Fally beside her couldn't help laughing. "That's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart."
Praeris narrowed her eyes. She'd assumed at first that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was simply a Lockhart fan, the way Miss Heidi was a devoted reader of Fawkes.
She hadn't expected him to be a pure narcissist.
"Quite unexpected," Praeris said slowly. "Not quite what I imagined."
She had already read Lockhart's books. The phrasing ran a little flamboyant, but the content held up. It was highly authentic.
Perhaps every capable person had some unusual quirk in their personality. Praeris tried to convince herself of this. Certain details kept flickering at the edges of her mind, though, and they weren't buying it.
The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin. Fally told her to hurry back to her seat.
She hadn't been able to sit down in time, she'd spent too long talking with the two prefects.
For a moment she thought she'd end up sitting with the Bloody Baron. Fortunately, the new students filled in below her, and Praeris managed to claim the very last seat in the second-year row.
Maybe last year's seniors had thought the same thing. Which was probably why Malfoy had ended up dining beside the Bloody Baron.
"What were you talking about with Marcus?" Malfoy leaned over. "Do you know where the professor went off to?"
Praeris scanned the hall. "Look over there."
By the Great Hall doors, Gryffindor's Potter and Weasley looked like they'd rolled around on the ground several times over. Professor Snape stood directly behind them, eyes sharp.
"They're in for it!" Malfoy lit up immediately.
Praeris pressed his shoulder and pushed the craning boy back down. "Get any more excited and you'll be in for it too."
Professor Snape took the two of them away. Malfoy looked thoroughly unsatisfied, clearly regretful that he couldn't keep watching Gryffindor's misfortune unfold.
Pansy said softly, "Draco, look — another red-haired Weasley."
Malfoy barely glanced up. "What's so special about that? I saw them ages ago at Flourish and Blotts. These Weasleys are like rabbits — one kick of the legs and they pop out a whole litter."
Then he turned toward Praeris. "Hey, what's that person's relationship with you? I mean that Brown. My father said..."
Praeris clapped. The sound cut him off, a new student had just been sorted into Slytherin.
The applause died down. Malfoy showed no sign of dropping it. Praeris decided to find something to redirect his attention.
She didn't like people prying into her past. Even less did she want to put Winnie's Death Eater-related history out on the table. Winnie didn't like that. Treating someone else's dark past as casual conversation, she couldn't do it.
"Look, the professor just called Professor McGonagall out. I think Potter and the others are off the hook." Praeris knew exactly how to make Malfoy forget what he'd been about to ask.
Sure enough, his attention snapped straight to the Gryffindor side. "What do you think they actually did?"
"Hard to say." Praeris blinked. "They were late. They came in almost as the Sorting Ceremony was starting. Either they didn't get on the train, or something went wrong when they got off. But they had their luggage with them — which means they never boarded the train at all."
Malfoy stared at her. "If you hadn't said anything, I could barely even make out Professor Snape from here."
Praeris continued. "They didn't get on the train. But Professor McGonagall still needed Professor Snape to come tell her in person. Two students miss the train, something goes wrong, and they don't even contact their professors. There were some twigs on them — not many leaves left. They looked very familiar."
She paused.
"The Whomping Willow. Last winter Madam Sprout was planning to wrap it in canvas to keep it warm. They were late, and on top of that they provoked the Whomping Willow. I don't think we need to rush. Tomorrow the whole school will be buzzing with news about them." She let the pause sit. "You know how it is. The treatment reserved for the Chosen One."
Malfoy muttered a curse under his breath, then sneered. "Yes. That's the treatment of the Chosen One. Let's see what kind of spotlight he manages to steal this time."
After welcoming the new students, Marcus and Fally led the newcomers slowly out of the hall, explaining things about the school as they went. The older Slytherins slung arms over each other's shoulders and headed back on their own.
"Prince." Pansy suddenly grabbed her arm. "Was that on purpose?"
Praeris looked at her. "What?"
"I was talking to Draco, and you cut in. Don't you find Draco annoying? Then can't you keep a little more distance from him?" Pansy still wore that chin-lifted, looking-down-at-everything expression.
Praeris frowned and ran back through the earlier exchange. The whole scene replayed in her mind at double speed.
It was Malfoy who had come to her. Not the other way around.
"Pansy, I didn't cut in. I remember he was the one who wanted to ask me something. I wouldn't say he annoys me, exactly. But if you have feelings for him, you should find a way to get him talking to you. I was just answering his questions."
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Pansy went quiet. A long moment passed.
"You think I haven't tried?"
"So this interrogation is you taking out your own helplessness on me?" Praeris's tone didn't shift in the slightest.
Pansy drew a slow breath. She looked furious. She couldn't find a single word to retort with.
Praeris asked the question again. "What do you like about him?"
"I don't know." Pansy looked utterly deflated. "I genuinely don't know why I like him. Is he smart? Maybe, but he's nowhere near you. He's not brave either. He's not even particularly successful — the Gryffindors infuriate him constantly. And I still bloody well like him."
"So this is what love is," Praeris said softly. "Even when he has no obvious merits in your eyes." She studied Pansy's face. "You don't look much like yourself right now. The old you would never have shown an expression like this."
What kind of expression? All the haughtiness was gone. What Praeris could feel in its place was anxiety, confusion, and a helplessness that had nowhere to go.
Pansy wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't think I've learned yet what love really is. But my eyes keep following him. I can't pull them away. He notices Harry Potter. He notices you. He even notices Crabbe, Goyle, and the Weasleys. But he has never once noticed me."
Praeris couldn't quite name what she was feeling. Something like sympathy, she supposed.
Pansy's flower of love had bloomed far too early. So early that the other party didn't even have the concept in his head yet.
"Your love doesn't seem to make you feel very good." Praeris reached out and straightened Pansy's collar. "Then why don't you give it up?"
"Prince, sometimes you're too clever by half and sometimes you're too stupid by half." Pansy rolled her eyes. "If this were something I could casually give up, would I still be suffering over it? You know what? Sometimes I'm jealous of you. You're the only Slytherin girl he actually has things to say to. I know with your abilities that makes sense. But I can't help envying you."
Her voice dropped. "Why can you so easily have what I can't?"
Praeris shook her head. "Pansy, you're already wonderful on your own. Why envy me? Your family is happy. Your grades are good. You have Daphne. And honestly, I really like your short hair. I've thought about cutting mine the same way. Putting my hair up every morning is too much work. You know perfume, too. Top notes, base notes, all of that."
Pansy stared at her. "You've been observing me? Why?"
"Some things, even when I'm not paying attention to them, just jump into my head on their own," Praeris admitted. "It's caused me a certain amount of... burden."
"Is it painful?"
"Sometimes. I often try to force my mind blank, but sounds still find their way in anyway."
Pansy's expression shifted into something complicated. "It seems everyone has their own troubles."
"Perhaps." Praeris smiled, a little helpless.
Pansy exhaled. "Merlin knows why I ended up saying all this to you. I almost regret it."
She stared blankly ahead. "Do you think I'm strange? That Stella you know, I heard she didn't date until fourth year. And here I am carrying on about all this."
"There are no two identical leaves in the world," Praeris said, "and no one else is Pansy Parkinson. Why measure your feelings against someone else's experiences?"
Pansy looked at her for a long moment. "Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I envy you. But I can never quite bring myself to truly hate you." A pause. "Fine. The best I can manage is to try to ignore you."
Pansy clicked away in her little leather shoes, tap-tap, and disappeared into the Slytherin common room.
They had talked for so long. And Praeris still couldn't fully grasp what Pansy had said. Pure physiological and psychological reactions she could map and follow. This thing called emotion was something else. It seemed to exist just outside the edges of her understanding.
The next morning, Praeris went to the Great Hall for breakfast as usual.
Sure enough, matters that didn't involve emotion were far easier to predict. The entire hall was buzzing about Harry Potter.
As a rule, the people who know you best, besides yourself, are your adversaries.
The Slytherins recounted the previous day's events in exhaustive detail, as if they had been crouched on top of Potter's car the whole time, eavesdropping.
"Weasley's dad secretly modified a Ford Anglia, honestly, and he works for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office! And then Potter and Weasley flew the thing up into the sky, and loads of Muggles saw it. He must have been absolutely desperate to show off. Well, congratulations, he succeeded! But let's not forget to congratulate Arthur Weasley while we're at it. He's bound to cop some punishment for this. Nothing could make me happier!"
Praeris tuned most of it out. She focused on spreading butter evenly across her toast.
Then a tremendous BANG detonated through the air and she startled so badly that the toast flew out of her hand and landed squarely on Zabini's plate.
"Draco, look, it seems our Miss First of Slytherin is eagerly preparing my breakfast for me."
Blaise Zabini was smirking sideways at her, that narcissistic, arrogant, mocking expression spread across his face. Praeris desperately wanted to send a jet of water straight at it and wash the whole smug look off.
Her expression went flat. "Zabini. I don't think you want to know how many curses and jinxes I've memorized, damn Gryffindors, what on earth is wrong with them!"
Stay in Slytherin long enough and you all turned out the same. Praeris could curse fluently now.
Malfoy said with open schadenfreude, "Look at that, Mrs. Weasley is so proud of her son she simply couldn't hold back the congratulatory letter!"
Mrs. Weasley's scolding voice rolled across from the Gryffindor table.
Praeris had completely lost her appetite. She set down the butter knife, stood up, and left.
She had no idea the day still had more in store for her.
Slytherin only had one class today: Herbology. That was fine. Praeris was very glad to see Madam Sprout. She had missed this warm, gentle witch far too much.
Praeris had no father, no mother. Witches like Madam Sprout and Madam Prim had, in their own way, filled in something of the maternal warmth she'd never had.
"What's going on?" Daphne said, frowning. "Does one class need two teachers now?"
"Isn't he the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Why is he here saying all sorts of nonsense?" Pansy had announced she would be ignoring Praeris, but the moment she couldn't make sense of something, she poked her anyway.
Praeris picked up a pair of earmuffs. "Obviously, Defence Against the Dark Arts can't fully showcase his capabilities. This gentleman is attempting to make his presence felt. Put the earmuffs on, then you won't have to listen to that mouth of his going on and on."
"Praeris, how can you say that?" Millicent suddenly looked unhappy. "You said yourself you couldn't find any flaws in his books. That shows he genuinely has skill. Why not admit it? Maybe he just wants to apply his knowledge to help a colleague. What's so strange about learning from each other? Madam Sprout ought to accept his suggestions humbly."
Praeris raised an eyebrow. She hadn't expected that from Millicent.
"Millie, I can't say for certain whether he has skill or not. But his skill and his need to show off are two separate things. Even Professor Snape would acknowledge that Granger has talent, and he's also said Granger loves the spotlight. It's the same distinction." Praeris kept her voice even. She always had a bit more patience for Millicent.
Millicent put on her earmuffs. She looked unwilling to accept any of it. "Aren't you the same? If you have ability, why hide it? You're always doing exactly this: oh, this person's expression means they're thinking about such-and-such, obviously this person did this before, you just need to do this and that. Don't you have any desire to show off? That attitude of yours is far too arrogant."
She turned away.
Praeris opened her mouth and said nothing.
She had never noticed that about herself. To her, it was simply stating a plain fact. A small, obvious truth. But to everyone else, apparently, it wasn't the same thing at all.
Madam Sprout started the lesson. Praeris had to pay attention. But in the back of her mind, Millicent's words kept playing on a quiet, stubborn loop.
➤ Next: Millicent's Sorrow — What Was Lost