Puppet Strings

As Y/n headed down to the feast that night, she kept thinking about the goblet. She had had a bad feeling about it, but Snape wouldn’t have poisoned Lupin in front of her and Harry, would he? Unless it was slow-acting….

But at the feast Professor Lupin looked cheerful as ever, talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. Y/n moved her eyes along the table, to the place where Snape sat. Was she imagining it, or were Snape’s eyes flickering toward Lupin more often than was natural?

“You look tense,” Val said.

“Sorry,” Y/n replied. “Just…thinking.” Val and Sol had returned just an hour before the feast from Hogsmeade. They even brought Y/n back several sweets from Honeydukes. Emi had stayed behind and taken a nap. She had claimed that she wasn’t feeling good. Again.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. 

It had been such a pleasant evening that Y/n’s good mood couldn’t even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they all left the hall, “The dementors send their love, Potter!”

Eventually Y/n and the others headed back to the common room, full and sleepy. They only had time to barely sit down on the couches, however, before Rowen Wayne entered the common room in a flurry of blue-streaked hair. 

“Everyone get out.”

Y/n frowned. What?
“Dumbledore wants everyone in the great hall,” she explained. “Come on, right away!” As Rowen disappeared into the girl’s dorm to tell them the same thing, Y/n and the others frowned. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Val replied in response to Sol, who had signed something. “Maybe Dumbledore didn’t finish his speech at the feast?”

“Is it a fire drill?” Y/n asked. 

“They don’t do those here,” Val replied. “Or at least, not that I’ve seen.”

When they arrived in the Great Hall, they found that the other three houses were there as well, everyone looking utterly confused.

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. 

“Send word with one of the ghosts.” Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be needing…” 

One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags. 

“Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him. 

The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened. 

“Sirius Black?” Y/n hissed when the news reached the Slytherins. “No, that can’t be true. How could he have gotten past the dementors?”

“Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy. “Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!”

Y/n’s stomach sank. She looked around the hall and saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the corner. She turned to Val. “I need to—”

“Go,” Val said, smiling in understanding.

Y/n nodded and hurried away, grabbing a sleeping bag on the way over. 

Ron glared and opened his mouth as she approached—

“Shut it,” Y/n said sharply. “Harry is my brother and I am going to be by his side, especially if a killer who is looking for him is here in the castle. I’ll be damned if I let your petty feuding feelings towards me get in my way.”

Ron’s eyebrows were arched upwards in surprise. This was the most blunt and direct Y/n had ever been with him.

After a moment, Hermione continued on with the conversation they’d been having before. “Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” 

“Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” said Y/n. 

“It’s very lucky he picked tonight, you know,” said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. “The one night we weren’t in the tower. . . .” 

“I reckon he’s lost track of time, being on the run,” said Ron, apparently having gotten over his surprise at Y/n’s words. “Didn’t realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he’d have come bursting in here.” 

Hermione shuddered. All around them, people were asking one another the same question: 

“How did he get in?”

“Maybe he knows how to Apparate,” said a Ravenclaw a few feet away. “Just appear out of thin air, you know.” 

Hermione and Y/n met one another’s eyes. They both knew you couldn’t Apparate within castle grounds.

“Disguised himself, probably,” said a Hufflepuff fifth year. 

“He could’ve flown in,” suggested Dean Thomas. 

“Honestly, are Y/n and I the only people who have ever bothered to read Hogwarts: A History?” said Hermione crossly to Harry and Ron. 

“Probably,” said Ron. “Why?” 

“Because the castle’s protected by more than walls, you know,” said Hermione. “There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth.”

“Yeah,” Y/n added. “You can’t just Apparate in here. And I’d like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They’re guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They’d have seen him fly in too. And Filch knows all the secret passages, they’ll have them covered. . . .”

“The lights are going out now!” Percy shouted. “I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!” 

The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. 

What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Y/n felt as though she were sleeping outdoors in a light wind. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. 

Y/n watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short way away from Y/n, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore’s footsteps drew nearer.

“Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a whisper. 

“No. All well here?” 

“Everything under control, sir.” 

“Good. There’s no point moving them all now. I’ve found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow.” 

“And the Fat Lady, sir?” 

“Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She’s still very distressed, but once she’s calmed down, I’ll have Mr. Filch restore her.” 

Y/n heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps. 

“Headmaster?” It was Snape. Y/n kept quite still, listening hard. “The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either.” 

“What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney’s room? The Owlery?”

“All searched . . .” 

“Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.” 

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” asked Snape. Y/n raised her head very slightly off her arms to free her other ear. 

“Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.” 

Y/n opened her eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore’s back was to him, but he could see Percy’s face, rapt with attention, and Snape’s profile, which looked angry. 

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before — ah — the start of term?” said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation. 

“I do, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice. 

“It seems — almost impossible — that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed —” 

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn’t reply. 

“I must go down to the dementors,” said Dumbledore. “I said I would inform them when our search was complete.” 

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” said Percy. 

“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore coldly. “But I’m afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster.” 

Percy looked slightly abashed. 

Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left. 

Y/n glanced sideways at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. All three of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling. 

“What was all that about?” Harry mouthed. 

***

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. The Fat Lady’s ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. 

According to Harry, nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day. 

Harry was being watched closer than ever. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, and Percy Weasley (acting, Harry suspected, on his mother’s orders) was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog. To cap it all, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, with such a somber expression on her face Y/n thought someone must have died. 

She thought that even more so as Harry exited the office some time later, his face white as a sheet.

“She tried to get me to drop Quidditch training!” Harry exclaimed. “I told her no, but she still insisted on getting Madam Hooch to oversee our sessions. Honestly….”

Now that Harry was talking to Y/n again, she heard about Quidditch more often that she’d have liked. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin this, and Quidditch formations that. It seemed a new development had arisen nearly every time she went to speak with Harry.

Tonight was no exception. As she entered the Gryffindor common room, Harry exclaimed to her, “We’re not playing Slytherin!”

Y/n paused. “What?”

“For the first match. We’re not playing you guys! Flint’s excuse is that their Seeker’s arm’s still injured, but it’s obvious why they’re doing it. Don’t want to play in the terrible weather. Think it’ll damage their chances. . . .”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Malfoy’s arm!” said Harry furiously. “He’s faking it!”

“Yes, but you can’t prove that,” Y/n replied as she sat down across from Harry on a couch. 

“And,” Harry went on, “we’ve been practicing all those moves assuming we’re playing Slytherin, and instead it’s Hufflepuff, and their style’s quite different. They’ve got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory.”

Y/n his a smile. 

“What?” said Harry, frowning at this lighthearted behavior. 

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“Diggory’s just easy on the eyes, is all,” she remarked as Fred and George Weasley entered the common room.

“Diggory?” Fred asked.

“Yep,” Y/n said, popping the ‘p.’ “Was just telling Harry about how he’s a piece of eye candy. You know—strong and silent. The ladies love it.”

“He’s only silent because he’s too thick to string two words together,” said Fred impatiently. 

“Actually,” Harry said, “I was telling her all about how we’re not playing Slytherin anymore.”

“Oh.” George rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re worried, Harry, Hufflepuff is a pushover. Last time we played them, you caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?” 

“I’m more annoyed that the Slytherins are basically cheating.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey Y/n, you wouldn’t mind—”

“I’m not talking to Flint.”

“What? Why not?” Harry protested.

“You’re pretty and smart,” George pointed out. “You could probably come up with an argument to get him to decide to play.”

“Number one, he doesn’t even know me, and number two, it doesn’t matter what Flint says. As long as Malfoy keeps faking, I wouldn’t even get anywhere.”

“Awe come on,” Fred said. “You wouldn’t do this for us?” He slid on the couch beside her.

“Yeah, we’re your best friends!” George and Fred both pretended to bat their eyelashes, leaning close.

“Ugh, get off,” Y/n said, but she was grinning as she pushed them away. “Alright fine, fine! But no promises, and because I even have to talk to that little ferret boy, I’m expecting something in return.”

“Yes ma’am,” George said, already grinning mischievously at his brother.

***

It was late at night when Y/n was sitting on the couch of the Slytherin common room, reading a fantasy book she’d brought from Ilvermorny. 

“Oh.” 

Y/n looked up to see Malfoy in the doorway, coming down from his dormitory staircase. He had his school bag in his hand, as if he were coming down here to study.

When he saw Y/n he turned away to head back upstairs—

“Wait,” Y/n said.

Malfoy turned back to her in confusion. “What?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He looked only more confused. “What?” 

“Oh my—is it so hard to believe?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“God, you don’t have to stare at me like I’m something on the bottom of your shoe.”

“You’re a Potter.”

“You said I had potential.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You’re still related to him.”

“I’m adopted, actually.”

Malfoy blinked, then scoffed and shook his head, turning to go back up the staircase.

“Wait! I’m sorry.” Being around Fred and George always made Y/n a little more sarcastic. “I really do need to talk to you, though.”

Malfoy stood there for a moment, then sighed and stepped deeper into the common room. He sat down across from Y/n, scowling. “What is it?”

“It’s about Quidditch.”

“Okay….?”

Y/n sighed. “I know you’re faking your arm so you don’t have to play.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “Oh please—”

“Don’t even try to deny it. You’re faking it for attention, and so that you don’t have to play in this horrible weather.”

Malfoy scowled, dropping all pretense. “So what? It’s my word against anyone else’s.”

That was true. That was very true. Malfoy had influence in this school—mostly because of his father, yes, but he had influence nonetheless. Y/n would have to play this argument out very carefully.

Very carefully.

Perhaps it was time to lean into her Slytherin side. A little manipulation wouldn’t hurt, right?

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. But you made a stupid mistake. Don’t you think playing Gryffindor in this weather would have been an actual advantage?”

Malfoy paused, blinking. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“The reason you’re confronting me about this is because of that? You want Slytherin to win?”

Y/n gave him an incredulous look. “Of course I do.”

“But your brother’s on Gryffindor!”

“And? I’m a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide whether or not she were telling the truth. “What do you even mean? Playing in this weather would be a disadvantage to anyone.”

“Yes, but especially to Gryffindor. Harry wears glasses—you think he’s going to be able to see the Snitch with raindrops battering against his lenses?”

Malfoy studied her. Y/n held his gaze.

Eventually he sighed. “Even if you are right, it doesn’t matter. Flint already made up his mind. Even if I say anything, it won’t change. Hufflepuff’s already been told they’re playing.” 

Y/n frowned. Damn, she thought. So close. At least she actually had managed to convince Malfoy. It was the thought that counted, she supposed.

“That’s stupid,” Y/n said for Malfoy’s sake. 

“Yeah.”

A moment of silence.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Y/n said, grabbing her book and standing. She moved for the dorm staircase—

“Potter?”

Y/n turned, expecting a jab.

Malfoy hesitated. It seemed as though he’d discarded whatever he’d wanted to say, though, because he just uttered a brief, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Y/n echoed, frowning. She started on the steps, even more confused than she had been before.