Tied Up With Strings

Summary: Draco Malfoy, like a string puppet, obeys his father. But this time, a certain brunette wanders into his life, throwing everything out of order. Will he continue under his father's control or will he act on his own- for once?

Chapter 1

Author's Note: I have absolutely no earthly (or heavenly for that matter) idea where this came from. This is what the AP Exams can do to you. Take heed.


pup-pet (pupt) n. 1 orig., a doll 2 a small, usually jointed figure, as of a human being, moved, usually in a puppet show on a small stage, by manipulating with the hands, by pulling attached strings or wires, or by rods 3 a person whose actions, ideas, etc. are controlled by another**

He stared at the page, as if in a trance. Well, that certainly described him perfectly. So much so that he wondered briefly why he hadn't been named "Pinocchio" instead of "Draco". But then, dragon sounded much more menacing. And he guessed that that was what he was supposed to be.

He closed the dictionary, coughed from the dust, cursed at the school library, and placed the book back with the others. Turning around, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and leaned back against the wooden shelves. He stared out the window across from him, thoughtfully.

If he had any time to criticise his father, the first thing he'd say was how much like a circus he ran his household. The way his father played the guests, the servants, and the enemies that came to search the place, one would easily be reminded of a lively show with clowns, jugglers, and trick artists, all of whom were searching for the single purpose of deception**.

And every circus needed a puppet.

So that was where the plan originated.

It really wasn't much of a plan, actually, but it still was a decent one. If he had had a chance to see it before…well, it's not like he could've changed anything anyway. Either way, he'd have the smallest role possible, considering the fact that he'd never apt to anything his father wanted, even if he did become a Death Eater, as he was scheduled to do so by the end of next year. After that, he'd marry and produce an heir. And if that heir- his son- could accomplish all that he was supposed to, then good riddance to him. Draco would be out of the picture without a moment's hesitation. Probably somewhere where he wouldn't interfere, or maybe his father would just hand him off to the Death Eaters to deal with on their own, or maybe he'd just die. Or be killed. An accident was what the plan said.

But he had to.

It was for his father, for the family, for the benefit of all Purebloods in the wizarding world. It was in the plan.

Everything was by the plan. Everything. How he dressed, what he said, when he married, everything. (Draco wouldn't have been surprised if his father had told him when he was allowed to breathe.) For as long as he could remember, his life had been mapped out to the slightest detail, from where he was born to where he would die. Who he would court, to whom he would marry.

But once, just once, he'd like to feel what it would be like if he- only he- made a decision, on his own-

He shook his head, closing his eyes.

He shouldn't think like that. His father wouldn't like it.

His father wouldn't like it.

"Draco?"

He turned around sharply, then relaxed.

"What do you want?"

Pansy stepped a little closer. She watched him carefully. A few years back, he was convinced that his father had assigned her to be his watchdog; she was always showing up whenever his thoughts wandered.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Coming where?"

"Hogsmeade. Remember?"

"Oh, of course. Yes, I'm coming."

"Well, you'd better hurry. We're leaving in a few moments."

"Yes."

She cocked her head to one side.

"You sure you're all right?"

"For God's sake, Pansy, quit hounding me. I'm fine."

She shrugged.

"If you say so." She turned and walked away.

He stared after her.

Sometimes, he just couldn't figure out that girl. She wasn't like any of the other Slytherins. Sure, she was cocky and sly; she made fun of all the other Houses and was everything else one would expect a Slytherin to be. But she was different as well. Especially when it was just the two of them. She acted like some one else, some one he wasn't familiar with: talking in hushed tones; gaze focused on him but not with the usual hard glare.

Like she understood him.

And he wouldn't have been surprised if she did. Her family wasn't as strict as his was, but she too had to follow a written plan, marry and produce an heir like he had to.

He would court her, if he had the choice. And he didn't mean the school balls and things. Maybe she wasn't as stunning as his future bride, but she could at least think on her feet. She at least dared to defy her parents every now and then.

He straightened; scowling at the dust that accumulated on the back of his cloak. He hastily wiped it off before following his life out the library door.


Hermione Granger picked up her pace, suspicious of the footsteps she heard behind her. Clutching her bag close to her, she closed her book with her other hand and quickly walked through the snake-like corridors. She certain someone was following her. She could feel that person gaining on her.

She walked faster, meeting the bare minimum of a jog. She turned a corner sharply, looking to her left and then her right.

She chose a darker hallway, noting the familiar painting on the wall. If she were correct, then this would lead directly to the Main Hall, where the entrance was. That was where she had agreed to meet Harry and Ron. But of course, who knew what the castle was thinking? It was utterly ridiculous to memorise all the twists and turns of the school, for anything, be it a staircase, door, statue, or secret escape, was subject to wander where it wished to wander. This produced nothing but severe headaches and more than mild swearing from travellers, especially if they were about to be late for class, and Hermione suspected that that was the only intent of the castle.

At the moment, however, she didn't feel much up to pondering why staircases moved. She pretended to be mesmerised by the scenery of the corridors when in fact she was listening for her stalker. Oh, all right, so maybe stalker was exaggerating a bit, but with all the dangers that were magnetically attracted to Harry, she had begun to jump at even the slightest noise, convinced that even Mrs Norris, the custodian's cat, was sent by You-Know-Who. This was a very silly idea, for Mrs Norris would never betray her dear owner, Mr. Filch, who in turn would never dream of defying Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, so Hermione had nothing to fear out of either of them save a detention or two. And she was certain that those footsteps did not belong to any cat.

They had to belong to a human, most likely a teacher, but she doubted that as well.

So that brought it down to a student. Maybe it was Pansy. She'd knocked into her on the way out of the library as the rude Slytherin was just entering. Perhaps she had followed her to settle their short and heated argument.

Or maybe-

She froze, staring at the wall in front of her.

This couldn't be a dead end. It was impossible- well, it was possible, but saying it wasn't made her feel better. Out of anger, she kicked the wall, stubbing her toe.

Extremely frustrated and wondering if her friends were still waiting for her, she turned around- and shrieked.

Draco Malfoy clapped a hand against her mouth.

"Shut up, Granger, you'll upset them!" he hissed.

Over his shoulder, she could catch a glimpse of two rusted knights in armour, eyeing them suspiciously. She reached up and yanked his hand away.

"Upset them?" she whispered fiercely. "You're the one who came up behind me like some-,"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" he asked. "Let me handle this."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"

"And that's why you went and got yourself lost during which you managed to wake up two bloody knights who happen to carry swords and a continuos need for revenge?"

She shut up, satisfying herself with a glare that he gladly returned.

He turned her back towards her, and she was struck by the fact of how much he had grown since last year. She could barely see any of the action from behind him.

"You're too tall," she muttered.

To which he replied:

"You're vertically challenged so shut up!" He pulled out his wand from inside the pocket of his cloak. Pointing it at the knights, he quietly chanted a spell that she was surprised she didn't know and yet he did. The knights became rigid, standing to attention; their steel boots stuck firmly to the floor. He grabbed her by the elbow roughly, shoving her in front of him and pushing her forward. "Hurry up, before it wears off."

It wasn't until they were a good distance away from the walking tin cans that he let go of her, shaking his arm as if to get rid of any germs. Normally, she would have left right about now, but, under the given circumstances, she had no idea where she was and hoped he did.

He didn't.

He scowled, glancing around him for anything familiar.

"Now look what you've done. We're both lost."

"What I've done?" she repeated. "You're the one who followed me. I was just fine by myself."

"Don't be stupid. I had to go after you, despite how much I would have loved to see your demise. However, if you had been killed, Potter and his what's-his-name sidekick would've thrown a fit, and I, naturally, would've been blamed for your own stupid judgement, just for having been close enough. Frankly, I neither wish to be expelled nor do I want to have to suffer from your foolishness. Therefore, it was I who had the undoubtedly irritating task of saving you from yourself. I have a reputation to protect."

"I could have saved myself from my…from the knights without you. I know just the same spells that you-,"

"Don't make me laugh, Granger."

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to lash out at him. Instead, she asked,

"Do you where we are?"

"Of course, I do. What do you take me for?"

"Lost."

He paused in his search and glared at her, to which she responded with a knowing smile.

"Fine then," he replied, forcing the words through his teeth unwillingly, though he quite knew well that she was correct. "Do you know where we are?"

She lifted her chin, a bit haughtily.

"No."

He looked as though he was ready to commit a deadly offence, but she interrupted:

"But I do recognise some of these statues, and, hoping they haven't moved from the last place that I saw them in, we should go that way," she pointed to her left.

She stalked off in that direction, not looking to see if he followed and not really caring either.


Notes:

*Excerpted from: Compton's Interactive Encyclopaedia. Copyright (c) 1994, 1995, 1996 SoftKey Multimedia Inc. All Rights Reserved

**Clowns are from devil, I swear they are.


Author's Note: A very strange beginning, I think, and I understand if you're wondering why you wasted these valuable five minutes of you life, and frankly, I don't blame you. As for the humour…this is all very new to me since I'm usually a huge angst writer and I don't do very good humour or romance so please be kind. Comments with suggestions, requests, corrections (regarding grammar, spelling, or if I misinterpreted something from the books), or plain old "Update!" would be gladly appreciated. Thank you. Take care.