Chapter 184 - Accident in the Bathroom

Dumbledore wanted to hide it. But how could he truly hide it?

The concealment was too shallow. He was using Harry to extract the memory from Slughorn — there was no way to keep the whole thing buried. Praeris could get the truth she wanted straight from Harry.

Truly brilliant people are always arrogant in moderation. Facing a wise man as deeply experienced as Dumbledore, anyone who still blindly trusted their own superior intelligence was bound to suffer for it.

Dumbledore certainly knew Praeris was capable of this. Saying it or not saying it made no essential difference. And yet he still chose to take the roundabout path, to put on the performance of concealment...

Praeris guessed the answer was sitting right there on the surface of the riddle. What Dumbledore wanted to tell her was hidden inside the truth itself.

After leaving the office, Praeris tapped Hermione through the Two-Way Mirror. Hermione said Harry wasn't in Gryffindor Tower. Since the person in question wasn't there, Praeris set it aside for now.

Her thoughts turned quickly to Draco's strange behavior today. Voldemort was clearly applying pressure again through some means, demanding he speed up the repairs on the Vanishing Cabinet and get the Death Eaters inside.

Perhaps...

Praeris stood in the underground corridor, watching the torchlight flicker across the ancient murals and carved stone of this school where she had lived for nearly six years.

Perhaps, after all this time of hesitation and struggle, she finally owed it to Hogwarts to tell Dumbledore about the Vanishing Cabinet.

Before love, she was first and foremost Praeris.

It was Hogwarts that had changed her destiny. Given her a real chance to live as a witch. Given her the chance to have genuine friends.

Hermione of Gryffindor — despite their opposing positions, she had crossed the divide between houses and kept in contact with Praeris all this time, willing to offer trust where most wouldn't.

Myrtle of Ravenclaw and her little boyfriend the Baron had helped Praeris generously, more than once.

Jones of Hufflepuff, Astoria's close friend, who greeted Praeris cheerfully every time they crossed paths, without caring at all who was watching.

Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, who had given Praeris so much warmth in her first days at school. She always passed rare herbs Praeris's way, quietly supporting her potions research.

Professor Aurora Sinistra, the Astronomy professor from Africa, who had opened her private wine stash for Praeris during her darker moments and left her space to process things alone. Whether she was more protective of the wine or of Praeris was anyone's guess.

Most of those witches and wizards from other houses were Muggle-born.

And within Slytherin, her good friends Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, little Astoria, and Meryl who practically admired her, and the others besides.

Hogwarts students had no obvious differences in their clothing. If what came through that Cabinet were mindless Werewolves — the kind that specifically hunted children — how could Praeris believe they would be able to pick out Slytherins from the rest?

And how could she deceive herself into believing that Hermione, a Muggle-born witch, or the younger Jones would come through it unscathed? Grace could have avoided that danger entirely. She had chosen to stay, just to be beside her Slytherin friend.

Most importantly: herself.

Praeris Prince. A half-blood.

Whether or not the Death Eaters could distinguish pure-blood from half-blood, Praeris would be in danger regardless.

She drew a deep breath, turned around, and walked back to Professor Snape's office. "Sir," she said, her voice serious. "I need to see Headmaster Dumbledore. What's the new password?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. He was waiting for a reason.

"I think," Praeris said quietly, "I know something. About the task you haven't been making progress on."

"How delightful." Snape narrowed his eyes, a derisive curl at his mouth. "Shall I say... you've finally decided to pull your clever brain out of love's little pond and shake it dry?"

Snape decided to escort her personally. He wanted to hear exactly what earth-shattering business his fine students had been getting up to.

Praeris fell into step behind Professor Snape. The familiar feeling hit her immediately — exactly like the first time he had taken her to Diagon Alley.

Except back then, small and thin as she was, Professor Snape had seemed enormous. Now she no longer needed to crane her neck to look up at him.

Something else struck her. It had been a long time since she had walked any real distance behind Professor Snape, and she noticed his pace was measurably slower than his usual brisk, purposeful stride.

Praeris said, "Sir. I've grown up."

Snape stopped. He turned and looked at her.

"I mean," Praeris said quietly, "I can keep up with you now."

Snape said nothing. He gave a short "Hmph" and picked up his pace, walking rapidly ahead.

They were nearly at the second floor when a sharp female voice rang out from above.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

Praeris stiffened. "That's Myrtle!"

The words had barely left her mouth before Professor Snape shot forward like a bolt of black lightning.

Praeris scrambled after him, nearly tripping over herself as she ran toward the source of the sound. One thought flashed through her mind: why was Myrtle in the boys' bathroom?

"Don't come in!" Snape's voice shot out from inside.

Praeris stopped dead in her tracks, pulling up short at the entrance to the boys' bathroom.

"Sir?" she called out, her voice tight. "What happened?"

As if Praeris's voice had reached her, Myrtle came hurtling out through the wall with her arms outstretched, swooping directly at Praeris and passing clean through her.

Myrtle blinked. Then remembered she was a ghost. She couldn't actually touch anyone. Since meeting the Baron, she hadn't felt that quite so sharply for a long time.

"Prae!" Myrtle wound herself back up and dissolved into wailing. "Murder! There's been a murder in there!"

"Myrtle, it's going to be all right." Praeris kept her voice steady and soothing. "Professor Snape is here. Sir, is anyone hurt? I have Dittany, Blood-Replenishing Potion, and Hemostatic Potion on me!"

She was already digging through her satchel as she called toward the inside. No response from Professor Snape.

"Go find the Baron, all right?" Praeris said to Myrtle, who was still crying. "Tell him someone's been hurt here, and to be ready to treat them."

Praeris gave Myrtle something to do and sent her off before she could hover there weeping and get in the way.

Time passed. Praeris caught faint fragments of conversation from inside. One voice was Professor Snape. The other was oddly familiar.

Then, after a long silence: "Come in. Stay calm."

Who was inside?

Why did she need to stay calm?

Questions flickered through her mind and vanished without leaving a trace. She seemed to have gone stupid.

Blood. Bloody water everywhere.

The boy who had held her so tightly just that morning was collapsed on the floor, his whole body convulsing. The crimson liquid spread from him outward across the tiles like a grotesque and brilliant painting, still expanding.

Praeris saw no one else. She dropped straight to her knees. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, nearly in rhythm with his. Even so, she gripped all three potion bottles, held on to them like she was holding on to his life.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," Snape said, low and steady.

Praeris held out the bottle in her left hand. Mechanical.

Snape pulled out the stopper and poured it into Draco's mouth.

"Dittany."

Praeris passed the Essence of Dittany from her right hand. Rigid.

Snape poured it over Draco's face.

Then something in Praeris snapped.

She shot to her feet. The Hemostatic Potion hit the floor, the bottle shattering, its contents mixing with Draco's blood.

"Praeris!"

Snape's voice cracked sharp across the room.

In the same instant, Praeris's wand was already leveled at Harry's wide, panicked face.

"Put your wand down." Snape's voice was hard as stone. "I don't have a second pair of hands to carry anyone to the hospital wing."

Praeris's expression was completely calm. "Sir, he's crossed me. There's no rule that says someone can hurt Draco and I can't return the favor."

One second. That was all she needed to cast the spell. The only thing running through her mind was how to put the same wounds back on Harry Potter, one for one.

She knew exactly what this was.

Sectumsempra, from that copy of Advanced Potion-Making. The professor's own spell. The professor standing right here certainly knew what spell this was.

Potter. How could he use Professor Snape's spell on Draco? This was a provocation against both Princes in this room.

She had never cast it herself. But she was certain she could replicate, note for note, exactly what Potter had done to Draco.

"Enough!" Snape's voice came out clipped and furious. "I did not bring you here so you could create more problems for me!"

The moment the words left his mouth, a nonverbal spell flew straight at Harry.

Harry had not expected Praeris to actually attack him. He had not expected her to be that fast. Guilt slowed his reactions, and he fumbled for his wand.

But before his spell could form, Praeris's was knocked sideways in midair by another.

"Praeris Prince!"

Snape's roar filled the bathroom.

It was the first time he had called her full name. The first time he had ever addressed her by her surname.

He was genuinely glad he had kept his guard up around this girl.

Praeris ignored his fury. She kept her eyes fixed on Harry. "It seems I have to admit I misjudged you," she said, cold and flat. "I genuinely regret the things I've done."

Then she looked at Snape. Her voice stayed perfectly steady. "Sir, I don't think I was wrong. The only thing I got wrong is that I didn't succeed."

It was Professor Snape's own invented spell, after all. No one knew better than he did how to undo it.

"Punish me however you want." Her eyes were red, her chin set. "Because if someone did that to you, I'd do the same thing."

Snape had intended to leave Praeris here to keep an eye on Potter. He could see now that was impossible.

If he did, the only one left smiling when he returned would be Myrtle. And that ghost would happily share her toilet with either of them.

Snape made what could be called a sensible decision: Praeris would help Draco to the hospital wing.

Draco was taller than Praeris. She did not find him heavy.

Perhaps the weeks of torment had worn him down. Perhaps what was left of his consciousness was still cooperating with her, doing what little it could.

A strange relief moved through Praeris. If she had never entertained the thought of telling Dumbledore the truth, would Draco have just died quietly in that bathroom, and no one would have been there in time?

Then another thought: not quite. If she had never agreed to Dumbledore's faked-death plan, Professor Snape would likely not have been waiting in his office for her. He might have found Draco on his own.

She could not remember how she got to the hospital wing. She could not remember handing Draco off to the Baron.

It took a while before it came back to her. In the corridor, she had already settled Draco onto the stretcher the Baron had brought.

Madam Pomfrey patted her back gently. "You did everything right, child. The correct potions were used. Even I couldn't have done better on the spot..."

People who believe themselves permanently rational are fools.

The thought came to Praeris, sudden and clear.

All composure is temporary. A person can stay rational only when they haven't yet reached the moment that truly breaks them.

The Baron finished treating Draco's wounds with careful, thorough hands. Then he came over to Praeris and asked quietly, "Praeris, can I look at you too?"

"Me?" Praeris said blankly. "The blood is all Draco's."

She must look awful.

Otherwise why would the Baron think she was hurt too.

His expression was gentle. He pointed at her legs. "No, I mean your knees."

Praeris looked down. Her knees were scraped open and ugly. The wound was a mess, her own blood, Draco's blood, and the dirty water from the bathroom floor, all mixed together.

The Baron worked quickly and carefully, and before applying the dressing said, "This might sting a little..."

"Good," Praeris said.

The Baron looked up. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing," Praeris said. "Carry on."

The pain kept her sharp. And it gave her something real to feel alongside Draco. It didn't calm the storm inside her, not entirely, but it brought it down from crashing waves to something she could stand in.

Before dinner, Pansy Parkinson and the others arrived.

Pansy Parkinson had been frightened enough just hearing that Draco was hurt. Seeing what he and Praeris actually looked like frightened her all over again.

"Are you all right?" Pansy Parkinson said barely above a whisper. "Honestly, you look nearly as bad as Draco does. Except you're sitting up."

Praeris glanced down at herself. Her cloak was dark enough to hide most of it, but her white shirt was covered in blood, smeared across her when she had helped Draco walk. Add the bandages around her knees, and she understood why.

She repeated the words she had already said more times than she could count. "The blood is Draco's."

Everyone saying it meant well. She knew that. But every time, without meaning to, they made her see it again: Draco on the floor, blood spreading out from him in every direction, still and pale at the center of it.

➤ Next: The Education of Death