Chapter 153 - Beyond Question

"But from a certain summer onward, the atmosphere at school changed. It was as though everyone carried a hidden fire inside them — one that would burn all the quiet happiness to ash."

"Back then, I knew: it would be very hard to have another summer that peaceful and beautiful."

That was the summer after second year ended. Winnie had dug out the clothes Sylvia left behind and lent them to Praeris.

Praeris heard Winnie's lament but didn't take the words to heart. Not until she lived through what Winnie had lived through did she finally understand the weight of that sorrow.

Now, what lay before her was no longer a long and leisurely summer to spend as she pleased. It was a cold winter.

The wind blew through the Forbidden Forest, moaning low and hollow, like the sound of muffled weeping.

The hillside was all white. A few sparse clumps of withered grass poked through the snow.

Praeris and Draco Malfoy stood alone in the middle of it. From a distance, they looked like a pair of red-billed choughs that had strayed from their flock.

It was Praeris who spoke first. Her voice was hoarse, her tone light and drifting, as though the cold wind might carry it away at any moment.

"Show me your left arm, and I'll have my answer."

It was a demand with no exit.

Once Praeris had spoken, whether he agreed or refused no longer mattered. She would find the truth either way. Not every answer needs to be said aloud. Most truths in the world are self-evident. What people put into words is what they want others to believe; what goes unsaid is what they actually think.

Draco Malfoy froze. He stayed motionless where he was, and that stillness was an answer in itself.

"Do you have to do this? Do you always have to do this!" He seemed to be holding something back, and when it finally came out, it came out cruel. "Does stripping a person's skin off, laying bare their brain and their heart — does that make you happy?"

Was it already this cold in the Scottish Highlands at the start of winter?

Praeris felt as though the blood had stopped moving in her body. Her hands and feet were ice-cold, and the chilblains that hadn't flared up in years had begun to torment her again.

In the past, Draco Malfoy used to slip his hands into her pockets and hold her hands until she was warm.

This term, he had stopped. Most likely because he was afraid she would discover the Dark Mark on his arm.

"No." Praeris buried her chin in her scarf. "The more I see, the more I know — the more pain I'm in."

Sophocles once said: ignorance is the most blissful life.

Whether a life of complete unknowing or a death of complete unknowing, both are a kind of foolish happiness. To know is to face reality with nowhere left to hide.

If Praeris had known nothing of what was happening to Draco Malfoy, she would have been like every other Hogwarts student, carrying on with a calm and busy school life.

Unfortunately, she could not be ignorant. And so she suffered.

"This is a good thing, Praeris." Draco Malfoy drew a slow, deep breath, as though he was working to convince himself. "He gave the mission to me — that means he values me. He believes I'm loyal enough to do what others cannot."

"Is that so!" Praeris said. "If you're so proud of it, why didn't you dare show me your arm just now?"

"Why won't you show me your mark of honor?" She fixed him with a sharp stare. "Are you reluctant to part with it? I think this is nothing more than you hypnotizing yourself. You have to keep telling yourself this is a good thing — otherwise you couldn't go on doing it."

Having his innermost thoughts exposed, Draco Malfoy's expression shifted. His eyes darted, looking for a way out.

"You can't do this, Draco." Praeris stepped forward, her voice unsteady. "Who has he ordered you to kill? Potter, or Headmaster Dumbledore? How could you ever do something like that?"

Looking at her, Draco Malfoy couldn't help but think of his mother. His mother had held him and wept, saying she was willing to take his place.

In his memory, Narcissa had pleaded with Voldemort in a trembling voice: "Draco... he can't do something like this!"

At the very beginning, when he first received the mission, he had carried the burning rage of revenge with him. He had convinced himself, one-sidedly, that it was Dumbledore who had brought about his father's downfall.

So as long as Dumbledore died, everything would be set right.

But this path was even harder than he had imagined.

He hadn't even managed to do anything yet, and he had already made two people who loved him shed tears.

"It's not a matter of can or can't — I have no choice!" Draco Malfoy pulled Praeris into his arms, his breathing heavy. "Trust me. Once this is over and the Dark Lord comes to power, none of these sins will matter!"

"That is absolutely not how it works!" Praeris wrenched herself free. "You don't know what killing means! In murdering someone, in destroying someone, your own soul will fracture too! That is a scar that will never fade!"

Draco Malfoy had a whole chest full of arguments.

He wanted to say: hardly any Death Eater had clean hands. He wanted to say: his father had led a group of Death Eaters and nearly killed Harry Potter at the Department of Mysteries, so what was there to be afraid of?

None of it left his mouth.

He looked deep into Praeris's eyes and realized he was incapable of deceiving her. He couldn't lie and say he wasn't afraid. Couldn't tell her he enjoyed any of this.

When he had learned of Katie Bell's horrific condition, his heart had missed a beat. He had been terrified, genuinely terrified, that he might have actually killed her.

It was laughable.

His father's son. And he turned out to be this kind of coward, someone who couldn't even bring himself to kill.

"What business is it of yours!" Draco Malfoy's voice shot up, sudden and sharp. "What are we to each other! What gives you the right to interfere with what I'm planning! Are you pitying me? Do you think I can't do it, do you think I'm useless, do you think I'm a coward!"

He was like a red panda puffing itself up, trying to drive her away with a show of fury, hoping she would stop meddling in a plan that had holes in it on every side.

Praeris went still.

Draco Malfoy assumed she had been frightened off.

He was about to say something. But before he could, Praeris turned and looked straight at him, her gaze sudden and sharp as a blade.

"Is that so? So you consider me someone who has nothing to do with you? So you think what I feel for you is nothing but pity? So you think I should simply turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to what you're going through?"

"That's what you think. Is it."

It was terrifying.

In an instant, Praeris's heart turned to stone. She had been grieving for him, suffering for him, thinking of him, and what he said was: what are we to each other.

Meaning she had no right to interfere.

Draco Malfoy found it suddenly difficult to breathe. Something in his chest was burning him alive.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"Since there was nothing between us to begin with." Praeris's voice was perfectly calm. "I can only wish you success."

She wrapped her scarf tighter around herself, turned, and walked toward the castle.

"Praeris!"

He shouted it loud enough to startle the tits from the trees.

Praeris stopped. "Is there something you need?"

"I... I..." He stammered. He could not think of what he wanted to say.

"As you see it, we're done." Her voice was even, unhurried. "You know my great secret now, so I won't let you walk away owing me nothing."

"In the past, I thought there was no need to say these things. I didn't think there was anything particularly unusual about them. But since we have nothing more to say to each other, you should at least understand who it was you were once close to."

"I know you despise wizards from Muggle families, and you look down on anyone who isn't pure-blood. As it happens, I'm half-blood. That's all."

She turned and walked swiftly toward the castle.

The underground classroom. Praeris sat in front of her cauldron.

The flames from the fireplace and beneath the cauldron warmed her. The familiar surroundings and the familiar work soothed her.

Praeris didn't regret the words she had spoken. But she felt no relief, either.

Why Draco Malfoy had said what he said, Praeris understood it perfectly well. He had wanted her to stop interfering with his "mission," and so he had used those words to sting her into stepping back.

But Praeris was not someone who could be summoned at will and dismissed just as easily. She was easy to push around in body; she was not easy to budge in anything that mattered.

She cared deeply about what she and Draco Malfoy had between them. Which meant that what he had done was deeply out of line.

They had never formally declared anything. They had never put a name on it. But Praeris believed that both of them held genuine feelings for each other.

If, in order to keep her from interfering with his actions, he cheapened what they had between them so easily, then what did he even consider that bond to be? And what did he consider her to be?

Yes. She had never made a formal promise. But she had given her care truly and completely. Draco Malfoy could not simply do as he pleased, casually trample her feelings, and use her love to make her yield.

Words carry power. They can be a warmth that soothes the heart, or they can be a knife.

After learning that Draco Malfoy had become a Death Eater, she had been beside herself with worry. Her whole heart had been full of nothing but concern for him, and he had used that sharp tongue of his to try to drive her away.

Did that mean she would always be composed? Always untouchable? Always able to see through everyone's hidden thoughts and make the right call?

Her heart, too, could break.

If Draco Malfoy was determined to push her away, then she,

Praeris let out a long, slow breath, as if she were breathing out her very soul.

She lowered her head and mechanically continued her research. Her expression was almost cold. As though none of this had touched her at all.

Potions class.

Praeris sat at one end of the room. Draco Malfoy sat at the other. Three Slytherin students occupied the space between them.

Theodore Nott looked from one end to the other, let out a small sigh, and patted Draco Malfoy on the shoulder.

Draco Malfoy glanced at him sidelong and said nothing.

That lesson, Professor Slughorn was teaching a potion called the Reviving Draught.

The purpose of this potion was not to revive people, animals, or plants, but to awaken, stabilize, and to some degree repair magical objects.

Some magical objects left to gather dust for too long would grow "dim," and their effectiveness when put back into use would be greatly diminished. Some wands, after excessive use, would seem "fatigued," and the spells cast through them would be far weaker than before.

These minor ailments didn't require a visit to a specialist shop to fix. A few drops of the Reviving Draught was all it took to restore a magical object to its former brilliance.

The process worked by having the wizard awaken the magical object, allowing the object to repair itself.

The Reviving Draught could not repair physical damage or severe damage, a wand snapped cleanly in two, for instance, or a magical object heavily contaminated by Dark magic or curses. It couldn't truly replace the work of wandmakers and broomstick maintenance specialists.

During the brewing process, Praeris made an unexpected discovery: if the powders of angelica and dragonwort were added in three separate stages rather than all at once, the effect was significantly better.

She followed the steps she had already tested, focused entirely on hitting every beat of the process in sequence, her whole attention absorbed in the work.

At last, a Reviving Draught that matched the description in Advanced Potion-Making perfectly appeared before her.

Professor Slughorn walked past the Ravenclaw students and came to stand before the Slytherin table.

"Hmm?" He looked at her cauldron in surprise. "Beyond question! Beyond question! This is excellent! Praeris, you have improved far more quickly than I imagined!"

"Professor Slughorn." Praeris looked up at him. "I hope that the next time you stand before me, you will still think so."

It was very similar to what she had said to him in their very first lesson.

Professor Slughorn smiled, catching her meaning at once. "I understand! I understand your thinking completely! I have taught many outstanding students over the years, and some of them had a mindset very similar to yours. People always want to be the best, and I have always admired that kind of spirit in the young!"

He continued on toward the remaining students, bending down to survey each cauldron in turn.

Praeris waited patiently.

She had already taken 99 steps. She was not in a rush for this last one.

At last, Professor Slughorn arrived before the trio of Gryffindor students.

"Hmm, excellent! Harry, your potion is as remarkable as ever... I never expected to teach two students of such talent at the same time!" He looked between the two of them, shaking his head in open admiration. "The potions brewed by Praeris Prince and Harry Potter are both outstanding, to the point that I cannot determine which is the better of the two!"

He deliberated for a long moment, a conflicted expression crossing his face. The two potions were neck and neck, and he clearly could not decide.

Finally, he made up his mind. "Praeris, your technique is more refined, and the potion you've produced is slightly superior, though of course, Harry's is also excellent. I look forward to your performance next time!"

Competition drives progress. Professor Slughorn nodded to himself, quietly satisfied. Harry had stirred Praeris's competitive spirit and pushed her to improve at a remarkable pace.

He had no doubt that Praeris's outstanding performance today would, in turn, ignite Harry Potter's potential as well.

➤ Next: The Salamander's Tail