"Bulstrode, have you been kicked in the head by a donkey?!" Malfoy said, his face twisted with contempt. "Praising Potter — if those Gryffindors heard that, they'd die laughing."
Daphne smoothed the hair at her temple. "Dumbledore is here."
And indeed, Headmaster Dumbledore had arrived. He announced the four houses' points. Slytherin led Gryffindor, the lowest-scoring house, by a full 178 points.
The Slytherins erupted. It was as if the entire semester's gloom had lifted at once.
Goyle clapped excitedly, Malfoy rapped his goblet against the table, Daphne and Pansy threw their arms around each other, Farley and Marcus slapped hands with open joy... even Praeris and Millicent were gripping each other's hands tight.
"Seems this year turned out decently enough after all," said a tall, thin boy sitting diagonally across from Praeris.
Noticing Praeris's blank look, Millicent leaned close and murmured, "That's Theodore Nott. A loner. He's on decent terms with Malfoy."
Compared to Slytherin's jubilation, the other three houses, Gryffindor especially, were a different world entirely.
Crabbe said to Malfoy, "I guarantee that guy is staring at you with pure hatred right now."
Malfoy laughed, contemptuous and easy. "Oh? Is that so? Should I feel honored, then? To have the Savior's personal attention."
"That sounds eerily like something Prince would say," Marcus remarked, glancing sideways at him.
The Savior was, quite obviously, Harry Potter.
Praeris, having just been name-dropped, raised her free hand and waved it dismissively, her face a picture of distaste.
But Dumbledore wasn't finished. And he showed no sign of moving on to further congratulations.
His tone shifted. "However, several recent events cannot be excluded from the calculation."
Goyle and Malfoy both went still, though Malfoy kept his goblet clutched in his hand. Daphne let go of Pansy. Farley and Marcus looked at each other. Millicent, however, only gripped Praeris's hand harder.
Every Slytherin in the hall had one thing in common: the smiles on their faces were gone.
No one was naive enough to believe that whatever came next would leave Slytherin's honor untouched.
The next few minutes were Slytherin's nightmare.
First minute: Weasley received 50 points, for some incomprehensible game of chess.
Third minute: Granger received 50 points, for her logical reasoning.
Fifth minute: Potter received 60 points, for his extraordinary courage.
By then, every Slytherin had their nerves stretched to the breaking point. Praeris could feel Millicent on the verge of crushing her hand entirely.
The gap between them and Gryffindor had shrunk to a razor-thin 20 points.
Millicent's eyes had gone red. "That's it, right? There can't be more. All three of them have been rewarded already!"
Praeris desperately wanted to say yes, that's it. The banners were already hanging, weren't they? To overturn Slytherin's first place at this precise moment, it was too cruel, even for this.
But she had seen Dumbledore's expression. She understood that this man was not going to stop here.
This was utterly absurd.
If he wanted Gryffindor to take first place, he could have added the points to the Gryffindor hourglass before any of the decorations went up. But no, he had to slap Slytherin across the face at the very peak of their joy.
Or rather: to pump blood back into Gryffindor at their absolute lowest.
It was as if he were saying: the 150 points Praeris's report had cost them, he would give back one by one, and then some.
Praeris cursed herself for being so terrifyingly good at reading people. It made her torment sharper than anyone else's in the room.
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Sure enough, Dumbledore awarded Longbottom 20 points at the end. Precisely enough to put Gryffindor 2 points ahead of Slytherin.
The Gryffindor cheers nearly tore the ceiling off. The Slytherins' faces went so pale they could have blended in with the ghosts.
Against that roar, the Slytherin tables were dead silent. Even after they filed back to the common room, no one could produce a single word.
Marcus put a hand on Farley's shoulder. She had been crying the whole way back.
He moved to the center of the room and raised both hands. "Everyone."
The Slytherins all looked up. Marcus cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for your hard work this year. Whether you were earning points in class or giving everything you had on the Quidditch pitch — you are all the glory on the Slytherin crest."
"As prefect, I didn't do enough. If I had won that Quidditch match, perhaps Slytherin would have taken the cup. I let everyone down."
Stella let out a short scoff. "Marcus, we lost by 2 points. Don't overestimate your own role. This has nothing to do with your win or loss."
"You haven't blamed me. So there's no reason for any of you to blame yourselves." Marcus took his partner Farley's hand and raised it high. "Slytherin will not be beaten by a single setback!"
Farley swiped at her face with her free hand and called out, "We'll win it back!"
Before long, the Slytherins had all dispersed. The worst of the dejection seemed to have lifted.
But Malfoy was still nursing a grudge.
"See?! See?! Even when you stopped me from going out and losing points, that old fool still found a way to give Longbottom twenty! He gave points to Longbottom, of all people!"
Malfoy had been raging for half an hour. Nobody had warned her his stamina for insults was this impressive.
Praeris was staring at nothing in particular.
"Are you even listening to me!" Malfoy stepped directly in front of her, blocking out the candlelight.
Praeris blinked back to attention. "Oh. Right. It is what it is. But what can we actually do? Dumbledore hid something in the school. They protected it, so they got the points. What were we supposed to do, go protect Dumbledore's Philosopher's Stone ourselves? You know that was never going to happen."
"Professor Snape favors Slytherin, so he gives us points and docks Gryffindor's. Dumbledore favors Gryffindor — he was one of them, after all — so he gives points to Gryffindor. It's perfectly symmetrical, really."
"Malfoy. You need to understand something. We can forget about coveting the House Cup from now on. If the Headmaster wants Gryffindor to win, he could dock them to zero and then find 5 students to award 100 points each. There is nothing we can do about that."
Malfoy's expression darkened further. "I'm telling my father! He changed the House Cup results. This isn't fair!"
Praeris scooped up the kitten Nina as she wandered past and scratched under her chin. "Telling your whole family won't help. The Headmaster didn't change the results. Didn't you notice? When he first announced the four houses' points, he deliberately didn't announce the House Cup winner. We had already lost by then."
Malfoy was still furious, but the heat had gone out of it. He had calmed down.
Not that it was surprising. Nobody stays blazing with fury after being doused with cold water twice.
He reached out and snatched Nina from her arms, then stroked the cat firmly against the grain of her fur. Nina exploded into a puffball, yowling and screeching.
Praeris turned her head away. "Barbarian."
Then she immediately took the disheveled Nina back, smoothed her fur down, and resumed scratching her chin.
"Hey. Leave me an address." Malfoy's eyes wandered everywhere, landing on anything except Praeris. "My family's going to Spain for the holidays. We'll send everyone local specialties."
The fur-smoothing slowed for a few seconds. A long moment passed before Praeris said, "Just bring it when term starts."
"You think I'm desperate to know where you live? Everyone's getting something. I just didn't want you thinking I have something against you again." Malfoy's expression had gone sharp and strange, almost offended. "If you don't want me to know, fine. Forget it."
He turned and walked off. What had set him on fire this time, nobody could say.
Hadn't he just calmed down?
Praeris watched his retreating back, her mind full of question marks.
Were all boys' emotions this unstable?
When had she ever thought Malfoy had something against her?
Wasn't she the one who deliberately poked at this boy's sore spots, every single time?
She couldn't figure it out. She decided to stop trying.
After the year-end feast, the professors posted the final exam results. Praeris, equipped with a memory and mind that could only be described as monstrous, took first place.
Second place went to Hermione Granger of Gryffindor.
Praeris knew that ranking was entirely unfair to Hermione Granger. They hadn't had the same conditions. Hermione Granger had spent part of her year protecting the Philosopher's Stone with Potter, and she didn't have Praeris's photographic memory on top of it all.
For that reason, Praeris genuinely admired her.
The holiday began. The dormitory emptied in what felt like an instant. Looking back at it one last time, Praeris could still remember the nervousness of her very first day here.
It felt like a long time ago. It also felt like yesterday.
Marcus had also handed out a notice before they left.
"You can't use magic during the holiday?" Praeris said, startled.
Marcus was in the middle of counting heads. He heard her and nodded without hesitation. "Same every year."
Praeris thought of her exploits at the Leaky Cauldron last summer, and quietly congratulated herself on not getting caught.
Soon, everyone boarded the Hogwarts Express and changed into their own clothes for the journey home.
Praeris still wore the black dress. She had altered it long ago, back at the Leaky Cauldron, a ruffled collar, leg-of-mutton sleeves, accordion pleats across the bodice.
Like her life, really. A dull, dark beginning, slowly transformed by small embellishments, one by one.
She was still herself. But she was nothing like who she used to be.
The train slowed to a stop at the familiar platform. Someone was stationed at the barrier, letting students through only 2 or 3 at a time.
Millicent had far too much luggage. Praeris stayed with her and helped carry it through.
"What's going on with Malfoy? He's been avoiding you all day." Millicent's eyes were bright with curiosity.
Praeris shook her head. "Isn't he always like that? He just gets angry at himself sometimes, for no particular reason."
"Never mind him." Millicent pouted, tugging at her arm. "How am I going to send you letters? I'm going to miss you."
➤ Next: Miss Winnie — Words Unspoken