Harry was utterly bewildered. But he disliked too many people — for a moment, he couldn't narrow it down at all.
He opened the box carefully, half-expecting some classmate's prank.
It wasn't just the Slytherins anymore. The ones who'd always hated him, and whom he'd always hated, had been joined by students from the other three houses.
Given the chance to do it over, Harry would still choose to help Hagrid. But he couldn't stop himself from imagining: if he really could, he would definitely remember to bring his Invisibility Cloak.
Some people had hated him from the start. That kind of hatred, after long enough, stopped hurting. But many had once been friendly, even cheered for him. Their sudden turn was harder to take.
Harry finally got the box open. Inside was a circular, net-like object built around a branch frame, hung all around with feathers from various animals.
He had no idea what it was. Not daring to dismiss it, he carried the box to find Hermione.
Hermione knew immediately. It was a dreamcatcher, though not an ordinary one. "This is a very authentic Native American dreamcatcher. The feathers are from magical creatures. I can identify at least one as an Occamy feather. I think hanging it up could bring you good dreams."
Harry stared at it. "I can't think of a single person I dislike who would make me something like this. Most of them would rather I dropped dead."
"Maybe you don't actually dislike him," Hermione said. "Everyone's moral yardstick is different. What looks like a serious crime to a good person barely registers to a bad one."
"But the letter — the sender didn't even seem that sorry about it." Harry still couldn't make sense of it.
Hermione gave a tired sigh. "So will you accept it or not?"
Harry looked down at the gift. "Fine. I'll accept it."
He said that. He didn't hang it up.
Native Americans. Magical creature feathers. Filtering out bad dreams. He'd spent more than a year in the magical world now, and he still didn't believe in that sort of thing.
Ron laughed. "I think that's exactly the kind of thing you'd find in some nutty magazine like The Quibbler. I mean, I've never heard of anything that can actually help with dreaming. Otherwise my mum would've hung dreamcatchers in every room in our house."
Praeris, for her part, had sent the apology gift and stopped thinking about it. Whether he accepted it wasn't her concern. It had been a one-sided apology to begin with.
The branch for the dreamcatcher she'd picked up near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, wrapped around with mistletoe. The feathers she'd traded for with Professor Kettleburn — her only poetry collection, exchanged for them.
The Occamy was a descendant of the feathered serpent god in Native American mythology. Most people only cared about their silver eggshells. Praeris knew it was their feathers that suited a dreamcatcher.
And on the bright side, the bad stretch had finally passed. In every sense.
Marcus and Praeris had each found their footing and had a real chance of passing their exams.
Magical world exams were rigorous. The written sections even handed out Anti-Cheating Quills, as though cheating would have helped anyone.
Praeris didn't have to work hard on a single exam. Barely a professor left unsatisfied.
"If you had a photographic memory, you could do it too," Pansy said, a bit sourly.
Her snuffbox still had a rat's tail dangling from the back of it. Professor McGonagall's brow was locked in a tight furrow, her expression nothing but displeasure.
Millicent, though, was delighted. "But Prae's practical work is also excellent!"
The only exam that cost Praeris real effort was Flying. She was extremely nervous, her mind circling between Professor Snape's requirements and Marcus's repeated warnings.
Fortunately, when her turn actually came, she forgot all of it. Her body just moved. Pure muscle memory, no thinking at all.
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When she landed, Madam Hooch patted her on the shoulder. "Great improvement."
Those two words nearly sent her airborne all over again. So this was what it felt like to earn something difficult through hard work.
While Praeris was glowing, Harry was quietly falling apart.
Ever since returning from the Forbidden Forest, his head had been hurting. He kept telling himself it was from exam stress, but he knew that wasn't really it.
Maybe I should just hang the dreamcatcher up, he thought.
Ron pressed down on the box to stop him. "You said that person apologized because they'd done something against their conscience. How do you know they won't go and do it again? Forget the dreamcatcher. You should go see Madam Pomfrey."
Ron said all that. Harry hung the dreamcatcher up anyway.
The feathers shifted in the breeze, as if something was genuinely being sifted away.
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling better than he had in weeks. The ache had finally eased.
He didn't know if it was psychological or if it actually worked. The dreamcatcher stayed at his bedside either way.
Exams were over. The weather was perfect. The sky was a deep cobalt, not a cloud in sight.
The Slytherins were no goody-two-shoes. Malfoy had smuggled a bottle of honey whiskey under his robes, ready to treat them all.
Millicent wrinkled her nose. "This is sweet and spicy at the same time."
Heaven knows how they'd managed it, but the Slytherins had produced a collection of thumb-sized silver cups. Malfoy poured a little for everyone.
"We're throwing an excellent party," Daphne announced, laughing. "Guess who didn't get an invitation."
Praeris tilted her head. "Who?"
"Marcus!" The whole group dissolved into laughter.
Praeris understood immediately. Marcus couldn't be invited to something like this. He'd lecture them all in that patriarch's voice of his. "Boys and girls, you are not old enough to drink."
Crabbe put on a ridiculous impression. "You are — not old enough to drink yet~"
Goyle joined in. "What~ I'm already seventeen!"
Malfoy was sitting on a tree root. He nearly toppled off it laughing.
The bottle Malfoy had chosen was actually quite good. Light on the alcohol, easy on the burn, mostly just honey. The Slytherin girls were satisfied. The boys felt thoroughly cheated.
In Britain, the rules around drinking age weren't especially strict, pubs just wouldn't sell to minors.
But like how preschoolers weren't supposed to ride broomsticks, children had always found ways around things. Like sneaking onto an older sibling's broom when no one was looking.
Exams done, Slytherin miles ahead on points, everything going beautifully. Even Marcus's exams had come through.
And somehow, that smoothness was exactly what made Praeris uneasy.
"Can't sleep, Prae?" Millicent heard her turning over in bed.
Pansy made a noise. "Our resident genius is just too excited about getting eight O's."
"Can't I be too excited because Slytherin is about to win the House Cup?" Praeris shot back.
Daphne stifled a laugh in the darkness. "That does deserve celebrating."
"Neither." Praeris was watching the shadows of magical creatures drifting through the Black Lake. "Don't you think it's been too smooth? Has this year ever gone this smoothly for Slytherin?"
"And smooth is bad?" Pansy rolled over. "It's not like we're going to wake up tomorrow to find someone got caught wandering at night and lost 150 points."
Daphne and Millicent both laughed.
That probably won't happen, Praeris thought. Though part of it might also be because she had to go back to the convent.
A few days ago, Professor Snape had told her to return to the convent for the summer. Praeris refused on the spot. "No. Whatever happens, I am not going back."
He walked away without turning around. No room left for argument.
His dark, receding figure said everything: I don't care what you think. You're going back.
But if not the convent, what then? She couldn't just wander London alone. If anyone found her, she'd be sent to a welfare institution. That was worse than the convent.
She would rather go to the Leaky Cauldron. She had stayed there before term started, the happiest time she'd known outside of Hogwarts.
Turning these things over in her mind, Praeris gradually lost her hold on waking and slipped under.
The next morning, Praeris slept in for once. She left her hair down, just tied it into a low ponytail with a silk scarf and let it fall over her left shoulder.
A full year hadn't put a single ounce on her cheeks. She was still thin, though a little taller now, and her face still carried that same melancholy look, the one that made her seem like she was always turning something over in her mind.
Praeris had just pulled out her chair when she noticed the Gryffindor table.
"Good grief," Pansy said, biting into an apple like it had personally offended her.
Praeris settled her napkin on her lap. "What's all the excitement about?"
Pansy startled. She hadn't expected Praeris to ask her.
She glanced around. Millicent and Marcus were both absent. That made it worse. Praeris was only asking her because there was no one else.
"Who knows. Didn't they say at the start of term not to go to the corridor on the right on the third floor? Turns out the Philosopher's Stone was being kept there. And now they're saying Potter protected the Philosopher's Stone." Pansy ground her teeth. "He's not even as capable as you."
Praeris honestly couldn't tell if that was a compliment or not. But she felt a flicker of something, recognition, almost. Ah. There it is. She had always known things wouldn't stay simple.
Who would have thought Potter had it in him, though. Had Granger been the one to track down information about the Three-headed Dog?
Naive Praeris. She'd never have guessed it was the Three-headed Dog's own keeper who'd let the secret slip, loose as a sieve.
In the common room, Malfoy was already in a temper about Harry Potter getting all the attention.
"What do you think?" Malfoy turned around suddenly and looked at her.
Praeris had been watching the giant squid drift back and forth through the water. She turned at the sound of his voice. "About what? Potter?"
"What else?"
Her eyes dropped halfway. "What kind of person do you think Dumbledore is?"
She thought of the conversation in front of Thalia's portrait. It was spring edging toward summer, but something cold moved through her.
"You're expecting me to say something good?" Malfoy propped his feet up on the table.
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