Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: The Good Doc's back—all right!

Ron: Please…no more Backstreet quips!

Draco: (defensively) What's wrong with the Backstreet Boys?

Me, Ron, and Harry: (look at Draco strangely)

Draco: (attempts to change the subject) Um…isn't this the start of Chapter 3? We better get rolling! I wanna see who the dark figure in the doorway was.

Me: Whatever, Draco…Oh, Ron. Before I forget. Be warned. This is the chapter where you get degraded for the first time.

Ron: Oh no.

Me: Hey, you gotta roll with the punches…speaking of which, rolling Chapter 3! (clicks the remote)

(Begin Chap. 3)

...Hearing someone else other than himself and Ron breathing, Draco pulled up his thin body away from the warmth of Ron's. Lucius stood silent, his ice-blue eyes burning a hole into his only son. Draco paled, wondering if this was just his father's routine sullen attitude or if he witnessed the moment of dry intimacy he shared with the redhead in bondage.

"Are you quite finished tending to Weasley's needs?"

Whether that sentence held a double connotation, his son couldn't tell, but he answered Lucius anyway.

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Then give us privacy for awhile. I need to speak with him."

Nodding silently, Draco took a second glance at Ron, then rose and left quickly. With Ron's ability to see ahead and over the foot of the bed, he found something new to wonder about. As Draco passed his father, no eye contact was made. Was he ashamed? And if so, by what?

Once his son's footsteps faded, Lucius closed the door behind him, leaving only him and his prisoner in the large, candlelit room. Ron tried his best not to tense up for fear of bleeding again, but Lucius was giving him that same hole-burning stare. His muscles tightened, irritating the wounds on his wrists as they rubbed against the metal. Lucius towered above the boy in bed, considering just how to talk to him, to explain to this captive that he now held the fates of the Death Eaters and his family in his hands. But if we can truly be honest, it was more like Lucius was staring. This lanky, squirming teenager below him looked nothing like a specimen of Arthur's. He had seen the father more often than he desired, but receiving a close-up view of his youngest son forced the blonde man to draw back on his memories and make a comparison. No…he looked nothing like Arthur Weasley. In Lucius's opinion, Ron looked better.

But back to the matter at hand.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Your son told me already. I'm your hostage. Hey, if it's not too much trouble, when can I go home?" Ron pleaded.

"It depends, young Weasley. If your family wants you back so badly, they'll pay the right price."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Exactly how much of a right price?"

"How does 1,500 Galleons in exchange for your safety sound?"

"What! My family loves me, but I'm not that valuable!" Ron exclaimed.

In response, Lucius only chuckled. Ron's eyes widened. Lucius was rarely, if ever, known for having a sense of humor. To make the situation even more bizarre, the older man started to stroke his hair.

"Your family may be financially challenged, but they know all the right people, and if they know what's good for them and for you, eventually they'll ask those same people in for favors. Your parents—Arthur and Molly—still work for the Order, am I right?"

"How—!"

"—Could I know about the so-called secret Order of the Phoenix?" Lucius finished, fixing his hand to a slow rhythm as his strong fingers toyed with Ron's fiery strands. "The Death Eaters tangled with the Order before you were even born. A group of Aurors, ex-Aurors, Ministry workers, Mudbloods, and other filth who didn't have anything better to do than to pick fights with the Dark Lord…and it seems to me they still don't know any more about the power of Voldemort than they did nearly two decades ago."

"They're trying to make the wizarding world safe…and so is Harry," hissed Ron. "He can do anything he sets his mind to!"

"Really? Does he also enjoy putting everyone he meets in danger?"

"…What?"

"Fine. Play dumb. But you are aware of what I mean. Take this past summer, when we met in the Department of Mysteries. Was it really necessary for him to drag along you, your sister, that Longfellow boy, and that Muggle-born girl with him into the depths of danger? And for what? To rescue Sirius Black—which, I might add, he did a poor job of doing. By acting as the wizarding world's savior yet again, he only succeeded in letting Black die at the hands of Bellatrix. Tell me, Weasley, does he enjoy making people's lives miserable?"

"That's not true! Everything you say is a lie! We followed Harry because we wanted to…because he was our friend!"

"Say what you want. Voldemort is telling the truth. Wizardkind has become weaker. Dumbledore's become weak, trying to protect all those worthless Mudbloods at Hogwarts—look at me!"

With a rapid movement, Lucius took his hand out of Ron's hair and used it to hold his face in a viselike grip. Feeling the extreme stress his neck and chin were being punished with, Ron bravely squinted into those penetrating eyes.

"Confess, young Weasley, to yourself and to everything you've ever known. Confess that the Dark Lord is the one true sorcerer, that we're the strongest forces. Mudbloods aren't worth the loss of energy or compassion…and that goes for your friend Granger, too. Maybe I'll let you go—if you admit that Potter was always wrong."

An uncomfortable, pressing silence passed between them as Ron made his decision. A sinister half-grin had appeared on Lucius's face. He loved these mind games he was playing on the young redhead.

A breath. Ron sat up, looking into Lucius's eyes the best he could. He spoke.

"Never."

The grip under his chin released.

In the next second, his breath was taken away just as quickly.

A rush of water pulsated down upon Ron's upturned face in an oddly diagonal direction. Bitterly cold, frozen water, splashing into his nose, his eyes, on his chest. For what felt like minutes it was hard to breathe. The silk sheets and his clothes became soaked in it. His hair instantly fell away from his forehead, plastered haphazardly all over the top of his head and onto the wet pillow. His wrists, throbbing from the torture of his manacles, were relieved as drops of water fell all around and into the chains. The deluge stopped. In total shock, Ron tried to sit up again, shivering violently. The excess water seeped into the bed, running down Ron's body, into his pants. Some of the water had entered his mouth, nearly choking him. As he coughed it up, he caught a faint peculiar taste on his tongue.

Blood?

Simultaneously blinking and shaking the water away from his eyes, Ron spotted the ceramic bowl in Lucius's left hand. The half-grin had disappeared to reveal his infamous deadened glare. The taste of blood…of course. The water Draco used to clean his injuries.

Filled with rage at how this boy could be so defiant against his will, Lucius forcefully dropped the ceramic bowl on the floor. It made an impressive crash, breaking into many dangerous fragments. Ron flinched and dropped flat onto the wet bed to avoid flying pieces.

"I should've expected that from you. You'll never see to reason. No matter. Even if your family comes up with the money and I let you go, we will win the war, regardless of your meaningless expectations. Your parents better come up with the 1,500 Galleons or else. Our patience is running thin."

As Lucius started to leave, Ron was at his wits' end. He realized how dire things were now. It was all his fault he had been caught and taken prisoner. Harry did have the necessary money, but who knows how the Death Eaters would use it? It was a lose-lose situation. He couldn't let his mom and dad sacrifice themselves again because of his mistakes.

"My family doesn't have the money! Please don't kill them! There's gotta be some other use I can be good for! Hell, I'd even be your servant! I could work off the money! Just don't hurt them!"

Lucius stopped. Ron held his breath.

"Work it off?"

"I could be your servant. Instead of being a bother to you, you could have collateral. So even if my family doesn't send the money, I can still be of use to you. Then you won't be in such a rush to get it. Who knows? Maybe by then, they'll find a way to get the money. Mr. Malfoy…I'll do whatever you want."

Enjoying the desperation in the redhead's voice, Lucius Malfoy finally gave into to his own inner sympathy.

"You certainly have your father's shrewdness. And I do need a new servant, ever since Potter made me lose my house-elf four years ago…"

Lucius turned around.

"All right, Weasley. I can use the time to negotiate with Zabini a little more…and maybe appeal to the Ministry about unfreezing my assets. I believe you've made yourself a deal."

(End Chap. 3)

Me: Whew! In the nick of time!

Ron: And here is where the really degrading, scum-scraping work begins. I can't believe I have to be Draco's butler! And pouring water on me! Was that really necessary!

Harry: Be grateful. He was about to kill your family.

Ron: True.

Draco: Now, in the meantime, you can practice. (snaps fingers) Two butterbeers, Weasley! Chop-chop!

Ron: (dumps a bucket of butterbeer on his head) Your butterbeer is served, sir.

Me: Ooh! That reminds me of a song! A 100 buckets of butterbeer on the wall, a 100 buckets of butterbeer. Take one down, pass it around, 99 buckets of butterbeer on the wall! 99 buckets—

All 3: Run away! (run off into the sunset)