Chapter 125 - The Budding of Lia

Outside the boys' lavatory.

Praeris had clearly instructed Draco to search every boys' lavatory. Draco had done exactly that.

And yet Montague had turned up in one that had already been searched.

According to a panicked Anderson, Montague was stuck headfirst in a toilet, only his lower half visible above the bowl.

It conjured revolting images. No one knew how much toilet water he'd swallowed.

Umbridge rushed over, but she'd spent the better part of her life mastering political maneuvering rather than practical magic. She fumbled around for ages and couldn't pull Montague out.

The only thing she managed, probably, was adding some bruises and muscle strains to his existing misery.

Draco walked out of the lavatory, his face a mask of disgust. "Professor Umbridge told me to fetch Professor Snape. You stay here and watch things."

Before long, Professor Snape came striding over at full speed and used magic to separate Montague from the toilet.

"Since Professor Snape is here," Umbridge said, covering her mouth and nose, "I'll leave this with you."

Having successfully passed the buck, she promptly scurried away in tiny, rapid steps.

Professor Snape used magic to levitate Montague. His peripheral gaze swept over Praeris.

"She wouldn't let me in," Praeris said, catching his meaning. "It's the boys' lavatory — even though she went in herself."

Umbridge was particular about these things. When searching for the DA, she'd had Pansy Parkinson handle the girls' lavatories. When rescuing Montague, same rule applied.

Draco disagreed. "I don't see a problem with it. The problem's solved now, isn't it?"

Snape gave a cold laugh and quickened his pace toward the hospital wing.

Nobody knew how he did it. He was clearly walking, yet both Draco and Praeris had to jog to keep up.

London trade unions often held an event called race walking, walking very fast, formally. It was even an event in the Muggle Olympic Games.

Every time Praeris watched Professor Snape sweep past like a gust of wind, she thought he'd be a natural.

Gold medal, definitely, she thought.

Montague's condition was highly unusual. It stumped even Madam Pomfrey.

She examined him again and again, her brow furrowed so tightly it could have crushed a fly.

"This doesn't look good," Draco murmured. "Did you see? His eyes are open, but there's nothing behind them. He's even more out of it than dim-witted Crabbe and Goyle!"

Praeris's gaze shifted from the vacant-eyed Montague to Professor Snape. He looked anxious. His eyes kept darting toward the clock on the hospital wing wall.

Praeris, reading the room, offered him an out. "Professor, if you have somewhere to be, Draco and I can handle things here."

"Oh, yes." Draco patted his chest. "We've got this."

Professor Snape said "Mm" and turned to leave immediately.

"Guess what he's off to do?" A sly grin spread across Draco's face. "Remedial Potions for Potter! I'd wager he's worried that if he stays away much longer, Potter will blow up his office."

Praeris let out a slow, meaningful "Oh?"

After sitting a while longer, Draco told her to head back too, in case the first-years ran into trouble and couldn't find anyone.

Praeris made her way toward the staircase leading underground.

Montague's condition kept pulling her thoughts toward Apparition. Unskilled Apparition caused accidents exactly like this.

In 1971, an elderly wizard with failing eyesight accidentally said "Penzance" when he meant "Penrith."

Penrith was in Cumbria in northwest England, bordering Scotland. Penzance was in Cornwall, at the southwestern tip of the country.

The gap between north and south was enormous. The old wizard had set out from Northumberland, and his strength gave out before he'd covered half the distance. He crashed into a bench in the Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales and got his head stuck in it.

In the end, a Muggle park keeper smashed the bench to free him.

The incident had been added to the Apparition course materials as a cautionary example.

The only problem was that Apparition didn't work at Hogwarts.

"Astoria?" Praeris stopped.

Astoria hastily spread her arms wide, blocking the girl behind her. Only after completing the gesture did she look up and focus on Praeris.

Seeing it was Praeris, she exhaled with relief. "Praeris! It's you!"

Praeris looked at her, then at the plump little girl with brown curls sheltered behind her, and let her expression ask the question.

Astoria quickly stepped aside and presented her friend with both hands spread. "Grace Jones — my friend! She's a Hufflepuff!"

Grace greeted Praeris with easy confidence. "Hello! Praeris, I've heard of you! I'm walking Lia back to Slytherin!"

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Grace said her goodbyes.

Hufflepuff was on the first underground level. Slytherin was deeper still.

Walking through the torchlit underground corridors, Astoria told her how she and Jones had met.

In Lia's year, Slytherin and Hufflepuff had Flying lessons together.

She had already messed around with broomsticks at home, and during lessons she was champing at the bit, she flew a little too fast.

Coming in for a landing, Lia couldn't brake. She shot forward, crashed into someone, and the two of them tumbled straight into the bushes.

The person who served as her cushion was Grace Jones of Hufflepuff, a Muggle-born witch.

The first thing Grace did after scrambling to her feet wasn't to blame Lia. It was to ask: "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

After they became friends, Grace even felt grateful for her own plumpness. "A skinny thing like you — if you'd actually hit the ground, you might have broken something!"

Praeris listened patiently.

"Quite nice, isn't it?" She smiled and teased her. "Why were you so frantic to block her? Reluctant to let me see your friend?"

Grace was considerably larger than Astoria. The girl hadn't actually blocked anything. It was purely a gesture.

"It's because your investigation squad goes around biting people!" Astoria flared up, a rare flash of temper. "Warrington said he'd discipline me on my sister's behalf — what right does he have? His way of disciplining me was docking twenty points from Grace!"

"That's outrageous. What was his reason?"

Astoria lowered her head. "He said Grace is..."

"Hm?"

"A Mudblood witch. So he docked twenty points."

A glint passed through Praeris's eyes. "He definitely said something worse than that."

As it turned out, Praeris knew her Slytherins very well.

"He did." Astoria looked conflicted. "Praeris, you won't tell anyone, will you? I always used to think there was nothing wrong with pure-blood ideology. I don't oppose it, but Grace is different. But now..."

Pure-blood ideology was the family education Astoria had absorbed since birth. But she had made an exception for her friendship.

Until now, when Warrington called Grace a Mudblood. And hurt her.

"You not hurting her doesn't mean others won't," Praeris said, guiding her gently. "As long as this ideology exists, she will always get hurt. The only difference is that the person holding the knife to her isn't you."

The ideology she meant was pure-blood supremacy.

Astoria stared at her, startled. "You — don't tell me you..."

"Shh." Praeris patted her shoulder, the touch carrying the weight of something shared in trust. "Keep my views secret, all right? Just like you protect Grace."

"You're a prefect. You're in the Inquisitorial Squad. How could you possibly..." Astoria still couldn't wrap her head around it.

Praeris smiled. "You're a Greengrass. How could you possibly have a friend like Grace? Lia, it's the same thing. We're both outliers among our own."

One sentence and Praeris had effortlessly placed them in the same camp.

Astoria's eyes trembled. She never imagined that Praeris, currently serving Umbridge, could share her views.

Lia knew about Praeris's relationship with Draco. And it was precisely because she knew that the surprise hit so hard. After all, Draco Malfoy was someone who had also said "Mudblood."

But Praeris had convinced her just as effortlessly.

Yes, she had grown up in the Greengrass household, where everyone was a pure-blood supremacist. But hadn't she herself started thinking differently?

Praeris patted her shoulder again. "Lia, what makes a person who they are isn't only the people around them. It's also what kind of person they want to be, what they're determined to become, and the effort they're willing to put in to get there. Now, come on."

Astoria was different. She had shown ideas unlike the typical Slytherin from early on, which had been a constant headache for Daphne.

Warrington had handed Praeris a perfect opening. She had used it to provoke the defiance buried deep in Lia's bones, to nurture the first fragile shoot of egalitarian thought, and to draw her onto the same side.

From "I won't do it" to beginning to wonder "is it enough that only I won't do it?", Praeris was happy to fertilize that small shoot, to push Lia toward choosing what kind of person to become and striving for it.

Then it struck her, with sudden clarity: perhaps this was why she had been made a prefect.

If she weren't a prefect, Lia might never have crossed paths with her at all. Much less confided in her so easily, or been shaped by her.

...

Praeris held up the mirror with one hand, staring at the scene unfolding on the other side, and wondered briefly if she was hallucinating.

"Just tell us! Praeris, Harry says you testified for Umbridge and drove Dumbledore away, I don't believe it!"

Hermione had forcibly dragged Harry Potter into frame, demanding a confrontation.

What she didn't mention was that Harry Potter, in his anger, had also said Praeris had done it to secure a place in the Inquisitorial Squad.

That had made Hermione furious. The Inquisitorial Squad hadn't even existed back then!

"That shows you have a brain," Praeris said crisply. "Dumbledore needed to leave Hogwarts. It was part of the plan."

"He told you, but not me?" The disbelief in Harry Potter's voice was raw.

"He didn't say anything to me either!" Praeris gave a cold laugh. "He didn't tip off that Auror, either."

Dumbledore had said nothing, and yet Kingsley had quietly altered Marietta's memory and coordinated with their actions regardless.

Silence settled over both sides of the mirror. Harry Potter lowered his head, uncomfortable.

All right. Kingsley and Praeris were both brilliant. He was the only complete and utter fool.

"You think I'm accusing you?" Praeris looked at him as if she could see straight through to the thought. "Everyone handles different things. Would you hand Hermione a sword and tell her to go stab a Basilisk?"

If everyone could understand Dumbledore's intentions, if everyone could coordinate with his plans, Voldemort would never have been resurrected to begin with.

"No. I understand." Harry Potter's voice was quiet. "Thank you."

"Hm?"

Harry Potter kept his head down. "Thank you for the dreamcatcher. Hermione told me everything."

"Don't thank me. You deserved it." Praeris waved it off. "I just hope you study Occlumency properly so you never have to use a dreamcatcher again."

Hermione stuck her head in. "Praeris! Professor Snape has stopped Harry Potter's Occlumency lessons!"

"Hermione!" Harry Potter made a frantic attempt to stop her. "I told you, I've pretty much learned it!"

Praeris narrowed her eyes. "You've learned it? That fast? Then look at me."

Harry Potter immediately turned his head away, avoiding her gaze.

"You haven't learned it." Praeris straightened and kept her eyes on him. "You angered the professor. Made him unwilling to keep teaching you. Have you forgotten what Dumbledore said when he left?"

From across the mirror came Hermione's quiet, suspicious voice. "Harry, didn't you tell me Professor Snape said to practice on your own?"

"Oh. I see." Praeris nodded slowly. "You really are just like your father and Sirius. Never listening to a word Dumbledore says..."

"Enough!" Harry Potter cut her off.

He had only recently had his image of James Potter shattered. And he would never forget that his parents' deaths were partly because James and Sirius had secretly switched Secret-Keepers, giving Peter Pettigrew his opening.

Praeris's words cut deep.

And the fact that they cut so deep, that itself was its own kind of pain.

"Ah." Praeris sighed. "There's no clean solution. I'll go talk to the professor."

Harry Potter still refused. "No. Drop it. Nothing bad will happen without Occlumency, right?"

"Something bad will absolutely happen." Praeris gave him a flat look. "If it comes to it, I'll teach you myself."

"You know Occlumency?" Hermione's face lit up. If Harry Potter was going to keep refusing Professor Snape, Praeris would be a real option.

Praeris was honest about it. "Since fourth year. But my skill is nowhere close to Professor Snape's, and my Legilimency is poor as well."

When she had practiced Legilimency, her partner had been Madam Puli, and Madam Puli didn't know Occlumency. Which meant teaching Harry Potter herself would produce far weaker results.

But there was no other option now. Harry Potter had fallen out with Professor Snape.

Making Professor Snape angry enough to stop teaching Harry Potter altogether, that was not the kind of thing that resolved itself easily.

➤ Next: Blood Thorns