Chapter 225 - Draco's New World

The Death Eaters had never been a particularly united organization. Currying favor, stepping on those below, vying for Voldemort's attention, that was what they did best.

Walking out of the classroom, Draco could still see Amycus Carrow's sneering face. "You really do take after your father — in the matter of incompetence, that is."

Incompetent. Yes. Incompetent.

Draco would never admit it to anyone, but he couldn't deny it either. He simply clenched his fists and took Amycus's mockery in silence.

Admitting your own mistakes is hard. But reality had already slammed him to the ground and rubbed his face in it, over and over. His family's choices, the choices forced on him, his parents' powerlessness, his own weakness,

The master they followed forced him to do things he didn't want to do and couldn't do. And Dumbledore, who was supposed to be the enemy, had said: "Draco, you are not a killer."

Growing up is a cruel thing. You only realize you're not the protagonist of the world when the scroll of the adult world slowly begins to unfurl before you.

Draco's words grew fewer. He no longer strutted about, shouting and throwing his weight around the way he used to. He spent more time thinking now than speaking and doing combined, so much so that he could say something like "knowing nothing is the only way not to get hurt."

That line wasn't from a book. No one had told it to him. It came from Draco's own experience. He was dimly beginning to understand that his earlier self had never truly understood the world at all.

Back then, he knew nothing, and that was precisely why he had been able to feel happy.

To Draco, who had now witnessed death firsthand twice, his boyhood had already ended in a hasty, sloppy scrawl. Those days of knowing nothing, blindly believing his parents' teachings, walking with his chin held high and thinking the future would be as carefree as the past, those days were gone. They weren't coming back.

"I suppose so," he said quietly to Praeris.

Praeris sighed. "You left in a hurry last term. I asked Anderson and Thomas to put away all your valuables. Wait for me in the common room — your tool kit is in there too."

Professor Snape looked like the type who might be lenient with his own students. But under his management of Slytherin, not only were boys forbidden from the girls' dormitory, girls were also forbidden from the boys'.

Even when he wasn't at school, no one could break the rules. He had set up specific magical restrictions.

At the end of last term, Praeris had two lower-year boys help pack up Draco's things so they wouldn't get mixed up during the holiday chaos, taken by mistake, tossed around by ghosts, or simply lost, forcing him to end up digging through the trash heap in the Room of Requirement.

Sitting on the leather sofa in the common room, Draco traced his fingers over the patterns on the small tool kit.

He could almost remember scraping together his pocket money bit by bit to assemble these things. He remembered those days sitting across from Praeris, "doing handiwork." And he remembered how he had used this very tool kit to repair the Vanishing Cabinet and let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

Draco didn't regret it. He knew that even if he had to do it all over again, he would. He had breathed a sigh of relief when his father finally left Azkaban.

But he, Draco gazed deep into the small tool kit, then turned his head away. "Praeris, I don't need this anymore. Alchemy has many other branches. Right now, I'm more interested in the theoretical side — fundamental elements and material transmutation."

He felt dazed, as if he had returned to the very beginning. To those days before he had ever picked up the tools.

Back then, Draco had read countless alchemy books, losing himself in the metaphors of ancient alchemists. He could speak at length even about Valentine's alchemical theories, ones not even Praeris knew.

Praeris looked down at the tool kit pushed back in front of her. Something tightened in her chest.

Really?

Truly no longer interested?

She didn't believe it. She didn't believe that the writings on alchemical research she had kept pressed at the bottom of her trunk, pages filled with his work, had been abandoned by their author. Even less did she believe that the Draco who had once used his own creations as a raft to court her had truly lost all interest in making magical objects with his own hands.

"Alright." Praeris blinked at the pale, dejected boy before her. "Since you don't like it anymore, give it to me."

Her tone was gentle. "I'll keep this box for you. Until you're interested again."

Draco hunched forward, hands braced on his knees, and covered his face. "I already don't like it anymore!"

"I know," Praeris said.

"Throw it away!" he growled.

"No," Praeris said.

"What's so good about it!" Draco's voice rose, his smile mocking. "I don't even want it, and you're picking through my trash?"

Praeris's gaze stayed steady. Nothing seemed able to shake her. "It's just a tool. It never had the chance to choose for itself. If someone used it to do something it didn't want to do, what could it do about it?"

"At the very least," she said, "it created many treasures I loved. And it brought joy to someone I cared about."

After returning to Hogwarts, Draco was silent most of the time. He kept his mouth shut, but inside, he spoke countless words, brewing a volcano that was about to reshape the continent of his soul.

From the outside, the process seemed soundless. People could only catch glimpses, through his occasional offhand words and gestures, of the new world forming inside him.

The reshaping of a new world is always turbulent. Sometimes he was withdrawn and taciturn. Sometimes his emotions surged. Sometimes he panicked. And sometimes he had thoughts that would have been utterly treasonous to his past self.

Praeris's calmness soothed him, settling him back into a low, melancholy quiet.

Draco leaned against the sofa, head lowered, the stray hair across his forehead shielding his eyes.

"Whatever you say." His voice was flat. "Everyone says you're far better than me. Anyway — you're never wrong."

Hearing this, Praeris straightened up. Her voice turned grave. "Draco, don't repeat mistakes you've already made. Now apologize for that nonsense. Did you think I really wouldn't get angry?"

Draco went rigid, as if remembering something. A long silence passed. Then, quietly: "I was wrong. How are you doing today?"

"Not well." Praeris's voice was certain. "How could doing something I don't like make me feel good? You know that perfectly well, don't you?"

Through the gaps in his hair, Draco looked up and saw Praeris watching him. He couldn't describe the look in her eyes. He only felt as though those black eyes were about to draw him in, to drown him.

"Aren't you going to comfort me?" Praeris's voice seemed to carry a kind of magic. "When you were sad, I gave you a hug. By that reckoning, you still owe me one. Don't you plan to settle that debt?"

Draco was good at obeying. Obeying his father's upbringing, following his mother's requests, complying with Praeris's commands.

In the Slytherin girls' dormitory, Praeris set down her bag and the small glass bottle, then took Draco's luggage and went out.

Pansy crouched down to look at the Silver Arrow Frog in the bottle.

The next second, she stiffened. The Silver Arrow Frog's leg had twitched, just a tiny bit.

"Eh?" A delighted smile broke across Pansy's face. "It's not dead! Prae, it's not dead!"

Without turning her head, Pansy reached back and waved her hand up and down.

"Who's not dead?" Daphne said impatiently. "Praeris just went out!"

Pansy smacked her own forehead in frustration.

Honestly. Remembering one second and forgetting the next.

When Praeris returned, Pansy quickly told her the news. Strangely, Praeris's face showed not the slightest trace of surprise.

"I know." It was the second time she'd said those words today. "I controlled my strength and the duration of the spell. It won't die. It just needs a bit of potion to recover."

Pansy cradled the bottle, beaming. "Are you going to keep it? Can we keep it? Nina and Millicent both went to South America — we don't have any little pets in our dorm anymore!"

Nina.

Praeris thought of the letter she'd received after the start of term. The little cat had had some trouble adjusting to the climate in South America, but fortunately, the professors at Castelobruxo were experts in Magical Creatures studies. That had helped Nina perk up again.

"Of course we can." Praeris smiled. "You can give her a name."

Pansy was dumbfounded. She hadn't expected to be given a task. She was a complete disaster at naming things. After thinking for a long time with no good ideas, she gave up entirely and, in a fit of whatever, named the Silver Arrow Frog Frog.

Praeris brewed medicine specially for Frog and even asked the House-elves in the kitchen for the long, slender silver spoon they used to scoop tea leaves.

Frog, having suffered at her hands, was not affectionate. It was even a little afraid of Praeris. Several times when she tried to feed it, the Silver Arrow Frog kept spitting the medicine back out.

But who was Praeris? Whether the forcibly twisted melon was sweet or not, she got the melon all the same. If a Venomous Tentacula tried to prick her, it got slapped for its trouble, let alone a Silver Arrow Frog that was currently weak and harmless.

She tipped Frog out, grabbed it, pinched its froggy face, and shoved the medicine straight down its froggy throat. Done.

Daphne clicked her tongue. "You brutal woman."

"Thank you for the compliment." Praeris accepted with pleasure.

The medicine worked well. Not long after its first dose, Frog could open its eyes.

That same day, Praeris received Stella's reply letter.

Astoria came running up like the wind, nearly unable to brake and skidding right past.

She reversed back to Praeris's side, voice low and excited. "Daph said you were looking for me!"

Praeris nodded, pulled a letter from between the pages of her textbook, and handed it to Astoria.

Dear Prae,

Regarding the Mudblood Grace Jones you inquired about, the one who owes you five hundred Galleons, I regret that I cannot help you collect that debt.

During the last mass escape of persons awaiting review triggered by the fugitive Potter, Jones was among them. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement says the Snatchers currently have no news of Jones's capture.

I will continue to keep an eye out for news of Jones.

Stella Stewart

Astoria let out a long sigh of relief. "Right now, no news is the best news."

"Relax," Praeris said. "Worrying won't solve any problems. But getting stronger can give you an extra shred of opportunity when you face them in the future."

"I understand!" Astoria said, as if asking for praise. "I've seen my Patronus, Praeris. It's a Mute Swan."

A Mute Swan.

There were plenty of them along the Thames, graceful in posture, strongly territorial, loyal in love. Mute Swans were called "silent swans," but when excited or threatened, they would emit a low hissing sound.

Astoria summoned her Patronus. She held her head high, glancing back and forth between the Mute Swan and Praeris.

"Well done." Praeris nodded with satisfaction.

Astoria showed the first faint smile she'd managed since learning of Jones's situation.

On the other side, the DA members had been making thorough preparations.

They met at the Hog's Head Inn, rallied their team, and began training again in the Room of Requirement, plotting to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.

Privately, Ginny relayed Praeris's words to Neville and Luna. They still unanimously decided to go through with it.

"I heard the password." Luna spoke in her unhurried way. "I ran into Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick on the eighth floor. They were discussing the need to report the problem with the Defense Against the Dark Arts class format to the headmaster."

Ginny asked eagerly, "So what's the password?"

"Dumbledore," Luna said.

"What?" Everyone froze.

Luna thought they hadn't heard clearly and had no choice but to repeat it. "The password is Dumbledore."

Ginny and Neville's expressions both turned grim.

Ginny's voice was sharp with anger. "Snape murdered Dumbledore! How does he have the nerve to use Dumbledore as his password? Does he think it's something to be proud of?"

Neville was so furious his round face flushed red. He clenched his fists. "We absolutely have to steal the Sword of Gryffindor. We can't let it stay in Snape's hands!"

"Let's go over the plan again." Ginny spoke through gritted teeth. "We have to succeed on the first try."

As Praeris had said, a plan to create a diversion and draw Snape away couldn't work.

Not because the plan was too old. Because if the matter wasn't big enough, Snape never personally handled it. School management and disciplinary matters were mostly the Carrow siblings' responsibility.

So they came up with a better idea.

Ginny's expression was serious. "The plan needs to happen while both Carrows are in class. That way we'll have 2 fewer people to deal with."

"And the classes they're teaching should ideally be lower-year classes," Neville added. "That way we preserve our fighting strength as much as possible."

"Which means," Ginny pulled out the class schedules the DA members had pieced together from various years and houses. "This period. Amycus Carrow is teaching second-year Hufflepuffs, and Alecto Carrow has fourth-years."

Neville continued laying it out. "Next, we need to make absolutely sure Snape is not in the headmaster's office."

➤ Next: The Failed Sword Heist