Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Harry: (opens fridge at the back of the theater and gasps. Me, Ron, Draco, and Lucius hurry over…well, Lucius doesn't actually "rush". He's too 'dignified' for that.)

Me: What's the matter? Oh Harry, you should be used to Plushie's excessive alcoholism by now—

Harry: No…all the liquor…IT'S STILL HERE!

Me: Even…the Courvoisier?

Harry: Worse. All the bottles…have been ALPHABETIZED!!!

Me: (breaks a glass box which reads "In Case of Plushie NOT Drinking" and pulls out bottles of rum and Jack Daniels) WHERE'S PLUSHIE?!! HE MUST BE SOBER OUT OF HIS FREAKIN' MIND!!

Lucius: …Well, I HAD been conversing with him recently—though I had to punt him because he wouldn't stop calling me "Non-Cotton Father". He was upset because the H/D issue hasn't been touched lately.

Me: Well, that HAS been quite a quandary. Some fics keep chugging along, risking alienation, while others are a bit too subservient to their readers, but it's possible to find a middle ground that helps the story AND lets the writer keep their values. Lucky for all, I just had a great idea that'll both shock and satisfy, but that'll be for a while longer—but oh damn, I can't wait! I'm so brilliant— (Phone rings, interrupting my rant. Ron picks it up.)

Ron: Hello? (lifts the receiver from his ear) Uh, this bloke says he's Colin Powell.

Me: (takes the phone) Hello—what? No, I didn't authorize that!! Yeah, I KNOW I hang with wizards, but they're not dangerous…yes, I'll take responsibility. Yes, your army has authorization. Just don't rip him up; he amuses my readers. (hangs up) Well, Plushie somehow got a hold of tactical nuclear weapons, and now I have to fly to Washington DC to get him. Hold down the fort while I'm gone. (grabs a tranquilizer gun and rushes out of the theater)

Draco: Ok…rolling. (clicks remote)

(Begin Ch. 43)

…He was certain he'd seen him before.

No. There was a much more intimate, more disturbing relationship between the two of them. In a sense, he WAS him. Or…was he?

This Harry Potter, the one standing across from him, certainly seemed to be an exact copy. The same dark, messy hair; his famous scar hiding amongst his fringe; two green eyes, their stare intense. But something was…different. Harry couldn't see his own face at the moment, but he was pretty certain he wasn't scowling. At the very least, he didn't feel angry, but clearly this other person was. A pair of dark arches accentuated his face, magnifying his aura of pure hatred. Hatred for who, he wasn't exactly sure.

He despised this other side of him, but every once in a while some otherworldly force would push him deep into his mind, and he would come face-to-face with this…this creature. He didn't even want to call him 'his' other side anymore. This was…this couldn't be his true self.

As if the other Harry read his mind, his head raised up to look at himself straight in the eye. His grimace widened.

"You know what you have to do. Ron is involved too deeply with Lucius, and Hermione's been protecting him the entire time. Meanwhile, Voldemort's getting stronger by the second. They all want to bring you down, just like the Ministry."

Harry could feel himself shake his head in disagreement. "You're a lie."

The other Harry shook his own head in response.

"They ignored Cedric's death, they ignored the Dark Lord's rising power…and they ignored you. And what did the Order do? Kept you out of harm's way like a good little Chosen One. You're supposed to save the world, not hide at Privet Drive like some scared little first-year!"

He paused to give off a burst of harsh laughter. "What do THEY know about courage, about loyalty? Nothing! The Order's afraid of the Ministry, and the Ministry's afraid of you. Pfft. Pitiful. All they could do was stand there, and then run when the Ministry finally decided to poke their nose in something they didn't want to smell in the first place, while Sirius fell through the veil. Damned werewolf lowlife—"

"SHUT UP!!"

The other Harry chuckled.

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, Harry. The time for denial is over. Ron's left your side for Mr. Malfoy's, and Hermione didn't want to tell you anything. None of the professors did. They even went so far as to stop you from saving his life…hmph, not that it's anything worth saving. There's no one you can trust now—except for a select few…"

He stopped and smiled, though a touch of malice was still hidden within it.

"And there's someone I especially have in mind."

"Who?" the real Harry heard himself ask.

"Draco. We can trust him, and we can use him to our advantage. The used will finally be the user…and he's not so thrilled about Ron and his father being together either."

"Why Malfoy?"


"You might say…the circumstances are as such that the world's been turned upside-down. And if the world's been turned upside-down, we might as well play stupid like everyone else and walk on the ceiling. Draco's the only person we can turn to. Weasley and Granger are lost causes."

It looked as if the other Harry wanted to say more, but then another, louder voice interrupted their conversation. It was concerned, calling out his name. Gravity was beginning to press down on his invisible body. Those voices…they sounded as if they were coming from the "outside", wherever that mysterious realm was. The other Harry offered one more affirming smirk and disappeared as the pitch-black walls surrounding them became infected with light, growing brighter and brighter.

"Get to Draco Malfoy, by any means necessary...any..."

…His lids fluttered, struggling to decide if they wanted to stay closed or not. There was soft candlelight, the ceiling a neutral shade. The air was chilly, but not of an uncomfortable frigidity. Ironic...he vaguely remembered a terribly hot sensation simmering inside his heart, stomach and head, as if someone unscrewed his top and poured a pot of boiling water inside of him, and it was only now beginning to cool down. He felt slightly ill.

"Mr. Potter…Mr. Potter, can you hear me? Hmm, still isn't responding…must still be groggy from the treatment."

It was the voice of a man he never met before; he sounded as if he was in his early thirties. But the next person to speak—Harry knew him very well. A sudden burst of that same boiling water returned the minute that voice fell onto his ears, but Harry instinctively pushed it back into the pit of his stomach, trying desperately to control it, and the resulting backlash nearly made him retch.

"So is the Elixir coming to its full effects?"

"Judging by the information the Order provided for me, I can't make an accurate report just yet. But from what we've observed so far, we do know that memory loss tends to occur, though we won't know if it's a consistent pattern for sure until he wakes up this second time. It's evident the episodes themselves are growing more and more violent, and he also seems to be going into deeper sleeps. The last time he was brought in, he slept for about five hours with sedation. Now it's been eight hours and counting. We've also noted that the Petrificus Totalus spell has a sort of calming effect, so long as the patient isn't brought out of it immediately. This Miss Granger may've been on to something. However—"

The speaker, who turned out to be an anonymous male Healer, then paused hesitantly in the middle of his prognosis. He only spoke again when he was spurned on by Lupin.

"Yes?"

"There's something going on that's inconsistent with the data given to us by your organization," he finally confessed. "You're guessing that Potter was fed the Malefecium Elixir some time between mid-September and early October, correct?"

There was no response heard, but seeing as how the Healer continued with his explanation, Lupin had most likely nodded instead.

"Even given that broad time slot, if the effects take hold around three months, that means the progression of the Elixir is happening at a much quicker speed than average," the man in white explained, "so there may be a few exceptions, and if that's the case, then Mr. Potter's behavior will be all the more impossible to predict. If you think this would be the best course of action, our staff could…well…have you considered admitting him to the Closed Ward?"

"Out of the question!" a new, grating voice interrupted, sounding above all else appalled, and Harry distinctly heard a second pair of footsteps. "The Chosen One? Committed to the Closed Ward? The Ministry and the Daily Prophet would have a field day, not to mention He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! We'd have total panic on our hands, just like when he first came to power!"

"We agree with you, Alastor," an exasperated female voice piped up, "but it can't be any better for us to release him back into Hogwarts, knowing he could attack any more of his friends at any moment."

Wait. Wasn't that—?

"P-p-Professor…"

Everyone in the room suddenly became silent, making certain they heard a weak little whisper come from the bed. As he requested, Professor Mills was the first to appear in his field of vision.

"Mr. Potter? How do you feel?"

"Queasy…" he complained.

"Do you want us to get you a pan?"

Harry flopped his head back and forth on the pillow, strands of matted hair covering his scar.

"Do you remember anything that happened in the past few hours?"

Harry paused, groping his memory for an answer. He didn't want to go too deep, afraid to rediscover that other side of himself.

But then he uncovered something even more terrible.

"HERMIONE?! Oh God, what happened to her?!! I—!"

Harry shot straight up and immediately began to hyperventilate, but Professor Mills promptly tapped him not-so-lightly on the cheek with the back of her hand.

"Harry. Harry!" she ordered sternly. "Calm down! Hermione's fine. I must tell you, though, neither she nor Ron are at Hogwarts anymore, and you may not be either, for a time."

"Where are th—"

Harry then stopped and answered his own question. If HE was in danger, then if Hogwarts no longer proved to be safe and Privet Drive was unthinkable, where would he go?

"The Burrow."

The room then briefly lapsed into silence. Whether the silence was agreeing with him or standing around uncomfortably like the rest of the adults in here, Harry wasn't certain.

Surprisingly, the first one to speak up again was the Healer, who had actually been addressing Lupin, but was talking out loud for the benefit of everyone.

"This was one of the exceptions I mentioned earlier. Going back through its history, whenever a wizard or witch was afflicted by the Elixir, there would be increasing memory loss, but apparently Mr. Potter's actually regaining. If this continues, he may begin remembering his attacks."

"I don't know if that's good or bad news," Professor Mills said flatly.

"My thoughts exactly," the Healer responded. "This clash of conscious and subconscious could result in either one of two outcomes. The first is that his conscience will eventually attempt to stop himself when he flies into another fit of rage, with the slim chance that his will alone could purge the Elixir completely, or…"

Another hesitant pause. Moody raised his one functional brow.

"Or," the man continued, "that same clash could cause considerable psychological damage."

"To…what level?" Lupin asked cautiously.

"I can't say, but I suppose it could be anywhere from moderate to severe. Even with treatment, there's also a high risk of irreversibility. Mr. Moody, do you remember when that team of Aurors brought in the Longbottoms some years back?" Without even waiting for an answer, the Healer nodded. "That severe."

Moody grunted understandably, and another fog of uncertainty settled around the room.

"So we have three choices: he dies, he goes insane…or he can fight this," he stated blatantly, but there was a touch of strong emotion in his voice that neither Lupin nor Umira had heard before.

"Don't get sentimental on us now," Mills spat out. "Of course it'll be the third choice. Things are going to be just fine."

"Is any of this sudden optimism based on some of your 'premonitions'?"

Mills turned around, her face disappearing before Harry's eyes, and narrowed her own, squeezing them so tightly that the amethysts in them nearly shattered. Whatever thoughtwave she sent to Moody, he shuddered and backed off, but she wasn't done with him yet.

"I know things'll be fine because they will be. Sometimes all you can do in a situation like this is be optimistic. Wouldn't hurt if you actually tried it once in a while, what with you and your 'constant vigilance'."

She sighed, signaling an end to her quiet tirade. "So what are we going to tell Dumbledore?"

Lupin sighed and turned to the male Healer, waiting for an answer.

"There's not much else to report. Another thing to consider is how frequent the attacks will occur. It was once believed the time frames between each attack simply shrunk until the rage finally became nothing more than second nature, but it's been found that another trigger could be when the subject disagrees with someone who's usually close to them, or they observe behavior that usually contradicts that person's normal routine and they call it out. Mr. Potter's more likely a case of the latter. Even with the rapidity the Elixir's currently running at, a mere two-day lapse is unheard of. Do you wish for us to keep observing him here?"

That question brought on the longest silence of all. Moody's electric blue eye rolled around in its socket until it fell to rest within the vicinity of Harry, although his real eye was pointed directly at Lupin, who looked inexplicably torn on the issue. Mills' face relaxed and dug into her pocket, pulling out a pack of Tarot cards.

"Do you always carry around cards?"

"It's not like I wait around for earth-shattering moments like these to give divinations. This pack in particular, the celestial-themed set…they're also my amulets," Mills responded to Moody's question.

Using no more than two fingers and a thumb from one hand and one finger from the other, she began shuffling and flipping them with the expertise of a veteran poker player. Her eyes were suddenly glossed over, lost in contemplation. The purple and navy-blue speckled backs of the cards blurred to make a celestial sky of their own. Harry was already sick and visually sensitive, and this fascinating display wasn't helping matters.

Two minutes later, two cards escaped from the turbulence and landed in her left hand. The rest were straightened up, patted down, and slipped back into her robe pocket before anyone had time to say anything.

"We do or we don't: that's what these two represent," she said, waving them in front of everyone's face. "If we get an okay for the latter, I'll pull one more."

She pulled one card out from between her first and middle fingers and twirled it around.

"The Devil: Lucifer as Venus, the Morning Star. Ravage, distress, violence, and wrestling inner demons—no pun intended," she stated humorlessly.

"Which choice is that?"

"…If we keep him."

Mills immediately pulled the second one and turned it around—and her face twisted into confusion.

"Knight of Cups: Orion, the Admired Hunter. It's reversed," she whispered. "Fraud, trickery, artifice."

"A no-win situation," Moody summed up. "I could've told you that."

Mills rolled her eyes and continued her explanation. "We bring him back to Hogwarts, we risk the chance of another attack. But we'd only be gratifying Voldemort—" (the Healer in the corner briefly flinched at this point) "—if we stash him in the Closed Ward."

Without looking, she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out one last card.

"The Hanged Man: Castor and Pollux, As One Assists The Other. Responsibility and sacrifice. My intuition directs my attention to the actual image in particular, so it could also mean a single person or body of persons who embody those characteristics…that meaning—?"

"The Order," Lupin cut in. "It seems like a sound choice, but none of us have medical expertise. We'll take Harry in, but only on the condition that he receives extra assistance."

"If I go through all the necessary procedures, I'm sure the higher-ups here at St. Mungo's won't mind if I come along. This is a special case, after all. Whatever I can do for the war against You-Know-Who, I'm willing to help."

"We appreciate it." Mills paused again; the ensuing silence didn't seem right to her. She looked back at Harry to see that he had collapsed back onto the pillow and fell asleep again.

"Poor thing's exhausted," she whispered with a touch of sympathy. "Let's let him rest."

She rose from the bed and left the room, closely followed by Moody, Lupin, and the male Healer. Out in the hallway, it was a bit more dim-lit. Moody took out his glass eye and rubbed it vigorously against his sleeve, muttering something obscene about the sudden changes in light intensity.

"You two go ahead and inform Dumbledore," Mills said. "How soon exactly do we want Harry to be moved?"

"Before those damned brown-noses at the Daily Prophet find this out, I know that much," Moody growled, carefully putting his eye back in.

"It shouldn't take that long for us to stabilize Mr. Potter. We'll have him ready when you give us the word," the Healer assured, and with that the two other men disappeared from the wing. Mills sighed—a sigh of mixed contentment and released anxiety—and turned to the male Healer.

"You sure you can be referred to us? You are one of the best Healers here, and we are not officially supposed to exist."

"I won't mention the Order. This is all being done through Dumbledore as far as I'm concerned. My eyes and ears will be closed to Grimmauld Place."

Mills raised an eyebrow, lowered it, then pressed her lips together.

"You think I'm wrong for censoring you? We can't go into this headfirst, Deberan. We leak information, little by little, and even all that will only add up to half the facts. Everyone wants to impress their superior with vast knowledge, but what impresses them more is common sense. He doesn't mind how long it takes, as long as the scoreboard's always in his favor. Besides, I still have some damage control to do on my side, and I can't afford to do anything rash now."

"Where is that boy, by the way?"

Mills held up a single finger. "You and anyone else who wants to know will know that when it's important. He's our best trump card right now. We can't use him too early."

"Who could we possibly play him against?"

Mills looked at him incredulously. "Everyone, of course! But as I said, that's strictly on a need-to-know basis. So you say you'll have Potter ready soon?"

"Twenty-four, thirty-six hours at best."

"Wonderful."

The red-haired young woman turned to leave, but she didn't make it six steps before Deberan called out to her one more time.

"Umira…you're not getting too caught up in your role, are you? I may have another side to me as well, but one of them is an officiated Healer, and for that I can say that after this second attack, anything's possible. I shouldn't have a heart for them, but this Elixir is on a completely different level. Putting him back in the Order is more risky than the both of us being there."

"I won't say I was confident with that reading as I usually am, what with Alastor staring me down the whole time. Either way, it doesn't matter to me, as long as the loose ends that are left are ones we can tie back up. Two pieces of advice for these coming weeks: keep your eyes on me…and keep your eyes on Lucius Malfoy."

(End Chap. 43)

Ron: (looks around) It's the end of the chapter and the Doc still hasn't come back.

(I suddenly tiptoe in quietly, carrying Plushie in one hand. A giant tranquilizer dart is stuck in his stomach.)

Me: Sssh. He's sleeping. Once you get past that one frightening moment when I shot him and Plushie came spiraling down the Capitol Building along with "the Button", and it ALMOST fell on the ground, button-side, but then it flipped again at the last moment and fell down safely but then Plushie was going to fall on "the Button", but then I remembered that he doesn't weigh no more than a ounce...whew! For a second, I felt like James Bond. (places him carefully in one of the chairs) So what'd I miss?

Draco: Only everything.

Me: (takes out the trusty newspaper and whacks him with it) Big help…and nice try, but I wrote it before I left, dummy-doody.

Plushie: (drools)

Lucius: What does she mean, "keep your eyes on me"?

Me: Did you forget you're a main character? We're ALL keeping our eyes on you. Let's see what you do next! (bugs her eyes out and stands REALLY close to him, looking at him)

Lucius: Stop that! (tries to run, but I chase him)

Me: You cannot hide from The Eyes! Mwaahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!!