Chapter 77 - Bonus Update 2000

In The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, the wizard sprinkled only a little Dittany water, and the child regained health.

Dittany was remarkably effective. A tiny amount could heal a palm-sized wound. But a large handful of the stuff yielded barely half a small bottle of Dittany essence.

Back when she'd been using the Dittany Professor Sprout had given her, Praeris was still a heartless potion-brewing machine with no idea what herbs actually cost.

Looking back now, she felt nothing but pain. She had wasted that much Dittany essence on Draco.

And that wasn't even accounting for natural variation. Even with the same herb and the same maker, potions never came out identical. Herb quality depended on the supplier's cultivation skill and the fertilizers they used.

In her first year, Praeris had done composting work alongside Professor Sprout. The Mooncalf dung and dragon dung Professor Sprout used were both exceptional fertilizers, the dragon dung especially so. Other herb suppliers couldn't afford materials like that, and most wouldn't know to use them even if they could.

Layer that on top of the gap in professional skill, and there was simply no comparing market-grade herbs to Professor Sprout's stock.

Which was exactly why, with all that in mind, Praeris had endured Madam Pomfrey's nagging and showed up at the Hospital Wing to help herself to the medicine cabinet without shame.

Shamelessly, she thought: These potions were either brewed by Professor Snape or brewed by me. So what's wrong with using them?

"Praeris, others can't stand to hear this, but you can." Madam Pomfrey spoke with genuine sincerity. "Don't pick up those fools' recklessness. Some people never treat their own lives as worth keeping. The moment they decide they have to take a risk, have to throw themselves into danger, every last bit of reason goes out the window."

It was hard to tell whether Madam Pomfrey was speaking to her, or to all the children she had watched grow up over the years.

She kept going, her voice quiet and heavy: "You're still young. You don't know yet that staying alive is the only thing that keeps everything else possible."

Praeris watched her moving busily around the ward and said, "You were happy when you saw Professor Lupin, weren't you?"

Madam Pomfrey paused. Then a warm, fond smile spread across her face. "Yes."

In books, war was just numbers. When it started. When it ended. How many died. A few strokes of the pen.

In reality, war was the reason that even with an ally as powerful as Dumbledore, Winnie still couldn't shake her fear of Voldemort.

War was Madam Pomfrey's expression right now. She had watched those students grow up, cared for them into adulthood, and then stood by, powerless, as she watched them die.

Praeris thought about what she had done in her first and second years for the Gryffindor trio.

She hadn't meant any of it at the time. Now, she could forgive herself for those choices born of negligence, born of selfishness, the choices that had handed the House Cup away.

Scattered clues had been adding up in the back of her mind. She was beginning to sense that the attempt to seize the Philosopher's Stone and the opening of the Chamber of Secrets might have been Death Eater schemes to resurrect Voldemort.

She didn't hate the Death Eaters. Her own family was among them. It was only that, if she had any say in it, she would rather war never came back.

The Philosopher's Stone held the power of immortality, bound to life itself. Quirrell had left school and come back a different person, with one obsession: the Stone. And somehow, the one who stopped him had been Potter.

This wasn't her doubting Potter's ability. The Savior's halo had a way of obscuring what he could actually do. But a first-year Potter defeating Quirrell was genuinely improbable. Quirrell had been an outstanding Ravenclaw graduate. The only other name that carried that same distinction was Winnie Brown.

And then there was the well-known fact: Potter was the Dark Lord's natural enemy.

The diary was connected to life too. It had slowly drained Ginny's life force, bit by bit. The diary's owner, Tom Riddle, was the Heir of Slytherin, the founder of the Walpurgis Knights, the master of the Death Eaters. Voldemort. Drawing on the power of life stored in the diary, whatever came back, was it the diary itself that had lived again, or the Dark Lord?

There were things you couldn't think about too long. Praeris felt the hair rise along her arms.

By the time she left the Hospital Wing, the sky was dark and the Halloween feast had just started.

"This might be the least interesting feast I've ever sat through," Millicent said, sounding thoroughly flat. "I have absolutely no memory of what I ate."

"Everyone has something on their mind," Praeris said. "How could the food compete with waiting for the champions' list?"

The students were restless with anticipation. Dumbledore raised his wand and extinguished most of the candles, and the Goblet of Fire's glow burned that much brighter in the sudden dark.

"This atmosphere," Pansy murmured, "feels like someone's about to tell a ghost story."

The words had barely left her mouth when the Goblet's blue flames snapped to red. Crackling and popping filled the air. Within seconds, the flames surged, and scorching sparks sent a charred curl of parchment spinning out into the hall.

For a moment, the Great Hall was completely silent. Hundreds of people, and you could barely hear them breathe.

"Durmstrang — Viktor Krum!"

The hall erupted. Everyone accepted it without question, cheering for Krum without reservation.

Krum himself looked like he'd seen this kind of thing before. No visible excitement. He simply followed the prearranged path toward the chamber behind the hall. Karkaroff, on the other hand, looked more thrilled than his own champion, on his feet and roaring applause before anyone else.

The flames turned red again. A second slip of parchment. "Beauxbatons — Fleur Delacour!"

"Next should be Hogwarts," Praeris said. "Did anyone from Slytherin enter?"

"Warrington, I think." Millicent frowned, working through it. "You've seen him, our Chaser. I don't know about anyone else. I hope he makes it."

Dumbledore took the final scroll and read aloud: "Hogwarts — Cedric Diggory!"

"AHHHHH,"

Diggory was hugely popular in Hufflepuff. Handsome, Quidditch captain, and now the Hogwarts champion. The Hufflepuffs lost their minds completely, witches and wizards alike leaping up, screaming, clutching each other, shouting Cedric's name until the rafters rang.

Millicent shrugged. "I'm genuinely not disappointed. At least it isn't Gryffindor, right?"

Praeris was about to nod when something made her expression shift. She tapped Millicent on the shoulder and tilted her head: look behind you.

Dumbledore was still speaking. Millicent turned.

The Goblet of Fire's flames had turned red again.

"Wait,"

The goblet spat out a fourth scroll of parchment. Dumbledore looked as startled as anyone. He caught it almost without thinking, that slip of parchment that had no business being there at all.

➤ Next: An Unexpected Turn