Chapter 116 - You Hide, I Hide

Draco's song hadn't been written for nothing. "Weasley Is Our King" delivered a real psychological edge, and the inexperienced Weasley kept making blunders.

Warrington struck the Quaffle, it shot past Weasley's arm and through the goal. Montague struck the Quaffle, scored again. Pucey got hold of the Quaffle...

Gryffindor's Keeper was less effective than Hogwarts' door locks. The locks could at least keep out the Squib Argus Filch. Weasley couldn't block a single ball.

Compared to him, Miles could've opened a pack of biscuits and started eating right there on the pitch and still walked away with Best Keeper.

"Derian!" Millicent shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Derian, go!"

Millicent truly lived up to her role as commentator, her lung capacity was beyond ordinary. Even without a microphone, she could out-shout the entire crowd.

Praeris thought, a little sheepishly: Millicent had already cheered for Pucey. Shouldn't she cheer for Draco too?

Just as she was hesitating, Potter and Draco both shot off in the same direction.

Millicent's voice went tight. "Draco's closer to the Snitch, but Potter's Firebolt is faster — is this going to be the year before last all over again?"

The year before last, it had also been Potter and Draco, scrapping for a Golden Snitch by the narrowest of margins.

Back then, Draco hadn't fallen for Potter's tricks. He'd turned early and thrown everything into seizing the Golden Snitch.

But this time, there was no early turn to help him. Draco was closer and Potter farther away, but the Firebolt's speed boost was still an enormous threat.

It all happened in seconds. Praeris hadn't even gotten her binoculars trained on the two Seekers before she heard Millicent's dismayed "Aiya!", Draco had lost.

Praeris had never cared much about Quidditch matches before. But now she couldn't help wondering: how was Draco right now?

Was he angry? Bitter? Would he refuse to accept it?

It wasn't the first time Slytherin had lost to Gryffindor, nor the first time Draco had lost to Harry Potter.

Every match had a winner and a loser. No one could be the victor forever.

And yet, though it was the exact same kind of event, the feeling in Praeris's chest was different now.

She couldn't help standing up. "You all go ahead. I want to head over to the changing rooms."

Before the words were even out, Millicent shot to her feet. "Crabbe hit Potter with a Bludger! Has he gone mad?"

Praeris jerked her binoculars up. The players and the stands alike had descended into chaos.

"Does he want Madam Hooch to ban him?!" Millicent fumed. "Why not hit him while Potter was chasing the Golden Snitch — what use is it now? That grease-brained pig-head! Idiot!"

Pansy shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "Who cares. It's a Gryffindor who got hit. No loss."

Praeris shook her head. "He vented his anger, sure. It did absolutely nothing to help win the match."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Pansy said stubbornly. "If Potter's injured, that's one less opponent for us."

Praeris shook her head again. "But Gryffindor's next opponent isn't us. It'll only benefit Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Unless—"

Daphne tugged at Millicent's robes. "You've got sharp eyes — look and see if they've started fighting."

Praeris didn't look. Quick as lightning, she shoved the binoculars into Millicent's hands and broke into a sprint toward the changing rooms.

She knew perfectly well: any time Gryffindor and Slytherin got into a brawl, Draco's mouth had definitely played a starring role in the provocation.

WHOOOSH-WHOOOSH-WHOOOSH,

"Prae?"

Miles was supporting Draco. It took him a few seconds to realize that Praeris had come for the person he was holding up.

Miles had thought he'd already forgotten. Forgotten that brief half-month. Praeris wasn't the first person he'd ever liked, nor the last person he'd ever dated.

There was nothing special about her. They hadn't even had the chance to truly give each other their hearts.

But only now, seeing what she looked like when she genuinely liked someone, did Miles understand: he had never even made it past the qualifiers in the competition of love.

"When the Ministry was classifying XXXXX-level magical creatures, why didn't they put the two of you on the list?" Praeris coldly mocked Crabbe and Goyle. "Two big, hulking figures, less useful than a pair of goalposts on the pitch."

The Gryffindor team had girls. Slytherin was all boys. Without magic, Slytherin should have had the upper hand.

And now? Just look. Three Seekers had at least managed to pin down Fred Weasley. But Crabbe, Goyle, Miles, and Draco, four of them, were getting beaten up by George Weasley and Harry Potter. Two people.

At least Miles was still holding Draco up. Praeris would let him off. But Crabbe and Goyle? Neither of them was getting away.

Praeris kept cursing as she pulled things from her crossbody bag. Crabbe hastily raised his hands. "It's all the Weasleys' fault! They, "

Praeris pulled out a bottle of green potion. Crabbe shut his mouth instantly.

Crabbe thought sourly: not pulling out her wand... it's not poison, is it?

Praeris glared at them. "What? Still not leaving? Really want me to turn you into goalposts?"

Bruised and battered, Draco groaned. "It hurts—"

"When you were provoking people, why didn't you think about ending up like this?" Praeris said through gritted teeth. "I thought you weren't afraid of pain! Open up, painkiller!"

Watching the pained look on Praeris's face, Miles felt as if he'd drunk an entire bottle of Skele-Gro. A burning, searing ache bloomed in his chest.

Hospital Wing.

Draco was terribly afraid of pain. And if someone showed him concern, he'd become even more afraid of it.

His mother Narcissa said that when Draco was little and learning to walk on the carpet, he could wail for over ten minutes after a simple tumble.

In summary: Draco Malfoy was a pain-faking, coquetry-performing artist with over a decade of experience.

This time, Harry Potter had truly beaten him half to death. Draco's nasal bone had been fractured.

Praeris had provided painkiller, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her keep administering potions. "Drinking painkiller at such a young age? If he gets used to it, it won't work as well when he's truly seriously injured later."

Praeris hesitated. "But he's very afraid of pain."

Madam Pomfrey said, "Precisely because he's afraid of pain."

Madam Pomfrey had a deep impression of Draco Malfoy. She had never seen a child more afraid of pain than this one, and last time it had also been Praeris who brought him in.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease. How many students had come and gone through this Hospital Wing with worse injuries than his? Who else used half a bottle of Essence of Dittany for a broken arm, or painkiller potion for a broken nose?

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, disapproving. "Prince, don't spoil him rotten!"

Madam Pomfrey left. Draco was still moaning and groaning, crying out in pain.

He secretly cracked one eye open, wanting to see if his performance had won Praeris's sympathy.

Praeris had her head lowered, eyelids drooping. Her dark eyes gazed heavily at the bedsheet before her.

She wasn't looking at Draco. She wasn't speaking.

Noticing that Draco was watching her, Praeris asked softly, "Still hurting?"

"No, it doesn't hurt." Draco paused. "But if I didn't do this, Potter would have gotten off way too easy, wouldn't he?"

"I thought you'd keep yelling a while longer," Praeris said.

Draco said, "I... well, wasn't I afraid you'd be upset?"

Draco's howling and wailing wasn't just about being afraid of pain. Crying and wailing at Mum and Dad was to win comfort and beg for sympathy. Yelping in pain at the Healer and teachers was to make the Gryffindors suffer.

But he was afraid Praeris wouldn't know that.

Yes, he was afraid that Praeris, who was smarter than him, wouldn't see he was faking it. He was afraid she'd ache for him. And also afraid she'd be upset because of it.

People in love wear glasses with a filter. No matter how clever someone is, in a lover's eyes they become a fool.

Praeris looked at him. Looked at him for a long time, long enough that Draco grew embarrassed and twisted his head away awkwardly.

Praeris blinked. Swallowed. "Draco..."

"Hm?" Draco grunted in reply.

"If I were hiding something from you, what would you do?" Praeris asked.

"Something very important?" Draco said, utterly unconcerned. "Actually, do you think I've told you absolutely everything?"

He knew perfectly well that Praeris had some special connection to Brown and Purnell. Praeris had denied it, but Draco knew she wasn't telling the truth.

If she really had nothing to do with Brown, she wouldn't have probed so deeply. She always had a good sense of boundaries.

But he hadn't told his father. Nor had he told Praeris about Brown. Even though right now he knew perfectly well that Brown had already become a Death Eater again.

Praeris was different from other Slytherins. Draco knew that. But so what? He'd always been willful, and he still didn't think being a bit more willful was inappropriate now.

"Since you're hiding it from me, then just keep hiding it," Draco said with a shrug. "Best if you can hide it from me forever, and never let me know the truth. You can do that, right?"

Praeris said, "I can't."

"It's just that you don't want to," Draco said.

Praeris said, "Yes. I don't want to."

"Then tell me now," Draco said.

Praeris said quietly, "I can't do that either."

Draco blinked at her a few times, then said slowly, "Praeris, I think... it doesn't hurt anymore."

"Hm?" Praeris looked at him.

Draco grinned, smug. "If I didn't still have to teach Potter a lesson, I'd really want to go run a couple of laps right now."

She cares about me. She's afraid of losing me. Draco felt light as air.

Well then. In love, even a brutish idiot can become clever, can't he?

Praeris smiled and shook her head. "You'll regret it."

"Regret? What does that have to do with me right now?" Draco let out a sudden laugh. "Let the future me worry about it! I'm bound to die someday, should I be fretting about what to do when I'm old and decrepit while I'm still in the prime of youth?"

Praeris was about to say something more, but a commotion arose outside the Hospital Wing.

"...What is it?" Madam Pomfrey said.

"...Slytherin... Draco..." a familiar voice said.

"Ah!" Draco wailed piteously. "My nose! Damn Potter!"

"Oh, Merlin!" Pansy rushed in, hand over her mouth, shrieking. "Gryffindor has gone too far! Openly assaulting a fellow student! I'm going to report this to Professor Umbridge!"

The Slytherin students clamored noisily until Madam Pomfrey couldn't help but scold them all. Only then did they settle down.

Derian Pucey said, "Potter and the Weasley brothers got the punishment they deserved. Professor Umbridge has banned all three of them from playing."

"Crabbe got sentence-copying. No ban," Millicent said with a grin.

Praeris raised an eyebrow. "Sentence-copying?"

"Copying Educational Decrees," Millicent said.

It went without saying: Crabbe's father was a Death Eater. At this critical juncture, Crabbe's sentence-copying and Potter's sentence-copying were definitely not the same thing.

Draco's injuries healed much faster this time than the last.

The punishment had already been handed down, so there wasn't much point in putting on an act anymore. Draco still had to keep practicing Seeking, which meant he couldn't stay in the Hospital Wing forever.

"Good evening, Hermione."

Praeris stood in the washroom, with Moaning Myrtle keeping watch for her as usual.

Myrtle had recently been chatting heatedly with a third-year boy. Praeris was extremely surprised and reminded her, "That's unethical, he's not of age yet. Perhaps you should look at the sixth- or seventh-year boys."

"Oh! Praeris, listen to what you're saying!" Myrtle said reproachfully. "I was only fourteen when I died! Besides, we're just chatting. Is the age gap between us really bigger than the gap between life and death?"

Praeris couldn't persuade her. She could only respect and wish her well.

"You didn't hear what Malfoy was saying!" Hermione said, frowning. "He insulted Ron's mother!"

"Ron insulted his mother too," Praeris said.

"But you know he started it," Hermione retorted.

Praeris nodded. "That's right. He's a little bastard."

"Then why are you still with him?!" Hermione found it utterly incomprehensible. "It's like a fresh flower stuck in cow dung!"

"But I'm no good thing either," Praeris said calmly. "A fool and a liar give birth to a self-deceiving madwoman. What exactly are you expecting?"

Hermione was stunned. She blinked. "Are you talking about yourself?"

"Is there someone else here?" Praeris gave a soft laugh.

Hermione sensed she'd stepped onto an inappropriate, sensitive topic and hastily changed the subject. "DA training is going very smoothly. Everyone's improving fast, especially Neville."

"Neville's actually not stupid," Praeris said, recalling the times Neville had been punished before. "He can do something well, as long as he has enough confidence."

"That's exactly what I think!" Praeris truly was her kindred spirit.

"Harry's improving fast too. Cedric taught him some upper-year spells. The two of them duel often, wins go back and forth," Hermione said quietly. "If only you could come. I'd really love to see you and Harry, "

"Hermione! Who are you talking to?"

Ron's voice came from Hermione's end. Praeris immediately flipped the mirror over, tapped it once with her wand, and wrapped it in a silk cloth.

➤ Next: Nightmare