Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(Everyone's back in the theater, and its lavishly decorated in emotionsofmydesire's honor. As usual Plushie is drinking all the wine.)

Me: If there's any lesson a fanfiction author can learn from their experience, one of the most important ones can be this. When a severe case of writer's block grabs you by the nads, you can always count on your faithful reviewers to pull you out of your stink, even if it stinks like rotten cheese. In particular, we're thanking one particularly fervent reviewer, emotionsofmydesire. (YOU ROCK!) In all honesty the thanks go to her, since Chapter 24 was her idea, Seamus/Dean lime included.

Plushie: Finally, someone who shares my vision of full-frontal wizard nudity!

Lucius (walks in with a telegram): We received mail from some association called "G.I.R.L.S (and Ron's Adorable Indecision)". They couldn't acronym-ize the rest?

Me: It stands for "Groupies Incarcerated Rallying (for) Lucius's Sexiness…and Ron's Adorable Indecision". (grabs it) "Need more Lucius/Ron. Stop. Stop the madness. Stop. Sincerely, G.I.R.L.S. (and Ron's Adorable Indecision)". I keep telling you people I need to set up a precedent! Precedent, people—which translates into hot Harry/Draco tension, so stop your belly-aching! Have I ever let you down before?

Ron: Well, there was Chapter 19. For me, it was when you started this fic…AND when you made me wear this! (points down to what he's wearing, which is the French maid outfit Lucius bought)

Me: Oh, shush. You look adorable.

Lucius: No arguments here.

Ron: O.o

Me: Anyway, you all remember Harry's stalker from HBP? Well…time for Chapter 25! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 25)

…He looked very different, lying there in that bed of white sheets. His white-blonde hair, always neat to the point of unhealthy obsession, was slightly askew on the pillow. For once his blue eyes didn't stare mockingly or glare; they were innocently closed. If Harry didn't know better Draco had a twinge of worry on his face when he slept. He wondered what he dreamed about, if he did dream. Well, if he did, his dreams must be better than the nightmares Harry got regularly, at least.

Harry didn't even know what he was doing there: at the hospital ward, sitting by Draco Malfoy's bed. It'd be a history-making statement to say he was actually worried. Him and Malfoy were true enemies. It could've been that in these uncertain times, anything weird that happened had a potential connection to Voldemort and therefore was never to be taken lightly. Then again, why would the Dark Lord attack the son of one of his most dedicated followers? If Hermione were here, maybe she'd have the answers—maybe. There were times now where even she didn't know. Besides, she was recently attacked, and ultimately, when the time finally came, Harry would have to fight Voldemort alone. He had to think for himself, to draw upon his own cleverness.

The pictures hanging on the walls of the hospital ward stared at the two of them every once in a while. Even they were aware this was something one didn't see every day. Harry adjusted his glasses and glanced at the window. The skies were dark velvet, dim stars hanging in its fabric. It was about eight in the evening; another hour or so and visiting hours would be over.

It had been difficult to get this time alone. Almost all of Draco's followers came out of the woodwork to check up on him regularly, which left Harry to stand by and wait. (Of course he also had to attend a couple of his classes in the meantime.) When he returned at 6:30 PM, he had happened to pass by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Pansy had been badgering the dark-haired Slytherin for some answers.

"Well, what happened!"

"He was just tired, Pansy. Now stop bothering me," Blaise said in exasperation.

"Liar. I know my Dracie-poo. Sure as hell he didn't exhaust himself doing schoolwork like that beaver-faced Granger. Face it, Zabini; he's got some serious illness over the summer, or maybe…is it true what Crabbe was talking about? About—"

Pansy stopped in mid-sentence and looked around with a frightened glance. As soon as she saw Harry, she grabbed Zabini by his shirt collar and tugged him around the corner so he couldn't hear any more of their conversation. Extremely curious he was, Harry let it be and continued to walk towards the hospital ward.

Fortunately those had been the last of Malfoy's visitors. Despite the looks he was given by Madam Pomfrey, she allowed him in to see him. He had been there since.

Hermione stopped by once to check up on Harry, giving him the piece of advice that this wasn't a good way to start out sixth year. Harry argued back by saying he at least went to Potions class so as not to peeve Professor Snape further and that something was seriously the matter with Malfoy. If even his closest lackeys didn't have a clue, something suspicious was going on. All Hermione did in response was roll her eyes and leave, saying she hoped he would be in the common room soon. Harry frowned and disregarded it, remembering her quite unfair accusation of his so-called case of extreme heroism in fifth year.

His elbows started to hurt. Harry folded his arms and propped his chin above them, leaning into the sliver of soft mattress not occupied by Draco's body. Many thoughts ran through his mind. After a while longer, he started speaking them out loud.

"Something bothers me about all this. First Hermione, now you. I don't know why, but it just is. 'Course, what Hermione said could be true—she's just about always right. Maybe I am overreacting—"

"I…wouldn't…put it…above…you."

Harry jumped up scared to death, calming down when he saw Draco's eyes slightly open. Arching his eyebrows, he propped himself up on his elbows.

"What're you doing here, Potter?"

For all the time he had been here, Harry didn't anticipate and prepare for him to ask that—or for him to wake up at all. Madam Pomfrey had told him he had been in and out of it (more out than it) all day. Speak of the devil…

"Mr. Malfoy? Ah, you're awake," Madam Pomfrey observed, stopping in the middle of walking past with a bottle of an unidentifiable liquid in her hand. She seemed to glide over as she put the bottle on Draco's nightstand and put a palm to his forehead.

"You still didn't develop a fever. That's good. Your friend Zabini carried you here; told me you had a terrible nightmare. The shock simply had to wear off—nothing to worry about. Just rest for a couple more hours and then you may be released."

She picked up the bottle and whisked away again. Draco cringed, then faced Harry again with a fierce glare.

"You tell anyone about this and—"

"Stuff it, Malfoy. I didn't come here to make fun of you. What's so embarrassing about having a nightmare, anyway?" Harry asked with marked sarcasm.

"But no one faints from them. Not like how you fainted from the Dementors."

Harry scowled. "You still haven't forgotten that?"

"No, not really. Now answer my bloody question."

"Would it worry you if I said I was worried about you?" he asked with the smallest hint of a mischievous grin. Draco was taken aback, for once not able to think up of a witty retort. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to.

In the next second the door creaked open, and a girl's face peeked in. The minute she saw Harry, she broke into an extremely bright smile and skipped into the hospital ward with a beautifully wrapped box. Harry groaned while Draco looked on with an inquiring eye. They both knew who she was.

"Harry! I've been looking for you everywhere!" she squeaked.

"Hey, Romilda," he replied unenthusiastically.

"I have something for you…I was thinking when you told us all about how you faced down You-Know-Who last time, and I was really impressed. That was so brave of you! My family's half-Muggle, you know; you practically saved my life—!"

Draco sincerely tried his hardest to hold in his raucous laughter as the young girl laid the flattery on thick. This was one of Harry's own devoted followers, Romilda Vane, a fifth-year student along with Ginny Weasley. At every opportunity she got she thrust upon him all kinds of gifts, virtually all of them in candy form, all the while going on about how courageous and handsome he was. But Harry knew better; the candy was always laced with potent Love Potion. He learned that the hard way in the first week of September and it became an incident all over Hogwarts—certainly something Draco knew about, which was why he was laughing so hard in the first place. Romilda was never one to give up.

Then again, how was she able to find him? He was sure it hadn't been just luck.

"Harry?"

Now Ron was coming in through the door. Almost immediately he took on a doubly irritated expression: first at the fact that Romilda beat him here, secondly because Harry was here—with Malfoy, no less. As quickly as he could, he grabbed his friend by the arm and helped him escape from Romilda's persistent grasp. The box of chocolates was left on the nightstand. That left Romilda to stand there, stunned at how fast her object of desire disappeared before her eyes.

Again, Madam Pomfrey emerged from the supply room with a couple of pillows and stopped at the sight of her and the bedridden blond recovering from the giggles.

"For goodness sakes, visiting hours are almost over! I wasn't aware you had this many friends, Mr. Malfoy," she exclaimed.

"Oh, no, Madam Pomfrey. I was here for Harry, but he left," she sighed wistfully. The nurse shook her head and continued on her way.

The minute she was gone Romilda walked over to collect the box, then stamped her foot.

"He's always doing that! Leaving just when we find time alone together! I don't care; I'll find a way to capture his heart even if it takes until the end of the year," she swore.

Then it was as if someone had performed 'Lumos' inside his head.

As whiny and pathetic of a fifth-year Romilda Vane was, she could be of much use to Draco's plan. If she was successful once at slipping Harry a Love Potion, what were the chances she could deliver the Malefecium Elixir as well? The only question remaining was if she would trust him. No…she had to. Not even this girl would be stupid enough to pass up a chance—even if it was false hope—to become the girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived.

It was now or never.

Before she could leave, Draco called out to her. She stopped and glanced at the blond Slytherin suspiciously.

"You're doing it the wrong way…with the wrong potion."

"What would you know? This plan was perfect. His friend interrupted is all." She sighed again. "As far as I know this is the only way I'll get Harry to like me."

"And you'd be so idiotic as to not trust a sixth year? Someone in my own year tried to slip me a Love Potion once. It didn't work, but she was older than you, so she was able to make a stronger Love Potion than what you made. This one is a red color, but you can put it in pumpkin juice and it won't even show. Lasts longer, too."

That perked Romilda's interest. "A stronger Love Potion exists?"

Draco nodded. "I want Potter off my back; you want him on yours. I put it on my honor. In about two days you'll have Potter at your feet."

Well, she had nothing else to lose. Even if it meant trusting a Slytherin, Romilda Vane always got her crush no matter what it took. Eager to learn of this new strategy, she shut the door.

…"So how did she find me?"

"I told her to try the hospital ward; Hermione said you were there—she wouldn't stop bloody pestering me!" Ron added when Harry gave him a sidelong glance. "She's looking for you, by the way."

"What for?"

Ron shrugged. "Something important. She wouldn't talk to me about it—"

He paused, a pensive and menacing spark coming into his eyes.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with my kidnapping, would it?" Ron threatened.

"How am I supposed to know what she wants to talk about?" Harry said defensively, raising his arms in such a stance. "You just told me!"

After a while, Ron took his word for it and kept on walking. A little ruffled up, Harry followed him at a distance. He was still touchy about that subject. Whatever happened at the Malfoy Manor must have been very traumatic. Now that he thought of it, he could've taken the time to ask Malfoy about that, but at the speed Romilda had burst in he probably wouldn't have gotten any closer to some answers.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Ron gave her the password. The frame swung out to reveal the door, and they walked through. At the other end of the dim-lit common room was Hermione, sitting somewhat complacently on the couch and for once not busy with homework.

"Well, I got him for you, Hermione. I'm going to bed," Ron pronounced with an exhausted tone.

What he had asked before about the conversation potentially being about him and his stint as a servant for the Malfoys, paradoxically must have been true. As Ron climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory, Hermione followed him closely with her eyes, making extra sure he went up there. The minute the dorm room closed, she motioned for Harry to sit on the couch with her. She pulled out from underneath one of the cushions that day's issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Is this about Ron again?"

"Actually, it's more about Mr. Malfoy, but this may have a link to Ron. It shocks me they didn't put this on the front page, but it'd probably have been better for Ron if they didn't."

"What is it?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Just look at this article." She flipped it open to the second page and handed it to Harry. The picture shown was a barely moving, glowering image of Lucius. The bold headline read, "Shocking Story—Inside Murder? Malfoy In Ministry Battle".

Harry read the first three sentences out of curiosity…how was murder connected to Ron?

Then his jaw dropped.

"Wait. What does this have to do with Ron?"

Hermione pointed to the third paragraph. "Keep reading. He reportedly said that when he's done settling the legal matters, his choices as heir to his estate will be expanding. He doesn't say outright, but he does mentions a "reliable, trustworthy personal servant he had acquired over the summer. He also says 'If truth be told, I had developed quite a close relationship with him. Next to my son, he is certainly someone I would gladly leave my fortune to.' "

"And of course he's talking about Ron, right?"

"Who else?" Hermione took it back and reread the sentence. " 'If truth be told, I had developed quite a close relationship with him.' I hate to say it, but this could be exactly why Ron was feeling so down after the exchange happened. This could go deeper than Stockholm Syndrome."

Harry gaped at her. He hoped with all her might what she said wasn't true. And how would Draco, still lying there in the hospital ward, take the news?

(End Chap. 25)

Ron: I'm going to be rich! In your face, Malfoy!

Draco: If you so much as touch my fortune, I will kill you!

Me: (whistles) But aren't you wondering who got murdered?

Everyone: (looks at her curiously)

Lucius: Why do I feel guilty all of a sudden?

Me: If you know, keep it a surprise, my faithful reviewers! Until Chapter 26!