Praeris had no idea what he wanted. To talk to her? Unfortunately for him, she was a Slytherin, and she had no intention of getting caught up in the same harassment her Slytherin classmates were already directing at him.
Still. It really was pitiful, Harry Potter. Not just the Slytherin students gunning for you, apparently the Slytherin teachers were too.
Of all her courses, the only one Praeris had decided she disliked before it even began was Flying. She had grown up in an abbey. Sports were essentially foreign to her. The only things that had ever passed for physical exertion were climbing up and down ladders to maintain the abbey's artwork, the portraits, mostly, and a great deal of household labor.
She had no frame of reference for sports whatsoever. She couldn't even picture them.
And Draco Malfoy, apparently, lived for Quidditch.
In just the past few days, Praeris had already sat through several versions of his little flying stories. Most of them ended with him narrowly dodging a Muggle airplane.
"Prae, have you ever ridden a broomstick?" Millicent asked. For some reason Praeris had never quite worked out, Millicent always made a point of pulling her into the conversation, as if she were afraid Praeris might otherwise be forgotten.
Praeris was in the middle of carefully eating a Cornish pasty when the question landed.
From the moment she arrived at Hogwarts, she had been certain there was a kitchen somewhere. Food couldn't simply appear out of nothing, that would violate Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. So she had gone looking, found the kitchens without much difficulty, discovered the industrious House-elves within, and placed a personal order.
What surprised her was that the House-elves worked without pay.
That sounded familiar. The abbey had taken her in, and she had paid for her place there through her own labor. It was a straightforward arrangement.
That's perfectly reasonable, Praeris had thought, and nodded to herself.
She had thanked them for their work and promised to visit often. Just as the adults at the abbey always had.
Meals at the abbey, for the record, were silent affairs, nothing but the pre-meal prayer, then quiet. She still hadn't quite adjusted to Millicent pulling her into conversation at every turn.
Praeris shook her head. "No. I don't like sports."
"Good heavens, Prince, you've never ridden a broomstick!" Malfoy said, pressing a hand to his chest with theatrical devastation. "I truly pity you. To have gone through life without experiencing that kind of joy."
Then he launched into yet another version of his flying story, different from all previous versions, naturally.
Praeris looked him up and down, this boy whose mouth apparently never stopped moving, and crunched through her pasty bite by steady bite.
She waited politely until he finished before asking, with complete sincerity: "Did your father cast a Memory Charm on the Muggles, then?"
"What?" Malfoy blinked.
Praeris kept her smile perfectly in place, the same one she used to wear for the kind-hearted believers at church. "A Memory Charm. Being seen using magic by Muggles violates Article 13 of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. If one isn't cast in time..." She tilted her head slightly. "I've heard the Malfoy family is a strong supporter of the Statute?"
Malfoy's face went red. "Of course! My father handled everything perfectly!"
"That's a relief." Praeris smiled at him, warm and friendly. "Otherwise I really would have been worried for you."
She picked up her crossbody bag and walked toward the exit.
Behind her, Malfoy shot to his feet. "She has a real talent for saying the most inappropriate things!"
Millicent moved quickly. "Draco, you know how she is. She's always like this — not great with words. She genuinely was concerned. She said before that it was an honor to be mentioned in the same breath as you."
Malfoy's expression smoothed over somewhat. A moment later, he left the table too.
Daphne let out a low whistle. "Impressive. I'd bet on pure-blood, actually. That specific flavor of pointed politeness where you can't quite locate what's wrong with it — I've only ever seen it in certain Ministry officials with Slytherin backgrounds."
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"I knew it." Pansy crossed her arms. "Her compliment last time wasn't genuine at all. Does she have a problem with Draco?"
"She doesn't really have a warm relationship with anyone," Millicent said, with the air of someone stating a plain fact. "Do you genuinely think Praeris is enthusiastic toward us?"
"Then why are you so enthusiastic toward her?"
Millicent gave Pansy the look of someone who has understood something the other person hasn't. "Because at least she treats everyone the same way. That kind of equality is worth something."
"But Draco—"
"Clearly Draco talks a bit too much."
Pansy decided that Millicent had been spending too much time with Prince, and it was starting to show.
Praeris knew nothing of any of this. She had already made her way to the Herbology classroom, a lovely glass greenhouse that caught the light beautifully.
Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff, was warm and knowledgeable, and the greenhouse reflected both qualities. It was full of magical plants she had cultivated herself, and when classes weren't in session it was quiet and pleasantly warm. Considerably better than the Slytherin common room and dormitory, which were damp and cold in a way that had nothing to do with atmosphere.
Praeris's knowledge and practical skill, which ran well ahead of most first-years, had earned Professor Sprout's approval. She had been welcomed to come along, learn about cultivating herbs, and simply sit in the sunlight.
What Professor Sprout was currently tending was dittany, for the fifth-year curriculum. The essence extracted from it, Essence of Dittany, had excellent healing properties. No one tended to carry large quantities, for 2 reasons: a large bundle of dittany might yield only a small bottle of essence, and the essence was potent enough that very little was needed to produce results.
The first of those facts Praeris had read in a book. The second came from Professor Sprout herself.
"Ha!" The 2 of them heaved a bucket of unidentified material together, loaded it onto a small cart, and wheeled it into the greenhouse.
"Mooncalf dung," Professor Sprout announced cheerfully. "Makes plants grow fast and strong!"
Ah. So it was dung. Praeris thought this over in a mildly blank way. That explained why Professor Sprout had gone out of her way to find her a pair of gloves.
"I remember—" they both said at once, then: "it has to be collected before sunrise!"
Professor Sprout looked at her with genuine warmth. "What a clever child. I think Silvanus is going to like you."
Silvanus Kettleburn. Care of Magical Creatures. Teaching style: extremely wild.
"Ah. Well. Thank you," Praeris said, eyes already back on the dittany she was fertilizing. Inwardly: that's really not necessary.
Before she left, Professor Sprout pressed a copy of Compendium of Magical Herbs into her hands and generously offered the use of her bathroom and a small bottle of perfume. "You girls care about these things. I know."
Hufflepuff really was blessed, Praeris thought, feeling the familiar twinge of envy.
When she got back to the dormitory, Millicent bolted upright from her bed the moment Praeris walked in. "Prae, there you are. You had me scared today."
"Did Draco Malfoy beat you up?" Praeris set her book on top of the pile on her bedside table and slipped the perfume into the drawer.
"No. And unless he's sending Crabbe or Goyle to do it, it'd be me doing the hitting," Millicent said, with perfect confidence in her own physique.
Praeris hung up her bag. "Then what happened?"
"He's absolutely furious. Pansy too."
Praeris frowned, genuinely puzzled. "I was telling the truth. If he's irritated, that just means he isn't confident. And what does any of this have to do with Pansy?"
"The truth? Praeris, could you not tell? Pansy obviously has feelings for him," Millicent said.
Feelings. First year. Praeris turned this over and found she could not process it.
"It was still the truth," she said. "Stella told me, underage wizards can't properly control their magic yet. Most parents won't let their children ride real broomsticks. At most they get toy models. And toy models obviously can't get anywhere near Muggle airplane altitude."
She shrugged.
Millicent paused. "Stella?"
"Stella Stewart. Fifth year. Former Slytherin Quidditch Beater."
Stewart had lost her lower-year textbooks and still needed them for her O.W.L. revision, which had left her no choice but to go to Madam Pince. Madam Pince had been busy repairing books, irritable about it, and even more irritable about Stewart's apparent failure to look after her belongings, she had no interest in helping. Stewart had been hovering in the stacks in that particular way of someone about to cry, which was precisely when Praeris had intervened. Not out of any great generosity, but because Stewart had been drifting up and down in front of the Quidditch section without taking a single book, blocking Praeris's own frantic last-minute research. She'd stopped her, sorted out the problem, and been done with it.
Stewart had offered tea in return and volunteered to educate her on Quidditch, free of charge.
Praeris didn't bother walking Millicent through all of that. She gave a brief summary and left it there.
Boys, she thought. They all did it, picked up stories from somewhere, dressed them up, and wore them as proof of their own greatness.
Millicent nodded slowly, in the manner of someone who had understood roughly half of what was said. "Either way, try not to provoke him again. You know how insufferable he gets."
Praeris looked up just long enough to make an OK sign, then went back to what she was doing.
As it happened, Flying class was the very next day.
The instructor was Madam Hooch, and the lesson was held on the open lawn in front of the castle. Madam Hooch told them to give their broomsticks the command "Up!", spoken with enough authority to suggest the broomstick had better listen.
Praeris watched the others go first. Malfoy barked "Up!" with the full force of someone who had never doubted himself in his life, and the broomstick snapped into his hand immediately. Neville, beside him, got the word out in something barely above a trembling whisper, and his broomstick paid him no attention whatsoever.
So it worked on confidence. Interesting.
"Up!" Praeris said, in the exact tone Sister Maisne used when correcting the girls back at the abbey. Millicent flinched beside her.
The broomstick rose without hesitation.
Madam Hooch moved through the class to correct their mounting postures. When she reached Malfoy, she stopped.
Not to praise him, the way Professor Snape did. To tell him his posture was wrong.
"I'm trying very hard to hold it in," Praeris said under her breath, "but it doesn't seem to be working."
"Shh." Millicent grabbed her arm. "You're a Slytherin. The Gryffindors are the ones laughing. And you promised me yesterday."
The pointless promise. The one about not provoking Malfoy.
➤ Next: Malfoy Humiliated — Face to Face