Breakfast was owl-post time. Draco's mother would send homemade biscuits, and every time, the boy would make a face like he'd been handed a dead rat, then eat every last crumb.
Clearly a child from a happy family. It was honestly enviable.
Pansy's family didn't send packages, only letters. The parcels she received were mostly clothes and jewelry she and Daphne had ordered for themselves, never mind that they had to wear robes at Hogwarts all day. Millicent's family rarely wrote, and she rarely wrote back. The most familiar of strangers.
Only Praeris received nothing. She looked completely unbothered, fully absorbed in her croissant.
"Does your family not send letters?" Millicent blurted out, then immediately regretted it.
"Of course not," Praeris said, perfectly matter-of-fact, as if this were the most unremarkable thing in the world. Millicent blinked.
Praeris stuffed the last bite of croissant into her mouth. "We should get ready for class."
She had gotten a head start on everything, so Hogwarts classes held little difficulty for her.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick was wonderfully theatrical, enunciating each syllable with great care and flourish. But when he cast spells himself, he spoke as naturally as normal conversation.
Praeris caught the key point almost immediately. The difference was mastery. Slow enunciation and precise wand movements were to prevent errors. Exaggerated intonation was to ensure full engagement with the spell.
It was the same as learning theology at the convent. The priests made the children memorize scripture word for word, not a syllable omitted. But when the priests themselves talked with others, they spoke in loose approximations, the meaning carried more than the exact phrasing.
So once you truly understood a spell, you could drop the unnecessary movements, the same way adult wizards did.
Praeris saw no point in pretending she didn't understand. With a quick flick, she cast the spell, sent the feather into the air, and went back to her book.
Professor Flitwick praised her for learning quickly, though he still encouraged her to build a solid foundation. He awarded Slytherin one point.
"Prince, you learn fast. You must be from a wizarding family," Daphne said after class, the first time she had spoken to Praeris directly.
"Is that so? I suppose." Praeris kept her tone mild. "The coursework isn't difficult. I'm sure someone with your intelligence would pick it up just as easily."
Daphne looked like she was about to say more. Praeris had no interest in dragging this out. "Learning the material is the easy part, though. Truly clever people are rare. Most are mediocre in a way that's almost painful to witness — like..."
She had a talent for redirecting. She turned her head toward a group of Gryffindors passing in the corridor. It worked immediately. Daphne's attention snapped over, because Malfoy had already started in with his particular brand of mockery.
This was one of Slytherin's more peculiar features: whenever Draco Malfoy crossed paths with Gryffindor, with Harry Potter especially, he lost all common sense and picked a fight on the spot. Word was that Harry Potter had gotten under his skin at some point.
Whatever the cause, the mechanism was useful.
Praeris slipped away while they were still locked in confrontation.
Salazar Slytherin was one of the four founders of Hogwarts, and the founder of Slytherin House.
When Hogwarts was first established, Muggles feared wizards, feared them as aberrations, and the more vulnerable wizards paid for it with persecution.
Salazar Slytherin could not trust Muggle-born wizards. He believed they would expose the existence of the wizarding world, that they would turn traitor. He refused to admit them.
His view of who deserved a magical education was different from those of the other three founders. The disagreements accumulated. They grew. Until Slytherin himself walked out.
In modern times, a Dark Lord educated in Slytherin had founded an extremist pure-blood supremacist organization. Its members were called Death Eaters, its predecessor the Knights of Walpurgis. They were obsessed with the Dark Arts. They hunted pure bloodlines with fanatical devotion. They killed Muggles and Muggle-born wizards, and they worshipped their leader without limit.
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Praeris raised an eyebrow, thinking back to Daphne Greengrass's probing question. No wonder she had wanted to know whether Praeris came from a wizarding family. No wonder Millicent had been so curious about the absence of letters.
The Dark Lord had graduated from Slytherin. Many of his Death Eaters had been Slytherin students. And according to any basic theory of socialization, children absorbed their parents' values, which meant many of those Death Eaters' children were Slytherin students too.
The parents' ideology had filtered down.
Viewed in that light, Praeris was conspicuous from every angle: the Sorting Hat's hesitation, no family correspondence. And yet she didn't read as Muggle-born either, there had been no defensiveness when Millicent asked, only that easy matter-of-factness, and her knowledge of the wizarding world was clearly thorough.
She didn't dwell on it. Being all inconsistencies meant there were no inconsistencies worth tracking. And what was there to agonize over, really?
A figure who could be defeated by a baby was hardly a threat worth losing sleep over.
Still. It was a useful reminder. The wizarding world was not as simple as she had imagined. Where there were people, there was politics. Where there was politics, carelessness was a liability.
By the time Praeris got back to the dormitory with her borrowed books, it was dark.
"You're back so late," Millicent said, looking glum. "Nina keeps coughing up hairballs."
"Get her some hairball remedy," Praeris said. Old Tom had gone over the basics of cat care with her at some point. "Diagon Alley sells it."
"Hey, ladies — we have Potions tomorrow!" Pansy announced, running a finger down the timetable. "Tomorrow will not be boring."
"How so?" Praeris pulled out her Potions textbook. "Is the Head of House's class entertaining?"
"No, Potions sounds dull just hearing the name — but we're sharing it with Gryffindor!" Pansy said, brightening considerably.
Daphne was brushing her hair, expression flat. "I genuinely don't understand why Malfoy spends all day going after Harry Potter. He's clearly from a wizarding family himself."
"Does Slytherin need a reason to go after Gryffindor? As long as Draco's enjoying himself, that's enough," Pansy said without missing a beat.
Praeris picked up her quill and started a letter. "Well. I hope he has fun. Enjoyment is its own reward."
"You are so unbothered, Prae!" Millicent scooped up Nina and lifted one small paw. "Isn't she, Nina?"
The Potions classroom was not far from the Slytherin common room. Praeris arrived early with her book, turning over what she'd previewed in her mind.
Professor Snape was the first wizard she had ever met. He was also the only person, besides Sister Mayne, who had looked at her with wariness from the start. The warning he'd given her, don't cause trouble, was still clear in her memory.
Something competitive stirred in her. She wanted to prove herself to this man.
Professor Snape took roll call the same way the other teachers did. Mostly.
When he reached Harry Potter's name, he paused. "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."*
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle laughed. They looked delighted.
Praeris had no interest in that. What interested her was what Professor Snape said next.
Potions. A precise and exacting discipline. A science capable of bringing renown, glory, even the power to forestall death.
Something lit up in her chest. Her whole body felt warm. Her breath came a little faster. She stared at the instruments on the workbench, eyes wide.
Potions could save lives. Potions could take them. No wizard ever lived free of potions.
Yes. This was what she wanted. No volatile emotions required. No inconsistent performance. Only enough intelligence, and enough effort, and you could improve yourself without limit.
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
The Draught of Living Death.
Where would you look to find a bezoar? The stomach of a goat.
What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane? There is no difference. They are the same plant.
Professor Snape was asking Potter, not her. Praeris answered anyway, silently, each question as it came.
They were too easy to hold her interest. She wanted him to stop talking and let them start the practical work.
At last, the question-and-answer portion ended and the experiment began. Professor Snape instructed the class to brew a Boil-Cure Potion.
Weigh dried nettles. Crush snake fangs. Stew horned slugs. Add porcupine quills in the correct quantity, and critically, the quills went in only after the cauldron was removed from heat.
Praeris ran through the full procedure once in her head, then began.
By the time Professor Snape came up behind her, she had already added the porcupine quills. He swept a glance over her workstation. "I am pleased to find you are not entirely stupid." Then he moved on toward Malfoy.
"Merlin!" Millicent whispered. "I thought you were going to get torn apart. Before you, only Malfoy had gotten through without a scolding."
"What do you mean without a scolding? Professor Snape just praised Draco," Pansy cut in.
Praeris transferred her potion into a vial, voice flat. "Is that so? Then I suppose I should feel honored to be mentioned alongside the genius Malfoy."
Ha.
She was annoyed. She did not consider Draco Malfoy superior to herself in any respect. Her experiment had been executed cleanly from start to finish, procedure and result both, fully in line with every textbook requirement.
Pansy nodded contentedly, missing the sarcasm entirely. She opened her mouth to say something else, but a chorus of wails erupted from the Gryffindor side of the room.
"Idiots," said a Slytherin girl nearby, one Praeris had seen before. "How do you even get that wrong? Did they come to class without their brains?"
Praeris kept her thoughts to herself. She happened to remember that this same girl had just been reprimanded by Professor Snape for reducing her dried nettles to paste.
An hour later, class was dismissed. Praeris filed out with the Slytherin girls. She was turned slightly toward Millicent, half-listening, when she caught sight of Harry Potter.
Harry Potter had now been caught staring at Praeris for the third time. He looked faintly startled. His gaze dropped to the green trim at her collar. His mouth opened. Then closed.
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