Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: Woot! It's the 10th chapter at last! Sorry it took so long. We have minor celebrations every tenth chapter, and if we ever go to Numbers 50 or 100, then we're really gonna whoop it up! For now, let us introduce our new muse! (brings out a person under a sheet)
Ron: Hmm…he (or she) isn't short, so it can't be one of our fellow students…and the sheet isn't making a peak at the chest, so it sure as hell can't be Hermi…or any other girl, for that matter. It's an older guy!
Me: (still stuck on Ron's nickname for Hermione) 'Hermi'? (laughs hysterically, and while doing so accidentally pulls off the sheet, revealing…)
: Where in blazes am I?
All 3: (gasp)
Me: Ain't he wonderful! Unfortunately, the readers can't find out until the end of this chapter for legal purposes and fanfiction laws too complicated for mortal minds. Anyway, since this is such a big occasion, we're gonna have mucho drama and mucho fanservice! To be honest, it's a little too dirty…but certainly nothing for FF to get hot and bothered about…heh. Hot and bothered…
Ron: Not again…
Me: Yes again, but here's some good news: it ain't you this time. ('casually' points in Draco's direction) So suit up, my lovelies! Harry, Draco! Fetch me the (DUN DUN DUN…) silver remote.
(They go and bring back a silver rectangular box. I slowly and ceremoniously open it. Inside, laying on a velvet cushion, is a really shiny remote which can only control every 10th chapter except the 50th and 100th, in which cases the Big Daddy Cruiser Golden Remote is used.)
Me: And now we roll! It was worth the wait! (clicks silver remote, then rubs off the smudge vigorously)
(Begin Chap. 10)
…That stare. I haven't been in love since my Hogwarts years, but I'd recognize that heart-stricken stare. If my suspicions are correct, our duties as Death Eaters have become much more complicated. I cannot have Draco running around with just anyone, especially Callisto's son. Little does he realize it's for their own good.
Lucius's strong paces carried him through the south wing. By the way his servant acted in the parlor, he knew there was a deeper intrigue running within his own manor. It was as if he was attempting to delay them from going upstairs. But for what reason? Was he afraid they'd stumble onto something unpleasant? Well, his misgivings transcended past tonight's events. Of course Blaise and his father have visited before. In those early years of Draco's childhood, he and Blaise spent many hours together unsupervised. As a Death Eater strict on upbringing, he probably should've monitored him better. There was no guilt in spoiling him, yet now things had probably gone too far. He should've stopped it while he was ahead.
There was a reason he took the long way. As willful as he was, Weasley most likely went to check on him and discovered he was missing. Chances were he was looking for him to further divert him from what was really going on. Oh, no. He wasn't going to be tricked in his own household.
…At the same time, Blaise Zabini was dressed in his burgundy pajamas, looking around skittishly and opening the door to Draco's room. In the nick of time, Ron careened around the bend and roughly shoved him inside. He probably shouldn't have, but he also slammed the door in the process. Startled by the noise, Draco peeked out from the bed curtains to find the two of them piled up on the carpet.
"I don't think you got the hint, so I'll say it more clearly: Blaise's mine. Get your own boyfriend."
Ron peeled himself off of the confused Zabini and helped him up. "You don't understand! I can't find your father anywhere! I think he's on to us."
In silence, Blaise brushed himself off. He straightened his dark hair, then released a tense breath. He crossed the room to join Draco in sitting at the edge of the bed, and gazed at the blonde with haunting eyes. The minute he spoke, the redhead immediately understood how Malfoy fell in love with him. It was deep, trusting voice, hypnotic at the first listen. Not quite a father, but not quite a teenage boy.
"I don't want to sound pessimistic, but he's got a point. As long as I've known your father, I know he catches on quickly. We'd have none of this trouble if you just visited our manor. My father's always busy with his experiments. There may be some smells and explosions once in a while, but at least we'd have some privacy. He—" (pointing in the direction of Ron) "—tried his best, but obviously your father's too smart."
"Zabini, he's never dealt with me before. Harry and I always sneak under the professors' noses," assured Ron. "And he trusts me; he has to. I've been pulling my weight around better than any house elf can. I just wish one of us knew how to Disapparate."
Blaise shook his head. "No, but now I regret not taking my lessons earlier—"
Ron held up a finger. Blaise paused in mid-sentence and listened to what sounded like the quiet one would normally expect from a large and mostly empty manor. There was a tapping sound from the far end of the corridor outside. Lucius Malfoy was closing in. Draco stood up, manhandled Blaise in a brief inspiration of power, and pushed him into the bathroom.
"Stay there until he's gone," he instructed as he closed the door. Then he turned to Ron. "I do hope you have a plan to get us out of this."
"It's your fault," Ron snapped in a quiet whisper. "Why don't you try controlling your rages?"
Draco was about to start yet another argument between the two, until that same tapping sound sounded as if it was right on the other side of the bedroom door. Hearing a rhythmic clanking sound after, the pair turned to see the brass knob turn slowly. In record speed, Draco jumped on the bed and pulled the covers up to his chest. Following suit, Ron had no choice but to pull one of the oldest disappearing acts in the world: going under the bed.
The door opened. From his place, Ron observed a pair of black-loafed feet entering the bedroom. Above him, the mattress was perfectly still. Malfoy can sure put on a show when he wants to, he thought begrudgingly. As the feet came closer to the bed, two main thoughts were running through the nervous redhead's mind: he hoped Lucius wouldn't find him under here, or two, he hoped he wouldn't change his mind and check the bathroom on a whim. The smallest of voluntary itches began to dig under the calf of his leg. Ron winced in discomfort, chastising his body about choosing the worst time to have an itch.
"Draco?" the gruff voice demanded. No one answered. Of course; he was feigning sleep. But was he going to be convincing enough?
"Draco!" the voice above said again, a little louder this time. No, he wasn't fooled. You idiot. You thought this plan up, and now we're about to get caught. Can't even fake sleep, not even after all that practice faking a broken arm in third year.
A rustling was heard, meaning Draco also had to face up to the harsh reality. But even if he had to go down for the proverbial count, Malfoy tried his best to pull off an act in hopes of saving them—well, him and Blaise, anyway.
"Yes, Father?" Draco asked in a drowsy voice.
"Where's your guest?"
Ron's heart almost stopped. Then he heard Draco give a bald-faced lie.
"He stopped by to talk with me for a moment, then he went back to his bedroom. I suppose he's still there and asleep…like I was a few minutes ago," his son added crankily.
"Then where's Weasley?"
Ron literally stopped breathing for a prolonged moment. Draco paused, unsure of what to say himself, then gave a confident response.
"I haven't heard from him since after dinner when he went to serve you and Mr. Zabini in the parlor. He's most likely in his room as well, as absentminded as he is."
Under the bed, Ron bristled. He knew it was for the sake of saving all of them from punishment, but was the touch of Malfoy-trademarked cynicism really necessary?
"Well, I have noticed that Weasley hasn't come by to run my bath yet. If he is in his room, another lesson may be in order. I have my doubts, but I'll check Weasley's room first. Almost three days and he hasn't the sense to carry out his nightly rituals regardless of whether I'm there or not. I told him so yesterday."
Yes, he did, and now the servant under the bed was kicking himself for not remembering. Oh, but what a relief it was when the pair of feet turned around and left…no it wasn't! He was heading for Ron's bedroom, and he was here! A minute was allowed to pass before Ron rolled out from under the bed frame.
"You should've at least said I was downstairs!" he screeched. "Now I have to get there before him!"
Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, Ron had one foot outside the door when he heard a slight bout of laughter from the younger Malfoy. He stepped back and jerked his head to see him cover his mouth, which didn't do much to hide his grin of amusement.
"What's so funny?"
"Thank you, Weasley."
"For what?"
"This went better than I thought it would. I'm starting to be convinced this was more than coincidence that you came here as a prisoner. If you hadn't been our servant, I wouldn't have had a good distraction to keep Father away while Blaise and I spend some time together," Draco explained. "Now that Father's looking for you, he won't suspect us in the least, and if he actually catches you, that leaves us with even more time. Really, what business does a servant—who's in allegiance to Potter, no less—sneaking around a Death Eater's house?"
Taking absolutely no notice of how much time he was running out of, Ron stood there like an inanimate object.
"So you're saying…you used me?"
"Pretty much. Once an enemy, always an enemy, Weasley."
For what seemed like the first time in his life, Ron had no choice but to hold in his smoldering rage. He remembered that Lucius was on the hunt, and he'd save the beating for later.
"I will remember to kick your arse if I ever get myself out of this," Ron hissed. He switched around and slammed the door as hard as he pleased.
Unperturbed by Ron's severe warning, Draco waited a moment, getting a feel for things returning from a tense state. When he was absolutely sure no one was in the west wing, he lazily rose up from the plush sheets and opened the bathroom door. Blaise emerged, but with a dark frown which even made the cold-hearted blond wince.
"What? What'd I do?"
"I heard that, and it wasn't very nice. And after he did his best to get us off the hook. I told you to be nicer."
"You don't understand," replied Draco bitingly. "Not only is he dispensable, but for as long as the Malfoy family name lives on I will not forgive him for what he did in my first year."
"What did he do?" Blaise asked coolly.
"A lot, but it all traces down to our first year at Hogwarts. We were on the stairs and McGonagall was just done talking with us. I'm standing with Crabbe and Goyle, and then I see him and Potter together. Naturally, I introduced myself, and that trollop had the nerve to laugh at me. Like his name is any less stupid. I didn't know Potter had bonded with him in that short amount of time or I would've let things be and ridiculed him later. But no; the two of them had to gang up on me. On top of that, that was my first mission."
"Mission?"
"Father knew Potter would be going to Hogwarts the same year as me. If I had made friends with Potter—and even better, influenced him to be Sorted into Slytherin—I could've made a direct link between him, Father, and Voldemort. We could've ruled the wizarding world yesterday, and Weasley ruined the whole plan! You have any bloody idea how badly I was punished when I went home for Christmas holiday!" Draco exploded.
Amazingly, Blaise had a poker face on, his arms crossed in patience the entire time. The minute Draco was finished, however, all he could offer in consolation was a smirk.
"And what, pray tell, is so bloody hilarious?"
"It may've been as big a disaster as you say it is, but you forget that what is happening under your very own roof at this moment will remedy everything. I mean, Voldemort does have the force of the Death Eaters, but he loathes having to ask for personal help. However, as powerful as he is, Voldemort couldn't deny that he doesn't have the knowledge of alchemy. That, of course, is where the Zabinis enter the picture. I'm going to be busy with Dad during the days because I am now my father's apprentice. Alchemists are rare in this world, Draco. It's a forgotten art. Do you think it's just chance we're in love? When you fall, I pick up the pieces."
Blaise paused, a thought coming to mind. His eyes glazed over, staring into the distance. When the thought was completely formulated, he looked at Draco in a very urgent manner.
"And now I think I've figured out everything."
"What do you mean?"
"Alchemists are rare…of course. Death Eaters, including Voldemort's assistant Wormtail, are required to go on missions at times, whether it's a raid or reconnaissance. There's many risks involved, including capture and death. No matter how diminished the numbers have become, it'd go against Voldemort's grand scheme to risk any alchemists on hand in the line of action, especially if there's a war coming on," he began to explain. Draco nodded vaguely, wondering if the conversation was getting to a point.
"I can be instated as a Death Eater, but I'll be kept out of any missions. On the other hand, if you're instated, that means you'll be constantly risking your life, more so because you're the son of a high-ranking follower. Other than Pettigrew and the Dark Lord himself, your father's very powerful. It's your destiny."
"So the reason nobody wants us to be together—" Draco started.
"—is because we may not be together for very long," Blaise finished. "There can't be love among Death Eaters. It's unprofessional…and pointless. What's the point of loving someone if you know there's even the slightest chance of them dying or getting the life sentence in Azkaban?"
A bombshell had been deployed, and the havoc it wreaked upon the young Malfoy's mind was reflected in his blue eyes. Speechless, he stepped back from the raven-haired Adonis and withdrew to the bed. Reality never hit him as hard as it did now, and this time he couldn't brush it off. Guilt began pressing upon Blaise; he could be blunt, and this time he worried he was too much so. But on the other hand, he was great at improvising situations. Looking at Draco with a newfound fondness, he went to sit beside him.
"It's not so terrible. I said love among Death Eaters is unprofessional and pointless. I never said that was my opinion or that it's impossible. Your father got this far without being killed. Sure he's been caught, but he always comes out."
"That's all good and well for Father's generation, but we're living in an era where the final plan is about to commence. What if it fails and the Death Eaters are disbanded permanently? Then the only thing to hope for is that we either share the same cell in Azkaban or that we're executed together."
"Now you're being pessimistic. Don't dwell on the future. All that matters is now, and right now—although you pulled a mean stunt to accomplish this—we're alone and undisturbed for at least an hour," Blaise hinted seductively, moving closer to Draco's body. "After all, this was your idea. Ron passed on the message; you remembered."
"The library, the summer after our second year. We were bored to death and looking for books to read—bloody books! We were certainly bored," Draco laughed.
"Then I found the green-backed book with poems and spells from 16th-century England in it. It looked interesting, so we read it, and then you found the poem," Blaise went on. "Under Tree and Shadow."
"Mmhmm. If ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed to create what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the fairies. There's more, but I forgot the rest…doesn't matter. We decided from there on to use those verses as our secret message. Even then we were trying to see each other when our fathers' backs were turned."
Blaise looked around. "Candles, huh? All of them lit. You were prepared."
For the umpteenth time, Draco's cheeks turned scarlet. Blaise sneaked an arm around his thin waist and pulled him down into the soft mattress in one quick move.
"Well, let's not waste the wax," he purred.
It never mattered to Draco how many times they went through the exciting routines of lovemaking; there was always the thrill of the initial move, almost always made by Blaise. Tonight started with the young alchemist's chiseled body pressing down on his, with fluttering kisses landing on his neck and lips. Trying to play hard-to-get, Draco squirmed and moved a little, but Blaise overpowered him quickly. The light kisses became more intense and entirely lip-focused as the pair tasted each other. Blaise's thin fingers ran over Draco's hair—something no one else was allowed to do—and Blaise's fingers did the same. The action quickly moved to tongues, once in a while someone's mouth opening to elicit a satisfied moan.
After a few minutes, Blaise got up to move both him and Draco towards the head of the bed. He let his lover's head rest on a pillow, but not before a brief, playful tangle with each other, ending with the both of them shirtless. This next stage of foreplay didn't last long; chests weren't very important. What was important was beneath it, yet it never stopped either of them from soaking in the natural warmth of each other's bodies. Blaise had an exceptionally refreshing aroma because of his bath.
In this moment before the heat of passion, Draco took a moment to think. It wouldn't be long before he and Blaise wouldn't have time to be in each other's arms. Was what Blaise said true? Was there actually a way to escape a bleak future of service to the Dark Lord?
"Drac."
The blonde turned to see Blaise's face less than an inch from his own, plastered with an expression of mystification.
"What?"
"I told you to stop being so sad. You're thinking about our futures, aren't you?"
"It's not like it's a crime," Draco snapped. "I have a lot to think about—wait, let me say that in a different way: we have a lot to think about. 'Now' won't be 'now' for very long. We can't act oblivious forever. I want to spend my life with you, not just a few moments in my teenage years where I have to hide from my father. We need to think of a plan."
"We'll think of a way. It'll take a while, but there just may be a loophole in this…"
…In the meantime, Ron was gasping for air inside the safety of his bedroom. His memory wasn't normally reliable, but he was able to discover two shortcuts to the east wing, barely cutting Lucius off at the pass. He looked disheveled and miserable, but he had to get it together. He did get to the room first, but it looked like it wouldn't do much use. Well, he had to try.
Exhausted, Ron dragged himself up onto the bed and lay flat on the bed, sweaty, miserable and out of breath. His blue eyes traced across the room as he heard the familiar click of the doorknob. Seconds later, the door opened, and a dark silhouette appeared on the threshold.
"Draco told me I'd find you here. I thought you'd remember your lesson from yesterday."
The older Malfoy strolled up to the bed and stopped when he saw that Ron was extremely tired. Now suspicion reigned through his mind.
"If you've been here all this time, why are you so tired that you can't stand? Try to," he commanded.
Ron lifted his head weakly. No thoughts were running through his mind at the time. Like a zombie, all he could do was listen and obey. Listlessly, he got up from the bed and attempted to stand on his feet. Remarkably, he was successful for a few seconds, and then he collapsed. Lucius's arms moved in fluid reflex, catching Ron's body at the right moment. A glint of sympathy showed and passed, burrowing itself into his heart. He took that time to reflect upon his rebellious son. Maybe Draco couldn't be controlled at the moment; life would be his harsh teacher. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to escape the Death Eater tradition. Natural force would drive him and the young Zabini apart.
His new philosophy regarding his son wasn't so much a change of heart as it was a change of priorities. His newfound concern would always and forever be this young Weasley. What was so interesting about Arthur's youngest son that it would occupy all his time?
Turning the other cheek on tonight's situation, Lucius let things be. All he cared about now was the redheaded young man sleeping in his arms. Obtaining a suitable grip on his shoulders and legs, he carried Ron back to his bedroom.
(End Chap. 10)
Me: IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME!
All 4: We agree!
Me: I know it didn't have as much action as I promised, but Draco and Blaise are more of a snuggly couple. (under her breath) Although Draco's something of a manwhore.
Draco: What'd you say!
Lucius: Well, Kim-chan has a point. You sleep with the first person you meet.
Draco: Well, if that was the case, Harry would be my lover in this fic and not Blaise!
Me: (hums suggestively) I smell a fic spoiler…anyway, thank you for waiting so patiently. Chapter Eleven may get kinda weird, and on a side note, Ron was first captured in the beginning of August, after all, so sooner or later Draco, Blaise, and Ron have to go shopping in Diagon Alley. Not in the next chapter, but sometime soon there's gonna be what I'll call the Stand-Off Chapter! There'll be twists, secrets, and surprises! And welcome my new muse, Lucius Malfoy! Take a bow!
Lucius: I prefer to stay sitting.
Me: Eh heh…