Chapter 198 - Let Me Weep

The wares in Borgin and Burkes were all visibly sinister, carrying powerful Dark Arts magic, or worse uses besides.

Praeris recalled that the necklace Draco had accidentally used to injure Katie Bell had been purchased at this very shop.

The shop suited Draco's tastes, she thought. He liked alchemy, and he had always had some interest in the Dark Arts. From what she remembered, he had crafted more than a few unsafe magical objects over the years, he just never let them appear in front of her.

The diminutive Mr. Borgin's gaze tracked the two witches as they moved through the shop. Then, suddenly, he spoke. "That pendant around your neck — it seems..."

Praeris looked up sharply. Beneath the hood, her pitch-black eyes met Borgin's directly, and he felt the sudden, panicked sense that she was looking straight through him.

"Ah." The witch who gave him that ominous feeling said it knowingly. "So you've seen it before."

The black-robed witch walked slowly toward him. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and measured. "Go shut the door. You understand the stakes, don't you?"

Borgin recalled the mark on that boy's arm. He rose, somewhat nervously, and walked to the door, flipping the sign to Closed.

When he turned back, he swallowed. "I already fulfilled young Mr. Malfoy's request," he said, tentative. "That night..."

"Old man." Praeris looked down at him, her gaze flat with contempt. "What gives you the right to interfere with our decisions? Take us to the Vanishing Cabinet."

Mr. Borgin immediately broke out in a cold sweat. Hunched over, he led the two apparent Death Eaters through the shop.

He knew. The day after the Death Eaters had passed through that cabinet, the news of Dumbledore's murder had swept through the British wizarding world like wildfire. Borgin had been part of it. Ever since learning of Dumbledore's death, he had been quietly terrified he would be silenced. Half a month had passed. Now, finally, they had come knocking again.

This was Praeris's first time seeing the other Vanishing Cabinet. It looked far better maintained than the one at school, or perhaps the upkeep had been rushed, crammed into this past year.

Dumbledore stepped forward and gave Praeris a look. He reached out and touched the cabinet door handle. Within a second or two, the wooden cabinet was swallowed in crimson flames.

Mr. Borgin jumped at the sight. Before he could make sense of what was happening, a deep voice beside him said, "Obliviate!"

Mr. Borgin's eyes rolled back. He dropped heavily to the floor.

"That was rather heavy-handed!" Dumbledore remarked with a rueful sigh. "Miss Prince, you're becoming increasingly skilled at playing a dark witch."

"Did you think I survived until today on luck?" Praeris stowed her wand, her tone serious. "This was necessary. If we hadn't scrubbed Borgin's memory clean, we might very well have drawn Voldemort's attention."

Then she smiled, bright and cheerful. "Sir, I have only you to thank for the tutelage. Practice makes perfect!"

Dumbledore teased her for going overboard with the memory wipe. Praeris fired back about him sending her to play an evil dark witch not once but twice, the last time even with a designated target, no less, playing the unhinged Bellatrix Lestrange.

They traded a few childish jabs. Then they got to work.

They stripped the shop of its high-priced Dark Arts items, burned some of the furniture, smashed the large ceramic and glass pieces. All of it done beneath a Silencing Charm.

When they were finished, Borgin and Burkes looked as though it had been completely ransacked. The Vanishing Cabinet, burned down to charcoal, fit right in.

Praeris glanced at Mr. Borgin lying on the floor and reached up to tuck the exposed luck pendant back inside her collar.

She was certain the Scandinavian pendant wasn't something Draco had at home. That put the odds high that it had come from here.

In that single exchanged glance with Mr. Borgin, she had gotten the confirmation she needed. The moment he spotted the necklace, he had taken the bait without a word, no fuss, no protests, just quietly flipping the sign to Closed.

Legilimency, Obliviate, and then burning and looting the whole shop. And the one thing Dumbledore had seen fit to question was that she had been too rough wiping Mr. Borgin's memory. Sure enough, Dumbledore was not exactly a stickler for the rules either.

The not-so-rule-abiding Dumbledore pulled a vial of Polyjuice Potion from his pocket, took a sip, and his face crumpled like he had swallowed something truly terrible. "This is absolutely vile. Let's go."

And so, one old and one young wizard, having committed their crimes, swaggered out of the crime scene.

Before, only the people walking through Knockturn Alley had kept themselves thoroughly concealed. But now? Black-robed figures came and went everywhere. Even Diagon Alley was no exception.

Dumbledore burned through potions at an alarming rate, so Praeris seized the opportunity to buy some ingredients from an herb merchant and replenish her own stores.

Old Bradley didn't recognize her. He opened with an outrageous figure: "These — eighty Galleons."

Praeris said, cold as ice, "Is the extra money for your own coffin?"

Dumbledore looked at her with new interest. He had previously thought that only he — with all his scheming that played on Snape's feelings — ever got cursed out like that. He felt considerably better about it now.

Bradley grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Miss, you have to understand, the climate's bad right now. Not many people dare ship goods into Britain anymore."

A seller's market, in other words. Audentes fortuna iuvat. Bradley's herbs might be expensive, but being out and about in Diagon Alley at a time like this was a risk in itself.

Praeris thought it over and let it go. She wasn't short on money, and there was no point haggling here and now.

Besides, whatever money Bradley made today would come back to her eventually, in another form. Potion masters always multiplied their profits many times over.

She tossed the bag of Galleons at him. "Oh?" she said evenly. "You say that as if these herbs were really shipped in from another country."

Bradley lowered his head and fumbled to catch the bag. Then he registered what she had said. He looked up sharply.

But when he searched for the two witches, they were already gone.

Bradley looked left and right, eyes darting. He slipped into the Owl Post Office in Diagon Alley, winced, and spent a few Knuts on parchment. He borrowed the front desk's quill and began to write.

...That witch's tone was remarkably similar to my old customer Praeris Prince, the one you're looking for. Even if it wasn't her, judging by the herbs she purchased, she is a potioneer of extraordinary ability...

He addressed the envelope to the Death Eater Yaxley.

As he sealed it, he told himself:

Praeris, blame me if you must. It's your fault your cheap Wolfsbane Potion ruined the Dark Lord's plans. And anyway, your Slytherin Head of House has already betrayed Dumbledore and returned to the Dark Lord's side, consider this my way of reuniting you with your teacher.

He had to think it that way. Otherwise, he couldn't justify selling out the girl he had watched grow up.

True, Praeris could be sharp-tongued. She knew the price of every herb on the market and never gave him room to maneuver. But she was still just a child. One who had barely come of age.

For a person to commit evil with a clear conscience, they either have to accept that they are an utter scoundrel, or they have to convince themselves it isn't really evil at all. Bradley was the latter. So was Draco, this past year.

Draco sat on the balcony of his bedroom, staring at nothing, his hands moving on autopilot as he polished his violin.

It had been over half a month since Dumbledore had fallen before him. He hadn't been able to do it himself. Professor Snape had finished the task in his place.

After that, the Death Eaters had carried out a mass prison break, quietly and at scale, among them Draco's father, Lucius. Their family was finally together again.

Professor Snape had done everything he could. He had emphasized that Draco had precisely seized the moment when Dumbledore was at his weakest. That Draco had cleverly engineered the Death Eaters' entry into Hogwarts. That Draco had already lost his wand before entering the Astronomy Tower. That Draco had driven Dumbledore into a corner and created the opening for Snape's killing blow.

Yet, despite all of it, Draco's family had not regained favor.

Yes.

They were still the weak. The cowards. The failures.

Malfoy Manor had become a Death Eater stronghold. These people came and went through Draco's home as they pleased, treating it like a roadside inn.

This entire year. Every action Draco had taken against his own heart, forcing himself forward toward murder.

All of it had become a joke.

He still remembered how that chaotic night had ended.

"Draco! Draco!" Narcissa rushed to him and pulled him close, kissing his face again and again. "You did well. You did so well..."

Aunt Bellatrix's expression was something else entirely. She screamed at him: "You didn't kill Dumbledore! You didn't kill him with your own hands! You failed the master's task!"

"Enough, Bellatrix Lestrange." Snape, standing to the side, brushed off his cloak. His voice was perfectly calm. "Draco did very well. The master's demand has been fulfilled."

Draco felt his mother tighten her arms around him. In a voice only he could hear, she said it over and over: "Draco. It's all right. It's enough. It's enough..."

Professor Snape had killed Dumbledore in his place. Praeris had worried for his soul. His mother understood the pain he was carrying. But his aunt thought Professor Snape was a cunning schemer who had stolen the glory that should have been theirs.

Aunt Bellatrix took every opportunity to sing Voldemort's praises, weaving in curses at Snape's treachery whenever she felt like it, and caring nothing at all for what any of it had cost Draco. She only cared about Voldemort's so-called great cause.

And Voldemort himself seemed to believe he had spared Lucius out of his own magnanimity.

Then what had this entire year of pain and torment been for?

Draco couldn't stop himself. He whispered to Narcissa, "Mother, is the path we've chosen truly the right one..."

"Draco!" Narcissa went rigid and clapped her hand over his mouth. She shook her head, frantic. "What are you thinking!"

He had forgotten. His mother didn't know Occlumency. What he said out loud could doom them all.

So he swallowed the words back down. All of them. Like swallowing a fistful of broken glass.

The enchanted violin rose slowly into the air before him and began to play "Lascia ch'io pianga" at its softest register.

Let me weep.

Draco hugged his knees and said nothing for a long time, his fingers turning the small Felix Felicis vial over and over in his hands.

He remembered that the last piece this violin had played was "Salut d'Amour." He remembered dancing to it, the music filling the room, the person he loved beside him.

Back then, the future he had imagined was nothing more than that. Shallow and happy, without any of this weight.

He remembered, too, that even Dumbledore, on the verge of death, had not withheld his kindness. While the one their family had given everything to was pushing him toward the abyss. Taking their loyalty as his due. Grinding their dignity and their feelings underfoot.

These were all dangerous thoughts. But his mother had made him learn Occlumency from his aunt, and so Draco could think them freely, hating their master carefully, in the privacy of his own mind.

Knock, knock.

Narcissa pushed the door open slowly. Her son sat in the high-backed chair on the balcony, hugging his knees, all composure gone, his face pale as paper. Mournful music drifted through the air around him.

Narcissa had no ear for music. But like any mother who loves her child, she felt exactly what it meant.

"Draco," she said softly. "It's time for the meeting."

The music stopped. Abrupt, like an emotion cut off by force.

"You're certain there are no other Horcruxes besides Harry and the snake?"

Southend-on-Sea. Dark clouds massed and churned, pressing down on the surface of the sea. A storm was coming.

When they had left Borgin and Burkes, Praeris had pocketed a dagger. She was running a whetstone along it now, pass after pass, drawing it to a bright edge.

Beside her sat a small black bottle, roughly the size of a Felix Felicis vial. The liquid inside came to about two-thirds full. Basilisk venom.

"Barring unforeseen circumstances," Dumbledore said.

That earned him a sharp look from Praeris. "Unforeseen circumstances meaning?"

"I've seen the diary. I personally cleaved the diadem, the cup, and the ring." He paused. "But I did not witness the destruction of Slytherin's locket."

By all logic, Harry had personally used Basilisk venom to deal with the Horcrux. Dumbledore had entrusted the locket to Harry, and there should be nothing else to account for.

Dumbledore's voice carried absolute trust. "But I believe Harry can accomplish all of this. It isn't his first time destroying a Horcrux."

Praeris gave a cold laugh. "You need to understand — if anything goes wrong, even if we kill the snake, the Dark Lord could still rise again from the locket. Everything we've done would be for nothing."

➤ Next: The Operation