Chapter 57 - An Unfamiliar Ear

Draco spread his hands wide, a mocking smile riding the corner of his mouth. "Captain, as a team member, I have to respect your desire to give speeches!"

Praeris covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. The vein on Marcus's forehead pulsed.

Draco caught a glimpse of Praeris with her eyes curved shut in amusement, and blinked rapidly, several times, before his head swiveled stiffly away.

"Now you know mocking the captain is a bad idea?" Marcus snorted at Draco's expression. "Let's go. One victory doesn't mean the war is won. Defeat tends to show up exactly when you think you've already won."

This was Marcus's final year at school, thanks in no small part to Praeris. Whether they could take this year's Quidditch cup mattered enormously to him. So even a student as academically challenged as Marcus could produce a line with actual philosophical weight.

Draco and Marcus left, and Praeris picked up her bag and headed for Professor Sprout.

Professor Snape was still furious with her. But the warmhearted Head of Hufflepuff had been quietly slipping her extra herbs on the side, so she could keep up her research.

"Dear — you've come!" Professor Sprout greeted her with a smile. "It seems these herbs have been missing you."

Praeris stepped through the door and brought the wind in with her. The herb leaves shivered.

Praeris hugged Professor Sprout's soft, round frame and pressed her cheek against hers. "I'm sorry, Professor. I've taken on too many classes this term. I haven't been able to come help."

Professor Sprout's smile was gentle. "That's all right, child. You've already helped me enormously. Your potion works beautifully — the Venomous Tentaculas are absolutely thriving."

Professor Sprout kept a garden full of Venomous Tentaculas, and Praeris had brewed her a potion to encourage new growth. Its function was narrow enough that calling it Venomous Tentacula fertilizer was probably more accurate.

But sold on the open market, it would earn Praeris a small fortune. A single Venomous Tentacula leaf ran ten Galleons, and there would be no shortage of interested wizards.

Although... Praeris quietly mourned for the sixth-years. They were going to be facing a crop of Venomous Tentaculas considerably more vigorous and enthusiastic than anything previous classes had seen.

"It's nothing, Professor," Praeris said. "Professor Snape could have done the same thing far more easily, and with better results. If anything, I should be thanking you for trusting me."

Professor Sprout patted her hand. "No, Severus is already far too busy. I couldn't bear to put anything else on his shoulders. Now — here are your herbs. And also..." She paused. "Milly, was it? The catnip, for that child?"

"Ah, close, Professor. It's Milly's cat. Nina." Praeris struggled to keep her face straight.

Professor Sprout burst out laughing. "Well! Children, forgive me. In my eyes, you're all as adorable as little kittens."

When Praeris walked out of the Herbology classroom, she was carrying an enormous basket.

She felt it keenly: Professor Sprout treated her very much the way Mrs. Weasley treated her own children. Every year, Praeris had watched that woman produce luggage carts piled mountain-high.

Rustle, rustle.

Praeris turned. A ginger Kneazle was trotting toward her from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. His face was flat as a plank, like he'd walked into a wall at some point without looking where he was going.

"Crookshanks?"

The Kneazle seemed to understand. He stopped and looked at her.

Praeris crouched down. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

Crookshanks studied her carefully, his round eyes moving over her face, as though trying to work something out.

Praeris stopped staring. She didn't want him thinking she had bad intentions. She stood back up and kept walking, saying over her shoulder, "Good boy. Head back to the castle. Running around out here, Granger will worry about you."

Crookshanks was, clearly, a cat with opinions. Exactly as Granger had described in her letters.

He refused to walk behind Praeris. He darted ahead instead, then kept glancing back at her.

They walked together like that for a stretch. It was only when they were almost at the castle that Crookshanks finally turned and meowed at her twice.

A cat extending an olive branch. Praeris meowed back, answering his questions.

The two "little cats" parted ways in front of the castle.

Praeris thought Granger worried too much. In her eyes, Crookshanks was a clever Kneazle, cautious, sensitive, and perfectly capable of looking after himself.

She was carrying her basket downstairs, nearly at the Slytherin common room, when an arm dropped over her shoulder.

"You nearly got hit by a spell just now." Praeris kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

Stella said, surprised, "But you didn't draw your wand."

Praeris knocked her hand off, the basket was heavy enough as it was. "I know a wandless spell or two. Silent casting as well. They come out better when I'm startled, actually."

"Terrifying," Stella said, with genuine feeling. "You genius types. I'm about to lose money again. You can't imagine, Sinistra is already picking out which wine to buy."

"What do you mean? Marcus only just told me today that we beat Ravenclaw a few days ago." Praeris frowned. "Has Gryffindor done something?"

Stella asked, "Why Gryffindor? Why not Ravenclaw?"

"Miss, are you serious? Professor Sinistra bet on Gryffindor!"

Stella laughed twice to cover her embarrassment. "Harry Potter got his hands on a Firebolt. That's very bad news for Malfoy. If they both spot the Golden Snitch at the same moment, Malfoy is going to lose on speed."

Praeris nodded. That tracked.

Once Professor McGonagall finished checking the Firebolt for curses, the broom would go back to Potter. Nothing could stop that. And Praeris, true to her promise to Granger, hadn't breathed a single word.

The frustrating reality about Quidditch at Hogwarts was that effort alone had never been enough. Harry now had a Firebolt. Last year, Draco had bought the whole team Nimbus 2001s. And Hufflepuff's win over Gryffindor this year had owed more than a little to the Dementors.

"Have a little faith in Draco," Praeris said. "He's worked incredibly hard this year."

Praeris had been the one to shake him out of it. Since then, Draco had poured an extraordinary amount of time into training, an effort that nearly matched what Praeris herself had put in during the term she'd signed up for every elective on offer.

The result showed. His speed in catching the Golden Snitch had shattered his own record. Slytherin's victory over Ravenclaw had been a comprehensive one.

For Draco, that was almost unbelievable. Given his personality and his background, he probably would never work this hard again in his entire life. He had combined every advantage he could maneuver for with a genuine effort of his own, hoping to wipe the slate clean this year and prove something.

Marcus had backed him up. To sharpen Draco's edge, he'd released a Golden Snitch on the pitch and ordered every other player to interfere, making Draco find it with the whole team bearing down on him.

But the Firebolt was a blow. Last year, both Draco and Potter had been on Nimbuses, and Draco still hadn't beaten him. Now Potter had a Firebolt.

The Slytherins were still united. But almost no one believed Draco could win on skill alone anymore. The talk had shifted toward off-pitch tactics.

Some of this came from Stella, a veteran Slytherin Quidditch player. Some came from Praeris's own observations.

The fallout reached all the way to Gryffindor's match against Ravenclaw, where Draco, Marcus, and Draco's two cronies all earned themselves detention and cost Slytherin fifty points.

"Idiotic!"

Miss Farley was incandescent. Beside her stood Selwyn, arms crossed. In front of her stood four people slouching at all angles. She was no longer prefect, but her influence hadn't gone anywhere, and the new prefect Selwyn still followed every one of her steps, learning.

"Absolutely, utterly idiotic! The four of you have dragged Slytherin's name through the dirt! Now the whole school knows you're afraid to face Gryffindor! Is that supposed to be good for our morale?!"

Praeris pulled off her witch's hat and blinked as she walked into the common room, taking in the sight of Gemma Farley in full, blazing fury.

Marcus planted himself in front of the other three and took the hit. "Gemma, it's entirely my fault. They don't know better. But you know how we think, we just wanted to win."

"Don't rush. Your turn is coming!" Miss Farley jabbed a finger at his face. "A captain is supposed to be the bellwether. And you are nothing but a fat sheep, nothing in that head but bleating and eating grass!"

Praeris quietly stopped walking. In the years before this, she'd spent most of her time brewing potions in the office, composting in the Herbology greenhouse, and working through books in the library. This was the first time she'd witnessed Miss Farley in full eruption.

"You — move."

Farley waved Marcus's bulky frame aside, revealing the three behind him. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped into something heavier. "Draco. I praised you in front of the professor. For what you've accomplished lately, I told him you'd grown, more mature, more steady. The professor said the same thing to your father."

Draco had been wearing full defiance on his face. As far as he was concerned, Farley was the previous prefect. Her authority had an expiration date, and she was long past it. But at her words, the defiance faltered and something closer to surprise took its place.

"Now I regret saying any of it. You should think carefully. Slytherin will use any means necessary to win, but that does not include using idiotic means to lose in reverse. As for Goyle and Crabbe, I won't even waste breath on you two."

Beside her, the new prefect Selwyn watched Farley with pure, undisguised admiration.

"What actually happened?" Praeris finally asked.

Farley sighed. "During the Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match, they dressed up as Dementors to frighten Potter. The tactic was completely useless. It got us docked fifty points."

After a while, everyone filtered out. Only Draco was left, sitting alone on the sofa, both arms braced on his knees, fingers laced together, not saying a word.

Praeris took a cup from the glass cabinet, filled it with hot black tea, and set it in front of him.

"Going to lecture me? Or pity me?" Draco said with a cold laugh. "You don't actually think I've admitted I was wrong, do you? Any tactic can fail. This was a temporary setback, nothing more."

Praeris tilted her head. "Spirited. Good. But you're not a child, and I'm not a professor. What gives me the right to lecture you? Was Miss Farley not harsh enough?"

Draco had no answer for that. He turned his face toward the fireplace and studied the pattern on the mantel.

"So how do you plan to beat Potter?" Praeris asked.

Draco's gaze moved from the fireplace to Praeris's quiet face. "You think I can?"

"Do we need to talk in circles?" Praeris said. "That's exactly what you've been hoping for and working toward all this time, isn't it? Don't get cold feet now. Or do you think Potter and his Firebolt are untouchable?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" The words were out of Draco's mouth almost before hers had finished. "Me? Afraid of him?"

The moment he said it, he remembered their last conversation. His expression went sideways. "Anyway. Of course I'm going to win."

"Since you're not planning to back down." Praeris fixed her dark eyes on him. "Then here is my only advice: your goal is to catch the Golden Snitch. Not to make Potter miserable."

"You've said that before." Draco rolled his eyes. "Anyone would think I have a terrible memory."

Praeris smiled faintly. "What can I do? History repeats itself — you too."

Draco glared at her with open displeasure, as if filing a complaint about all the discouraging things she said.

Praeris stood up and patted his right shoulder. She leaned down and spoke quietly beside his left ear.

"Don't be angry. I'm waiting to celebrate Slytherin's victory."

Then she straightened up and walked toward the dormitory without looking back, leaving Draco alone, frozen in place.

A long moment passed.

He reached up slowly and covered one ear, and then he laughed.

He caught himself. Realized what he was doing. Draco pressed the smile back down, lowered his hand, and resumed the expression of someone to whom nothing had happened.

A moment later, he touched his ear again. Gently. As though he had just discovered, for the first time in his life, that he had one.

That evening, Stella and Praeris sat on the left side of the table. Marcus and Draco sat on the right.

Stella opened. "Today you dressed up as Dementors and it did nothing. Potter isn't afraid of Dementors anymore. He cast some kind of white, mysterious magic. That's what happened, yes?"

Marcus nodded. "That's right."

Stella nodded slowly. "Then it's time for Arthur to call on Merlin." Her eyes moved to Praeris.

"That's called the Patronus Charm," Praeris said, her voice even. "It's a powerful spell used to repel Dementors. Not especially difficult, but it's generally considered something ordinary wizards struggle to learn." She looked at each of them. "So you can stop pretending to be Dementors. It won't do a thing to Potter."

➤ Next: Quidditch "Strategist" — The Conversation