Chapter 76 - The Great Age Battle

Pansy let out a "Hmph." "Why should I hide? If you have to assign right and wrong in this relationship, it's definitely him who's lacking."

"He's looking at you," Praeris reminded Pansy.

Pansy poked at the food on the table with disgust and muttered a curse under her breath. "Are we going to be eating potatoes for the rest of the meal? Why does Durmstrang attract so many Germans? Damned Germans, can't they go sit somewhere else?"

"I have to remind you," Millicent Bulstrode said, her face a picture of regret, "the other tables also have loads of potatoes."

Pansy Parkinson glanced around. "We still have French food, at least. If only the bouillabaisse had mussels in it. White wine and mussels are a perfect match."

After the meal, Dumbledore introduced the Triwizard Tournament's organizing committee to the students: a panel of judges made up of Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons, Mr. Karkaroff from Durmstrang, Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic, and Dumbledore himself.

Students from each school who met the age requirement would have the chance to drop a slip of paper into a magical artifact called the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet of Fire would then select a Champion to represent each of the three schools.

The Champions would have to pass three tasks. The judges would score each Champion based on their performance in every task.

Dumbledore drew an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Anyone who didn't meet the age requirement would be unable to cross the line to submit their slip.

The act of submitting a slip represented a candidate's unilateral signing of a magical contract with the Goblet of Fire. Once the Goblet of Fire selected that candidate in return, it was the equivalent of the Goblet signing the contract as well. The contract was sealed. No one could back out.

The Slytherin students immediately began chattering in hushed voices:

"Can we get an upperclassman to submit a slip for us?"

"What about an Aging Potion?"

"This isn't fair — I'm only one month short!"

"Would a Confundus Charm work?"

"If you don't try, how do you know it won't?"

"Who knows the Disillusionment Charm?"

"What about Apparition? Oh — I forgot, we can't use that in school!"

"Keep it down! You don't have a license!"

"Could we get a House-elf or an owl to submit it?"

"Could Accio do it? Summon the Goblet of Fire over here?"

All the way back to the common room, the Slytherins tirelessly searched for ways to get around the rules. Not a single one of them felt obliged to obey the "must be seventeen" requirement.

Praeris found it rather amusing. If Miss Stella were still at school, she'd probably make a fortune.

First, sell Aging Potions. Then charge for lessons in the Disillusionment Charm and Confundus Charm. Then take payment for proxy submissions. Then open a betting pool, wager on who would become the Hogwarts Champion, and which school would take the overall title.

Before any deal was struck, she'd definitely have everyone sign a binding contract. Whether the service worked or not, once it was rendered, the money was owed.

Then she'd take the earnings and buy a few bottles of good wine for herself and Sinistra, and the two of them would go loose on the Astronomy Tower, getting drunk, knocking over star charts, breaking globes.

Praeris sighed, and in that moment she understood, with sudden clarity, what Winnie had said about youth.

Just like every past summer, every past holiday, Hogwarts had always been here. But some people left, and once they left, they never came back.

Just then, two Slytherins strolled past her, arms slung over each other's shoulders, unhurried.

"Want to make a bet? I bet the Champion comes out of Slytherin!"

"You're betting Slytherin — so what am I supposed to bet on?"

"That's where you're thinking too small, isn't it? Bet Gryffindor! If the Champion's from Slytherin, you lose but you're not upset about it; if the Champion's from Gryffindor, at least you've got money; if the Champion's from any other house, neither of us wins, it's a draw! Makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

Praeris smiled. She'd said exactly the same thing to Millie during their first Quidditch match. Professor Sinistra had even praised the two of them for their ingenuity.

No Slytherin stays young forever. But there are always Slytherins who are young.

Millicent Bulstrode was standing beside her and caught the exchange. She leaned over and murmured, "Still too young. If the Champion ended up being from Gryffindor, even with the winnings in hand, you'd still feel rotten about it."

"Voice of experience?"

"Voice of experience!"

Millicent Bulstrode and Praeris followed the crowd into the common room. Many Slytherins hadn't settled down yet, they were gathered around the sofas, still deep in discussion.

"Look! Prince is here." Selwyn sat in the middle of the group, smiling. "Our Miss Prince has been awfully quiet and reserved lately. Quite different from how she was back in the Entrance Hall, isn't it."

Selwyn clapped her hands. "Ah, right. Since Prince is here for once, why not offer our little scheme to outsmart the Age Line some guidance? Give everyone a chance to compete for Champion and add some luster to Slytherin's honor."

Praeris frowned inwardly. Selwyn was setting her up to shore up her own standing among the upper years. Either that, or she genuinely thought Praeris enjoyed showing off her knowledge.

The students around them quickly waved her over.

Praeris didn't enjoy this kind of forced socializing. Claiming she had no ideas wouldn't work, if she gave any advice and someone tried it and got hurt, that fell on her. But she also couldn't just walk away.

She took stock of the room. Most of the students present were only a few months short of seventeen, caught just barely on the wrong side of the Age Line.

Praeris shook her head with a modest air. "Guidance is too strong a word, who am I to critique Dumbledore's magic? As for methods..." She paused. "It's not that there are none. It's that none of them are easy. Not for us."

"How so?" Selwyn asked.

"As it happens, I caught an earful of everyone's discussion over dinner." Praeris let a beat pass. "The Age Line is a type of judgment-based magic. And a name is the shortest incantation. I imagine some of you have taken Arithmancy, in Arithmancy, name divination is the most fundamental method."

Several Slytherins nodded.

She'd actually considered another example: how people so often said "You-Know-Who" instead of "Voldemort," precisely because names carry magic. Winnie had told her that while You-Know-Who was alive, speaking his name was a genuinely dangerous act.

But given Slytherin's close ties to You-Know-Who, that particular example wasn't suited for this room.

"That is true," Selwyn said, nodding. "So what you're saying is?"

"Having someone else submit a name slip on your behalf will never be recognized by the magical contract." Praeris settled into the seat Selwyn had cleared for her. "The same applies to Aging Potions and the Disillusionment Charm. The Age Line reads true age. It won't be fooled by physical appearance or anything you've swallowed."

"Ahh—"

A collective groan moved through the Slytherins.

"As for the Summoning Charm, Accio." Praeris paused. "Most objects in shops carry Anti-Summoning Charms. Anti-theft, effectively. Unless Dumbledore lost his mind and forgot to cast one..." She left it there.

"Ahh—"

Another groan, in near-perfect unison.

The special training and compressed knowledge Winnie had given her were anything but hollow. You-Know-Who had used ideals to lure Winnie, not threats, and that was precisely because Winnie's command of spellwork was simply beyond what most wizards could reach.

"Finally, the Confundus Charm." Praeris paused. "There is some theoretical feasibility. But the prerequisite is that the charm would need to be powerful enough to confound Dumbledore's own magic. A wizard capable of that..." She spread her hands. "Has very little reason to enter the Triwizard Tournament. And besides, it's illegal. Ministry officials are sitting right there on the judges' panel."

"Right, let's pack it in," a Slytherin girl said, shaking her head. "The only option left is to dig a tunnel from underground in the middle of the night."

The Slytherins burst out laughing. "Perfect, we already live underground. Dig straight up. How convenient!"

Terrance, still mindful of his prefect duties, immediately shut it down. "Give Hogwarts a break! This castle is a thousand years old. What if we dig it out and the whole thing collapses?"

Praeris laughed along with them, then got up and headed back to the dormitory.

From Slytherin's windows, you couldn't see the moon. Only the giant squid, stretching its body as it drifted past; merpeople with dark green hair and iron-grey skin; the green water demons called Grindylows.

It was said that students in other houses could open their windows and wave to their neighbors next door. If a Slytherin opened their window, it would only flood the dungeons. So these windows had no opening mechanisms at all, and had been reinforced with rigorous magical wards.

Praeris sat on the windowsill, watching the fish drift back and forth through the dark water, and sank into thought.

The Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff, had run into Moody at the feast the day before.

The moment he saw Moody, the color drained from his face. A look of resentment and fear bled into his eyes. He'd stared almost blankly, as if he couldn't believe Moody would be here.

Karkaroff had every reason to fear Moody. Every reason to hate him.

He had once been a Death Eater, and it was Moody who had caught him. But he'd struck a deal with Crouch, then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and now Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation: trade the identities of other Death Eaters in exchange for his own release.

Stella had told her all this, during one of her gossip sessions about Crouch's political career. The reason she'd brought it up was that one of the Death Eaters Karkaroff had exposed was Professor Snape.

As a sworn enemy, Karkaroff's reaction made complete sense.

Moody's pursuit of Karkaroff had lasted six months. If Moody had any weakness, Karkaroff would have been desperate to expose it on the spot, to repay the humiliation of that year in full.

Praeris couldn't help but waver. Could it really be that she was simply too paranoid?

The next morning, the girls in the dormitory dragged her out early to watch the spectacle.

After the previous night's discussion, the Slytherins were fairly convinced there was no reliable way to trick the Age Line. So everyone had agreed on the next best option: watch the other three houses make fools of themselves.

Quite a few people had landed on the Aging Potion idea. The first casualty was Fawcett from Ravenclaw, who ran toward the hospital wing with her hands over her face, crying. Then came Summers from Hufflepuff.

And now, the Weasley twins from Gryffindor had arrived.

To properly enjoy the show, the Slytherins arranged their faces into expressions of perfect ignorance and, for once, managed to keep their sharp tongues in check.

George Weasley jumped across the Age Line. He must have thought he'd done it, he let out a triumphant cheer.

Amid his cheering, both he and his brother were hurled out. Long beards erupted from their faces with a loud POP.

"Hahahaha—"

The Slytherins had now collected their complete set, one spectacular failure from each of the other three houses. They dissolved into gleeful, thoroughly satisfied laughter.

Today was Saturday, Halloween Eve. No classes. But Praeris couldn't afford to be idle.

Stuffing knowledge into her brain wasn't the hard part. Making that knowledge truly hers was. If she thought memorization was the finish line, if she thought her mind could let her skip the actual work of learning, that was naive.

Praeris found an empty classroom and made it her practice space.

Winnie's spells were numerous and varied. Some carried the innocent romanticism of a young girl.

The one she was practicing now was called the Meteor Spell. It didn't actually summon meteors from the sky. What it did was trail a ribbon of light behind the wand's arc, a river of stars, dense as a meteor shower. Extraordinarily beautiful.

But seemingly charming spells could be deceptive. If performed improperly, it would sputter and throw sparks like a Muggle firework gone wrong.

Winnie, as a Death Eater, also had grimmer things in her arsenal. Like the Storm Spell.

The Storm Spell drew its inspiration from the Weather Charm and the Thunderbird. It summoned fierce winds and driving rain while thunder cracked and lightning split the sky. By any measure, it qualified as a wide-area destructive spell.

It was a spell Winnie had never mentioned to any other Death Eater. She hadn't wanted it used against her former schoolmates.

Then there was the Earth-Fissure Spell, which could crack open a patch of ground and seal it shut again. The extent of the fracture depended entirely on the caster's power.

Somewhat gentler was the Swamp Spell, incantation "Sink into the Mire." It turned the ground beneath a target into bog, trapping them, and the harder they struggled, the deeper they sank.

Only a small fraction of these spells were Winnie's original creations. A larger portion were her modifications of existing spells. The rest were drawn from Ministry of Magic archives and reconstructed from ancient texts.

Praeris couldn't help thinking: for Winnie to have walked free through the post-war reckoning, Dumbledore must have paid a considerable price. She hadn't killed anyone outright. But the effects she was capable of producing were in no way inferior to having killed on the battlefield.

Fortunately, by the time Winnie was truly forced to become a weapon of war, Voldemort's defeat at Harry Potter's hands was only a few years away.

By evening, Praeris had no choice but to drag herself to the hospital wing and sit through Madam Pomfrey's lecture. She had blown herself up while practicing one of the spells.

She wasn't short on healing potions. She went to the hospital wing to scrounge anyway.

You don't truly know the cost of things until you're the one paying for them. Only when she'd actually taken up potion-brewing as a livelihood, something real, something necessary, did Praeris understand that the price of herbs was only deceptively low.

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