Chapter 54 - Free Will — Words Unspoken

Praeris and Myrtle were fooling around in the bathroom, drinking, singing, waltzing hand in hand, trading school gossip.

Myrtle did the talking. Praeris mostly just listened.

She'd had enough to drink that the world had gone a little soft at the edges. She squinted at Myrtle through the haze.

Myrtle's surname was Warren. Both her parents were Muggles.

After she died, no one remembered her as Warren anymore. Everyone called her Moaning Myrtle. Crybaby Myrtle.

Myrtle's voice was very shrill. "I couldn't adapt to this place at first. I wasn't good-looking, I was short and fat, and I wasn't clever. Back then I never imagined I'd end up staying here forever — until now. Hornby mocked me, and I knew I wasn't liked. Everyone, everyone thought I should've gone to Hufflepuff, because I had no talents and I was a coward."

"Praeris, you can't possibly understand this feeling. The girls all ostracized me, and the boys? I'll admit I longed for love. But the boys looked down on me even more — until I died and scared them into fleeing in a panic."

Praeris's face stayed calm, as if Myrtle were talking about nothing of any great consequence. "Myrtle, no matter what, the vast majority of life is unhappy. Even so, no one has the right to strip away your right to pursue happiness."

"Even if you're already dead. Even if you're already a ghost. You still have consciousness, the capacity to think. So you have the right to love. Look — all that's left of you is your soul. From now on, when you love someone, you love them with your entire soul. There is nothing more romantic than that."

Myrtle stared at her.

After a long moment, she covered her face and wept. "Why did no one tell me these things when I was alive! Why did I have to wait until I was dead to hear this!"

She drifted over and tipped the red wine toward her mouth. She couldn't drink it, of course. It passed straight through her body and spilled onto the floor, pooling like blood.

On this Christmas Eve, she had found a friendship she had never known in life, and understood, once again, that she was already dead.

In truth, Myrtle did not resent death. Despite all her weeping, she was among the ghosts the one happiest to be dead. In life, Myrtle would never have dared take revenge on Hornby for mocking her. In death, Myrtle haunted Hornby relentlessly until the girl couldn't bear it anymore and appealed to the Ministry of Magic.

But death meant something else, too. She had no future. She would live forever in her school years, and all the life that should have come after, gone. She watched students grow up, feel the first stirrings of love, fall for each other, and she envied them every moment of it.

Love represented so many things. To Myrtle, it meant a kind of validation: someone appreciated you, and so decided to love you. It also meant a future, as though her stagnant life had begun to flow forward once more.

Praeris was the first person to tell her she could pursue love. Even if the Myrtle hearing those words was already a ghost, and the Praeris speaking them was a drunk.

Praeris had indeed had some wine. She believed, however, that her head was still reasonably clear.

If a living student were here, she would have said more. That Hufflepuff was not about having no talents. That Professor Sprout taught her children diligence, loyalty, and kindness. That just because others thought you were no good didn't mean you had to believe it.

But for Myrtle, who was already dead, none of that mattered anymore.

Before curfew, she washed the wine glasses clean and swayed unsteadily back toward the dungeons.

Praeris stood outside the common room entrance and thought for a moment before she remembered the new password. It had changed a few days ago. "Victory."

It was very late. She swept a cursory glance around and saw no one.

She pulled open the cabinet, took the wine glasses out of her satchel, and began putting them back one by one.

A voice drifted out from the shadows. "You went on a date?"

Praeris frowned and turned around. Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

Her thoughts were sluggish. "If you'd actually scared me and I'd dropped the glasses, you'd be paying for them."

Draco sneered and stepped out of the shadows. "Do you really think I couldn't afford two measly glasses?"

Praeris was drowsy, eyes half-lidded, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Still not resting? That excited? Because you're going home tomorrow?"

"You've been drinking." His tone was cutting. "It's made your brain sluggish. Which, I should note, is the only part of you that could ever remotely be called an asset."

Under normal circumstances, Praeris would have noticed right away that his mood was not excitement, and would have sharpened her tongue accordingly.

Draco sometimes found the whole thing absurd. It had always been his prerogative to mock people, to cut them down. But with this person, everything was reversed.

Praeris collapsed onto the sofa and tilted her head back. "Mm? Yeah, I drank a little. Myrtle can't drink, but I had to keep her company. Christmas was actually a holiday she liked, when she was alive. She could go home then."

Draco stood before her. His expression softened, slightly. His mouth did not. "You really don't seem like a Slytherin. More like a fool drowning in sympathy."

"You think I lose my edge when I'm drunk?" Praeris glared at him.

Draco gave a short "hmph" and changed the subject. He said, with unmistakable smugness: "That big oaf from Gryffindor is in for serious trouble. My father was very distressed on my behalf and spent nearly 2 months working on it. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures has accepted our complaint."

"Congratulations, then. What kind of punishment will it get?" Praeris yawned.

Draco said indifferently, "Who knows? Maybe execution. I truly don't understand why the school keeps these monsters in the Forbidden Forest."

Praeris nodded and stretched. "Get some sleep. You've got an early morning tomorrow."

Was a Hippogriff's offense truly worthy of death? Praeris didn't think so.

But the true victim was Draco, and the ones pursuing this were the aggrieved family, the Malfoys. Even if she didn't agree with the outcome, no one had the right to forgive on behalf of the victim and his family.

Some people thought they were making a mountain out of a molehill. But what if no one had stopped the Hippogriff, and it had bitten Draco? No one dared imagine that.

The following day at noon, Praeris arrived at the Great Hall.

A table for twelve had been set in the center of the hall. The Headmaster, the four Heads of House, and the caretaker Filch were all seated around it.

Students, too. Two first-years, and Praeris, who had just walked in.

"Merry Christmas." Professor Sprout, seated diagonally across, winked at her. "My dear, did you like my gift?"

It was a pillow stuffed with herbs, giving off a faint, clean fragrance. Professor Sprout said she hoped it would help Praeris sleep well.

"Of course, Professor." Praeris smiled.

A moment later, Potter and his two friends arrived. Hermione looked somewhat preoccupied. She caught Praeris's eye for a second and blinked.

Dumbledore had the three of them sit down, then cheerfully shoved a Christmas cracker at Professor Snape.

The professor looked profoundly reluctant. He pulled it anyway. A loud BANG, and out came a pointed witch's hat.

Praeris could have sworn she saw utter speechlessness in the professor's eyes. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore believed this was some form of desensitization therapy.

In truth, the professor had probably long since stopped thinking about that incident, or would have, if not for the cracker.

The professor shoved the hat toward Dumbledore with open disdain. Dumbledore accepted it graciously, placed it on his own head, and beamed as he invited the students to start eating.

Praeris turned to Filch. "Isn't Mrs. Norris joining us?"

The tone she used was as if Mrs. Norris were a teacher or a student or something of the sort.

Filch, holding Mrs. Norris against his chest, paused. His expression remained grim, but he answered. "No, Miss Prince. Mrs. Norris has already had her lunch. She simply wanted to keep me company at the banquet."

"I was thinking of bringing Nina along." Praeris said, sounding slightly put out. "But she got up too early today, spent the whole morning bustling around helping Millicent pack for going home. Now she's tired again and just won't get up."

If Millicent was Nina's mother, Praeris was fairly close to being her godmother. Whenever Millicent couldn't look after Nina, she deposited the cat into Praeris's care.

A first-year student was staring at Praeris with wide, awed eyes, as if she were looking at some kind of monster.

Filch's tone was, uncharacteristically, not entirely unfriendly. "Has Nina eaten, then?"

Praeris smacked her forehead. "Nearly forgot — I need to bring her a corn cob."

She was wrapping the corn in bread paper when the doors of the Great Hall swung open again. Professor Trelawney swept in, wearing a green dress covered in metallic sequins, gliding through the doorway as if she had wings.

She looked just like a dragonfly darting through sunlight.

Dumbledore immediately rose to welcome her, conjured her a chair, and expressed genuine surprise that she had suddenly decided to join the luncheon.

Yes, yes, Praeris recalled that Trelawney had said she refused to come downstairs, claiming it would contaminate her Inner Eye.

Trelawney murmured that this was fate's arrangement, because she had seen herself coming down to eat in her crystal ball.

Then she looked around the table, and suddenly shrieked. "No, this cannot be. When thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

Everyone exchanged glances. Professor McGonagall, who had never put much stock in Trelawney's prophecies, said with barely concealed impatience: "We are not afraid to take risks, Sybill. Do sit down, or the turkey will get cold."

Trelawney hesitated and refused to sit. When she finally agreed, she wore the expression of someone awaiting fate's judgment, steeling herself for a heroic death.

"Professor Trelawney." Praeris leaned forward. "If one of the thirteen is not actually dining, will the death prophecy still come true?"

Trelawney looked at her, bewildered. "Oh, it's you. The cruel girl, Prince. I don't understand what you mean."

"This is your prophecy, so I respect your work. But the premise of your prophecy is that thirteen are dining, is it not? I was just chatting with Mr. Filch, and now I'm packing Nina's lunch. Of the thirteen people present, one has not been dining. That is me."

Praeris stood up, Nina's corn cob in her hands. "There. I've already risen. The ones dining are not thirteen, and I am perfectly alive. You may eat in peace now. Yes?"

The moment she stood, Snape's expression went dark. Trelawney's face flooded with alarm. Dumbledore's lit up with something that looked very much like delight.

"This, this —"

Trelawney's mouth opened and closed. Praeris's logic had tangled her up entirely, and she couldn't seem to find a way out of it.

"My dear, Miss Prince, is it?" Professor McGonagall looked at her with warmth. "It is only a prophecy, not fate itself. You may sit down and continue your meal."

Praeris nodded politely to the table. "It's fine, Professor McGonagall. I think our little cat Nina may be awake by now, and she hasn't had her lunch."

She held up the corn cob and gave it a small wave.

And so, exactly as she had said, Praeris returned to the Slytherin common room, found Nina sneakily clawing at the leather sofa, seized the cat by the scruff of the neck, and lifted her down.

"Bad cat. Bad cat. The leather sofa is not a scratching post."

She poked Nina, who was now chomping through the corn with total absorption. The little cat had no interest whatsoever in acknowledging the servant who had gone to all this trouble on her behalf.

Praeris smiled despite herself, retrieved from the cabinet the snacks and sweets the girls had left for her, and settled in with a cup of tea to keep Nina company through the Christmas luncheon.

On the matter of Trelawney's prophecy, Praeris rejected prophetic determinism absolutely. Perhaps, as Trelawney had said, she refused the arrival of mysteries and kept them outside her door.

Fate was not absolute. It was like stargazing. The stars shifted constantly, and some of the more distant ones were invisible even to astrologers, those were the hidden possibilities. Human choices were like the moving stars, altering destiny at every moment, shaping the final outcome.

When she had still lived in the Muggle world, she'd been drawn to a particular phrase: free will. In the face of fate, our free will creates new possibilities, changing both the outcome and the manner in which prophecies are fulfilled.

Her choice not to eat, to stand up, that had been exactly what her free will decided. She could be interested in mysteries without fully submitting to them. She could treat them as an intriguing set of tools while refusing the shackles of fate.

When Nina finished eating, Praeris placed her little cushion at a spot neither too close to nor too far from the fireplace, so she could sleep through the afternoon in warmth.

That done, Praeris picked up her handbag and headed out.

A handbag, yes, one that held a remarkable amount yet weighed almost nothing. Millicent's Christmas gift.

The Astronomy Tower balcony was open to the sky. Wind drove snowflakes in through the gaps. The cold cut through the post-meal drowsiness and left her head clear.

About half an hour later, she heard familiar footsteps behind her.

"Prince."

➤ Next: Rising to the Surface