"Alright, Slytherin's inexplicable solidarity," Praeris said, turning to Draco Malfoy. "Hey, lower the broom handle a bit. The school teaches textbook form, and textbook form is different from how you ride at home."
"Of course I know that, no need to remind me!" Malfoy curled his lip. "These moves are all outdated anyway, but fine — for the grades."
Draco took the out she'd given him without missing a beat.
Praeris felt the laugh rising again and strangled it. If she laughed, Millicent would panic.
"Come back!" Madam Hooch suddenly shouted.
It turned out that while Madam Hooch was teaching them to take off, Neville Longbottom had somehow shot into the sky with a WHOOSH and come crashing back down with a THUD.
Hiss. Praeris felt that just watching.
"Hahaha, did you see him? That big oaf?" Malfoy was delighted to fan the flames.
Most of Slytherin dissolved into gleeful laughter.
"Is he always like this?" Praeris tilted her head toward Malfoy. "Nobody's punched him yet?"
Millicent had been laughing along a second ago, but Praeris's words landed and he said, "Hey, you silly Barnabas — don't mock a troll. What's the difference between the look on your face just now and the look on his face mocking Longbottom?"
"You've changed," Praeris said, genuinely impressed. "Your insults are approaching Professor Snape's level. Speaking of which — how did Malfoy take off? He actually can ride?"
Millicent looked baffled. "Say that again and he'll get angry. What's he holding?"
"Looks like a Remembrall. They sell them in Diagon Alley. I think it's the single most useless magical item in existence, bar none," Praeris said. "Is this what natural talent looks like? Form isn't great, but he's flying steady enough."
The two of them had already dropped onto the grass, hands propped behind them, watching the show.
After Malfoy's self-taught takeoff, Harry Potter turned out to be equally self-taught, he chased after Malfoy on his broom, clearly trying to grab the Remembrall.
"Good! Malfoy currently in the lead, Potter diving toward Malfoy, Malfoy sidesteps, beautiful! Well dodged! Potter and Malfoy locked in a standoff."
Millicent had taken up commentary with full professional dedication. Praeris thought he had a real future in Quidditch broadcasting.
Millicent glanced at her. "Who do you think wins?"
"You said it yourself, unity. For Slytherin's glory, Malfoy had better try." Praeris lay flat on the grass.
Millicent got the impression she wasn't exactly brimming with confidence in Malfoy.
"Ah!" A shriek burst from the Gryffindor side and jolted Praeris back upright.
Malfoy had thrown the Remembrall. And Potter, stubborn as a rock, went into a ninety-degree vertical dive to chase it down.
Praeris stiffened. Lord above. Was this Gryffindor courage? No wonder the Sorting Hat, when deciding where to put her, hadn't said a single word about "courage."
Everyone looked ready to have a heart attack. Even in Praeris's head flashed the Quidditch accident cases Stewart had once described.
But the Boy Who Lived lived up to the name. A foot from the ground, he caught the Remembrall, flipped over, and rolled out onto the grass.
"Harry Potter!" A familiar voice roared. Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor.
Harry Potter scrambled upright. Not a scratch on him.
The Slytherins were visibly disappointed. Pansy said through gritted teeth, "Why didn't Professor McGonagall's words come true? If only he'd actually broken his neck."
Praeris let out a dry "heh." "What are you thinking? Forgot who started it? If Potter really had broken his neck, you think Malfoy wouldn't face disciplinary action?"
"But nothing happened to him. It's so infuriating." Hearing that Praeris had Draco's interests in mind, Pansy's tone softened considerably.
Praeris stood, brushed off her robes. "This is the best outcome. Professor Snape won't discipline Malfoy. Professor McGonagall didn't catch Malfoy breaking the rules in the act. And Professor McGonagall will give Potter some trouble regardless, at the very least, Potter is a lot more frightened right now than he was when he was chasing that Remembrall."
Draco Malfoy jogged back over, looking absolutely thrilled, as though Professor McGonagall really was about to come down hard on Harry Potter. "Remember what Madam Hooch said! 'Or before you can say Quidditch, you'll be out of Hogwarts' gates!' I can't wait to see that."
He was over the moon. You could practically see him picturing Potter getting marched out by his own Head of House.
Daphne spoke up. "Prince, what do you think?"
The Slytherins all looked over. Praeris met Daphne's eyes. "Me?"
"Do you think Potter will be expelled?" Daphne asked with a smile.
"No." Praeris wasn't going to play dumb to spare anyone's feelings. "Just as Professor Snape protects us, why wouldn't Professor McGonagall protect Potter? She doesn't just look angry. She looks scared, scared something might have happened to him."
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The Slytherins murmured among themselves. The excitement in the air dropped a few degrees.
Draco Malfoy strolled over with his broom over his shoulder, posture absurdly imperious. "I wouldn't be so sure. Just wait, tonight's dinner will be Potter's last meal at Hogwarts."
Praeris smiled. A perfectly sincere smile. "Is that so? I hope it goes exactly the way you want."
Then she turned and walked away.
Millicent glanced at Malfoy, glanced at Praeris, hesitated a beat, and followed Praeris. The rest of the Slytherins drifted off soon after, leaving only Pansy, Daphne, and Malfoy.
Draco clenched his fists. "She does this every single time!"
Daphne wound a strand of hair around one finger. "Draco, you're too impatient. Praeris wasn't targeting you, she was answering my question. I think her reasoning was perfectly sound. You should think of a different approach."
Draco stormed off.
Once he was gone, Pansy said, "You don't seem like someone who takes initiative. This is the second time, isn't it?"
"Mm, yes." Daphne nodded. "She really is extraordinarily intelligent. Compared to what she's worth, does it matter whether her attitude is pleasant? Draco is too ruled by his feelings. His own likes and dislikes always come first."
Daphne found herself remembering something Praeris had said to Millicent once. "You know, men mature later than women. While we're thinking about the future, they're still being childish little boys."
She quietly reaffirmed her opinion of Praeris.
On the other side, Millicent asked curiously, "So what do you think Professor McGonagall will do, give him a token punishment?"
"A token gesture, yes. She took Potter away because she wanted to handle it herself. And when someone handles it herself, she handles it lightly, pick it up gently, set it down gently. You didn't notice how much she favors him?"
Praeris had seen this pattern more times than she could count. Sister Main had been exactly this way with Fiona. The same mistake, when anyone else made it, got handed to Father Doran for impartial judgment. When Fiona made that mistake, Sister Main dealt with it personally, big things quietly made small, small things quietly made nothing.
Flying class ended, and the evening was free. Praeris made her usual trip to the library, studying until just before curfew, then headed back.
The moment she stepped through the common room door, she found Malfoy arranged on the sofa in a deliberate pose.
Childish.
Praeris treated him as scenery and walked left.
"Hey! Eyes are for seeing things, did you completely not see me?!" Malfoy shot to his feet the instant she walked past.
Praeris delivered a flat, utterly expressionless "Wow." "Oh, you were there."
Perfunctory. Mechanical. Every syllable a performance.
Malfoy clenched his fists, gave himself a brief internal talk, and unclenched them. "Just wait. Tomorrow morning you'll see the news, Potter broke the rules and Gryffindor loses points."
"So Potter wasn't expelled," Praeris said softly, blinking.
Malfoy went instantly, incandescently furious. "Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly annoying."
"Well, now someone has. Time for bed, Malfoy. Staying up late stunts your growth, makes your hair fall out, and turns you ugly and stupid." Praeris strolled off unhurried, leaving a smoldering Malfoy to stew by himself.
The next morning at the Hogwarts tables, Praeris finally got the carrot cake she'd requested the day before. She'd read about it in books at the monastery, a common medieval treat, but had never actually tasted one.
She ate it slowly and with genuine gratitude, and decided she would visit the house-elves again today to thank them for their generosity.
"Isn't it a bit quiet this morning? Strange," Millicent tilted his head. "Something's missing."
Well, what was missing was Malfoy holding court and talking nonsense.
Last night, Malfoy had sworn up and down that Potter would be dealt with. Right now, Potter was at the Gryffindor table laughing with Weasley like nothing had happened.
Praeris pretended not to notice Malfoy's embarrassment. No need to give him a reason to go red in the face before breakfast was even over.
Visibly embarrassed, Malfoy called a truce for a while and redirected his energy into his studies.
Within Slytherin, no one questioned who the top two students were: Malfoy and Praeris.
By now, Praeris had fully accepted the reality. It wasn't that she wasn't performing well enough. Snape simply liked praising Malfoy. Even when her results were better and her method more precise and efficient, she couldn't earn anything beyond "not entirely stupid."
Quidditch was a separate matter. Praeris had genuinely zero athletic ability and knew she would never pull an O or even an E in that class. An A was achievable, and an A was fine.
But did a teacher's evaluation reflect her actual ability? No.
Letting someone else's subjective opinion set a ceiling on your objective capability, that was the real stupidity. Comparing herself to Malfoy was pointless. Comparing her current self to her past self, that was worth something.
So Praeris carried on as she always had: hunting down references, working through problems, quietly determined to squeeze every last bit of value out of the Hogwarts library.
Another breakfast.
Breakfast meant mail, and as usual, mail had nothing to do with Praeris. She continued eating with a grateful heart.
Millicent received a letter and was clearly unhappy. "I am so done with my mother. She said I'm too fat and should lose weight. She might as well have not written at all, at least then I wouldn't be in a bad mood."
"Why would you lose weight?" Praeris looked genuinely confused. "Isn't having muscle a good thing? Think about it. Someone challenges you to a duel. You both cast Disarming Charms, you both lose your wands. Then you charge in — pow, pow — knock him out cold. Victory. Cool."
"Crude," Malfoy muttered.
Praeris calmly sliced off a piece of sausage. "Scrawny monkey."
"Who are you calling that!"
"Whoever answers."
Malfoy choked. He was not going to admit he was the scrawny monkey. He sat back down with a sulk.
Over at the Gryffindor table, George Weasley said quietly, "I respect her."
Fred followed: "Deeply satisfying."
Praeris had no idea she'd earned Gryffindor's admiration.
What was curious, though, was that her ongoing war with Malfoy stayed strictly verbal. It never escalated to hexes, and neither of them had ever involved a teacher.
If she was honest, Praeris sometimes felt a quiet pang of regret for Malfoy. The boy had talent. Real talent. But he didn't spend it on actual work, and the result was that Praeris had already overtaken him.
Watching talent go to waste was genuinely difficult not to mourn. If he'd applied himself, Praeris wasn't sure she would have found a rival worth taking seriously.
But her benchmark hadn't been Draco for a while now. It was Gryffindor's Hermione Granger, the girl who had been searching for someone's toad.
First impressions on the Hogwarts Express aside, Granger was intelligent (though Praeris privately considered herself smarter, perhaps that was the particular arrogance that came with Slytherin) and willing to work hard for it. A worthy opponent. One deserving of genuine respect.
Praeris was still chewing sausage and turning this over in her head when the commotion at the Gryffindor table passed her by entirely unnoticed.
She only found out later: Potter had been made an exception and added to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Malfoy had, once again, been furious about it.
She had not cared then and did not care now. That sort of thing simply failed to produce the slightest interest.
What was mildly more interesting was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Quirinus Quirrell. Timid, stuttering, faintly unhinged, he was operating at a level far below every other teacher in the school.
The rest of the faculty, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Sinistra, Professor Kettleburn, and the others, all had genuine mastery, even the ones who weren't Heads of House.
From what Praeris had gathered, Professor Quirrell had originally been a Ravenclaw student. Reportedly sharp and academically strong in his day. Whatever had happened to him since was harder to account for.
The question nagged at her, so she looked into it. What she found was the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, You-Know-Who had wanted the post, been refused, and cursed it out of wounded pride.
How utterly graceless. Now every witch and wizard in the world knew Dumbledore had turned down his application.
➤ Next: Halloween Night