Chapter 64 - Dangerous Woman — What Was Lost

The professor's letter came as a surprise to Praeris, but not exactly a shock. Professor McGonagall was always reliable. She would never forget to relay a conversation that was originally meant to be held with Dumbledore and Professor Snape himself.

So Praeris had been waiting for Professor Snape's response. Would he refuse to acknowledge it, distancing himself from any familial connection between them, or would he admit it? The latter didn't seem like a decision he would ever make.

Professor Snape chose "OR" in the "YES OR NO?" question.

He wrote a letter that indirectly acknowledged the matter, and nothing more.

Given Praeris's intelligence, it would have been laughable if, after three years, she still failed to understand what Professor Snape meant. Clearly, he wanted this to remain a secret among the few who already knew. Not one more person.

Praeris slowly folded the letter shut and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she raised her wand and set it alight.

A black hole burned through the paper and spread. The letter curled in the flames until it was nothing but black ash.

Then she opened the box where she kept her letters, sorted out every Christmas card from the "Half-Blood Prince," and fed them to the fire, one by one.

The leaping light lit her face in turns of brightness and shadow.

She might never fully make sense of it all. There were pieces missing, key ones, and she knew it. But Professor Snape's decision was her decision. Professor Snape's choice was her choice.

Severus Snape. This man could have ignored her entirely. Even her own mother hadn't bothered.

Without him, she still would have come to Hogwarts. Without him, she still would have found her own way out.

But if there had truly been no him, then Christmas, for Praeris, would have been nothing but the day she was abandoned. There would have been no letters to wait for, no Half-Blood Prince. The snow that fell on her life might have made her lonelier still, made it harder to expect anything from people at all.

Praeris had to admit: the first person to plant the seed of love in her heart was a professor who seemed entirely without humanity. It was him. Year after year, the same Christmas card, arriving right on time.

Compared to a poetry collection brimming with love, those cards were the earliest poems about love she had ever known.

Old Tom, Millie, Pansy Parkinson, Professor Sprout, Stella, Ms. Prim, Winnie, Myrtle, all of them good people.

But without Professor Snape's letters, year after year, she might never have expected love at all. She might have needed far longer to accept that she, too, was someone worth loving.

Did Professor Snape understand love? Praeris didn't know.

The wealthy man, seated before a lavish feast, still finds something to complain about. The poor man, with his plain tea and simple food, already knows not to take it lightly. Perhaps what Professor Snape had given seemed small to those who had grown up happy. But to Praeris, his presence in her life had already been a kind of luck.

When he had sat at his desk writing her Christmas cards. When he had come alone to the convent to take her away. When he had relented in the face of her plea.

"That teacher dressed all in black — no taste at all. Imagine choosing Praeris."

"Katie, do you know what he said about me and Sophia?! He said he wanted a student, not a nanny!"

"As you can see, unlike those ordinary, ignorant Muggles, we are wizards with special abilities..."

"Expecto Patronum!"

Praeris had discovered that her Patronus was solid, substantial, as powerful as a corporeal form.

Once, she had felt that the days after leaving the convent, happy as they were, had been like water-weeds floating with nothing to hold them.

Now she could accept that day for what it was. When she had stumbled forward, clutching the corner of the professor's robes, stepping into the wizarding world for the first time, that, too, had been a time that made her happy.

Before boarding the Hogwarts Express, Draco found her.

Draco always had a habit of speaking to her without looking at her directly. He said, "Prince, I'll write to you after I get home — er, you know. The hundred Galleons."

The wind on the platform lifted Praeris's long black hair and she reached up to press her hat down.

"Why don't we just talk on the train?" she said, puzzled. "You know that was fake. The hundred Galleons was entirely a joke. The actual market price for Felix Felicis is five hundred Galleons, at least, that's what the professor sold his previous batches for."

Draco let out a short, cold laugh. "Ha. Do you have no self-awareness at all? Once you're on the train, you'll run straight to Bulstrode and the others, use her as a sofa cushion, and read until you fall asleep. Am I wrong?"

Praeris noticed he was being unreasonable, though she had no idea what had gotten into him.

She tried to steer them back on track. "Er, do you still remember what you wanted to say? That was a fake potion. At most, you'd owe me the price of a bottle and a piece of candy. Actually, you don't have to pay anything at all. Consider it my contribution to Slytherin."

When she saw Draco was still staring at her in silence, Praeris decided to switch to something he'd actually want to talk about. "You mentioned last time you found a broken magical object at home — we really should get on the train — are you planning to repair it?"

Draco let himself be guided onto the train, eyes lowered as though turning something over in his mind. "Yes. A broken magical object, in the storeroom. I think it could expand my understanding of alchemy."

"Oh, that sounds promising," Praeris said. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with. I have some experience with that sort of thing, I made a magical hairband for Millie once. Write and tell me how you're planning to fix it. Maybe I can give you some suggestions."

She smiled and gave him a small wave. "Pansy's calling me. See you next term."

Zabini shoved past students in the corridor, collecting irritated looks as he went. He pushed his way to Draco's side. "Hey, Draco, what are you staring at? Crabbe and Goyle are looking for you."

Draco took one last long look in the direction Praeris had gone, then turned and walked toward the other end of the carriage.

Zabini followed his gaze. He saw Prince at the front of the carriage, talking with Pansy Parkinson.

Zabini would rather believe Draco had been looking at Pansy Parkinson. He knew it almost certainly wasn't the case, but still. If Draco had actually been that interested in Pansy Parkinson, those two would have gotten together long ago.

In Slytherin, everyone knew who Prince was. Even though she wasn't on the Quidditch team, even though she had no interest in holding court at parties, even though she was far from a troublemaker.

If anything, her daily life resembled a well-behaved model student more than anything else. As long as you didn't provoke her, she was a quiet shadow.

But if you were in Slytherin and somehow didn't know who Prince was, you were genuinely out of touch. In the entire school, only two students never received criticism from Professor Snape: Prince and Malfoy.

Malfoy's case was its own thing. Most people believed Prince had earned the professor's approval purely through her brains. She was exactly the kind of person who shows up in your life, says nothing, does nothing, and effortlessly destroys your confidence anyway. A freak, really, in the most unsettling sense.

But popular? Absolutely not.

Prince had a good face. She'd been too thin in the lower years, but now she was the kind of girl who came up whenever people discussed the good-looking girls at Hogwarts.

And yet, not a single Slytherin boy would ever ask her out.

She was good-looking, sure, but the boys only remembered the several hundred poisons she apparently had for sending someone off in an instant, and the image of her trading hexes with Granger at the Duelling Club.

As someone who'd been there, Zabini had no idea how a dozen poisons had become several hundred. But he didn't think it was much of an exaggeration. He just figured Prince's potion catalogue had been updated again.

Harper, a second-year, had once said: "Would anyone actually dare date that person? If you broke up on bad terms, you'd definitely die ugly."

Zabini had burst out laughing.

English boys at this age were universally insufferable, and they were still a long way from becoming gentlemen overnight. They liked easygoing girls. Quidditch girls, for instance, tended to be cheerful and generous. Case in point: Slytherin's most popular girl, Stella, was exactly that type. She was on her fourth boyfriend now, every relationship ending cleanly, and plenty of people still liked her.

Unfortunately, she had graduated this year. The Slytherin boys were all mourning the loss.

Prince was the complete opposite. One look was enough to know she was not someone to cross.

If you dared to step on her bad side, well, you might find yourself the most famous person at Hogwarts the very next day. Not famous in any way you'd enjoy.

Zabini had already spent some time feeling uneasy about his own past loose tongue. Who knew if she'd suddenly remember and decide to make it personal.

He withdrew his gaze with a dismissive look. Maybe Draco was just looking, after all. She had saved him once.

Seriously, though. Did anyone actually want to get involved with a woman like that?

Hermione had a different opinion. She thought Praeris was a decent person. During the stretch when she and Ron were fighting over Crookshanks, Prince had fed Crookshanks more than once.

"What did you say? That potion Sirius drank was made by Prince!" Ron said, staring. "Harry, you need to make Sirius go to St. Mungo's for a check-up."

"That's prejudice!" Hermione glared at him. "You can't just keep refusing to trust our judgment, the same way you didn't trust Crookshanks."

Ron faltered. "Alright, fine, that's on me. If Crookshanks thought it was fine —"

"Have you been in contact with her this whole time? After the Polyjuice Potion incident?" Harry asked, curious.

Hermione paused, thinking of the promise she'd made to Praeris. "Occasionally. You have to admit, she's never done anything wrong. She's even helped us."

She let that sit for a moment, then added: "Multiple times."

"We know none of it was voluntary," Ron said.

Harry looked at Ron. "Honestly, it's not like we've had many chances to decide things voluntarily either. But everyone knows she and Malfoy are Snape's right and left hands, and Snape,"

The psychological damage Snape's teaching had done to Harry was already at the level of a sky-blotting storm cloud.

Ron changed the subject quickly. "Forget that. Do you really have to go back to your aunt and uncle's?"

Harry sighed. "I don't want to. If I could spend the summer with Sirius, I'd happily give up Hogsmeade for good. But Dumbledore,"

"Don't be upset, Harry. At least Sirius is cleared now!" Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll all write to you. Sirius too."

Praeris had no idea so many people were talking about her. The train pulled into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and Winnie was already on the platform, craning her neck.

"The moment I saw you," Praeris said, with feeling, "I nearly had a nightmare in broad daylight. Tell me you didn't drive here."

"I drove —" Winnie pivoted sharply. "That's impossible. We're going back through my Floo."

Winnie clutched her chest with dramatic flair. "Little Prae! So cruel! You actually wrote to Prim about me!"

"Ms. Winnie," Praeris said without mercy, "you deserved it. If you'd shown even a shred of restraint behind the wheel, none of this would have happened."

Winnie hadn't driven, so they hailed a cab or caught the bus.

Waiting for a bus in England is like waiting for Godot. You don't know when Godot will come. You don't know if Godot will come at all.

And even more absurd than Godot: when the bus does arrive, it might not actually go anywhere, or it might set off perfectly well and then inexplicably throw you off halfway through.

Winnie decided without hesitation to take a taxi.

Both of them were dressed like ordinary Muggle women, and they hailed a cab without trouble.

Taking a taxi in England has no real flaws, aside from the price. It's a rip-off. Fortunately, Winnie was wealthy and didn't care in the slightest.

"You're so noisy," Praeris told her.

Winnie looked baffled. "But I haven't said a single word!"

"Your eyes are noisy. What do you want to ask?"

Praeris had been enduring it for the entire journey. Winnie had been wearing that expression, wanting to speak, stopping herself, then wanting to speak again, and it had been making Praeris's mind run at full speed the whole time.

They got out near Black Moon Lane. Praeris and Winnie stood back-to-back against a lamppost for half an hour.

Praeris had always wondered whether Winnie had really come out of the Ministry of Magic. Sometimes she was blunt to a fault, and what came out of her mouth was: "Is your mother Sylvia Prince?"

Winnie told her most of what she knew about the situation between herself and Sylvia. Praeris shared only what she would reasonably have been expected to know, that she had been abandoned at Christmas.

"She's not that kind of person," Winnie said, weakly defending her friend. "Maybe she had her reasons. Back then, You-Know-Who was persecuting people everywhere."

"If I hadn't been abandoned 5 years after You-Know-Who was already gone, I might actually find that comforting," Praeris said, very calmly, rejecting the defense. "So you only just found out about this? Dumbledore told you now?"

"Dumbledore?!" Winnie stared at her. "He didn't say a word to me. I figured it out from somewhere else."

"So it really was Dumbledore who sent you," Praeris said, nodding.

➤ Next: Summer Vacation Letters