Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: That last set of ending author's notes was pretty long. We have so much humor and so little time…
Ron: Those of us who are actually funny…
Me: Oh, you're still not sore at me for turning Hermione into Lucius, are you?
Ron: Damn right I am! It's just like the time when Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider! One minute I'm hugging a cute, cuddly version of my crush, and then I notice that a strand of her hair is blonde. Then her eyebrows get bushy, and her robes changed…it was terrifying!
Me: Oh, I dunno…(picks up the Lucius plushie)…I think it's kinda cute! Right, Draco?
Draco: Shut up.
Harry: You do remember that you belong to me, right? You belong to me!
Me: "Belong"? S & M much, Harry? Anyway, we're on to Chapter 9 and close to our landmark Chapter 10! Rolling! (clicks the remote)
(Begin Chap. 9…the NEW one this time!)
…7:04 PM.
Somewhere within the north wing, an embittered Ron Weasley rubbed all manners of dust and cobwebs off of himself. Patches of soapy water stained his oversized shirt. He had spent the last few hours performing just about every task imaginable, cleaning up the two rooms reserved for Callisto and Blaise. No one had used those rooms in years; they were so filthy and cluttered. Wiping windows, beating out the curtains, washing and drying bed sheets, gathering all potential courage to exterminate spiders and sweep out the webs they left behind, sweeping, dusting. To think he had to attempt cooking a presentable dinner afterwards! If it weren't for the ancient innovations of magic, what would he have done?
The only bright side to his spent drudgery was that he could step back for a moment to admire his handiwork. That was always the rewarding part. The two rooms now exceeded living standards; you could've eaten off the carpets.
Ah, right! Speaking of eating, he had to clean up and prepare dinner.
…8:05 PM.
The main course was finishing its time in the old oven. In the meantime Ron hunted around Lucius's private dressing room for a new outfit. At the last minute, he chose a dark blue shirt—still oversized and unbuttoned at the top—with black slacks which he had to iron himself. He was thoroughly exhausted, but he couldn't help but notice the little things out of place and straighten them up as well. Draco was sitting nonchalantly on the grand staircase, cantankerous as he stubbornly pulled at a starched sleeve. Everyone was pressed to make a good impression, so everyone in the house found their second-best apparel to wear. The blond teenager was wearing a dark green suit with a crevasse, with a flowing cloak accentuating the whole outfit. The two of them were waiting for Lucius, who was meeting the Zabinis at the convergence point in the outskirts of Wilshire.
"I did want to look my best for Blaise, but this damn shirt feels stiff as a board," Draco whined. "I'll ask you to go easy on the iron next time."
The redhead tiredly nodded, prepared to fall asleep standing up. Draco huffed, then suddenly sniffed the air. Something was close to burning.
"Uh, Weasley? Dinner?"
"Huh?" He sniffed too. "Oh, bloody hell!"
Ron seemed to Disapparate around the corner as the doorknob began jingling with a brassy tune. Draco stood up and walked primly down the rest of the stairs to meet his company. He sniffed the air again and sighed inwardly. Ron saved the dinner; he must be laying out the table by now.
The door swung open, and the first person to walk in was none other than Blaise. Seventeen and close to pushing eighteen, maturity exuded from his whole being. His glossed raven hair was two inches shorter than Draco's, stopping short at the nape of his neck and the top of his ears, naturally straight and falling into many sharpened bangs around his gray eyes. That particular feature was what Draco feared and loved the most. His eyes held some sort of bewitchment (for lack of a better term). When angered, they took on another, more menacing definition. His skin was a tint darker, but nevertheless pale. He was also more than three inches taller than Draco, stopping short of Ron's height. Blaise looked like a lightweight, yet behind his layers of black clothing was an agile bodily frame only the Quidditch-playing Harry Potter himself could match. One could certainly say he was handsome. However, something deeper than appearances forced other admirers to keep their distance. As they said around Hogwarts, when a Slytherin is claimed, you knew it right away.
Callisto Zabini was just as mysterious as his son, albeit more talkative. Standing next to Lucius, it would seem apparent to the untrained eye that he was a few years older, but it wasn't because of age. The revered science of alchemy was an exact and grueling art a wizard or witch only perfected by getting it wrong a few times before. It was stress, and not time, that carved the wrinkles into Callisto's face. A curtain of dark hair fell around his face and shoulders but did not hide his eyes, which were a haunting green. Yet his movements were swift and youthful, as was his tone of voice.
Blaise swept past his father and stopped at the foot of the stairs, coming face-to-face with his secret lover. Draco regarded him with a soft stare and an out-of-character grin.
"It's been so long," he whispered.
Draco maintained a surprised breathlessness, giving Blaise the full force of his affection. A second later, he exchanged stares with a wary Lucius, who was beginning to catch on again. Getting the message, Draco reverted back to a frown and offered his guest a stiff, formal welcome. Blaise quickly looked over his shoulder to see what the blonde was reacting to. Narrowing his eyes at the barrier in their relationship, he turned and walked even closer.
"We won't have to do this for long," whispered Blaise, coming closer and rubbing a fingertip under Draco's chin. The still-stiff boy glanced longingly at the other's lips, trying his best not to touch them with his own.
"I'm thrilled to be living here at your manor, if only for a few weeks or so. A tad small, though."
"Our manor is large enough, thanks, and if you're thrilled about simply being here, try not to hyperventilate when I say your room is upstairs next to mine."
"Really? Wonderful. That makes it all the more easier. By the way, where's this new servant of yours Dad keeps gabbing about? The Malfoys have certainly moved up to be getting a human servant and not a house elf."
"It's not like we hired him. Since we can't pay your father right now, this servant will stand in as reparations. I know him from Hogwarts. As much as I hate saying it, he's not bad. Better than that incompetent elf, at least. He should be done with dinner."
And let's hope he pulls his end of the deal.
…8:50 PM.
Ron heaved a satisfied breath as he rinsed the last plate. Dinner was over, and luck had run with him a second time. Who knew that the basics of soup, more ham, vegetables, and salad would go over so well? And this time he witnessed their pleased faces for himself: Ron didn't have a chance to hide in the kitchen this time. Lucius kept him at his side throughout the entire meal, and he had to stand there and hold his breath for over half an hour as he and Callisto discussed 'business'—if you could call clandestine meetings and minor raids upon unsuspecting wizards and witches business. It was astounding how they could talk freely about their enterprises with the Dark Lord around him. The Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic would die for the knowledge that passed through Ron's ears in that short period of time. Some pieces of the dialogue were humorous. It seemed like Wormtail was notorious for being a snitch and a kiss-up, thus the scourge of every other Death Eater's existence.
After dinner was over, Lucius told Draco to show Blaise his room and Ron to fix two cups of tea as he moved his guest to the parlor for more talk. This was Ron's next lesson: was it possible for this habitually klutzy boy to balance a small pitcher of milk, hot tea, two cups, two spoons and a tiny bowl of sugar on a silver plate? Fortunately the answer was yes, and Mr. Zabini was impressed with both the service and the flavor.
With that minor task and the dishes washed, Ron wandered into the entrance hall, thinking yet again. It seemed that he had little else to do around the house except wait for orders, carry them out, and become lost in unorthodox thought. Then again, there was much to think about…
Just what did he mean by that? "There's a difference between meaningless sex and actually putting heart and soul into the process"…does that make it any less wrong? We'll still be our ages and we'll still hold our grounds in the war no matter what our reasons for hopping into the sheets are. I'd think I'd have chosen 'no' by now; it seems to be the obvious answer…so why the bloody hell am I still considering his deal?
"Weasley."
Ron turned about, a second away from snapping on the person who dared to break his train of thought, and then realized it was Draco again.
"Father sent me to tell you they need more cream…and make extra sure it's good cream," Draco requested with a peculiar, strained tone of voice. In his trademark cynic's tone, he added, "With me running back and forth to tell you things, it's like I'm the servant."
Ron was about to complain, but he was cut short when Draco narrowed his gaze and gestured as if trying to remind him of something. Oh…yes. Ron remembered. The decoy plan was in motion.
"I guess it's "Make Sure Malfoy Gets His" Time now," he teased.
"I said drop it!" Draco hissed.
"Whatever you say."
…Ten minutes was all he could spare. Not even Lucius, who saw his presence nothing short of irresistible, could risk having his personal servant so close to him at all times, especially if that certain person was in league with the Order and the boy who was rumored to bring ruin to Voldemort's empire in a single stroke. Lucius feared he already spoke too much in the dining room. Besides, how long could Ron stay there and pretend to be an ideal servant, tending to their every need and refilling cream dish after cream dish? So when Mr. Malfoy turned his head and glared pointedly, Ron took it as his cue to leave. It was probably a good thing he had to, because Callisto took the opportunity to request a drawn bath by the time they ended their conversation.
As he climbed the back staircase, Ron interpreted Mr. Zabini's request as two possibilities. Firstly, if he wanted a bath now, then it wouldn't be long before the parents also came up for bed. That would put Draco and Blaise in a delicate position if they weren't careful. Secondly, there was a bright side. Maybe they'd come up and go right to bed, and on top of that Lucius always needed Ron's attention during his nightly preparations. Ron paused on the second-to-last step and flinched. Hopefully, there wouldn't be anything else he'd need tonight.
He reached the landing and checked his direction. Taking the smaller, hidden staircase near the back kitchen door led one directly to the west wing, and he thanked his unconscious decision to take it. This would make it easier to get to Draco, but he had to go to the north wing first.
But it was also an unpleasant scare to find Draco lurking around the next corner.
"Malfoy, this house is too big and dark for you to just stand there quietly," Ron complained, a hand over his heart like a frightened old woman.
"I ran into Blaise, and he said he was going to bed shortly, but he can't go to sleep just yet. First off, he hasn't run his bath water. That's one thing you can be glad about. He's very independent."
"Take an example," remarked Ron dryly. "Speaking of which, I was on my way to draw his dad's bath."
"After you do, stop by the west wing and run his," Draco instructed.
"I thought you said he could do it himself."
"Not for his sake. You're going to pass on a message—"
Draco stopped in the midst of his sentence, and both boys fell silent. Footsteps and deep voices were heard in the south wing. Ron immediately locked eyes on a small hallway in the distance: a perfect shortcut to Callisto's bedroom.
"This may take a little longer than we thought," Ron commented, already starting to walk away. "Your father wants his bath drawn, too. Why don't you people just take your bloody baths in the morning!"
The blonde rolled his eyes. "Well, be quick about it."
Ron sighed. "Also consider the chance your father wants…to do anything…tonight…with me."
The tiniest flicker of a disgusted cringe was apparent in the younger Malfoy's eyes. "Yes…well, I hope this goes well. The last time we talked was April. You don't know how hard it is to hop in the sheets with Professor Snape patrolling the dormitories every hour or so."
"I know how hard it is to attend Hogwarts, period, with Snape teaching there every year."
That was the last sentence Draco heard before Ron practically ran to head off Mr. Zabini. As if another act in a play was calling for his role, the anxious lover took his place in his bedroom. Truly, Malfoy was grateful for Ron's help, but none of this would mean anything if this play didn't get rave reviews.
…He wasn't sure whether it was the hours of Quidditch practice Angelina had hammered into him in the past year or just plain desperation, but Ron had indeed gotten there before Mr. Zabini, although he had to come up with some heartfelt excuse why the bath wasn't already filled. The amazing thing was that Mr. Zabini believed him. Most likely his success at dinner won his trust.
Surprisingly, Lucius hadn't called for him yet. That left Ron free to go directly to Draco's bedroom where he laid in wait.
"What if Blaise already ran his bath?" Ron asked as soon as he closed the door behind him. Sitting atop his canopy bed, Draco pursed his lips in contemplation. He hadn't figured that out. Meanwhile, Ron was staring in amazement around the room. The curtain of the bed was slightly drawn, giving the bed an appearance of comfort. All candles, either partially melted or new, were lit by the wave of a wand.
"What's next, roses scattered over the pillows?" he taunted.
Normally, this was a prime moment for Draco to snap back in reply, but all he could do was blush.
"My God, you really are in love," the redhead added. But even Draco heard the addition of spite in his voice. He grinned, reserving all gloats for later.
"Anyway, Mr. Zabini's settled and your father's in his room as we speak. It's all clear."
"We'll be the judge of that," Draco retorted. "Now, what I'm about to say will sound a bit odd, but only Blaise will understand this. Listen carefully, and don't ask questions…if ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed for creating what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the fairies."
"What!"
Draco repeated it in a slower voice, but Ron shook his head. "I got the message. I meant where'd you pull that mystery crap from?"
"Top secret, Weasley," he answered frankly, wagging a finger in his face. "Now get in there before the candles melt."
Griping indiscreetly under his breath, Ron opened the door slowly, every creak enunciated by the peculiar silence outside. No sound from the north wing. Looking back at Draco, who was currently giving him an uneasy glare, the rest of his body ventured out into the corridor and took seven steps to the next door. He tested the doorknob, and found it locked. Grunting, Ron pulled out his wand and risked a few Ministry laws to perform Alohamora and sneak in. He looked to the left and heard the sound of splashing. He had run his bath already. Still, it wouldn't hurt to carry on; he was already here. Preparing to sound like a seasoned pro, Ron marched over to the door and asked, "Mr. Zabini, sir?"
"Is that…um, what was your name?…Weasley?"
"Yeah. I'm the one who cleaned up the room, and I forgot if I put some towels in there or not?"
"I'm all right, thanks."
A quiet stillness ensued as the small talk ended. Now extremely nervous, Ron cleared his throat and recited the message loudly.
"By the way, Draco wanted me to tell you something: If ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed for creating what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the faeries."
More silence, but this time an apprehensive kind of silence. Finally done with his duties for the night, Ron left the rest in their hands and went to take a bath of his own.
On the other side of the bathroom door, Blaise smiled wryly. He hadn't forgotten after all. He unplugged the drain and climbed out, ready to convene with his prohibited boyfriend.
…Ron walked by Lucius's bedroom with a spring in his step. All through this repetitious day of playing spy, he felt a twinge of satisfaction. Besides, if he were willing, Draco would have quite an interesting story to tell him in the morning. He frowned in discontent, wondering if his own love life would be so picturesque. Could he actually take the risk with Mr. Malfoy? And if his proposal were even serious, surely he'd have proven his love to him by now. Or did it even work that way, especially for a man so imposing?
Suddenly he stopped. At the very least he could check on Lucius one last time before going to bed. He had been exceptionally cold towards him today…
Ron carefully turned the knob and looked into the room. His eyes fell on the bed…and he lost his breath in the next moment. He wasn't there. Regaining composure, he assured himself that Lucius was probably still taking his bath. He walked towards the door off to the right wall, which was left open a crack. Although the scene was evident enough, he had to look around a few times to be sure. The porcelain tub was bone-dry, all the taps left where they were, a spare towel still waiting on a silver-plated rail.
No worries. Maybe he went to Callisto's room. A humorous thought crossed his mind about how much a middle-aged man could gab on like a woman at a downtown London hair salon. A few seconds later, Ron was standing before the bedroom door and requesting for Mr. Malfoy in his most polite voice. Callisto's gruff yet kind voice replied that Lucius had left his room minutes ago. Now Ron was mystified. He was sure he'd come upstairs with Mr. Zabini…
Then he gasped.
Somewhere on the second story, a new act in the play was just beginning…and it was set near the west wing.
(End the New Chap. 9)
Ron: Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! A cliffhanger! That's the cruelest trick in an author's book!
Me: Heh heh heh. Well, at least I'm more satisfied with the plot. Next up is the LONG-awaited Chapter 10, which had to be rehashed and torn down and rebuilt again and again. (sigh) Now I need to take a bath…and we're still gonna invite a new, random muse to review the fic in celebration of reaching the tenth chapter! Who'll it be? Hermione?
All 2 (minus Draco): Yay!
Me: Lupin?
All 2 (minus Draco): Yay!
Me: Or will it be the man himself, Lucius?
All 3 (including Draco): Boo!
Me: Just wait until the sizzlin' (NEW!) Chapter 10!