Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: Here we are at Chapter 19. Let us have it on the record that when it comes to writing about Hogwarts my writing deteriorates a little, so I apologize in advance. I only get real poetic whenever it's angst or romance.
Ron: And this may not be the best time to say so, but I'm currently concerned about the side effects of this fic.
Me: How so?
Ron: Well…in our Between-Chapter Break, Mr. Malfoy ran out and bought me a French maid's uniform. Feather duster, lacy silk panties and all.
Draco and Harry: LACY SILK PANTIES? Arrrghhh…indecent mental image!
Me: Disturbing as it is, but that'd be real awesome if someone did a fanart like that. Ron in a French maid's uniform…and Lucius somewhere nearby enjoying the view…heh heh. Anyway, one more Hogwarts-related chapter for the moment, then our twentieth chapter's gonna focus on what Narcissa's been up to and what she's about to do. In the meantime, I'm gonna figure out the kinks in my H/D plan. (thinks to myself) There has to be some way Draco can slip that stuff to him…and a way more original than putting it in a drink…
Lucius: (trying to find the receipt for his French maid outfit purchase) Let Chapter 19 commence. (clicks remote)
(Begin Chap. 19)
…Night fell upon the verdant Scottish countryside. A waning quarter moon had risen up from the horizon, casting a ghostly light upon the Hogwarts Express, which was nearing its annual destination of Hogsmeade Express. A distance beyond, the moon also caused the surface of the lake to shimmer and moreover outlined a forlorn silhouette of the great castle of Hogwarts School. However, the white glow was starting to become blurred by the onset of clouds in the last twenty minutes of the trip, and strong gales accompanied them as the train whistled and ground to a halt to let the passengers off. By the look of the scene, it seemed like every wizard and witch there were inexperienced first years. Students looked around fearfully and grasped their cloaks closer around their bodies.
Among them, an extremely annoyed pair of friends stepped out into the eerie chill. They had been attempting to follow Ron's every move since his latest disappearance. But yet again he succeeded at dodging them by coming out of another car. As frustrated as he was, he had probably already found a carriage in order to get away from them.
"Maybe we should just wait and let him come to us," Hermione resolved. "We both know he's stubborn as a pixie. He probably just needs some time."
"Yeah, but that was a little too odd for Ron, don't you think?" Harry pressed. "I just wish we could find out why he's going so damn raving mad. He might know something very important about the Death Eaters, and we're just left sitting here to take guesses!"
"I think he told us everything in relation to what he could say about You-Know-Who's latest plan. Mr. Malfoy wouldn't trust valuable information to someone like Ron. I'd say his problem is more a personal matter, but the more answers we get, the more questions we have. Did you see how rude he was when we asked about the shirt again?"
With much displeasure, Harry nodded. For a scarce fifteen seconds after he had pulled off the brave act of unbuttoning Ron's blouse to prove his point, he and Hermione had taken turns at bantering him with questions while simultaneously trying not to be too pushy (although it was silently agreed that Harry toed the line). Suddenly Ron had flared up, put the top button back in its rightful place, shouted at them that 'though they were friends, whatever happened at the Malfoy Manor was his own damn business' and stormed out of the compartment. Equally furious, Harry started to follow him, but Hermione had stopped him. She prescribed 'a few minutes' for him to calm down, but that had been over three hours ago.
Dispirited, Harry and Hermione started towards the carriages as the familiar, booming voice of Hagrid called the first years for the boat ride across the lake. Walking directly past him, Harry swore he heard the giant mutter under his breath, "…gonna need less boats.".
Suddenly, he looked over at the two and said, "Hey, Harry, Hermione. Whassamatter? I jus' seen Ron hurrying over to the carriages. Looked like a Puffskein turned an' went nasty on 'im. You wouldn't know if it has anythin' to do wit his kidnappin', would you?"
The two stopped cold in their tracks.
"You know?" Hermione asked, dismayed. No one outside the Order and Fudge, not even Hagrid, was supposed to have learned of the incident.
"Gotta see the firs' years to the boats, but to show you what I'm talkin' about—oh, hold on—"
He rummaged in the many pockets of his furry coat, once in a while taking out the usual dog biscuit and other oddities, until he finally pulled out two rumpled copies of the Daily Prophet and handed them to Harry.
"Don't know how, but tha' whole thing got all over the papers," Hagrid muttered, knowing all too well that this shouldn't have been a published matter. "Talk to me tomorrow at the hut if ya still haven't patched things up wit' Ron."
With a wave of his enormous hand, Hagrid set off towards the lakeside with the first years in tow. Taking care to clutch the newspapers tightly in the wind, Harry and Hermione hurried to find a carriage. The haunting sight of the inky-colored Thestrals didn't faze Harry anymore; they were as natural as regular horses pulling their fares. Besides, few things were scarier than a Weasley in a very bad mood.
It took a while of scanning before someone shouted out, "In here!"
Spotting Ginny gesturing to them, Hermione grasped Harry's arm and pulled him quickly toward the carriage holding her and Dean Thomas. A few moments after she closed the door, the carriages set off towards the castle.
…"Dad didn't tell me you were delivering. Why you?"
"Because Mother's gone all weepy and went on her knees in front of Voldemort, Father lost the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. He has it in his head that the Malfoys have lost their touch, and if the Dark Lord forsakes us entirely, we'll be no better off than Mudbloods. When I slip the Elixir to Potter and complete the final part of his plan, we can get ourselves out of this mess. On top of that I can get a certain problem off my back once and for all."
In another carriage somewhere behind Harry's and Hermione's, Draco and Blaise were holding another conversation. To be as realistic about this at possible, Crabbe and Goyle were also there, but Draco swore them to secrecy, and they were genuinely trying not to listen—a talent sharpened by three years of being the third and fourth wheels in this relationship. In addition, Blaise was doing most of the talking.
In a quieter, more rueful tone he added, "He will pay for making my family miserable…for making me miserable."
"Yeah, yeah, and our family'll be paid a pretty Galleon," said Blaise caustically, "but I have some problems with you going through with this."
Draco huffed and placed the necklace back inside his shirt. "What are you worrying about now? And what other choice did I have? You rather I'd have said 'no' to the Dark Lord?"
"I'm not saying that. It's all very well that this is just my father and Voldemort's fault as anyone else's if you succeed. But you know that if there's an inquiry if they figure out what's going on, they always go after the carrier first. It makes it especially worse since you'll be seventeen in November."
Draco shrugged it off, only succeeding in making Blaise angrier.
"I'm pretty sure you're way more worried than that. You're not even at all concerned about leaving your stupid vendetta against Potter unfinished?"
"What do you mean 'unfinished'? And this was never a vendetta. He hates me; I hate him. It's that simple."
"Why do you hate him?" Blaise asked pointedly.
"I told you—because he preferred Weasley over me," Draco said in exasperation. "What moron out of his right mind would've chosen me over him? Not only that, but now Weasley's seducing my father! Does he always have to ruin my life?"
"That proves my point," the dark-haired boy said coolly. "You're not mad at Potter; you're mad at Weasley for taking away Potter, and mad at him for going with it. Look, if you went out with me because I looked like him, the least you can do is make it less painful on me."
Draco paused, for once realizing the idiocy of his ways. No, he didn't want to make things harder on Blaise. He might've been an emotional cushion, but he still had feelings for him. However, it sharply contradicted with his usual routine of trying to vie for being right. After five years, he couldn't just go and beg for Potter's friendship, especially if Weasley was only going to make it hard. And there was Voldemort to consider. That was the first time he met the Dark Lord face to face, and that was the only time he had to. His transient words and sharp tone said everything. If Draco proved failure, he would suffer a torturing death at his hands—not only him, but possibly his entire family, and although he practiced a little Occlumency, Voldemort was still one of the (if not the) best Legilimens the wizarding world had seen. He didn't want to admit it, but he was in a serious crisis.
He frowned darkly and turned away from his ex-boyfriend, allowing an awkward silence to fall into the carriage. Suddenly, Crabbe spoke.
"You're not gonna go through with it, Malfoy?"
Draco gave him a long, smoldering look just as Blaise perked up to hear his answer. But his mournful voice absolutely did not match his facial expression.
"Look, this was Voldemort's orders, so listen well, all of you. I don't have any other choice. Potter must die by Christmas, and he also gave me permission to take care of anyone who gets in my way. That includes you," he said coldly, shooting daggers at Blaise. A look of shock finally achieved in taking over his face, and he fell back and crossed his arms, returning the ice.
"Fine."
"All right. Then I have one more favor to ask. How can I slip the Malefecium to him?"
"No."
"Wha—?"
"I'm not helping with this. At all. If you want to put yourself out on a limb, that's on you. I may be biased since I'm an alchemist under protection, but believe me, you'll regret this."
Then Draco leaned back and crossed his arms, extremely close to tears. "And if you want to undermine Voldemort's authority and see me killed, that's your business. It's either Potter or me. Which one do you want to see end up as another casuality?"
And Blaise was silent for the rest of the ride.
…The Great Hall was alight with the custom floating candles, filled with students both young and old. At the Head Table were the usual teachers…well, with one exception…
After the small group of first years were Sorted (an even match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. There were only three new Slytherins and two new Hufflepuffs), Dumbledore stood up and rapped his wand against a glass, catching everyone's attention. Somewhere in the middle of the Gryffindor Table, Harry and Hermione noticed that half the teachers, including Snape, were glancing in Ron's direction (Ron sitting way at the back).
"Welcome, students, to a new year at Hogwarts. I expect that both personal experience over your summer holiday and the Sorting Hat's song has given you insight into these current times. As you know, dark forces have set the stage for open warfare in the wizarding community. As much as I would enjoy saying affairs at Hogwarts School will resume as normal, I cannot fully guarantee this. However, I can say that the entire staff, in conjunction with the Ministry of Magic, has worked hard to ensure the safety of our students this year."
He went on to describe these taken measures, which included a small Auror task force sent by the Ministry to keep an eye on things. Then he swept a welcoming hand to a certain chair at the table—the chair usually occupied by the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of the year.
"Wait a minute!" Hermione nearly shouted.
"…However, the year also brings good news, as we've found a highly qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who expressed particular interest in taking up the post for as long as she'd like. Being also talented in soothsaying, she will take teaching shifts in Divination class with Professor Trelawney. Please welcome Professor Mills."
A redhaired woman in a black cloak with the sparkling amethyst brooch stood up and bowed politely as the students clapped reluctantly, not sure of whether she would really stay for more than a year. It was apparent, though, that the male students were very grateful to have an attractive teacher for once.
"Thank you for the welcome, Professor Dumbledore. I know some of you are hungry, so I'll be brief. (At this point, the students looked at her in amazed disbelief.) Like Professor Umbridge before me, I too, come from the Ministry—Head of the Department of Magical and Muggle Crises. From what I heard, her teaching career pretty much ended up in disaster."
Her bright, mocking smile at the end of that sentence caused some students to burst out giggling—an adult was sympathizing with them! Even McGonagall tried to hide a complacent grin.
"I'm aware that the class's name is Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'll be introducing you to more than that. It's not only the Dark Arts we should be worried about; it's your own fears and anxieties. Everything begins from there. It's okay if you've been scared since You-Know-Who came back, but if you're afraid, that's when they get you. Your true 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' is your own courage, and if I mess up anything else this year, let me at least accomplish that. I look forward to teaching all of you."
Short speech it was, but it brought about an impressive round of applause.
"Finally, a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher worth respecting…next to Lupin, of course," Hermione remarked. Harry nodded in true agreement, but he couldn't help but take short glances at their best friend—if he was their best friend anymore. He was sitting by Seamus Finnegan and Colin Creevey, two of the chattiest boys in Gryffindor, and Harry was sure Colin read the newspapers. But it looked like they weren't getting anything from him either. (To be slightly off-topic, Dean and Seamus had been rather distant since last year.)
…Later that night, the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was strangely quiet. Harry was putting on his pajamas, Seamus and Neville were in the bathroom, Dean was rustling in his trunk for something, and Ron was already in the bed, curtains fully drawn.
Neville then came out of the bathroom, followed closely by Seamus. The latter crossed the room slowly and stopped short at the foot of Harry's bed. The raven-haired boy was starting to pull off his glasses, but put them on again at the blurry sight of the sandy-haired one.
"Um…sorry, Harry."
" 'Bout what?"
"Last year. You were right, and this whole summer our family's been worrying. I mean, we live way out in a village in southeastern Ireland but there's Death Eaters around there too. So, a truce, mate?"
Harry thought about it, then smiled. "Yeah. In fact, I wanted to say sorry about attacking your mom like that. I was just frustrated after all the crap I went through. Nobody likes to be called a liar, especially if it's about something this serious."
Seamus sighed loudly and theatrically, collapsing on Harry's bed. "I understand. Then it's settled. Finally! I wanted that awkwardness to get out of the way, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to ask what the hell's going on with Ron. I guessed you noticed he was sitting next to me and Colin; he was being a damn dragon. Colin deserved what he got, though. He's bloody relentless. Is Ron all right?"
"You-Know-Who's return didn't break your habit of nosing around, I see," Dean pointed out cynically, shutting the top on his trunk. Seamus sat up and glared at him, then Dean's expression softened.
"I'm kidding around. Honestly, I'm more frightened about what's going on than you are," he said. "Both my parents are Muggles, and we live south of Leeds. There's been some attacks near us already."
"My family's acting way different," Neville piped up. "Ever since I went with Harry to the Ministry, my grandmother's been treating me like a hero. She's even saying that she wouldn't be worried if the Death Eaters came after us because I'd save us! I wanted recognition, but that's too much responsibility! And I'm still nowhere near as good in Defense Against the Dark Arts like Harry is."
"That's kinda being overconfident, isn't it?" Seamus commented. Neville nodded, sighing sadly.
"Is everyone's family following those Ministry procedures they got by owl?" Harry asked out of curiosity. This summer he had received a violet pamphlet giving bits of advice on how wizards and witches should be guarding themselves against the recent terror.
"Yeah. Asking a relative or close friend something personal only they'd know. Sounded like a good idea to us. As soon as we got it, Mum practically forced us to make up safety questions—and you know what? We should have safety questions between us too, just in case."
"Who'd wanna come after us?" Dean asked skeptically.
"I mean someone could disguise themselves as one of us and go after Harry," Seamus shot back, pointing at the bespectacled boy for full dramatic effect.
"Well, I'm for it," Neville said immediately.
"Me too," agreed Harry. "Who wants to go first?"
"I will," Dean volunteered. "The question you all should ask me is 'Where's my birthmark and what's its shape?'. The answer: on the right side of my lower back, and it looks like a melted snowflake."
Everyone consented on it, and Seamus went next. "The question to ask me will be what I'd like my hair color to be. The answer is blonde."
The dormitory erupted in laughter. "Not platinum blonde like Malfoy, I hope!" Harry crowed.
Seamus shuddered. "Hell no. I'd rather it be a nice strawberry blonde. It'd go well with my eyes. Remember that."
"Okay," Neville said reluctantly. "Grandmother helped me with this question. Everyone knows my greatest wish is to be a respected botanist, but I'd especially like to study the magical botany of which country?"
"Good one," Seamus complemented. "What's the answer?"
"China," Neville said. "A lot of the books I read says there's still a whole lot about Chinese Herbology the wizarding world doesn't know yet. Your turn, Harry."
"Hm. There's a lot of personal things about me that hasn't already been made public," Harry noted with biting sarcasm.
"Then how about this? Your question could be how you met your best friends—you know, Ron and Hermione. No one can force that out of you," suggested Seamus.
"That sounds good. Let's see…I met Ron on the train in our first year at Hogwarts. There weren't any seats left, so he came into my compartment. That's also when we first met Hermione…she was helping you look for Trevor, wasn't she, Neville? But we didn't become friends until after we rescued her from the troll on Halloween."
"A lot of detail. That should be enough to catch a fake Harry. Hopefully I'll remember what you said," Dean said complacently, lying back on his own bed. Suddenly, a weird quiet fell over them. Everyone was looking at Ron's bed as if expecting for him to offer his safety question, although everyone knew he was in no mood to do so. He hadn't yet made a peep, nor made any move to participate in their activities. Always being the daring one, Seamus got off of Harry's bed and tiptoed to the curtain. He made a slight crack in the fabric and peeked in.
"Light's too low. I can't tell if he's asleep or just being a bastard again."
"Seamus!"
"Well, he is! He took the carriage with me and Dennis from the train and didn't talk then, either. I know he was kidnapped and all, but he doesn't have to take it out on us!" he huffed, taking his hand away from the curtain and walking over to the bed between Neville's and Dean's. Harry took off his glasses and began settling himself in.
"I hate to say it, but Seamus is right. With any luck, he'll feel better tomorrow. With our O.W.L results, we get a couple of breaks between classes."
"Bloody hell, I only get one," Dean mumbled, putting out the candle nearest him. Eventually Harry, Seamus, and Neville followed suit, going to sleep feeling a little more secure.
(End Chap. 19)
Me: Kind of a feel-good chapter, isn't it?
Draco: A bit too mushy for me. You sure nothing homoerotic goes on in Gryffindor House?
Harry: It's a common room, not "Underage Wizards Gone Wild".
Plushie (who somehow got ahold of a camcorder, and who's somehow holding it): "What a great idea! Now, Harry, I need you to pin Draco to the wall and wrap your thigh around his leg, but no groping until you two get your shirts off. Then we'll go for the money shot."
Me: I don't even wanna know what a 'money shot' is.
Lucius: It's a specially provocative scene filmed in a porn movie that real perverts would "pay money" to see, thus the 'money shot'.
Me: Didn't I say I didn't wanna know? And I especially don't wanna know how you knew! Until Chapter 20, everyone. (sigh) I need Advil…