Chapter 141 - The Heart's Choice

What wonderful news!

Praeris cheerfully flicked her results parchment.

It seemed she wouldn't need to stand in front of Professor Snape and make excuses for her failure after all. That last-minute cramming thrill, Praeris never wanted to go through it again.

Twelve O's also meant that every professor's classroom door would be open to her. She had to choose from among them which courses to take over the next two years, and what she chose would determine her N.E.W.T. subjects.

The herb merchant in Diagon Alley had mentioned that St. Mungo's Hospital recruited potion brewers.

Most wizards had already learned basic potion preparation at Hogwarts. Only the difficult, complicated cases ever got sent to St. Mungo's for treatment. In other words, St. Mungo's would expose her to patients and potion demands she'd never encounter anywhere else.

If she had to compare, Hogwarts could offer that too.

But Praeris was thinking about working in that field, developing potions through hands-on practice.

The requirements for the St. Mungo's potioneer position were the same as those for the Healer position. Applicants needed at least "Exceeds Expectations" in five N.E.W.T. subjects: Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione felt that with Praeris's ability, she could walk straight into the Ministry of Magic and truly change the British wizarding world.

"Is that your ideal?" Praeris rested her chin on her left hand and stirred her coffee with her right. "Enter the Ministry of Magic, push for political reform, liberate house-elves?"

Praeris and Draco hadn't managed their date, but she had met up with Hermione.

"Oh." Hermione lowered her head, a little embarrassed. "Perhaps so."

Then, as if remembering something, she looked up at Praeris. "Do you still remember your theory of interests? I've been thinking — what benefits could liberating house-elves actually give them?"

"If house-elves were liberated, they could become laborers and earn their own money." Hermione thought aloud as she spoke. "Then they'd use that money to buy goods, become consumers — and merchants would gain income."

Perhaps because of Winnie, Hermione assumed Praeris must know the Muggle world well. She used words like "consumer" and "laborer" without a second thought, the kind of language most wizards wouldn't follow.

Praeris smiled. "Right now, without being liberated, they still labor for wizards just the same. Wizards still get the benefits."

If house-elves were freed, the money they earned wouldn't fall directly into wizards' pockets. Why wait for indirect returns when you could have them work like beasts of burden right now?

"Oh!" Hermione looked a little deflated. "I suppose I need to think some more."

"No rush." Praeris consoled her. "On the road of politics and reform, finding the right direction within five or ten years is considered fast."

Hermione didn't look consoled. But she wasn't the type to sit in a feeling for long. She shook her head and started telling Praeris about Winnie.

Back when Winnie served as a tutor for the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione had liked her very much and admired her learning, even if she didn't agree with her teaching methods.

"You got twelve O's!" Hermione said. "I only have eleven. Teacher Brown will definitely be proud of you!"

Lately, Praeris kept hearing this kind of thing. Dumbledore believed Professor Snape would be proud of her. Hermione believed Winnie would be proud of her.

Too adorable. It sounded like she was a baby just learning to walk, and the whole family was applauding her first time standing up.

"Thank you." Praeris accepted the praise without a fuss and pushed the menu toward Hermione. "To celebrate our combined twenty-three O's, I'm treating you to cake. Please order the expensive ones."

Hermione didn't stand on ceremony. She flipped through the menu and ordered a small pastry for each of them.

"You've missed your chance to fleece me." Praeris raised an eyebrow.

Hermione said breezily, "There will be plenty more chances! Once You-Know-Who is destroyed, you'll be able to eat with us openly — no sneaking off to Muggle cafés, no hunting for a booth away from the windows."

"Is that so..." Praeris lowered her eyes. "If only everything could be the way you say."

Hermione told her that Winnie could now stay conscious for long stretches. She had been transferred back to Order of the Phoenix headquarters to continue her recovery.

The Order members saw Winnie completely differently now. She was a true warrior.

When Winnie returned to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Hermione had watched Tonks latch onto her arm in excitement.

"Winnie, you were so cool!" Tonks said, practically buzzing. "What a pity I passed out, I didn't see any of it."

"I know you passed out. I'm the one who stuffed you into that corner." Winnie said quietly. "Don't thank me. I should be thanking you for saving Plim."

It was Tonks who had broken the door lock and pulled Plim Purnell out.

"How strange the way things work out." Hermione said, a little dreamily. "Tonks saved Ms. Plim, and Teacher Brown saved Tonks. And at the time, Teacher Brown didn't even know what Tonks had done."

There was one more thing Hermione didn't tell Praeris: Winnie had also indirectly saved the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. Not that Winnie had any intention of saving Sirius.

No wonder Dumbledore was so unwilling to let Sirius leave Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Protective magic was tied to the ownership of a dwelling.

If anything happened to Sirius, ownership of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place would transfer. And which member of the Black family it transferred to was impossible to predict.

If it passed to Sirius's godson Harry, they would still have a chance. If it fell to Bella and Narcissa, the Order of the Phoenix would find itself in a very difficult position.

Due to the restrictions of the Secret-Keeper rules, Hermione couldn't tell Praeris any of this, it all touched on the address of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

They drifted to other topics. The kind you wouldn't discuss with boys.

"How do you tell what you're feeling?" Hermione asked, curious. "Malfoy is your first boyfriend, right? How did you know you liked him, oh, thank you!"

The server arrived just then, setting two plates of pastries down in front of them.

"Boyfriend?" Praeris raised an eyebrow. "In the strict sense, he doesn't count as my boyfriend. In the practical sense, he is."

Hermione clearly couldn't follow. "The difference between the strict sense and the practical sense is...?"

"No confession." Praeris said. "We've never had a ritual to define the relationship, like asking each other whether they want to be boyfriend and girlfriend."

Hermione blinked. "Why? I thought you two were always together!"

"Always? I've had other entanglements too. Brief ones, but I don't deny they existed." Praeris said. "As for why, because I didn't want one."

Praeris's words seemed to overturn everything Hermione had imagined.

Hermione very much wanted to say: it sounds like... Praeris is kind of a player.

But the moment she thought about who the target was, Draco Malfoy, she let it go.

Hermione shook her head and cleared her thoughts. "In any case. How do you figure out who you actually like?"

At some point, she had produced a notebook and a fountain pen from her bag and was sitting upright, ready to take notes.

"Pfft!" Praeris laughed. "Hermione! What are you doing, conducting a seminar?"

Hermione said, without blinking, "Yes."

"All right... all right!" Praeris laughed and gave up.

After a moment, her smile settled, and she spoke in a light, easy tone. "Liking someone is where love begins. Whether you like a person — just like whether you love one — you have to ask your heart."

"My heart?" Hermione repeated, uncertain.

Praeris nodded slowly. "Yes. Your heart. One day you'll find that you simply know, you're going to love him. Not someone else. Him."

Hermione raised her hand like a diligent student. "What does 'not someone else, him' mean exactly? How do you define it?"

"Deep in your heart, you know with perfect clarity that the world holds thousands of people better than him." Praeris's voice was gentle and steady. "And even so, even knowing that, you will still choose him. Without hesitation."

Hermione nodded, turning it over. "Can I understand it this way: the greatest white wizard in the world is Dumbledore. Suppose someone had the chance to be with Dumbledore, but chose someone else instead. Is that what you mean?"

Praeris drew a slow breath at the boldness of this analogy.

What she meant?

What she meant was that before any of that happened, this person would get taken out by Grindelwald first, no, no, Diagon Alley bookworm Heidi, get out of my head!

"Mm. You could say that." Praeris said, with some effort. "Though you could really use anyone else for the example."

Hermione immediately felt that she had grasped it perfectly. "I understand. Even if this person has every flaw in the world compared to others, I will still accept those flaws, because I love him."

"You could say that." Praeris said evenly. "Of course, this person could also be brilliant and flawless. Our heart is the only measure that counts."

Hermione nodded, lost in thought.

"What?" Praeris gave her a look. "Someone coming to mind? Please don't tell me it's Ron Weasley."

"Why?" Hermione asked, surprised.

Praeris spread her hands. "Same way you feel about Draco. In my eyes, Ron Weasley's flaws are as numerous as the children in his family."

"Don't say that!" Hermione cut her off before she could go any further with the Weasley headcount.

Praeris, in a spot-on imitation of Draco, whistled, casual, a little smug, entirely unbothered.

Hermione nearly lost it. It took a while before she got her face back under control.

"I think... you won't need to find fault with this one." Hermione said quietly. "It's Viktor, but only a little bit!"

Hermione told Praeris that when no one else had noticed anything good about her, Viktor was the first to say so.

"I thought no one was going to invite me." Hermione's voice went a little heavy. "But he saw me. He appreciated that I cared about learning. He said he liked the way I looked at the ball..."

She couldn't quite meet Praeris's eyes as she said it. "After the ball, he gave me a pot of cornflowers. He said I was like a cornflower."

Praeris didn't know how wide she was smiling right now. She was genuinely, wholeheartedly happy for Hermione.

One meaning of the cornflower was humble learning, perfectly suited to Hermione. Another meaning was encountering happiness.

Hermione pressed her hands together. "Viktor made me realize I'm not someone people settle for. I'm the best. I'm his first choice."

After the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione and Krum had kept writing to each other.

Krum's English was poor and he was never good with words, but he studied English for Hermione. He wasn't used to having his photo taken, but he sent her pictures of himself winning competitions abroad.

Perhaps Krum had many flaws. Perhaps the cultural distance between them was real. But Hermione's heart had given its answer.

Although the O.W.L. results had come out, Draco hadn't mentioned a single word about it in his letter.

He seemed to be preoccupied with something else entirely.

Last month, I received an opportunity.

Or rather, I was entrusted with a mission.

I never told you, and I still can't tell you what it is. But it is a very, very special opportunity.

Everyone who... put my father in Azkaban. Who dragged our family's name through the mud. Everyone who ever looked down on us... will pay for it.

Draco's handwriting was no longer messy. But it had turned sharp and angular.

Praeris clutched the letter, a slow unease settling through her.

She could feel that something in Draco had shifted, and the shift was beyond anything she had anticipated.

Opportunity. And mission. That particular phrasing made her mind go somewhere she didn't want it to go. Somewhere that rhymed with Voldemort.

But as everyone knew, neither the Death Eaters nor the Order of the Phoenix formally accepted members who weren't of age.

Even Winnie, for all her extraordinary talent in her youth, hadn't formally become a Death Eater until the tail end of her seventh year, right before graduation.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

Praeris took a slow breath. Among the people she cared about, please, not a third Death Eater.

All of that was a world away from London's current mood.

The BBC reported that a middle-aged woman named Emmeline Vance had been found dead in the City of Westminster, not far from Downing Street.

In other words, near the Prime Minister's door.

The city hadn't stopped talking about it since.

"What are those Dibble even doing?" Mrs. Willow was saying hotly from her kitchen. "This is London! That's the City of Westminster!"

She carried a plate over to Praeris, who had arrived, as usual, for a free meal. "We pay all that tax! Just to keep a bunch of lame ducks in a job, is it?"

"Emmeline Vance?" Praeris narrowed her eyes.

"There's more!" Mrs. Willow said, her voice dropping into something closer to unease. "A middle-aged woman named Amelia Bones, and it was a locked-room murder!"

She jabbed her fork in the air. "I thought as long as you stayed indoors you'd be fine. Turns out you can vanish without a sound in your own home! Those lummoxes at Scotland Yard, I'd hire ten pregnant women to squat over their helmets!"

➤ Next: The Great Depression