Chapter 201 - A Few More Years to Live

BOOM!

Two figures dropped from the sky and slammed hard onto the sloped grass.

They rolled twice down the incline before the ground leveled out near the water's edge, stopping about ten feet from the reeds. Open your eyes and there they were, swaying gently in the breeze. Dumbledore's choice of landing spot really was terrible.

To evade Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Dumbledore and Praeris had been taking turns Apparating, leaping from one familiar location to the next.

Dumbledore was old and his body hadn't fully recovered, but his knowledge of places beyond London was vast. Praeris was young and strong, but she'd barely ever left her doorstep.

Between the two of them, they had it covered. One rested while the other ran, swapping off until they finally collapsed on the lakeshore at Stourhead Garden like a pair of sun-dried salted fish.

"Praeris." Dumbledore said between heavy breaths. "Well done."

He knew, of course, that Nagini had not chosen to become a cold-blooded killing monster. Killing her was the only way to free her.

To everyone else, the great serpent was nothing but a murderous beast. To Dumbledore, she was still the good girl she had once been. He could kill Nagini with his own hands if he had to. He could do it. But he could not stop grieving for her fate, for how far she had slid into the dark.

At his age, he had come to understand that there are two kinds of courage. One is the bravery of knowing nothing. The other is knowing everything and still being fearless.

People said Gryffindor stood for courage. But Dumbledore was old now, and he could feel his own spirit going soft. He ached over Harry's fate. He rushed toward death half out of self-loathing, fleeing the world of the living rather than facing it.

He was no perfect leader. He had simply burned his whole life fighting evil with everything he had, spending every waking moment trying to atone for the mistakes of his youth, flying the path of self-redemption without stopping, until at last he would hurl himself into the flame like a moth that never learned better.

Why he trusted Snape so deeply, it was hard to say whether it was because he saw himself in Snape. The same Albus who had accidentally caused Ariana's death and spent a lifetime in remorse. He was willing to give Snape a chance. And wasn't that also giving a chance to that tormented young man of his teens and twenties?

After the tense and violent "assassination," the old man and the young woman lay on the flat ground by the water, catching their breath. From the woods came the drone of cicadas, steady and unhurried, singing in time with the rise and fall of their chests.

Praeris spread her arms wide and looked up at the stars. "Dumbledore," she said, her voice soft and distant, "are we going to win?"

She rarely called elders by name. She used "sir," "ma'am," "miss", habits that had likely come from Snape's upbringing.

"I think so," Dumbledore said. "It won't be long now."

Praeris asked quietly, "Did you know that snake?"

Dumbledore went silent. After a long moment: "When did you notice?"

"You weren't wearing the Invisibility Cloak." Praeris said slowly. "Have you forgotten our agreement?"

To make communication easier, Praeris had permitted Dumbledore to use Legilimency on her. In return, Dumbledore permitted Praeris to read his expressions.

Once Nagini found them, the Invisibility Cloak became useless anyway. Pulling back the hood was simply more practical, it was how Dumbledore had been able to shove Praeris aside so precisely. But it also meant every flicker of his face was visible to her.

Wizards who rely on magic long enough inevitably forget the kind of power Muggles carry. Even Dumbledore. Even a man who had known someone as extraordinary as Jacob.

"Praeris," Dumbledore said at once. "I owe you an apology."

Praeris shook her head. "You don't need to apologize. Just don't tell me why you were grieving."

She knew Dumbledore's sorrow had something to do with Nagini. She hadn't read his mind. She didn't know where the grief came from.

After a long pause, Dumbledore said, "I grieve for Nagini. And I rejoice for her. Praeris — you are a remarkable person."

In the most critical moment, with everything on the line, Praeris had still caught the shift in his emotions. And once she caught it, she brought the blade down without a second's hesitation. That was not something most people could do.

Praeris let out a short laugh. "Don't say that — it gives me a bad feeling."

"Whatever the reason," she said, perfectly composed, "this was the necessary road to victory. If it had to be done, better to let someone with no attachment handle it. Fewer uncertain variables that way."

If this was the only path forward, Praeris was certain it was better for her to be the one to act cleanly rather than force Dumbledore to do it while carrying that kind of weight.

But that didn't mean she intended to stay quiet about it. Once the task was done, you put it on the table, pressed on his conscience, and collected what you were owed. Otherwise what was the point?

Dumbledore understood perfectly well. Praeris had made clear she didn't care about the story behind Nagini. The only reason she was bringing it up now was to collect her due.

"Of course." Dumbledore's tone was easy. "My memory isn't what it was, but I won't forget a step this important toward victory."

Praeris was satisfied. She pushed herself up and got to her feet in one clean motion. She looked toward the treeline. "Sir," she said, "they only live a month or two. Is it worth it?"

Dumbledore went still. He narrowed his eyes and said, with studied lightness, "In those two months, they send their voices out into the world. For them, that's enough."

"What matters isn't life," Praeris said slowly, "but eternal vitality." Then a teasing smile crossed her face. "A Muggle philosopher said that. So what are you worrying about?"

What was he worrying about?

Dumbledore had trusted Praeris with his own life, had let her be the one to complete the act of "resurrecting" him. And yet he could not treat her views on fundamental values lightly. Not for a moment.

Many people revered Dumbledore. But Dumbledore knew what he had almost become when he was young. He had been that close to taking the wrong road entirely. If even he had been capable of that, then someone as young and brilliant and powerful as Praeris demanded his full attention, always.

She understood Horcruxes. She knew how to make them. She had gone deep into the study of soul magic, had worked through every dark magic text in Hogwarts, was already a prodigy at potions, and on top of all of it she carried an innate gift for reading people that required no magic whatsoever.

If she ever made the wrong choice...

His mind moved through the countless acts of kindness and mercy he had seen from her, and through her swift, unhesitating acts of retaliation. Both lived in her equally.

He could not set his heart at ease. The moment he allowed himself to consider even the smallest possibility, he felt he could stand to live a few more years yet, just to make certain this child didn't stray.

He smiled gently. "That's a fine saying. Let me read that book sometime."

"It's Winnie's book." Praeris let a small, satisfied smile settle somewhere deep where he couldn't see it. She reached out her hand. "Let's go, sir."

"The night is late. Time to go home."

---

Under the night sky, Winnie nearly came in face-first.

She tumbled off her broom at low altitude, just barely, and rolled with the fall.

Hermione and Bill sprinted toward her and pulled her upright.

"Professor Brown, are you all right?" Hermione said urgently.

"Minor injuries." Winnie swayed on her feet. "Those donkey-brained bastards are in a lot worse shape than I am."

Winnie was no match for Voldemort. But she was also Voldemort's own student.

Anyone who had taken part in the traitor-hunts over a decade ago knew better than to go after Winnie directly. Every single one who came tonight had never faced her before, and every single one of them left with a face full of bruises.

There were too many of them, that was all. No serious wounds on Winnie, but enough small ones to cover the rest. She paused. "Mundungus is dead."

Hermione and Bill both jolted. "What happened?"

"Neither Mad-Eye nor I expected Voldemort to come for me." Winnie sighed. "Mundungus spotted him. I shouted at him to get down. He was too frightened — he panicked and tried to Apparate away." She stopped. "The Killing Curse caught him mid-jump."

Of everyone in that night's plan, the 2 who understood Voldemort best were Harry and Winnie. One a fated enemy. The other the rebellious student who had driven her old master half to madness.

The instant Voldemort appeared, Winnie knew exactly what he would do. She made the right call. Mundungus didn't follow, and it cost him everything.

"It was my fault." Winnie sighed. "If I hadn't been so impatient with him, maybe he'd have listened. Or if I hadn't gotten down at all..."

"No, Winnie." Bill's voice was firm and quiet. "If you hadn't gotten down, you'd be the one dead right now. We don't want to lose any of our people tonight. You are our people."

The best outcome would have been both of them dropping at the same time. That was the only scenario where they both walked away. If Winnie had stayed upright, she would have died. Getting down was the only move that gave either of them a chance.

"None of us liked Mundungus," Hermione said, her voice heavy. "We never really understood why Dumbledore let him join the Order. But we never thought he'd..."

She didn't finish.

It was just like Praeris had once said. The moment someone died, they became worth grieving.

In life, Mundungus had been a petty thief and a coward. But he had paid with his life for this war. That earned him a moment's silence from everyone.

The 3 of them put their hands on the Portkey at the same time.

A wrench through the gut, a lurch sideways, and all 3 hit the floor hard.

Lupin and Moody's wands snapped up and trained on Winnie before she'd even caught her breath. They gestured toward Madam Prewett.

Madam Prewett asked softly, "Dear — what was the gift I gave the child 3 years ago?"

"A formal gown?" Winnie blinked. "And what do you mean 3 years? It's been exactly 4 years to this day."

"It's her." Madam Prewett nodded to Moody.

"Alastor Moody!" Winnie's voice went sharp with fury. "I just went toe-to-toe with the Dark Lord himself and you're pointing your wand at me?"

Moody roared right back. "Not just you — I suspect everyone! There's a traitor in our ranks. The plan was leaked. That's how they knew the transfer was tonight. Where is Mundungus!"

He hadn't forgotten his warning to Mundungus before departure. Was Mundungus the traitor? Was that why Winnie had,

"Dung's dead." Mr. Weasley's voice shook from where he knelt beside the sofa. "George and I both saw it."

It was only then that Winnie looked at George Weasley. Half his face was drenched in blood. Where his ear had been, there was nothing.

She told Moody and Lupin everything, quickly, leaving nothing out.

Bill went still for a moment, as if something had just landed. Then he said loudly, "Where's Prince? She grew me a new face — maybe she can do a new ear!"

"What new ear!"

Harry had just come through the Portkey, four limbs in the air, and that was the first thing he heard. Before he could say another word, he got the same welcome as Winnie, wands up, interrogation about the past.

Once that was cleared, he turned to George's wound. "That's Sectumsempra." His voice was clipped. "Snape cast it. Praeris will know the counter-curse. Hermione, the two-way mirror."

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. "Harry, you forgot. I already returned my mirror to Praeris."

The room went quiet.

Harry refused to drop it. He turned to Winnie and Madam Prewett. "Where would Praeris go over summer break?"

"The Leaky Cauldron, in past years," Winnie said, uncertain. "But after Prim joined the Order, she started coming to my place for the summers. My place isn't safe now, though..."

Hermione stood up suddenly. "She mentioned Devon once. Said it was her family's old home."

"Devon is my ancestral home," Madam Prewett said. "Godric's Hollow, specifically. But all my family there are gone now. And she doesn't know where the old house is."

Madam Prewett's maternal grandmother, Gwendolyn Purnell, born Gwendolyn Prince, was a distant relative of Praeris. Madam Prewett had never told Praeris this.

Prim had never wanted Praeris to think their bond was built on blood.

Dumbledore had told her once that lending her name in the registry could free any girl, and she would have said yes for a complete stranger. That was simply what she believed in.

But what she felt for Praeris was something else entirely. Praeris was a truly, genuinely good child. That had nothing to do with wanting to help girls in the abstract. That was just Praeris.

No one in the room knew where she had gone.

"Perhaps she's traveling," Madam Prewett said softly. "Little Prae had a hard life before all this. Stopping to rest for a while is a good thing." A quiet pause. "The summers in the southwest are so, so beautiful."

With no way to reach Praeris, the Order still had to keep moving. Moody, Lupin, and Harry huddled over the question of the traitor. The Weasleys gathered around George, hollow-faced and heartbroken. Prim sat with Winnie and dressed her wounds.

Not long after, the last group came through: Tonks and Sirius, arriving at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They were one of the strongest pairings anyone could have put together, and they looked it. Battered from head to toe, cuts and scrapes all over, and both of them wearing the unmistakable look of people who had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

➤ Next: Trust — Words Unspoken