Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: WOW. (peeks at the gray text under the story summary which says "Updated: ---") Has it really been that long? You must understand I'm a high school senior, and that will probably be the busiest year of your life—or was the busiest. Anyway, Chapter 32 was a little shorter and less gruesome than I promised myself it would be, but I hope the upcoming B/R passion will make up for that and my blatant absence. I just haven't been feeling inspired lately. (that is, unless you actually liked it and/or forgive me, in which case I simply hope you like the upcoming B/R passion.) Fortunately all my muses are back in business.
Harry: Well, except for Plushie—
(All of a sudden a plane flies over the theater. The escape hatch drops down and a wooden crate comes down and crashes through the ceiling, landing right in front of us. On it is marked "UNCURABLE" in big black letters.)
Plushie: (pops out of the box) Whoo, what a rush! What time izzit? Oh, hi Doc! Speaking of which, I didn't exactly get cured, but I found a way to maintain it. Whenever I drink, my cotton absorbs it. So whenever I drink too much, all you have to do is renew my stuffing. Did I miss much?
Me: Not really, but let me just say this, which I should have said earlier. Now that the Fear Chapters are over, there's not much to do now except for twiddle your thumbs and wait for Ron to hop back on Luci's back. Think: we're in mid-October. They said December. All that stands in our way is November.
All: YAY!
Me: Yay indeed, so let's get down to business. I'll look up a contractor to fix that hole in the meantime. In honor of your somewhat-successful recovery, Plushie, would you like to push the button?
Plushie: (grabs remote, is almost crushed by it, then gets up again) Rolling! (click)
(Begin Chap. 33)
…October fifteenth.
On this chilly early afternoon, the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were sitting in Professor Mills' class like any other day. She had said that after the Pensieve test, they would be going more into detail about nonverbal spells and predicting the enemy's moves, therefore getting the upper hand in magical conflicts. Today had been strictly bookwork, but no one was complaining. It was a welcome change from the past couple of weeks. It seemed that everything, more or less, had reverted back to normal.
As the weak sunlight filtered through the streaked windows, Professor Mills got up from behind her desk and walked to the center of the room with a face they thought only McGonagall could pull off, signaling for the students to close their books.
"All right everyone. Sorry to cut work short, but I'd like to use these last five minutes of class to discuss the results of the Pensieve test," she announced. "Unfortunately I only had two students from fifth year and above pass, and they're sitting in this room right now: Ronald Weasley and Blaise Zabini."
Blaise looked completely unfeeling as Draco glared at him disbelievingly, but everyone was gawking at a blushing Ron, including Harry. (He had told Hermione but not him.)
"However, I hope you took something from this, the least of which is that reality is far scarier than fiction—I've said it once and now I've said it again," Mills said firmly. "When you take the retest at the end of the year, I guarantee you'll be better prepared. I confess you were at a disadvantage this time, but nothing prepares you quite like the unexpected. Now, let's go over the written exam. Since we haven't been able to cover many topics in these past two months, it'll simply be an eight-inch essay detailing your experience in the Pensieve and how you hope to handle it at the end of the year. Let's see…next Tuesday should suffice. That way it won't interfere with the Quidditch match that following Wednesday. Looks like Ravenclaw versus Slytherin."
Everyone was astounded, especially the players in the class. The captains hadn't scheduled any matches yet, so no official date had been declared.
"One final note: the people who passed aren't required to check in on Tuesday. Oh, and leave your finished work on your desks so I can collect them. Class dismissed."
I think I know what you're thinking at this point. Isn't this another "convenient" mishap, that Blaise should so happen to pass the test along with Ron; a plot device written simply to alleviate the author's dilemma, one might say. In all truth—even though that might well be the case—think about it a little more. Aside from Harry, Blaise had no other reason why he could not have passed the trial. I believe you already know why Harry failed.
And what was Blaise's own fear, you ask?
It would sound a little ludicrous even if I told you, but if you must know, Blaise's greatest fear was seeing Draco's feelings being crushed into nothing by Harry Potter, in worst-case-scenario, even leading to suicide. It had been horrible to see. The dormitory was dark...of course, it was Slytherin's after all, but there had been a terrible shade to it, a menacing kind of darkness. When he had seen the lumpy shadow lying in Draco's bed and pulled back the curtains out of curiosity, he literally jumped back in fright. The knife swiped from the kitchens, the blood complementing the silver beautifully. His robes had been messy; green blended with red, ironically seeming Christmas-like. What made him feel particularly guilty was that he hadn't been there to prevent it, just like Seamus.
The solution provided? Justified revenge.
He didn't have anything against Harry either, but it had been a necessary evil. Blaise had never thought of Draco as a boyfriend; he had been someone for him to protect until the day he grew a spine and admitted his true feelings. And until Harry accepted, Blaise still held himself to that responsibility. It was disheartening, yes, but Blaise never let it bother him that much. There had been one problem, though, and he had addressed it to Professor Mills, who mysteriously agreed wholeheartedly.
The problem was that Harry shouldn't have been the only one to blame.
The whole experience had certainly been an eye-opener. He long since decided that he would never be able to convince Draco with words alone. Blaise decided to act upon his emotions instead. It was cruel to do, but cruelty was as cruelty did. It didn't go without saying that Draco had done some terrible things in his time; only this let Blaise feel no regrets. The point wasn't to make him miserable, anyway. If at all, he wanted the stubborn blonde to realize that he would be much happier with Potter.
And what would be better to arouse his jealousy than to woo the person he hated most? If Ron decided to choose him instead of Lucius, it would be welcomed without any complaint whatsoever. But if Ron wanted to go to Lucius after all, somehow that would be even better. The only thing that could go wrong was if Draco started developing real feelings for Blaise instead. And who knew how long it would be before the Malefecium Elixir started setting in? He could get Ron away from him at the same time.
In an odd twist of fate, Professor Mills gave the perfect opportunity.
…October twenty-first.
One would have hardly believed that just a week ago the students of Hogwarts had been wrestling with their inner demons. Today, everyone lost themselves in a haze of excitement and house pride as it was the day of the season's first game. Yes, it fell on a Wednesday.
Among the enchanted crowd, Ron had been up in the stands along with Hermione and Harry, watching Slytherin attempting to beat the crap out of the blue-cloaked Chasers, cheering for Ravenclaw with all their strength. Personally, Ron had been keeping his eye on Blaise. Even though the Slytherin team was a bunch of dirty cheaters, nobody could deny the finesse of Zabini. He never had to cheat and he never wanted to. Still, even at the climax of the game, when Lee Jordan gabbed on excitedly about Cho Chang having the Snitch in sight mere seconds before Zabini and that it had "taken all her strength but it still hadn't been enough to beat the Slytherins to the punch"…even as every Slytherin cheered and hollered out Blaise's name…there was something about him that had defeated all that…
It was only a matter of time now.
The pact to meet today had taken place the day before, as the rest of their class had been busy making up for the Pensieve test. They had parted their separate ways for most of the day, but at one point they happened to meet on the fifth floor…
"Hey, Ron."
"Um…hi."
"Hmm…guess Professor Mills was right."
"Huh?"
"The first game of the season. Professor Mills predicted it. The Ravenclaw captain said we couldn't have it no later than that, and Hufflepuff's slated to play against Gryffindor in order to qualify," Blaise explained. "No offense, but they don't have half the aggression to play Quidditch in the first place…"
All through this conversation Ron could only nod understandably, giving a laugh or two to anything clever he said. Although he was the Gryffindor Keeper, he only knew half the stuff Blaise was talking about. It was a bit sad, but he only played Quidditch as a hobby…and to keep close to Harry…
"So, are you coming to watch me play?"
Caught off-guard, Ron's head snapped up to look into Blaise's gray eyes.
"You are coming, right?"
Ron nodded quickly and Blaise smiled warmly. Unfortunately, Ron thought that was all he was going to do. Before he could step back in reflex, Blaise leaned in and gently touched his cheek with his moist lips before whispering into his ear, "May not be something a Gryffindor should do, but if it's not too much trouble, cheer for me, won't you?"
He leaned back for a minute to admire the crimson blush on the redhead's cheeks, and then walked away confidently. Then he stopped.
"Oh. I think you were also wondering about how Draco is taking all this drama that's been going on lately," Blaise added. "If you want anything from me, meet me by the locker rooms after the game tomorrow."
…As usual, Ron didn't know what he was doing.
It had taken him ages just to shake off Hermione, and then he had to backtrack to the locker rooms at the far side of the castle. The Slytherin team had long since changed and left. There was no one here as far as he could see. Confused, he walked around the gathering of fortified shacks and peeked into one of the small square windows. Through the dirty streaks of dried steam, he could make out the row of showers, a couple of storage cabinets. However, he didn't see any figures moving about.
He started to get annoyed. Blaise could perhaps be the nicest individual he had ever met—and to some degree it was true—but he was still chosen to be a Slytherin. This was either a grave mistake or a cruel trick. Not even catching himself, he was hoping with just about all his strength that it was the former.
"You here?"
Ron gasped inaudibly and turned around to see Blaise, still in his Quidditch uniform.
"Sorry for the wait. Had to take care of something first. But we can't talk here."
With that, Blaise rummaged around in his cloak and pulled out a small key, putting it into the door. Before Ron could ask the question, he gave the answer.
"Any player—especially the star player, and most of all the team captain—gets the key just by asking. An unwritten rule," Blaise commented. He opened the door, turned, and beckoned the redhead inside. This was different. This would be his first step inside another team's locker room…Slytherin's, at that. As he walked inside, he had an odd feeling deep in his stomach. Somehow he knew this wouldn't end well.
And as we should know by now, Ron tended to be right, even when he didn't want to.
Blaise closed the door behind him, looked around for a minute to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and sat down on one of the benches.
"Well, as you know, everyone and their owl were there when Draco tried to ruin your reputation."
"That's a nice way to put it," Ron snapped.
"There's no other way to put it. I guess you were lucky Mr. Malfoy sent that Howler, huh?"
The cynical way he put that last sentence forced Ron to ask him what else he knew.
"I'm saying it was too much of a coincidence. I know you like Mr. Malfoy and all, but tattling to him won't solve anything. I know you can stand up to Draco without his father's help...in fact, that's something I would more expect from him. I've seen you beat him before...many times before." He shrugged, one edge of his lip tucked into a corner to make a sly smirk. "I guess you really love Draco's father. Otherwise you would have called Draco out," continued Blaise.
"I don't—!"
"And don't try to deny it. I lived in the Malfoy Manor for most of the summer," Blaise said sharply. "Mr. Malfoy may've been going at it the wrong way, but I'm pretty sure you can see the love underneath. As much as I despise him, I know he tried to break us up only to protect Draco. To be honest, I was secretly glad."
Now this was a surprise to him. "Why?"
"Draco only went out with me because he was too scared to admit his feelings for someone else."
Now was the time. It was here or nowhere else.
At this point he stood up and walked ever so slowly towards Ron. The redhead started to break out in a cold sweat. When he came to within an inch of Ron, Blaise reached up and touched his chin…just like he did the first time. Ron knew all along where this was going,...and yet…he couldn't find the willpower to back away. Did he even want to? This was probably the most handsome Slytherin next to Malfoy himself—and that was saying a hell of a lot.
But what—
"And now that I don't have to baby-sit him anymore, I can get the one I want."
But what about—
His thoughts were silenced by a sweet and mellow taste invading his mouth. Ron stood there for a while with his eyes open, still shocked at what was happening, but eventually his vision of the Slytherin's face gave way to darkness. Shortly after, he felt a pair of hands held his face gently in place. A voice in the back of his mind was trying its hardest to remind him that something about all this was wrong. He couldn't figure out the reasons why…something about a guy named Draco…whatever. He couldn't be bothered with this guilt now. A mysterious force was leading him somewhere…
For a split second, Ron pulled away from Blaise's kiss and stared around in panic as he felt the sensation of tumbling down. No...the dark-haired boy was only allowing him to lay flat on the back upon the wooden bench. Blaise broke the kiss a second time as he tried to find a comfortable position. He wanted to lie just below his abdomen so he wouldn't crush him. Ever so slowly, Blaise covered Ron's body, nearly every contour fitting within each other; this alone probably raised the cabin temperature by a couple of degrees.
At this point Blaise was done warming his cheeks; his hands now wanted to explore the redhead's body. Apparently Blaise had perfected this into an art form in itself—he used the tips of his fingers to trace each line, once in a while pushing a finger or two deeper into the softer areas, eliciting a series of content moans. Ron wasn't exactly aware of this, but his body was writhing slightly, the feeling of want was too strong. Yes, this may have been his own entire plan, but Blaise was becoming impatient as well.
At the same time, the young alchemist smiled to himself wryly. Everything was going along to plan almost too perfectly. Just a matter of natural jealousy. If this didn't force Draco to admit the truth to himself, nothing short of death would.
Which reminded him, didn't he tell Draco to meet him here five minutes ago?
(End Chap. 33)
Draco: Damn you, Blaise Zabini! Stop playing with my emotions!
Ron: Isn't anybody else concerned that I'm getting a heck of a lot of play in this fic?
Lucius: I do hope you're going to pry that little alchemist hussy off my lover soon. (death glare at me)
Me: Uh…don't worry! All that and more will be revealed soon in the next chapter!