Chapter 174 - Clear as Day

"Your mother is very worried about you, isn't she?"

It was a question, but Praeris's tone was certain. She was asking whether Narcissa was worried about Draco, but wasn't it also exactly what she herself felt?

Draco turned his head to look at the distant mist, at the mountains swallowed by fog. There was nothing worth looking at. But he didn't dare look at Praeris. Didn't dare meet those deep, penetrating eyes.

Praeris pressed harder. "Do you no longer deign to spare me even a glance? Has my very existence become an insult to your eyes? Just because I'm a half-blood, I'm not even worthy of your sight, is that it?"

"No!"

Draco whipped his head back toward her without a moment's hesitation, the refusal out of his mouth before he'd thought at all. Pure instinct.

Steeped in his family's teachings from birth, Draco had inherited his parents' ideals, championed blood purity, and put it into practice.

But with Praeris... this girl had brought him many firsts, including the first time he defied his parents' will.

To put it bluntly, had he really done so little behind their backs?

Of course his father and mother wanted him to date and marry some girl from a pure-blood family, just as they had. But he had met Praeris, been drawn to her despite himself, and made a choice they would never be happy to see.

They hadn't known, at first, that Draco was in a relationship at all. Praeris and Draco had never formalized anything between them, and Pansy Parkinson had been covering for them both without leaving a trace.

If Draco had to compare Praeris to an object, it would have to be a Firebolt. Excellent. Powerful. Exactly what he wanted. And absolutely forbidden by his parents.

Draco deeply admired his father and loved his mother, and he was, by nature, obedient. But hidden somewhere deep inside him were desires that had nothing to do with the family's will, desires that belonged solely to the deepest part of himself.

So Draco dated Praeris behind his parents' backs. Found excuses to go out during the summer holidays. Wrote to her in secret, telling his parents he was discussing alchemy with a classmate, a classmate who was top of the year and had earned Professor Snape's approval.

Lucius had frowned. "That girl who went shopping with Winnie Brown?"

"Yes, Father." Draco put on his most indifferent expression. "It's nothing. The Prince family probably isn't well off. She's staying in Diagon Alley for the summer, working there, consigning some potions. She's on good terms with all the merchants." He shrugged. "That's all."

Lucius considered this for a moment, and, to Draco's surprise, agreed to let him continue corresponding with Praeris.

"Well done, Draco." Lucius patted his shoulder with satisfaction. "People like that — capable, but struggling to get by — can be won over with a few casually bestowed favors. In the future, they can bring us long-lasting and substantial returns."

Draco had vaguely understood what his father meant. His father thought he was cultivating social connections, building influence. What Draco didn't know was that Lucius was speaking from experience.

As a prefect, Lucius had extended his hand to Severus Snape after the Sorting ceremony. At the time, he had no idea he was gaining a future Potions Master.

Were there genuine feelings in it? Perhaps some, otherwise he and Narcissa would never have known which end of Spinner's End the entrance faced. But more practically, it was about Snape's abilities and the returns they brought.

Lucius was gratified. His son had finally learned to build relationships with capable people.

Draco knew nothing of any of this. He was simply relieved that he could now write to Praeris openly, without hiding it from his parents.

When it came to Praeris, rebellion had become a habit. She was a half-blood? It had shocked him at first. It hadn't taken long to accept, simply because it was her.

And so when Praeris asked that question, he turned back without thinking, and met her eyes.

In those black eyes, always so still, always so calm, Draco found deep worry and sorrow. Praeris's eyes bore no resemblance to Narcissa's. But the feeling was the same.

"No." Draco's pace of speech slowed abruptly, the deliberateness plain. "I don't care about that anymore."

He didn't dare let Praeris know how irreplaceable she was to him. He was afraid she would throw herself into the mire he was trapped in and sink right alongside him.

The corner of Praeris's mouth moved. She had actually made a pure-blood wizard, the kind who called Muggle-borns "Mudbloods", tell a bare-faced lie and discard the pure-blood supremacy he'd been raised on.

"Why didn't you invite me?" she asked.

This conversation had turned into an interrogation. Praeris kept asking; all Draco could do was answer. He decided to try asking something himself.

"Invite you to what?"

"Christmas." She looked at him steadily. "Why didn't you invite me to the Christmas dinner? I told you, next time, say directly that you want to invite me. Otherwise, what if I said yes to Harper?"

"You wouldn't." That arrogant, self-assured Draco came rushing back in an instant.

How could he possibly not remember what she was talking about?

The Triwizard Tournament. The first time Draco had ever invited Praeris anywhere. He had thought it through so carefully. When the moment arrived, his mind turned to tangled mess and his mouth refused to cooperate. He still wasn't sure what he'd said. And somehow, impossibly, Praeris had accepted, an invitation so roundabout it sounded more like a provocation.

She had told him afterward: "Next time you invite me, say directly that you want to invite me."

He still hadn't managed it. In this relationship, Praeris was always the more mature one. Draco was like a not-very-bright student who couldn't do anything right. His only virtue was confidence, confidence that the teacher would favor him anyway.

He said it again, just as confidently: "You wouldn't."

Praeris raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?"

Who gave you that confidence? Me?

Wait, it really was me, wasn't it.

The favored really do take everything for granted.

"What makes you so sure," Praeris said slowly, "that when you push me aside, I won't,"

Draco's already pale face went the color of Scottish Highland snow in winter. The pink-rose love letter Pansy Parkinson had mentioned finally surfaced in his mind.

"Was that Harper again?" he said through his teeth. "If you said yes to him, you would regret it."

"Harper?" Praeris said, with a tone that suggested she was considering something. "I wouldn't say that. Harper is also a Slytherin Seeker, isn't he?"

"I really had no idea your type had become 'Seeker' at some point," Draco said, furious. "That love letter was written by Harper!"

Love letter? Praeris was baffled.

They were both Seekers, sure. But that really wasn't a love letter. It was a long, handwritten apology from Harry.

Now that the words were out, Draco pushed forward. "You're so clever, how do you not even know this? That Valentine's Day love letter during Lockhart's year. That was Harper. You shot him down at the dinner table, so he deliberately picked his moment and had a dwarf recite poetry in the middle of class to humiliate you."

Ah.

That Valentine's Day love letter. The one that had made her so mortified she could have dug an entire Hogwarts castle out of sheer embarrassment. The one that had earned her a reprimand from Snape.

Right.

The moment she'd stepped out of the classroom that day, she'd walked straight into Draco picking up the Horcrux notebook. And she'd been preoccupied with finding a way to warn Hermione. Two things pressing at once, and the love letter had slipped clean out of her mind.

Thinking about it now... could it be that Draco had already taken a liking to her back then?

That guy. At the time his mouth had been dipped in poison, sneering at her for receiving a love letter, then demanding to know if Harry had written it.

Come to think of it, history really did repeat itself in astonishing ways. This love letter incident, once again, had Harry making a cameo.

And another thought: had Draco actually gone out of his way afterward to investigate? Otherwise, how would he know it was Harper who sent it?

Finally, Praeris picked a number at random in her head. Then she pulled the corresponding vial from her mental inventory of negative-effect potions, as payback for Harper. She'd been rumored to be a Potions poisoner long enough. Might as well make it true just once.

All of that took her about 2 seconds.

"Oh? Is that so?" she said lightly. "I turned Harper down before Christmas. What are you getting so worked up about?" A pause. "And what do you mean by 'again'?"

Draco went still.

Harper had already been rejected?

So the one who sent the pink-rose love letter, it wasn't Harper at all?

Praeris stepped forward. Draco stepped back without meaning to.

She looked at him with genuine curiosity. "Draco, who invites me, who sends me love letters, what does any of that have to do with you? Isn't that my own business?"

Draco was taller than her. It didn't matter. In front of her, he had no presence at all, his gaze sliding away, refusing to meet her eyes. Praeris pressed her advantage, stepping forward again, and again, until his back touched the parapet at the edge of the balcony.

"Draco," she said, almost earnest, "in what capacity are you concerning yourself with my romantic life? You're not even,"

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"— my ex-boyfriend."

And wasn't that the truth. Draco had never confessed. Praeris had never given him any official standing.

The thought hit him with sudden clarity: if he let Praeris slip away just like this, when she looked back someday, he wouldn't even qualify for the ex-boyfriend slot. He would rate nothing more than old classmate.

But even that fear, a fear that concerned only himself, mattered far less to him than she did.

Draco choked up for a single moment. Then he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he drew out his voice slow and deliberate. "That's right. What you do is none of my business. What I do is none of yours."

"So," He let out a laugh that didn't sound like a laugh. "Mind your own business, Prince. How do you know I'm not enjoying this?"

When was the last time Draco had called her Prince?

Even someone with a memory as extraordinary as Praeris's couldn't recall. Or perhaps didn't want to.

After they'd grown close, Draco didn't even use her nickname. He would lift his chin and call her "you" in that slow drawl of his, and only occasionally, rarely, "Praeris."

With childhood friends like Pansy Parkinson and Theo, he was even worse. He would refer to Praeris as "she" without any preamble, as if only one person in the world could possibly be meant by it.

At first, Pansy Parkinson and Theo needed a beat to figure out which "she" he meant. Eventually they stopped bothering. "She" meant Praeris. Full stop.

Theo would sometimes raise an eyebrow and say, deadpan: "Hey. She's here."

Just that. An entirely ordinary sentence. The whole joke was the overbearing certainty behind it.

So one could imagine exactly how it landed when Draco changed what he called her to Prince.

"What did you call me?" Praeris asked.

Draco's gaze flickered. He said nothing.

"Draco Malfoy." Fury blazed in her eyes. "Do you think I won't get angry?"

He'd known she'd be angry. He hadn't expected this, the full name, spoken like a verdict.

"Ha." Praeris gave a scornful laugh. "I understand what you're thinking. You think this is for my own good, right? Give me a break. Unilaterally deciding what's best for someone else, that is the stupidest idea in the world."

Praeris's biological father, Dypul William, was exactly that kind of arrogant bastard. She was not going to repeat her mother's mistakes.

Now. Right now. This instant.

No delays. She was going to knock some sense into this idiot on the spot.

"If I weren't certain you were a living, breathing person, I'd genuinely suspect a Flobberworm had replaced whatever is inside your skull." Her voice was cold and sharp. "Listen carefully. I don't want you pretending to be heartless to drive me away. I don't want you making decisions for my life. I don't want your sacrifice, and I certainly don't need you doing things 'for my own good.'"

"Do you really think that brain of yours — the one that got kicked by a Hippogriff — is smarter than mine? Do you think I don't know exactly what you're doing?" Her tone was pure contempt, her finger jabbing his chest once, twice, again. "What you've done, what you're doing, what you're planning to do, it's all as obvious to me as the inside of your head."

Draco badly wanted to point out that the Hippogriff had kicked his arm, not his head. He didn't dare. He stood there, rigid, stunned, unable to produce a single word.

"Come with me." She fixed him with a look that could have stripped paint.

That look did not mean come with me. It meant just try not following me.

Draco followed without deciding to.

She walked straight to the Room of Requirement.

The door opened. Praeris pulled him inside.

Before them stood the Vanishing Cabinet, the one Draco was nearly finished repairing.

Everything in him went still.

Praeris smiled, cold and quiet. "I told you. Clear as day."

➤ Next: This Is Called Respiratory Alkalosis