Descent into Darkness

Ron trudged up the Hogsmeade Road towards Hogwarts. The air was bitterly cold, dark November clouds threatening snow hung ominously above him. He approached the grand archway and stood, shivering outside the main doors. He waited a few seconds and then kicked impatiently at the foot of the door. The gargoyle on the archway opened one eye and peered at him stonily.

"Student or Staff?" it growled.

Ron glanced sarcastically down at his black robes baring the Hogwarts Crest and his house scarf. He wondered at the intelligence of the stone guard. Aware that he was loosing the feeling in his toes he replied, "Student. Ron - "

"Don't tell me!" barked the gargoyle, "I'm supposed to know."

It regarded him with both its pebble eyes. Since the rise of Voldemort three years ago Headmaster Dumbledore had re-activated the dormant door guards. The guards were given frequent updates on which wizards had turned to the dark side and were taught to recognise known Death Eaters. Ron sighed resignedly and shook the icicles from his flame-red hair.

The gargoyle gave a throaty cough before croaking, "Weasley, Ron. Gryffindor seventh year," as the doors swung open.

Ron stepped into the entrance hall, muttering darkly about leaving antiquated security systems in the Dark Ages where they belonged. He headed for the stairs and was beginning the long ascent when a voice stopped him

"Ron!" Harry called down to him from the landing above, "Have you got my letter?"

He nodded in response. Harry grinned and ran down the stairs to meet him. Ron saw that he was wearing his red Quidditch kit. "Hi Harry," he said pointedly as he reached into his pocket. "I think it's from Sirius - "

"Oh, thanks," Harry grabbed the parchment. "Got to run, practice and everything." He raised his hand to wave without looking back.

"Bye!" Ron called after him and then walked on. The ancient school was heated by roaring fires, but he still felt cold.

As he walked he tried to remember this weeks password. "Butterbeer," he said to the portrait hiding the entrance.

"Mine's a Gillywater!" trilled the Fat Lady as the frame swung forward to admit him.

Ron nearly walked straight into Hermione, who was carrying her usual stack of books. He stepped back to let her pass.

"Hello Ron," She said pleasantly. "How was Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, you know," Ron indicated his ice-soaked robes, "Cold."

Hermione laughed and pulled out her wand. She muttered a magical phrase and Ron felt the ice melt from his robes.

"Hey, thanks."

"That's alright. I'll see you later." Hermione made to leave but seeing Ron's expression, stopped. "I've got to go to practice. I'm helping Harry formulate tactics for a new attacking sweep."

"But you said you'd help me out with my transfiguration homework."

"Was that tonight? Oh, sorry Ron, but Harry needs my help. He's got a lot to prove now he's Captain. You'll be alright on your own just this once." She smiled briefly then left.

At first Ron had tried to ignore the soft, silky voice he often heard when he had been left alone. But then, over the weeks spent alone in the darkening evenings as winter drew in, he began to think a lot of what the voice said was true. Ron climbed back through the portrait hole and on up to the dormitory. He found a harassed-looking Seamus Finnigan.

"Alright?" he inquired.

Seamus' eyes darted around the room. "No, I'm late and I can't find my boots." Seamus was also dressed in his Quidditch kit.

Ron sat on the edge of his bed. "You didn't leave them in the changing rooms?"

Seamus frowned, unconvinced. "Probably. I'll just have another look under the bed. I wouldn't be late if it weren't for Hermione."

"Hermione?" Ron got up again to look for his transfiguration assignment, "What's she done?"

"She asked me to join the entertainment committee for the Yule Ball. I just don't have the time, you know?" Seamus started pushing everything back under the bed, "I meant to say 'no' but I missed by one word."

"It can't be that bad," Ron laughed.

"You try it then," Seamus mumbled in response as he rammed his feet into a pair of trainers and picked up his broom.

"I haven't been asked," Ron said as Seamus pulled the door open. He didn't know why Hermione hadn't asked him, she had asked nearly everyone else. "Perhaps she thought you would accidentally set fire to the tinsel."

Seamus stuck his head back through the door and grinned, "Lucky you. See ya!"

Ron was left alone in the dormitory. He didn't feel lucky to have nothing to do, he felt abandoned. No, worse then that, he felt useless. It wasn't Seamus' fault that Harry hadn't selected him, "even though he's your best friend and all your brothers played for the house team when they were at school."

"Yes, they did." he said aloud. He laughed self-consciously; he had been reduced to speaking to himself! He dropped back onto the bed.

Did the lamp go out, or was it suddenly getting darker? And what was it that was so special? They couldn't see it, neither could he.

Really, thought Ron with faint amusement. He blinked, trying to restore the hazy forms around him into recognisable shapes. And who are you?

* * * *

In the empty Slytherin common room Draco Malfoy rose from the chair and began to pace in even, measured steps back and forth in front of the fireplace. It was almost time, he had got this far. Weasley wasn't nearly as stubborn once he had got inside his head.

Draco toyed with the memory of what he had discovered there, nestled deep in Ron's subconscious. What had started as an idle game for Draco had suddenly been transformed into something much more interesting. At first the effort was agonising, so many layers of loyalty and hostility had to be negotiated, but he had persevered. And little by little, it had got easier. The other Slytherins got bored of this new power too quickly because it demanded such a sustained commitment but Draco had been fortunate to fall into the first mind he had tried.

Ron Weasley's mind was really quite something, Draco had been exhilarated by the untapped power and raw emotions, so different from his own icy restraint. It forced him to look at Ron with new understanding, and he liked what he saw. There was potential.

He continued to pace. He had never failed before and it wasn't nervous tension that ran through his veins; it was anticipation. As fun as the mind-games were, they just weren't enough anymore. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

****

Afterwards, Ron could never recall his journey to the dungeons. He walked as if in a trance, drawn onward by some mystical compulsion. He stepped out into the wintry evening once again. Rogue snowflakes frosted in his hair and on his cloak, but he no longer felt the cold. He paused outside the dark entrance. He half wondered what it was that had brought him there, until the shimmering voice whispered softly and he thought no more.

The steps down to the dungeons were steep and worn, slick with ice and moss but Ron did not falter. As he descended torches on the walls flickered and burnt with a cold, emerald flame.

The moment Ron's feet touched the flagstones of the corridor the sense of direction and purpose left him. He hovered uncertainly outside the deserted Potion rooms. Any minute now, Ron thought, I'm going to be caught by Snape and given detention for having no good reason to be here. Ron started as he heard footsteps in the near distance. He wondered sardonically if the hours in Divination class had finally made him a true seer. The footsteps were closer now, and Ron looked around in vain for somewhere to hide. Ron had never been so relieved to see a Slytherin as the massive frame of Goyle rounded the corner. Goyle stopped abruptly, an action that required some effort. Ron's sense of relief dissolved, as he became uncomfortably aware of his yellow and red scarf that marked him out as a Gryffindor. The silence in the corridor lengthened, and from what Ron could tell, the expression on Goyle's face was turning from surprised to menacing.

Without a word Goyle turned and walked back along the corridor. With some trepidation, Ron obeyed.

Goyle stopped mid-way down the dimly lit corridor. He grunted what Ron assumed must have been a password as a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Goyle shuffled though it. Ron, feeling more lost than ever, followed. The Slytherin common room was sparse and cold compared to the glowing sanctuary of Gryffindor. Goyle had disappeared, but Ron was not alone.

Draco Malfoy stood by the fireplace at the far side of the room. The flames were green and their flickering light illuminated Malfoy's pale features. He was dressed casually in a white shirt and black trousers. The shirt was carelessly unbuttoned at the neck, the front pocket bearing the serpent of the Slytherin crest.

"Weasley," he said evenly, "you wanted to see me?"

Ron was confused, "No. I think I'm in the wrong place."

Draco shrugged, "Perhaps, the Harry Potter Obsessive support group is just down the hall, go give my regards to Granger and your little Gryffindor friends. Oh no, that's right," Draco paused and then smiled, eyes glinting mockingly. "They're not around, are they? Much better things to do, places to go, people to see..."

"Well, thank you for pointing that out," Ron gritted his teeth. He turned to leave.

Draco called after him, "Going already? I thought this was where you wanted to be."

Ron stopped, astonished. He turned back and met Malfoy's level gaze.

"You?" he asked incredulously.

"Who were you expecting?" Draco arched an enigmatic eyebrow; "it's dark magic Ron, who else but a Slytherin could master it?"

Draco indicated the high-backed chairs around the fireplace. Still wide-eyed with disbelief, Ron sat. He felt cheated. After all those weeks of listening and confiding, Malfoy of all people! He should have realised; who else could be so manipulative, so... intoxicating. He shook the thought from his head. Anger - an emotion he more commonly associated with his past dealings with Malfoy - rose in a white heat of rage and hostility. He leapt to his feet.

"You're using me to get to Harry!" the realisation was sour and it hurt. "It wouldn't be as bad as it is if it wasn't for you influencing me, making things seem worse than they are."

Draco's reaction was unexpected. He stared at Ron intently and whispered, "You were being ignored, eclipsed by Potter, Granger... I made you feel... special."

Ron crossed to the fireplace in two strides. "You'll be thrown into Azkaban with the other Death Eaters for this!" he flared.

Draco smiled charmingly, "You won't turn me in, you don't want to."

Ron looked away from his disarming gaze and focussed instead at the patch of pale skin exposed by Malfoy's open collar. He noted, with some satisfaction that his pulse was beating as fast as his own. "Malfoy," he snarled, "You have no idea what I want."

In a movement that was almost graceful in its pure power, Draco grabbed Ron's wrists and slammed him against the stone wall. Ron felt the breath knocked from his lungs and he stared at the shorter boy in astonishment. Draco found his reaction amusing and used Ron's stunned inertia to his advantage. He kept his lean body pressed against the Gryffindor's, pinning him to the wall. "You want to be noticed," he murmured, "You want to be useful, you wonder if there's anything about you that's exceptional. You're still wondering. That's why you came."

Draco traced the contours of Ron's face. "I noticed." He watched the storm of emotions rage across it. The anger had cleared, replaced by confusion and now a dawning understanding. Interesting, Draco smiled triumphantly. "Still wondering?" He moved forward and brushed his lips against Ron's. He made himself hold back, leaving a tingling preview of the passion he was reigning in. Pulling back slightly he tangled his fingers in the flame-red waves of Ron's hair.

Ron was suddenly aware of their breathing; it came in short, harsh gasps, almost in unison. His head was tilted back as he looked down at Draco through wary, half-closed eyes. The blond's own grey eyes were darting in an urgent pattern from his lips to his eyes and then back again. Under normal circumstances Ron would have shoved him away and felt violated, were it not for those pale eyes. The arrogant self-assurance had been displaced by naked desire that made him seem almost vulnerable. He wondered if the expression was mirrored in his own eyes.

"I came this far," he murmured, almost without realising it.

Draco moved almost imperceptibly, but in the charged atmosphere it was like an electric shock to every nerve ending. "Join us," his tone was sensuous and persuasive; sugar laced with cyanide.

Ron tensed but did not move away. Suddenly he leaned down and kissed Draco hard on the mouth. He brought his own arm up to support Draco's head, the other grasped urgently to his shoulder. Draco reciprocated with commanding skill. His tongue flickered inside Ron's mouth and then he teasingly caught Ron's lower lip between his teeth. Ron's searching hand prised open the buttons on Draco's shirt, which he obligingly slid off one shoulder. Dishevelled, he was still in control.

As they broke apart he whispered, "The Dark Lord has a plan for each of us, Ron. When the time comes, we will be ready. Join us."

To be continued...