Harry Potter: The Slytherin Heiress

Fortunately, Hogwarts was nothing like the convent, you would not go hungry just because you arrived a little late.

Lunchtime was already tight, but Praeris still ordered a small bowl of Scottish fish soup with toasted bread.

Hogwarts made its fish soup with cod, cooked thick and rich. Stella ordered it all the time.

"A bit like Italian cream of mushroom soup, but with the freshness of fish," Stella had warmly recommended.

According to the devotee who had given her that poetry collection, British cuisine was not actually very good.

But she was British, and she had eaten British food her whole life. Praeris sometimes imagined traveling or working abroad when she grew up, experiencing more kinds of food, just like that Anna Prince she had once investigated.

"Line up, everyone! Potter's handing out signed photos!"

Praeris had just finished eating. She heard Malfoy's voice carrying up from below, walked over to the corridor railing, and looked down.

Signed photos? She had thought that sort of thing only existed at Muggle concerts, George Michael and the like.

"Hey, Prince, want a signed photo of Potter too?" Malfoy called up. "Then you'd better get down here fast, or Potter's fans will beat you to it!"

"I don't have any!" Harry's face went red. "Malfoy, shut up!"

A small boy beside Potter shrieked, "You're just jealous! You're jealous of Harry!"

Praeris crossed her arms and looked down at the farce below.

She could never quite read the people she was close to, but strangers were another matter. Malfoy was indeed jealous of Harry Potter, that much was obvious.

This Slytherin boy was arrogant and insufferable. He could not stand someone else being more famous than him. But his ego was brittle underneath, easily shattered. If someone actually called his bluff, he would panic and lose his footing entirely.

That was why Malfoy was so keen on provoking and putting Potter down. Unfortunately, Potter had not figured out the trick of it. He just stood there and argued back.

Retorting is useless, Potter. Running his mouth is Malfoy's strong suit. If you suddenly lunged at him right now, Malfoy would probably scramble back in a panic, he might even trip over his own feet.

Praeris narrowed her eyes. She saw Weasley pull out his wand. Her own hand drifted to hers.

Oh? Someone's looking to start something?

She began scanning through the spells she knew. She did not particularly like Malfoy, but she was not about to let a Slytherin get bullied right in front of her.

"What's going on? What's going on?" A loud voice cut across the corridor. "Who is handing out signed photos!"

Praeris quietly withdrew her hand. Displeasure settled in her chest.

She had not wanted to fight. But if the teacher now arriving was Lockhart, she found she rather wanted to fight after all.

She could admit it, she was taking her anger out on the wrong person. The direct trigger for her falling-out with Millicent had been none other than this "most charming wizard."

Merlin knows, he had even barged in with unsolicited advice during Professor Sprout's class. Did he think it was his own Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson?

Lockhart turned on his "most charming" smile and clamped an arm around Harry. "A two-shot — what an opportunity!"

As for Potter himself, trapped under Lockhart's arm? He looked exactly like someone who had, out of a thousand Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, managed to bite into the one and only bogey-flavoured one.

Praeris was fairly sure Potter did not want to take any photo at all. But it was out of his hands now.

She could not help wanting to laugh. Potter had a certain dignity to him. He never wanted to stand out, but he had been put up on too high a pedestal, and so trouble kept finding its way to him regardless.

By the time Praeris came downstairs, the Gryffindors had already gone, their first afternoon class was Defence Against the Dark Arts, after all.

"Prince, you missed your chance at a two-shot with Potter!" Malfoy laughed. "Did you see the look on his face? Now he'll get to be even more famous."

Ever since last term, whenever Malfoy managed to pull something off, he loved coming over to show off in front of her. As if to say: Look, wasn't that impressive?

Well-versed in child psychology, Praeris kept walking toward the common room and played the role of the perfectly blank straight man. "He must have been thoroughly disgusted."

"Serves him right for always hogging the spotlight! Now he can have all the spotlight he wants!" Malfoy kept going. "I have to admit Lockhart does have some use — at least he can keep Potter miserable on a regular basis."

"That's true enough."

Malfoy was still rattling on. Praeris reached her limit and shot a look at Pansy.

He's your crush. You deal with him.

Pansy glared back: If only he would actually listen to me!

Praeris glared back: If you won't deal with him, at least care whether I live or die, sister!

"Praeris!" Pansy said. "Let's head back. You can help me look at the new dresses I bought and tell me which one looks good."

Malfoy looked faintly puzzled. "You're actually asking her about that?"

"What's wrong with that?" Praeris frowned.

"I just can't picture you discussing these things," Malfoy said. "Prince and dresses?"

This text was taken from NovelFire. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Where did this stereotype even come from. Praeris pressed a hand to her forehead.

Pansy covered her mouth and laughed. "Draco, that hair ribbon of Millicent's was made by Praeris. She knows all about these things — she can even make clothes. Now come on, we're leaving!"

Praeris glanced back and caught Malfoy still standing there, looking utterly incredulous.

"What's that supposed to mean? Do I really seem that incompatible with all of that?" she could not help asking Pansy.

Pansy shook her head, clearly holding back a smile. "Someone once said you're the female version of the Professor."

In Slytherin, there was only one person who could be called "the Professor" without any title, Severus Snape.

"Seriously? The gap between me and the Professor is enormous!" Praeris was genuinely shaken.

Praeris had a straight nose, nothing like the Professor's hooked one. She already had thick brows and deep-set eyes, and years of malnutrition had only sharpened her features further. The Professor's complexion was sallow; Praeris was pallid, bloodless.

No matter how she looked at it, she simply could not see the resemblance.

Pansy seemed to be searching her memory. "Not that kind of resemblance — it's more of an aura. Look in a mirror sometime. When you glare at people, when you go stern, when you're deep in thought, you look a bit like Professor Snape. Aside from Draco and Millicent, no one else dares bother you at those moments. And you both have black hair and black eyes, don't you?"

"My black hair is turning yellow."

Praeris's malnutrition showed in her hair as well. Toward the ends, it had started going a little yellow.

But Hogwarts had been taking good care of her. All the new growth coming in was black.

Pansy spread her hands. "Then maybe your intelligence is simply on the same level as the Professor's."

Slytherin had Defence Against the Dark Arts at around three in the afternoon.

The Gryffindors filing out of the corridor wore odd expressions. Their clothes were disheveled, many of them dusted with grime, and some had ink stains smeared across them.

"Merlin," Pansy said, astonished. "Is this class really that, er, exciting?"

"Were they brawling in the classroom?" Praeris could barely trust her own analysis. "It's like they had a full fight in there, maybe rolled around on the floor, possibly used ink bottles as weapons. Does anyone else think Longbottom's clothes look like someone strung him up as a public spectacle?"

One of the Gryffindor girls stared at her as if she had seen a ghost.

"What kind of expression is that?" Praeris was baffled.

She remembered the girl was called Parvati. Indian descent.

Malfoy materialized from somewhere. "Prince, we must forgive certain people, their brains simply aren't the same breed as ours."

But the Slytherins never did get to have that Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

The classroom door stayed shut. Everyone waited a long time before Lockhart finally emerged.

His clothes were a bit disheveled. His smile was a bit stiff. He announced that the lesson was temporarily cancelled.

Since she was already out and about, Praeris decided not to go back to the dormitory. She pulled the Professor's extra-assigned essay from her satchel and headed toward his office.

"Miss Praeris, how delightful that after so many days into term you still remember you have a professor. I had almost convinced myself my letter had failed to arrive."

Praeris let the words go in one ear and out the other. After an entire term of being needled like this, she had long since stopped finding it painful.

She sat down at the far end of the table and set to work without being asked, washing cauldrons, washing stirring rods, washing and scrubbing everything in reach.

At the other end of the table, Professor Snape flipped through her work, asked questions, made corrections, and delivered backhanded remarks at regular intervals.

By the time the sky turned orange outside, not that Professor Snape's office had any view of the sky; you had to step out into the corridor to see it, the nitpicking session had finally run its course.

"Miss," Snape said, landing one last blow as she was preparing to leave, "if I am not yet old and forgetful, Slytherin second-years had a class at three o'clock."

Praeris stoppered the potion vial and said carefully, "Yes, that's right, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Something unexpected happened during the lesson, and Professor Lockhart announced it was temporarily cancelled."

"Hah." Snape's expression was pure contempt. "As expected. I am most reluctant to speak ill of a colleague, but we must acknowledge that not just anyone is suited to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

That was not exactly wrong. Though had he not just finished speaking ill of a colleague?

THUMP!

Several books landed in front of Praeris.

"Rather than pin your hopes on Lockhart — hah — you would do better to read these. At the very least, you won't end up as a fool whose only talent is grinning."

Praeris reached out and flipped through a couple of pages. The corners of her mouth twitched. "These... Professor?"

"You will take good care of them. I do not wish to see them in anyone else's hands." Snape picked up her essay, rolled it up without ceremony, and tossed it to her. "The library pass is inside. When you have finished, return them yourself."

Praeris was still dazed as she walked out the door.

Snape had given her three books on the Dark Arts.

Not books on defence against the Dark Arts. Books on the Dark Arts.

All introductory-level, clearly. But unmistakably Dark Arts texts.

Had she worked her way into the position of the Professor's trusted confidante?

Praeris decided she would put book covers on all three first, just in case anything came of it.

A long moment passed. Then it came to her, perhaps her essays had finally met Snape's standard. He had decided she was ready for something more advanced.

"Praeris is here! Theodore, tell it again!" Pansy said, nearly bouncing with excitement.

Nott did not look remotely inclined to repeat himself, but Pansy's enthusiasm was impossible to resist.

"Fine, fine. That fraud of a professor brought in a cage full of Cornish Pixies, probably wanted to make a grand impression, who knows. The pixies trashed his classroom, beat up every Gryffindor in the room, and hung Longbottom from the chandelier."

Nott raised his right eyebrow and snorted twice.

Pansy punched Praeris in the left shoulder. "Exactly what you said, the Gryffindors went through a proper brawl, hahaha. I admit I'm starting to appreciate those pixies."

Praeris noticed Millicent watching her from across the table. She realized what was coming and said quietly, "Just a coincidence. Is the steak good today?"

"Really good. Goes well with buttery black pepper mashed potatoes."

It took about 3 seconds to redirect Pansy's attention. She forgot the previous topic entirely.

Praeris took her advice and ordered the same dinner.

She had to admit that Pansy and Stella both knew how to eat.

Tonight's steak was exceptional, the bread slices were toasted to a perfect crisp, the meat tender and full of juice. Praeris found her appetite opening up, and she ate a little more than usual.

Though that still only amounted to one piece of steak and half a serving of mashed potatoes.

Fed and satisfied, she planned to head to the library and study the books Professor Snape had given her.

Praeris slipped into her usual absorbed focus without any trouble. But she was starting to resent her own brain a little. The more she tried to read, the more Millicent kept drifting back into her thoughts.

She had tried more than once over these past few days to speak to her. Every time, Millicent had found a way to disappear.

She doesn't want to see me.

Praeris knew it. She had known it for a while now.

But it was impossible to avoid each other. They slept in the same dormitory, ate at the same table, sat in the same classes.

And Praeris could not stop being herself. She would not let anyone press her into a mold, female student version of Snape, Slytherin through and through. Those were labels other people had written for her. She was only herself, and every decision she made came from her own rational judgment.

Did she love Millicent? Probably. When circumstances allowed, she was willing to give a little more for her sake.

But emotion was her natural enemy. She could make use of feelings, but she could not truly have them. If it ever came down to choosing between Millicent and being herself, she could only say: I'm sorry.

She still had to study. She still had to get better, every single day.

If she had conceded anything at all for Millicent's sake, it was only this: when no one asked her a direct question, she tried to keep the things her brain quietly analyzed to herself.

Though sometimes she could not quite manage it. So many things were simply too obvious.

By the time she returned to the dormitory, curfew was almost upon her.

She lay in the dark and turned the books over in her mind.

The Dark Arts broke into two broad categories: dark creatures and dark spells. Introductory study focused mainly on creatures, with only a handful of spells mixed in.

To Praeris, the Dark Arts felt less like a separate discipline and more like magic turned up to full power, stronger offense, sharper edges.

But that did not make Light Magic weak.

Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. Everyone knew that. Light Magic, in the right hands, was no lesser than the Dark Arts.

➤ Next: Dark Arts and Mudblood