HP North Star's Radiance

Before Harry could get any information, Slughorn slammed the door and left, leaving him standing there all alone.

Perhaps he should really try Prarese's methods of manipulating people's minds.

He was furious about the failure of his operation and the attitudes of Ron Hermione and Praris.

What infuriated him even more was that Hermione was trying to get him to admit his mistake to Prareas!

“Did you hear that? Putalia already knew you defeated her through something else,” Hermione said righteously. “You should have told her about the Half-Blood Prince! We just asked her how to deal with Slughorn, and now you’ve angered her!”

Hermione is still wary of being overheard.

Harry said somewhat irritably, "Do you think I don't want to do this?! I experimented with the magic in the Prince's Book on Crabbe, and she was the one who broke it in the end! Now if I tell her the truth, won't I just make her angrier?"

“I told you before that you shouldn’t use those spells from the books!” Hermione’s eyes widened. “What if it’s some kind of evil curse…”

“I know that’s not it!” Harry said urgently. “It’s just a spell that makes toes grow longer! Later, Crabbe angered her, and she used it on him too!”

“Talia is different from you. She knows a lot about spells!” Hermione retorted. “Mr. Brown used to be in charge of vetting spells, and Talia taught us so many spells!”

Hermione insisted that Harry confess to Prader, but Harry refused. Finally, he said, "Once I get the memories Dumbledore wants from Slughorn, I'll confess to her, okay?"

Hermione stormed off, throwing down the last words, "It had better be that way!"

Harry scratched his head in frustration and said to Ron, "Is she always like this now?"

Ron hadn't said a word the entire time Harry and Hermione were arguing. Now, he looked equally unhappy: "How should I know! I'm not her Will!"

Alright, now Ron and Hermione are having a falling out, and Hermione and Harry are having a falling out too. All that's missing is for Harry and Ron to add some fuel to the fire!

Even more unbelievable is that this person specifically refers to Hermione, who couldn't find any information about Horcruxes in the library, except for a pointless line in "The Poisonous Magic".

“Perhaps we should ask Talia, but she’s probably still angry right now,” Hermione said anxiously, biting her nails.

She had forgotten her anger at Harry for using the dung heap to cheat, but she still hadn't forgotten to make Harry confess to Praristan.

Harry scoffed. "I don't think Talia is more knowledgeable than you."

Hermione said earnestly, "Thank you for the compliment, but I feel..."

Hermione thought that perhaps she was indeed a clever witch, but her intelligence was not of the same type as Prader's. She needed to consult the library, while Prader's brain was a different kind of library.

Praris, who had been constantly nagged by them, fell into an unusual rage after leaving the classroom.

Ah, this time she certainly saw Harry's textbook on his desk, the tattered "Advanced Potions Making," with its dense, small, round characters.

Those handwritings were very similar to Professor Snape's.

Prareas was not saying that the handwriting was the same as Professor Snape's handwriting when grading assignments. Professor Snape's handwriting was now far more elegant and flowing than that.

Her belief that the handwriting resembled Professor Snape's stemmed from the books she saw in the professor's office when she was a freshman.

Among the countless books on potions, herbs, and magical creatures (Praris believes the professor doesn't like them, but likes certain parts of them that can be used as materials), hidden in the office bookshelves, are some Muggle books.

"Our Slytherin Headmaster is reading Muggle books?" First-year student Praris squatted in front of the bookshelf, curiously "treasure hunting" like a Sniffer.

It turned out that he not only read Muggle books, but also underlined and took notes. Even more surprisingly, he read not just a little, but a great deal.

The professor was reading Shakespeare's sonnets, underlining "You are a mirror of your mother" and then underlining "Come to me, and I will be better! Is hatred more desirable than tender love?"

The professor was reading Macbeth, and following the chronological order of the handwriting, he noticed that Prarese had underlined the line, "Stars, extinguish your flames! Let not your light illuminate my dark, deep desires."

He then wrote "Beggars can't be choosers" at the passage, "My feet are already deep in blood, and if I don't wade forward, the way back will be just as tedious."

Then he underlined the passage: "Those who instigate murder often end up being murdered themselves; those who put poison in a wine glass often end up drinking it themselves."

Finally, he copied down the sentence: "I'm starting to get tired of the daytime sunlight; I wish the world would collapse sooner."

On the last two pages mentioned, the paper appeared to have been dampened with some kind of liquid. Prareas thought for a moment; it was probably some kind of alcohol. However, Prareas had almost never seen the professor drink alcohol.

Besides these, there are many, many more books buried deep in the bookcase, which always stir up a choking dust when picked up.

Ambitious people are destroyed by desire; this seems to be a tragic footnote to Slytherin.

When Prarese, a first-grader, read the professor's copy of Macbeth, he had countless worries in his heart.

If we came to Slytherin because of some similar qualities in our hearts, is the path that the professor suffered the same one that I am about to take?

At that time, Praris did many things, but he always felt hesitant, confused, and lost about what he had done.

This is unlike her; she never showed mercy to Fiona and Sofia.

But she admired Professor Snape, who had taught her, so much that she couldn't help but be moved by his sentiments, just as Muggle public elementary school students would listen to their teachers.

(Of course, as they grew older, they became those teens that everyone in London hated.)

With such a vivid memory, Praris would certainly not forget the handwriting on it—those densely packed, small, round characters.

The professor did help Harry Potter, but he also deeply resented him. This is a contradiction, yet it is a real phenomenon.

But if the professor found out that Potter was showing off by using his textbook... Pralis felt like a fishbone was stuck in her throat, neither going up nor down, making her feel nauseous!

The books in the professor's bookcase were churning and swirling inside her, making it impossible for her to concentrate on anything.

Prarese was unwilling to believe that the book in Potter's hand belonged to the professor, but was troubled by a multitude of clues.

Yes, the Potions classroom used to be used by Professor Snape. Professor Slughorn casually pulled two books out of the cabinet and gave them to Potter and Ron—how could these not be Professor Snape's?

The knowledge in one book was enough to allow Potter to easily surpass her, to make her feel threatened, and to make her spend so much time improving her potion-making skills.

But if she were actually facing Professor Snape at seventeen, none of this would be so surprising.

Around 3:30 p.m., Praris stood in front of that familiar wooden door.

After lunch, Praris found Astoria playing chess with her classmates.

Astoria answered Praris's question without even asking: "Defense Against the Dark Arts... the most recent one I know of is this afternoon, during the second period, taught by Hufflepuffs from our year."

Prarese took advantage of this time to go to Professor Snape's office.

Entering Professor Snape's office without leaving a trace is not easy, especially after Barty Crouch Jr. used it as a pharmacy.

But Praris knew this place well; it felt like home.

Unlocking spells won't work; Professor Snape used the Anti-Aloth Cave Opening Charm, so the door needs to be pried open with a wire. After prying it open, some of the magic inside needs to be temporarily dispelled, and then restored when leaving.

Then, Prarese followed the path she had taken before, found the bookshelf below, and pulled the handle.

Cough cough cough! Such a thick layer of dust... Sir! You haven't cleaned at all all these years!

Praris casually pulled out a book, Baudelaire's "The Flowers of Evil"—ha, the Frenchman!

"They thought they could wash away all our stains with cheap tears."*

Prarese imagined that when her teacher saw this, he would definitely show his usual mocking smile.

Many people think Professor Snape is serious and cold, but he actually loves to laugh. However, his laughter is often sarcastic, like he's looking at a fool, or it's a laugh born of extreme anger.

Praris ran his fingers over the ink on the paper: "Tears are cheap currency, a coward's self-righteous salvation."

These handwritings, found between the textbooks on Harry's desk and the professor's current handwriting, are insufficient to prove anything.

Prarese then found the Shakespearean sonnets she had read before, confirming that her judgment was correct.

At this point, Praris was no longer angry.

Or perhaps she was just too angry.

Prarese silently put "The Flowers of Evil" and "Sonnets" back in their places, and as usual, he did not delve into Professor Snape's past, even though he felt something in his heart.

This was a tacit understanding and mutual respect between her and Professor Snape. Professor Snape never interfered in Depp and Sylvia's affairs, and Prarese learned to close her eyes and not pry into his thoughts.

She raised her wand and silently chanted, "Restore everything."

The dust that had been stirred up rustled back to its original place, and the bookshelf clicked shut.

Praris walked along, restoring the office to its original state, his pale face devoid of any expression, only blank indifference remaining.

February in the Scottish Highlands is often rainy. Even when it's not raining, the sky is overcast. The former snow has been replaced by a thin layer of greenish-brown vegetation, but the wind is still strong, howling from one end of the corridor to the other.

Harry had been keeping a close eye on Malfoy lately, and when he finally spotted something suspicious about him, he quickly put away the Marauder's Map and hurried to the location shown on the map.

Because he was preoccupied with something, Harry nearly bumped into someone standing directly opposite him as he turned a corner in a corridor.

“Who—Praris?” Harry nearly choked.

Keep in mind, this is a hallway! Isn't Praris worried that someone will see the two of them standing together talking?

Praris stared straight at him, held out a hand, and said coldly, "The book."

"What book?" Harry was a little confused.

Praris gave a mocking smile and took a step closer: "Reluctant to part with it, are you? 'Advanced Potion Making'!"

"Don't you have any yourself?" Harry shrugged. "You have to ask me for them!"

Praris grinned, scoffed, and looked at him with the eyes of someone looking at a dog: "I mean, that very old 'Advanced Potions Making' book... Is it fun to use other people's stuff? Is it satisfying to be a genius by lying on other people's wisdom? Is being a savior not enough for you, so you have to be a potions genius to fill your insatiable desires?"

Prader was almost reckless with her words; she knew perfectly well that Harry himself didn't want to be the "savior" and was even embarrassed by it, yet she still criticized him with such words.

"What does this have to do with you?" Harry's anger flared up instantly. "Whether you lose to me or to someone else, what difference does it make—aren't you a loser anyway? Can't stand losing after being number one for so long?"

Harry was feeling unwell after arguing with Hermione, and he was already thinking about how to talk to Prader.

But from the moment Slughorn first praised him so lavishly, Harry was put on a pedestal. He found himself driven by a desire called vanity, unable to admit that he wasn't as great as others thought.

Harry had been scolded many times since first year, so this was just another one. But Harry initially still had a glimmer of hope that this matter could be left unresolved, and later he took on the task of getting information out of Slughorn.

Chapter 170 My Cousin

Dumbledore asked him to extract information from Slughorn, who always praised him for inheriting Lily's talents.

To fulfill Dumbledore's request, Harry must not let Slughorn discover that his potions talent is a fabrication.

When Harry discovered that his father wasn't the way he'd imagined, he told himself that at least his mother was righteous. Slughorn's words gave Harry a sense of close connection with Lily, a feeling he cherished.

Harry would occasionally recall the zeros Snape had given him in class last year, and the way the Slytherins laughed and mocked him… Crabbe and Goyle had done even worse than him! But he was the only one who got a zero!

Does Snape have the right to undermine a student's confidence just because he doesn't like me? Is this the pain Neville has been enduring all along?

Harry was just a little over fifteen years old at the time! He didn't think it was something a professor should do! How humiliating it must have been for him to be given a zero in front of everyone!

The Half-Blood Prince told Harry that he wasn't some kind of potions-making fool. Slughorn's praise made him think that he might possess some of Lily's qualities, not just her eyes.

No detailed explanation was needed; Harry simply glanced at the Half-Blood Prince's notes, and Snape's good student couldn't sit still.

Despite his harsh words, Harry agreed with Hermione's point of view. Prader was just a bit sharp-tongued; she was genuinely a kind and good person, and he shouldn't have hurt her like that.