Chapter 210 - Including Me — Face to Face

Werewolves aren't fools. You can't sway them with a few casual words.

Two factions had been quietly taking shape within the werewolf community.

One half, led by Greyback, believed only bloodshed could win them freedom and fairness. They despised the Ministry of Magic's control and were willing to take what Voldemort was offering.

The other half, led by Riley, believed in peaceful means. These werewolves remembered something: they had suffered because another werewolf bit them without a second thought. How could they turn around and pass that same suffering on?

With just a modest sum, they could get cheap Wolfsbane Potion, ease back into wizarding society, find work again. Why bite anyone at all? And once the income came, they could afford Damocles's Wolfsbane Potion, make the full-moon nights something they could actually survive.

A few years ago, Riley had taken Prince's Wolfsbane Potion to the owner of Eeylops Owl Emporium and convinced him she could afford to live as a normal witch.

He had been hesitant. But guilt over dismissing her years ago, and trust in Praeris's potion, had been enough. He gave Riley a job in the back kitchen, preparing food for the shop's magical creatures.

Riley's success lit a fire in many werewolves. That was where the peace faction began.

This time, the peace-faction werewolves chose Riley again. She was trustworthy, and her family was the kind that made the case simply by existing: a normal wizard husband, a werewolf wife, a werewolf daughter living with mental illness.

Lupin's persuasion had moved some of them. But it wasn't enough. Anyone can talk.

What truly changed things was Praeris Prince.

When Praeris spoke those words, emotion hit Riley like a wave. A bold thought surfaced before she could stop it: she wanted to embrace the person who had given her a new life.

The moment it was out of her mouth, she regretted it. How could she ask something like that of someone?

But Praeris didn't hesitate for a single second. She smiled gently and opened her arms.

In that moment, Riley, who had never held any faith, thought she finally understood what believers feel when they speak of devotion.

Miss Prince's gaze was so tender and steady that, for a dazed instant, Riley forgot she was a werewolf. Forgot she wasn't still that perfectly ordinary witch she used to be.

This was what Riley wanted. What so many werewolves wanted. The peace faction didn't need pity. They only needed to be treated like normal people.

Dumbledore and Praeris had both guessed at Riley's feelings, though neither fully understood them. What they both knew was this: at least half of what they had come here to accomplish was done.

Praeris's eyes flickered. "Sir, that's one of the reasons we were ambushed, isn't it? Winnie and the apothecary owner both told me my potion infuriates the Dark Lord."

And now he was almost certainly more infuriated than before.

She felt a faint unease about what her actions might mean for Professor Snape. The Dark Lord didn't know the true nature of their relationship, but a teacher-student connection was still a connection.

"That is a possibility." The effects of the Polyjuice Potion were wearing off Dumbledore. He sat down beside her and said, "Since he's already noticed you and come to hate you because of this — wouldn't it be a waste not to do something about it?"

"How cunning." Praeris raised an eyebrow. "It seems I still have a great deal to learn."

The whole affair had been extraordinarily coincidental. But Dumbledore had also worked within the framework of his plan, seizing the moment, making full use of Praeris's presence to pull the werewolves toward their side.

"We need to brief Professor Snape." Praeris thought for a moment, then reached for the two-way mirror.

Dumbledore lowered his head, smiling that kind smile of his, and asked, "It seems — you always address Severus as 'Professor'?"

Praeris's hand rested on the mirror. She tilted her head and looked at him. "It's better for both of us that way, don't you think?"

Dumbledore didn't answer that. Instead he said, "You and Severus are very alike. You both feel things deeply, yet you always express them with great restraint. But you are far more direct and candid than he is — that's a good habit."

"In terms of restraint..." A smile crossed Praeris's face. "I think I am no match for you."

Dumbledore turned his head away and said nothing.

Praeris said, unhurried, "Have you read Miss Skeeter's article?"

Then, answering herself: "It seems you have."

"I don't deny any of it. I don't deny my mistakes." Dumbledore seemed to have turned many things over in his mind, but in the end he only said, quietly, "I simply don't wish to discuss any of it."

"Remorse — that's why you longed for death, isn't it?" Praeris said, eyes lowered. "Whether it was me or Harry, you were never truly persuaded by us. You never truly wanted to go on living."

Dumbledore longed for death so desperately, and yet Praeris's existence had made it impossible for him to die in any way that felt natural, impossible for him to fold his death neatly into the plan.

And so he had chosen to do a little more. Smooth the road to victory just a little further. Reduce the losses by just a little. Accompany Harry through this journey from the shadows, where no one would see.

A reason to live can sometimes be, precisely, an exquisite reason to die. The road leading toward victory was also Dumbledore's road of no return.

He had successfully deceived Praeris. In truth, the pull toward self-destruction had never left him. He only wanted to make his death worth more. More and more and more.

How truly regrettable.

But what did that have to do with Praeris!

Her tone was ice-cold, the words both polite and not: "Then I must ask you, please, do not die too quickly. First accomplish what you promised me."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course."

After countless covert clashes and open collaborations, they knew each other well.

Dumbledore understood that Praeris wasn't simply calling in a debt. Snape had made her understand something: certain choices cannot be interfered with or changed by anyone else.

This child. Three parts of her were obliquely hoping he might find a reason to live. Only she had also inherited that particular stubbornness from her cousin.

Praeris tapped the two-way mirror. It lit up almost before she finished tapping.

"Are you injured?" Snape's face hadn't even reached the center of the mirror before the words were already out.

Praeris lifted her chin. "Of course not. You, on the other hand, must have been run completely ragged!"

Snape let out a short "Hmph." That was an understatement. Several Death Eaters had returned to the base unable to stand, every one of them howling that they'd been poisoned.

Snape had taken one look at the situation, sneered inwardly, pulled the sourest face he could manage, and brewed them something effortless and entirely useless. He told his "colleagues" to lie down and wait for the potion to take effect. And that was that.

"Your student is working against us!" old Nott, Theodore Nott's father, shouted furiously. "Look what she's done to us!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "So by your account," he said coldly, "you went there, announced your origins, extended an invitation to Miss Prince per the master's orders, and she beat you all up. Is that correct?"

The Death Eaters fell silent.

Well. No. They hadn't done any of that. They had simply planned to knock her out and drag her away.

"We didn't state our intentions, but she attacked us without a second thought!" Dolly Burke said through gritted teeth. "Surely you've preached the master's will and the Death Eater cause to her at some point, "

"Burke!" Snape cut her off immediately, his voice rising. "I have never preached the master's will to any student. My first priority is to obey the master's orders. If I were as reckless as you lot, running wild before Dumbledore was even dead, I would never have had the chance to kill him!"

"You have botched the master's mission." Snape stood to one side, eyes low, looking down at them. "You'd better start thinking about how you're going to explain that."

As for Praeris's actions, Snape had long since given Voldemort an explanation, carefully worded.

According to Snape, he did know Praeris. Knew her quite well, in fact. A talented Slytherin student with a fondness for peculiar potion and spell research. When you've been a professor long enough, you see both extreme geniuses and extreme fools, that's just how it goes.

Snape appreciated Praeris, felt she could lighten his workload, and had given her some guidance. Praeris, for her part, had put in enormous labor and endured no small amount of caustic criticism in return.

In Snape's offered memories, Voldemort saw scene after scene of Praeris working: walking in with a straight back, leaving hunched over and disheveled.

Snape had even prepared a specific memory of himself rebuking her for meddling, demonstrating clearly that his attitude toward his own student was equally abysmal. He used a memory from her first year.

But what troubled Snape most right now wasn't that Voldemort was hunting Praeris. Dumbledore, the strongest white wizard, was still at her side. What troubled him was Sylvia.

Snape pushed down the tangle of his thoughts and briefed Praeris and Dumbledore on the current situation.

"As I said before, Yaxley has placed Scrimgeour under the Imperius Curse," Snape said. "He controlled everyone around Scrimgeour and had him assassinated."

Praeris couldn't help herself. "Why didn't you tell me and Dumbledore?"

Snape frowned. "I wasn't part of this mission. What use would telling you have been? Were you going to stop them? You don't have enough on your plate already?"

After Dumbledore's death, and especially after the matter of the Horcruxes came to light, everything had hit the fast lane.

On Praeris's side alone: treating Bill, brewing the antidote to the feigned-death potion, digging up Dumbledore's grave, treating Dumbledore, attempting to assassinate Nagini, confirming the locket's status, tracking the locket's whereabouts, rallying the werewolves.

And it was only just into August. A little over a month since Dumbledore's "death."

"I could have passed word to the Order of the Phoenix!" Praeris said, without hesitation.

"You think—" A cold laugh from Snape. "They would believe you?"

"At the very least, Winnie, Plum, Hermione, Harry, and Ron would all believe me," Praeris said.

"And then?" Snape said, his voice flat as ice. "They ask where you got this information. From me. Would you enjoy being scrutinized with suspicious eyes?"

His meaning was clear enough. Those people would believe Praeris. They would never believe Snape. He had killed Dumbledore. He had cut off George Weasley's ear.

Ahem, ahem, ahem.

Dumbledore felt that if he didn't intervene soon, things were heading somewhere bad. "Praeris," he said, composedly, "even if Severus had told us, we could not have prevented this assassination."

Everyone around Scrimgeour had been placed under the Imperius Curse. As a supporter of Dumbledore and a vocal advocate of the Voldemort-conspiracy theory, Moody could not gain Scrimgeour's trust, let alone reach him through the circle of "trusted confidants." Under Scrimgeour's policies, even if Moody had told him directly that the people around him were under the Imperius Curse, Scrimgeour would never have launched a public investigation. He would have inquired quietly, in secret, and then died even faster.

"Hiss, " Praeris didn't know much about Scrimgeour, but hearing all of this made her head throb.

Dumbledore was right. They had to unite every force they could. If Scrimgeour and the Ministry of Magic had stood with the Order of the Phoenix, there would have been far fewer complications.

"We cannot accomplish everything perfectly. We cannot succeed at everything." Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder. "In the struggle against evil, failure and loss are unavoidable. But will you be discouraged by that, Praeris?"

Praeris shook her head. "What else?"

Snape, uncharacteristically long-winded, reminded Praeris to stay close to Dumbledore and avoid being ambushed by Death Eaters. He had apparently forgotten that the ones who had ended up beaten and injured were all Death Eaters.

"If you're outnumbered." Snape was quiet for a few seconds. "Just surrender. The Death Eaters would much rather have a living you."

Truthfully, even if it came to that, even if Praeris were forced to become a Death Eater, Snape didn't care.

Because over a decade ago, the only thing Snape had ever hoped for this child was that she would live.

"Including you?" Praeris asked.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, fell silent for a moment, then spoke anyway. "Including me."

Dumbledore's expression softened into something warm. He decided, privately, that his choice to persuade Snape all those years ago could not have been wiser.

Look at this. Being reverse-tamed by the child had made him considerably more proactive.

"That's all you need to know for now," Snape said to Praeris. "Give the two-way mirror to Dumbledore."

Praeris gave him one surprised look, then handed it over without argument.

She stepped out the door and only then registered where she was: Hogsmeade. A place she hadn't set foot in once in six years. She was almost starting to feel sorry for herself.

"What are you doing here?" The face Dumbledore had borrowed appeared behind her. "Where's Albus? He just left you out here alone!"

"Are you Aberforth?" Praeris pointed toward the room. "Dumbledore has something to attend to."

"Attend to something?" Aberforth puffed up and glared. "Ha! That's certainly true. Always the busiest man in the room, that one. Busy no matter when!"

➤ Next: Hogsmeade — Heartbreak