Harry Potter: The Slytherin Heiress

That enormous Marcus had been lectured by Farley until he didn't know which way was up. He hung his head and dragged the team out with him.

Draco Malfoy hadn't even made it through the door before being yanked back, and he was not happy about it. "Why aren't you going in!"

Marcus whistled. "I just thought of a brilliant new tactic."

"At least we should change into clean clothes first, don't you think?" Malfoy said.

"Scourgify. Quick-dry charm. Done."

Praeris raised her wand at the lot of them. "Move. You're blocking the way."

Marcus threw an arm over her shoulder, beaming. "Praeris, you are a truly reliable friend."

Praeris pried at his arm. "You weigh a ton."

Draco stared at their retreating backs, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed tight. His expression was dark.

Keeper Miles patted his shoulder. "You coming?"

The one who'd been most desperate to get inside a moment ago was Draco. The one now standing perfectly still, refusing to move, was also Draco.

Draco Malfoy snorted. Still thoroughly displeased. He walked in anyway.

---

It was a recent development, Draco joining the Slytherin Quidditch team through sponsorship.

He'd begged his mother about it for a long time. She still wouldn't agree.

In the end it was his father who settled it. "It's just Quidditch. If Draco likes it, let him try."

Did Potter think he was so special?

Draco thought scornfully, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish once he'd decided he wanted it.

Quidditch training was brutal. It had been raining for weeks. Draco hadn't complained once.

He only felt excited. The exercise lit up his nerves and burned off all those unpleasant, excess emotions he couldn't name. When he was on his broom with the wind rushing past, he could barely hear anything, only his own heart pounding.

The Slytherin Quidditch team was mostly older students. The captain was sixth-year Marcus Flint.

Yes, that same Flint who'd led the team to a loss last year. Also Prefect Flint.

Draco looked down on Flint, privately. He didn't show it.

His father had told him: Flint isn't clever, but you need him right now. Or rather, precisely because Flint isn't clever, Draco could take his time learning to take over everything Flint currently held.

The Slytherin Quidditch team was essentially all boys, and boys had their topics, sport, arch-rivals, and the girls in the house.

These older players had all, at some point, fancied Stella Stewart. Or at least had something with her.

"Draco, you've never seen her on a broom." Miles licked his lips. "If you had, you'd like her too. She's incredible."

Stella was a former Beater. Beaters needed serious arm strength, and aside from Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, there was no other female Beater in the game.

But Stella Stewart was different. Under those witch's robes, she was pure muscle.

During one match, a Bludger nearly took out the Slytherin Seeker. Stella batted it away with one swing. That same Bludger knocked the opposing Seeker clean off his broom a second later.

A moment like that made you the most dazzling girl in Slytherin, and she had the face to match, and the personality on top of it.

If she'd been willing, she would have been a Prefect without question. Maybe even Head Girl.

No one disliked Stewart. No one except Marcus Flint.

Marcus was a big guy, all brute strength, but his lack of cleverness seemed to have spilled over into his personal life as well. In short, he was the only boy who wouldn't give Stewart so much as a pleasant look.

Now, while Marcus was off talking to Snape, the team members huddled and gossiped. "Does Marcus fancy that second-year Prince? Draco, you're a second-year, do you know Prince?"

Draco looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Prince?"

"Praeris Prince. The one who's been studying with Stewart all the time lately." Miles dropped his voice to a murmur. "You know Marcus's grades are awful, right? But he passed everything last term. He said Prince tutored him for a whole month."

Derian let out an exaggerated gasp. "With Marcus's level, for someone to actually get him to pass, "

Draco's expression went sour. He cut Derian off. "She doesn't like Marcus."

"How do you know?" Several heads turned.

Draco almost said, because she said so herself last semester.

But he stopped himself. If they asked why, he'd have to explain the question he'd asked her in the first place.

And anyway, Prince hadn't actually said she didn't like Marcus. She'd only told Draco his head was full of garbage.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Malfoy lifted his chin. "I just know. She and Flint are four or five years apart."

"That's not really a big deal," Derian said. "Though Prince is still pretty young. Maybe Marcus likes them young, and that's why he's not interested in Stewart?"

The team's conversation immediately veered into whether Marcus had a thing for younger girls.

Poor Marcus. He had no idea his reputation was wobbling right on the edge of a cliff.

Malfoy stood off to the side with his broom, bewildered, staring at nothing.

Had Prince actually driven him insane? Why did he care who Prince liked, or who liked Prince?

He had better things to do with his time. Like making Potter's life difficult.

Right. Potter.

Malfoy felt much better, almost instantly. That emotion from a moment ago had been too unfamiliar, it had thrown him off, just for a second. He instinctively refused to look at where it came from and turned back to what he knew: annoying Saint Potter.

---

Halloween arrived.

Praeris still remembered last year's Halloween. Professor Quirrell, that jittery, onion-headed man, had let a troll in. Millie and Malfoy had noticed she was missing, and Marcus had been sent out to find her.

She genuinely hadn't expected someone as seemingly timid as Professor Quirrell to dare steal from Dumbledore. Some people, apparently, couldn't be judged by appearances.

In any case, this year's Halloween looked perfectly calm.

Praeris didn't dare sneak off to the kitchens again. She stayed with the main group and ate with everyone else. This way, even if a troll showed up, she wouldn't be dragging a Prefect out into danger on her behalf.

There was a new dish this year: skull-shaped tomato meat sauce pizza. The skulls were carved from white mushrooms, the stems whittled into the shape of teeth.

The resemblance was actually impressive. The concept, however, was a bit much. Fortunately, no one in Slytherin had Italian ancestors to take offense.

"It's actually pretty good," Daphne said. "Not your pizza — the pumpkin pudding."

After learning that Daphne was an extreme blood purist, Praeris's feelings toward her had gotten complicated. She'd accepted, quietly, that Daphne would be nothing more than an ordinary classmate from here on.

"The pizza's good too," Praeris said, perfunctorily.

Nothing happened for the rest of the feast. Though Malfoy kept looking at her with a strange expression.

Praeris nudged Pansy Parkinson. "He's looking at me like I'm some kind of magical creature. What did I do to him?"

Pansy Parkinson didn't have an answer. "You haven't really seen Draco lately, have you? He's been at training constantly. I haven't seen much of him either."

"Fair enough." Praeris changed the subject. "Don't you think tonight feels a bit strange?"

"Strange how?"

"Nothing has happened."

"Surely there can't be a troll again this year," Pansy Parkinson said, laughing a little. "Though if there is, you'd better stay glued to us."

Pansy Parkinson had been noticeably warmer toward Praeris since confiding her feelings about Draco. Sharing secrets had a way of doing that between girls.

The teachers announced the feast was over. Everyone filed out. Praeris walked with the group, stifling a yawn.

"I think I ate too many carbs. I'm falling asleep."

Pansy Parkinson was about to reply when the entire corridor went quiet.

A cat was hanging from a torch bracket. Its limbs were rigid, its eyes wide and bulging, staring straight ahead at nothing.

Praeris thought she heard Malfoy say something. She didn't pay attention. She stood on her toes and scanned the crowd until she found Millicent.

Millicent was standing in the middle of the Slytherin group, face completely white, shaking from head to toe like she was coming apart at the seams.

Praeris pushed through the crowd and grabbed her arm. Millicent kept shaking. Her teeth were chattering.

Praeris shook her. "Millie. That's not Nina. That's Mrs. Norris."

"Prae." Millicent seized her hand, barely holding herself together. "Let's go back. Now."

Praeris nodded, no hesitation.

They left the rest of the students behind and ran straight for the Slytherin common room.

"Power!"

The door swung open. There was Nina, curled up on her little cushion in front of the fireplace, sound asleep, not a care in the world.

The moment Millicent saw her, her legs gave out. She slid down to the floor and leaned against Praeris, all the strength gone out of her.

A long moment passed.

Then she wrapped her arms around Praeris's leg and started to cry.

Praeris had always known that Millicent's family life wasn't good. Nina was the only family Millicent had chosen for herself. She loved that cat like her own daughter.

Praeris patted her back. "She's fine. Nina ate her dinner even more thoroughly than you did."

Millicent carried Nina into their dormitory. Praeris followed.

"Do you know," Millicent said suddenly, "I'm jealous of you."

"Sorry?"

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the jealous one, if anyone should apologize, it's me." She kept her back turned.

"Is it okay then?"

"My reasons for becoming friends with you weren't pure."

"It's okay."

"I threw unreasonable tantrums at you. Over nothing."

"Also okay."

"I hated you. For a while."

"Really, it's okay."

"How can you just keep saying that?" Millicent's voice cracked. "Do you actually consider me a friend? How can you put up with all of that?"

Praeris was quiet for a moment. "Honestly? You're my first friend. And even beyond you, the people I've met since then didn't become my friends out of pure feeling either."

"Some people said they envied me. Some were friendly because I was useful. Some wanted to know me because they thought I'd be impressive someday, even though I have no idea what kind of person I'm going to become."

"But if you asked me — if we could do it over, and you came up to me again in the Great Hall — I'd still answer your questions. I'd still accept you as my friend."

"Why?" Millicent turned around. Her face was wet.

Praeris shook her head. "Maybe it's like Pansy Parkinson's feelings for Malfoy. She likes him without any reason. I consider you a friend without any reason either. I think emotion might just be the enemy of logic. No matter how much I analyze it, I can't explain why I'd make that choice. But I would still make it."

She had genuinely thought she would walk away from Millicent. She'd thought it through, when it came down to Millicent or being herself, she had chosen herself.

But standing here in front of Millicent, something else had won. Whatever it was, it would make the same choice again.

"I can try to hold back on the analysis, if that helps," Praeris said quietly.

Millicent wiped her face. "Don't. I'm not asking you to do that." She exhaled. "These past 2 months, that was me. I might not be able to explain it. But just be the same as you were before. That's all."

"Is it because of your mother?"

"You just said you wouldn't analyze."

"Sorry." Praeris shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "But you did say to be the same as before."

"Praeris!" Millicent laughed despite herself.

A beat of silence.

"I'm sorry," Millicent said. "I'm back."

"Welcome back." Praeris opened her arms and hugged her, then leaned in close to her ear. "So, do you actually worship Lockhart?"

"I do not!" Millicent recoiled like she'd been burned.

Praeris released her and nodded, satisfied. "Good. I thought so too."

---

When Pansy Parkinson and Daphne came back, they found Praeris combing Nina's fur and Millicent reading through Praeris's poetry collection.

"You've made up?" Pansy Parkinson said.

Millicent curled her lip. "When were we ever on bad terms?"

"Whatever makes you happy." Pansy Parkinson spread her hands and let it go.

Daphne's eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. "Do you think the Heir of Slytherin has actually returned?"

"What Heir?"

Praeris and Millicent looked at each other. Neither of them had any idea what she was talking about.

The fervor on Daphne's face was hard to look away from. "Just now, when you two ran off — I know you only saw the cat — but Praeris, you must have seen what was written there."

Enemies of the Heir, beware.

Millicent frowned. "Heir? What does that mean?"

"You don't know?!" Daphne's voice climbed. "The legend says Slytherin left behind a hidden Chamber. Only the Heir can find it and open it. And when it's opened, the Heir will purge everyone who has no right to be in this school."

Her cheeks were pink. She was practically glowing.

"Obviously," she said, "the ones purged will be the Mudbloods. The half-breeds. All of them."

➤ Next: The Mystery of the Heir