Speaking of all this, Marcus hadn't been having an easy time lately.
Within Slytherin, Marcus was considered a good prefect. He looked out for the younger students and captained the Quidditch team. But he'd lost the trophy that Slytherin had held for seven consecutive years. That counted as a genuine disgrace.
Outwardly, the Slytherins directed their fury at Gryffindor, putting on the expected show of righteous indignation. Internally, though, Marcus's authority had taken a real hit. Many no longer trusted him the way they once had.
Take Stella, a former Quidditch team member. She'd gone so far as to propose supporting Hufflepuff.
"Still better than supporting Gryffindor!" Stella raised an eyebrow. "After all, we have no way to support Slytherin this time."
Marcus was irritated. "Are you mocking me?"
"All I know is, when I was on the team, Slytherin never lost." Stella tilted her head, the challenge in it unmistakable, and got up to leave.
Pansy patted Marcus on the shoulder. "Draco's gone to mess with the Gryffindors. Maybe he can get revenge for us."
Everyone left after that, until only Praeris and Marcus remained.
"So this is Slytherin unity," Praeris said. "I thought she would comfort you."
"Failure is failure. I have to acknowledge that." Marcus clasped his hands together, leaned forward, and buried his head between his arms. "What use is comfort?" A pause. "Yes. Always like this."
Among the older Slytherin students, things seemed very different from the younger years. Perhaps because they were closer to stepping out into the real world, the relationships between people were no longer as simple.
When Marcus led the team to victory, Stella had unhesitatingly placed bets supporting him, had even called Millicent's neutrality a "betrayal." Now that Marcus had lost, she could sit there and announce she'd rather back Hufflepuff, just to twist the knife.
Marcus's playing style on the pitch had always been aggressive, testing the edges of the rules at every turn. That aggression was inseparable from Slytherin's seven-year winning streak. He'd hoped the trophy wouldn't be lost on his watch. Heaven hadn't cooperated.
"Are you still going to watch the match?" Praeris asked.
Marcus shook his head. "No. But Gemma will go. She'll keep an eye on you all."
Gemma Farley. The Slytherin female prefect.
"You're not coming to back us up?" Praeris folded the newspaper and placed it back on the rack.
"I think Gemma's got it covered. Keep talking and I'll start to waver." Marcus sighed. "I need to rest. Let me off."
Marcus in the common room and Marcus facing Gryffindor were two entirely different people. The tall frame that usually radiated aggression seemed to soften here; on the pitch, he always looked one bad call away from sending someone flying. Off it, he just looked tired.
"Alright. Draco's red wine is hidden in the cabinet below the glass cabinet with the tea canister. Wishing you a pleasant evening." Praeris dropped those words and ran.
The next day, the Hogwarts Quidditch final arrived.
Praeris was beginning to think she had a bit of Seer potential. The match hadn't even started before Malfoy was already provoking Weasley.
Gemma Farley acted as though she saw nothing at all. "Why hasn't the match started yet? Goodness, Dumbledore's come too."
"I thought you'd help Malfoy," Praeris said, curious. "Or stop him. Percy Weasley over there looks like he's about to combust."
Farley laughed. "Prince, my dear — a small trick to being a Slytherin prefect. When your housemates have the upper hand, or they're the ones starting it, you pretend you saw nothing and let them run free. When your housemates are at a disadvantage, or they're the ones being provoked, that's when you step forward to uphold order."
She waved a hand. "Marcus's problem is he meddles too much. Favors his own when they're winning, hunts down grudges when they're losing. Terrible look."
"Ah!" Millicent suddenly shouted. "Miss Farley! Look!"
Farley's prefect masterclass never got to finish. The whole scene erupted. Weasley, Longbottom, and Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, five of them, tangled together in a brawl.
Weasley landed a solid punch directly on Draco's eye. You could tell exactly how much he despised that Malfoy face.
Weasley only had to go after Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle had a more complicated job: protect Draco while finding gaps to hit back. Then Longbottom joined the fray, and he was something else entirely, no defense, just pure offense.
Praeris and Farley both scrambled to think of a spell that might stop it, but it was nearly impossible. The five of them kept shifting and grappling; anything cast would likely hit the wrong person.
Gemma Farley held up her wand, wanting to do something. She couldn't do a thing. Eventually she let her arm drop entirely. "Let them fight. For the love of —"
One hour later.
"Hiss — is there really no better way?!" Malfoy bellowed.
Praeris was perfectly sincere. "You have no wounds, only bruises. Vulnera Sanentur isn't the right spell for this. Trust Madam Pomfrey to sort you out."
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Farley had zero interest in their injuries. She was humiliated. "Three of you. Couldn't beat one Weasley and one Longbottom."
"Well, Draco is thin. No advantage in a fistfight." Pansy was clearly working very hard. "If it came to magic, Draco would absolutely win."
Pansy's intention was to defend Draco. The effect was to explain in careful detail exactly why they'd lost the fight.
"Children!" Madam Pomfrey walked in. "His injuries are nothing serious. His companions protected him well. I don't think you need to be here disturbing his rest. All of you, go."
Gemma led the girls out. Pansy muttered the whole way down the corridor. "Despicable, shameless Gryffindors..."
Gemma shook her head and fell into step beside Praeris. "I think Marcus was right. I should have stepped forward from the start. At least we wouldn't have been the ones who came off worse."
Praeris patted her shoulder. "Farley, I don't think it's quite like that. You and Marcus are different. When Marcus steps forward, he's there to throw punches. If you'd stepped in, you'd only have gotten punched. You're not the same kind of person, so you can't handle things the same way. Slytherin needs a strong, responsible Marcus charging ahead, and it also needs a clever, tactful you standing behind."
That, Praeris thought, was probably exactly why Professor Snape had chosen both Farley and Marcus.
The second half of term came, and the weather began to warm. The teachers got busy.
Professor Sprout had bought new seeds over the winter and set them in the glass greenhouse to germinate. Some had survived the cold months and were now sprouting in the spring warmth, climbing up the wooden trellises.
"Little Prae, when we're propagating, we sort first. Find the ones that can survive winter, and start them before the cold sets in. The ones that can't make it through winter, you start those after the snow melts." Professor Sprout talked as she worked, hands never stopping. "The winter-hardy ones need to be kept warm or they'll freeze before they get the chance."
"Herbs are so different from each other," Praeris said, something wistful in her voice. "Because they have the potential to endure winter, they have no choice but to face winter's cold. If they didn't have that in them, they could probably just enjoy the warmth of spring, couldn't they?"
Professor Sprout paused. She turned and looked at Praeris, and her smile was very gentle. "Little Prae, some herbs survive winter, and because of that, they're able to keep living in far harsher conditions. But not every herb can thrive in a glass greenhouse. Out in the wild, it's those hardy ones that make it to the end."
Praeris shook her head. "To those who already have, more will be given. From those who have lost, even what little they have will be taken away. But in truth, they're all just flowers in a glass greenhouse, aren't they? The ones who can endure more only find more and more difficulties waiting for them to overcome. Some people just get to live on happily forever. The world was never fair to begin with."
"No." Professor Sprout spoke slowly, as if working to find the right words. "Some herbs that can endure winter, without that tempering, they lose their hardiness entirely. They can never grow as strong as their own kind. Glass greenhouses are rare. Far more common is the freezing wilderness."
She continued, "Little Prae. We will never glorify suffering. If I could, I would wish happiness for everyone. But we should understand: some suffering has already happened. Some suffering cannot be avoided. If we keep running from it, refusing to face it, then when we meet something truly unavoidable, we'll have no strength left to resist it. No courage left to stand."
Praeris blinked. "I think I understand. If you have the power to overcome anything, then no matter what you face, you can meet it and come through. And after that — no matter what disaster comes next — you can always stand back up."
Professor Sprout set down the watering can. She opened her arms and pulled Praeris into a hug. "Whatever you encounter, if you're ever willing to talk about it, you can tell me. This teacher doesn't mind being your listening tree."
"Professor Sprout," Praeris asked softly, "what kind of person do you think I am?"
Professor Sprout drew back and looked at her, and her voice was earnest. "I am very glad to have a student like you."
Praeris froze for a moment. Then she covered her face with both hands and laughed. "I'm very glad you're my teacher."
"I thought you might mind that I'm a Slytherin," Praeris added, her tone light and breezy, as though she had no idea she'd just said something rather serious.
Professor Sprout shook her head. "No. Every student here is a student of Hogwarts. And I am the Herbology professor of Hogwarts."
Ah, Hogwarts. What a remarkable place.
Of the two teachers closest to her, one was the most impartial person Praeris had ever met, Professor Sprout, who didn't show the faintest favoritism even toward her own Hufflepuff. The other was the most unreasonable, Professor Snape, who would find three good reasons to side with Slytherin even when Slytherin had none.
Praeris enjoyed Professor Snape's wholly unreasonable favoritism, because she was a Slytherin. She also enjoyed Professor Sprout's gentle impartiality, and that too was because she was a Slytherin.
Human nature. Praeris was as ordinary as anyone.
She left. A white-robed figure stepped quietly into the spot where she had stood.
"She really is a clever child, isn't she?" Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "We don't even need to arrange some lesson for her. She reaches the understanding herself. But excessive wisdom is sometimes its own kind of cruelty."
Professor Sprout watched Praeris's small figure disappear into the distance. "That's how she sees it, isn't it. She can't always help resenting the harshness of things, but she still has a kind and strong heart." A pause. "Will Severus tell her the truth?"
"Pomona, she doesn't need anyone to tell her." Dumbledore winked his left eye. "She'll discover it on her own. For now, she simply doesn't want to look any further."
Praeris had already run back to the castle. At the entrance, she cast a quick cleaning charm and brushed the last of the mud and soil from her robes.
"Hey, where did you disappear to?" Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall. "I discovered something interesting. You'll never guess."
Praeris raised an eyebrow and looked him over. Damp soil on the tips of his shoes. He'd been outside. The glass greenhouse was out, she'd just come from there. The lawn? The Forbidden Forest? The gamekeeper's grounds? The Quidditch pitch?
That foolishly delighted look on his face meant it was something secret, something that had caught his interest completely. Either it had to do with Gryffindor, or it had to do with Quidditch, or both.
The lawn was open ground. No secrets there.
Quidditch would mean the Quidditch pitch, but he hadn't brought his broom. So it was something to do with Gryffindor, out in the Forbidden Forest or the gamekeeper's grounds.
She still couldn't be certain. "What have Potter and the others done this time?"
"You figured it out again! You're no fun at all!" Malfoy groaned, then immediately brightened. "I saw that half-giant raising a dragon egg. I'm almost sure it's a Fireball. Potter and the others know about it, they've been covering for him. He broke the law! We can get him put on trial. They say he was expelled from Hogwarts before. Now he can be 'expelled' all over again in court!"
"A dragon egg?!" That genuinely shocked her. "Do you know the author of the Fantastic Beasts textbook? He ran an experiment with a Jarvey that put a student's life in danger. That's why he was expelled. Has Hagrid lost his mind? He's keeping a dragon at school. Does he want to roast us all alive?"
Malfoy burst out laughing. "Now there's a suggestion. Best if it hatches and manages to set a classmate on fire."
Praeris shook her head. "You've gone as mad as he has. How long have your injuries even been healed? What if the one who gets burned is you?" She paused. "Wait it out. Young dragons grow fast. Once it hatches, they won't be able to hide it for long regardless of how hard they try. And if it really is a dragon, it'll probably burn that wooden hut of his down on its own. You won't need to do a single thing."
"I knew you were the right person to come to, Prince." Malfoy's fist closed. A slow, satisfied smile. "You're right. I'll wait. Let Potter and the others play with fire and burn themselves. When the time comes, all I have to do is report it."
➤ Next: The Fate of the Sparrow