Harry Potter: The Slytherin Heiress

Praeris stared at the parchment bearing Lockhart's signature, her feelings deeply conflicted.

She had put considerable effort into securing Professor Snape's permission slip. Lockhart's had cost her nothing.

And it was blank.

She could write absolutely anything on it. No confirmation needed.

.

Saturday at Hogwarts. Gray clouds swallowed the sun, and the air was stifling and damp, the kind of weather that settled under your skin and made you irritable for no clear reason.

Praeris sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, slowly spreading butter on her bread.

Her hands were busy. Her eyes weren't.

Her gaze drifted past the crowd debating the midday Quidditch match and settled on Ginny, that suspicious youngest Weasley.

Over the past three days, Ginny Weasley had been getting worse.

Praeris still remembered how she'd looked at her Sorting: cheeks flushed, smiling happily. Now her complexion was draining to pale, and faint dark circles had crept in under her eyes.

No doubt her brothers thought she was worried about Harry Potter and the other two, because of the Chamber of Secrets rumors.

But, Praeris's gaze shifted to the worn notebook sitting beside Ginny's plate.

No matter how poor the Weasley family was, parchment and exercise books couldn't be bought second-hand.

This notebook didn't match the taste of any girl her age. Yet Ginny carried it everywhere.

Don't ask how Praeris knew it didn't match, she was surrounded by girls that age.

SCREECH,

Ginny shot to her feet. The chair scraped back against the stone floor with a sharp, ugly cry.

Percy startled. He'd been sitting beside her all week, doing his best to comfort his distressed little sister.

He stood, murmured something to her in a low voice, and patted her shoulder.

Over Percy's shoulder, Ginny's eyes found Praeris, who was already watching her. One second. Then Ginny looked away.

Percy's comfort had done nothing. Ginny shook her head, shoved the notebook into her bag, and walked out of the Great Hall at a clip.

Praeris looked down at her bread and sighed, inwardly.

What a pity, bread. I need to follow her.

"You've been spreading butter for ages," Malfoy said from nearby. "Are you creating art?"

"Then this masterpiece is yours, free of charge. Don't mention it."

Praeris grabbed her crossbody bag and walked quickly in the direction Ginny had gone.

Outside the Great Hall doors, she spotted Ginny's retreating figure almost immediately. She didn't close the distance. She followed from far back, keeping her footsteps quiet.

This girl was too young to hide the fact that something was wrong with her.

Ginny stopped at the end of a corridor, clutching her bag with both arms, looking in every direction.

Praeris pulled up short, spun, and tucked herself behind a suit of armor at the corner. She held her breath.

Then she heard it. Ginny Weasley's voice.

The little girl was sobbing, quiet and hoarse.

"No... I can't keep doing this..."

"She's definitely found me out... I can't..."

"Please..."

Praeris listened a while longer, but Ginny revealed nothing more. Just the same words, looping, begging, weeping, over and over.

Praeris lowered her gaze. She blinked. Then she eased back a step, slipped away from the statue, and left without a sound.

Things were getting interesting. Ginny Weasley was not the Heir.

That worn notebook had a quality like a wizard portrait. It could communicate with people.

But unlike a portrait, it was a Dark Arts object. The notebook had coerced Ginny Weasley, or influenced her mind, into doing what had been done to Mrs. Norris.

But Ginny was just a little girl. She couldn't bring herself to actually kill. That was why Mrs. Norris hadn't died.

The act of harming someone, and the weight of Praeris's investigation pressing closer, were tearing Ginny Weasley apart. She didn't want to hurt anyone. She was terrified of being found out.

Well. Things were becoming clearer. All Praeris needed now was to figure out exactly what that notebook was.

She placed Professor Snape's permission slip and Lockhart's signature side by side, closed her eyes, and sat with her thoughts for a long time.

.

"Miss Prince, are you saying that Professor Snape has permitted you to enter the Restricted Section to borrow books?"

Madam Pince held Professor Snape's permission slip in both hands. Her gaze was like a hyena that had spotted a corpse, sharp and deeply unsettling.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Praeris tightened her grip on her sleeve. Her face stayed perfectly calm. "Yes, for extracurricular Potions research. As you know, I happen to have some talent in that area."

Madam Pince kept staring.

Praeris offered her most sincere smile. "I understand your concern. I won't take anything out of the library. I'll only read here."

The meticulous witch bent her head and examined every stroke of handwriting on the slip. It took a while. "It is indeed Professor Snape's handwriting," she finally said.

The Restricted Section was dim and close. The smell of old parchment mixed with cold mildew. Moste Potente Potions. Cursed Dark Arts Objects. Origins of the Dark Arts. Every spine radiated its own quiet menace.

Praeris made herself into a blank notebook. She fed it all into her memory without processing any of it, flipping quickly, absorbing whole pages, refusing to let her mind engage. She didn't dare.

She knew that Dark Arts objects could work their way into a person's mind. The notebook was doing exactly that to Ginny Weasley. So while she moved through these books, she could not think. She could not feel. Only record.

Advanced Arcane Unraveling... Praeris felt a small pull of temptation. It wasn't a Dark Arts book, strictly speaking, but it had earned its place in the Restricted Section, and that meant something.

Stop. This book was trying to tempt her.

She set it down, closed her eyes, and waited until the pull faded. Then she went back to memorizing.

By the time Praeris walked out of the Restricted Section, it was nearly eleven. The library was empty except for Madam Pince, still at her post.

The witch fixed her with a hawk's stare. "3 hours, miss. These books affect those with weak wills, especially young wizards."

"Oh, I'm quite all right. Thank you for your concern." Praeris shook her head and turned to go.

"Wait." Madam Pince stood up. "Your permission slip!"

Praeris steadied herself, then fished from her pocket the slip she should have handed over at the start.

"I will be confirming this approval with Professor Snape," Madam Pince said. "You were in there for quite some time."

Damn.

Praeris sighed inwardly. It seemed the explanation she'd prepared would get its chance to be used after all.

Better than explaining to Lockhart why she'd forged his signature to access restricted books. At least Professor Snape had no objection to her studying the Dark Arts.

When Praeris ran to the Quidditch pitch, the match was already over. Red banners rippled across the field.

The Slytherin atmosphere was so low it felt like the air itself had congealed.

"Where did you disappear to?" Millicent said under her breath. "We couldn't find you anywhere!"

"I was in the library and lost track of time!" Praeris was still panting. "Where's Pansy?"

Millicent sighed. "Potter caught the Golden Snitch right in front of Draco. He must be furious. Pansy went to the changing rooms to find him."

When Millicent and Praeris reached the Slytherin changing room, it was already in full uproar.

"What is a Seeker supposed to do! Seek! The Golden Snitch was right in front of you, and you just stood there like you'd gone blind — you saw nothing!"

Marcus was a large bloke. Standing over Malfoy, he was like a mountain, and right now he was a mountain barely containing a volcanic eruption. Nobody dared step in.

"You think I didn't see it?" Malfoy said, jaw tight. "Potter must have used some dirty trick!"

"Don't make excuses!" Marcus roared. "Every single one of us was out there fighting for Slytherin. The rest of us held the lead the entire time! The Bludger was going after Potter like mad — what a perfect opening, and what were you doing!"

Malfoy had been a little sheepish at first. Now he lifted his chin. "You think I wanted to lose? You think I wanted months of work to go to waste? Everyone has off days! Is this Slytherin's first defeat? When you lot lost last year, did anyone blame you?"

Marcus stopped. He dragged a hand down his face and slumped against the wall.

"As for Potter," Malfoy said, "I'll make him pay. I swear it."

Pansy stepped forward with her handkerchief, reaching to wipe the rain from Malfoy's face. He shoved her hand away.

His expression dark, he walked out without looking back and caught Praeris square in the shoulder at the doorway, sending her stumbling.

Praeris steadied herself. "Don't read too much into it. The rain was too heavy. Missing it isn't unusual."

"But Potter saw it!" Marcus couldn't stop himself from shouting again.

Miles grabbed the captain by the arm. "Let it go, let it go!"

"I don't need your comfort!" Malfoy turned and was gone.

Now Slytherin was a disaster. The Quidditch match was lost. Malfoy was in a foul mood.

Malfoy was in a foul mood, so Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all in foul moods. Pansy was in a foul mood, so Daphne was too. Two people in the dormitory were miserable, so Millicent joined them.

Millicent was miserable, so Praeris turned gloomy as well.

She had worse things to be gloomy about. She had to prepare herself for Professor Snape's reckoning.

.

Inside the Potions office, candlelight threw the shadows of precision instruments across the walls.

Snape sat at the workbench, turning a permission slip over between his fingers. His own handwriting. No question.

Yesterday afternoon, Madam Pince had come to find him. She'd advised him against exposing a student to advanced Dark Arts so soon. "I imagine you have your own reasoning," she'd said, "but this isn't wise. Young students likely cannot properly resist the pull of the Dark Arts."

The slip, clearly, had been kept by her.

He had written that slip as a test for Praeris. He'd wanted to see her capability. Her ambition. Her nerve.

Well. She had nerve enough, daring to act right under his nose.

But she was too greedy. She wanted everything, and she had no sense of where to stop. Reckless, just like Hill. Acting without thinking about the consequences, always assuming someone would clean up the mess behind her, and so utterly, carelessly unafraid.

Snape's gaze moved to the copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream on the bookshelf.

Yes, he was taking it out on her. So what? He would wait. He would see how she tried to talk her way out of this.

A quiet knock at the office door.

"Enter." Snape's voice was the same as always: composed, cold.

"Professor." Praeris kept her tone steady. "Farley said you were looking for me."

Farley knew, too, that this was strange. When Professor Snape wanted his assistant, he didn't send messages through a second person. He simply waited in his office.

Snape didn't answer her immediately. He stood, and his black robes swept past Praeris like a passing storm as he moved to the fireplace.

Before her eyes, the permission slip went into the flames and was ash in seconds.

"Miss Prince." He stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him. "Have you nothing to say?"

Praeris knew that every lie would be transparent before Snape. She also knew that certain things could not be spoken.

She straightened her back and took 2 steps forward. Her voice didn't waver. "I believe this was your tacit permission — when you left the slip inside the book. Returning a book doesn't require a slip. Borrowing one does."

Snape turned. One eyebrow lifted slightly. "So this is your old professor's fault? Because he is aged and feeble and dim-sighted, and gave out a permission slip by mistake — and so you simply went ahead and used it?"

"I'm very sorry." Praeris lowered her head. "Next time I will ask your approval first."

"Next time?" Something pressed tight beneath Snape's voice. "You were in there for 3 hours. Who do you think you are? Dumbledore?"

"I think I gave you the wrong 3 books. I think, even more, that your 2 Defense Against the Dark Arts professors have not taught you a single useful thing. What do you take the Dark Arts for? Some parlor trick to make feathers fly?"

"I know your type. You believe knowledge is neither good nor evil — it only matters how you use it. You believe that with enough willpower, you can resist any temptation. If you were seventeen, I would think that rather bold. But do not forget that you are still a student. A student who has not yet come of age."

Praeris bowed her head further and said nothing.

Snape turned, walked to his desk, and sat. He looked at her for a long moment. "Next time you want to enter the Restricted Section, come to me directly. Do not let me find you using my permission slip without authorization a second time."

Praeris looked up sharply, meeting her professor's black eyes.

"No more than half an hour." Snape's lips moved almost imperceptibly. "I will write it on every slip."

Praeris nodded firmly. "I will."

The scolding was finished. The lecture was over. Praeris finally walked out through the office door.

Aside from that conversation after the end of last term, she had never felt time move so slowly inside this room.

She turned the corner, pulled Lockhart's flamboyant signature out of her crossbody bag, and said: "Starburst."

➤ Next: Potions Class Chaos