HP North Star's Radiance

Draco chuckled. "Of course not, but you'd be considered one—so today is quite unusual."

“That’s not surprising,” Praris said without batting an eye. “Everyone has moments of indulgence.”

Praris urged Draco to get some rest, while he himself strolled leisurely toward the dormitory.

A summer of research gave her a deeper understanding of the connection between Harry Potter and Voldemort.

Hermione was reliable enough not to reveal her identity to Harry Potter. But as things progressed, it became increasingly difficult for her to keep her identity hidden.

Rather than sitting and waiting for death, it is better to take action.

Before this, Potter had no idea of ​​her true stance, so she could use this opportunity to ensure that Potter would never reveal the truth again.

……

London, 7:15 p.m.

The wizard who entered was wearing a white linen dress, a light apricot wool cardigan, and an English-style brown silk straw hat.

"Good evening," the woman said softly. "Old Miller."

Old Miller's withered, twig-like hands groped around on the counter, finally touching a pair of worn-out glasses.

He put on his glasses, squinted at the person in front of him, and asked tremblingly, "Who is it? What do you want?"

“Get the letter,” she said. “Get Purnell’s letter.”

"What letter?" Old Miller craned his neck. "Whose letter?"

Ms. Priscilla pursed her lips and glanced around at her surroundings out of the corner of her eye.

She didn't see anything wrong, but immediately changed her tune, saying, "Old Miller, I forgot to bring my money—I'll come back tomorrow!"

After saying that, she turned and walked quickly out, reaching into her bag to reach for her wand.

“Madam, if I were you—” a voice rang out, “I wouldn’t do these pointless things.”

Three wands were pointed at her, and three wizards dressed in black robes and wearing masks stood before her.

There was no way to avoid it, as the two sides were vastly different in strength.

“Ms. Purnell, is that right? Someone has invited you to their home,” one of them said. “You don’t mind, do you? Give me what you have in your hand.”

The wind howled in from outside the Owl Station, and for some reason, a muffled clap of thunder sounded.

Ms. Prie obediently handed over her handbag and raised her hands.

It was 8:30 p.m.

Molly placed two large slices of grilled bacon onto Nymphadora Tonks' plate, glancing at the doorway every now and then.

"Isn't Arthur already back? He's on the second floor," Tonks said, puzzled.

“It’s not Arthur,” Molly said worriedly. “It’s Prim, Prim hasn’t come back yet!”

Tonks remembered; it was that woman who always smiled gently and silently, Brown's good friend, the temporary training professor.

"Ms. Purnell?" Tonks asked. "Where did she go out to?"

Molly sighed: "Buy food for tomorrow, and pick up the mail."

"It'll be fine, it's just picking up a letter." Tonks waved his hand. "Ms. Purnell hasn't even joined the Order of the Phoenix yet, how could she be being targeted? Is there any milk in the fridge?"

It was ten o'clock.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix who were still at the outpost gathered in the living room, with Winnie sitting among them.

This is both protection and surveillance.

The living room was very quiet, except for the ticking of the clock and Winnie's murmurs.

“She wouldn’t stay out all night without telling me,” Winnie said blankly. “Something must have happened to her, something must have happened to her.”

“Brown, calm down!” Lupin said to Winnie. “Have you forgotten what Dumbledore said? You can’t go out.”

“You make it sound so easy!” Winnie snapped at him. “It’s Blake who’s going to disappear, can you convince yourself with that?”

Lupin opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a rebuttal.

In the deathly silence, the door creaked open.

Then, the sound of the wooden prosthetic limb hitting the ground rang out.

Winnie quickly stood up and ran a few steps, almost tripping over the smooth carpet.

She asked anxiously, "How is it, Moody? Have you found Prim?"

Her tone was like that of the relatives of patients at St. Mungo's, hoping to hear a doctor say, "It's okay."

Moody shook his head reluctantly, and Winnie's face immediately drained of color.

Moody couldn't help but recall those years ago, when the families of the victims looked at him with the same hope. That was his motivation for relentlessly hunting down the Death Eaters.

Moody took a deep breath and said, "But we found old Miller, the administrator of the Owl Post Office, who is currently receiving treatment at St. Mungo's..."

Ms. Priscilla's destination before her disappearance was the Owl Post Office. If anyone knows her whereabouts, it has to be Old Miller, the postmaster.

“I’m going to see him,” Winnie said without hesitation. “Now, immediately!”

"Enough!" Sirius strode up to her. "What's the point of asking old Miller? You know perfectly well who took Purnell! Voldemort captured Purnell so you would come to him; he wanted you to come to him!"

“So what!” Winnie’s eyes reddened. “Prim is innocent! She’s not a Death Eater, nor a member of the Order of the Phoenix! Death Eaters deserve to die, and members of the Order of the Phoenix are ready to die. I deserve to die and am ready to die! But she’s just a small beauty salon owner!”

“It’s because of me, because she knows me, that she was targeted by the Death Eaters.” A tear slid down Winnie’s cheek. She said, “Have you ever seen them torture someone? Huh? Have you?…I have!”

"He forced me to stand behind Lestrange's men, those Death Eaters torturing a couple. The two of them bounced up and down on the ground like stranded fish. I just stood there watching..."

“I remember that witch, the one with the round face. I didn’t know her… She had broken down mentally, her pupils were almost dilated. But her face was turned towards me, her eyes staring straight at me. I remember I was crying then, and her eyes seemed to be asking me: Do people like you have any conscience?”

All the members of the Order of the Phoenix lowered their heads or looked in other directions, their eyes filled with sorrow.

They knew who Winnie was talking about.

The round-faced witch is named Alice Longbottom, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Neville Longbottom's mother.

Most of the Order of the Phoenix members present had some reservations about Winnie Brown, given that her past as a Death Eater could not be erased.

But at this moment, facing her breakdown and weeping, no one could fail to empathize. She was them, the ones who had wept for their family members whose fates were unknown, the victims of Voldemort's actions.

Molly reached out and hugged Winnie tightly. "We understand, we all understand, Prim will be alright..."

Sirius paced back and forth, somewhat agitated. He couldn't stand the sentimental scene and longed to fight the Death Eaters to the death as soon as possible.

But both he and Brown received the task from Dumbledore to keep an eye on the other...

He quickly came up with a clever idea: "Of course we'll rescue Purnell, but you can't just throw your life away. You said you're not all alone; after all, you have a child waiting for you, don't you?"

Winnie, who had been crying and dehydrated, finally calmed down. She said in a daze, "You're right, I still have people I need to take care of... When will Dumbledore come back?"

Winnie couldn't imagine how Pray would react if she found out.

Prior to this, another Order of the Phoenix member, Stoddill, was lured into storming the Ministry of Magic. Now, Madam Purnell has disappeared. Dumbledore's authority at Hogwarts is being eroded step by step... They are walking down a muddy road.

When a person is unfortunate, fate seems to bestow even more misfortune upon them in order to utterly crush them.

Hogwarts, Divination and Arithmetic Class.

Professor Victor was a free-spirited professor who was always smiling, rarely assigned homework, and liked to sit at his desk and chat with his students.

He enjoyed using arithmetic to predict the outcome of Quidditch matches, but never participated in any betting—he considered it a fun game.

Professor Victor hardly cared about winning or losing.

"After studying divination in depth, everyone will gradually realize that when facing fate, what we should do is respect it—fully respect it."

"Life itself is a game, and fate makes the game full of ups and downs. If we want to live a good life without regrets, then we must fully respect the rules of this game, to feel, to experience, and to go through it."

This same free man, who calls on students to respect their destiny, is now standing with a dark expression, forced to "tether" himself to the blackboard and unable to move easily.

The class was interrupted several times, so Victor simply had the students review the divination methods he had taught them before, while he faced Umbridge himself.

“Tsk…tsk, that won’t do, Professor Victor.” Umbridge shook his head and said, “As a professor, you should set a good example for your students. How can you sit among them?”

“Professor Umbridge,” Victor said through gritted teeth, “it’s my habit to have in-depth discussions with my students about their learning experiences. I can’t just lecture in class without even knowing how well they’re learning, can I?”

“I think there’s another good way in the world: raising your hand to ask a question, isn’t there?” Umbridge scribbled something on a piece of paper.

Victor countered, "But you should know that not all students have the courage to communicate with a professor, nor do all students know that their divination has problems. I will randomly select a few students and have them do divination in front of me, and in this way, I will discover the problems they have."

"Oh? Is that so? The students don't have the courage to talk to you, right?" Umbridge nodded in sudden realization. "Oh dear, why is that? Are you not friendly enough to the students? Is your attitude not good enough?"

Victor clenched his fist, and after a long while, sighed: "Dolores Umbridge! Write it however you like!"

After saying that, he angrily ran to the corner of the classroom, sat on a small stool in the corner, and muttered something to himself.

Umbridge raised an eyebrow, flashed a bright smile, and took a small step toward the students: "Is your arithmetic and divination professor always like this? So... well, so unstable."

Umbridge's choice of direction was very clever. With Gryffindor elective students all in front of her, she skillfully moved to stand in front of the Slytherins.

Pansy and Praris exchanged a glance, and Praris patted Pansy's hand to stop her from speaking.

Praris chuckled and shrugged. "Professor Umbridge, there's nothing you can do about it. You have to forgive him. After all, not every professor has the same depth of experience and strong mentality as you, does he?"

Chapter 106 So-called Respect

"What's your name?" Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

“Praris Prince,” Praris said with a smile. “Professor, I have always admired your political talent. Miss Stewart told me that you are the youngest chief of staff she has ever heard of.”

“Stuart?” Umbridge’s eyes darted around, a saccharine smile spreading across her face. “Prince, the Slytherin prefect, right?”

"Yes, Professor."

Praris's magic robes were practically crumpled from her own caresses, yet her smile grew even more humble and polite.

Umbridge said in a high-pitched voice, "Prince, when I was young I was just like you and Stuart—in Slytherin, I had excellent grades and a keen eye..."

Praris's smile froze for a second. She paused for only a second before subtly resuming her expression of a junior admiring a senior.

“People like us—” Umbridge said in a coquettish voice, “are born to be different, aren’t we?”

Umbridge was lost in her own thoughts. She stared into Praris's eyes, patted her on the shoulder, and looked at her with admiration.

Praris was initially a little nervous, thinking that Umbridge had discovered something.

But she gradually realized that Umbridge wasn't looking at her, but at herself as Prares saw her.