Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
Me: Damn my oversight! Damn it to the eighth-and-a-half rectangle of Hell!
Draco: What are you cursing about so vehemently now?
Me: I've been doing more backtracking when I realized I had the dates and days wrong since Chapter 33! People may not have noticed, but I pride myself on being a perfectionist, so I fixed it immediately, and I changed the title of Chapter 38 (formerly "Minerva McGonagall's Determination"). As an extra note to my readers, once we hit the Fiftieth Chapter I'll be doing a total overhaul. Nothing big; just some fixer-uppers. Also, there'll be some fun facts to let you see into our crazy world. The story's only almost halfway over, but with Harry Potter itself coming to a close, isn't it a good time as any to reminisce?
Ron: Ah yes…those were the days.
Lucius: What days? I didn't come in until Chapter Ten!
Plushie: And I didn't come in until Chapter Fifteen!
Harry: And no one noticed me until Chapter Twenty-Three!
Me: WHATEVER! (everyone cringes) Anyway, time's been crawling slowly as well. We're only as far as the early morning of October 26th, and I have to get to Christmas by the big Five-Oh. Also, the LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK— (thunder crashes, a baby screams, crows caw, water boils, and glass shatters)
Harry: …Okay…
Me: Yeeeahh…um…and the ending-of-a-popular-book-series-that-will-not-be-specified will be out in a few days. But as I said, book compatibility was never much of an issue. Whatever happens, if it seems useful to my own story, I'll use it. But I will say this: if Draco dies, there will be hell to pay. HELL AND ALL ITS NINE CIRCLES AND RECTANGLES AND DODECAHEDRONS!
Plushie: Right…as we find out what 'dodecahedron' means and I serve my eleventy-billion hours of community service, you all out there can read on. Rolling!
(Begin Chap. 44)
…It was quiet throughout the narrow streets and dilapidated houses of Little Hangleton. And also, as always, so was the desolate landscape surrounding the supposedly abandoned Riddle House.
Private as the residents were, it had long since been noticed that Frank Bryce, the groundskeeper who once lived there, hadn't been seen in his shack for quite some time. There was a lot of speculation about what happened to him among the townspeople, including "death by natural causes", but in the end they let it be and continued on with their meager existences. The point was that, either way, the old man had finally gained enough sense to leave. Even an kept lawn wouldn't have saved that place.
However, the interior was a completely different atmosphere.
It had taken quite a bit of persuasion on her part, but Bellatrix had to use all she had to convince Voldemort she hadn't been a fellow conspirator in Narcissa's plan. Cowardice and holding a value for her own life, someone would probably say, but honestly, she had no idea Narcissa would be foolhardy enough to pull off a scheme like that. As a result, she laid low for the past few weeks. Needless to say, this raised the eyebrows of Pettigrew, and he simply began following her movements all the more closely.
As if things hadn't been quiet enough, neither one had heard either hide or hair from Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, or Umira Mills for a couple of days. Snape and Mills they understood; they were undercover, though Mills was clearly the more secretive of the two, but Voldemort would've at least mentioned something.
Malfoy, on the other hand…
After all the hearsay flying around the Death Eaters' innumerable cliques, it was expected that he would've surfaced from wherever he was hiding and done something to either negate or support those rumors; his pride wouldn't have allowed it any other way. This in mind, so far all that Voldemort's forces had been busying themselves with were simple recruiting matters—or not so simple, depending on whom or what they were trying to recruit (right now the vampires were proving to be a challenge.)
It wasn't exactly as if the Death Eaters were clamoring for some action, though. After last year's escapades and this past summer's raid on Diagon Alley, it was actually a rare pleasure to sit down and twiddle one's thumbs.
After this night, however, thumb-twiddling would become nothing more than a memory.
…The night before All Hallow's Eve, green flames burst forth from the parlor's fireplaces on the first floor of the Riddle House, and out stepped Lucius. His eyes narrowed, allowing him to adjust to the dank gloom. Out of the blue, the Dark Lord had requested an audience with him the night before. What had been even more shocking was that the meeting hadn't been arranged through Pettigrew—a direct request. Usually Lucius would have been either elated or horrified. He didn't even want to speak to him for five seconds, he despised the rat Animagus so much, but he was actually disappointed this time. For his plan to work, Pettigrew would be—dare he say it?—necessary.
Relying partly on memory and partly on sensing what the bottom of his cane hit, he climbed the creaking, dusty stairs that led to a smaller, cloistered room on one of the higher floors. When he reached the landing, he tapped the cane on the wall and scraped it ever so softly across as he walked down the narrow, pitch black corridor. Halfway down he lifted his cane from the wall, as a faint light coming from a crack in a barely-opened door finally revealed the floor.
At the door he stopped and waited…and waited…and continued waiting.
"Wormtail. Let Malfoy in," a slithering voice commanded.
There was a pattering of feet, and then the door opened wider to reveal a short, chubby-cheeked man with curly hair and bucked teeth. He stepped to the side and sneered up at Malfoy, who returned it with a displeased scowl, caught himself, and walked in.
He had to keep Ron in mind. Anything could happen now. Every move was crucial.
He just hoped Snape had done his job. He could only assume so; otherwise he wouldn't be here.
In front of him stood a tall, elegant-looking chair placed strategically before the fireplace—no one had to tell him who was sitting in it. A large snake was coiled around the legs of the chair, occasionally hissing quietly, but no threatening ones towards Lucius. Nagini had seen him enough to know he wasn't a danger towards her master.
Malfoy went over to kneel before his serpentine master, taking extra care not to step on Nagini. Glowing red slits bored down on him.
"I've received word concerning the Malefecium Elixir, as well as suspicious activity at Hogwarts. Is there anything you know that can validate this?"
"Yes, my lord. When I traveled up to the school to inquire about Weasley, I got an interesting reaction from the professors. I'm well aware there's no trust between us, but they would've just as soon risked his life than done what was best for his well-being. Even Dumbledore said that I was within my rights to take Weasley back. Whether it was an implication that he shared my opinion, I cannot say."
He heard Voldemort take a distinct intake of breath. He seemed interested. So far, so good...
"There can be only two explanations for this behavior. The first could just be their paranoia—to take their chances with Potter rather than me. But that raised the question of why, which I believe was answered when I spoke to Weasley in the hospital ward...he gave me the impression that he knew about the Elixir."
It was with this comment that, for two seconds, Voldemort stopped breathing.
Bingo.
For an explanation in short, Ron, of course, was to serve as nothing more than collateral until the money to pay Zabini was delivered. Both Malfoy and Zabini had been told not to reveal anything about the Malefecium Elixir to him, so as the plan to slip it to Harry wouldn't be compromised so early in its stages of development. Underestimating their information-gathering capabilities, the Death Eaters had surmised that the Order wouldn't know all that much—if anything—about the Elixir, either. That, after all, was top-secret information and a relatively obscure subject even within the Dark Arts, almost on par with Horcruxes. Voldemort wanted Harry's psyche to deteriorate quickly, with no impediments whatsoever. His turning on his friends was simply a bonus; the real reason for the Elixir was so that the already-thin barrier between his mind and Harry's would break down completely.
In short, no one outside of a chosen few was supposed to know of the Elixir. Someone knowing was a major threat.
And threats had to be terminated.
"That would explain the risks they so foolishly chose to take. Mills has told me there had been a bit of information she had to leak in order to further gain the school's trust, but Severus also told me that there is strong evidence they were aware of the Elixir beforehand."
An excruciatingly long pause, and then…
"You know what this necessitates."
He nodded, loose golden strands getting in the way of his eyes.
"Do you know where the Weasley boy is?"
"His parents arrived at Hogwarts the day after I did. There was talk that he would be sent back with them instead. We just need confirmation."
Voldemort stayed silent as he pondered this, the crackling of the fire being the only thing breaking the silence.
"Wormtail."
The mouse-faced man ran up beside Lucius so fast, for a second the blond wondered why Apparating was necessary in so small a room.
"Send a message to Mills and ask for authorization on the Weasley boy's movements, but take care. With what we're learning now, any idiotic mistake you make will cost me. Fetch Lestrange, as well…she is past overdue for proving her worth," he ordered.
Wormtail bowed subserviently and rushed out of the room, leaving Malfoy alone, but not for long.
"Malfoy, return to the manor. I'll call on you as needed."
That was his cue to leave. Malfoy bowed in the same fashion as Wormtail and left the room.
…Later that night…
Pettigrew was back at Voldemort's side, this time accompanied by an excitable Bellatrix. Nagini had slid over to the other side of the room, as she decided a couple of hours ago that the heat radiating from the fireplace's grate was overheating her blood.
"Do you understand the mission?"
The two Death Eaters nodded.
"As soon as I obtain the information I need from Mills, we will arrange for an attack on the Burrow—if that is where they're keeping Weasley. I don't expect Weasley to put up much of a fight; he still has yet to graduate from Hogwarts and he's proven himself to be incompetent in the past…so I won't tolerate failure, either."
"We won't, my lord," Lestrange assured, her head leaning towards the ground even more.
"One spell. That is all that'll be required of you."
They nodded again, but this time more hesitantly.
"…Malfoy believes me to be a fool…but his overzealousness to put the past behind him will always be his undoing. He forgot too soon about his wife's death."
Bellatrix almost started, then caught herself and tried to look disinterested. She wondered...was he talking about…?
"Malfoy believes we are merely going to capture the Weasley boy and interrogate him, and that he will not be further involved in this affair. However, I will call him back before the mission begins, and you two will accompany him. Then we will see…if he is truly loyal to me—"
Wormtail and Bellatrix looked up to their lord, smirking.
"—he'll kill Weasley himself."
…At the same time, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Mills stood in front of the open door leading into Professor Snape's storehouse, on the verge of stamping her foot impatiently, but she didn't dare. Nearly every sound echoed off the stone walls down here. Even the simple sound of glass bottles clanking against each other as Snape pored over his seemingly endless stock was shockingly loud.
"Have you found it yet?" she hissed. "You know he doesn't like waiting."
The only thing Snape did in response was turn around (very carefully, as he was on a high rung of a ladder) and scowl at her darkly before continuing with his search. After a while he raised a finger in sudden illumination and changed direction, returning to a lower shelf on the west wall. Sure enough, five seconds later he pulled out a corked, dust-layered bottle from the far back. Inside was a beautiful yellow-amber liquid, air bubbles still trapped within the highly viscous density.
"This should be it. I've never had to use a Memory Potion, let alone one so strong," he muttered. He kept one hand on the ladder as he also pulled out a drawstring bag. "If you're considering feeding this to anyone, mix it with this powdered bloodroot and ice-cold water to dilute the liquid without it losing its potency. If anyone took it straight, they'd experience an unpleasant aftertaste for many hours."
"I'm not feeding this to anyone," Mills answered, stepping forward and immediately taking the round-shaped bottle from his outstretched hand. "Lucius is, and if my premonition proves to be right he couldn't possibly get this too soon—"
Snape made what could have only been interpreted to be a growl, stepped down from the ladder, and closed the door of his storehouse.
"You're not even sure of yourself, and yet you're still going along with it? This has to be your most outlandish scheme yet," he criticized. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecy."
"Now, Severus. You just told me a couple of months ago that you trusted my prophecies completely."
"I didn't think we'd be taking such risks in the process."
Mills snorted, but she stifled it at the last second so it sounded more as if she had sneezed. Still, Snape caught the implication.
"And what, pray tell, do you find so hilarious?"
"You said we're taking risks, and yet all you're doing is standing behind me and complaining like you usually do," she pointed out, even going so far as to literally point a finger three inches in front of his face. "No one asked you to be involved with me, but you're watching everyone like we're staging some sort of play. What makes you keep watching? Are you just bored? Or, Merlin forbid, you're actually concerned about one of the actor's lives?"
"A part of it is boredom, I suppose," Snape answered dryly, stepping out of the way of her finger.
"A part?"
"Dumbledore hasn't done anything interesting as of late, so there's been nothing worth reporting to his lordship. Another reason, if you want me to be so intimate with my thoughts, could be this."
"Please share," Mills requested cynically.
"I told Lucius once before that he could go ahead and kill himself following his own passions if he wished, but he isn't much for rallying people to his cause, nor he is one to actually follow that sort of advice. I've never seen you act this way before either, so it must be for a logical reason. Whether something will actually become of this or whether you're simply going insane…I want to discover the answer for myself."
Mills smiled and turned to leave.
"Be my guest. Whether I'm right or not, it'll prove to be rather entertaining, won't it?"
…And finally, also at the same time, the most important actor in this ongoing drama had nothing else to do but lay awake in his bed, waiting for his part. Lucius had sent him no word, and now he was obsessing over every possible scenario which might've delayed his response. He hated himself for thinking such negative thoughts, but with Voldemort, everything was possible.
A soft tapping suddenly came from his window. Ron sat up and was nearly blinded from staring through the window; the moon wasn't completely full, but it was large enough to catch an unwary gazer in its moonlight. Silhouetted in the silvery light was a large eagle owl with a letter clutched in its talons.
Wait. An eagle owl?
Ron rushed over to the window and opened it. The eagle owl didn't go much farther than the bed, immediately dropping the letter on his pillow and gliding back out.
Ron was so excited, closing the window wasn't anywhere near the top of his priority list. He scooped up the letter and unfolded it. Surprisingly it was unsigned, only a sentence long, and without much imagination or deeper meaning; nevertheless this didn't stop him from rereading it over and over again.
Whoever is with you, make sure they're not there by Halloween's Eve. Expect anything.
It didn't take Ron long to figure out that the reasoning behind the unorthodox format of the letter was for safety purposes. He refolded the note and began to wear it out with his shaky fingers. Absentmindedly, he peered at the door, knowing what was beyond it. His parents, Hermione—they were all asleep, unsuspecting.
He hoped all this would be worth it.
(End Chap. 44)
Me: Makes you wanna jump, doesn't it? The Plan will be next!
Plushie, Ron, and Lucius: Yay! Future action! (Draco and Harry groan.)
Me: Most likely, the next chapter will be published after the LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK—(thunder crashes, a baby screams, crows caw, water boils, and glass shatters) Will it STOP doing that?! Anyway, the next chapter will be out after the ending-of-a-popular-book-series-that-will-not-be-specified is. The "spoiler-free" policy sounds so over-the-top, but I hate a spoiler just as much as anyone else. Therefore, the next chapter will go down in history as the first (and hopefully the ONLY) chapter with NO MUSES IN IT.
All 5: WHAT?!!! You son-of-a—!!!
Me: Well, if I make any jokes or certain muses don't speak, then people who didn't read the book will be guessing like crazy as to its "deeper implications", and no one wants that. On the positive side, I'm sending you all on a vacation to Hawaii! Have fun!
All 5: Yay! (enter a random dimensional portal leading to Hawaii that suddenly popped up)
Me: (wipes brow) Who CAN'T resist a vacation to Hawaii? Let's just hope Plushie doesn't fall into a volcano. Next is a chapter you've all been waiting for! "The Plan" will soon be enacted, and Ron returns to the Malfoy Manor...God willing. (laughs evilly)