauty and a cruel heart who does not return their love,” she said softly, her voice light and melodious as it brought his heart to a crashing halt.

“I do not ask for their love, and should have no obligation to return it,” he said, as he took another step towards her.

“Do you not understand the pain that you cause? Do you know what it is to love with your whole heart and not have that love returned?” she asked, her delicate eyebrows furrowing together as her gaze became cold. He came closer still, his movements slow and painstaking, terrified that she would turn and run away from him.

“I’ve never known love, wood nymph, so I do not understand its power to inflict pain. I’ve been told that it is a great force that can bring much happiness – how can it bring pain?” he asked, speaking words that came as if from nowhere. She looked startled by this question, and gazed at him questioningly.

“You have never known love? This is a false statement, Narcissus, for love has been freely given to you by many. My sisters in the woods all love your beauty beyond all others and you scorn their attention! You have been offered love by so many of those around you, and you reject it as below your status,” she said, her voice growing hard. He stared at her, as the wind rustled her firey hair and he was struck silent by her loveliness.

“I would learn to love, if you would teach me,” he said softly, his eyes full of hope. Her features soften into a faint smile, but there was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

“I cannot be your tutor in such matters. You have been marked by the gods, their claim apparent in the beauty of your face. Hera would be angered greatly that I have even spoken with you,” she said, looking away.

“I do not fear the gods, wood nymph,” he said arrogantly. She blinked at him, obviously struck by his defiance.

“And that is your choice, Narcissus. As one that is highly favored by them, you have many choices that are not available to lesser creatures. But I do not share your fortune, and must commit myself as an obedient servant to the all-powerful gods,” she said, her voice taking on a reverent tone which only served to inflame his infatuation of her.

“I would defy all of the gods if you would but love me,” he said, a light shining in his eyes that softened his chiseled features and drew the wood nymph forward, within his grasp.

“I cannot, the risk is far too great,” she whispered, as his hands reached forward and grasped her small hand. He lifted it up, placing her palm against his cheek, his large, warm hands holding it there as he gazed down at the mysterious and intoxicatingly beautiful creature in front of him. The sadness in her eyes ignited a small hope from deep within.

“I told you that I know nothing of love. I was mistaken. I carry a token that has been passed to me,” he said, one hand still holding onto hers as it dropped to their side, and he reached to his throat and touched the round metallic disk there.

“And this token has taught you of love?” she asked, skeptical as he pulled the chain that held it in place, and pushed it into her palm. She held it up – a blue-tinged circle of metal, with a character she did not recognize raised in its center. “What does this symbol mean?”

“It is a Roman character. A stranger from that far-off place passed through the village and bartered with me for it. It is rare and beautiful. And its symbol is unlike anything I have ever seen,” he explained, reaching with a finger to trace over the lines of the character, looking into her eyes. There was a softening of her will, he could feel it, for she was suffering to have him touch her. Wood nymphs were famous for their ability to flee from unwanted suitors, and if she had wished, she could have been far away from him in moments.

“What is its meaning?” she asked, her voice full of wonder and her eyes lighting with the curiosity of its hidden message. Their bodies were almost pressed against each other, so entranced she was that she did not realize how close their proximity had become.

“Omnia vincit amor – the Roman told me that these words mean that love can conquer all, a lesson that I know must be true,” he said, bending closer to her.

“Love is a very powerful force,” the wood nymph conceded, as his free hand reached out and touched her waist, drawing her closer to him.

“Love is the only force in the world that is greater than the gods, for gods can conquer each other, but love shall conquer all,” he said knowingly. Upon hearing these words, and seeing his beauty shimmering before her and his strong body drawn close to hers, the wood nymph acquiesced, and did not attempt to stop him as he drew her lips towards his.

* * * *

“For how long have I wandered through these woods, unaware that my heart’s only desire was hidden among the branches? Long have I searched for you, not knowing that it was you,” he said, later. They were stretched out near the bank of the pond, his arms wrapped tightly around her as if she were wont to flee suddenly from him.

“Long you scorned the attention of my sisters. Unwilling to see you and feel their desire for your beauty, I hid. I was sure that you could never love so greatly, that your arrogance would never allow yourself to see another as an equal,” she explained, giggling slightly as his lips tickled a sensitive spot on her neck.

“Forgive my foolish ways, my beautiful wood nymph. Forever, this shall be the greatest place in the world, for this is where I have learned to love,” he said.

“Soon, you must leave and return to your village. You will be missed if you are gone for too long. And I must return to the trees, where my wood sisters await me. I fear there will be much anger from them,” she said, the light of happiness fading from her face. Narcissus took her hand, and pressed the shinning silver metal into it.

“Take this, love, to remind you of the lesson that has served me so well. Love conquers all, and neither the anger of your wood sisters or of the villagers or of the gods themselves shall prevent our happiness,” he said.

“I shall carry your message with me. It will help to pass the hours until we can be together again,” she said.

“Yes. Tomorrow, just after sunrise, I shall venture back into the woods. Will you meet me here?” he asked, as he stood surveying the position of the sun to determine the late hour.

“I shall,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips. He helped her to her nimble feet, and then pulled her to him, embracing her, nestling his face in her neck, attempting to memorize the feel of her body against his until the next moment they could spend together.

He left her, swiftly walking away lest he be unable to. As he was about to step back into the thick of the forest, her soft voice caught his attention.

“My name, unless you prefer to call me wood nymph always, is Echo,” she said. He smiled at her.

“Until tomorrow, Echo,” he said with a smile, his footsteps full of joy and energy so that he barely felt the ground beneath them.

* * * *

As Echo approached the area of the forest where her sisters dwelt, a rustling of leaves startled her, and she felt something grab her hand and pull her down.

“Sister! Sister, you must help us!” a soft voice cried. Echo recovered from the startle and saw Hesperia crouched down behind the large oak tree, pulling her down.

“What troubles you, sister?” Echo asked, her voice full of her worry. Hesperia was flustered and obviously very concerned.

“Hera approaches! She is walking through the woods and she is coming in this direction, Echo! She must be diverted, for our sisters are with her husband, and her anger would be great if they were discovered with him!”

“Our foolish sisters, the tales of Hera’s vengeance against Zeus’ lovers are wide and many. They must be warned that she approaches!”

“Echo, I lack your wit and talent with words. I shall run ahead and alert our sisters, if you will stay her and stop her from reaching them,” Hesperia offered, her eyes wide with worry.

“Yes, I will stop her. Now go and warn them, quickly!” Echo ordered, as she stood up and dashed out from behind the tree, only to find the mighty Hera before her.

“Mighty Hera! What brings you to our humble forest, my lady?” Echo asked brightly, grasping Narcissus’ medal tightly in her hand, calling upon it to give her courage.

“I am on a search, Echo. Have you seen your sisters about this forest these past few hours, wood nymph?” she asked. Echo trembled inside, but held tightly to the medal, knowing that nothing could defeat the love she felt for Narcissus and therefore she need not fear the wrath of this goddess for halting her progress.

“No, I have not. Have you checked by the village? I heard my sisters speak of spying on a youth of great beauty who dwell on the edge of the village, perhaps they are there? However, Hera, I do not understand what is so appealing about this youth, for his arrogance is great and will not allow him to see past his own beauty. Speaking of beauty, great Hera, the newest priestess of your temple was wandering through these paths just this morning, and she is a credit to your name. She should be very pleasing to you, my lady,” Echo said, drawing on any recollection she could to keep talking, stalling the furious goddess.

“Your sisters are not around?” she asked, her tone ice-cold.

“No, but as I mentioned, they may be near the village. Although I did hear some of them speak this morning of venturing near the caves, but for what reason I cannot be certain,” Echo said quickly.

“Cease your endless prattling, Echo! I seek my husband and I am aware that he is with your sisters. Your attempts to halt me have proved successful. He is no longer in the forest and with that, my chance to catch him at his game has been ruined,” the goddess said, staring at the frightened nymph with terrifyingly cold eyes. Echo quickly knelt to the ground, holding her hands out in a desperate gesture.

“I am sorry, Hera, I do not know of what you speak!” she cried. The goddess looked down on the nymph before her, with her anger blazing hotly deep within. A glimmering light caught her eyes, and she spotted a rare object in Echo’s hand. The round metal disk that the beautiful youth in the village, Narcissus, carried around with him.

“You carry Narcissus’ metal? How did you come by such a treasure?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. Echo looked into the large and supernatural eyes of the deity standing before her and began to tremble. There was a definite malice in her eyes.

“Young Narcissus gave it to me. He said that is symbolized words that are a valuable lesson that I have yet to learn, so he left it with me so that I may partake of its wisdom,” she said softly, carefully. She wanted to curse herself for her foolishness – she was fully aware of Hera’s attachment to the young human and that she had staked her claim upon him many years before. For covering for her sisters and for her involvement with Narcissus, she would pay dearly. The metal lay glittering in the sun on her palm, and Echo felt her courage strengthen as she remembered his words, “love conquers all.” Hera’s wrath would not prevent their love, nor could it destroy it. Echo would not have traded their golden afternoon together for any prize Hera could name.

“What lesson has he taught you, Echo?” the goddess demanded, her eyes glowing with fury.

“Love conquers all, goddess,” she answered.

“It does, does it?”

“Yes, Hera.”

“Is there any power in the world that is greater than love?”

“No, Hera. Love is the most powerful force there is, and nothing can conquer it.”

“Not even the power of the gods, Echo?” Hera demanded, a malevolent smile upon her face.

“I do not believe so, Hera,” Echo answered bravely, knowing full well that she was already in dangerous territory.

“The power of the gods is far greater than that of love. I shall propose a test of your beliefs, Echo. You have deceived me, and through your deceit, you have cheated me from discovering my husband’s adulterous actions with your sisters first hand. For this deceit, I must punish you, wood nymph, else all will challenge my power. But if you can prove that love is much greater than my power as a goddess, I will remove your punishment and forgive you for your offence,” Hera said. Echo, deep in despair, grasped at any chance that she may have.

“I will accept your test, mighty Hera. What shall be my punishment?” she asked softly, but courageously meeting the goddess’ eyes.

“You shall forfeit the use of that tongue by which you have cheated me. Except for that one purpose you are so fond of – reply. You shall still have the last world, but no power to speak first,” she declared. “If you can prove to me that your love of Narcissus can overcome this punishment, this exercise of my power, then you shall be free.”

“Be free,” Echo said. She gasped in horror. She had meant to protest, to cry, to beg forgiveness, but the words that had come from her mouth were the last of Hera’s. She tried to speak again, but the goddess stared at her in silence, and Echo could not make any sound come from her mouth.

“Will your Narcissus still love you when your power of speech and wit that helped you to win his attentions is gone?” Hera asked slyly, laughing in delight as the nymph’s despair became apparent, and she turned to flee into the woods, the trees around her swaying their limbs in the breeze to cover her tracks.

* * * *

As the morning sun was just beginning to rise, and the dew of the grass was still fresh, Narcissus made his way through the village, ready to escape into the woods to meet his love. The new day had barely begun, and he was thus surprised to see a woman standing near the edge of the forest, as if waiting for him. She was of middle height, and her features were incredibly plain, giving her neither great beauty nor ugliness.

“Greetings, Narcissus. What brings you to the forest so early in the day?” she asked. Narcissus regarded her scornfully, he did not remember having ever spoken to this lady, and her apparent plainness was an affront to him.

“I go to the forest,” he answered, as politely as he could manage.

“To meet your lady by the pond?” she asked, with a knowing smile. Narcissus paused, and turned back to regard the woman.

“What do you know of my lady?” he asked, dangerously.

“I spotted her with the trinket you normally wear around your neck, and assumed that it could only mean one thing. You have chosen well, Narcissus. Echo is a pretty nymph of great wit. Indeed, her wit has been spoken of widely, and she has been chased by many other mortals,” she answered.

“It was not her wit that made me love her,” he said, brushing off the woman, eager to be in the forest, where he could await the arrival of his beautiful love.

“Not her wit? Surely it must have been that quality for which she is the most famous!” the woman protested.

“Her great wit pales in comparison to her great beauty. A lovelier creature, I have never seen in all my days. No, it was not her wit that won my heart, but her great beauty,” he answered.

“Beauty? Does she have a beauty that can rival that of Hera or Aphrodite?” the woman questioned eagerly.

“Their beauty pales in comparison,” he said decidedly, his eyes blinded by love. He was completely unaware that the lady to whom he was speaking was the great Hera. His insult to her beauty angered her, but this was not her only concern. She had assumed that Echo’s wit would have been the quality that Narcissus loved the most, and that is why she had taken from her her ability to speak. Upon hearing that it was in fact her beauty that had captured him, Hera feared that Echo may win her test, thus embarrassing the goddess and defying her power.

“Careful, boy, the gods hear everything. They will not take lightly your insult,” she said, with a warning in her voice.

“Of course, lady, I am but a poor mortal blinded by love of the beautiful creature awaiting me in the woods. Surely the gods can forgive that slight?” he asked with a laugh.

“Had they heard, that insult would require swift punishment,” she said with a smile.

“Then it is to my fortune that they heard nothing,” he answered. With a nod, he started to walk past the woman blocking his way.

“Boy! You say that your wood nymph is the loveliest creature you have ever seen. For one of great beauty such as yourself, would it not be better to test this theory? For I have heard that the pond that lies in the deep of this forest has been blessed by the Naiads. If you are to look into the waters, they shall reveal to your eyes that one whose beauty is equal to your own,” she said. “If you see your wood nymph in the waters, then she is surely the perfect match for one such as yourself.”

“I do not fear this truth, and feel no need to test my sentiments. Good day,” he said, and began his journey along the path, eager to see his love. Hera watched as he walked further and further away from her. For loving the wood nymph, for insulting her beauty and for nearly being the reason her punishment on Echo would have to be lifted, he would suffer greatly. If beauty was what he loved most, then beauty would bring about his tragic fate.

* * * *

Echo saw him as he stepped into the clearing, and felt her heart flutter at the sight of him. He was standing in front of her, but she was concealed by the trees, afraid to appear before him without the ability to speak. She clutched his metal in her hand, tightly, hoping against all her despair that its message was true.

He paced around the bank of the pond, impatient for her arrival. She crept quietly through the trees, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. Her feet rustled the leaves on the ground, and he turned around, searching the tree line for the source of the noise.

“Who is here?” he demanded. Hope filled her; she could speak.

“Here,” she said, but her voice caught on the wind, and drifted past him, and he did not hear it. She watched in despairing frustration as he settled down on the bank of the pond, as if to wait for her arrival. She watched him through the trees, admiring his beauty, despairing as to how she could possibly keep his love when he found that she could no longer speak but to reply.

Narcissus felt the heat of the day on the back of his neck, and he glanced around again, hoping to see Echo. He did not know why she would not show herself to him! As time passed, and the sun rose higher in the sky, his thirst began to grow. Remembering the woman’s words as to what the pond would reveal if he were to look into its waters, he resisted the temptation to drink from it. He was secure in his love for Echo, and another’s beauty would not change it. But as more time passed, and the heat grew and still she did not appear, Narcissus felt despair weighing heavily on his heart.

“Why will she not come to me?” he asked, sadly.

“Come to me,” a soft voice drifted out on the wind. Surveying the trees, he spotted no one. The forest was mocking his despair! His thirst raged uncontrollably, and so he bent forward to the pond, and was about to reach into its waters to quench it and drink from the water, when he spotted a reflection in the water.

There, in the rippling waters in front of him, was a vision of unparalleled beauty, staring back at him with eyes wide in wonder. In amazement, he drew his face closer to the water, hoping to catch a better glance at the beauty in front of him, but the face in the water became distorted. When he pulled away, the face returned, and Narcissus gazed adoringly at its beauty. His thirst burned in his throat, but he was afraid that if he touched the water, the ripples would distort the image and the beauty in front of him would disappear forever.

Echo, having watched him and heard him cry out in sadness, had decided that she would take a chance for her love. If he would still love her, she would have passed Hera’s test and her speech would be returned to her. She emerged from her hiding spot, drying the tears from her eyes, and approached Narcissus, who was bent over the pond.

“I love you,” he said, loud and clear. She felt her heart soar!

“Love you!” she cried, clearly as she could. Narcissus did not turn to her, he just kept staring into the water, as if enspelled by it.

“Why won’t you come to me, my love?” he asked.

“My love,” she said, hoping to gain his attention. But he still did not move.

“You have failed your test, Echo. His love for you was not enough to conquer my power,” the voice of Hera drifted on the wind. “His self-love is greater than his love for you, and it is not strong enough to break your punishment. He has fallen in love with his reflection, and neither your wit nor your beauty can win him now. Love has lost, fallen to the power of the gods!”

Echo felt her heart break in that moment, as she saw that Hera’s words were true. He was staring at his own reflection, and murmuring words of love to it.

“There he will remain, for the rest of his days, his love of great beauty will keep him from seeking nourishment. He will not even drink the water so that the image of his only love will not become distorted by the rippling in the water,” Hera informed Echo.

Echo, knowing the horrible fate that awaited her love, searching in vain for anything she could do to save him. In her hand, still clutching it tightly, was his metal. With a sudden burst of thought, she flung it out into the center of the pond, and watched as it caused a large splash, and sent small waves out towards the pond’s edge. She heard his cry of despair as the image distorted before his eyes.

“Come back to me!” he yelled, a sound of utter desperation in his voice.

“Back to me!” Echo called, her voice mirroring his tone.

“Why do you flee from me?” he cried, without looking away. He cried and mourned for the loss of the beautiful vision in the pond, but gradually the water stilled, and he was entranced by his own reflection once again.

Echo, broken-hearted and in the depths of despair, felt that she could not leave him. He would starve to death slowly, too much in love with his self to keep himself alive. She loved him, and despite the pain of watching him suffer this horrible fate, she would stay with him until the end.

* * * *

After many days, Narcissus weakened so much, and the life passed gradually from his body. Echo, lost in her sadness, did not go back to her sisters or the forest, but chose to hide in the caves buried deep in the forest until the life left her body as well. Her voice remained behind, replying to any distant call, telling in tones of despair and sadness, her tragic tale of lost love.

* * * *

Draco fell back, crying out as his head jarred painfully on the ground. Sitting up with a start, he found himself back in that clearing, with the pond and the two paths. Gasping, he dove forward, to the pond, desperately cupping water to his lips, trying to quench the aching thirst that he could still feel. Then, as he leaned forward again and again to drink more water from the pond, he remembered Narcissus’ fate, and fell backwards away from the water’s surface, cried out in alarm that he might have seen his own reflection in the water.

Sitting, half-splayed out on the ground, he felt the rapid beating of his heart begin to still, and a sense of calm restored to his body. Until he saw a small white flower, growing close to the pond’s edge – a narcissus blossom, one of his mother’s favorites as it was her namesake.

“What kind of sodding idiot would starve to death because he was too pleased with his own reflection?” he asked in horror. His mind was whirling, full of images that he’d just experienced. It was as if it were all a memory now, but he could recall all the feelings and sensations.

It had been like he was watching the scene play out before him, as if from a window. But at the same time, he was Narcissus – he could hear his thoughts, feel what he felt and sense everything that he could yet he was unable to influence his actions. He was just along for the ride, feeling everything but unable to act on his own impulses. The sensations and emotions that had filled Narcissus the first time he had seen Echo – Draco had felt the same wonderment and fascination, and desperate desire, all at the same time that he was watching them as if from afar.

With a shudder, he remembered Narcissus staring down into the water, and what he had seen there. It had not been the face of a stranger, as he had expected. It had been his face. And Echo – the beautiful wood nymph that Narcissus had been so in love with, had borne a frightening resemblance to none other than Ginny Weasley.

As this thought entered his mind, his head began to pound painfully, and he weakly laid back onto the ground. Willing all thoughts and memories from his mind, he closed his eyes – with his palm still burning slightly from Ginny Weasley’s pilgrim badge – and fell asleep, determined to wake and find that this was all a dream.

**********************************************
Author’s Note:

1) I have taken some rather unforgivable liberties with Greek mythology (for which I’m bound to go to hell). There will be other forms of mythology present in this story. The myth in this story is from Narcissus and Echo. I have changed it (rather significantly) to suit the purpose of this piece of fiction, and there will be more myths that I will be hacking. This is not intended to offend anyone who either studies mythology, or is from a cultural background where these myths originate. It’s to tell a story. If you are interested to see where this “version” and the true depiction of their story differ, please visit: http://www.online-mythology.com/echo_narcissus/ and read up on it.

2) Okay, so the whole “Narcissus – Narcissa” thing is a little cheesy, but their myth fit my purpose really well, so I used it.

3) This story can officially be classified as AU now. I suppose most saw that one coming.

4) My writing style changes throughout this chapter, mostly because I was trying to create a feel of ancient-old school speech patterns (that I really know nothing about other than what I’ve gleaned from Shakespeare and the Lord of the Rings). There’s actually a lot of historical WRONGS about this chapter, but I’m hoping you’ll overlook them and forgive me because I’m so awesome and just want to entertain you with angsty-versions of Ancient Myths that have been D/G-fied.

5) I hate to do this, because it’s been my policy not to do this because I write for me and everything else is just bonus, but please review. This chapter is nerve-wracking, I’ve been working on it for months and I’m terrified that no one’s going to like it.

Thanks! I hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 4: Leading to the Same Place

“Awake, Pilgrim, and tell me what you have learned,” the voice said, echoing in Draco’s mind as it tore him from the dark sleep he had finally drifted into. He’d been haunted by many horrible dreams – the last impressions of Narcissus’ struggle with the reflection and his body’s pain as he slowly starved to death, causing him to wake up, gasping suddenly before he would dive towards the pond, desperately cupping the cold water to his mouth with his eyes shut as tightly as possible. His body had finally passed the point of exhaustion and he’d been able to sleep without the dreams plaguing him.

“What I’ve learned? What I’ve learned? Other than the fact that you’re messing around with quite a bit of magic to be able to make me hallucinate like that, not much,” he groaned, shielding his eyes from the intense blue light shrouding her form as he sat up.

“Have you not taken any wisdom from your journey?” she asked, obviously perplexed.

“Don’t fall in love with yourself so much that you starve to death. It’s a rather nasty way to die,” he grunted as he pushed himself up to his feet.

“You have not learned,” she said, her voice mournful. Draco sighed heavily, before he gingerly set himself back down on the ground, lying back in the grass, gazing up at the dark and empty sky above him. A faint memory – not his memory, but it was burned into his subconscious nonetheless – flashed before his eyes, a glimpse of the warm, golden eyes and the shy smile that seemed to illuminate them.

“Who was she? What happened to her after Narcissus died?” he asked, his voice heavy with concern that he tried to hide. She was a memory – someone else’s memory, at that – what consequence did her fate have to him?

“She watched her love die, unable to make him hear her words after he lost the power to speak. His unrequited love of himself led to his death, as did her unrequited love have the same affect upon her. For a wood nymph, a race of creatures who are loath to give their love to any man, it was a serious blow from which she did not recover. She died soon after he did,” she explained, her voice sounding strange and ethereal from across the pond where she stood.

“He was a bloody idiot – how could you let something as wonderful as her go because of your reflection?” Draco muttered, mostly to himself. He felt his burned palm tingle slightly at his words.

“Did you learn the meaning of the necklace?”

“There wasn’t much to learn. I – well, Narcissus – told her what it meant when he gave it to her. Omnia vincit amor. Love conquers all. Doesn’t explain what the ‘A’ stands for, though,” he said heavily, closing his eyes and trying to block out the memory of the glow in her eyes as he’d said that to her. The hope and the light that had glimmered in the golden depths, as she stood shining in the sun…

“Do you believe this lesson? Is this a truth?” the voice asked. Draco, surprised, sat up and stared at the hooded woman.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it. But now that you mention it, it does seem rather silly, doesn’t it? Love can’t obviously conquer everything – what happens if you fall in love with someone and she falls off her broomstick and dies? Love can’t conquer death – as far as I know, there’s no way to come back from the dead.”

“Do you believe that love ends with death?” she asked. Draco stared at her, contemplating his answer.

“If I answer this wrong, you’re going to make me experience some other tragic hallucination, involving gruesome death, aren’t you?” he asked, a touch of the spoiled child his parents had made him entering his voice.

“You have lessons to learn, Pilgrim. The trials of others are a valuable lesson for one seeking to change the ripples in the water,” she said, pointing back again to the pond. “Do you believe that love can exist, even through death?”

“No,” he said, bitterly. The glowing light from the pendant around her necklace intensified, as did the throbbing in his palm, to an almost unbearable point.

“Choose a path,” she said, before disappearing once again. Draco sighed as the clearing grew dark as the light from the glowing pendant faded away. He stood up slowly, and surveyed the two paths once again. He had chosen the right path the last time; it seemed only logical to take the one to the left.

“Unless that’s what she wants me to think,” Draco thought aloud to himself. Glancing at them again, he wanted to scream. They were completely identical, there was nothing to distinguish them from each other.
“They probably both lead to the same damn place anyway,” he grumbled. His palm throbbing, his throat still parched from his experiences with Narcissus, he wearily set down the right path, figuring that it was worse to face the unknown than the path he’d already taken.

**************************************************************

Author's Note: I know, it was just a quickie chapter. Another one to come.

Just a note, since a few people have been asking about Ginny - she won't make another appearance until quite a bit later. Draco's on a bit ofa journey right now, and it's something he's got to do alone. About four or five more chapters, and then she'll be back, so stick with me and trust me to get you there.

Thanks for reading!