Chapter 42 - Ravenclaw Internal Circulation

Praeris leaned back. If Daphne was going to say things like that, she might as well develop a crush on little Astoria.

Draco had written to her too. Praeris had assumed he was writing to invite more insults, but it turned out he wanted to discuss his thoughts on alchemy books.

He seemed to think that Praeris asking him about alchemy at the end of term meant she had a genuine interest in it.

That wasn't quite the case. But alchemy and magic were so closely intertwined that it hardly mattered. Praeris welcomed it all the same, writing back a long, sprawling reply to his academic invitation.

The other person latching onto her for studying was Hermione Granger. This little witch had apparently gotten a taste of what it meant to study alongside a human library. Letters every few days. The owl was practically being worked to death.

Hermione Granger had recently developed an interest in ancient Egyptian wizards, and Praeris found the answer in the Daily Prophet. The Weasley family had won a prize trip to Egypt. That was a good thing, it would give little Ginny a change of scenery. She'd had a truly miserable year.

Then came the school letter, informing third-year students that they could visit Hogsmeade on weekends, provided a parent or guardian signed the permission form.

Praeris gave a short, scornful laugh and burned the paper. What was she supposed to do, ask Father Dorin to sign it? Or her mother, currently sitting in prison? Or her father, dead for 800 years?

Last came next term's book list. There were elective courses, and Praeris would need to pay for those textbooks too. Once again, heartfelt thanks to the merciful Ms. Prim for giving her a job.

Some time later, Praeris stopped working the night shift. Ms. Prim absolutely refused to allow it.

Because a murderer had escaped from Azkaban. She'd read it in the Daily Prophet. The man was called Sirius Black.

"Oh, this is really —" Praeris remembered the look on Winnie's face when she saw the headline. "Prim, he'll go after that child. I'm sure of it."

"Who?" Praeris cut in.

Winnie didn't answer. But Praeris would find out eventually. All she had to do was sit in the Leaky Cauldron a while longer.

It took about one evening.

Praeris pieced together that Sirius Black had been You-Know-Who's lackey, the man who'd sold out one of his best friends, murdered another, and taken a dozen Muggle lives along the way. That first friend was James Potter. Harry Potter's father.

Winnie was one of Dumbledore's people. She was probably afraid Black wanted to avenge his master and go kill Harry Potter.

But Praeris didn't see it that way. You-Know-Who's subordinates hadn't been taken quietly, and yet Black had surrendered on his own. He'd walked into Azkaban willingly.

Which meant the prison break made no sense. If he was going to escape eventually, why walk in voluntarily in the first place? What had changed?

Praeris had wondered briefly whether You-Know-Who had relit the Death Eater mark. But Winnie's reaction ruled that out.

Praeris shook her head and took a bite of Tom's pie. She was curious, but there was no reason to wade into these murky waters.

"Evening customers have been thin lately," Tom said slowly. "Bad for business!"

"Tom!" A heavyset man in a striped cloak came hurrying in. "Has Harry Potter been here?"

"Not that I've seen —" Tom looked puzzled and turned toward her. "Praie, have you seen him? These old eyes of mine aren't what they used to be!"

Praeris shook her head. "From dusk until now, 3 children under 15 have come through the Leaky Cauldron. Two girls, one no older than ten. All with parents."

This man, with his thick air of bureaucracy, was almost certainly the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Winnie's description of him: shaped like a ball, a timid, hand-wringing people-pleaser.

As expected of a novelist. Winnie's eye for people was something else.

"Oh, thank you, girl." Fudge pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. "This is very bad. Where on earth could he have gone?"

Praeris watched his retreating back, blinked, and took another bite of pie. So Harry Potter had run away from home. And hadn't told a single person.

He wasn't the type who liked causing trouble for others. Every out-of-line thing he'd ever done was either a matter of principle or had been forced on him. His Muggle aunt and uncle had probably done something he couldn't stomach.

Old Tom caught the sight of her chewing slowly, turning it over in her head. "Would you like to wait for your friend?"

"That's not my friend," Praeris said, without thinking.

"Then would you like to wait for your classmate?" Tom said, just as unhurriedly.

Praeris laughed despite herself. "I'd like to keep you company a while longer."

Not long after, just about when Praeris had finished the last of her orange juice, Fudge pushed Harry Potter through the door.

Harry Potter's face was chalk-white. He looked like someone who had committed a serious offense, and not just running away from home.

Tom lifted his lamp and walked out to attend to his two guests. Halfway there, he turned back. "Little Praie, time for bed!"

Harry's gaze found Praeris Prince, leaning against the counter with an empty glass in her hand. Her eyes were still that same dark, unreadable black, exactly as they'd been the first time he stood before the Hogwarts Express.

"Sweet dreams."

Praeris raised her glass toward Potter, then turned and headed upstairs.

Harry didn't know why Prince was at the Leaky Cauldron. But he had a feeling that particular blessing wasn't going to come true for him.

She had been the first person he saw when he boarded the Hogwarts Express. Now he'd blown his aunt up like a balloon. She might also be the last witch he ever saw in the magical world, he was certain to be expelled from Hogwarts.

Praeris sat reading by the fireplace. The book was one Pansy had sent her, a collection of Nordic wizard legends.

She'd originally wanted to understand her Nordic-produced London Sunshine Boy better, so she'd bought a whole stack of books on Nordic wizards, only to discover that her boy's origins were actually German.

Pansy had been completely blindsided. Every single book, wasted.

So the useless pile was passed along to Praeris as bedtime reading.

She was nearly asleep when she heard, through her haze, the slam of a door from next door, room twelve.

No need to guess. Harry Potter. He was going to be her neighbor.

At 10 in the morning, Praeris reached out from under the covers and pressed the alarm clock. A gift from Winnie, a little chicken alarm clock that would tear around the room clucking nonstop if you didn't get up.

She hauled herself out of bed. Her toothbrush dipped itself in toothpaste and flew into her mouth. Her towel sailed over to the tap, soaked itself, and wrung itself dry. Her comb ran through her hair on its own. Then, eyes still shut, she dropped into the chair in front of the mirror and did her updo entirely by hand.

5 minutes later, Praeris drifted downstairs in a fog, scooped up the breakfast Tom had left on the counter, sat down, and swallowed a long gulp of black tea.

Harry watched as Prince floated past him like a sleepwalker, then snapped her eyes wide open after that first sip. "You put sugar in this, Tom!"

"Oh!" Tom smacked himself on the head. "I gave you the wrong cup — that was Harry's!"

Praeris shook her head, stood up with her bread. "It's fine. I understand. You're old."

Tom nodded in full agreement. "That's right, that's right. Want me to get you another cup?"

"Oh, no need. I have to get going. See you tonight, Tom."

"See you tonight, little Praie."

Harry's gaze trailed after her as she moved around the room. It was a good while before he asked, "Tom — I mean, does she always live here?"

Tom chuckled. He didn't answer. "Little Praie is a good friend of ours."

In the days that followed, Harry spent a thoroughly happy stretch of time in Diagon Alley, and discovered a side of this classmate that the rest of the school clearly didn't know about.

There wasn't a soul in Diagon Alley who didn't know Praeris. Nobody could say exactly when she'd first shown up, one day she simply was there, and that was that.

She stayed at the Leaky Cauldron through the summer. Most shopkeepers assumed she was the child of the owner of Ms. Prim's beauty shop.

"Probably Prim's apprentice!"

"Isn't Praie Prim's kid?"

"A relative's child, maybe!"

"Wait — isn't she Brown's?"

She was just as much of a mystery here as she was at school. And in complete contrast to that evening in the pub, she had no interest whatsoever in paying Harry any attention.

He figured it was probably because she was a Slytherin. Or maybe because of what happened in front of the library in first year. Or maybe because last term she'd warned Hermione Granger to watch out for Ginny, and he and Ron had chosen not to believe her.

It felt a little strange. And yet Harry found he didn't really mind it.

What he meant was: she didn't treat him like he was anything special. But she didn't look down on him either. Didn't single him out.

Ever since he'd arrived in the wizarding world, every witch and wizard he encountered loved to stare and make a fuss. Harry had learned to live with it. But being treated like an ordinary person just passing through,

It had been a long time since anyone had done that.

Praeris ran into Heidi at the bookshop. The woman was hovering in front of Flourish and Blotts, going nowhere.

"What's wrong?" Praeris came up behind her, trying to see what she was staring at. "You look terrified. Did Fawkes update?"

Heidi's voice went shrill. "If Fawkes updated, I'd walk through fire to get in!"

Then, muttering: "Spotty Forest has lost his mind, stocking a load of The Monster Book of Monsters. I'm scared of getting bitten. I can't go in."

"That's this year's textbook for Hogwarts' Care of Magical Creatures," Praeris said.

Heidi choked. "After all these years — how has Professor Kettleburn gotten even wilder?"

Silvanus Kettleburn, Hogwarts' Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Praeris had once traded him a poetry collection for an Occamy feather, as a way of making things right with Harry Potter.

"It's not Professor Kettleburn's class anymore," Praeris said, hands tucked away. "He's only got one arm, he can't hold down a Monster Book. And he's nearly retired. This looks like someone new's requirement."

"I don't care, come on, Praie, please, I want to read the new novel! You definitely know how to deal with those things."

Praeris could not take this. Heidi was at least twice her age.

"I can't deal with them," Praeris said, entirely unbothered. "Do I look omniscient to you?"

"You're actually not?" Heidi stared. "Professor Flitwick said your breadth of knowledge far surpasses your peers. Beyond ordinary reach."

Praeris stalled. "Please thank Professor Flitwick for the kind words, but this child is not up to it. You're a Ravenclaw?"

"Do I not look like one?" Heidi squared her shoulders proudly.

"You do," Praeris said. "Very much so." She quietly took two steps back.

Right. Ravenclaws. This was exactly how they were.

Pursuing knowledge all the way to trying to steal Dumbledore's Philosopher's Stone, that was Quirrell, Ravenclaw. Pouring every ounce of intelligence into lifting other people's life stories for himself, that was Lockhart, Ravenclaw. Former Ministry Charms examiner, now getting rich off household spells and writing Muggle fantasy novels, that was Winnie, Ravenclaw. And whatever intelligence she had, all spent on reading novels and tormenting children, that was Heidi, Ravenclaw.

Praeris beckoned. "Heidi. Let me recommend a set of Muggle novels. Good ones."

Let Winnie's novels find their way to Heidi. You Ravenclaws can produce and consume among yourselves.

Heidi's eyes lit up and she darted off, almost certainly in the direction of the nearest Muggle bookshop.

Excellent. The Ravenclaw production-and-consumption chain had completed its loop.

Praeris was also here to buy books. She'd signed up for every elective course she could. The good news was that unlike Hermione Granger, who had scheduling conflicts, Slytherin's electives had none, she could take them all. The bad news was that the books wiped out a substantial chunk of her funds.

Praeris desperately wanted to shout: "Lockhart! You fraud! Refund!"

Thankfully, the Half-Blood Prince's Christmas gift was still a very reasonable quantity of Galleons. Combined with the tips from the two professors and Ms. Prim's wages, she had just enough to buy every book she needed, with a little left over.

She really had been raised by an entire village.

Funny how summer felt endless while you were living through it, and then the moment it was over, it had gone far too fast. You could almost still taste it, something rich and slow, dissolving on the tongue.

Praeris found herself wondering: was the feeling of happiness always just slightly out of step with happiness itself?

On the day school started, Praeris was up early and ran straight into Harry Potter and the Weasley family, who were on their way out.

They didn't react much when they saw her, until their eyes landed on the green trim of her robes.

Tom, on the other hand, was delighted. He grinned at her from behind the counter. "Happy new term, child! You're taking my sandwiches with you!"

"I won't forget."

Across the room, the Weasley family was murmuring among themselves. Their parents clearly hadn't met Praeris before. They quietly asked Harry if he knew her, whether they ought to bring her along.

"She's a Slytherin," Ron said.

"But she's never bullied anyone," Harry said, keeping his voice low.

"I didn't say she bullied people," Ron said.

"Who said she did?" George said.

"She can shut Malfoy down so hard he can't even lift his head," Fred said.

"Brilliant," George said.

Praeris heard none of it. She was standing at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, knocking on Winnie's car window.

"Hey, beautiful. All by yourself?"

➤ Next: Astoria — The Conversation