DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 9: The Puppetmaster
You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you. - Eric Hoffer
Two days since Hermione had ordered them to the library on her behalf, and Harry really couldn't say why he had only now fully appreciated how fearsome she was. Visiting the hospital wing without the required books was downright frightening. Ron and himself had left at a near run, her furious screeching following them out the corridor. Whomever had sent Hermione an owl was a sick bastard; the boys were getting Howlers by the hour.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Ron and Harry huddled determinedly under the Invisibility cloak near the Slytherin common room, waiting for the opportunity they needed. Harry swore he could see the mould on the walls growing. Even Slytherins had to eat breakfast sometime, so they waited. At last movement was heard, but he groaned on seeing that they had misjudged the precise location of the common room entrance. No way they could slip in before the door closed. Ron was quicker of thought and his hand lashed out to grab the robes of the weedy young man passing them. He yanked him close before he could give so much as a squeak.
"Do you really want to know where my wand is pointed, Nott?"
The young man recovered with remarkable swiftness, startled features smoothing into what must be normalcy. "I can't say as I recognise the voice, but you must be in Gryffindor. Did you require something?"
"Yeah, actually. Malfoy's head, preferably on one of those spiffy silver platters you lot are so fond of. When is he coming out?"
Nott's eyes went unreadable at the mention of Malfoy, invisible shutters walling off the windows to his soul. The voice remained obnoxiously serene and almost cheerful. "Don't imagine he will be, though I'll relay your kind regards if you'll give me your name."
Ron's face, which Harry could see, went a shade of red which signalled imminent eruption of a violent sort, and Harry stepped in with a steadying hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Being uncooperative isn't an option, Nott. You see, this is rather urgent."
The eyes shifted to look at his left ear and Harry could almost hear the wheels turning. "We aren't going to kill him. Mind, we'd certainly like to kill him, but we won't. We just need to... to chat with him for a bit."
"Ah." Nott nodded curtly. "Harry Potter. And the wand pointed at my bits must belong to Ronald Weasley."
Nott inclined his head graciously, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "My pleasure, I don't believe we've met properly before. I would like to officially convey my regards to Miss Granger, as well as my regrets to her upcoming situation. You can make indignant noises, Mr. Weasley, but I assure you that Slytherin sentiment is currently most sympathetic towards both Miss Granger and Malfoy, especially from a few of the parents here. You judge us unfairly, however understandable it might be."
"I'm sure you're all the very salt of the earth," Harry said dryly. "Now, about Malfoy?"
"My sincerest apologies, but I'll have to decline. Malfoy has his own problems at the moment."
"Can I curse him now, Harry?" Ron's voice was indecently eager and Nott paled significantly.
"I repeat," Harry said slowly, "being uncooperative is not an option. We need Malfoy and you will produce him. Otherwise perhaps I'll ask Dumbledore to give me the common room password so I can fetch him myself. It would be a pity if I happened to tell everyone in the Great Hall what that password was."
Nott looked amused beneath his clammy pallor. "Clumsy, Potter. A good effort and I'm sure Dumbledore will deny his hero nothing, but a sloppy delivery. These things must be done with style." His face screwed up in the direction of the ceiling, wearing a thoughtful expression. "What exactly do you need from Malfoy? Vengeance?"
"Well," Harry waffled, a bit embarrassed. "We need some books he checked out from the library."
Ron hastily added, "And to have a word with him. Hermione means the world to us, and if he thinks we're just going to stand-"
"Yes, yes," Nott interrupted. "You need to ascertain his intentions towards your dearest friend, I get that. The books... I can see why she would want them. Reputation as a library hound, what? Well deserved too."
Nott gazes seriously in the direction of their faces, not quite getting the right spot but an effective look nonetheless. "Gentlemen, I meant what I said when I informed you that Malfoy has his own problems. Granted, I doubt you or anyone else outside of Slytherin cares for Mrs. Malfoy. However, I must appeal to your finer sentiments. She is still his mother. He loves her very much, and she is slated to die an agonising public death in six days."
Nott allowed that to sink in before continuing. "Malfoy is right now sitting at his desk, writing a letter to Peru to appeal for asylum on her behalf last I checked. He has barely moved from that spot for eight days and I do believe he has beseeched literally everyone he or his parents have ever known, for aid. Can you disregard his father's loyalties, his mother's acts and his reprehensible crime of being a Slytherin long enough to summon even the slightest regard for what he might be feeling at the moment?"
Harry couldn't think of anything appropriate to say to this, which Nott took as encouraging. "I think I see a way which we can all win in this matter, though. Miss Granger wants books, you want to be reassured that Malfoy won't be particularly horrid to Miss Granger, and I have wants of my own. Besides keeping my bits intact, that is."
Ron glared at the weedy young man suspiciously. "You think you can make demands of us right now?"
"Yes, actually, I do." Nott's face lit in a benevolent smile. "Of course you can hex me, and I am sure it would be quite painful. I can then go to the hospital wing, where Slytherins find an inordinately long wait to have their injuries tended, but eventually Madam Pomfrey will set me right. And you, my fine chaps, will continue to wait out here for a student who may never emerge. What will you do then, hex the bits off a second year?"
"Perhaps," Harry growled.
"Oh, I don't believe so. Bit dark for you, Potter. So, we can view our mutual wants as a problem or an opportunity. Shall I draw apart whilst the pair of you decide?"
Harry glanced at Ron, who scowled darkly but nodded. "Right. What do you need, Nott?"
"Splendid! Absolutely capital! Incidentally, I think that phrase is vastly underestimated. Listen to the way it just rolls off the tongue- absolutely capital! Now, what I want is for the pair of you to arrange a session with Miss Granger by which select Slytherins and parents of Slytherins can give her their congratulations on her prowess in duelling, their thanks for defending the school and by extension themselves or their own children, and , of course, certain people wish to give some delicately encouraging remarks in regards to her upcoming marriage. There's also the matter of updating address books. I tell you, Mrs. Greengrass has been climbing walls not knowing how Miss Granger will affect her social plans this summer. Do let's set the lady's mind at rest, her hand wringing is most distracting and I'm trying to revise for NEWTS."
Harry felt sublimely stupid. "Address book?"
"Yes, quite," Nott nodded happily, then started. "Oh, yes, one forgets how you lived before you came to school. Careless of me, ever so sorry. Strange, isn't it, how one assumes everyone knows the mundane and taken for granted details of one's own life? Social calendars are a convoluted thing and Mrs. Draco Malfoy nee Granger will assume an importance of the highest quality. One simply cannot invite the Parkinsons to a fete which she does not plan to attend herself, and if she were to decline said fete then one would be required to respond with an intimate garden party."
Harry and Ron looked at each other blankly. "Run that by us again?"
Patiently Nott explained, "If Miss Granger declines an important invitation as a Malfoy, the best families would be insulting themselves to attend in her absence. Thus, an intimate garden party, which allows people to assume that Mrs. Malfoy simply was not up to festivities." Nott sighed with a resigned air. "It's all very droll and silly but it's a custom. It's also customary for the lady of the house to handle all correspondence. Therefore, some grand dames - who also happen to be lovely dears - are in such a fuss over it."
Harry leaned against the stone wall and blew his cheeks out in befuddlement. How had control of the situation been lost so utterly, and how on earth had the conversation been steered to this? Ron was staring at the rabbity Nott with an expression reminiscent of watching a flobberworm tapdance. Harry's head spun and he could think of nothing but to nod. "All right. I guess, as long as no one upsets Hermione, it should be fine," he said slowly.
"Perfect!" Nott clapped in delight. "Shall we meet immediately after supper? I'll give you whichever books Malfoy has finished with as he finishes them, you can tell me when would be good for Miss Granger to receive visitors, and we can discuss Malfoy's behaviour towards his intended. I would shake your hands but I can't see them."
Harry and Ron mumbled agreement and gaped at each other under the cloak as Nott bounced off down the corridor. What the hell had just happened?
Nott stepped sprightly along, down the corridor and up a flight of stairs, whistling an Irish drinking tune which echoed off stone walls. He took a right, then another right, up a flight of stairs and then a left, finally ducking into a toilet. Only when he was certain he had not been followed did he allow himself to sag to the floor, hands shaking. Dear gods, that had been terrifying. Ronald Weasley, who had taken the field against legendary cohorts of the Dark Lord with hardly a scratch to show for it, had held him at point-blank range. And Potter! He took deep gulps of air and hung his head between his knees, grateful for the cool air of the toilet. He had almost dared them to hex him. What the ruddy hell had he been thinking!
When you are confronted, run. When you are cornered, fight. When you cannot fight, threaten. When you cannot threaten, make like an idiot with useful information and keep your opponent off balance. Words etched on his very soul by a grandfather long gone. It was highly doubtful that he meant to babble like a fool but at least it had worked. As far as Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were concerned, he was a bubbly idiot overly concerned with society.
He closed his eyes and leaned back now that the initial nausea had passed. He took a few deep breaths and willed his heartbeat to slow. This could be used to his - Slytherin's - advantage. Yes. Think, my boy. What is the next move. Draco would have to be dealt with, naturally. Whether he owed him or not - and he did - he still had to consider himself first and Slytherin second. His eyes opened as inspiration struck. Of course. Miss Granger was the next move, and for all the same reasons which had led Mrs. Malfoy to align her son with a Mudblood and he himself to request an audience for Slytherins with her. Harry Potter was the hero of the wizarding world, and Miss Granger was among his closest friends. His most influential friends.
The future of Slytherin would be won through the approving nod of that bushy head. Yes.
