Whoo, chapter 10! Enjoy it!

Chapter Ten: The Puppet Master's Plan

The look on Cepheus Black's face as highly disconcerting― as if being on the floor bound in invisible ropes wasn't disturbing enough. But it wasn't the usual "face of evil" that Harry typically pictured. Granted, that face was usually Voldemort, and it was hard for the snake-like man to express any emotions other than pure evil and hate, even when he was smiling. But now the Boy Who Lived was set before an entirely different expression.

Cold, hard, indifference.

It seemed as though Cepheus truly didn't care whether they joined him in his task or not. And it was quite obvious that he didn't care for the fate of the two boys that he was captured trying to stop him. And that was, perhaps, just as frightening as any noseless snarl the Dark Lord could pull off. This was beyond the maniacal insanity that drove Voldemort's actions; Cepheus was past insanity and into stunning clarity.

"No matter," the white-haired man dismissed Draco's harsh words. "It's not as though I needed your cooperation. In fact, that may have just been a hindrance in the scheme of it all. Besides," he addressed Draco alone, lifting the end of his staff and jabbing it against Harry's stomach, "I would not want you to back out and try to help your friend here."

Draco wanted to protest. He wanted to scream out Harry is not my friend! But even as he thought this, he realized the change in the way he thought about his school rival. For one thing, it was "Harry" now, not just "Potter" or "Gryffindor Idiot". But that wasn't a big change― it wasn't as if he were friends with the guy now… right? Regardless, he kept the thoughts to himself. Something else that Cepheus had said bothered him more.

"What do you mean… help him?" Draco asked, as a winded Harry breathed in a gulp of air.

"You didn't think my entire plan rested on the king simply appreciating my help, did you?" Cepheus admonished. "How quaint. Your mind really does still work in the simple ways of a child. No, I am well aware of what would result if I were to reveal myself so suddenly as a sorcerer with a miracle cure for Uther's ails. I need someone else to take the blame. You understand, of course."

Harry sure understood. They'd walked right into it. "You set us up!" he exclaimed when his lungs had reclaimed enough function to allow him to speak.

"Very good, child," Cepheus said, looking down his nose at the boy who had just spoken. "Really, did you not think it odd that you found me so easily? That I was here waiting for you when you arrived?" He smirked again. "However; I wouldn't want to besmirch the family name, and so I couldn't use you, of course. Therefore, this servant of yours is the obvious choice."

In the light of everything that was happening, Draco didn't think it appropriate to confess now that Harry wasn't actually his servant; Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines, too worried about what was going to happen to worry about seeming like one of Draco's underlings.

"I'll never help you," Harry declared.

"Not willingly, no. I'm quite capable of perceiving such obvious hostility. But I assure you, there are other ways of dealing with that." Cepheus pointed the end of his staff at Harry again. It was no use trying to move away, and Harry's labored movements didn't help him get away from the dark sorcerer fast enough. "Imperio," Cepheus enunciated clearly.

Harry felt a sort of cold grip take over his mind. He'd been under the Imperious Curse before, but the one he'd been under from the false Mad-Eye Moody during his fourth year was certainly not as strong as this one. This was a vice-like hold on his mind― his control held for only a few seconds before breaking entirely. Trying to wiggle out of this hold over him was as futile as struggling against the invisible bindings had been earlier. But he could still see everything as if watching from a dream.

Draco watched this brief exchange in shock; he was unable to do anything as the foggy glaze fell over Harry's eyes.

"How do you know that curse?" he asked of Cepheus in disbelief.

"Know it?" Cepheus chuckled a bit. "Foolish child, I invented it. And by your reaction, I'd say its reputation precedes me. You know what effect it has, don't you?" He looked down at Harry, who was still lying motionless on the floor and appearing catatonic. Cepheus pointed his staff at Harry and the boy seemed to de-stiffen visibly, showing that the bindings were cut. "Rise." He commanded. Harry climbed to his feet, his movements jerky, like the marionette he'd become.

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"Simple, dear grandson," Cepheus sneered, "He is going to go to the king with the obvious intent to harm him using magic. I'll save Uther, of course. And you…" He turned to Draco. "You're going to watch it all helplessly, and die tragically in the crossfire." He let the statement hang in the air for a while, impounding the terror. Then, he pointed his staff at Draco. "Imperio."

Bah, short chapter (more explanatory than anything). But it would have to be twice as long to cover any more of the plot.

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