Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(The Good Doc is sitting in the corner, reading the—)

Me: NO! If I hear those effing sound effects again…(sees audience) Oh, hello. As you can see, my muses are gone, and for good reason. Afraid you'll have to wait 'til next chapter for their crazy antics. (And dammit, I'm still not done with the book!) But now I finally have the text space to make some acknowledgements. (takes out a long roll of parchment)

Me Two: I'm so close to my 200th review, and with that I'm grateful to all of you who've stayed with me, as JKR is grateful to all of us who spent nights sleeping outside closed bookstores. In fact, my story was recently inducted into another C2—thanks, Mini.Naura! (Also, the other C2 my story's in has changed hands. It's now called "Pirates…and Not the Kind That Travel the Seven Seas", managed by beccamint17. Go check out all the HP slashy goodness!)

Me Three: I also got what was definitely my longest review ever by JaceDamian23. That's wild how people take the time to point out what they do or don't like; it lets me know how I can make my fic better! On that note, thus far "Black and Deep Desires" has been my most popular fanfic, period, made into 32 readers' Fave Story and tagged for 33 Alerts. I'm so touched, I guess it's all the "end of the book series" sentimentality going around— (suddenly a portal opens up, and Plushie comes out wearing a tiny lei.)

Plushie: I hate to interrupt this pathetic display of emotion, but— (I run over and push him back through the hole)

Me Four: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN HAWAII, DAMMIT!! (turns to the audience) Oh no…the time-space continuum has been compromised!! AHHH! (runs around in circles before passing out)

Plushie: Um…yes. Anyway, satisfy your curiosity before you end up like her. (points) You never saw me. (picks up the remote, clicks, and disappears back into the portal)

(Begin Chap. 45)

…The aroma of a cooking breakfast downstairs stimulated Ron's nose, rousing him to consciousness.

The moonlight that had blinded him the previous night was replaced by shafts of a grayish-blue hue that remotely resembled light filtering through the window. It was only around eight-thirty, and already the day was living up to the ghastly holiday it resided beside. Usually the faintest traces of sun could be seen flowing through the window from the east; today it was as if it had never existed. Strong winds shook the fragile glass panes, warning against possible rain. The lump in one of the room's beds moaned softly, blinked, and turned over.

It had been Ron's first night away from Hogwarts—especially in the middle of the school term; it would take him a while to adjust to the change. Aside from that and the weather, this morning didn't feel especially strange or foreboding…

Except…

As Ron turned over again, he heard a crinkling of paper. Startled, he felt around the bed until his fingers encountered the texture of stiff paper underneath his back. He picked up the wrinkled parchment and brought it around to his field of vision…and his eyes widened. How could he forget about this so quickly?

He shot straight up and unfolded the note, reading it one last time.

Whoever is with you, make sure they're not there by Halloween's Eve. Expect anything.

"Expect anything…" he echoed, pushing away strands of hair from his face. He continued staring at the paper as if he had just been issued a death sentence.

It wasn't just the note. The whole past week had felt unreal, an illusion made by time and unlucky circumstances. It seemed that the note was supposed to give proof of his secret trysts with Lucius Malfoy and the uncharacteristically extreme ends to which he had kept them private, but it only made him feel even more disillusioned. Was this really worth it? Was all this sneaking around with Draco's father just a subconscious desire to prove his friends wrong for once? Besides, this was a matter in which being right would make all the difference. If he wasn't, what would be in store for his family, his friends—or himself, for that matter? Could he handle it?

It was the Pensieve test all over again.

A call from downstairs—traveling upward—woke him a second time.

"Ron? Ron, are you dressed?" Hermione called. He wasn't sure, but he could swear he then heard her mutter, "Is he even awake?"

Ron panicked, then calmed down a second later when he realized Hermione still wasn't anywhere near the landing on his floor. Still, he rushed to hide the note in his dresser, under a haphazardly stacked pile of old issues of Marvin the Mad Muggle, then attack another drawer to find something to wear. When he stopped shaking enough and regained control of his vocal chords, he answered back, "Yeah, I'm dressing right now."

A final 'creak', then the stairs stopped making their racket and retreated back into the faintest of noises echoing from the kitchen. Ron sighed and pulled out one of his numerous maroon sweaters—and stopped—and then pulled it all the way out. Yes, it would be chilly in the manor, especially with winter approaching.

"Well, with all those bloody fireplaces…I don't know about the parlor, though; he rarely lets me in there….I wonder why," he argued against himself, briefly letting the sweater slip from his mind, and allowing Lucius Malfoy to reenter…

"There's a difference between meaningless sex and actually putting heart and soul into the process. If you want to take the risk and be my lover, you'll learn the difference soon enough. Right now, what is expected of you is nothing more than a mere duty. The question is, do you want to make it more than that?"

"…Meaningless the sex remains to be, but there have been times when you witnessed mercy, and one day you'll truly see what it means to be my lover…"

"Do you really want to return to the Order, the Burrow, and Harry's side just to be the forgotten sidekick once again, just another sibling of the family? You forget you have someone here who does love you."

"My original goal was to give you twelve lashes. As you can see, I couldn't bring myself to do more than half."

"…It was sort of a joy to take care of you. You appreciate what I have…I liked seeing you smile…"

"I can't be there to dissuade you by any means. We both have to make sure this is real…"

Ron slipped on his sweater, then hunted around for a pair of dark corduroy pants. All of a sudden, he then flew into a fit of searching, stirring up his already-messy room until he found what he was looking for.

Dragging out an old rucksack from under the bed, Ron turned it upside-down, dumping the contents onto one of many piles of clothes (whether all of them were dirty or not was a complete mystery), before repacking it with a few essentials, only up to half the maximum weight it could hold. The last thing he placed inside…he moved to his school trunk and unlocked it, gradually digging through the layers of clothing and supplies until he happened upon one particular article of clothing: the midnight-blue dress robes Lucius gave him as a gift the day he left. With a painstaking sort of respect he didn't normally give all his other clothes, he carefully folded it and placed it at the top inside the bag.

Now another dilemma: how to put it somewhere where he could easily reach it. Whatever Lucius had planned, he knew things would happen in a way that he would have to move fast. Using his fingers to brush his hair into minimally accepted order, Ron picked up the bag and stepped across the threshold. He crawled down the stairs until, on the second landing, he found the line between the original house and the start of the slapdash carpentry when the family had begun to expand. Ron stuffed it in a niche, hoping desperately that the dirt-colored fabric would camouflage it, and continued on downstairs.

Immediately, Mrs. Weasley met him at the entrance to the kitchen. Staring over her shoulder, Ron could see Hermione already in the middle of breakfast.

But beyond that…through the large kitchen windows, there was a clear view of the backyard and the path leading out to a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole. No chickens were communing in the dirt; even being in the ragged coop was better than being swept away. Anything—or anyone—else, however, he couldn't see.

"Good morning, Ronald…oh, I wish you'd pay more mind to your hair," she chastised, reaching up and patting down his hair further while he stifled a groan. "Well, breakfast is ready, dear."

She ushered him into a chair opposite from Hermione before zipping over to the sink to oversee the floating, self-operating scrubbers. Ron glanced around, for once missing the bustle of the kitchen table usually present in the summer time, especially when Harry arrived. The weather outside only made the fact that everyone was still gone all the more unbearable. He would have made the most of it if Hermione had been a little more lenient in her own habits. It really shouldn't have been much of a surprise, but Ron was still dismayed when, at a closer look, she had a textbook open in front of her, propped up against the sugar bowl. Hermione looked up to greet him, but caught his wary gaze instead.

"Just because we're out of school doesn't mean we shouldn't study," she answered his impending question. When he rolled his eyes, she added quietly, "We can't stop going to Hogwarts altogether. Harry could…he could just as well attack anyone else there as us."

On that note, Ron felt it brave of himself to ask his mother, "Have you heard anything, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley paused in her flurry of chores (though it was more of a startled twitch) and answered, "Not much. As far as I know, Harry's still at St. Mungo's…poor dear. The Healers thought he'd be best off in the Closed Ward—"

Hermione nearly knocked her book over and gave Ron a strong look, hoping to condense the following question in her glare: "Are they mad?". Thinking back, Ron replayed in his mind the experience of walking through that lonesome section of the wizarding hospital with Harry last Christmas, especially since that was around the time Mr. Weasley was attacked by Nagini. The thought of Harry having a room right next to the Longbottoms…it was a sad and bitterly romantic circumstance.

"—I highly doubt they supported the idea," Mrs. Weasley added with an air of finality she often used to let her sons know she meant business. "It's preposterous. It…wouldn't do."

Her face looked absolutely torn at her last words; she too was aware of the scandal that would arise if everyone knew the "Chosen One" was being committed. She didn't want to think of Harry on the brink of insanity, but his inevitable fate of going against Voldemort wasn't so pleasant to her, either.

"Your father's going to see about the Order's decision after work, then we'll see if we can't get you two back to Hogwarts…this means dinner will be a little late," Mrs. Weasley said, muttering the last part under her breath as she started to leave the kitchen. She stopped for a minute more, but only to push the curtains aside.

"It's a bit of a mess out there. I don't think you'll be doing any yard work today, Ronald, but I'm afraid for the chickens—"

The next few seconds then unexpectedly slowed to an agonizing halt.

Ron was facing away from the window, but Mrs. Weasley's earsplitting screech was more than enough to tell that something was wrong. At first, taking a cue from her last words, Ron thought the rough winds had finally conquered the chicken coop. Hermione finally tore away from her book permanently; whatever interesting subject matter it was, it could wait. She stood up and ran over to the window, peering over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. When she did the exact same thing, Ron got up from his own chair to see what in the world was so frightening.

They, in fact, were justified.

Three cloaked figures off in the distance were strolling down the path from the hill so fast it was as if they were gliding. For a split second, Ron's mind frantically tried to assure itself that Mr. Weasley had come home early with some members of the Order, with urgent (and hopefully good) news about Harry's condition. The next moment, Ron had to face the truth.

Those cloaked figures were wearing masks, wands out at the ready.

Had there been a betrayal somewhere along the line?

Had Lucius…been caught…?

Ron couldn't answer these questions now; there were two women in danger!

Suddenly inspired, he grabbed Mrs. Weasley's and Hermione's wrists and dragged them towards the living room, urging them onward. Once they were in the temporary safety of the cloistered living room, Ron felt around the top of the mantle until he found the bag of Floo Powder they always kept by a tiny, framed picture of Percy—who looked shocked at all the chaos going on and immediately skirted out of the picture. There were no windows in here, so there was no way of knowing how close they were…

"Mum, you and Hermione go to Grimmauld Place! I'll follow you!" Ron shouted, picking his mother up from the couch and leading her into the grate. That confident voice…he couldn't believe it was his own. Where had this courage been all this time?

"No son of mine is fighting Death Eaters by himself!" Mrs. Weasley screeched back.

"There's no room for all of us! Just tell the Order, quick!" he argued back.

Yes, that was a surprise. There was no way in hell, in any other universe, that he would've even dared argue with his mother in a situation like this. But Mrs. Weasley was implacable. Ron almost forgot how close he was to her until he felt her hands make a desperate grab for the pouch. Not missing a beat, he jumped out of the way and reached inside it to grab a fistful of glittering powder before throwing it at Mrs. Weasley's feet, screaming almost in a single run-on word, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

"Ronald—!!" she yelled back, now reaching for his hand, but the green flames swallowed her before she had a chance to save her son.

Hermione tried to shriek in alarm, but it came out as a timid, yet very loud squeak. Ron looked down at his feet to contemplate what he had just done before clutching the strings of the bag tighter and turned to Hermione with a resolve in his eyes she had only before saw in Harry's.

"Go," he pleaded, firmly placing a mound of sand in her hand, but she gave it back with equal vigor.

"Ron, don't be stupid!" Hermione said harshly, though it was diluted somewhat from the fear and grief in her voice. "I know more advanced defensive spells; I'll follow you out."

"And I save my own arse while you die so Harry can have another go at me?!"

He paused, catching himself, then added in a quieter tone, "If anyone should stay alive to help him, it's you."

Hermione didn't say anything to rebuke that statement, though she wanted to, but her glossy eyes and moist lashes spoke volumes. Then, letting her thoughts take over her body, Hermione lunged forward and hugged him, trying with little success to suppress her sobs. Ron could feel a phantom leg actually kick himself, he was so entrenched in guilt. Besides, if these were in fact fellow Death Eaters who had discovered Lucius's plans and were coming to get him, it was only right that he gave them what they were looking for.

The two were suddenly interrupted when they heard faint shouting. One of the voices sounded as if it were taunting their imminent victims…a female's voice.

Fighting back emotions of his own, Ron forcibly shoved her under the mantle and threw in another handful of Floo Powder, repeating the same directions, this time shutting his eyes. He couldn't bear his last thoughts to be of Hermione crying. Wasting no further time, he ran back to the stairs, ducking low to the floor so as not to arouse further attention. From what he could hear, they were only a step away from the backyard. He reached the landing, grabbed his rucksack, and jumped back down the short flight of stairs, taking out his wand in the process. He didn't even know if he would even need the stupid bag; there was no point anymore. He got it mainly for the wand, but there was some part inside him, still wishing…

Hermione had been right about herself being able to cast more complex enchantments, but all the experience gained during their fifth-year stint in Dumbledore's Army, plus Professor Mills' own hands-on teaching, hadn't slipped his mind entirely.

That damned Pensieve test again.

"I almost feel regret for this, but this wasn't all on my own accord. All I did was lay the trap. The rest was up to you to decide, and you did so—poorly."

"Let me at least grant you that. It is…what did I say in the letter? 'A bad person's greatest joy'?"

That other Lucius Malfoy, soulless, covered in his blood, buried deep within his worst fears…

Ron couldn't bear that thought, either.

"Reducto!"

A deafening blast shook the house which made Ron duck back behind the couch in spite of the fact that it happened one whole room away. The door had indeed been locked, but doing…that rather than simply using Alohamora seemed so irrational. Then again, Death Eaters rarely favored the rational.

The rapid clicking of heels. Ron swallowed hard and stood his ground, the grip around his wand tightening so hard he thought the natural waxing would melt off.

Now two things proceeded to happen at once. The first was that Ron spotted a mask-hidden face skid into the living room with wand held high; the second was that a nasty-looking hex flew straight at him. He ducked, only to trip over his own feet, his back hitting the wall; the space between the couch and the fireplace was too small for him to move deftly.

The attacker cackled loudly…that same female voice. With another wave of the wand and a puff of smoke, the mask dissolved to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Voldemort was right—you aren't much of a duelist," she murmured, an insane grin plastered across her face. She pointed her wand at him again, and Ron flinched, but nothing happened. A bluff.

"Stay right there."

He hadn't noticed, but now that their brief scuff was over, Ron could hear the tramping of more footsteps upstairs, and the continual banging of things being overturned.

"Got any others hiding out in this sty, Weasley?" Bellatrix demanded.

Ron shook his head. Her eyes narrowed, but the sadistic smile stayed as she stepped closer.

"Hmph. Gotta make sure you're not lying…you understand," she said with stomach-turning sweetness, but all that left her voice when she raised her wand and yelled, "Crucio!"

The instant sensation was similar to blacking out, but with vestiges of a sense of surroundings, and the feeling of being burned alive and poked with a hundred knitting needles in a hundred different places—all at the same time. Ron still wasn't sure if the voice he was using was his own, even as it was screaming decibels louder than his vocal chords would usually allow.

From far away, he suddenly heard someone coming down the stairs and another voice protest strongly. The minute this new person spoke, miraculously, he was released from the curse. His eyes blurring, Ron sank back to the floor, making guttural moans and whimpers. Even after he fully regained his hearing, it was still a while before the low, fatherly voice of Lucius Malfoy brought him back from his reverie.

"Enough, Bella. We found no one else."

The dark-haired woman scowled and dropped her arms at her sides, both at the fact that someone other than her late sister had used her nickname and that he interrupted her "fun". To her left, a short, squat man squeezed his way into the room and removed his own mask.

"The other two probably ran crying to the Order; there's Floo Powder everywhere," Bellatrix muttered spitefully. She turned to Pettigrew. "Let's get it done, then. One spell, he said."

No one, including Ron, missed the twitch in Lucius's brow just then. Even from the moment he saw his face, Ron had a feeling he hadn't been expecting to tag along at all.

"I thought we were taking him to be questioned," Lucius whispered, a hint of menace in his voice. "As if it wasn't ludicrous enough I had to come oversee you two—"

His sentence was cut short when both Bellatrix and Wormtail raised their wands—not at Ron, but at Lucius himself. Ron crouched low, his eyes wide. Okay, nothing about this was adding up.

"What is this?" Lucius demanded.

"Not even a funeral!" Bellatrix screeched, moving her wand closer to his face. "She may've crossed Voldemort, but Cissy deserved a better death, and she damn well deserved a better husband! Haven't you even noticed that ever since you took that…that brat hostage, ever since Cissy was killed, you've lost the Dark Lord's trust?! And me…"—and at this point she scoffed—"well, I never trusted you."

She directed her wand back towards the redhead cowering in the corner, and Pettigrew thought it a good time as any to chime in.

"However, he has said you could get back in his good graces…too forgiving, his lordship."

He lowered his wand towards Lucius's own silver snake-head cane, then directed it back to the corner of the living room.

"The Killing Curse, Malfoy. If you're…truly loyal, you'll say it—"

"Or I will. On the both of you," Bellatrix interrupted, throwing a particularly venomous glare at Ron. As to the redhead in question, midway past Bellatrix's rant he realized in full what was going on, but apparently they had yet to fit the last piece of the puzzle. Apparently this little squabble had more to do with Narcissa than with Ron…or maybe they were equally to blame. Ron remembered the vast Black family tree, and how Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy were close sisters. But Bellatrix just said that she had never trusted Lucius.

So it seemed, that even within a trusted circle of "purebloods", there was no love lost.

But all this he could muddle over later—if there was a later.

Bellatrix may've been angry before, but that was nothing compared to the brimstone spewing forth from Mr. Malfoy's eyes. However, to Ron's utter dismay, he sidestepped away from Bellatrix's wand and began walking towards the couch, separating his wand from his cane, raising it to chest height. The other two kept their eyes and wands on him from behind.

Ron looked up, meeting his eyes with his soon-to-be murderer, though it wasn't the bravest expression he had worn. So many thoughts…so many times had his friends—and nearly everyone else who knew—warned him…

"We know you wouldn't do anything to betray us. It's Mr. Malfoy we want to be careful of. Are you sure he wasn't nice just to win your trust?"

"Lucius is forty-four years old! Mr. Weasley's only sixteen! And Mr. Malfoy has proven to be a former—if not a current—Death Eater! You don't consider that a threat?"

"Malfoy only said what he did to get under my skin, I'm sure. But, if I do find out you've been lying this whole time, it won't be Malfoy you'll have to worry about. I don't spare anyone working for the Dark Lord…even if they are my best friend."

"You lied when you came back, you lied on the train, and you lied to me—in my face—at the Owlery! When are you going to stop lying?! Don't you know you're putting everyone in serious trouble?"

"That promise meant nothing to him. Are you really going to put your life into the hands on Mr. Malfoy? No rejection is worth that!"

"…You work for them now, don't you? Malfoy and Voldemort and Pettigrew and all those other bastards! You're a traitor!! Admit it!"

Lucius moved his lips soundlessly. Ron closed his eyes.

And in the next instant, he was reminded of another memory.

"He speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds."

A bright light went off, illuminating the entire living room. Stars exploded in Ron's eyelids, he was so terrified—so much, in fact, that he completely ignored the fact that he was still alive, and shut his eyes tighter and covered his ears. Wormtail shouted and Bellatrix screamed, then a short stream of cursing as Ron never heard or used, then a furious yet brief exchange of hexes, more cursing, small crashes and explosions everywhere.

Silence...then more silence.

Ron was shaking all over, his eyes still shut. Someone was rapidly approaching him, and he had no idea who it was.

A firm hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up on his feet. Boldly, he dared to open one eye…

And stared straight into the face of Lucius.

"What—?" Ron began to exclaim, then he caught a glimpse of the living room and adjoining kitchen. Nearly all the chairs in either room had been flipped over, as well as the kitchen table; it was over this that Wormtail's unconscious body hung, as if he were a wet shirt draped over a clothesline. As for Bellatrix, she had slammed into a wall, a messy trail of blood indicating she had slumped down onto the floor.

Ron knew very well that these two were ranked quite low on the humanity scale, but it was always a shame to see someone…were they…?

"Are they—?"

"They're not dead—unfortunate for me," Lucius muttered. He released Ron's arm and continued talking to himself. "This means Voldemort had some idea as to my plan. But…I didn't feel him penetrate my mind when I spoke to him."

Ron looked up, concerned, and was about to ask another question when Lucius shook his head and turned to Ron again.

"So you sent them to the Order just before we arrived…Moody and the rest of them can't be that far behind. Floo to my house and keep hidden until I get there. Both the Ministry and the rest of Voldemort's followers have made it a habit to drop by my house unannounced lately."

Lucius led him towards the grate, almost exactly as Ron had with Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. Ron knew he was in a hurry, but if he didn't ask, it was going to choke him until he died of suspense.

"…I know I asked you to do all this, and I am grateful, but…you didn't betray me. Why?" he asked, holding a lump of Floo Powder in his right hand.

To his surprise, Lucius smirked and leaned forward, taking that same right hand.

"Children don't break their own toys, Weasley—Malfoy Manor."

And Ron was engulfed in green flames.

(End Chap. 45)

Me: I'm not sure if it'll keep this length on the website, but rest assured, people…this chapter goes down in history as the longest chapter I've written (thus far, AND including liner notes). Thirteen pages of Microsoft Word-y goodness! And all the quotes…I could tell you where they come from, but I think it'd be much more fun if you hunted them down yourself. Kinda like my own way of reminiscing…

Plushie: (comes back through the portal, this time holding a coconut drink with a parasol in it and wearing a tiny grass skirt) Can we come back yet?

Me Two: (comes back and pushes him through the portal) IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!! Ahem…anyway, I still haven't finished the book, and for good reason. I'm actually taking the time out to read it to my little niece—

Everyone: Awwww…

Me Three: Aw, pipe down. Anyway, she went somewhere temporarily and I promised her I wouldn't read ahead until she got back.

Everyone: Awwww…

Me Four: (takes out a chainsaw)

Everyone: (shuts up)

Me Five: Good. Anyway, I will let the muses come back, but nobody tell me what happens until I tell you I'm done; I'm only up to Chapter 11! Speaking of which, five more until the Fiftieth! I'm so excited…OH! And the fun facts like I promised:

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Chapters: Um…Thirteen, Thirty-Seven, the second half of Thirty-One, and this one!

Dr. Kim-chan's Least Favorite: Twenty-Two hands down. I was feeling particularly uninspired that day…

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Moment in the Fic Overall (So Far): So many to choose from…I guess it'd have to be Chapter Seven when Lucius and Ron kiss, but not for the actual scene…yeah, I'll explain. Shortly after I saw the fifth movie, I went back to see if I could do more editing, and I was rereading Chapter Seven when this…(giggle)…this picture popped into my head of Jason Isaacs and Rupert Grint having…(giggle)…having an—affair, and Daniel Radcliffe being all mad and jealous…and…(falls to the ground laughing)

Dr. Kim-chan's Fave Ending in a Chapter: Huh…y'know, I don't think I have one. Actually, this chapter'll probably be the answer as well. I thought it'd be a little romantic while keeping a cynical Lucius.

Dr. Kim-chan's Big Fears: Writing Lucius OOC (which I know I've been doing, but I've been trying to keep control of that. You have to take some liberties when you're writing Lucius with a younger—YOUNGER—man), and making Umira Mills too perfect (which I said I'd try to work on, too).

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Muse: Uh…(whispers)…keep this under your hat, but…it's Lucius.

Plushie (breaks back through the portal): I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR FAVORITE MUSE!!!!! I'M EVERYONE ELSE'S FAVORITE MUSE!!!!

Me: OUT!!! (Plushie disappears) Anyway…

And FINALLY, I will bequeath to you, my faithful, loving readers, a SUPER-SECRET SPECIAL excerpt from a future chapter. I won't say WHICH chapter; you'd just have to see for yourself:

"When it comes to intimacy, there is one sign I give—two things, actually—that lets the other know where they stand with me."

"What is it?"

"Whether or not I kiss them on the mouth, and eye contact. It's rare that I do both at the same time, but if I do, then I'm willing to let it go further."

"But…you did that with me that first time, didn't you?"

Lucius chuckled softly, the firelight casting shadows in all the right places.

"…As a matter of fact, I did."