Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(The B&DD Theater is now practically a landfill, filled with the garbage passionate reviewers have thrown at me. So we called a cleaning crew to take care of the mess, and in the meanwhile, we're doing a special B&DD broadcast from the Malfoy Manor—)

Lucius: Wait a minute, since when?

Me: Since now. (snaps her fingers, and in no time we're all sitting in a couch in the parlor on the first floor with a thirty-inch flat-screen television hanging over the fireplace) Ugh, we're sitting on…that couch.

Draco: What couch?

Me: The couch from Chapter Fourteen, from Ron's little dream…

((Nearly) everyone shrieks and moves to different chairs, but Lucius and Plushie stay where they are.)

Plushie: What? It's cool.

Me: Riiiiight…anyway, if you noticed, I've changed the summary of the story. It's a little cliché, but I like it better than the original. Took me forever to make it fit, though. Summaries are so limiting. But more to the point, apparently it's now official that despite my writing talent, I suck for separating Lucius and Ron yet again after oh-so-long…or is this yet another one of my twisted plans? Most likely. My sincerest condolences go to you, catc10, and do not fear; you shall not be disappointed any longer!! This chapter is dedicated to you. Roll it! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 41)

…"…change your mind?"

"…would be best for him…"

"…certain?"

"Yes…be on my way."

He had only been able to catch snips of the conversation, but Ron had heard enough from outside the hospital ward's door to know that all their hopes had been reduced to naught.

Footsteps…a single pair of retreating footsteps was echoing in his ears.

He couldn't be…

After reducing himself to a vegetable state for almost a week, Ron suddenly found the energy to tear away the bed sheets, march to the door and swing it open as wide and hard as Lucius did the first time around. All the professors huddled around the entryway turned to stare at him curiously, but he disregarded their piercing eyes, as his own eyes were focused on the black-clad man a few feet away.

Lucius took a couple more steps before stopping and inclining his head. Even something about the way those few stray, flaxen locks scraped his shoulder made Ron's heart ache.

Lucius cleared his throat and looked him straight in the eye. "Weasley, I'm afraid there's been a change of plans—"

But he was able to say nothing more.

A loud shriek bounced off nearly every single stone wall in the castle, and it continued bouncing off in every direction—it was coming closer and closer. It wasn't long before a dark-haired girl in black and blue robes came careening towards the little group assembled in front of the hospital ward, not even stopping to check if that was really Lucius Malfoy standing among them. Ron tried to squeeze his eyes together, but she ran too fast for him to adjust his vision.

Then he realized—it was Cho Chang.

"Miss Chang…?" McGonagall started to say, but Cho, despite her complete lack of breath, beat her to the punch.

"Professor, you have to come right away! It's Hermione! She—Harry—"

Umira stepped forth and put two hands on the Ravenclaw's shoulders. At a distance it looked like she was simply comforting her, but she was also transferring a calmer energy to her body.

"Cho, calm down," she instructed quietly but firmly. (She was probably the only teacher who used the students' first names almost exclusively.) "What happened to Hermione?"

"H—Harry…he was…I saw him and Hermione talking in a hallway…then—then I heard her screaming…Harry was…h-he was trying to choke her! We called for help and—like, four Aurors came and tried to get him off her, but he…he just threw them down the hallway, a-and…but she was able to Petrify him,…but she's—passed out…!"

Literally, in the single space of twenty seconds, McGonagall called for Pomfrey, Dumbledore gave out orders with the speed and efficiency of an Army general, and suddenly everyone except Lucius and Ron were left standing. Oh, Ron could beat that. In two seconds his thoughts had turned from worrying solely about Lucius to worrying about the one person who had been trying so hard to keep them apart. And Hermione—of course, Hermione! Ron had been lucky enough not to pass out, but…if they didn't get to her in time…

"This is exactly why you need to leave," Lucius suddenly burst out harshly, though it was more an opinion spoken aloud. "Albus places his trust in the worst sort of people."

"Don't you dare blame Harry for this!" Ron bellowed, not even giving a second thought to who he was yelling at. "You said it yourself; it's the Elixir doing this!"

"I wouldn't be blaming him…if this was any other person," Lucius replied. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me Potter wasn't acting this way before he was given the Elixir?"

And it was with this particular question that Ron was absolutely stumped. There had been times last year when both Ron and Hermione felt that the only thing standing between Harry's disposition and the mindset of a psychopathic maniac was actual physical violence.

"I'm not trying to play mind games; I'm asking a simple question. We were both well assured that you and Granger could call Potter your friend. But as time has gone by, he's seen enough death and despair to make anyone go mad, plus he's expected by all the wizarding world to clean up our mess," Lucius began to explain. "The only string he's had to hold himself together is his friends. So tell me, is the Malefecium Elixir completely taking over an originally pure soul, or is it just unlocking dark, terrible urges he's been hiding within himself all this time?"

Ron's face crumpled up in disappointment. He had never thought of that before. Neither he nor Hermione could have ever claimed at any time to know what Harry was thinking. A crazy idea would suddenly pop into his head, and he would explain the complexities with such earnest that they had no choice but to go along with it. Was he really plotting their deaths this entire time…?

"At least he had that one string," Ron muttered. "It's not his fault everyone's 'specting him to save the world. Even if he was a bit loony, at least he had his friends. Now he doesn't even have that. How would you feel if someone gave you the Elixir?! Then you'd have to kill me."

"I don't need the Elixir to kill you."

Ron's face suddenly went white. Lucius had carelessly muttered that as an afterthought; only afterwards did he snap back to consciousness and realize what he had said. Well, how much worse could things get by telling him the truth? If anything, more than ever, he deserved it.

"I think, when you opened the door, that you were going to ask for an explanation, am I right?"

"I was, but I couldn't ask in front of my parents. They'd have thought I wanted to go with you," Ron explained.

"Which you do," Lucius stated matter-of-factly. The paleness in the redhead's cheek was promptly replaced by a crimson blush.

"But they can't think that. Everyone else thinks I'm a Death Eater; why let my parents think the same thing?"

"Next time someone asks, roll up the sleeve on your left arm."

"What?"

"It's common knowledge that Death Eaters have the Dark Mark branded on their left forearm once inducted, so if someone wants to give you trouble, roll up your sleeve."

For some odd reason, Lucius was smiling when he said that. It was a sordid subject, but Ron couldn't help but chuckle as well. A second later he shook his head as if trying to get water out of his ears.

"Stop changing the subject!" Ron demanded. "You wanted me to come back with you more than anyone, so why did you suddenly change your mind? You said you didn't need the Elixir to kill me. Why?"

"Because Voldemort's orders are persuasion enough. After you left, someone leaked out information about us to him. When I was summoned and stood before him, I was expecting to die right then and there. Instead…he commends me."

Lucius laughed again, but it was a scornful sort of laughter, so Ron didn't join in this time.

"You told me once that you were familiar with wizard's chess, correct? It's the same thing. A pawn or two is cornered and destroyed by a knight, or the queen. Then while the white pieces keep the red ones busy, the red king begins to worry—if chess pieces can worry—because all his subjects are defending him. He begins to sweat profusely, waiting for the time when the player says 'check'. Then when 'checkmate' is called, the knight pulls his sword, and the blade finds home."

If one didn't know a thing Ron Weasley, they wouldn't have thought in a thousand years that he wouldn't have gotten that reference. But contrary to them, a glow lit up in his blue eyes—a glow of both intellectual achievement and full-frontal terror.

"You're the knight…"

"…And you're the red king."

"So to save me…"

"…I was sacrificing a piece."

Two pairs of blue eyes regarded each other for a frozen moment.

Then…

"Well, obviously you don't know anything about wizard's chess."

Lucius's eyes expanded in astonishment. That was unexpected.

"If you want to sacrifice a piece or two anyway, I know a better tactic…AND it's one of Montague Knightley's best moves. Read about it in one of Mum's subscriptions to Witch Weekly."

"…Weasley, we're not actually playing wizard's chess."

"Yes we are…sort of."

…Meanwhile, in a secluded corridor on the fifth floor, Dumbledore and the rest came rushing up to nearly the entire specialized Auror force. Two of them were off to the side, comforting a huddled mass of frizzy brown hair and red-and-black robes; fortunately they did get to her in time. The rest of the Aurors were surrounding Harry Potter's frozen body, discussing what to do with it. The expression captured in his face was terrifying: anger gradually being replaced by terror when he had begun to realize Hermione had pulled her wand on him.

"Dumbledore, we think it best if we transport him back to St. Mungo's Closed Ward in this condition," a young man with dirty-blonde hair said as he stood up to greet him. "If we unfreeze him now…"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "I'll lead you to the portal. Minerva, inform the rest of the professors. Mills, stay here with Miss Chang and Miss Granger. See that they get to the hospital ward."

"Albus, what about Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.

"…Tell them to wait in my office. Now that the situation's developed…I suppose we'll have to move Mr. Weasley sooner than expected—Miss Granger, too, for that matter."

"We could bring her along, if you like, until everything gets straightened out," Mrs. Weasley offered. "I don't think her parents will take this very well."

Again, Albus nodded, and everyone tended to their duties. By now Umira, Cho, Hermione, and the two Aurors were the only ones left standing in the corridor.

"Anything wrong with her physically?" Umira asked.

One of the Aurors, a female with long jet-black hair, stared up determinately at the redhead.

"Serious bruises on her neck, but nothing else. Her back and shoulders are a little sore; Potter apparently threw her down on the floor." She glanced back at Hermione, whose head was down on her lap and hidden behind a massive brown curtain. "Are you still having any trouble breathing?"

She slowly shook her head, and the black-haired witch glanced back up at Professor Mills. "Poor dear just needs some rest, is all."

Mills' own face softened. McGonagall was right; she had gotten careless. Oh, it would have been so easy to just pass on the buck to Dumbledore. After all, he was the one who believed a definite solution could have been found if Draco had been allowed to finish his mission. But, as a double spy for the dark forces, it was in her best interest for all this to unfold. On the one hand she was heavy-handed and confronted problems right at the source; on the other hand, she waited in the shadows, always keeping an eye out for a vital opportunity. Was she confusing roles—or simply confusing herself?

She stepped forward two more steps, motioned for the two Aurors to back away, and reached out her arms. But she wasn't going to do what she did to Cho. Her hands went for the cheeks instead.

"Miss Granger, look at me," she instructed in a soft voice.

Startled by this comforting touch, Hermione's face slowly tilted upwards until the brown curtain fell away to reveal her bloodshot eyes and damp cheeks. A blotchy ring encircled her throat like a necklace of chunky beads.

"Miss Granger, I know you're traumatized. I'm going to try and alleviate some of the stress on your mind and body. Just close your eyes, breathe deeply, and try and think of nothing else."

Hermione nodded again and did as she was told. Professor Mills then turned her hands on their sides, fingers forward, and placed their tips on each temple, closing her eyes as well. What Professor Mills blatantly forgot to mention was that this technique—empathic healing—was a very dangerous thing for a Seer to try, even one of her level. All the emotions the Seer received from the victim was magnified twofold because of the psychic power they possessed, so any strong feeling was potentially harmful.

All that notwithstanding, Umira began the process.

Darkness…darkness…a scene beginning to unfold.

It was a recount of the last moments before Harry attacked her, through Hermione's perspective.

She was sitting in the Great Hall, going over some parchments…looked like homework. Her fellow students around her went quiet…Harry appeared in her field of vision, coming to sit across from her. He looked extremely distraught and worried. They began a conversation. Hermione mentioned the Weasleys coming to get Ron, and Harry looked a little more relieved after that. Then he asked what he did to Ron, since he couldn't remember. A loud voice with a strong Irish accent erupts next to Hermione. She turned around to see Seamus standing up, telling him word-for-word what had happened that night in the dormitories. Hermione then tried to intervene.

"Harry, it wasn't even your fault. Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers are looking into whether it was an attack by Voldemort."

"Don't defend him, Hermione! We all know Harry's been angry with Ron since the beginning of term! He prob'ly meant what he said that night!"

The arguing only got more heated, then Harry said something else.

"…How do you explain the fact Malfoy's mum got killed and Mr. Malfoy put Ron in his will right after he came back to Hogwarts?"

Hermione looks back at Harry. There's a bit of anger in her.

"You honestly think Ron's gone to work for You-Know-Who?! I thought you had faith in us, Harry!"

"I have faith in you, and I didn't say Ron was working for the Dark Lord."

"Not directly."

When Harry didn't give an answer back, Hermione grabbed his wrist, muttered something under her breath, and dragged him out of the Great Hall. Now the scene was changing. They were going up, through the maze of moving corridors, walls whizzing past them. Now they were in the hallway on the fifth floor. She set him to the side and began recounting to Harry what Ron apparently told her one day in October during the Pensieve tests. Harry's face rapidly went through a series of different changes: shock, revulsion, surprise, anger.

That anger…

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner, Hermione?! For all we know, Malfoy's trying to kill him!"

"That's what I thought at first too, but…something's different about this. Mr. Malfoy isn't his usual self; he's acting too boldly. No Death Eater would risk his reputation to come up to Hogwarts personally just to get Ron. I just have this strange feeling he isn't up to his usual tricks. Maybe…he really does love Ron…"

"Yeah, when Hagrid starts wearing pink dresses. We all know Mr. Malfoy's nothing but a liar."

"Harry, we can't make that assumption. Honestly, I really think we should stop this; it's gone far enough. We're hurting Ron. He already has a dozen rumors about him going around this school, and none of them have been proven!"

"Really? Well, maybe we're hurting Ron by not doing anything. I can't believe you were holding all this back from me the whole time. Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something to help Ron, but…you're supposed to be my friend, Hermione! Our friend!"

Harry's eyebrows curved. Professor Mills could feel the dread beginning to rise in Hermione. Something was not right about Harry's eyes…

"That's it…that must be it. You're in league with them, too…with Malfoy and Voldemort and all the rest…I can't trust anyone anymore." An unearthly chuckle escaped from his throat. "I can't let any more Death Eaters go free. I have to save Ron before he gets caught in your little scheme…"

"Harry, what are you—let go of my arm!"

In a split second Professor Mills went from seeing Harry's face to the ceiling. The shock from hitting the stone floor rocked her back and nearly knocked the wind out of her. A reverberating echo of a scream echoed, until it became so loud her head was pounding. The screaming soon turned to a gasping, gurgling sound…she could feel the pressure of Harry's strong hands on Hermione's neck. Such a sharp pain…she couldn't breathe. She could hear shouting around her…and Cho's voice…

"Professor Mills?"

Cho began to be concerned when the professor's eyelids suddenly began squishing each other tightly. Hermione could tell that her body didn't feel anywhere near as tense since before she started, and she looked at Professor Mills too.

"Professor?"

She was starting to make gurgling noises in her throat. Her eyes still closed, Mills' arms made grabbing motions at her neck, as if someone was choking her. The two Aurors then sprang into action, but she passed out before they could get to her.

"Professor…!"

(End Chap. 41)

All muses: HOLY CRAP!

Draco: And what the hell does wizard's chess have to do with anything?

Me: I know I'm going to spoil it, but for all those who are on the edge of your seats, Professor Mills isn't going to die. But what of this brilliant plan Ron suddenly has?

Ron: Yay! I'm a mastermind!

Me: Tune in for Chapter 42! By the way, eight chapters left until the Golden Fiftieth!