Chapter 147 - The Conversation with Dumbledore

Dumbledore gave her a long, searching look, his face kind. "Harry told me you once said to him that if I don't tell him the truth about something, there must be a reason it goes unspoken."

His implication was clear. His decision not to seek treatment also had its reasons. He had already made the necessary arrangements, just as he had with every decision before it.

And just as Praeris had once urged Harry, Dumbledore hoped Praeris would respect his choice.

She would. Praeris would respect Dumbledore's decision, and she would not pretend to agree while secretly working against it.

But before that decision took full effect, she still could not bring herself to stand by and watch him walk toward his death.

Praeris's compassion was a practical thing. It only switched on when she had something to spare.

The real reason she was determined to stop him was this: once Dumbledore was gone, who would guarantee that the Order of the Phoenix would still trust Winnie and Snape, former Death Eaters, both, even though Winnie had saved Sirius Black?

Not every leader dared to extend trust the way Dumbledore did. When a crisis brews inside a group, the turncoats are always the first suspects.

Only after that came the fight against Voldemort.

Praeris fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Including standing by and watching you commit suicide?"

"Do you consider this suicide, Praeris?" Dumbledore said.

Praeris pointed southeast. "Sir, Diagon Alley sells a kind of fake protective amulet. Deep down, people vaguely know it probably does nothing, yet many still fall for it."

"Because every person carries an attachment to life. A hope for living."

"If someone has a chance to stay alive and chooses not to take it — how is that not a form of suicide?"

"Very good. Very." Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. "If the timing weren't mismatched, I'd be quite happy to hire you as a Hogwarts professor after graduation."

Praeris took a step forward. "The timing can be matched, can't it? Though I have no such career plans."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Praeris, sometimes there are things that surpass a person's attachment to all the people and things in this world."

He seemed to believe his sacrifice was a vital step in some larger plan. An essential condition for victory.

Praeris asked, "So you believe this isn't suicide, but a sacrifice?"

"But sir — how is sacrifice not a form of suicide? It simply has a noble and righteous excuse, so you may walk generously toward your death."

"Suicide, in some sense, means you have been defeated by the Dark Lord. Defeated by his curse. Or else — defeated by some self-destructive longing inside your own heart."

Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on her, intent and piercing. "It seems you believe I will be defeated by Voldemort, then?"

Praeris met that gaze without flinching. "Sir, don't bother. You won't throw me off."

She was not afraid in the slightest. If anything, she pressed on with more stubbornness. "You once insisted on finding the Horcruxes alone. Now you're determined to hand all of that responsibility to Potter. Isn't that rather contradictory?"

"You elevate your own life, endow it with some great ideal and value that transcends life itself — and then you betray it without a second thought. That is exactly what you are doing right now."

"If you die because of this, it will not be at the Dark Lord's hand. It will not be by any curse. You will die by your own hand, by an emotion that yearns for destruction. Following that emotion, you will do everything that needs doing, and then, without looking back, walk alone toward the end."

The conversation had long since crossed the line between student and professor. It had become something closer to a debate.

And the subject of their debate was life itself.

Yes, humans are mortal. From the moment life begins, death is already waiting at the final station.

But that does not mean a person must submit to death. Nor does it mean one should do what Voldemort did, trade the lives of others for one's own survival.

Choosing to live with strength means the existence of inner hope. It means an inexhaustible force that contends with fate. It means the unyielding spirit of the soul, and the dignity of life.

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and wiped them slowly. He sighed. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind, or perhaps thinking nothing at all.

"Praeris," he said, calm and unhurried, "it's time for class. Let's continue this discussion another time. You must leave me some room to think, surely?"

Only then did Praeris remember, it was nearly time for the first afternoon class. The new Potions professor's very first lesson.

She had no choice but to drop the heavy topic, say goodbye to Dumbledore, and run for the dungeon classroom.

Running through the corridor, she did not stop thinking.

She didn't believe she could persuade Dumbledore.

The only person who could persuade Dumbledore was Dumbledore himself. The only one who could truly save a person was that person alone.

But her efforts were not without meaning. When someone stands at the edge of a cliff, there is a world of difference between being pushed and being pulled back.

In the N.E.W.T.-level Potions class, the number of Slytherins was small enough to be a little embarrassing.

The Slytherins whose Potions O.W.L. had reached Exceeds Expectations and chosen to continue were Praeris, Draco, Theodore, Zabini, and one other unremarkable Slytherin boy.

Yes, Praeris was the only girl among them. Conspicuous, to say the least.

Pansy's Potions O.W.L. had also reached Exceeds Expectations, but she had refused to continue the subject.

Pansy had declared with great conviction, "No one would voluntarily torture themselves!"

Daphne and Millicent had barely scraped through and didn't meet the requirements for the advanced class. Daphne brooded over this.

Millicent, in contrast, raised her hand with a grin and cheered, "Oh yeah! Long live a passing grade!"

The Potions classroom was hardly recognizable from when Professor Snape had occupied it, right down to how the equipment was arranged.

Large cauldrons stood throughout the center of the room. Praeris caught the scents of Veritaserum, Polyjuice Potion, Amortentia, Felix Felicis, Draught of Living Death, Elixir of Eternity, and several others drifting through the air.

Honestly, she had always had one question: teaching a group of teenagers in the full throes of puberty how to brew Amortentia, did that not count as handing them tools for a crime?

Slughorn told the students to take out their equipment and textbooks.

Praeris glanced over at Draco and noticed a copy of Advanced Potion-Making sitting on his desk.

This guy. He still wanted to be an alchemist, didn't he?

Catching her look, Draco went on the offensive first. "Look at yours, what kind of wreck is that?"

He tossed his brand-new textbook onto her desk and snatched up Praeris's battered, dog-eared copy. "I'll have Mother buy a new one and send it over,"

He flipped it open.

The handwriting inside stopped him cold, elegant, ornate cursive rolling across the page.

Stella Rozier Stewart.

Draco went rigid.

"What's the matter?" Praeris said quietly. "Don't recognize it?"

Draco rolled his eyes in stubborn refusal. "Take it back."

He should have said it was Stewart's legacy from the start.

Secondhand items and gifts passed down from seniors or ancestors were two entirely different things. Draco's own home was full of objects left behind by his grandparents, his grandparents' parents, and further back still. Those things were never considered cheap secondhand goods, no matter how many hands had touched them before.

Though in Praeris's view, there was no real difference.

She was no longer constrained by money, but she still used Stella's textbook all the same. It was Stella's sincere goodwill toward a junior who came after her.

Compared to Praeris, at least she had a textbook. Harry and Ron had arrived without any at all.

Slughorn casually fished 2 old copies out of the storage cupboard for them and got on with the lesson.

He opened by asking the class to identify what was brewing in each of the cauldrons around the room.

Unlike Professor Snape, he held no grudge against Gryffindor. He accepted Hermione's enthusiastic raised hand without hesitation.

Hermione meeting Slughorn was like Merlin meeting King Arthur. She had finally found, in Potions of all places, a battlefield where she could make her name.

She went through them one by one, smooth and flawless.

Slughorn looked her over with undisguised delight and awarded her twenty points on the spot.

Draco let out 2 soft, disdainful sounds and muttered to Praeris, "I reckon you could have answered all of those. But you're not like that Mudblood, always showing off."

Praeris reached over and pinched his side, warning him under her breath, "Pay. Attention. In. Class."

Draco tensed, abs flexing under the pressure.

"You, can't, pinch — through," he breathed.

Praeris rolled her eyes.

Every time she thought he'd matured, he proved her wrong with stunning efficiency.

Just then, Ernie Macmillan pointed at the cauldron of Felix Felicis and asked Slughorn what it was.

Slughorn smiled and answered.

In an instant, everyone in the room except Praeris sat up straighter, eyes locked on that cauldron and burning with open want.

Draco was no different. He leaned toward her and whispered, "Learn that one. Fast."

"I already know it," Praeris said. She shot him one last warning look. "Say one more word and I'm done talking to you."

Draco's eyes went wide. "You know it and you haven't given me any?"

Praeris gave him the back of her head as her answer.

"We still have a little over an hour," Slughorn announced, clasping his hands together. "Everyone will use that time to brew a Draught of Living Death. The one who produces the best result will receive this small vial of Felix Felicis."

He hadn't even finished the sentence before the classroom erupted into clinking and clattering. Every student launched into battle like something had lit a fire under them.

Draco flipped frantically through his book. "Move over, I want this one."

Praeris glanced sideways at him. "Don't forget, between you and me, there's still a Granger."

"Then if you win, give it to me." He looked at her. "Deal?"

Praeris gave him the back of her head again.

She had no use for Felix Felicis, which meant she had no need to scramble and impress Slughorn. She worked through her ingredients steadily, at her own pace.

She had learned the Draught of Living Death in her third year, and not under Professor Snape's guidance.

By that point, she'd already started studying independently and had begun working on her first original project: a low-cost Wolfsbane Potion.

Snape had let her go her own way long before that.

At the time, Stella had been revising for her N.E.W.T.s, and Praeris had been keeping her company. She'd picked up the Draught of Living Death almost as an afterthought.

Since then, she had developed her own understanding of the potion and adjusted the method to fit her own hands.

In Snape's classroom, his standards for her had always been the highest. She had almost never earned extra points in his lessons. Between Praeris and her mentor, performing better than the other students was simply expected. Only something unimaginably good was worth a single additional point.

When Slughorn called time, Praeris's cauldron had already shifted from pink to pale white.

Draco pumped his fist. "You've won for sure! You really can't give me the Felix Felicis?"

Praeris grabbed his head and turned it firmly toward Theodore. "Whether I get it or not, stop."

Theodore showed no mercy. "Draco. Still longing for the taste of Felix Felicis?"

Draco had no way to defend himself.

He had never actually drunk Felix Felicis in his life.

That stuff had been fake. Honey water.

Slughorn stopped in front of Praeris's cauldron. His eyes sharpened. "Quite good. Very good indeed. This is a top-quality Draught of Living Death, but you don't seem satisfied?"

The Slytherins perked up at the praise, looking toward the 2 of them with sharp interest.

Then Slughorn asked his question, and several of them went quiet again.

"I don't think it's the best," Praeris said honestly. "It's only a relatively better version. I'm certain Professor Snape would have done better."

"Oh, but of course! Your Professor Snape is a rare talent!" Slughorn laughed warmly and patted her shoulder. "Praeris, a modest one! You are every bit as exceptional as Stella Stewart, with a stricter standard for yourself on top of it."

He added, "But I think you ought to have a little more faith in yourself. Let's see, when I've finished with all the cauldrons, I may well find myself back here."

He moved on, working his way past one cauldron after another, until he reached Harry's group and Macmillan's table.

"It's not as though I desperately need Felix Felicis," Draco said, once it was clear begging would get him nowhere. "I was simply curious about the taste."

"Outstanding!" Slughorn's voice rang out suddenly across the classroom. "You've inherited your mother's talent, you are,"

He stopped.

Looked at Harry's cauldron. Looked back at Praeris's.

"This is very difficult." His brow creased. "Both are genuinely exceptional work."

A long moment passed.

Then he seemed to reach a decision.

"Harry! This vial of Felix Felicis is yours! The undisputed winner!" He turned. "As for Praeris, you have earned Slytherin ten points!"

➤ Next: The Half-Blood Prince