Chapter 53 - The Happiest Memory

Praeris avoided everyone. She sat alone on the wide lawn by the Black Lake, where unbroken gray clouds stretched across the sky like the hem of a Dementor's robes, heavy with damp and unease.

She often thought magic was simply too unreasonable.

To defeat a Boggart, you had to use humor against your own fear.

To defeat a Dementor, you had to use real happiness as a shield against despair.

And the Unforgivable Curses? If you lacked sufficient malice, if you couldn't take genuine pleasure in harming others, you would never unlock their true power.

Happiness. Where was she supposed to find happiness?

When she left the convent, she should have been happy. But that happiness was like the weeds at the bottom of the Black Lake, cold, insubstantial, drifting with whatever creatures swam past.

Back then, she hadn't believed a new life had truly arrived. She watched everything around her with vigilance, convinced that everyone who drew near had an ulterior motive.

How could a friendship built on hidden motives be called genuine? How could happiness built on false sincerity be called happiness at all?

Later, she had leapt out of Hogwarts and into Diagon Alley to start a new chapter. Tom had told her from the very beginning that he was acting under Professor Snape's commission. Miss Winnie was Dumbledore's person.

A person cannot be too clever. If she could see nothing, she would simply be glad to have a friendship, without ever wondering what lay hidden behind it.

But she saw. Discovering the truth was like learning a magician's trick. Once you know the secret behind the illusion, no sleight of hand, however dazzling to everyone else, can make you gasp during the performance.

Praeris stood at a fork in memory's road. Ahead lay a future not yet born. Behind her, at the end of the past, were the five years she had lost without reason. She stood in the present, suspended between a happiness she could not confirm and a pain she had already conquered.

She was used to conquering pain. That was the skill forged in her misfortune. She had defeated the convent that once made her miserable. She had defeated every unsafe variable that might have gotten her expelled or suspended. She had defeated difficulty and setback alike.

But what trapped her now was a happiness she could not bring herself to call happiness.

White vapor drifted from Praeris's wand, soft as chimney smoke curling into still air. It held the feeling she remembered from planting flowers and turning soil with Professor Sprout.

The Patronus Charm became the breath from someone's mouth on a cold winter morning, brief and warm, gone in an instant. Inside it was the sound of laughter in the beauty potion shop.

The magic shifted into mountain mist after rain, slow and heavy, looking cold from a distance but somehow, once, making her feel inexplicably warm. That was Professor Snape sitting before the fireplace, marking her essays in silence.

The magic became a faint white glow. It lit, but only in scattered specks. Inside it was every small kindness Millicent and the other Slytherins had shown her.

When she'd first read about the Patronus Charm, she had assumed it wouldn't be difficult.

For truly happy people, life holds no great upheavals. And if you've never felt pain, you have no contrast by which to understand joy. Take Draco, for instance, one look was enough to know he'd struggle with the Patronus Charm.

Praeris believed that anyone who mastered the Patronus Charm too young had lived through unhappy times. Perhaps even real misfortune. For someone who had known little joy, even a thin sliver of happiness could feel like abundance.

But she was so greedy. So unsatisfied. She held happiness to such a strict definition that she had simply stopped moving.

Praeris lay back on the grass. The wind rolled across the lawn, tumbling leaves along the ground with a dry, pleasant rustle, and billowed her robes around her.

She closed her eyes and let the wind move over her. Then something shifted in her chest, quiet and certain, and she raised her wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Silver light burst from the tip and took shape, a lithe, graceful cat. It was entirely silvery white, not quite bright enough to dazzle in the afternoon light, but it glowed with something soft and steady. The Patronus bounded lightly around her in a full circle, then dissolved into scattered flecks of silver against the sky.

Praeris pressed her hand over her mouth. She was smiling. She couldn't stop it.

This was impossible. She had been so sure she would stay trapped in that puzzle about happiness, unable to convince herself of anything.

She never expected that her happiest memory would turn out to be such an ordinary evening this past summer.

A cool breeze. No one who loved her. No one she loved. She had simply stood on the street and let the summer wind lift her robes. She had simply lain beneath the open sky and looked up at the stars.

The person she loved most was herself. What made her genuinely, deeply happy was also herself. Her happiness didn't depend on anyone else, it lived inside her, rooted in the truest feelings of her own heart.

She had been so lucky. Before she ever understood what her happiest memory might be, she had already lived it.

So many people believe the happiest moments must come from something earth-shattering, or from someone unforgettable. But sometimes happiness is so ordinary that you don't even realize how happy you were until it's long past.

Praeris hauled her heavy satchel back toward the Slytherin common room. Her steps were light as her Patronus. She still owed Professor Snape a debt.

The Slytherins were clustered around the sofas, dissecting Gryffindor's defeat. The next match would be Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, and that result would determine who faced Slytherin.

Millicent's voice cut across the room without a shred of self-consciousness. "You're back, Prae! I need to reference your Potions homework!"

Praeris couldn't help it. "You're standing in the Slytherin common room," she said, "announcing at full volume that you want to 'reference' my Potions homework?"

Poorly stifled laughter rippled from the older Slytherins around the room.

Stella smiled and said, unhurried, "Miss Bulstrode, Slytherins don't bully Slytherins. None of us will report you. But you might consider referencing someone whose work is at least slightly above your own level — otherwise your essay will end up with phoenix feathers and the body of a common hen."

Praeris felt a wave of helpless resignation. She didn't know which Slytherin it was, but whoever was trying to hold back their laughter and failing, that strangled, pressurized sound was genuinely indistinguishable from a fart.

Millicent grinned, unbothered. "Fair point. If I just copied Prae's homework directly, it'd come out like Longbottom's Shrinking Solution." She paused. "Ah — I mean. Referenced."

Praeris settled beneath the trophy cabinet, rolled up her sleeves, and prepared to walk Millicent through her essay.

Then she heard Miles's voice from across the room. "Draco, why'd you stop?"

Draco's reply came out flat. "What's there to say about Potter? His broom's in pieces. Let's talk about training."

Miles looked genuinely surprised. "That really doesn't sound like you. Alright — fair enough."

Millicent waved a hand in front of Praeris's face. "Prae. What are you thinking about?"

Praeris refocused immediately. "Nothing. My research has made significant progress. Worth celebrating."

Millicent's face lit up. "Really? That's wonderful! I'm having Wellington steak tonight!"

"My research progress," Praeris said slowly. "Why are you the one eating steak?"

Millicent pressed a hand to her chest with great dignity. "Praeris. I'm happy for you."

Praeris covered her face. "Fine. Fine. I'm happy that you're happy for me, and I also deserve a steak. Now — let's look at this essay. Wait." She stared at the parchment. "What? You haven't written a single word. Truly a pure reference."

By late November, Praeris had finally clawed enough time out of the margins of her schedule to develop a combined, budget version of the Wolfsbane Potion.

The new potion met the core requirements: the user retained full rationality and clarity after transformation. The effective duration extended to 6 hours, with the option to top up the dose. The one drawback was a side effect, once the user returned to human form, they would fall unconscious for 6 hours.

By any honest accounting, the only real virtue of this budget Wolfsbane 2.0 was that the raw materials were extremely cheap.

When Professor Snape reviewed Praeris's second version, he gave a single, rare nod.

His first words were still a merciless critique. But Praeris could tell, beneath the language, that the professor was actually rather satisfied with what she'd produced.

He hadn't called it rubbish. That alone said something.

What Praeris didn't know was that no potions apprentice's first independent project had ever been a successful replication of Damocles's celebrated masterpiece.

If she managed it, it would be a genuine milestone in the history of Potions.

Two weekends later, Hufflepuff lost to Ravenclaw. That meant Slytherin's opponent couldn't be settled directly, and an additional match would be required.

Gryffindor would face Ravenclaw. The winner would go on to play Slytherin.

Marcus responded by running his team into the ground. Draco, burning to make up for the earlier humiliation, cooperated with Marcus's every demand without complaint. He'd barely been seen going out of his way to antagonize Potter.

"How could he change that much? Didn't he just imitate the way Potter fell off his broom right in front of him?"

No matter how Praeris turned it over, she still thought Draco was simply incorrigible.

That was fine. A leopard doesn't change its spots. She wasn't so arrogant as to think a few words from her had reshaped him in any lasting way.

Stella blinked and said, at an unhurried pace, "That's tactics. Marcus said we need to break Potter's mental defenses. Though if you ask me, they've just gotten weaker. Back when I was still on the team, we never needed off-field maneuvers. We won regardless."

She said it with undisguised contempt. "In the face of real strength, every scheme and trick is worthless. Could someone scare Prae into losing the top score? Please. I'd bet everything that's impossible."

"So who are you backing?" Praeris said.

Stella answered without a breath of hesitation. "Slytherin!"

"In the face of strong feelings," Praeris said, with a gentle smile, "all rational thought is also worthless."

Her face said: I knew it.

Stella laughed despite herself. "You set a trap for me, Praeris. Fine. Sinistra bet on Gryffindor — if I lose, I'll make her buy me drinks."

"You're both forgetting Ravenclaw exists."

"Oh, Ravenclaw is up in their tower, darling!"

Before Christmas, the students had another chance to visit Hogsmeade.

Praeris spent considerable effort convincing her girls to abandon the plan of relocating Honeydukes' entire stock to the castle. In retaliation, they swore they were going to give her a spectacular Christmas gift.

The subject of gifts reminded her, Millicent and the others had been trying for a while to find out Praeris's birthday, but even Praeris herself didn't know it. She'd told them simply that she didn't observe birthdays, on the advice of a certain old wizard.

As for Christmas itself, she no longer felt any sadness when she thought of the first Christmas in her memories.

She had grown another year older. And the Half-Blood Prince still wrote her the exact same note, year after year, without so much as one letter changed.

She put it away carefully, tucked it inside her trunk as though it were something rare and irreplaceable.

In the girls' lavatory, two Slytherin crystal goblets sat perched on Myrtle's toilet.

Third year. Praeris had grown taller, and her face had filled out a little. Her features were striking, deep-set eyes, a strong nose, black irises like two polished dark pearls. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders in dark waves. Her expression was usually cool and thoughtful, the kind that made people hesitate before interrupting her.

Right now, though, she was standing in the girls' lavatory, pouring red wine into goblets balanced on a toilet.

"Myrtle feels so terrible!" Myrtle announced at full volume. "It's Christmas! And you have to spend it with an ugly girl!"

Praeris raised her goblet with one hand and smiled at her. "I feel terrible too. You have to spend the holiday with an unromantic bookworm."

"To our completely ruined lives!" Myrtle declared, weeping and wailing at the same time.

Praeris gave a small shake of her head. "No. To our honest friendship."

Myrtle dissolved into a flood of grateful tears. "Only you never lie to Myrtle! If you died, Myrtle would share her toilet with you."

"Actually," Praeris said, with a blink, "I did lie to you. I've had other friends for quite some time now."

Myrtle went still. Then she began gathering herself into what promised to be a crying fit capable of flooding the entire lavatory.

Praeris looked at her without pulling away, her voice quiet and steady. "But right now, it's just the two of us. This is our time. This is our world. To you, Miss Myrtle, happy Christmas Eve."

Myrtle shrieked in her highest register, "To you, wicked Praeris Prince! I curse you to live happily!"

Last year, Praeris had come to Myrtle to coax information about the Chamber of Secrets out of her, and she had promised to be Myrtle's friend.

She hadn't broken her word. Today was the second Christmas she had spent in this lavatory with Myrtle.

Praeris fished through her pocket and produced a small bottle. She set it in the corner by Myrtle's toilet.

"What did you put there!"

Praeris straightened up. "Egyptian incense. A Christmas gift. I hope you like it."

Myrtle's voice went soft. "Oh, I do. Of course I do. But Myrtle has nothing to give you... there's always the toilet seat..."

"No, thank you for the kind thought." Praeris smiled. "Your company is the best gift I could ask for."

➤ Next: Free Will — Words Unspoken