Chapter 229 - Hide Away

The Sorting Hat had warned them once: in the face of crisis, Hogwarts students must stand united.

Neville didn't know Praeris well, but he had absolute trust in Hermione. He didn't understand why this Slytherin girl had shown cruelty and then gone easy on him. But he knew that kind of precise control over the Dark Arts didn't come easily.

The Gryffindor students rushed toward Neville in a mass, calling his name all at once: "Neville! Are you alright?" "Can you hear me?" "Can we get him to the Hospital Wing?"

"Tsk." Praeris made a sound of disgust. "Weaker willpower than I expected."

The Gryffindors turned as one, glaring at her with open fury.

"Did I say something wrong?" Praeris wore an expression of detached, almost academic cruelty, as though she really were analyzing the results of an experiment. "Professor Carrow said that learning Defence Against the Dark Arts requires a firm will to resist the Dark Arts."

"Quite right!" Amycus Carrow said approvingly. "In the course of learning Defence Against the Dark Arts, the most important thing is to abandon every weak thought you have — whether you are casting the Cruciatus Curse or enduring it."

The Gryffindors closed ranks around Neville, putting him behind them. Seamus looked like an enraged lion, eyes blazing, and he bellowed: "Prince! You vile, shameless, despicable snake! Finally showing your true colors! You and that spineless boyfriend of yours deserve each other — a perfect pair of vipers! Filthy Slytherin!"

Several Gryffindor girls could barely hold Seamus back. Parvati cried out anxiously: "She doesn't matter! Seamus! Neville matters more!"

Watching Seamus rage, the Slytherins stirred, unwilling to be left behind. They shifted into formation opposite the Gryffindors, every face wearing the same contemptuous expression.

In the middle of all that tension, Draco hesitated for a moment. Then he quietly stepped sideways and positioned himself in front of Praeris, blocking roughly a quarter of her from view.

Praeris frowned. "Don't get in the way. Step aside."

"He called me spineless!" Draco said, half excuse, half complaint. He seemed to think standing in front of Praeris would prove something.

Praeris shooed him away with her eyes. "That's called knowing when to yield — go over there, and keep an eye on Pansy Parkinson."

Draco thought about it for one second, was persuaded, and shuffled sideways until he was standing next to Pansy Parkinson, who had both hands on her hips and was already hurling words at the other side.

Crabbe, oblivious to what had just happened behind him, said with a snide drawl: "Ah — I'm a little confused. Just who exactly is the spineless one who couldn't take the Cruciatus Curse?"

While the Slytherins and Gryffindors traded barbs, Praeris dropped her gaze and stepped back two paces to stand beside Amycus Carrow. She spoke quietly. "Professor Carrow, the intensity of the Cruciatus Curse seems far harder to control than I expected. My last test subject was a frog. A person is different."

"No." Amycus shook his head, his voice warm with satisfaction. "I am very pleased. This is your first practical attempt. To reach this level, it's already quite impressive."

Even among his colleagues, it was common enough to be clumsy with the Dark Arts at first. Sinking into it took time.

Praeris inclined her head with a show of humility. "I still have much to learn. It was you who made me understand what strength of will truly means. But in terms of control, I knocked him unconscious in one go. It seems I'll need to spend more time studying that."

She paused, then raised her head to look toward the Gryffindors with an expression of faint puzzlement. "Still. I didn't expect Longbottom's will to be so weak. He still hasn't woken up." A dismissive beat. "What a waste."

"Professor Carrow." Praeris leaned close to his ear, as if something had just occurred to her. "Could this affect Headmaster Snape's management of the school?"

Amycus's expression shifted. "Are you going soft?" He sounded displeased. "Prince, that is not a good sign. Softness makes your character fragile. It costs you the strength you ought to have."

"Going soft on a Gryffindor?" Praeris let out a brief, cold laugh. "If anyone heard that, I'd never be able to hold my head up again." Then she lowered her voice. "But Professor, Longbottom is a pure-blood."

Amycus's eyes moved.

Praeris pressed on. "I think we should at least send him to the Hospital Wing, to avoid a classroom incident. Otherwise, I'll get a scolding from Headmaster Snape, and you'll have more trouble on your hands. It's not worth it."

A small pause.

"As for the rest — there will be plenty of time ahead, won't there?"

That landed. Amycus turned it over in his mind. His task was never simply to torment one or two students. It was to instill blood-purity doctrine, erode the students' moral foundations, strip away their compassion, and cultivate cold-hearted new followers for the Dark Lord. Among other things.

Killing a pure-blood Longbottom would bring a moment's satisfaction and nothing more. It would jeopardize the Carrow siblings' true mission and invite more defiance.

And Snape might report it behind their backs. Accuse them of undermining the establishment of the new order.

"All of you, shut up!" Amycus raised his wand and fired several green flashes at the ceiling. He roared: "Look at yourselves! Huh? Is this how you behave? If you can't endure even this much pain, you have no place at Hogwarts!"

The room went dead silent.

"Pathetic!"

Amycus spat and crossed to the Gryffindors. They stood in a tight line in front of Neville, brows furrowed, stubborn, glaring at him.

"Move." Amycus said it coldly. "Unless you want a lesson of your own, girl. Or perhaps," he let the pause stretch, "you'd rather this boy die here? I won't stop you."

He pushed through them and dragged Neville away toward the Hospital Wing.

Before he left, he assigned homework. The students were to stay and continue practicing the Cruciatus Curse. Any student who left before class ended would receive detention. He made certain they understood that.

Then Amycus was gone.

No one picked up a wand. The students stood in their separate clusters, watching the other side with wary eyes.

Among the Slytherins, Pansy Parkinson came barreling toward Praeris like a small calf that hadn't quite learned to aim. Draco followed behind her, catching Praeris's eye and giving a shrug that said clearly: I can't do anything about her.

"Well, Prae?" Pansy's eyes were wide and anxious. "I was so worried about you!"

Zabini's voice came from somewhere behind Pansy, slow and unbothered. "What exactly was there to worry about? Were you afraid she'd beat someone to death?"

The question stopped Pansy short. She thought about it. The one who'd been hurt and carried to the Hospital Wing was Longbottom, not Praeris.

"That's a fair point," Pansy admitted.

Zabini spoke with the particular arrogance of someone giving a grade. "Prince, you taught the Gryffindors a lesson. That barely qualifies as acceptable."

"Blaise, you should have seen how great Praeris was ages ago." Pansy beamed at him. "Better late than never, though!"

Zabini gave a soft sound, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered off.

"He's always been like that," Pansy said, turning to Praeris. "Draco knows it too."

Draco pulled his gaze away, gave a quiet grunt of agreement, then said, slowly: "I mean, does it really need anyone to discover that?"

Praeris watched the two of them talk. She didn't say a word. Draco seemed to pick up on something. He glanced at her every so often, uncertain.

When the bell finally rang, the students poured out. The Gryffindors spoke as they walked, saying they were going to the Hospital Wing to see Neville.

Praeris swept past them like the wind, with Pansy Parkinson and Draco falling into step behind her.

From inside the Gryffindor group, Seamus's voice rang out loud across the staircase: "Prince! You Death Eater trainee! You must be gutted you didn't kill Neville the way Snape killed Dumbledore!"

Students spilling out from other classrooms turned to look, murmuring quietly among themselves: "What's going on?"

Pansy's face went red. She spun around and shrieked back: "Oh, so you're the righteous one, are you! Then why don't you dare fight Prae yourself! I watched you, you were held back pretty easily. Was it that easy to stop you, or were you just putting on a show!"

"Here's what I think!" Pansy shouted, voice dripping with scorn. "Either your body's too weak, or your nerve is!"

The Slytherins around them erupted in laughter, pointing at Seamus.

Seeing Seamus coil up to fire back, Praeris said flatly: "That's enough, Pansy. Let's go."

"Right, right, right!" Pansy scrambled to follow.

They left Seamus and the others behind and kept moving downward, reaching the staircase on the ground floor. Normally the Slytherins would continue down, all the way to the dungeons.

Praeris stopped.

She said calmly to Pansy: "I want to be alone for a while. Head back without me, and help me feed Frog, would you?"

Pansy agreed instantly. The Silver Arrow Frog was a kind of arrow frog, silver-spotted and green-skinned. Pansy had always been privately convinced that its colors were perfectly Slytherin.

"This is our house mascot!" Pansy would hold Frog up with both hands, absolutely delighted with herself.

And Daphne, somewhere behind her, would not look up from her book as she turned a page: "Not that silly."

"What?"

"I said, Slytherin isn't that silly."

"Daphne, you can't just leave Crabbe and Goyle out of the equation."

"Fair enough. I apologize. I just wonder if those two would even want that apology."

"Alright." Pansy turned to Draco now. "Let's go, then. Praeris wants to be alone."

"Make that two," Draco said.

He grabbed Praeris's hand and headed straight for the castle doors, leaving Pansy behind without a second glance.

Pansy stamped her foot. "Those two! Taking advantage of the fact that Jacob isn't a Hogwarts student!"

Draco ran with Praeris all the way outside. Their boots hit the lawn and kept moving. The withered yellow weeds, once flattened underfoot, were too tired to bother straightening again.

"Where are you taking me?" Praeris called out. "A dramatic suicide plunge into the Black Lake? Stop running, my hand hurts!"

It was genuinely hard to believe. Draco was tall and lean, all sharp angles, but his grip was iron. Praeris was fairly certain her wrist was going to be red.

At that, Draco finally stopped. He wasn't even winded, looking at her with a steady, clear gaze.

Seeker's stamina, she thought. Really something.

Draco loosened his hold on her hand and gently rubbed the spot. "You can't blame me for this. I've never run off with anyone else before."

Though he had, once, been the one getting dragged.

"So it's my fault?" Praeris asked.

Draco answered a different question. "If we could, we should escape to the Hogwarts of 1994. The two of us, out in the snow, hiding in the castle's clock tower, somewhere that wretched fate couldn't find us."

Praeris looked at him in surprise. She thought about it. And yes, she decided, this one really was her fault.

It was said that after Lucius Malfoy wrote a letter of complaint about the incorrect ideology in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Draco had barely touched fiction again.

So when had Draco started reading the kind of books Lucius called "incorrect"?

It began with Praeris.

First year, she had tied Draco to the sofa in the common room and forced him to listen to A Midsummer Night's Dream.

As they grew closer, Draco had taken to reading her books aloud to her. He didn't just read, either, he critiqued. Nitpicking constantly, mocking the foolish things Muggles got up to, clearly relishing every moment of it.

Praeris had assumed it would end there. Books got read and put down. Muggle things would leave no lasting trace in Draco's life.

She had not expected this: Draco, right now, apparently dabbling in literary creation.

He was artistic, she knew that. He could work with his hands, make things, write songs. But saying what he'd just said, that was still something else.

Praeris said, with complete sincerity: "Draco, our cloaks are black, and our robes are black. But snow is white. We can't hide. Right now the entire castle is their territory. The clock tower included."

Draco went quiet, looking a little deflated and a little embarrassed. Realism had just delivered a clean, direct blow to romanticism.

But Praeris was right. In this war, there was nowhere to hide, and no wizard who could escape it.

"Too bad I can't build a Time-Turner yet." Draco paused. "Otherwise, I'd go back to before this class ever started." Another pause, smaller. "Are you hurting?"

Hurting?

Praeris hadn't expected that question. It was usually Praeris who read people through the small things, the minute shifts, the telling gestures. But right now, Draco was the one asking.

"You think I'm hurting?" she asked slowly.

"I'd rather say, I'm certain you're unhappy." Draco kept his voice even, but something in it pressed down against his own worry. "Finding that out doesn't take that peculiar talent of yours, I think. It only takes caring enough." He stopped. "I mean, being familiar enough with you. That's all."

"Draco." The corner of Praeris's mouth lifted, barely, almost nothing. "I think I'm a little happier now than I was a moment ago."

Draco suddenly felt the embarrassment had been worth it.

"My mother used to say," Draco drew the words out a little. "Peace and happiness are the most important things."

That truly did not sound like something a Slytherin would say.

But it was exactly what a mother would say to her son.

➤ Next: Ripples on the Lake of the Heart