Chapter 130 - Refusal — The Conversation

Regarding the future, Praeris hadn't given it much thought.

Just brewing potions whenever she felt like it was enough to support herself, and that was before counting the multiple potion patents she held. Those were making money on their own.

Praeris said calmly, "Professor, I don't have a clear direction yet."

Snape studied her carefully. "It seems you have no intention of seeking my help?"

"No, sir," Praeris replied. "I think I'll make a choice eventually. It just needs some time."

"Send the next one in." Snape skipped the remaining steps without ceremony.

AHEM! Umbridge gave two affected little coughs. Praeris stopped in her tracks and waited to see what she was planning.

"Is that all?" Umbridge said, in the tone of someone deeply concerned for the students. "Professor Snape, this hardly conforms to career consultation standards."

Praeris asked, "Umbridge — Headmistress. Career consultation is for course selection in sixth and seventh year. Would that be a fair understanding?"

"You could say that," Umbridge said.

"Headmistress, thank you for your concern." Praeris gave a knowing smile. "Rest assured — with my academic record, no professor's class would turn me away."

Other students needed to think carefully about which direction to focus their energy, based on where they wanted to end up. Some had to drop courses. Others had to choose a profession that matched their talents.

Praeris had none of those problems. As long as she was willing, nearly every professor's course would open its doors to her. If she chose to take most of them simultaneously right now, the only question she'd need to consider was whether the schedules conflicted.

To anyone watching, Praeris probably looked rash and Snape irresponsible, while Umbridge appeared to be the conscientious headmistress who actually cared.

The truth was exactly the opposite. Not making a decision right now was Praeris taking responsibility for her own future. Not pressing her to make one was Snape knowing her well enough not to. As for Umbridge, even the Slytherins she ordered around daily couldn't say she'd ever shown them much actual care.

Whatever Umbridge had been about to say next got choked back by this oblivious bookworm of a Prefect.

She should have seen it coming. Ever since the Viktor incident, this Prefect had shown a particular talent for bluntness that seemed entirely mismatched with her intelligence.

Praeris came out of the office, gestured for Pansy Parkinson to go in, then walked over to Draco, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Was it that people who spent too much time together stopped noticing each other change?

At some point, Draco had grown much taller. Praeris's chin only just reached his shoulder now.

Draco stood with his hands in his pockets. He turned his head, looked down, and asked, "What are you planning to do after graduation? Keep doing potion research?"

"I haven't decided," Praeris said quietly. "You?"

Draco lifted his chin. "Whatever I do, I'll become a person of renown. That much is certain."

Then he lowered his head toward her. "The Dark Lord has returned. My family will return to its glory days. My father will receive the recognition he deserves."

Praeris looked up at him. "But right now he's hiding, isn't he? Which means he's not confident he can defeat Dumbledore. And he's not exactly a merciful leader. If Mr. Malfoy fails to complete his task..."

"Do you hear yourself!" Draco flinched and dropped his voice to a hiss. "Are you out of your mind?"

He grabbed Praeris by the arm and pulled her to the far end of the corridor. He looked around in every direction, making sure no one had overheard them.

"Of course I hear myself," Praeris said calmly. "The situation is uncertain. It's hard to say who will come out on top. And you should know — neither Pansy's family nor Daphne's has made a choice yet."

What she said matched the position of most Slytherin families. Apart from those who had been Death Eaters from the start, most Slytherins were waiting. Watching to see who would win between Dumbledore and Voldemort before they committed to anything.

"Heh." Draco sneered. "That's what you think? Dumbledore has been driven out of the school. The Head of Hogwarts right now is Professor Umbridge. The two of us are Prefects. And Potter is nothing."

With the situation this favorable, she was seriously pouring cold water on him?

Praeris shook her head. "That's true. But the Dark Lord failed to kill Potter at the Triwizard Tournament. Was it that he didn't want to? And even after Dumbledore was removed from Hogwarts, the Dark Lord still hasn't chosen to face him directly. Has he?"

A few days earlier, Praeris had received a letter that had passed through Umbridge's inspection.

On the surface, it was a rent bill from Old Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. But when the paper was soaked in water, Ms. Prewett's handwriting appeared, confirming that she was now out of danger.

Praeris had found the Horcrux diadem. Dumbledore had been successfully "forced" to leave the school. The Order of the Phoenix had also rescued Prim Purnell.

Dumbledore's departure was his own deliberate move, to slip free of the Ministry's surveillance and the Death Eaters' eyes, and to act more freely from the outside.

On the surface, the Death Eaters had the upper hand, driving Dumbledore out of his own stronghold. In reality, that was not the case at all.

"That's because Dumbledore ran away!" Draco said with confidence.

"Sure, let's say that." Praeris could hardly tell Draco this was part of Dumbledore's plan.

She shifted the angle. "Even so, the person the Dark Lord trusts most is not your father. It's the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban. People like your aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange."

When the Dark Lord fell from power, Lucius Malfoy had used the Imperius Curse as his excuse and walked away clean. He kept his comfortable life. He didn't sacrifice himself for Voldemort. He didn't go to Azkaban. He didn't spend a single day searching for the Dark Lord's whereabouts.

Draco went quiet.

Praeris pressed on. "For over a decade, Mr. Malfoy has not demonstrated absolute loyalty to the Dark Lord. To regain his trust now, Mr. Malfoy has to give more than before. He has to prove himself more useful than everyone else."

The implication underneath those words was clear enough: the current "favor" was an opportunity Voldemort was extending to Lucius Malfoy.

If Lucius Malfoy failed to prove his value, given what his loyalty had actually looked like over the years, his standing in Voldemort's eyes would only fall, and fall sharply.

Even if Voldemort genuinely defeated Dumbledore, the Malfoy family would not come out more glorious than before.

"Enough!" Draco said, impatient now. "Do we have to keep talking about this? I know far more than you think. Mother just won't let me say it."

He said it, but the edge in his voice faded quickly. When he spoke again, it came out slower. "Don't doubt me, Praeris. Just watch. My family will return to glory. And I will become a person of renown."

He sounded like he was trying to convince her.

He also sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Over the next two days, Draco disappeared, off to visit Montague, pick fights with students from other houses, and throw himself into Quidditch practice.

Millicent scratched her head and said, "Isn't something missing here?"

Something was missing. The person who used to sit across from Praeris and do handiwork.

Draco was someone who knew how to entertain himself. He liked to hold forth on his opinions at length, but he never really needed Praeris's commentary, just her nodding along.

Once, back when he'd been trying to get closer to Praeris, he'd taken up handiwork on a whim. He'd repaired broken magical objects from home. He'd even briefly wanted to become a famous alchemist. These days those same skills were mostly used to annoy Potter. But the habit had stayed: sit across from Praeris, do handiwork, and talk.

Without his voice filling the space, Praeris found the quiet genuinely strange.

Draco seemed to sense that what she'd said wasn't entirely wrong. He just couldn't bring himself to admit it.

How was he supposed to admit it? Admit that his family was walking a precarious path. Admit that his father wasn't as valued by the Dark Lord as he'd believed. Admit that everything he'd been so proud of was only temporary.

His father had been his model since childhood, the person he measured himself against. He believed in his father's decisions the same way he believed in his own existence.

But Praeris was also his half-teacher and the girl he liked. She had taught him how to achieve his goals more precisely, taught him how to step out of Potter's shadow. It was because of Praeris that Draco had become Quidditch Captain at all.

He didn't know what to do with that.

"Gryffindor, ten points." Draco said, turning to Dean from Gryffindor with a cool look. "For blocking my way."

Dean's face went red. He swung his fist. Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him before it connected.

Draco made a slow, disappointed tsk. He shook his head. "Why make it worse? Gryffindor, twenty points, for assaulting a member of the Inquisitorial Squad."

"Are you blind? I didn't even hit you!" Dean shouted.

"Oh, good point." Draco sounded genuinely cheerful. "That would be provoking a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Another ten points."

With Crabbe and Goyle at his back, Draco found himself understanding Professor Snape a little better. Docking points from Gryffindor really was remarkably satisfying. Deeply, thoroughly stress-relieving.

On the other side of the castle, Millicent's mood had grown considerably lighter. After her conversation with Praeris, she had finally made her decision: she was going to defy her mother, Mrs. Bulstrode.

Under British law, Millicent was entitled to a portion of her father's estate. But until she came of age, that inheritance remained in her guardian's hands, Mrs. Bulstrode's hands.

The one person who would support Millicent, the one person who would take her in, was Mr. Bulstrode's sister, the one who had never married. Rebecca Bulstrode.

Millicent called her Aunt Becky.

Aunt Becky was a Slytherin, but she loathed Dolly Bulstrode, and she loathed Voldemort.

Becky was convinced, with the particular stubbornness of someone who has made up her mind and will never unmake it, that her brother had been destroyed by Mrs. Bulstrode. In her view, Mr. Bulstrode had done nothing wrong. Not a single thing.

"Is there anything wrong with loving someone?" Aunt Becky had said once, with grief in her voice. "But using someone else's love, that is always wrong."

Mr. Bulstrode had known perfectly well that if he died, his unstable wife would never properly care for their daughter. He had known, and he had disregarded it. He took the blame for his wife anyway, and hanged himself in prison.

Faced with that failing, Aunt Becky had worked backward through the logic and laid every last piece of her brother's irresponsibility at her sister-in-law's feet.

"If your mother hadn't followed the Dark Lord, would your father have ended up in Azkaban?" Becky had said, her voice hard with anger. "And if your father hadn't killed himself in Azkaban, you wouldn't have lost him either."

Aunt Becky also had her own particular theory about the war. She believed every pure-blood family should take pride in their own name. Voldemort never put his surname forward, which, in her view, was more than enough reason to question whether he was pure-blood at all.

In short, Aunt Becky was not a normal person. She was a fiercely protective pure-blood supremacist with a grudge and a theory.

But she was also the only real choice Millicent had.

"That said," Praeris told her, "Aunt Becky is also your best option, isn't she?"

The bad blood between Becky Bulstrode and Dolly Bulstrode ran deep. Becky was more than happy to see Millicent leave Mrs. Bulstrode's house, and she would never allow her niece to be turned into a Death Eater.

If not for the fact that Mrs. Bulstrode was still alive, Aunt Becky might have fought for custody of Millicent outright.

Praeris was still working through it all with Millicent, helping her piece together a way out of the path that was being laid for her, when Thomas Johnson came running in, visibly panicked. "Anderson — Anderson, he — he fell into a swamp!"

"A swamp?" Praeris stood up. "How is there a swamp in Hogwarts? Thomas, take me to Anderson right now."

Millicent was already on her feet. "I'm coming with you."

Thomas talked as they moved.

The Weasley twins had been saving up something spectacular. They had turned an entire corridor on the second floor into a swamp, and several Slytherin students had gone in.

Thomas had a lot of experience finding the right person to handle a crisis. Calling a teacher wasn't worth it, Umbridge's magic was nowhere near the level of a Prefect who hadn't even graduated yet, Filch was a squib, and the Head of House was so busy he'd practically vanished. Calling Praeris was simply the better option.

By the time the three of them reached the entrance hall on the first floor, the crowd of onlookers had already blocked the way.

George and Fred shot past overhead on their brooms and blew out through the main gates of Hogwarts.

"Oh." Praeris watched them go, perfectly calm. "What a pity. It seems we arrived a little late."

"Not entirely too late," Thomas said, hopeful. "Perhaps you could dispel the swamp?"

Praeris raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Johnson," she said, with complete composure, "don't treat your Prefect as omnipotent."

She hadn't even seen the Weasley twins' swamp yet, but she refused without hesitation.

The Slytherin students had gotten out fine. That was enough. A swamp in the corridor was someone else's problem, specifically Umbridge's and Filch's.

Besides, magic wasn't allowed in the corridors. Was it?

Praeris had come to believe that knowing when to refuse was its own kind of art.

➤ Next: Before the Exams