Chapter 208 - Crossing Blades

The letter was sent. The matter of the locket passed naturally into Harry's hands.

Whether by snake venom or the Sword of Gryffindor, Praeris believed Harry could see it through.

True, Harry sometimes lost hold of his emotions. But he was the type who rose to meet a stronger opponent, quick to adapt and quick on his feet, and clever enough to back it up. Six years of Dumbledore's deliberate shaping had made him that way.

Brilliant, really. A leader who can't build a team can only grind themselves into the ground. Praeris was exactly that sort, the kind who preferred to carry everything herself.

Her circumstances had always existed in shades of gray. Trusting others had never come easily. More often than not, she found it simpler to do things herself than to hand them off.

This was a common failing among the strong in their early years: I'm already capable enough. What do I need anyone else for?

As for the Sword of Gryffindor, that was Dumbledore's territory. He had just left to revise his original plan and get the sword into Harry's hands ahead of schedule.

Praeris hadn't asked Dumbledore whether the person being entrusted with this information could be trusted. That person would be the first, outside of Snape and Praeris, to know Dumbledore was still alive.

She handed the letter to the owl and dug a few bronze Knuts from her pocket to cover the postage.

This year, she simply hadn't had the time to earn money through potions. She hadn't developed anything new worth selling. She'd been covering Dumbledore's treatment on her own, and she'd just bled a serious amount of money over the locket.

She did still receive a cut from some of her earlier inventions. But the Budget Wolfsbane Potion had made her an enemy of Voldemort, and her work had long since been pushed underground. Whatever money was being made was flowing straight to unlicensed black-market peddlers.

She counted what was left in her pouch and felt the familiar weight of it: almost nothing. It was as if she'd snapped back to being her old, thoroughly broke self.

Walking out of the Owl Post Office, Praeris couldn't hold back. "You've been drinking my medicine without paying, haven't you?"

"That is a truly terrible question," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "My dear, as someone who is already 'dead,' I have no way of withdrawing a single gold Galleon to give you. Put it all on my tab."

The truth was that Dumbledore had never paid for Snape's potions either, he drew the same salary as the other professors and nothing more. It hadn't occurred to him that Praeris might actually be short on money.

Praeris turned her pouch upside down toward him. Her eyes said everything. "After paying for the information and covering the owl fee, this is what's left."

Dumbledore looked, for once, mildly embarrassed. He considered for a moment. "Why don't you use a Patronus to send messages?"

"A Patronus can carry messages?" Praeris said.

Dumbledore hadn't expected that. The erudite Praeris, and she didn't even know that. "Who taught you the Patronus Charm?"

"Ninety-nine percent self-taught," Praeris said. The only question she'd ever asked on the subject was whether she was capable of casting it at all.

There it was again, another failing of the clever: arrogance. She had never run into Dementors, so the Patronus Charm had never been useful to her. And because it had never been useful, she hadn't bothered to explore what else it could do.

Dumbledore explained that they occasionally used Patronuses to relay messages. Faster, safer, no risk of intercepted letters.

"Fine. Head back without me," Praeris said, resigned. "I need to stop by Slug and Jiggers."

Dumbledore smiled. "I simply cannot do without you, Doctor."

She didn't believe that for a second. Dumbledore was almost certainly saying it because of something old Tom had said.

The last time she'd visited the apothecary had been the previous summer. She sold off a backlog of potions she hadn't touched in ages, and her pouch felt full again for a little while.

The moment the owner saw her work, he knew exactly who she was. More people came in to buy than to sell, and the skill levels varied wildly, Praeris's potions always stood out.

He lowered his voice. "Little Prae, you shouldn't be out in the open. You should be like Winnie and Prim, lying low and staying hidden. You've made an enemy of You-Know-Who."

Praeris tucked the coins into her pouch without much concern. "Sir, I still have to live."

The owner had never seen a potions master as perpetually broke as Praeris. He didn't quite know what to say.

He had a vague memory that Snape's finances in his younger years had also been rather grim. Did the two of them have to inherit that as well?

Coming out of the apothecary, Praeris drifted on instinct toward the spot where Bradley usually set up his stall. Gradually, her steps slowed. Her gaze slid sideways and met Dumbledore's.

"Someone is following us."

"Death Eaters. Has to be."

"How did they see through our disguises?"

"The apothecary owner."

Praeris didn't believe he had betrayed her.

In her eyes, the owner was a decent elder, the same as any other shopkeeper in Diagon Alley. She had watched his eyes and his movements, not a trace of guilt, unease, or fear.

She hadn't guarded against him. But that line, "you shouldn't be out and about", now sat differently in her memory. The kind of thing a betrayer says to shift the weight off their own shoulders.

No time for that now. Dumbledore signaled her toward a less crowded stretch of the alley. Better to deal with this away from innocent bystanders.

They kept a normal pace and moved toward the far end of Diagon Alley. Fewer customers came here these days, with safety what it was. Some of the non-essential shops had quietly folded.

The further they walked, the worse it got. Owners dead or vanished, businesses gone under. People grew sparse.

Perhaps their intent had been noticed. Before they could reach a decent position, a red light split the air behind them.

Praeris snapped up a Shield Charm and deflected it. Then she threw a rolling cloud of yellow sand to blind whoever was back there.

The iron fence outside the nearest abandoned shop ripped itself from the ground. Under Transfiguration, it broke apart into long wooden spikes that whistled into the sand cloud. Pained cries erupted from the other side.

"Go!" Dumbledore called to her. He couldn't act, not without exposing himself.

Praeris was focused, batting down curse after curse as they came firing blindly out of the sand. She heard his voice and looked coldly at the cloud, still churning and unsettled. Death Eaters were already forcing their way through it.

They were dark wizards, every one of them. And still, Dumbledore didn't approve of killing.

Fine. He was right. She couldn't stand watching Draco kill anyone either.

But not killing and not teaching them a lesson were two very different things.

The tip of Praeris's wand lit up. The spell she cast was not the Disapparation Dumbledore had been expecting.

She tore down every strand of dense ivy coating the walls nearby and flung it all at the Death Eaters. The ivy caught, and the flames that surged up through it blossomed with beautiful flower-shapes, burning fierce and bright.

Then came wind, scattering the yellow sand but feeding the fire. Red and green flowers bloomed in wide swaths across the blazing sea.

"The fire is poisonous!"

Amid the wailing, Praeris ran for Dumbledore and they Disapparated.

---

Ottery St. Catchpole.

Today was Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Fred had plucked a red hair from a Muggle in the village and used it to transform Harry into their cousin "Barney."

Harry looked genuinely surprised. "What a coincidence — the Healer's assistant in the Hospital Wing is also called Barney."

"That's Barren," Hermione said, pressing her palm to her forehead. "Never mind that. Look at this — Praeris just sent you a letter."

The three of them ducked into a corner to open it. Ron said with full confidence: "Our family has so many kids, we can handle it."

"Puppy?" Ron frowned. "Why does Praeris call Harry a puppy?"

Hermione spoke with certainty: "Secrecy. Obviously, Sirius's Animagus form is a black dog, so Harry would be the puppy."

"Oh." Harry took a moment, then decided he was fine with it. "Actually, I think Sirius would be quite touched."

Ron kept reading. "The sculptor we all know..." He trailed off. Then, slowly, he raised his head to look at Harry. "Mate. Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine." Harry laughed despite himself. "A human sculptor is still a sculptor, isn't it?"

Ron shook his head. "If being caustic were a criminal offence, Praeris would already be beyond redemption. So, the uncle. R.A.B.?"

"What other answer is there?" Hermione said. "Harry doesn't have an uncle apart from the Dursleys, but Sirius had a brother."

Harry pointed at the number. "And what does this mean?"

"Can none of you see it?" Hermione said, enunciating carefully. "1248.84 Galleons is 62,442 pounds. That's the telephone number for the Ministry of Magic entrance phone box."

Ron exhaled slowly. "Your attention to detail is genuinely alarming."

Hermione shot him a sideways look. Ron pulled his neck in.

She looked away and cleared her throat. "I think Praeris is giving us a hint. We don't know Umbridge's home address, but she will go to work. And at the Ministry, she'll be much more likely to let her guard down."

"Hermione," Harry said, "you could make a living as a code interpreter after graduation. You'd pass the professional exam without breaking a sweat."

Hermione smiled, a little self-conscious. "It's only because I know Praeris so well. We've been writing to each other for five years."

"Even if I'd known her for fifty years —" Ron clicked his tongue, "— I still wouldn't understand any of this. Lucky we have you."

Harry nodded, then glanced past Hermione. "Did you invite Krum?"

Hermione went rigid.

Ron noticed. Seeing Viktor Krum did put a small dent in something, but he pushed past it quickly. "Hermione, it's really fine,"

"Actually, I invited Lavender too." Ron scratched the back of his head. "Harry, what is that look for? Lavender already knows I wasn't anyone's third party. We're not together, but she's still my friend. Oh, there she is!"

Across the wedding venue, Krum had found Hermione. He stood in front of her as if nothing had ever ended between them and said, without the slightest hesitation: "Hermione, you look beautiful."

"Ah, thank you." She lowered her head and tucked her hair behind her ear. "How did you..."

"Fleur invited me," Krum said. "She, Harry, Diggory, and I all competed together. Back then, you were..."

"I know." Hermione cut in. "I mean — my memory is decent enough."

There was a soreness in her chest, like her heart had been dropped into a glass of concentrated lemon juice.

In her mind, this place shifted. It became the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The two of them in formal wear, and in the next second they would be walking hand in hand onto the dance floor of the 1994 Christmas Ball.

"Yes," Krum said. "Your memory is very good. And you're the most beautiful person here today,"

"Don't say things like that at someone else's wedding." Hermione cut him off again.

Krum opened his mouth. But Hermione was already on her feet. "Sorry, Ginny's looking for me. Excuse me."

She turned. The corners of her eyes were red.

Krum stood instinctively and reached out, but Harry's hand landed on his shoulder first. "Krum! It's been a while. Let me find you a seat."

"Hermione..." Krum said.

Harry shrugged. "She's with Ginny. You know how it is, girls always have a thousand things to say to each other."

Harry steered him away. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught Ginny's eye. She gave him a thumbs-up.

Ginny turned sideways to block Hermione from view and patted her back gently. "I don't know the whole story, but Harry said you needed us. So here I am."

She reached into the hidden pocket along the side of her dress and pulled out a small compact. "No one can see you from here. Do you need a touch-up?"

Ginny knew exactly what a girl like Hermione needed in a moment like this. Someone who wouldn't make her explain. Someone who would simply stand between her and the rest of the room while she put herself back together, because the last thing a girl who had always been strong could bear was to be seen falling apart.

Hermione took the compact without looking up.

Ginny tried to give her something else to focus on. "All 4 Triwizard champions are here now. Fleur even invited Cedric. He brought Cho Chang, her new qipao makes her look striking."

Hermione sniffled and looked up. A sleeveless qipao, black with blue flowers. Cho Chang wore it with quiet poise and elegance. "You're not upset about that anymore?" Hermione asked.

"Hard to put into words." Ginny tipped her head and looked down at her heels. "Harry is wonderful. But I'm not exactly nothing either, am I?"

She had grown up bold. If someone came at her, she hit back. If she couldn't play well, she went and practiced until she could. If she wanted to see someone, she knocked on the door. But the moment Harry was in front of her, she became that small, hesitant girl again, the same one who had watched him from the end of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and said nothing.

Ginny had never been able to shake the question Praeris had asked her before leaving.

"What are you afraid of?"

➤ Next: The Carter Family