Chapter 219 - The Mercy of the Heads of House

Astoria had a natural gift for the Patronus Charm. Her very first attempt produced no failure at all, she summoned a white mist that hung in the air as clearly visible as breath on a winter morning.

"Lia, you've done much better than I did when I started."

Praeris didn't hold back the praise.

Astoria reached out and touched the white mist, curious. "Praeris, don't you learn every spell instantly?"

"Is that how you see me?" Praeris had no fear of showing the parts of herself that weren't so impressive. She answered with complete frankness: "It took me about a second try before my Patronus reached the level yours is at right now."

That was the truth. What she left out was that the gap between those two attempts had been less than ten minutes.

Astoria pressed her lips together, falling into thought. She seemed not quite ready to accept that framing.

After a long moment, she shook her head with quiet deliberateness and looked at Praeris. "No, Praeris. Without a mirror, how can we see our own true reflection? I can do this because you showed me details I couldn't see on my own and pointed me toward what I needed to learn. You are my teacher. You are my mirror."

Praeris paused for a beat, then smiled.

Being a teacher, she thought, it was actually rather nice.

Provided there were more students like Astoria, and fewer like Marcus.

In seventh year, Herbology still used Flesh-Eating Trees of the World, though the focus had shifted to the latter half of the book and N.E.W.T.s review.

It is an established fact that carnivorous plants exist. Venus flytraps, pitcher plants, both consume small insects without much fuss.

From this, the magical world's Herbology theory draws a simple and fundamental chain of logic: if small carnivorous plants can eat insects, then a carnivorous plant large enough and strong enough could, in theory, consume humans just as well.

The Fanged Geranium, covered in sixth year, was already one plant known to attack people. It looked like a broken tree stump covered in lumps, but the moment anyone reached for its pods, it struck with tentacle-like vines.

On the first lesson of the new term, Professor Sprout introduced a classic: the Vampiric Vine.

Unlike the Fanged Geranium, the Vampiric Vine, in the most literal sense, genuinely ate.

It was a dangerous plant. It released a strange, intoxicating fragrance to lure animals close, then snared its prey in thorn-covered vines and drained their blood. The more the trapped creature struggled, the tighter the vines wound, until the thorns had drained it completely and the vines had pulled it dry into a withered husk.

Students were required to master three things:

First: which plant's leaves could resist the fragrance?

Second: if someone was caught by a Vampiric Vine, how did they get free?

Third: how to harvest Vampiric Vine sap.

The specimens Professor Sprout brought to class were small. Vines this size could only prey on rabbits and rats, nothing that posed a real threat to students.

"Who can answer these questions?" Professor Sprout asked.

The students looked at each other. A beat passed, then another, and no one spoke. Just as Professor Sprout seemed ready to answer herself, Neville slowly, somewhat awkwardly, raised his hand.

Professor Sprout turned toward him at once, her expression warm and encouraging. "Neville, go ahead."

"I — I think it's rosemary juice," Neville said, stumbling slightly over the words. "Is that right?"

"Very well answered!" Professor Sprout's eyes lit up with genuine satisfaction. "Five points to Gryffindor!"

Neville's face went bright red. He ducked his head, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

Professor Sprout continued: "Now, Neville — can you answer the other two?"

Neville, still looking at the ground, shook his head quickly. He didn't know.

Professor Sprout let it go without any pressure, watching him with fond warmth. "That's perfectly alright — you did very well. Now then." She looked up. "Praeris, do you know the answers?"

Every student in the room turned to look at her, every student except the Slytherins.

Everyone knew that Praeris Prince and Draco Malfoy were Snape's favorites. Everyone knew what Snape had done, and everyone had feelings about it.

They had expected Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, loyal to Dumbledore, to be different this year. To be cooler toward this particular top student, at the very least.

No one had expected that after everything, Professor Sprout would still treat Praeris exactly as she always had.

Praeris ignored the weight of all those stares and answered calmly. "Of course, Professor. If someone is caught by a Vampiric Vine, they must not struggle. The harder they fight, the worse it gets. Every movement has to be kept as gentle as possible."

"Where Devil's Snare fears fire, the Vampiric Vine fears cold. When trapped, a spell that produces ice or snow will send the vine into something close to hibernation — it stops attacking and loosens its grip."

"The same principle applies to harvesting the sap. Lower the temperature around the vine enough to send it into dormancy, and then the harvest can begin."

"Praeris has given a very thorough answer — a textbook response," Professor Sprout said, thoroughly satisfied. "Five points to Slytherin."

She paused, then added: "Though I will mention one practical tip you won't find in the textbook."

"Since Praeris used the word 'hibernation', you can simply harvest Vampiric Vine sap in winter. No spell required."

With that, Professor Sprout divided the students into groups and sent them through the practical work one by one.

Standing in the queue, Praeris glanced toward Professor Sprout. Professor Sprout caught the look, gave her a kind smile, and nodded, small and quiet.

When the lesson ended, the students filed out quickly toward lunch.

Praeris stayed behind, looking up at the vines coiled around the wooden frame, and spoke quietly.

"Professor Sprout, I thought you would hate me."

Unlike the other students, unlike most of the professors, for that matter, Professor Sprout knew the full picture. Not only was Praeris a student Snape had valued; she was also his second cousin.

Most people's first reaction to learning that Snape had murdered and then replaced Dumbledore was to let that hatred extend outward. The malice directed at Praeris had not let up for a single moment in these past 2 days. Gryffindors like Jimmy Peakes and his crowd were simply more direct about it than the rest.

But Professor Sprout, who knew exactly who Praeris was, remained as warm as she had always been. She said gently, "The truth is, even now, we all find it difficult to believe that the person who did what was done that night was Sev, was Professor Snape."

That was mostly comfort. Many people had already decided Snape was guilty, and through Voldemort and the Death Eaters, had managed to place the blame on Harry besides.

But there was another truth: expecting the professors of Hogwarts to believe that Severus Snape had murdered Dumbledore was as incredible, and as painful, as once being asked to accept that Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters.

"This isn't only my view," Professor Sprout said, with a smile that was soft and sorrowful at once. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick feel the same. Certain things have already happened. But whatever the case, we all believe, Praeris, that you are your own person. Not an extension of Professor Snape."

"Regardless of what Professor Snape may or may not have done, we should treat you based on who you are. Not based on what someone else did."

This was a decision all three Heads of House had reached together.

There was no question that from the very beginning, they had shown Praeris a subtle, nearly invisible favoritism, and most of that had come from their ties to Snape and to Sylvia.

But over 6 years, the professors had come to truly know her. Her character. Her conduct. Her integrity.

Yes, Praeris was Snape's student and family, Sylvia's daughter. But she was also Praeris herself.

If the Heads had once admired her for her gifts, if they had felt grateful for the times she had extended a hand in danger, then the same standard applied now. They owed her the same judgment: a reading of who she was based on what she herself had done.

None of this had been easy for them. All three had known Dumbledore for a very long time, and their bonds with him went far beyond the professional, far closer than headmaster to Head of House. To make this decision, they had carried something heavy.

Professor McGonagall especially. Praeris had seen it with her own eyes that night: the grief, the anguish, the internal war, the restraint. Between McGonagall and Dumbledore, the relationship had been something richer than teacher and student, closer than colleagues. The loss ran deep.

Before term started, Praeris had imagined the ways the Heads might receive her. Disappointment. Silence, perhaps. She had run through every possibility.

This one had seemed the least likely. It was also the best.

Hearing Professor Sprout's words, Praeris felt something rise in her chest, sharp and bittersweet, like the cry of an Augurey carried on cold air. She took a slow breath and asked, carefully: "Professor Sprout, even if I will still stand at Professor Snape's side?"

"Could we possibly stop you from standing at your family's side?" Professor Sprout said simply, and she meant it. "But we still hope, that you remain who you have always been. Hold on to that."

From the moment Professor Snape accepted the mission, Praeris had known some things were going to be unavoidable. How others treated her, she could live with that. But how some of them treated Professor Snape was harder to be indifferent to.

At the same time, she understood: the reason those people behaved the way they did was because they didn't know the full truth. They couldn't.

She and Professor Snape had chosen concealment. She couldn't, after making that choice, turn around and resent the malice the concealment created. That would be self-indulgent.

And yet, strange as it was, the chaotic and the clear-eyed coexisted in this world. Even as you glimpsed the worst of human nature, you could still be caught off guard by the best of it.

These three Heads of House, all of them close to Dumbledore, had managed to push past the easy, reflexive impulse of hating the house along with the crow. They had separated Praeris from Snape. They had judged a person by what that person had actually done. It wasn't a small thing to accomplish, and perhaps that was exactly what had made them the kind of professors who became Heads in the first place.

Praeris smiled, something settled and sincere in it. "Professor, you are all very, very good professors. Very good Heads of House."

Professor Sprout found this rather endearing. She beamed and patted Praeris on the back. "Good child, go eat your lunch, you'll miss it if you dawdle any longer!"

Praeris smiled, gave Professor Sprout a small wave, and jogged out of the glass greenhouse, leaving it to the two of them, the woman and the vine.

Lunch that day was roast chicken, roast potatoes, large thick slabs of dry bread, and a strange mixture of peas, corn kernels, and diced carrots drowned in sauce.

"Why are you always this late," Pansy complained. "We're not Millicent. We're not about to load up a plate and come hunting for you."

"Won't you?" Praeris said, with a show of surprise.

Pansy shot her a look. "I certainly won't."

Beside them, Daphne shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"Neither do I," Praeris said, laughing.

"Is Hogwarts going bankrupt?" Pansy grumbled, sawing through the bread. "How is it that term has barely started and they're already feeding us this?"

While the three of them were eating and trading jibes at each other, a boy appeared behind Praeris, curly hair, medium build, face flushed. He looked a little nervous.

"Prince," he said, "Professor Carrow wants you at his office after dinner."

Evening wasn't a class time for Praeris, she hadn't taken Astronomy, and the Carrow siblings held no evening classes. It was an unhurried hour, chosen carefully.

"Which Professor Carrow?" Praeris raised an eyebrow.

"The Defense Against the Dark Arts one. Amycus Carrow."

"Understood," Praeris said, even and calm. "I'll be there."

After the boy left, Pansy peeled her potato without looking up. "That's the new Head Boy. Aiden Selwyn."

Daphne followed on naturally: "Pure-blood. He's Catherine Selwyn's little cousin."

"Not very bright, though." Daphne shook her head, sharp as always. "Apparently when they were children, Catherine found a ball that a dung beetle had rolled, handed it to Aiden, and told him it was chocolate. He put it straight in his mouth without a second thought, then complained it didn't taste very good."

Praeris looked down at her plate.

"Daphne," she said, "do we really have to discuss such... fragrant topics while we're eating?"

Daphne and Pansy both burst out laughing.

➤ Next: The Carrow Siblings' Conversation