Chapter 70 - Alaskan Dream

"All of these will be necessary."

Moody glared toward Praeris, his gaze contemptuous and disgusted. Behind her stood Draco Malfoy.

Praeris shifted her head slightly, blocking Moody's line of sight. She met his stare without a trace of fear, her voice soft but firm. "Professor McGonagall, I think before any of that, we should pay Madam Pomfrey a visit. Don't you agree?"

In truth, she was the only one who actually needed the hospital wing. She brought Draco along anyway.

Professor McGonagall softened her voice. "Of course, child."

The fury Madam Pomfrey unleashed upon hearing what had happened needs no elaboration. Praeris had suffered no physical harm, but mental trauma was another matter entirely, not the kind that fades in a few hours.

Madam Pomfrey grumbled as she worked. "In all these years, I haven't been able to stand a single Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Remus was at least decent. But Moody? He actually laid hands on a student!"

"That was because Malfoy was about to ambush Harry," said a Gryffindor who had come for cold medicine, unable to help himself.

"Oh, poor Harry." Madam Pomfrey's anger dimmed a fraction, but she couldn't stop muttering. "Still, that's no excuse to punish a student like this. How could he treat Prae that way? She's always been hardworking and kind, so concerned about her classmates..."

Madam Pomfrey hadn't forgotten. In second year, Prince had come to help distribute the Mandrake Restorative Draught. She also remembered how, last year, the girl had moved fast to pour Dittany on an injured classmate.

More reliable than certain professors. That was rare.

Praeris's bed was next to Draco's, separated by a white curtain.

"Damn — damn Moody! I'm telling my father!" A voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz.

Praeris didn't respond.

After a moment, his voice came again, trembling and panicked. "Praeris, Praeris — you're not going to die, are you?"

Praeris lay with her eyes shut. The back of her head throbbed. Her hands were still trembling faintly. Her blood felt like it was still boiling, still crashing through her body, as if the crisis had never passed.

It wore on her. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "Shut up — even if you died, I wouldn't!"

Draco went quiet. The hospital wing settled into silence so complete that his voice felt like it might have been imagined.

Many medieval scholars were polymaths, studying philosophy, science, medicine, and theology all at once. One such scholar wrote that when people face danger, God grants them extraordinary courage, the ability to do what is normally impossible, to exceed their own limits.

Later, Praeris learned it wasn't God's gift. It was adrenaline.

Facing Moody, who outclassed her, adrenaline had overdrawn her strength and let her hold her ground. The price that followed was just as steep.

All through the night, her heart beat wrong. Her head felt like it was splitting open. Nausea rolled through her in waves and she couldn't eat a single bite.

Snape arrived quickly after receiving the news. He stood before the two students' beds for a while, a silent shadow in the dark.

Then, without a word, he left.

It was nearly dawn before Praeris finally slipped into sleep.

Her dream was a vast, empty ice field. Snow and ice buried every trace of vegetation. Across the sky, an endless curtain of shifting yellow-green light cascaded down from above, otherworldly and impossibly beautiful.

"My dear little Praeris, isn't it beautiful?" A low, magnetic voice from behind her.

Only then did Praeris realize that "she" was cradled in someone's arms.

"How could she possibly understand it!" A bright female voice. "She can barely talk. By the time she grows up, she probably won't even remember coming to Alaska!"

"Then I'll bring her every year. Every single year, until she does! Ha ha ha!" The man's laughter made his chest rise and fall, the vibrations rumbling through to Praeris.

A pair of hands lifted Praeris out of his arms. She held her close, voice full of sweet complaint. "Who brings a child this small to Alaska? Only you, Deep."

Praeris finally got a clear look at "Deep." He was very tall, a little taller even than Sirius. He had a head of brown curly hair, heavy brows, deep-set eyes, sharply defined features. The cold wind had flushed his fair skin, and a pair of grey eyes held warmth like still, deep water.

Praeris had always thought that, since she didn't look much like Sylvia, she must take after her "father." Looking at him now, it seemed that was true.

The handsome man, Deepool William, smiled sheepishly. He stretched out one hand and pointed at the sky. "Look, Praeris! That's Ursa Minor. The brightest star there, that's you. That's Polaris. Come here, let Daddy give you a squeeze. My little Polaris bear."

"So childish!" Sylvia laughed and pushed Deepool away.

In the dream, Praeris followed his pointing finger up to the sky. She found Polaris quickly.

The star grew brighter. And brighter. And brighter still, until it bleached the entire sky white.

Praeris woke up.

It was already noon. She had successfully slept through the morning classes of the second day of term. Fortunately, there had only been one elective, Professor Vector's Arithmancy.

Pansy brought food: Yorkshire pudding, beef in gravy, mashed potatoes, and boiled vegetables. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She spoke between sobs. "Praeris, are you still in a lot of pain? It's all my fault. He's a madman. How could I have left you there alone to face him!"

"How is any of this your fault? You pulled me forward, but the decision to act was mine." Praeris smiled. "You went to get reinforcements, didn't you?"

Under ordinary circumstances, the whole school would have been buzzing about Draco being turned into a ferret.

That discussion was happening, certainly. There was no shortage of gleeful commentary.

But the duel between Slytherin's Prince and Moody had overshadowed everything else.

Think about it. How often did students at Hogwarts get to witness something like that? Many of the spells Prince and Moody threw at each other were things they had never even heard of.

The students had no way of knowing whether anyone was holding back. All they saw was that Prince had fought the new ex-Auror professor to a standstill.

"It had to be Snape who taught her!" Ron had finished gloating over the ferret and moved on. "She's Snape's little shadow. He must have been secretly teaching her powerful dark magic, grooming a little Death Eater!"

Hermione slammed her hand on the table. "Malfoy was completely out of line, but Praeris is innocent. She's just talented. If Snape had treated any of you the same way, I would have defended you too!"

Hermione's expression shifted to worry. "What Professor Moody did could have seriously injured a student. He's going to bring trouble down on Dumbledore. It's lucky Professor McGonagall arrived when she did,"

"Hermione!" Ron's voice rose. "You are ruining the best moment of my life! I can barely even savor the memory of watching Malfoy turn into a ferret anymore!"

Hermione lowered her head, said nothing, and attacked her lunch.

She had planned to write to Praeris last night, to share her thoughts about house-elves. Praeris, she was sure, would have useful things to say. But Praeris was still in the hospital wing, so that plan was on hold. Praeris was probably furious right now. Hermione still remembered the letter about Hagrid, not a single line that explicitly cursed anyone, yet by the end Hermione had felt as though both she and Hagrid had been thoroughly dressed down from head to toe.

Now Ron and the others were talking about Praeris, and Hermione could only sit in silence. She had promised to keep Praeris's secrets, the letters in second year, the deliberate blind eye in third. She couldn't say any of it.

It wasn't a good feeling. Knowing your pen pal was a decent person, and being unable to say a word while your friends made rude assumptions about her.

Hermione sometimes thought about it: why should the mistakes of some Slytherins be used to condemn every Slytherin?

It wasn't Ron's fault. She understood that. Gryffindor and Slytherin had been at each other's throats for generations, and his parents' generation had been no different. The prejudice was built into him, from his family, from everything he'd seen and heard growing up.

When Hermione saw Malfoy's arrogant face, all she wanted to do was punch it. But when she thought of Praeris, what she felt was something else entirely: How does she do it? One day I'm going to surpass her.

Not all Slytherins were the same. What other Slytherin would dare stand against a professor for a classmate?

Hermione felt they were both growing, she and Praeris both. Praeris had sharpened her ambition, pushed her to want more, and taught her to see Hogwarts through a different lens. And maybe Praeris had taken something from her too: a little Gryffindor courage, enough to step forward and protect her friends.

Even if Hermione didn't particularly like those friends.

"Miss, I would prefer our relationship to be a personal one, a friendship between individuals, unrelated to our respective positions. If we each presuppose where the other stands, there are very few things we can actually discuss at Hogwarts."

That had been Praeris's second letter, written after Hermione had consulted her about Hagrid.

Hermione shoveled the rest of her food into her mouth, said a quick goodbye to Harry and the others, and headed for the library. No reliable outside help for the moment. She'd manage on her own.

Praeris, who had been occupying so much of Hermione's thoughts, was discharged from the hospital wing that same afternoon. Draco trailed behind her in silence, holding his breath.

Praeris spun around. "Mr. Malfoy, are you planning to perform a show for me where you suffocate yourself?"

Draco nearly walked into her. "Who do you think you're —"

Praeris cut him off with a cold laugh. "You think that because I stood up for you, I'm on your side? I protected you because I didn't want Moody to get you killed. And I knew he wouldn't dare actually hurt me in front of that many witnesses."

"Very impressive, wasn't it. Launching a sneak attack in front of a crowd."

Draco turned his head away, unable to meet her eyes.

Praeris reached out and turned it back by force. "Look at me. What were you thinking? Do you know what your family is most famous for? When a Malfoy does something, there are never any fingerprints. Not a single one."

"And then there's you, Draco. Singular in every way. You didn't even get the job done, and you handed them evidence on a plate. And to think I thought you'd made progress last year."

"Either beat your opponent in the open, or do it so cleanly that the victim has nothing to say. You managed to do it openly and sloppily and still got caught. Don't bring your father into this. If your father knew, he'd be the one who couldn't bear the shame."

Draco finally snapped. He shoved her hand away and opened his mouth, then his gaze landed on the red threading through her eyes.

He deflated. His hand came up to cover his face. A long silence.

Then, slowly: "I — ugh. I'm sorry."

Hm. That was unexpected, Praeris thought.

"I accept it. There won't be a next time." Her voice was flat. "Let's go. Time to clean up after you."

"Where?"

"Where do you think? To get scolded."

Professor Snape's office.

Praeris had come prepared to be flayed alive.

Consider the facts: yesterday morning, Professor Snape had told her to stay away from Moody. Yesterday afternoon, she was in the Entrance Hall dueling him.

She almost wished he would just yell at her.

The worst part was that Professor Snape didn't say a single harsh word. He only looked at her.

That look said idiot. It said fool. It said Gryffindor. It said several other things that fell just short of actual language.

You know the kind. Worse than anything he could have said out loud.

Time stopped in that office. Only the fireplace crackled on, indifferent.

"Miss." Snape paused. Each word fell with perfect clarity, each one weighted. "I think you know what I intend to say. You've grown up. So you've decided my words no longer carry any weight. Is that it?"

Saying yes was a dead end. Saying no was a dead end. The only path to survival was to lower her head and look ashamed.

Silence. Suffocating silence. Praeris's reason told her only a few seconds had passed. The rest of her felt every one of them.

"Miss," Snape said at last, unhurried. "Recite what I told you yesterday."

"Stay away from Moody. He shows no mercy to Death Eaters or Slytherins." Praeris's extraordinary memory performed its utterly dispensable service.

"Ah. Excellent memory."

Snape's eyes narrowed. His lips pressed together. He stared.

"So how is it that, while you were standing in the Entrance Hall, none of it came to you?" His tone was perfectly sincere. "Could it be that the Entrance Hall has some special magic that causes memory loss and a lapse of reason?"

A beat of silence.

"Nothing to say? It seems you haven't only been quietly learning that idiot Brown's spells. You've also picked up her muddled brain, and her laughable stupidity."

The conversation lasted over 10 minutes. In truth, Snape's own words amounted to very little, only the few sentences already spoken.

The rest of it was silence. Unbearable silence. And Praeris's self-criticism.

➤ Next: Occlumency — Tears Unshed