HP North Star's Radiance

“You ate too much for breakfast,” Praris diagnosed. “You should eat less.”

Snape glared at them both fiercely.

Dumbledore was amused and burst into laughter: "Dr. Prince's diagnosis is absolutely correct... but I'm about to die, and it would be too cruel to leave this world hungry!"

“Relax!” Prarese lightened the mood. “I had Ms. Prie make strawberry tiramisu, and you’ll be able to enjoy it soon.”

“Fantastic,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “I will never want to leave this world.”

Praris pulled out his pocket watch: "Two minutes left."

At the conference room door, Ron whispered, "Why can't I hear anything?"

“They used an anti-eavesdropping spell,” Harry said knowingly. “I knew it!”

“The time has come,” Prares said calmly. “Headmaster Dumbledore, relax, it will be over soon.”

"Will the surgery be over soon, or will I faint soon?" Dumbledore said, trying to sound lighthearted. "That's what the doctor said when I was a child and I was sick."

To prevent Dumbledore from struggling with the pain, they even cast a spell on his body.

Snape's sharp silver dagger landed at a precise angle on Dumbledore's wrist!

Both Snape and Dumbledore had beads of sweat on their foreheads, one from intense focus and tension, the other from severe pain.

Prarese only wiped Professor Snape's sweat to prevent it from affecting his actions.

"Should we really knock?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Harry glanced at Ginny on the other side of the stairs and nodded firmly: "Dumbledore said he would give me more honesty! I don't think there's anything Praris can know that I can't!"

Didn't Prarese himself say that if he wanted to know something, he should just ask Dumbledore?

Harry raised his hand as if to knock on a door.

Inside the room, Snape's dagger was about to pierce Dumbledore's wrist.

Harry knocked on the door.

But there was no sound at all.

Harry said expressionlessly, "She cast a spell to refuse to knock—I'd bet she also put a reverse-locking charm on the lock."

In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore's cursed hand was completely severed.

Praris swiftly poured the limb regeneration potion into Dumbledore's mouth: "Headmaster Dumbledore, swallow! You have to drink it all, even if you're full!"

Glug glug glug—

Dumbledore's severed limb was bleeding profusely, and the blood soaked through the sterile cloth underneath.

The flesh at the severed limb seemed to be alive; it bounced and grew actively, sprouting like tree branches!

Prarese and Snape remained vigilant, their eyes fixed on the wound, not daring to let their guard down for a moment.

Outside the door, Winnie stood with her hands on her hips: "What are you doing! Adults are in a meeting, kids, get out of here! Whatever you have to say, wait until they're done! Especially you—Ron! I'll tell your mother on you!"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny stood in a row, being loudly scolded by Winnie: "Have you done my spells homework?!"

In the meeting room, Dumbledore's new hand had finally grown out. It was about the same size as his original hand, but the skin looked too immature.

Snape bent down to check for any lingering curse, while Prareus asked softly, "Headmaster Dumbledore, how are you feeling now?"

“It feels so good to be young,” Dumbledore said humorously, “even if it’s just a hand that’s younger.”

Snape chuckled as he tidied up the equipment.

“Uh—” Praris stammered, almost forgetting what he was going to say, “Your new hand was created by drawing power from the potion and your own life force. Therefore, you will be weak for a few days after the surgery.”

Praris took off his gloves and pulled several bottles of green liquid from his Portuguese cork bag: "You need to take this medicine once a day, one vial each time. That way you can recover your health faster."

Chapter 165 Dumbledore's Gloves

Finally, Prarese pulled a dozen brightly colored gloves from his bag and handed them to Dumbledore.

“Your young hands are still quite delicate,” Praris explained patiently. “Even though it’s winter, please wear gloves and avoid direct sunlight.”

Snape frowned, looking at the pile of gloves with disgust. "What are these?"

Snape sent Praliss to buy gloves, not these colorful, nonsensical rubbish!

“Sir, it matches Headmaster Dumbledore’s outfit!” Praris said matter-of-factly. “I had Tonks buy it—look, the material matches perfectly and it’s very stylish!”

Dumbledore exclaimed "Oh?", took the gloves, and examined them. He said cheerfully, "Severus, this is very tasteful! Look, there are black ones too, why don't you try them on?"

Snape glanced at it and found it even more appalling.

The black gloves Dumbledore was pointing to were long, solid black gloves with decorative buckles—women's style.

Tonks probably thought these were for Prader, since this whole dozen gloves were women's sizes! Dumbledore was actually hugging them and looking quite pleased with himself!

Snape took a deep breath, glared at Praris, and said sarcastically, "I think you're getting worse as you get older!"

Praris hunched his shoulders and leaned back, smiling somewhat sheepishly: "Sir, let me help you tidy up!"

Come on, Professor Snape wasn't criticizing him. Anyone who knows Professor Snape knows that the phrase "getting worse with age" was actually directed at Dumbledore!

However, Prader wouldn't want to offend Professor Snape, so she tried to keep herself busy to avoid being chosen again.

She put the empty magic potion bottle back into the cork bag, cleaned and put away the knives, and burned the bloodstained sterile cloth, gauze and cotton balls on the spot... She even burned the handkerchief she used to wipe her sweat.

Professor Snape was not, after all, a specialist physician at St. Mungo's. Although his hands and emotions were very steady, objectively speaking, Dumbledore's bleeding was still considerable.

Even after the consumables had burned out, a lingering smell of blood remained in the air.

Prares's limb regeneration potion was a miracle, especially for Dumbledore's life.

To understand this, Peter Pettigrew cut off his own hand in order to resurrect Voldemort, but only received a silver metal hand as a "reward" from Voldemort.

—Praris was unaware of these things.

She was determined to save Dumbledore's life, and for that she was willing to try methods that ordinary people could not imagine.

No one else would have considered using the highly venomous basilisk venom as a means of saving lives. Praris did it anyway, thus setting him apart from everyone else.

Snape and Dumbledore stood by the window, whispering to each other, while the apprentice Prareus diligently dealt with the "crime scene."

"Sir!" Praris finished packing and picked up his small bag. "It seems I'm not needed here anymore. I'll be going now?"

Snape waved his hand with his back to her.

Dumbledore smiled and said, “Severus, I look forward to you handing her ‘How to Be a Respected Teacher’.”

“She doesn’t want to do this—” Snape grimaced unhappily. “I threw that book away a long time ago.”

Praris dispelled the magic at the door, opened the conference room door, and was immediately confronted by four people standing there. She looked at them coldly, gesturing for them to answer.

Winnie raised her hands to show her innocence: "I'm innocent! They insisted on waiting for you to come out here!"

Prareas's gaze shifted to Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny met her gaze without flinching, Harry craned his neck to peer inside, and Ron stood silently against the wall.

“Nothing to see. Haven’t you ever watched a meeting before?” Praris slammed the meeting room door shut. Then, she asked Winnie, “Is Ms. Prie’s tiramisu ready?”

"Oh!" Winnie slapped her forehead in annoyance and quickly shooed the children away. "Hurry up! I came to call you for snacks! If you don't leave now, your mother will come looking for you!"

Praris, carrying her things, lagged behind at the back of the group. Harry, however, slowed down and said firmly in a low voice, "I smell blood!"

Harry wasn't the kind of ordinary student who had never seen blood; he was used to seeing his own blood and other people's blood!

Although the smell of blood in the air was faint, Harry still detected it keenly and didn't take it lightly.

"Hmm," Praris said calmly, "Do I need to praise you, you curious little one—the savior?"

Harry was ashamed of being called the "Savior"!

He was originally called "the boy who survived a great calamity," and Malfoy would occasionally call him Saint Potter in a cheeky way.

Now the newspapers are spouting nonsense, calling him a "savior," and his classmates at school are actually believing it.

Praris was even worse, adding "curious baby" before "savior"!

"What are you doing—" Harry couldn't take it anymore and asked directly, "What are you doing to Dumbledore!"

Praris was extremely surprised: "Among the three of us, what do you think it would be to believe that Dumbledore is the weaker party?"

Is it simply a matter of comparing sizes using addition and subtraction?

Are Prader + Snape greater than Dumbledore?

Was this logic taught by giants?

Praris really wanted to shake his head and ask: Tell me! Who among us is the strongest white wizard who defeated the strongest black wizard?

Harry suppressed his voice: "Could this blood be Mr. Snape's?"

He couldn't help but feel excited. If Snape had been the one injured, he probably wouldn't have been able to help Malfoy do his dirty work!

Don't ask him why he doesn't think Praderne is the one who's injured! Harry has eyes; she walks perfectly normally!

Since Harry still remembers to address Professor Snape as "Mr."...

“Oh, you guessed right.” Prareus nodded confidently. “It’s Dumbledore’s. But don’t tell me you think the two of us could do anything to harm Dumbledore at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters.”

Harry froze, like a broken magic television set.

Praris scoffed sarcastically, "Did the mysterious man smash your head in? Savior!"

Harry felt a little embarrassed and said dejectedly, "Can't you just tell me straight? Why do we have to guess? Am I not trustworthy?"

Praliss felt a little sorry for Harry. She patted him on the shoulder and said, "I can't go over Dumbledore's head and tell you things about him. That's disrespectful to Dumbledore, isn't it?"

“All you need to know is that we’ve accomplished something important,” Praris said, chin held high. “If the Mysterious Man knew, he would hate us both.”

Harry clenched his fist and said seriously, "That would be for the best. I hope you won't let me down."

Praris scoffed: "If you really trust me."

Harry was uncomfortable with Praris's taunts.

Initially, Hermione served as a buffer between him and Prader. This meant that he didn't need to judge whether "Prader's words were trustworthy," but rather whether "Hermione's judgment of Prader was accurate."

Clearly, Hermione is the one who judges Prader's stance, and Harry usually just needs to choose to believe Hermione.

But after the Occlumency course began, Harry had to confront Prareas, which caused him to have many unnecessary doubts.

It's contradictory; Harry often doesn't find Pradera herself suspicious, but Pradera is often more than just Pradera. She's also Snape's favorite student, and she has a flirtatious relationship with Malfoy.