Ride or Die

The Serpent Under't

Chapter 17: The Serpent Under't

"Oi, Potter," Nott said, approaching his booth at the back of the Leaky. "Draco asked me to bring you this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, downing a gulp of his coffee and holding his hand out expectantly. Nott quickly dropped his phone against Harry's palm, glancing through slanted eyes around the diner - counting bodies, Harry imagined - before sliding into the opposite booth.

"Bones' case list," Nott supplied, brisk and careless and consummately Nott-esque. Harry glanced down, torn between excitement and dread as his gaze drifted preemptively over the screen.

"Did you already read it over?" Harry asked, and a quick glance at Nott's listless expression confirmed that he had. Harry scanned the names, staring at the screen; it took him a few times to process them, as he wasn't sure what he was looking for aside from something that might tug at his gut. "Anyone on it ring a bell?"

Nott shook his head. "Nope," he replied. "Nobody on this list has any connection to Riddle. Though there is someone at the bottom you might find interesting," he offered innocently, taking an unauthorized sip of Harry's coffee.

"Bogrod," Harry muttered aloud, wrapping his mouth awkwardly around the oddity of syllables. "Weird name."

"That's not it," Nott said snottily, and Harry ignored him.

" . . . Ronson, Saraanen, Smith - oh," Harry remarked, reaching the bottom of the list and shaking his head. "I assume it was Smith you meant?"

"It was," Nott confirmed, leaning back in the booth. "Zacharias Smith, purveyor of fine Greybackery and miscreant of Knockturn ill-repute," he commented melodically, nodding once. "And you'll notice he's the final name on the list."

"Well, it's not much of a surprise that it's him, is it?" Harry judged, chewing his lip. "It was Scabior who was threatening Judge Bones, or someone who seemed like him." He paused, thinking. "If she was killed over any of her pending cases, it was obviously going to be one of Greyback's cronies - right?"

"Well, sure," Nott agreed briskly, "but more interesting, Potter, is the fact that none of the Death Eaters are in any way implicated by this list." He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "Huh. A record for us, I think," he murmured to himself. "I should get us a celebratory banner. 'One day since last criminal proceeding' - "

"Nott," Harry sighed, snapping his fingers to break the other man's reverie. "What on earth are you implying?"

Nott smirked.

"Well, Potter, while your unrelenting lack of subtlety makes me want to bash my head into this table," Nott drawled, "I'm implying that Slughorn tried to get you to bury a piece of evidence that has absolutely nothing to do with Tom Riddle or the Death Eaters." Nott glanced up, drumming his fingers pointedly against the table. "Curious," he murmured. "Don't you think?"

Potter frowned; half alarmed, half defiant. "You don't actually think Slughorn is in some way doing this for Greyback, do you?"

Nott raised his hands in a facetious claim of innocence. "I never said that," he declared, though the knowing grin that slipped across his mouth was hardly reassuring. "I'm just suggesting that maybe you could stand to trust Draco and me a little more, that's all."

"Who says I don't trust you?" Harry asked, and Nott scoffed loudly, stretching upwards before rising slowly to his feet.

"You don't," he said flatly, and held out his hand for his phone, not waiting for a response. "I'll have Draco run you a hard copy if you need it. He just wanted to get it in your hands right away."