Chapter 149 - Not Very Pleasant to Drink

This semester, many courses had begun requiring the study of nonverbal spells, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration.

Without question, Praeris excelled at all of them. She could even cast wandlessly and nonverbally at the same time.

She had kept that second part to herself.

Wandless, nonverbal casting would be a trump card in a real fight. Something that useful shouldn't be wasted in a classroom. So she gave the professors exactly what they asked for: nonverbal spells, nothing more.

Even that was enough to earn their praise.

"A most brilliant display of nonverbal spellwork!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands in delight. "Ten points to Slytherin! May I hear how you understand nonverbal spells?"

Praeris spoke clearly, without rushing. "I think that to learn nonverbal spells, you first need to understand why we speak incantations aloud. When we first started learning, you always told us to say the words loudly and clearly. I believe casting aloud increases our conviction that the spell will work. It strengthens the belief inside us."

"Conversely, if we can't hear ourselves casting, doubt creeps in. That is the core difficulty of nonverbal spells."

"So learning them takes intense concentration and willpower. Repeated practice is the process of beating back that doubt."

Practice makes perfect.

Learning is repetition. The more you repeat, the more familiar it becomes. The more familiar it becomes, the less you second-guess yourself, and the more you trust that you can do it.

Mindless repetition alone won't get you there, but repetition is still one of the most important and effective tools there is.

Professor Flitwick's small eyes grew brighter and brighter as she spoke. He turned to the class with undisguised delight. "Yes, yes, exactly so! Even I could not have put it better! Another ten points to Slytherin!"

Hermione held back the urge to applaud. She leaned toward Harry and murmured, "She explained that beautifully, didn't she?"

"I already knew that," Harry said. "Last term."

He meant it. Harry had come to believe that Praeris was a far better teacher than Snape, at least, that was his honest opinion after those Occlumency lessons.

Even so, the lessons hadn't continued. His tutor now was Dumbledore.

Dumbledore teaching him, Harry was more than willing. He couldn't imagine how he would face Praeris in Potions if she were still teaching him Occlumency.

The moment class ended, Praeris gathered her books and hurried out.

Hermione's face was unsmiling. "Prince has missed meals in the Great Hall quite a few times now," she said to Harry. "I've seen Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson bringing her bread."

"Really?" Harry said, unconcerned. "What's she so busy with? Dating Malfoy?"

Hermione shot him a look. "She's in the underground classroom researching potions. Don't you see? She cares about being beaten by you. She's putting in far more time and effort than she ever did before."

Ron stepped in, smoothing things over as usual. "Honestly, that doesn't seem like such a bad thing. Harry got knowledge from that book, and Prince got a real rival out of it. Isn't that right?"

He remembered that Prince used to call Hermione a "worthy opponent."

"But she doesn't know she's up against the Half-Blood Prince — not Harry!" Hermione said, sharp with frustration. "That's not fair!"

"It's hardly unfair." Harry sidestepped the heart of it. "It's just a book with clearer instructions than Bathilda Bagshot's textbook. Learning from it was like getting guidance from a teacher."

Deep down, Harry genuinely believed it: the Half-Blood Prince was a genius teacher. Far better than Snape.

Sirius didn't regret going to the Department of Mysteries to save Harry. But he did regret that his own arrogance had led to Winnie's severe injury.

Lady Prewett had cried for a long time over it.

After Dumbledore spoke with him, Sirius recognized his mistake. The weight of it only dragged him lower.

Harry found himself defending Sirius, though he tried not to show it. Sirius's impulsiveness wasn't entirely his own fault, Snape had been goading him for years, always sneering that Sirius was useless stuck at home, that he served no purpose.

And that day at the Department of Mysteries, Snape had broadcast it to every Order member present: that Harry had left school specifically to confirm Sirius's safety.

Lady Prewett was back at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place now, with Sirius responsible for protecting her. If Snape hadn't pushed him, would Sirius have acted so rashly?

Harry chose not to think about the fact that Snape had sent people to rescue them. He also chose not to think about what he had witnessed with his own eyes, his father and Sirius, cornering Snape.

Snape had caused him too much pain. He had hated Snape for too long.

If he stopped thinking this way, he wouldn't be able to keep hating him. And if he couldn't keep hating him, he didn't know how he would face his father's cruelty, or Sirius.

The Praeris the three of them were busy discussing arrived at Dumbledore's office at the appointed time.

She set three bottles down in a row on his desk.

Then she sat before him with perfect posture, hands folded, like a very polite little cat. "Sir, regarding the curse you've encountered — we've prepared some potions."

She pointed to the first. "This one was made by Professor Snape."

Snape had not wanted to cooperate. He and Dumbledore had apparently settled things between themselves long before Praeris ever got involved, but he hadn't been able to outlast her.

For the first time in over a decade, facing Praeris, Snape had found himself thinking:

Why do people raise children?

To drive themselves mad?

Why did Sylvia have a child?

Is this her revenge on me?

He never did arrive at an answer.

His face dark as a storm cloud, he'd alternated between mocking Praeris for wasting her time and quietly producing a potion that might possibly alleviate the curse.

Praeris pointed to the remaining two bottles. "These are mine. Er — I can say with confidence that you won't experience any adverse reactions after drinking them."

Whether they would actually work was a different question entirely.

Snape's potion was a colorless, transparent liquid. Praeris's were one bottle of deep green and one of deep purple, both of them bubbling.

It seemed that drinking Praeris's potions called for a degree of mental preparation first.

Praeris looked up at Dumbledore and asked, with complete seriousness, "Would you be willing to try them?"

She didn't know how much thought Dumbledore had given things over these past weeks.

But she didn't regret carving time out of her campaign to defeat Harry, time to argue with Professor Snape, time to research these two potions.

Through the half-moon spectacles, a pair of black eyes and a pair of blue eyes held each other's gaze.

Don't misunderstand. This was not Legilimency. Dumbledore had no such need for control.

He was thinking. She was waiting.

Dumbledore drew a slow, deep breath and said gently, "Praeris, what reason do I have to refuse?"

What reason did he have to refuse a child's sincere effort on behalf of his life?

Before a person truly chooses to walk toward death, there is a long road. It is a blood-soaked road, a road built from the choice to end oneself.

That was why Dumbledore had told no one but Snape about his plan.

Dumbledore was afraid, too.

He was afraid that if he said it aloud, he would waver.

But Praeris had seen. That meant it could not be entirely hidden anymore. She didn't know his full plan. Even so, without hesitating for a moment, she had already begun trying to save him.

Dumbledore thought back to his conversation with the Sorting Hat.

"Why did you place her in Slytherin?"

"I made no mistake. At that time, she was genuinely in danger of becoming someone who would stop at nothing."

"It was fate, and her own choices, that kept her from becoming that person."

Before countless crossroads, Praeris could have become a dark witch.

Her Muggle father had abandoned her. Muggle nuns had bullied her. She had entertained dark thoughts more times than she could count. Her mind held an incalculable store of Dark Arts knowledge. Everyone around her was a pure-blood supremacist. Nearly everyone she loved was a Death Eater.

And yet she never had.

Living among Muggles, suffering endlessly because of her magic, she had never once considered denying that she possessed it, which could so easily have turned her into an Obscurial. Instead, she had thought about how to live alongside that power.

Slytherin was not without such people. Andromeda had been born into the Black family, had studied in Slytherin, and had still followed her own heart. She had become the family's outcast, disowned and erased, and she had done it willingly.

Dumbledore lifted Snape's potion and drank it in one swallow.

He had no intention of abandoning his plan. But somewhere in his chest, a small and secret flicker of hope lit itself, even though he couldn't quite name what he was hoping for.

"Well?" Praeris's eyes shone. "How do you feel?"

"I don't seem to feel anything." Dumbledore looked at the three empty bottles with an unreadable expression. "But I think..."

Praeris caught the thread. "You think..."

"Your potions." Dumbledore said, with perfect sincerity. "If only the flavor could be improved."

Praeris stared at him. "Headmaster Dumbledore."

Dumbledore laughed, warm and full. "Thank you, Praeris! It wasn't pleasant to drink, but I don't mind you continuing to 'torment' me."

"If it tasted good, you'd have no motivation to stop drinking it," Praeris said. "If we succeed sooner, you won't have to keep swallowing this awful potion. Won't that be better?"

She spent a moment studying Dumbledore's hand, his fingers, then collected the empty bottles and left.

Behind Dumbledore, Phineas Black turned cheerfully to the other portraits. "You see? Our Slytherin students, always exceptional. What is her name?"

"Phineas." Dilys Derwent sighed. "The child has been here before. Her name is Praeris Prince."

Armando Dippet snorted at Phineas. "You were snoring through the whole thing!"

Praeris had just reached the first underground floor when Astoria appeared and waved her over. "Praeris! Eliza's been looking for you!"

The lower-year girl named Eliza fell into step beside her just long enough to deliver her message. "Prince, Professor Slughorn invites you to his party!"

Then Eliza was gone, not the least bit interested in whether Praeris intended to attend.

Astoria, however, was very interested. "Pra! What kind of party is it?"

"Naughty girl, who taught you to be so cheeky with your elders?" Praeris looped an arm around Astoria the same way Stella always looped an arm around her. "Just some chatting. A terribly boring gathering. Where's Jones? I haven't seen her."

Astoria's mood dipped. "Pra," she said, subdued, "Gigi's mum doesn't want her to keep studying at Hogwarts."

"Why?" Praeris was surprised.

"Because of You-Know-Who." Astoria said. "Mrs. Jones saw the wanted posters in Diagon Alley. She's been hearing things."

Grace had fought fiercely with her mother over it, insisting on staying.

She had been at Hogwarts for nearly three years. She had grown used to the magical world. She had real friends here.

Hogwarts was her other home. How could she just give it up?

Mrs. Jones couldn't bear the thought of her daughter living in danger. She lay awake at night, sick with worry, sighing to herself in the dark.

But what mother has ever truly won against the child she loves? In the end, Mrs. Jones had let Grace come back.

Grace had won.

But she couldn't forget the sorrow in her mother's eyes. She couldn't forget the stream of whispered reminders her mother had pressed on her before she left.

Grace said to Astoria, halting slightly, "Lia... do you think I was wrong?"

"You actually want to leave school?" Astoria stared. "But — but — but where would you even go?"

"A Muggle secondary school," Grace said.

"You've already thought it through?" Astoria's eyes went wide. "You already know where you'd go. You've already been thinking about leaving Hogwarts."

She couldn't even finish the thought. "Gigi," she said, voice breaking, "if you leave, what do I do?"

"I didn't say I was leaving!" Grace snatched out her handkerchief and pressed it to Astoria's face, dabbing frantically. "Even if I ever did leave, you'd make other friends eventually!"

"I would not!" Astoria cried. "You've already figured out what to do with me! And you still say you're not planning to go!"

The more Grace tried to explain, the worse it got. "Oh, for, I really wasn't thinking that!"

She gave up trying to find the right words. In the end, she swore it, standing there in front of Astoria's tears: she would not leave Hogwarts.

And even if she were ever forced to go, she would say goodbye properly. She would never just disappear.

Later, Astoria told Praeris quietly, "I know she's thought about leaving. She has to have. Otherwise she wouldn't have known without a second's hesitation where she'd go, and she wouldn't have told me I'd find other friends."

"So?" Praeris rested a hand on her head. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to make Gigi stay." It was the sharpest Praeris had ever seen Astoria's eyes. "Whatever it takes. Gigi is my friend. I won't let her leave me."

Praeris said softly, "Aren't you afraid for her? She's a Muggle-born witch."

"She's my friend." Astoria's voice didn't waver. "She's mine. I'll protect her."

She lifted her chin.

"Unless they kill me first."

➤ Next: Struggle and Resolve