HP North Star's Radiance

“Come in,” Snape’s deep voice sounded from behind the door.

Praris skillfully found his chair opposite the professor's desk and gestured with his eyes.

“Please sit down, miss,” Snape said.

Praris cut to the chase: "Professor, what do you need me to do?"

There was no possibility of her idly catching up with Professor Snape—mainly because Professor Snape's to-do list was not in line.

Snape raised his wand and cast several anti-eavesdropping spells over the office.

The dim light couldn't illuminate the entire office, and half of Professor Snape's face was hidden in the darkness.

“Speak, miss,” Snape said. “Your thoughts, about the Dark Lord.”

“You said this is an adult matter,” Praris said softly.

Snape said, "Miss, you know exactly what I mean."

“Yes, sir,” Praris said. “I know it all too well.”

Snape said, "Then you should know—"

“Alright, sir, let’s get down to business,” Praris said.

Prarese knew she could never change the professor's mind.

Professor Snape always thought so. But in fact, not only should children not participate in such a struggle, but no one should really participate in such a struggle—no one, including Professor Snape himself.

Praris blinked and said, “I wonder how much you know about this? The Dark Lord grew up in the Muggle world. He rejected his former name and used a code name to refer to himself, which shows that he hates his past. He hates his past, including his name.”

“But his first Horcrux was a Muggle diary.” Praris tapped his fingers lightly on his knee. “He could have easily chosen something else meaningless, which would have made him less likely to be discovered. But he didn’t. Instead, he used a diary that represented his past.”

“On the one hand, he was young and probably didn’t have many other options,” Prarese said. “On the other hand, he might be very ritualistic. The item has to be related to him, represent him, and not just some random thing.”

To loathe the past yet still choose to keep a diary is perhaps a choice made out of necessity.

“But he doesn’t always have no choice, does he?” Prarese said. “I’ve heard that Potter pulled out Gryffindor’s sword and discovered that each founder had something that represented them. What about Slytherin? He’s the heir to Slytherin, and the Death Eaters’ predecessors, the Knights of Wolpurgis, were extreme pure-blood enthusiasts.”

Praris took a deep breath: "So, he values ​​his bloodline a lot, doesn't he? He's very proud to be a descendant of Slytherin, isn't he? If he were to choose something representative as a Horcrux, it would definitely include an item that represents Slytherin."

“This also raises questions: what about the other Founders’ possessions?” Prarees said. “Gryffindor’s sword can only be drawn by a pure Gryffindor, but what about Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? Do they have such a limitation? If not—”

“These are all speculations,” Snape said calmly. “There is no concrete evidence.”

“But they are all reasonable, based on the information we have,” Prarese said. “Sir, make bold assumptions, verify them carefully.”

clap clap-

A round of applause came from the storage room: "Excellent!"

Praris shrugged: "You've finally decided to come out? I thought you'd consider mediating your family conflict first."

Dumbledore smiled and said, "Plares, the most destructive problem in relationships is communication. Aren't you two communicating?"

Praris gave him a deep look, his smile gradually fading: "Let's change the subject to something more pleasant, Principal Dumbledore, like—Winnie."

“Nothing is impossible for love,” Dumbledore said. “We cannot stop Winnie from going to her friends, but we all hope they will come back alive.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for too,” Praris said.

Prarese bid farewell to Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore with a heavy heart.

Dumbledore was right; no matter how much he tried to stop her, Winnie would risk her life to save Ms. Priscilla.

If Winnie's departure hadn't been part of Dumbledore's plan, she would likely have faced mutual distrust and inevitable death.

Instead of doing that, let's make this more valuable.

And… Prarese sighed; Dumbledore was admonishing her.

That's obvious, isn't it? Smart people always like to turn conversations into puzzles, even if there isn't a single fool present.

Dumbledore knew everything about her background, and she never hid her feelings for Draco.

Dumbledore didn't want her to repeat Sylvia's mistakes, but when it came to communication—she was the one who talked about fleeting, ephemeral love, and that leaving wouldn't be a pity—she was still the one who hesitated.

She thought she didn't like Draco that much. But the thought of a possible separation made her heart ache and harden, like an unripe strawberry at Maria Abbey.

She was the most wicked person here, even deceiving the worst young man in Hogwarts, tricking him into giving her one of his few genuine feelings, yet refusing to take any responsibility.

"Where have you been?" Draco whistled, a broom in one hand and his arm around her shoulder with the other. "What a shame you missed Weasley's comical appearance; his face looks like a ghost that's been dead for eight hundred years."

Draco flaunted his off-field tactics. Compared to Porter, who was used to being mocked, Weasley was practically a glaring weakness for Gryffindor.

Praris pushed his arm away: "You stink, you smell like sweat."

Draco raised an eyebrow: "That's called masculinity!"

"Draco, go wash away your manliness!" Prares said disdainfully. "Instead of messing around with off-field tactics, you should practice your ball-finding skills. You didn't win against Gryffindor last time by relying on off-field tactics."

"Of course I've practiced," Draco said confidently. "Just wait, I can win on my own."

Praris shook his head: "You'd better do that."

On Saturday morning, the entire auditorium was noisy, as noisy as the crowds of onlookers during the Christ Infant procession.

Millison yelled, "We've been making too many off-court moves, Professor McGonagall protested. Then Mrs. Hodge banned me and put Lee Jordan in! It's so unfair!"

"Ah—" The three girls looked at each other in bewilderment.

Daphne said angrily, "How could this be! What does the Quidditch player's business have to do with the commentator!"

"We certainly made things difficult for them quite a bit," Pansy said matter-of-factly, "but so what! It wasn't you who did it!"

Praris nodded in agreement: "This is so unreasonable! Can't we protest too?"

Milison pursed his lips: "I did... a little bit, not much..."

Millison puffed out his chest: "But I wasn't caught!"

……

The four people looked at each other in bewilderment.

“That’s fantastic, Milison!” Pansy exclaimed in a shrill voice. “What’s the big deal if we didn’t catch him!”

Praris covered his face: "What about the next game? How many games were you banned from?"

“Uh…it’s a rotation,” Milison said. “Mrs. Hodge said that next time it will be my solo commentary, and the time after that it will be Lee Jordan.”

Millie, what kind of ban is that?

It's just a matter of taking turns explaining...

"Damn Gryffindor!" Pansy slammed her hand on the table. "They've prevented Millison from commentating on the Slytherin matches!"

Daphne chimed in, "Yes, those wretched Gryffindors!"

Praris sighed and continued, "It's outrageous! This time, our Quidditch team is sure to crush Gryffindor!"

“Yes! Beat Gryffindor to a pulp! Did you hear that! Draco Crab, Goulp, Sebrage…” Pansy shouted.

The Quidditch team boys loudly echoed Pansy's call.

Okay, that's us Slytherins: we side with our own people regardless of right or wrong, and we'll still criticize even when we're wrong.

The match was held at noon as usual, but today the sun unexpectedly came out, and the silver badges on the Slytherins' chests shone brightly in the bright sunlight.

“I can’t sing,” Praris said. “Can I not sing?”

That's a lie—how could she not know how to sing? She's just embarrassed.

In ancient times, choirs didn't include girls; modern choirs include both boys and girls, and there are even dedicated nun choirs. The children at Mary's Convent all sing hymns, and they sing them exceptionally well.

“No, no!” Millison said. “Everyone has to sing! We have to overwhelm Gryffindor with our presence!”

Praris couldn't do anything with her: "Fine, fine, I'll sing, I'll sing!"

Before the Gryffindors even appeared, the Slytherins started to sing. Some rubbed their faces, some hissed as they breathed, and some practiced their high and low notes with "ah ah oh oh" sounds... If you didn't know better, you'd think the choir was about to take the stage!

"Gryffindor is here!" someone from the Slytherin shouted.

"Weasley is our king—"

"Weasley was born in a trash can—"

Even though there was no conductor or training, the Slytherins sang in perfect unison as soon as they started.

The singing wasn't great, but for a non-professional choir, being in sync was enough—and the Slytherins surprisingly managed to do just that.

Chapter 116 You Hide It From Me

Draco's song wasn't written in vain; "Weasley Is Our King" served as a psychological attack, causing the inexperienced Weasley to make frequent mistakes.

Warrington hits the Quaffle, which goes through Weasley's arm and goes into the net; Monta hits the Quaffle, which goes into the net again; Psy gets the Quaffle...

Gryffindor's goalkeepers weren't as effective as Hogwarts' locks; at least the locks could stop the dud Filch, but the Weasleys couldn't stop even a single ball.

Compared to him, Miles could still win the title of best goalkeeper in this tournament even if he were just opening a bag of cookies and eating them on the field.

"Derrian!" Milison shouted in a shrill voice, "Go, Derian!"

Milison truly lives up to his reputation as a commentator; his lung capacity is extraordinary, allowing him to outshine everyone even without a microphone.

Praris thought somewhat embarrassedly, "Millison already called out to Puse, shouldn't she call out to Draco too?"

Just as Praris hesitated, Potter and Draco rushed off in one direction together!

Milison said nervously, "Draco is closer to the Snitch, but Potter's rocket crossbow is faster—is the situation from two years ago going to repeat itself?"

Two years ago, it was also Potter and Draco who snatched the Golden Snitch from the jaws of death.

At that time, Draco wasn't fooled by Potter's tricks. He turned around in advance and ultimately risked everything to steal the Golden Snitch.

This time, however, there was no advantage from turning ahead in advance. Although Draco was closer and Porter was farther away, the bonus from the rocket crossbow was still a very significant threat.

Everything happened in just a few seconds. Before Prares could even move his binoculars to the two Seekers' positions, he heard Milison's regretful "Oh dear"—Draco had lost.

Praliss used to pay little attention to Quidditch, but now she couldn't help but wonder: How is Draco doing?

Is he angry? Is he resentful? Will he be dissatisfied?

This isn't the first time Slytherin has lost to Gryffindor, nor is it the first time Draco has lost to Harry Potter.

Every competition has winners and losers; no one can be a winner forever.