Chapter 132 - O.W.L. Exams

The golden pendant was slowly moved aside, revealing Draco, his voice growing quieter and quieter behind it.

Praeris stared at him and asked softly, "Doesn't this count as bribing me?"

"If you insist on seeing it that way." Draco said slowly. "I won't object."

Praeris laughed. Draco looked at her, baffled, no idea what she was laughing at this time.

Honestly, did no one else find girls impossibly difficult to understand?

Pansy Parkinson, who used to follow his every whim, now only defended his reputation in front of outsiders. She had even said once, in a tone of genuine incomprehension: "I really can't figure out what the two of you see in each other!"

Was there even anything to figure out? He was the best boy. Praeris was the best girl. He was worthy of her affection, and she was worthy of his.

It was that simple.

Draco believed that people who hesitated over why they liked someone must not like them enough. People who liked someone enough never hesitated over such things, like his father and mother, who were simply a family made for each other.

Praeris was hard to understand, yes. But Draco didn't think that mattered. His father often didn't understand his mother either.

Praeris had once told him that one person can never fully understand another, but they can try to see things from the other's perspective.

What a strange idea, Draco had thought at the time. Why would I ever try to understand someone else?

Now, Draco thought: What is she looking at? What is she laughing at? What is she thinking?

"This isn't enough." Praeris took his hand, gently pried open his palm, and placed the pendant in it. "Is this how Mr. Malfoy gives gifts?"

The Mr. Malfoy in Praeris's mouth was naturally not Draco.

Draco held his hand out, drifting. My father?

How else would my father give gifts... wait. My father?

BOOM!

It was as if fireworks exploded inside his head.

He fumbled, switching the pendant chain to his left hand. His grip slipped, and his heart skipped a beat, the pendant nearly fell. He caught it just in time, only for the chain to somehow tangle itself into a knot.

No one could question his manual dexterity. He wouldn't have made so many "handicrafts" otherwise. But right now his hands seemed to have stopped listening to him entirely, and he spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to undo a single knot.

"Ha!" Praeris couldn't help but laugh again. "Draco, you look terribly busy. Need my help?"

"No!" he said, too loud, then quickly dropped his voice. "You know my athletic ability is far better than yours."

Praeris watched him wrestle with the necklace, puzzled.

Did Draco even hear himself? Undoing a necklace required athletic ability now?

After a full flurry of fumbling, Draco finally breathed out, the chain was untangled. He lifted the two ends of the clasp and walked toward her.

5 years, and Praeris's hairstyle had barely changed. It made things easier for him. He reached around her neck, arms encircling her in a posture that almost looked like an embrace, and fastened the necklace in place.

Drawing close to her, the first thing Draco noticed was her scent. He knew it well by now, a blend of potions and herbs, always the same.

As he bent his head to work the clasp, he saw her jet-black hair and the pale skin of her neck.

He accidentally brushed against it. The sensation lasted barely a moment, there and gone, as if it had never happened.

It wasn't as though he'd never put his arm around her shoulders, or never touched her skin, hands counted too, but this time felt different somehow. It left him wanting more.

No wonder Father always puts on every piece of jewelry himself, Draco thought.

"My luck will be good." Praeris smiled up at him. "You've put a good-luck necklace on me, haven't you?"

"Look at you. So inexperienced." Draco worked very hard to keep the delight off his face, and mostly failed. "This is merely a Scandinavian pendant. If you like it, there will be more in the future..."

Praeris leaned against the terrace railing and watched him, her thoughts drifting. He was talking with such enthusiasm. Making all these vague, intangible promises about the future.

She had once overheard Nott and Pansy Parkinson complaining about Draco. Apparently, he had declared at some point: "I can't stand people who go around proclaiming their love to everyone. Those people are the least reliable. True feelings aren't in words — they're in actions."

Praeris wondered: had Draco ever imagined he'd one day be the one talking so volubly about feelings?

Whether he had or not, there was no way to know.

What Praeris certainly didn't know was that Draco had said that in the first place only to take a shot at his sweet-talking love rival, Miles Bletchley.

The setting sun stretched their shadows very, very long across the ancient stone of the castle wall. As the light sank, the two shadows gradually leaned together, until they faded into nothing in the dying glow.

---

Soon, it was the day before the O.W.L. exams.

The O.W.L.s lasted two weeks: theory in the morning, practicals in the afternoon, Astronomy in the evening.

So even Umbridge knew Astronomy couldn't be scheduled during the day?

Praeris extinguished the torches around the dormitory and buried herself in her blankets. She was just drifting off when Pansy Parkinson suddenly scrambled out of bed.

"What's wrong?" Millicent poked her head out and asked.

Pansy Parkinson groped around for her wand. "Lumos! I think I've forgotten the key points for the counter-curse to the Hiccuping Hex!"

"My dear," Praeris sighed, "go to sleep and look at it tomorrow. Otherwise you won't be sleeping at all tonight."

"No!" The Lumos light lit up the lower half of Pansy Parkinson's face from beneath, making her look genuinely ghoulish. "I found it!"

Daphne poked her head out too. She lay flat on her bed with only her long golden hair and pale face visible.

If not for the hair color, she'd look exactly like a female ghost.

Praeris inexplicably thought of Lockhart's masterpiece, Travels with Trolls...

Why was she thinking about that? At most, she was merely cohabiting with two female ghosts.

Daphne lowered her voice. "Pansy Parkinson, listen to me. Put your textbook under your head as a pillow. When you fall asleep, the knowledge will quietly seep into your brain."

"Really? That works?" In the darkness, Millicent's voice carried genuine surprise and a trace of regret, as if lamenting that she hadn't known about this method sooner.

Praeris made a puzzled sound. "Daphne, who told you that?"

"My little sister," Daphne declared with complete conviction. "She said that high-concentration knowledge will osmose into my low-concentration brain."

The corner of Praeris's mouth twitched. Twice. She was absolutely certain this piece of wisdom had come from Muggle-born Grace Jones.

Astoria was using Muggle jokes to tease her own sister.

Praeris knew exactly what was going on, but she didn't dare say a word. She was afraid Daphne would lose her mind in the middle of the night and commit some act of dormitory violence.

---

The Slytherin table was very quiet at breakfast the next morning.

The younger students were tactful about it, eating quickly and clearing off to class. The fifth-years and seventh-years each wore the expression of a soldier marching into battle, grim, resolved, and slightly hollow-eyed.

After breakfast, the exam students loitered in the entrance hall. Every one of them clutched a notebook and muttered under their breath, looking like a crowd of wandering ghosts.

"If the O.W.L.s go well," Pansy Parkinson raised her hand and swore solemnly, "I will personally donate a brand-new set of toilets to Hogwarts after I graduate."

"Pfft —" Praeris nearly choked. "On behalf of Myrtle, I thank you."

Pansy Parkinson leaned in close. "Did you give Draco Felix Felicis?"

"Of course not!" Praeris had no idea why Pansy Parkinson would ask that, but Pansy Parkinson looked as though she genuinely believed it.

Pansy Parkinson frowned. "But when I ran into Draco this morning, he had what looked like an empty Felix Felicis bottle hanging around his neck."

Praeris's expression went still. Several seconds passed before she spoke. "A Felix Felicis... bottle?"

"Mm-hmm!" Pansy Parkinson nodded.

"I did give him a vial of Felix Felicis once." Praeris said softly. "But only the bottle was real. It was a trick I played on him — he knew it was fake."

"Ah? Is that some kind of... thing between you two?" Pansy Parkinson leaned back, wrinkling her nose. "I really don't get it."

The fake Felix Felicis incident had happened a long time ago, back when Praeris was in her third year. She had assumed Draco threw that bottle out ages ago.

With his family background, what genuine treasures hadn't he seen? It was just a tiny little potion vial.

Back then, they had been nothing more than ordinary classmates who traded barbs with each other.

He had given the good-luck pendant to Praeris. And then he had hung that fake Felix Felicis bottle around his own neck and walked into the most important exam of a young wizard's life.

Praeris felt something sour rise in her chest. Astringent, like swallowing a glass of lemon water.

---

At last, the students were called into the Great Hall.

The long house tables had vanished entirely, replaced by rows of individual desks, each laid with a quill, an ink bottle, and a sheet of parchment.

For Praeris, this part was not difficult. She wrote out textbook-clean answers, then layered in her own understanding of each charm, nuances, requirements, the finer points of execution.

20 minutes before the exam ended, she was done. She couldn't think of a single additional thing worth adding.

Leaving early would disturb the other students. Praeris was in no particular hurry.

So she crossed her arms and fell asleep where she sat.

She sat there, eyes closed, head nodding steadily. At some point, the examiner, Professor McGonagall, walked over, looked down at her parchment, and quietly walked away.

The night before, the other 3 in the dormitory had been too anxious to sleep. They'd tossed and turned until midnight before finally going quiet.

Near the end, Pansy Parkinson had resorted to asking in a voice barely above a whisper: "Prae, is there anything, that could knock me out —"

She was afraid of disturbing Praeris and also desperately hoping Praeris would produce a sleeping draught from somewhere.

Praeris had answered without opening her eyes: "Sweetheart, I can Stun you."

"Thanks," Pansy Parkinson said weakly. "I'll manage on my own."

When the 2 hours were up, Professor McGonagall collected all the parchment.

Out in the entrance hall, Praeris rolled her neck and kneaded the back of it with her fist. It ached from sleeping upright.

Pansy Parkinson insisted on going over answers. Praeris looked at her with patient, sincere concern: "Pan-Pan. Let it go. There's still the practical this afternoon."

Across the hall, Millicent told Daphne with total confidence: "I feel brilliant. I got so hungry during the exam. Can we eat now?"

"Eat, eat, eat — all you ever think about is eating!" Daphne jabbed Millicent in the forehead. "Nothing ever weighs on you, does it!"

Since deciding to break with her mother, Millicent had become her old self again, cheerful, carefree, eating well and worrying about nothing.

After lunch came the practical exam. Praeris's examiner was Professor Marchbanks, head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

Taking the exam in the same session were Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Michael Corner.

Her assessed spells: first, the Mending Charm from first year, she had to restore a shattered goblet to its original form. Second, the Freezing Charm from second year: Professor Marchbanks released a live mouse and required Praeris to freeze it while it was still moving. Third, the Summoning Charm from fourth year: Professor Marchbanks showed Praeris a mushroom, took it away, and asked Praeris to summon it back.

She was lucky. Everything was fourth year and below, nothing she hadn't mastered. The real difficulty lay elsewhere, in the variables. A target in motion. A mouse with every intention of running.

Praeris was smart enough to know that once the mouse bolted off the desk, it would likely leave her field of vision, and her chances of failure would spike. The moment Professor Marchbanks let go, before the mouse had even cleared the edge of the desk, Praeris froze it solid. It never had a chance.

Professor Marchbanks nodded repeatedly, clearly pleased with her reaction speed and her level of control.

Praeris didn't dare say a word when she left the examination room. Because Daphne was squatting silently against the wall of the entrance hall.

"Her Cheering Charm made someone cry," Pansy Parkinson said in a barely-there whisper. "It took her 3 tries to get it right. And the person taking the exam right next to her was Hermione Granger."

Just imagining it was enough to guess how brutal the contrast must have been. Hermione Granger breezed through her exam in a handful of efficient motions. Daphne botched the Cheering Charm.

Daphne was an extreme pure-blood supremacist. Hermione Granger was the most famously Muggle-born witch in their year.

Praeris didn't know what to say. So she simply squatted down beside Daphne and put her arms around her. "I know you're hurting right now. It's okay to cry. We're all blocking for you, no one else can see."

Daphne had prepared for so long. Of course it felt awful. No words of comfort would help. There was nothing to say that would make any of it better.

All Praeris could do was stay. Keep her here, and keep her hurt hidden from everyone else's eyes.

Then she felt it, a damp warmth spreading across her chest.

Daphne's tears.

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