Praeris and Hermione's conversation ended on a sour note. They each held their own views and couldn't convince the other. But by unspoken agreement, neither of them mentioned it to anyone.
The weather grew colder. A thick layer of ice sealed the surface of the Black Lake, and the Slytherin common room, buried underground, was cold enough to make your teeth chatter.
Marcus had everyone light the fireplaces early. The Slytherins gathered in the common room, brewing tea and huddling together to talk.
"This is brilliant," Millicent said, her eyes going round.
Praeris placed the magical flame inside a potion-storage bottle. Set nearby, it radiated a faint, steady warmth, enough that even the seats farthest from the fireplace were no longer cold.
The flame was called Gloriosa Flame, invented by a Southeast Asian wizard. Their region had a plant called the flame lily, also known as Gloriosa superba. The Gloriosa flower blazed fiery red, its receptacle a pale yellow-green. That plant was the spell's prototype.
Like the Gloriosa plant itself, the flame was toxic. Touch it and you'd get a burn plus mild numbness and weakness spreading through your limbs. But since it wasn't the actual plant, the effect only lasted a few minutes.
Away from contact, though, the Gloriosa Flame could burn for a minimum of 4 hours without extinguishing, depending on the caster's ability. It was rarely used, it too easily started fires, and it was hard to learn.
That combination of properties was exactly what Praeris turned to her advantage for keeping the Slytherins warm.
Daphne breathed out a cloud of white. "Please. We're not snakes. It's not like we actually have to hibernate."
"This cold world needs Prae," Millicent said, pressing both hands around the jar.
There was also a funny incident. One young Slytherin had grown up along the Mediterranean coast and had never seen a winter with snow. One day, spotting sunshine, he decided in good faith to air his blanket out on the grass. The blanket froze solid.
"I don't understand — how did you even think to air a blanket?! We're wizards!" Marcus stared at him in disbelief.
The boy said, "Sun-aired blankets smell like sunshine. I thought it would be warm."
The Slytherins lost it completely.
Marcus ended up getting him a spare blanket from one of the older students.
Malfoy shook his head and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "When you go out, don't tell anyone you're a Slytherin."
The boy went pale. Praeris quickly translated English into English to rescue him: "He means he's embarrassed by you. He's not literally telling you to deny being a Slytherin."
The boy was not comforted in the slightest.
Praeris and Malfoy were on much better terms now. She didn't needle him, and he didn't puff himself up into a pufferfish.
Winter arrived, and Madam Sprout's herb selection had been swapped out for cold-resistant varieties. But cold-resistant plants were few, so she didn't need much help from Praeris.
Which meant Professor Snape snapped her up instead, her diligence, her intelligence, her outwardly obedient manner, and her habit of keeping her mouth shut all made her the ideal assistant.
If you had ever seen the way Professor Snape worked, you could understand his temper no matter how bad it was., Praeris Prince
Unlike the other houses, Slytherins didn't see much of Professor Snape either. Just as the Gryffindors always complained: he was like a bat. You only saw him flapping his wings when you'd already disturbed him.
You might think it was because he didn't want to be seen. It wasn't. He was simply that busy.
There was exactly one Potions teacher in all of Hogwarts, and before O.W.L. exams, every student had to take Potions.
The workload was staggering.
On top of teaching, every lesson required preparation, deciding what came next, gathering ingredients, laying out materials. And then there was the Hospital Wing's medicinal potion supply for Madam Pomfrey on top of that.
The holidays helped. Professor Snape used summer and winter breaks to build up reserves. But some things couldn't be done in advance, and those piled up after class. Then there were summons from the Headmaster and other teachers, visits from unnamed individuals, calls from ingredient suppliers, complaints from Caretaker Filch, and incidents between Slytherin and Gryffindor to sort through.
Miscellaneous things like night patrol barely even registered as tasks at this point.
Praeris found it hard to carry that many things at once. She tended to focus entirely on one task, making sure nothing slipped through.
"You ought to learn to use your brain," Snape said, his voice low, "rather than treating it like some rare treasure to be enshrined. If it can't manage two things at once, there's no point overcomplicating matters. It simply means your intelligence hasn't reached the level that requires it."
In truth, Praeris's mind was always running. She unconsciously observed everything around her and stored the analysis for later use. That was precisely what made her sharp.
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But a mind had its limits. The more her attention scattered, the less power remained for the task in front of her. What if she could gather those scattered threads back? Could she use them on a second task in parallel, running both at once?
She started testing it in Professor Snape's office. While preparing the potion in her hands, she simultaneously mapped out the next task, what the process was, what to watch for, how to trim the steps down.
"You spent 7 minutes on that potion. Unless a troll has recently bludgeoned your brain, I can only conclude you haven't listened to a single word of my instruction." Professor Snape looked at her the way he might look at Neville's face staring back from Praeris's body.
She knew exactly why her speed had dropped. She didn't argue. "I'm very sorry, Professor. The next experiment won't be like this."
The next experiment was faster. Not by much, at best, she'd gone from Neville to Ron.
But it didn't stay that way for long. She found her rhythm. The movements grew cleaner, the flow smoother, the speed climbing steadily higher.
By the time the sky had deepened to cobalt blue, Praeris was washing the instruments, ready to leave.
"The case. Upper-right shelf, behind you. Take it out," Professor Snape said without warning.
Praeris set the last cauldron to dry, turned, and found the leather case.
"Open it. It's from Sprout." He didn't look up.
Inside was a money pouch.
"Is this a Christmas present?" Her lips felt dry. She bit them without thinking.
Snape still didn't look up. "Who knows."
Praeris left.
Severus Snape sat alone in the office.
"I think she's a very fine girl — diligent, sincere, kind," Sprout had said. "She's nothing like the person any of you suspect. We shouldn't assume someone is bad before they've done anything wrong. I believe Professor Snape will agree."
Snape said nothing.
Dumbledore pressed both palms down gently. "Pomona, I don't think that. It's simply that sometimes we need to pay attention to a lonely child's growth — as we do with Harry, as we do with Prae. They're special enough to warrant it, don't you think? Severus. What are your thoughts?"
"I have too much work. I need an assistant." Snape's face gave nothing away. "Prince's Potions performance is acceptable."
"Then she's yours."
Sprout would find Praeris flawless. What Sprout saw was a well-behaved, obedient girl. But the Sorting Hat had a different read. That girl carried a streak of cynicism buried under the surface, and more than a few unusual ideas along with it.
She seemed socially awkward. She wasn't. Her methods were formidable.
She could win people over without appearing to try. For a Slytherin, the Gryffindors didn't dislike her, the Weasley twins had even said she was too cool. Harry Potter felt embarrassed about his own mistakes in front of her, as if he'd forgotten she was a Slytherin at all.
Sinistra of Ravenclaw had told Dumbledore that Prince was very bright and remarkably good at reading people. Sprout of Hufflepuff thought she was sincere and kind.
And inside Slytherin, she had friends like Millicent. She had, seemingly without effort, turned Malfoy, who had initially wanted nothing to do with her, into someone who "avenged" her by engineering Harry Potter's toilet-scrubbing punishment.
Dumbledore wouldn't share any of that. He wasn't willing to presume a child's future either. He simply needed more time to watch.
Sprout waited in the corridor. When Snape stepped out, she smiled. "Christmas is nearly here. I couldn't think of what she might want. I suppose all children, once they're grown, want to have something of their own. This pocket money, would you give it to her?"
Snape stopped. He seemed to be thinking about something.
By the time the pouch reached the shelf in his office, it was noticeably fuller. Tight enough to nearly burst at the seams.
"I think Potions is actually pretty good," Millicent said out of nowhere.
Pansy stared at her. "What's wrong with you? You don't find the homework painful? Even if the teacher is our Head of House?"
"That's not what I mean. Don't you think the cauldron is warm? Like, it's hot and nice?" Millicent grinned.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I ever expect you to have a complex thought."
"I truly feel sorry for certain people," Draco Malfoy's voice cut through suddenly. "They have no choice but to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, because their families don't want them back."
Pfft,
Millicent looked at Praeris in alarm.
Oh no.
Millicent didn't know Praeris was an orphan, but Praeris never wrote home, never mentioned family, whatever was there, it looked bad. And just last night, Praeris had told her she'd be staying at school for Christmas.
Praeris's hands very clearly paused.
It's over, it's over, it's over. The words looped through Millicent's head. Worse, Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering off to the side.
"Millicent, you look like you've seen a ghost," Daphne said curiously.
"Ahaha — no I haven't," Millicent said, hollow as a drum.
Praeris said quietly, "Keep talking, and Professor Snape will give you a very personal demonstration of what seeing a ghost actually looks like."
The Slytherins suddenly found themselves very, very busy.
After class, Millicent fell into step beside Praeris. "Darling, honestly, I'd quite like to stay at school for Christmas too. Home is such a bother. I go back and all they do is nag me. Staying here is so much freer."
"Milly. You don't have to do this," Praeris said, not unkindly. "Some things are just facts. I'm not going to be sad or angry about them. Do you really think I'm like a glass teapot, one that might scald someone with steam at any moment?"
"No." Millicent shook her head. "If anything, you're the strongest person I know. And I don't just mean that. I mean in here." She gestured vaguely at her chest.
Millicent had never once seen Praeris's resolve shake. The girl was a stone wall. Nothing got through.
"Enough of that. I'm going to find Professor Snape." Praeris waved her off.
She'd thanked Madam Sprout for the gift the day before, but it was too much. She hadn't felt right accepting it.
"Oh, no no no, dear. That was only half a pouch of pocket money. You worked for it. You earned it. It's yours." Madam Sprout gave her a playful wink.
The other half, clearly, had come from the silent Head of House who had arranged her enrollment and knew where she'd come from.
Praeris didn't find Professor Snape in the corridor. What she found was fir needles carpeting the floor in every direction, and Filch in a towering fury. "That Hagrid! Hauling a tree through here and leaving the corridor like this!"
"It looks like you could use some help," Praeris said. She flicked her wand. The needles swept up from the floor, gathered themselves into a neat pile, and landed in Filch's dustpan.
"Slytherin's Prince." Filch's weathered face stretched into an ugly smile. "I remember you. Professor Snape's good helper. Thank you."
Praeris stopped looking for Professor Snape after that. Knowing him, he would never acknowledge it. What mattered more was remembering, and repaying her teachers someday. Madam Sprout. Professor Snape.
With Christmas approaching, Professor Snape had, with uncharacteristic mercy, given her a holiday. No more trips to the office. Praeris headed for the library instead, intending to read and carry on her "earning money" plan.
That plan, the spiritual-victory method where reading a book counted as earning its cover price.
"You could also ask your parents. Maybe they know who Flamel is."
Praeris had no interest in listening. Unfortunately, she couldn't help overhearing those three Gryffindors huddled outside the library, whispering as though that made them subtle.
"Shh — it's the Slytherin." Weasley elbowed Potter.
"She won't go snitch to Snape, will she?" Weasley muttered to Potter under his breath.
Praeris let out a short laugh. "Sorry, let me get this straight. You're standing in the corridor right outside the library, talking about things you don't want overheard, and then you're accusing a completely innocent passerby of being a snitch?"
➤ Next: Christmas Mystery