Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: (checks a random calendar hanging on a random wall in the B&DD Theater) Hey guys! Has it really been two months since I've updated?
All 5: (nod solemnly)
Me: And did we not also promise that we wouldn't do prolonged pauses between chapter updates anymore ever since the horrid delay in bringing them Chapter Thirty-Five?
All 5: (nod solemnly again)
Me: Then we're really bad at making promises. Looks like I'll have to prostrate myself in front of my faithful viewers YET AGAIN because of lack of inspiration.
Plushie: The Good Doc had no idea where to pick up from the last chapter, and so we've spent two months trying to figure out how to further please our readers…or getting drunk. Tomayto, tomahto.
Ron: We'd like to give two shoutouts today. The first is to Piddlin (I think that's how it's spelled) for adding the story "Black and Deep Desires" to the C2 Archive "Notable Harry Potter Slash". It's a great honor! The second is to the Good Doc herself, because…(even MORE mysterious confetti and streamers drops down)…it's her birthday on August ninth!
Lucius: How old?
Me (with a party hat on): Old enough to drink and just barely get away with it! Anyway, let bygones be bygones and enjoy this new chapter. Rolling! (clicks remote)
(Begin Chap. 36)
…My worst fear…will it really come true? Ron's been acting way too suspicious lately, and Hermione isn't doing much either. The attack on her a few weeks ago, Draco's Howler, Mrs. Malfoy's death, Ron hanging around with Slytherins…that letter from Mr. Malfoy…and how in hell did he pass his Defense Against the Dark Arts test? I didn't think he could pass anything like that, especially after what Professor Mills said. What in the world's going on?
Harry glared at the parchment in front of him, tapping the tip of his dry feather pen onto the table. It had been dry of ink for quite a few minutes now. He was sitting at a low oak table in the common room attempting to finish a Transfiguration essay Professor McGonagall had assigned just this morning. Were it not NEWT-level work, he would have been able to dedicate a little more time to his restless thoughts, among them another Quidditch practice he had scheduled for this afternoon. Yet another game against Slytherin was lurking around the corner and it didn't do any good to be any more frustrated; might as well take advantage of the breaks.
There were others in the common room, but not too many…mostly underclassmen. Hermione wasn't among them. Her O.W.L results and her ensuing choice in class schedule didn't allow for breaks. Most likely she went to her favorite study area—the library.
All the sunlight that could possibly fit through the narrow windows in the common room was doing so. Despite it being the week before Halloween, it was the kind of day no student should have been spending inside. But a desperate want of freedom wasn't what was bothering him.
He hadn't seen much of Ron today; not since last night, anyway. He had entered the dormitory later than usual, depressed as hell—again. Actually listening to his better judgments this time, Harry decided to let him fall straight to sleep. Ironically, Harry couldn't. At all.
Leaning back in the chair, he glanced toward the windows with apathy. It was a Thursday afternoon, almost going on four. The rhythm of the day was about to change from mind-numbing Transfiguration to the always-unpredictable Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Mills had long since moved the class to learning non-verbal spells, as well as a few unorthodox jinxes. She promised they would begin Occlumency after Christmas holiday, and to quote her, "Occlumency isn't going to be a dance with the fairies. Learning the basics of the craft will be harder on your minds and bodies than any load of homework Professor McGonagall can give you." A faint smile crept onto the raven-haired boy's lips. While revolutionary in her thinking, Professor Mills was exactly the person Harry had envisioned teaching NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts.
She was someone he could follow, someone he could trust…right?
…"Mr. Potter."
Harry drowsily raised his head. Murmurs and giggling buzzed in his ears. Blurred at first, he adjusted his crooked glasses, and a view of Professor Mills' cloak materialized before him. She had her back to him, but she and everyone else knew he had been sleeping.
"I see getting rest at night isn't your forte. All this worrying's going to be the death of you if Voldemort doesn't get to you first," she advised. "However, I must ask that you pay attention." She paused, allowing some students to shudder. Unlike the other teachers Professor Mills wasn't afraid to say the Dark Lord's name; she insisted on doing so for obvious reasons.
Harry vigorously rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger and looked down at the open textbook he was laying on. The smallest of wet spots had smeared an ink line on a diagram…only then did he snap to attention and fully realize what he had done. He had been sleeping! In Defense Against the Dark Arts class! He turned to his left and saw Hermione stare at him with her too-often motherly concern. Ron gave him a fleeting glance of surprise. He glared in the direction of the loudest snigger and wasn't at all surprised to find out it was Malfoy. A second later Professor Mills joined him in his glaring.
"And if it isn't the expert on skipping my class. I suppose you believe sleeping is less forgivable than being in two comas in one month."
Again she was able to shut Draco up, and the class continued with their lesson. Harry squirmed a little from embarrassment in his seat and glued his eyes to the book, ignoring any feelings of tiredness. He firmly assured himself he wouldn't drop off again…
Twenty minutes later, Professor Mills sternly tapped him on the forehead with her wand, and he jumped up again, nearly dropping his textbook.
"Mr. Potter, you have fifteen minutes left. I think you can hold out until then."
Harry blushed and straightened his posture as best as he could, only to slouch again three minutes later. Those mere fifteen minutes seemed to crawl across the continuum of time and space, tormenting and enticing him to doze off a third time. Luckily he didn't give in so easily this time. By the time Professor Mills called an end to the class, Harry's eyelids were raw from resisting sleep. Unfortunately, even she couldn't let him off that easily. When over half of the class emptied out of the class, she called him to her desk. Hermione had a wary look on her face, as if it was apparent he was going to get it. Professor Mills was nice, but not that nice.
When the room was completely silent, Harry reluctantly stood in front of her desk. The stark-black Pensieve was still sitting in a corner of her desk, the pearly liquid continually swirling. Yet again, she didn't say anything right away, but what she did after that moment of silence was even more unexpected.
She stood up and said, "Would you like some tea, Potter?"
Harry blinked. "Huh?"
"Would. You. Like. Some. Tea?" Mills repeated deliberately.
"Er…yes."
Smiling, she beckoned him into her office, which was in the same place the office had always been—up a spiral staircase. However, the inside looked radically different. Incense sticks stood in different-shaped glass jars all over the room. An amethyst-colored crystal ball rested on an ornate, silver stand in the corner, the bookshelves filled with all different kinds of books, their subjects ranging from palmistry to the most heinous enchantments in the realm of the Dark Arts. Everything down to the bed sheets was either purple, dark blue, forest green, or black. On the low wooden nightstand were two identical cups of tea. Mills walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, summoning a chair from across the room with a swing of her wand. Harry sat down and immediately yawned.
"If this tea doesn't wake you up, nothing will. It's a mixture of my own: ginseng, three squeezes of strawberry, three squeezes of orange, and three lumps of sugar. Intervals of three are a very powerful thing—you should know that from Numerology," she said, handing him one of the cups.
"What do you call it?" Harry asked.
"I don't really have a name for it…anyway, you probably think I'm more insane than you already do, offering you tea instead of punishing you for sleeping during lessons, but I'm sure you already know that I know what you're concerned about, and I can easily sympathize," she said.
"Ron."
Mills nodded.
"If all this is going to affect you to the point where you're sleeping in the one class that determines your success as an Auror—"
"It wasn't just here," Harry admitted. "Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape chewed me out."
"I see Severus was his usual charming self," she muttered, her gaze directed towards a fading red blemish on his scarred forehead. When Professor Snape caught Harry snoring softly over his pewter cauldron this morning, he didn't just tap him with his wand—he smacked his head on the desk. This incidentally caused his uncompleted potion to spill all over the stone floor. Harry was then harshly ordered to stay after, clean the floors dry, and do his potion over again. Draco's cheeks matched the bruise on his forehead by the time Potions was over. Harry winced at the fresh memory and put a hand to his scar.
"As I was saying, if you can't even get any sleep, then perhaps it's finally time to divulge some secrets and clear the air. If Mr. Weasley thinks he can handle this situation on his own, I can't protect him any longer."
"Thanks, Professor Mills, but wouldn't it be better if I found out on my own? This seems so—"
"Underhanded? Backstabbing? A total disregard towards my students' privacy?"
Silence.
"Let me pose another possibility. Let's assume your suspicions about Ron are right. What will you do then?"
More silence, and every now and again one of them took a sip of tea. He could clearly replay a predicted scene of his fury and anguish if everything turned out to be true, but he wouldn't know what to do afterwards. It was a wretched thing for the wizarding world's savior to admit, but every one of his encounters with dangers was improvised unless you counted the Triwizard Tournament…
"Besides, this can't be any more underhanded than when you took his letter."
Harry raised an eyebrow, and Professor Mills raised another one. Then he sighed in defeat.
"For just one second forget that we're student and teacher," she continued. "You might not have wanted to say anything out loud, but I can assure that you're correct. I am in fact working undercover for the Order. All the events the newspapers and you and Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy have linked to Ron—Mrs. Malfoy's murder, the Malefecium Elixir, that letter—was mostly, if not all, coincidental. He was simply into the wrong place at the wrong time…or right time, whichever way one is looking at it. Some of these things Alastor didn't want me telling you, but the Chosen One not knowing a lick about what his friends are up to isn't helping either."
"Professor Mills? What does Draco have to do with this?"
Mills waved her hand, dismissing the question. "First let's start from the beginning."
Harry nodded.
"Remember that it wasn't Ron's plan to associate with Lucius in the first place. Lucius was the one who took him hostage. As Ron said, they had agreed on using him for temporary payment until the affairs with Callisto Zabini were settled. Now here's Horrible Coincidence Number One: just before Ron arrived at their home, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy decided to separate. The divorce wasn't legalized yet, and right up to Mrs. Malfoy's death it had yet to be. Horrible Coincidence Number Two: after Ron returns home and back to Hogwarts—in a foul mood, one might add—Mrs. Malfoy ends up murdered at the hands of Voldemort. What makes these all horrible coincidences? More coincidences."
Professor Mills paused again so that Harry could sink this in, and so she could decide what to say next.
"Do you remember what Ron's letter said?" she asked.
"Not off the top of my head, but I definitely got the feeling that there's something personal between him and Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied quietly.
"It was almost like fate, really," she suddenly declared. "They're two souls both searching for something to latch onto. Ron was looking for a way he could contribute to the effort to the war against Voldemort and for someone to simply notice that he was willing to give something. Certainly that would be a feat to accomplish, considering the company he keeps. Lucius, just losing his wife and being demoralized in the eyes of the public, was forced to question his purpose, as well as his reasons for his decisions. In the end, they were all futile, his marriage included. Each of them figured they could use the other for their own ends, and it worked…probably a little too well."
"What do you mean?"
"You tell me. The answers were always lying before your questions, just never willingly given by Weasley. Why the letters? Why the undone button on the tops of his shirts?"
She can dig that deep into the past?
"I can go as far back as the Burning Times if I wanted to. The fact of the matter, Harry, is that Lucius has become quite taken with your friend—and the feeling is mutual."
After she said that, Professor Mills knew Harry wouldn't have been more shocked if someone had come up to him and told him his parents were still alive and in hiding somewhere. Just about dropping his teacup, the green-eyed boy set it aside on the nightstand and shook his head in disbelief.
"Wha…I mean—how could…why?"
"Before you fly off the handle, Potter, keep two things in mind. You don't think Ron had his own doubts? The attraction was purely accidental…"
Abruptly she faltered. This was something even she wasn't sure of, but on that day, when she had called Ron, Harry, and Draco up to her desk before the Pensieve trials, as Ron tried to block her, she inadvertently broke through and uncovered one hell of a nightmarish memory…
"…Ron didn't mean for it to happen," she whispered to herself. Then she had to shake herself out of her senses.
"On the other side, the deteriorating relationship, or lack thereof, with Mrs. Malfoy opened up Lucius's eyes. He was once human, you know. He was once a Hogwarts student. He once had dreams and desires and urges like the rest of you kids. For purebloods and the devout followers of Voldemort, however, tradition and reputation is everything. They forsake their livelihoods, their souls. Lucius could very well be feeding some story to his master, explaining how the Death Eaters could benefit from this. The truth is, Ron fulfills those desires he's been hiding within himself for so long. There is no ploy. We hope there isn't, at least. The future can change, after all."
"'He speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds.'"
"And he does as far as I know. I'm aware it's my duty to keep you and everybody else safe from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, and yet my intuition refuses to put my Inner Eye at rest. The question of whether we can take a gamble and whether you will let Ron follow his own heart is the real issue."
"Mr. Malfoy's never given me a reason to trust him," he replied bitterly.
Mills nodded. "I understand completely."
Another silent moment passed between them, and then Harry had another flash of insight.
"Professor Mills? Did you say you were here to investigate the Malefecium Elixir? Why would it be here at Hogwarts, and who has it?"
The redheaded woman exhaled deeply, her thoughts now turning to Draco Malfoy and his own personal issues.
"That, Harry, is another matter entirely…"
…Draco was walking through a fifth-floor corridor very slowly. He was well aware he had double Charms with the Hufflepuffs next; this was one of the reasons for his listless pace. Being in his least favorite class with the most wimpy and pretentious of the Hogwarts houses (according to him, anyway)…it was double-something, all right. But something more than apprehension was weighing down his legs.
When Defense Against the Dark Arts class was over, Professor Mills had called Harry up. His sleeplessness had been a fluke in his favor. No one would be suspicious. What was most assuring—or disconcerting—was that she had given him "the look". The plan was to be set in motion, then.
After not seeing any developments in weeks, Draco went to the only one who could help him: Professor Snape. At first Draco had protested having a watchdog monitor him on this mission, wanting to pull it off on his own, but apparently it was harder than he had initially thought, only worsening his hatred for Potter. Poor Romilda Vane had nearly torn her hair out trying to figure out why Harry was resistant to the "love potion", chalking it up to suffering yet another cruel joke at the hands of the school's most notorious Slytherin. Meanwhile Draco had been close to tearing his own hair out. The agreement was for him to slip him the Elixir by Christmas holiday, and it was almost November.
Here entered Snape, who had made a pact with Voldemort and Lucius to ensure his success at any cost. It was to Draco's great shock, though, to learn that Professor Mills wasn't everything she seemed to be. She appeared to be the sort of person he hated most: a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a hardcore contender of Voldemort and his devotees, Gryffindor-supportive (and subsequently a Slytherin-hater), someone who personally saw to Harry's survival in this time of disorder. Then again, it was just as Snape told him last night, "When balancing the trusts of both sides, one must be convincing and willing to play their role. Umbridge was much too noticeable."
At any cost. At least he'd receive his dues, and so he relinquished his dragon-bottle necklace to Snape, trusting he would deliver it.
One would think he'd be comforted by this. The problem was out of his hands now. His family would have nothing more to worry about…right?
But at what cost? Despite being close followers of Voldemort, the Malfoys always looked to see how every plot would benefit them, and this didn't benefit him in the least. Should he just follow in his father's footsteps and pursue his own desires as well?
Maybe…maybe he should have a talk with Professor Snape. He had to know something.
But first, he had to endure Professor Flitwick.
(End Chap. 36)
Me: I know, there's not much action here, but this was basically meant to be an informative chapter. After this things will move much, much faster. I don't care to dwell too much on November, it being so close to the coveted month of December. Now that Harry knows where the pieces lie, how will he pull them together? And what's the deal with emo-Draco?
Plushie (in the distance): Kim-chan! Get back here so you can get your birthday spankings!
Me: (runs) Oh, and one more thing! As I've said before, we have a forum on under the same name as the story! Make my day, visit there, and give me your feedback. What do you want to see next? What do you think of my fic so far? What do you hate about it? Let's uphold the spirit of community among the Lucius/Ron (L/R or LM/RW for all those who know LJ-speak) lovers.
Ron: Hey Plushie! Need the paddle?
Plushie: (snickers) Hey Weasley…you got wood.
Harry (standing next to Oliver): No he doesn't. I got Wood.
Me: Just another day at "Black and Deep Desires"…until Chapter 37!