Chapter 68 - Mad-Eye Moody — Face to Face

Pansy shrugged. "We broke up. That's all."

"Broke up? Why?" Praeris said, surprised. "You said he was your type."

Pansy's tone was perfectly, terribly adult. "Praeris, good looks alone are useless in a relationship. Jakob is like a block of wood. A wizard with a hairy heart. He has no curiosity, no desire to explore. No matter what I shared with him, I never got much of a reaction."

"Some people call that reserved. But I know — even if you swapped me out for someone else, he wouldn't change one bit. So what am I to him? What was the point of any of it?"

Praeris dug a bag of snacks out of her bag and handed it over. "When he wrote you letters, he didn't seem like that."

"That's why I stuck it out for a year." Pansy watched the raindrops slide down the window. "I believed he had a fiery heart, just too shy to show it. But these past two months, it's been hard to keep convincing myself. His charm, aside from his face, is nothing but my imagination of the him in his letters."

"If I had no morals, I could have kept going until term started. Kept replacing the real him with the one from the letters. But I can't do that." She paused. "The human heart is greedy. I believe that if I love someone, I love even their flaws. I want to love a whole person, even if they aren't perfect."

Praeris asked, "Then why are you sad? Isn't leaving him a good thing?"

"But I gave my love." Pansy tore open the snack wrapper. "Is this a Muggle snack? Loving someone costs you. Attention, energy, time. Think of it this way, you spend months practicing on a broom and get nothing back for it. Wouldn't you grieve that time?"

"It is a Muggle snack. My family bought it in London." Praeris said. "I never expected dating could make someone grow up this much."

"At least it taught me how to let go." Pansy chewed, and chewed. "If you put the me of now back in first year, I would have given up on that guy way sooner — this is pretty good, actually — my feelings for Draco were too childish. Too surface-level."

"When I gave up on Draco, he didn't even notice. Which just goes to show I didn't really love him that much. But giving up on Jakob, that was a conscious decision. I've never been that clear-headed in my life. Actually choosing not to love someone anymore turns out to be so, so torturous."

Halfway through Pansy's speech, Millicent came in. Now she was lying with her head in Praeris's lap, both eyes fixed straight up at Praeris's face.

"What's wrong with you? Did you break up with someone too?" Praeris raised an eyebrow.

Millicent, irritated, made a grab for Praeris's sides to tickle her, only to discover this person wasn't ticklish at all. "I've never even been in a relationship, okay!"

Then, like the air had gone out of her, she let out a long slow breath. "It's nothing. I'm just tired."

Not one person in that compartment could manage to cheer up.

Daphne was fuming over her sister's situation. Pansy had broken up with someone. Millicent was exhausted. And Praeris closed her eyes and turned her thoughts to where her two Death Eater family members were supposed to go from here.

By afternoon, the young witches and wizards had started drifting between compartments.

Prefects Terence and Selwyn were the first to knock. Selwyn smiled with polished elegance. "How was your summer, girls? Did you make it to the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Katherine." Daphne gave a small nod. "Such a spectacle, and right here in Britain, how could we miss it? But we came back early in the evening. Lia is still young, and she's particular about sleeping in strange beds."

"What a pity." Selwyn's smile carried weight. "You missed the liveliest part of the night."

Daphne shrugged. "Child in tow. No way around it."

Selwyn exchanged a few pleasantries and left. Millicent watched her go and silently rolled her eyes at her retreating back.

Daphne rested her chin on one hand and looked over at Millicent. "Mrs. Bulstrode was there?"

Millicent punched the compartment sofa in irritation. The cushion caved in under her fist. "I really can't stand it. I don't have any particular opinion on Death Eaters. But since she came back, she's gotten even worse. Grinning at her arm like she's lost it. Telling me to 'behave well' and wait to be chosen by the 'Master' someday."

Daphne's smile turned subtle. "Mrs. Bulstrode is just too devoted to the cause. Honestly, what has being a Death Eater actually gotten her? Is the family richer? More powerful? Stronger?"

Pansy smacked her hand. "Watch what you say. Who knows which side comes out on top? The sooner all of this is over, the better. Why were we born into such a miserable era?" She shook her head. "Let them do whatever they want. I just hope it ends soon. Everyone stays whole. The four of us can still sit together and have tea."

Praeris agreed completely. She wanted the same thing, for it to be over, and for no one to end up ground into dust beneath the games of people far more powerful than them.

The sky split open. Rain sheeted down from it. Before long, a bolt of white light slashed across the dark and drove into the earth like a serpent striking. Thunder followed, rolling and chest-deep. The rain redoubled, and the damp chill crept in until all of them were rubbing their arms.

When the train finally stopped, Praeris stood on the platform and thought about the first-years crossing the Black Lake in this downpour. She found herself almost nostalgic. Her own year's night crossing had had a certain charm to it.

The entrance hall was worse. Water covered the floor from wall to wall. Argus Filch was cursing his way down the corridor, bellowing that a ghost like Peeves ought to be thrown out of Hogwarts for good.

"This is the most I've ever agreed with the old Squib." Daphne said through her teeth. "Pansy, stop grabbing my arm, or we're both going down!"

"I-I-I, my boots are completely useless! Merlin, I'm reporting this to the Bloody Baron!" Pansy wailed.

They made it to the Great Hall. Barely.

Praeris swept her eyes over the staff table out of habit.

Professor Sprout was smiling and waving at her. Sinistra, who'd seen her group of close friends graduate, looked noticeably glum, murmuring unhappily to Professor Sprout beside her. Professor Snape caught Praeris's eye and held it just long enough to convey his meaning: find time to come to his office.

Professor McGonagall was not in her seat. As Deputy Headmistress, she would be leading the first-years in for Sorting. Dumbledore sat with the look of a man deep in thought about something far away.

Soon, Professor McGonagall led the students in. The Defense Against the Dark Arts chair was still empty.

At some point, Draco had settled into the seat on Praeris's right. He looked unhappy. He followed her line of sight to the vacant chair.

"Prince," he said, voice edged with contempt, "what's so interesting to look at? No Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is still better than having a werewolf, isn't it?"

"Do I owe you money?" Praeris glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You're making that face at me."

Draco never bothered to hide what he was feeling. When they weren't close, he called her Prince. When they were, he called her Praeris. Good mood, Praeris. Bad mood, Prince.

And now there was this: prickly, perpetually displeased, every line of his posture broadcasting I'm unhappy, come and coax me.

Expecting Praeris to coax him? Not a chance. Not even a window.

A child named Malcolm was sorted into Slytherin. Praeris joined the table in applauding.

As the applause faded, Draco leaned closer. His tone sharpened into something like an accusation. "I sent you tickets. You didn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, did you."

"That's right." Praeris said, perfectly sincere. "I'm not interested in Quidditch. Now, if the person flying on the pitch were you, I might consider working on Winnie until she talked me into accepting your invitation."

She was making it up entirely as she went. For one thing, Draco's skill level would never get him onto the British national team. For another, even if it had been Draco up there, Praeris still wouldn't have gone to every match.

What she meant was: I'm not going to watch matches, just as Draco is never going to represent Britain in one.

What Draco heard was something else entirely.

He went very still for a moment. Then his eyes blinked, fast, more than once. He turned his head sharply toward the Sorting Hat. Anyone watching closely just then might have caught the tips of his ears going red.

"Y-you — watch the Sorting!"

His voice came out unsteady, but Slytherin's applause swallowed it whole. Another new student sorted into Slytherin, a boy named Graham.

After the Sorting it was time to eat.

Outside, rain hammered the castle. Inside the Great Hall, it was warm and the food was good. Praeris didn't eat much. She was full before long, and then it was Dumbledore's turn to speak.

Argus Filch had added over 400 new prohibitions this year. Daphne sneered. "Can that old prune even remember what he's already banned? Or does he just forbid things whenever he's in a bad mood, to make himself feel better?"

Then Dumbledore announced that Quidditch matches were suspended for the year, which was probably due to the Triwizard Tournament.

Winnie and Lady Puli had talked about this before. Neither of them thought much of it as a competition, no real safety and nothing particularly worth watching.

The tournament's function, as far as Praeris could tell, was to put students from different schools against each other. Keep them sharp. Keep them competitive.

The medieval wizarding world had been far more dangerous than this one. Witches and wizards back then faced Dark creatures no one had heard of and were persecuted by Muggles as a matter of course. Nearly Headless Nick, for instance, had his head nearly taken off by one. Compared to those times, the conflicts inside wizarding schools today barely registered. The ones that actually did involve life and death got you expelled or landed you in Azkaban.

The doors of the Great Hall flew open.

Every head turned.

A man stood in the entrance, wrapped entirely in a travelling cloak, leaning on a long staff.

He pushed back his hood. The face underneath defied description. Every inch of it was scarred. One eye was small and dark. The other was an electric, vivid blue, and deeply unsettling. The two eyes moved completely independently, each tracking something the other ignored.

He walked with a heavy limp, cutting fast toward Dumbledore. He murmured something, listened to the reply, then sat down without ceremony and started eating.

Dumbledore introduced him with evident pleasure. This was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Moody. The students' response was tepid at best. Praeris suspected his face had something to do with that.

"I've definitely heard that name somewhere," Millicent said, frowning.

Daphne slowly prodded the leftover food on her plate. "I'd guess you don't actually want to know the answer."

"Why not!" Millicent said. "I'm not asking you anyway. Prae — Prae will know."

Praeris chose her words carefully. "Mad-Eye Moody. Former Auror. Famous for hunting Death Eaters. He got into some trouble recently. Dumbledore's camp probably shielded him, and now he's here."

Millicent's expression changed all at once. Everyone assumed she was frightened. But after a long moment, she said something quiet that none of them expected:

"Then he's not much good, is he. Why didn't he just arrest my mother, so she could go mad at her own 'comrades' instead."

Behind her voice, Dumbledore was announcing the Triwizard Tournament. Age restriction: seventeen and above.

None of them were seventeen yet. The tournament was someone else's business. So no one around this stretch of the table paid it much attention, they were entirely occupied with the deeply disloyal statement Millicent had just made.

Pansy burst out laughing. "Only you!"

Praeris pulled Millicent into a hug, holding her close. "Oh, Millie. It's been hard on you."

Having a mother wasn't necessarily a good thing. Not having one wasn't necessarily bad. A mother out in the world wasn't necessarily better than one locked away.

Praeris thought about it for a moment. If she'd been Mrs. Bulstrode's daughter, Mrs. Bulstrode would probably be well on her way to realizing her great ambitions by now. But in that world, Praeris's mind and heart wouldn't be in the shape they were in now. Her moral compass would have slipped considerably. She might have walked straight into Voldemort's ranks the moment he surfaced, smooth and unthinking.

But that was only a thought. Hypothetical positions couldn't produce real outcomes. Reality was far more complicated than that, and the things that shaped a person over a lifetime were never just a handful of variables.

Even Millicent, tough, thick-skinned, built like she could go three rounds with a troll, went fragile when the subject was her mother. Mrs. Bulstrode, in her own way, had accomplished something.

The next morning, the new school year began. First period was Herbology, shared with Ravenclaw.

Before class, Praeris gathered up her stack of completed homework and walked to Professor Snape's office.

"Enter."

His voice came low through the door. This was the first time they had truly met face to face since Praeris had come to know who he was to her.

➤ Next: Duel