warning

slash implied here. I told you. now take your choices.

author's notes at the end.

disclaimer

characters and general situations belong to J.K Rowling & Co.

my eternal gratitude belongs to Andrea for the betaing.

present situations... well, they belong to me.

Puppet Theatre

Scene 02

In which Hogwarts is empty, Blaise Zabini does an alluring proposition, Draco Malfoy is forced to wear jewellery that doesn't suit his complexion, Severus Snape warns that he won't clean the mess, and Harry Potter drinks something. Something he shouldn't.

As much as he tried, and as much as he hated to admit it, Draco Malfoy didn't understand. Actually, he didn't have reason to feel so frustrated since he was trying to understand Blaise, which could have been classified a task as hard as beating Potter to the Snitch. But considering that Draco would have never admitted that beating Potter to the Snitch was impossible unless believing in miracles, he kept trying to understand Blaise, thus getting more and more frustrated.

"Let me get it straight." He said, with an air of finality. "This -" and here he paused, searching for the right word and feeling his frustration grow to the impossible not being able to find it. "- thing," he surrendered, "works just like Imperius curse -"

"Better, Draco. It works better than it," Blaise cut in to point out seriously.

Draco tiredly chose to ignore the interruption and went on with his soliloquised reasoning.

"- but still, it isn't the Imperius curse. Well, Blaise, I've never heard about anything like this. I know there are ways to obtain almost the same results. But almost. The Imperius curse is an Unforgivable for a damn good reason." He finished, satisfied with his last statement. A statement which Blaise dismissed with a shrug before objecting the other point.

"You've never heard about it because it doesn't exist. At least it didn't until now."

"Now?"

"We are going to make it.

"We?"

"We."

Draco elegantly snorted his doubts. "Look, Blaise. This project of yours sounds pretty good to me but I don't think it's realizable. Not with our skills. And moreover, not in Hogwarts, with all the wards and spells settled to locate Dark magic or improper use of charms and potions."

Blaise seemed to ponder Draco's observation for a while. Then he smirked, shaking his head softly.

"You're wrong." He stated simply.

Draco sighed. There was no way to stop Blaise's show of certainty just as there was no way he could stop his impending headache.

"You're wrong because our skills combined are more than enough. And you're wrong because it isn't detectable. The single parts are harmless. A potion, a charm and a magical object. It's practically impossible to guess the way they work together, let alone with which purpose," he explained calmly.

"Alright, alright. But still, I don't understand what's my role in all this."

"Come on, Draco. Only Gryffindors think that your high marks in Potions are effect of your skills in bed."

Draco blinked. Suddenly his frustration and his headache were faint shadows on the background of the implications behind Blaise's words

"What?"

Well, surely this wasn't the wittiest remark he had ever pronounced, but his slight bewilderment made a perfect excuse for it.

"You didn't know?" Blaise asked, surprised somehow at Draco's surprise. "They think that you fuck Snape, no wait - " he stopped to correct himself, as if a new settlement of words could change their meaning. "- that you let Snape fuck you in order to have the highest marks in Potions."

Draco was positively irritated at this point.

"Who." He asked.

"Who what?" Blaise asked in turn.

"Who said that?"

"I guess you want the longer version, then," Blaise tried and Draco nodded curtly. "Alright. Remember the Potions test the first week of this year?"

Draco nodded again, his arms folded tightly on his chest.

"Nobody knew about it. Not even the Slytherins. Consequentially, nobody passed it. Nobody but you. You even received the highest marks Snape has probably ever given in his teaching career." Blaise stated smirking. But his expression faded in a concerned grimace at Draco's sudden sharp intake of breath.

"I spent the whole summer working on Potions. The whole fucking summer. Closed in my father fucking laboratory," he said, more to himself than to his interlocutor.

"This explain your enviable snow white tan," Blaise pointed out before being kindly suggested refraining any further comment by Draco's growl. So, he went on, as lightly as he could. "Anyway, the failure was quite distressing for that Granger girl. I found her crying in the hall with Potter and Weasley as supporters. And it was then, to cheer her up I think, that one of them said that, and I'm quoting by heart, it is a fact of common knowledge that in order to pass the tests Malfoy has extra-sessions with Snape. At night. In his bed. With the special appearance of a spiked dog collar and a leather leash."

Now, saying that Draco was angry would have been an understatement. He was far more than angry. He was furious.

And, understandably, it was only as an intelligent precaution that Blaise took a step back.

"Who?" Draco snapped.

"Who what?"

"Exactly, who said that? The Weasel or Potty."

Blaise hesitated before answering.

"Potter."

A terrifyingly tense silence followed, soon shattered by Draco's calm, cold statement.

"I'll kill him."

And somehow Blaise felt easily inclined to believe him.

***

"Professor Snape?"

Severus Snape turned swiftly, his robe twirling behind his slender dark figure with a swish.

Draco wondered how he managed to do it. And how he managed to do it always the same way: same time, same angle. Swish, swish, swish.

It was impressing.

"May I have a word with you?" Draco asked, allowing a little smile to bend his lips.

The Potion Master's answer was a sternly raised eyebrow meaning "what could you possibly want now" and another turning and twirling of robes - swish! -  implying a simple "follow me". Draco watched the show with true admiration for a while before catching his professor's pace and joining him down the dungeons halls and in his study.

Snape took his time reaching his armchair behind his desk, sitting, placing his elbows on the table and joining the tips of his pale slender fingers neatly and thoughtfully.

"Mr Malfoy. Sit." He said then, as an afterthought.

And Draco sat.

"Now tell me. What can I do for you?"

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, the young Slytherin was struck by a strange mental image. He saw himself on Snape's mahogany desk, wearing a spiked dog collar attached to a leather leash which was firmly placed in Snape's hand who was -

Draco shivered.

"Mr Malfoy?"

"What?" He snapped out of his reverie. Or better, of his living nightmare. Not that Snape was that bad but a spiked dog collar and a leather leash and - what the hell was that? - hair care oil?

Draco shivered again.

"Are you feeling well? You're shivering." The Potion Master said, more as making a statement on weather than asking for concern.

"No... I... I'm fine, thank you. Must be an influenza." Draco answered, while inwardly exhausting his vast vocabulary to curse Potter in several flourished, creative ways.

"Is this your reason for being here? Do you need me to treat you?"

It took all his years perfected Malfoyan control to prevent his face to show the strange mental images he was experiencing because of his Potion Master's innocent words. Very strange mental images indeed.

"No, I don't," he managed to reply as smoothly as possible after a while of unmistakable bewilderment. He coughed a little before finally beginning the speech he had come to do. "The truth is that being forced to spend this winter break here I've found myself plenty with of time and not much to do. So, I decided to take advantage of this opportunity and work on a potions project I was thinking of during this summer. A sort of research..." Draco trailed off in his explanation, waiting for further questions, which, mercifully, didn't come. "I was wondering if you could help me," he finished putting up his best "studious & serious" face.

Snape nodded slowly.

"And exactly, how could I help you, Mr Malfoy?"

"I need some ingredients and your permission to use a Potions Lab, Sir." Draco said, handing Snape a list of ingredients that he had previously compiled with Blaise.

Draco watched with fascination the Potion Master's eyes scanning the parchment quickly. It was easy to guess that the professor's brain was trying all the possible combinations between the items to locate possible dangerous or forbidden mixtures.

The thin line of his lips as he raised his gaze again reassured Draco that indeed Blaise had said the truth. The single parts of their project were harmless. Snape wasn't exactly easy to fool.

"Very well. You'll find what you need this afternoon, at five o'clock, in the Green Potion Lab. I trust you to know where it is." He said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a silver key.

"Just one more thing, Mr Malfoy - Draco. I can assure you that I won't clean the mess. Is that clear?" He said cryptically while holding the key in his hand.

"Crystalline, Sir." Draco answered, somehow sensing that Snape knew that he couldn't be up to good. But really, being the Head of Slytherin House, he should have known better of his students. Or at least he should have thought worst of Draco Malfoy.

Anyway, the Potion Master placed the key on the table and pushed it towards Draco.

The young Slytherin took it and thanked politely before leaving. And it was only then, walking down the corridor with the key in the palm of his hand he wondered if Snape had the corporeal temperature of a snake. Despite the Potions Master had held it in his hand the item was as icy as if it had been buried under the snow fallen outside.

For the third time that day, Draco shivered.

Maybe I have really caught influenza, he thought grimly.

***

That year there wasn't Christmas morning for Draco. Having spent the whole Eve night working on "that damn potion", as it was now named in code, he slept well past midday. When he got up, he did it without haste, taking his time to have a hot relaxing shower, to dress impeccably as usual and to steal something from the kitchens. Then, coming back in the Slytherin sixth year dormitory, the sight of Blaise sitting on his bed reading greeted him. As usual.

Draco observed him for some time while eating his late breakfast and sipping his tea.

Every now and then Blaise stopped, twirled his wand in his fingers, muttered some words, conjured differently coloured sparks and took quick notes on several pieces of parchment discarded all over his bed as disturbingly huge snowflakes.

Draco was just considering the boredom of the show when Blaise decided to make a change in his repetitive schedule swearing up loudly and throwing his wand across the room.

It landed on the floor at Draco's feet producing blue sparkles. Draco raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst. Blaise wasn't known for sudden outbursts. Actually he could have rivalled Draco in calm and composure.

Draco sighed and replaced his cup of tea on its saucer. Then he picked up Blaise's wand. It was light coloured, almost creamy. It was quite long and very thin, cold and smooth at the touch. For a while Draco thought it was simply a baton just like the one he had seen holding by that muggle conductor when his mother had forcefully dragged him to a Mozart's concert.

He reached Blaise's bed while his fingers unconsciously stroked the texture of the strange wand. Blaise lay down between his parchments, his left arm abandoned to cover his eyes.

Draco touched his shoulder, lightly, uncertain. Under his fingers, he felt Blaise tensing. He had the time to frown before finding himself caught in the interrogative gaze of unfocused blue eyes.

"What?" Blaise asked harshly, pushing himself up in a sitting position.

"You'll break it that way." Draco said as matter of fact, raising an eyebrow at Blaise's reaction.

"No. It's enchanted to suffer harsher treatments," Blaise said tiredly.

"What's wrong?" Draco found himself asking.

Blaise didn't answer but leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

And at this point Draco was about to snap at him with something nasty.

Blaise was supposed to answer since he, Draco Malfoy, was questioning him. And if this wasn't enough - even if Draco failed to imagine how it couldn't be - there was still the fact that he had bothered asking, showing something dangerously similar to concern. Concern. That word had been cancelled from his vocabulary long ago and as proof of this, the Draco Malfoy standing by Blaise Zabini's bed asking "what's wrong", wouldn't have showed concern not even with the whole Hogwarts bursting into flames. On diplomas delivery day. With all the people busy partying inside.

But it was still Christmas, and even if the two Slytherins seemed to have forgot it, somebody up there surely remembered it and decided to save Blaise from an endless dispute with Draco through the sudden apparition of a black owl tapping against a frozen window.

His indignation momentarily forgotten, Draco pointed Blaise's wand at the window and murmured a simple spell to open it.

Only, he succeeded in more than opening. The window literally imploded, sending sharp pieces of glass flying all around the room.

"Fuck!" Draco swore aloud raising his arms to shield his face.

Blaise, on the other hand had set aside whatever existential problem was haunting him and began sniggering. Politely. But still he was sniggering and Draco would have gladly made him stop in a painful way if it wasn't pain what he was feeling crossing his left cheek in waves.

He brought a hand to it and cautiously touched his skin, finding a piece of glass dug in it. He watched horrified at his fingers stained with his blood.

"Oh, fuck!" he repeated, frantically looking for a mirror in the room. More sniggering came from Blaise's direction.

Finally, Draco's useless research was interrupted by a little cough. "Here, let me see," Blaise said, giving his a little annoying smirk. Draco glared at him as Blaise got up and gently guided him towards his bed.

"Sit down."

Strangely enough, Draco obeyed without complaining. Blaise got on his knees in front of him and examined his wound, frowning slightly. He took Draco's chin in the palm of his hand and forced him to bend his head a little.

"Now stay still," he said. Draco complied and Blaise extracted the piece of glass from his skin.

Draco hissed in pain but Blaise give him no attention. He retrieved his wand from the floor where Draco had let it fall and cast a quick healing spell.

Then he stroked Draco's cheek with his fingers, checking the bloodied skin for scars, but it was once again smooth and soft at the touch.

Blaise smiled.

"As good as usual," he whispered and, to his great confusion, Draco found himself unable to tear his eyes from Blaise's. He wasn't even able to tell him to stop stroking his cheek. His brain could order around all it wanted, but his body wasn't going to react. He was paralysed under Blaise's fingertips. And he didn't know why.

Finally, the owl came to the rescue again, deciding that he had been ignored long enough and landing unceremoniously on Blaise's shoulder.

Blaise seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking and got up. Draco stood still until he trusted himself to have regained enough control to leave the room on not evidently shaky steps. He headed for the bathroom to wash the blood from his face and to consider in solitude that weird creature that lived under the name of Blaise Zabini.

***

"It's ready," Draco said removing his dragon hide gloves and placing them on the counter. The potion was simmering and it had turned a clear crystalline colour. It seemed innocuous water. It even smelled, or not smelled, like water.

On the other side of the room, Blaise had just finished copying something on a new parchment.

"I'm coming," he murmured, letting go his quill and gathering his wand and the parchment. He joined Draco at the table and gave a questioning look at the potion.

"It's perfect," Draco said with narrowed eyes, preventing any further question.

"I don't doubt it. Now, before going on with the last steps, we have to clear up something."

Draco crossed his arms on his chest waiting for the clearings.

"Who's going to do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who is going to be the... master." Blaise said. "I was thinking about you," he suggested as an afterthought.

Draco frowned, quickly considering the pros and the cons.

"Well, I suppose I could give it a try."

"Alright. And who is going to be the puppet?"

"Metaphorical tonight, aren't we?"

Blaise smirked. Or better he bent his lips in that strange smile of his that, even if Draco would have never admitted it, could result both repulsive and attractive.

"Can we think about it later?" Draco objected finally. "Once everything is ready and we'll have only to administer it?"

"I suppose so." Blaise agreed with a sigh. "Well then, let's get started. Accio dagger."

A steely dagger came flying across the room into Blaise's open palm. He handed it to Draco.

"Now... You have to slash the palm of your left hand and drop your blood into the potion while saying these words. My blood is what you're going to taste. My word is what you're going to obey. My slave is what you're going to become. A puppet whose strings I hold and move at my will until I won't let you free."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you write it?" He asked, serious.

Blaise blinked at the request. "No, it's an ancient binding ritual," he answered, earning a smirk from Draco.

"Good. You won't get offended if I say it sucks."

Blaise narrowed his eyes.

"Somehow, I think you would have said it neverthless."

"You're right. I can't help being earnest. And truth is it does suck."

"Alright, now that we have established this fundamental paradigm, let's move from theoretical to the practical part."

"Practical part?"

"The one in which you cut your hand and put your blood in the cauldron while pronouncing the incantation, as much as it sucks," he said tiredly, holding the parchment so that Draco could read it.

"I just hope this blade has been sterilised," Draco muttered.

"Draco!"

"Alright, alright!"

Draco placed the dagger against his skin and pressed, while reading the words of the ritual through gritted teeth. Soon, his blood fell in the cauldron and the potion began to boil harder, its colour changing to a deep shade of red.

As Blaise nodded at him he retreated his hand and bandaged it with a tissue. He barely noticed the potion to stop boiling and returning to its watery appearance.

Blaise on the other hand was looking for something in the folder of his cloak. After a while he extracted a minute silver chain with a tiny pendant. Draco recognized it as a cross.

"What's that?"

"The link. It is going to give more strength to your hold on the subject. And it has several other convenient utilizations."

"How does it work?"

"You wear it."

"I what?"

Draco was bewildered. Things with Blaise always succeeded to take a bad turn. He didn't wear jewellery. Most assuredly he didn't wear cheap jewellery, muggle cheap jewellery. So, how could Blaise believe that it would have been possible to convince him that he had to?

No way.

"No way."

"This is the way it works. Do you want to step back now?"

"No. But that thing is horrible. It doesn't suit my complexion."

Blaise sighed. Draco crossed his arms on his chest.

No way.

"Look, it's either this or something as that dragon pendant Pansy bought you last Christmas. What was written on it? To my little Dragon, his sweet-smelling Pansy..."

Draco's eyes went wide in horror.

"Oh, please! I don't need you to remind me that. Besides, I've turned it in a more useful and anonym paperweight," he stated. But Blaise kept looking at him firmly.

"So. I guess that the damn cross will be just fine," Draco finished dejectedly.

No way, eh? His mind mocked him mercilessly.

"Very well." Blaise said smirking. He dropped the item in the cauldron and plunged the tip of his wand into the potion.

When he finished casting the last spell the potion was still simmering quietly. He put a lid on the cauldron and cleaned his wand.

"It has to rest this way for three days. This means it will be ready on the Thirty-first," he added thoughtfully.

"You'll have to have chosen a subject for that moment and moreover to have come out with a plan to administer the potion. Are you sure you don't have any idea yet?"

"Oh, but I do. And let's say that I'll tell you if you heal my hand," Draco offered, smirking.

Blaise simply raised an eyebrow at the sudden news.

"Deal?" Draco asked holding up his bandaged hand.

"Deal."

***

Draco was fighting with the clasp of the chain.

"Damn..."

"Here, let me help you," Blaise said.

It was the evening of the Thirty-first and Blaise and Draco had already retrieved the potion and bottled part of it in a vial. The plan was slipping it in the drink of the designed victim during the celebrations for the New Year's Day. Draco was ready for the dinner while Blaise had just had a shower.

And now, with a white towel hung loosely around his hips, he reached for the chain from Draco's hand.

"Turn," he said softly.

As Draco turned, he felt the contact of Blaise's hands on his neck, brushing away his hair. He felt his breath, warm, caressing his skin, making it prickle.

Draco tensed, unknowingly.

But then it was done, and Blaise was looking at him strangely.

"Put it under your shirt. It's better if nobody see it. A Malfoy with something as holy as a cross could be suspicious."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, his tone annoyed.

Blaise shrugged.

"Just that you aren't catholic. Or christians. Or whatever involving crosses. Isn't it so?"

Suddenly, Draco felt more than uncomfortable. He was slowly discovering that being near Blaise had that effect on him. And there wasn't cure if not getting away. As quick as possible. As far as possible.

So, he added nothing else and moved for the door. There he stopped, frowning but without turning.

"Just one thing. What happens if I drink it?"

"Drink what?"

"The potion."

"Nothing if you drink this one. Theoretically it would link yourself to you. Practically it wouldn't have effect, since you are already linked to yourself. It needs a will different from yours to activate. Why are you asking?" Blaise questioned, slipping in his trousers.

"Curiosity. See you later." Draco answered and to avoid further questions, and further strange sensations, he left.

***

Three minutes to midnight. Draco walked to the buffet table in the Great Hall, the weight of the vial reassuring in his pocket. He retrieved a glass and half filled it with slightly spiked pumpkin juice.

Two minutes to midnight. Unseen, Draco poured the content of the vial into the pumpkin juice. As expected, the liquid remained the same in colour, smell and taste. To be sure Draco plunged the tip of a finger in it and licked it.

Perfect, he thought

One minute to midnight. The target was in sight. Draco watched Blaise smirking at him knowingly. Time to go. He retrieved his own glass of pumpkin juice from the table and crossed the hall with his usual grace. The target was right in front of him now, gaze fixed on the ceiling of the Great Hall as everybody else, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

"Potter."

***

Harry flinched at the drawl that snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned and faced his nemesis, standing in front of him.

Malfoy smiled. No, grinned.

Harry shuddered as discretely as possible.

"Malfoy, what..."

He began, but the Slytherin shut him up handing him a goblet of pumpkin juice. Of what it seems to be pumpkin juice, Harry thought scanning suspiciously Malfoy's innocent air.

"A toast to a new year, Potter. What do you think?" Malfoy said smoothly.

"I think you drank to much."

"Probably. But still, I feel confident that many things are going to change soon enough so why not call a truce tonight and enjoy the fireworks in companionable silence?"

Thirty seconds to midnight.

"What did you put in this pumpkin juice, Malfoy?"

Draco shook his head softly, chuckling lightly at the question.

"My, my Potter. Quite distrustful for a Gryffindor. Here, look," he said and with a theatrical sigh he caught hold of Harry's wrist and pulled, bringing the goblet to his lips. He took a sip of juice under Harry's confused gaze then swallowed and smirked.

"Satisfied?"

Harry didn't answer and Draco took it as a yes.

"Now," he began looking at the ceiling, suddenly filled with the sparkles of the first fireworks. "Happy New Year, Potter. May it bring you great things," Draco said.

"Happy new year Malfoy," Harry replied dejectedly.

Their goblets touched lightly and they drank while fireworks twisted their faces with colours and shadows. Very appropriately, since Draco was having some troubles hiding his victorious grin.

***

To Be Continued

In Scene 03

In which Draco has pleasantly wet dreams, Blaise watches and scribbles, Harry is not himself and students come back to Hogwarts right on time to witness several strange events. Very strange indeed.