Chapter 145 - Sixth-Year Course Selection

Millicent walked at the very front, her steps light as a cheerful little bird's.

She had grown taller and sturdier than before, though. The muscles on her arms were much more solid, her exposed skin tanned to an even dark brown.

Compared to a little bird, she was more like a powerful female eagle.

"These past two months, we went to Italy, Egypt, Argentina, and China!" Millicent hadn't stopped talking since they boarded. "At first, I followed behind the teacher as a little assistant. Around the Argentina event, I started to..."

Daphne asked, "I heard Chinese wizards are different from British wizards?"

"Egyptian ones are different too." Millicent said whatever came to mind. "Egyptian wizards are called priests, and they believe magical power is bestowed by the gods. So, they hold sacrificial rites before matches!"

"As for China... the match venue was in Shanghai." Millicent scratched her head. "Chinese wizards are all very particular. Every day before dawn, they practice sword dancing on the lawns."

"Sword dancing?" Praeris asked, curious. "They duel first thing in the morning?"

Millicent shook her head. "No, they combine the sword with dance. A single person can do it alone. It's also how they train their bodies."

She said, "Chinese wizards believe that losing your wand doesn't mean losing your ability to fight. Otherwise other factions will walk all over you."

So, being hit by a Disarming Charm, in the eyes of Chinese wizards, didn't signal the end of a fight. It signaled the beginning of hand-to-hand combat.

China had a long history, and the wizards of that country always seemed cloaked in mystery.

Wizards are born wizards, but in China, there were others, people who weren't wizards at all, who could acquire mysterious powers through their own efforts. All they needed was wuxing.

The closest English word was "savvy," carrying meanings of comprehension, intellect, and resourcefulness.

It seemed to say: be clever enough, and extraordinary power would follow.

Their Chinese host, Wenwen Wang, shook her head repeatedly at that. Millicent had misunderstood, she said. Wuxing had little to do with intelligence.

But what exactly was wuxing?

Wang couldn't explain it clearly. She couldn't offer a deeper explanation, either. Further discussion, she indicated, might touch on state secrets.

At that, the commentator immediately steered the conversation elsewhere, asking about other folk customs and traditions instead.

Competing in China required far stricter conditions than anywhere else. Because of this, China rarely served as the host nation, competitors usually traveled to other countries for matches.

This Quidditch tournament was a trial run by the Chinese Ministry of Magic, their first such venture since the era of reform and opening-up.

Millicent and her teacher underwent layer upon layer of inspections before entering the country. Every wizard they encountered seemed extremely serious.

After they crossed the border, the Chinese wizards warmed up completely.

After the match, Wenwen Wang even took them to see the kind of house ancient Chinese people used to live in, called Yu Yuan. Millicent felt it didn't look like a home at all, more like an especially enormous park.

Millicent had already handed out her gifts once on the train, but Praeris had been in Draco's compartment at the time.

Now, Millicent pressed an iron tin into Praeris's hands. It was predominantly pink, printed with the image of an ancient Chinese woman.

"Mooncakes!" Millicent said with a grin. "Wang said these are the best ones — Xing Hua Lou mooncakes!"

She reached into her bag and pulled out some yogurt strips and White Rabbit creamy candies, piling them on top of the tin.

"China is so good for food," Millicent said happily. "After we graduate, the four of us should go to China together."

Shanghai people loved sweet things, and Millicent loved sweet things. Millicent in Shanghai was like a mouse that had fallen into a rice jar, too happy to remember England.

"I'd love that." Praeris cradled the tin. "We could even ask Stella to help with the paperwork. That would make the border crossing a lot easier."

Wizards traveling abroad through official channels always had to go through the Ministry of Magic, otherwise international disputes had a way of appearing. As it happened, Stella worked at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She could help.

Praeris walked into the Great Hall without so much as a glance at Draco and sat straight down.

Pansy nudged her. "Draco is looking at you!"

"What's he looking at me for?" Praeris's expression shifted, and she said coldly, "I'm not the Dark Lord. He doesn't need to pledge his loyalty to me at every waking moment."

Pansy jumped, hastily glancing left and right. "Do you know what you're saying?" she hissed. "Please, Prae — don't imitate Millicent!"

Praeris exhaled and looked at Pansy. "Panpan, that was my fault. Let's talk later — Dumbledore is about to speak."

Her heart was like a sampan adrift on the open sea, rising and falling with each wave, thunder and lightning cracking overhead.

There were things she didn't want to think about. She'd been forcing her mind blank through conversation, one topic bleeding into the next.

But now she had no choice but to go still. The thoughts she'd been holding underwater came floating back up.

Draco had once said he'd been given a mission.

He'd said he might not be at school next year. That OWLs and NEWTs no longer mattered to him.

He'd been proud, proud that he had a chance to restore his family's glory.

And the last time he'd mentioned restoring the family's glory, it was in the same breath as Voldemort's resurrection.

"I reckon he's become a Death Eater —"

Harry's voice echoed in her head.

"You're not even of age yet, you know!"

The usually detestable Zabini. Of all people, he was the one who'd said something that could actually comfort her right now.

Thinking with reason, Harry's words seemed more likely. Thinking with feeling, she would rather believe the Zabini she didn't even like.

Couldn't this just be a small misunderstanding?

Draco wasn't even of age yet. His mother loved him more than anything, how could she ever let him become a Death Eater?

Praeris was flustered and unsettled. She didn't dare look at Draco. She didn't want to analyze him.

As long as the box stayed closed, she would never know what was inside. As long as she didn't think, didn't analyze, didn't ask, she wouldn't have to find out whether Draco had become a Death Eater or not.

Running away was shameful. But it worked.

But running away never solves anything.

Her own rationality, trying to shake her self-deception awake.

Just then, Dumbledore's voice rose from the staff table. "...Slughorn, a former colleague of mine. He has agreed to resume his old post and serve as Potions professor!"

Praeris looked up sharply.

Which meant...

The Great Hall erupted. As loud as a Quidditch pitch, everyone talking over everyone else.

"Then what subject will Professor Snape teach?" Pansy asked the question as though she already knew the answer, because she couldn't bring herself to believe she did.

As if in direct response, Dumbledore's voice rang out over the noise. "Meanwhile, Professor Snape will take up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"

Praeris looked toward Professor Snape at once. There was not a trace of excitement on his face, only the expression of a man to whom this was entirely obvious, as he raised his hand with a certain lazy authority.

"Praeris! Did you hear that!" Millicent grabbed her arm, beaming. "Professor Snape is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor now... uh. Aren't you happy?"

Praeris forced the corners of her mouth up. "Happy. How could I not be happy for Professor Snape?"

Everything was coming apart at once, like a hillside giving way.

Winnie was being hunted. Draco was suspected of being a Death Eater. Professor Snape had taken the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, a position universally acknowledged to be cursed.

And Praeris could clearly see Dumbledore's fingers where they rested against the table. They were black. Not bruised. Black, like charred wood.

What could do that to Dumbledore?

Just a month ago, the man had been perfectly healthy. No injury. Nothing like this.

When she'd left Gringotts, she had been certain everything was moving in the right direction.

Madam Prince and Winnie had narrowly escaped death, though they were far from recovered. She and Dumbledore had destroyed the diadem and the cup one after another, and Voldemort very likely didn't even know it had happened.

And now?

Pansy touched her shoulder. "I think you're deep in thought, but I have to interrupt you."

Praeris came back to herself, blinking at Pansy. "What is it?"

Pansy pursed her lips and cut her eyes sideways. "Look."

Draco stood with his arms folded, his face cold, in the middle of the cluster of new Slytherin students. The light fell from above, landing on the top of his head, casting the space below his brow line into shadow.

He was standing and she was sitting, but he had his head tilted down and his gaze tilted up, eyes fixed on her.

Every part of him said the same thing. He was unhappy.

Normally, Praeris would have had no trouble coaxing him.

But now? She wasn't in the mood.

She stood up and walked briskly toward him.

The new students pushed forward ahead of Draco, edging him from the middle of the group to its tail end.

Praeris reached out and patted him on the back. "Come on. Stop wasting time."

His gaze dropped from her face to her arm.

Two, maybe 3 seconds. Then a quiet "Hmph." "Isn't it you who's been wasting time?"

"Isn't that what you're here for?" Praeris said offhandedly.

Draco bit his lip. A smile surfaced, barely there. "Of course."

He cleared his throat and turned to the students, telling them to follow him.

The whole way to the dungeons, Praeris did practically nothing. Draco handled everything.

Guiding new students was a task any single prefect could manage. So what role was she actually playing here?

A mascot? Praeris genuinely couldn't work it out.

After breakfast the next morning, it was time for sixth-years to choose their courses.

The Head of House would review each student's OWL results to confirm they qualified for advanced classes, then finalize selections according to the student's wishes.

Professor Snape seemed to have known her results well in advance. He only asked about her preferences. "Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yes."

"No Divination or Ancient Runes?" Snape asked.

Ah. Those were the subjects her mother excelled in.

Praeris had assumed Professor Snape's feelings toward Sylvia were nothing but undisguised contempt. She hadn't expected him to still remember what Sylvia was good at.

"If you require it," Praeris said, "of course I can add them."

"No such requirement exists," Snape said, his voice flat as ice. "Miss. Your class schedule."

Praeris glanced over it. Still the 5 courses she'd chosen herself.

"Sir." The moment Snape moved past her, Praeris lowered her voice. "May I come to you with some questions this morning?"

Snape didn't answer. He moved on to the next student.

After course selection, Praeris walked straight to Draco and pulled the schedule out of his hand.

Draco braced both hands behind him, tilted up his pointed chin, and smiled at her with an easy sort of laziness. "What's this? Checking whether we chose the same classes?"

Praeris crouched down, leaned in close, and pointed to the page. "Why so few courses?"

"Worried about me?" Draco said, his grin going cheeky.

He even reached out to touch her hair.

Praeris pulled his hand back down without hesitation. "Draco. I'm talking about something serious."

"Mhm, I know." He still looked completely unbothered. "Praeris, what of it?"

"I already said. NEWTs don't matter to me." Draco spoke at a leisurely pace. "In other words — did you think our family, like those families with six or seven children, needs salaried work to get by?"

Praeris let out a short, exasperated laugh. He still couldn't help taking a jab at the Weasleys.

"I remember what you said." Her voice dropped. "But I also remember someone telling me he wanted to become a great alchemist. Famous. The kind history remembers."

Praeris reached into her collar and drew out a gold chain. A Scandinavian pendant hung from it.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out an ornate pocket watch.

She took Draco's hand, pressed the watch into it, and looked at him. Her voice went very still. "Tell me. Are you lying to me?"

The smile left his face.

He exhaled. His lips moved. Then he turned his head away.

A long silence.

When he finally turned back, he leaned close to her. "I'm not lying to you. I would never lie to you. You know that."

He exhaled again, heavier this time. Warm breath against her neck.

"I have other things I have to do." His voice came out rough, every word pressed through his teeth. "All of this can wait. You don't know what it's like for me right now."

"Before, I had my father. And now?" The words came out harsh, almost ugly. "Am I supposed to pretend nothing has happened and spend my time on things that don't matter?"

Praeris closed her eyes.

Draco went quiet.

They were close enough to share each other's breath, as if each was drawing something necessary from the other.

Finally, Praeris spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. "These things aren't things that don't matter, Draco."

"Do you remember how your father donated brooms for the Quidditch team? How he arranged everything to resolve the Buckbeak matter for you?"

"The people who love you only want you to do what you want to do. They only want you to be happy. They would never want you to give up the things you love."

➤ Next: Not Unnecessary — Face to Face