HP North Star's Radiance

At that time, she couldn't go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so she went to the rubbish heap of the Room of Requirement to pick up some unbroken potion bottles to use—as long as Dumbledore couldn't taste any glass shards, the bottle was a good bottle.

Now, Praris is rummaging through the garbage heap he created again and unexpectedly finds some leftover holly leaves and honeysuckle.

This year she was quite audacious; she didn't even bother to look at the leftover materials and went straight to Professor Snape for new ones.

The conditions are different now!

Praris squatted down and began "picking vegetables," selecting the usable parts.

What's even more troublesome is that the snake venom is almost gone. We either have to use it sparingly or go find Potter again—why worry about this, unless Potter doesn't want Bill Weasley to be a normal person.

But since Bill was injured in the face, and out of some humanitarian considerations, Prarese considered another issue: perhaps she should reduce the strength of the medication.

Knock knock—

Praris didn't look up, but simply rolled her eyes upwards, the dark green potion making her look like some kind of evil witch in the firelight.

“Who?” Praris shouted.

“Harry Potter,” the other person said.

Praris lowered his eyes again: "Please come in."

In the school infirmary, Harry didn't say a word, but he looked at her with a hateful yet restrained gaze.

Praris has been waiting for this moment ever since.

Harry pushed open the classroom door, his green eyes staring straight at Prass, then at the cauldron in front of her: "Bill's medicine?"

“Not yet,” Praris said calmly. “You’ve come at the right time. Help me get a few longhorn toads from Slughorn—I’m afraid I can’t get any now.”

“It’s not that you can’t get it,” Harry said calmly. “It’s that you don’t want to answer any of his questions.”

Praris stirred the crucible and said calmly, "Not answering means you won't get anything, that's one thing."

It seemed that Bill's injury and the unknown aftereffects were more important. Harry turned and left, actually going to ask Slughorn for a test subject.

"Don't go yet!" Praris called out to him, picking up a piece of parchment from the table. "Here are some more; take as many as you can. The experiments consume a lot of resources."

Harry took a deep breath, his chest heaving, trying to suppress the fire burning within him: "Wait."

Praliss didn't care what Harry thought; she had important things to do: brew the medicine, bottle it, label it, change the ingredients, brew it again...

Harry arrived quite late, having been gone for a while, and two of the bottle racks in front of Praris were already occupied.

He placed a box on Praris's table and asked, "Tell me the truth, can Bill be completely cured?"

“Harry, no doctor will tell you that they can completely cure a certain intractable disease,” Praris said gently. “We will only say, we will do our best.”

Harry looked at Praris with a deep gaze for a long while before saying, "Your talent for potions is exceptional."

"You flatter me."

“Inherited from Snape?” Harry said.

Praris stopped what he was doing, realizing that the potion in front of him was destined to be wasted, so he simply moved it away and put out the fire.

Praris calmly replied, "I'm glad you think I've mastered the skills."

She thought about it carefully and decided that this was the perfect time to torment the long-horned toad, so she reached into Harry's trunk and took the toad out.

But she failed; Harry stopped her.

Harry grabbed Praris's hand and said sarcastically, "Whether it's the true essence or just bloodline, you know it yourself."

Praris was starting to get annoyed. He pulled his hand away from Harry's and said coldly, "Show some respect! My hand is important, Mr. Potter."

“The Half-Blood Prince is Snape,” Harry said accusingly. “Yet you say the Half-Blood Prince is your relative!”

Praris sat down in a chair, found a comfortable position, put his hands together, tilted his head and said, "How strange, I've actually become smarter?"

"He told me himself!" Harry stood up angrily, "while I was chasing him!"

"what--"

Praris drawled, "That's right."

“I didn’t believe it at first.” Harry ignored Praris’s rude attitude. “But Hermione found some information, and she hesitated to tell me for your sake.”

Hermione discovered Erin Prince's existence in the library. After Dumbledore's death, Hermione also learned from Harry that Snape claimed he was the Half-Blood Prince.

So yesterday afternoon, Hermione found out from the newspaper about Erin Prince's marriage to Muggle Tobias Snape, and their son Severus Snape.

Hermione suddenly understood. Prareas said she was a relative of the Half-Blood Prince, and her last name happened to be Prince, so Prareas must be directly related to Erin Prince!

Snape's special feelings for Prader weren't just because of her genius, but also because the two were relatives!

Hermione wanted to ask Prareas what was going on, but Prareas had already taken the two-way mirror back a few days ago.

Looking back now, Hermione suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. Why did Praderne happen to ask for the two-way mirror back just before this incident? Who was she going to give it to?!

The truth, Dumbledore's death, and many other questions trouble Hermione.

Although she was determined to tell Harry all this, she kept telling him, "I think there might be something more to this..."

“From not believing you to learning to trust you.” Harry’s face was flushed with anger. “I’ve come a long way. I even started to think that Slytherin wasn’t what I used to think! But now Snape killed Dumbledore, and you… Hermione always trusted you so much, and you betrayed her trust.”

Harry said that, but he was actually quite resentful.

Snape easily blocked his attack and even mocked Harry for using his spell against him. He couldn't help but think: if he had known Snape was the Half-Blood Prince, would Harry have had a chance to stop him and avenge Dumbledore?

“I don’t think I’ve let Hermione down,” Prarese said calmly. “And I don’t deny that Professor Snape is my relative—thanks to Dumbledore.”

Harry suddenly shouted angrily, "Don't compare those two names!"

“If you want to hear the truth, then you have to accept this,” Praris said in a calm and clear tone. “I have no father, and I don’t really have a mother. In other words, I’m an orphan.”

Harry froze, his mind seemingly stuck, unable to process what was happening.

“I spent six or seven years as an orphan,” Praris said casually, “and then I came to Hogwarts. I suppose I had the potential to become a dark wizard in my early years.”

“Dumbledore persuaded Professor Snape to take care of me.” She was a master of the art of language. “She persuaded Ms. Prim Purnell to become my mother and take over my lineage. So I have never lied to you; my mother now is Prim Purnell.”

“You’re lying to me right now!” Harry said through gritted teeth. “You’re making it sound like… Snape only accepted you because of Dumbledore, and you had no connection before that!”

"Oh—how am I supposed to explain this to you!"

Prarese looked on with a skeptical expression: "As far as I know, Professor Snape only learned of my existence on the day Dumbledore spoke to him. On the same day, he agreed to take care of me."

“I understand what you mean. Indeed, Professor Snape is related to me by blood,” Prarese said, shrugging. “But he had a very bad relationship with my biological mother.”

"To be honest, according to insiders, my biological mother had a better relationship with your parents, Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin."

Prareas's confident demeanor made Harry realize that if he were to ask Sirius Black, he would surely get the same answer.

But he didn't feel any better at all, and said disappointedly, "Is this how you Slytherins are? You used to be so protective of Snape and you were so close to him, but now that things have changed, you've so easily severed ties with him."

Harry recalled the scene where Slughorn's attitude towards Marcos changed drastically, and how similar it was to what was happening now.

“You see things very clearly!” Praris said in surprise. “It’s always like this. I’m turning to the light, shouldn’t you be happy for me? Did you expect me to join Professor Snape in joining the Lord Varian?”

"You still call him professor?"

Praris said nonchalantly, "Harry, it's just politeness. I still call Mr. Lupin 'Professor' to this day, even though he's no longer our professor."

Despite Harry's deep hatred for Snape—for killing Dumbledore and revealing prophecies to Voldemort—he still felt sorry for Snape for having such a fickle student.

Perhaps this is his retribution for betrayal! Harry thought with a sense of satisfaction. Snape betrayed Dumbledore, and now he would have to endure Prader's betrayal.

"What about Malfoy?" Harry couldn't help but ask. "Don't you care about him either?"

Praris put his hands together, smiled, and said, "What you said is very interesting! Love is the privilege of the rich. People like us who have climbed up from the bottom can't live off it."

Now, Prasris has finally revealed her cruelty as a Slytherin, making Harry even feel sorry for Malfoy.

He couldn't help but say, "I admit I hate Malfoy, but Voldemort used his parents' lives to blackmail him into killing Dumbledore, and he couldn't do it..."

Prarese's flawless performance cracked slightly as she exclaimed in surprise, "If I'm not mistaken, you're sympathizing with Draco?"

Harry fell silent for a while before saying, "It seems a little ridiculous, doesn't it? I thought I would hate him completely, just like before."

Praris shook his head, finding it somewhat absurd. The Malfoys' allies were only kicking him when he was down, while their enemies were sympathizing with Draco.

Chapter 192 The Funeral of the Living Dead

Praris sighed, then suddenly bent down and pulled a tattered book of poems from the nearby "garbage heap," gently patting off the dust.

“You might not believe it, but this book was with me for a long time.” Prarese handed the poetry collection to Harry. “For some reason, I traded it away. Someone wrote a lot of notes in it and then returned it to me—as a kind of apology.”

“You’re not suited for The Half-Blood Prince’s Notebook,” Praris said, “but you could take a look at this one.”

On Christmas Day in Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore apologizes to Prareth for the origin of the pseudonym Talia.

After the conversation, Dumbledore took the small book of poems from his robes and returned it to Prarese.

“This was a gift from Sylvanas when he retired,” Dumbledore said gently. “I love the book very much, but I think it should return to its original owner.”

"I was not its original owner."

Despite saying this, Praris still accepted the book of poems.

Harry held the book of poems, looking at the familiar handwriting. The handwriting was remarkably similar to the parchment scrolls he had received throughout the year, the ones that had invited him to teach.

Clearly, their owner is Dumbledore.

Harry lowered his head, pressed his forehead against the poetry book, and let out a painful roar, venting the emotions that had been suppressed in his heart.

After a long silence, he said self-deprecatingly, "Am I ridiculous?"

"You figured it out?" Praris feigned surprise. "I thought I was hiding it well."

Harry was taken aback by her words and remained silent for a moment before saying, "I believe you deep down, yet I still question you. I know you must be busy with Bill's medicine, yet I still bother you."

"I don't know what I'm doing! I just, I just want to say something, hate something, anything..."

Harry's words were incoherent and incomprehensible to most people. He was like a silkworm, unaware of why it was spinning its cocoon, simply emptying itself out of instinct.

“You should be thanking me that I’m not Neville Longbottom,” Praris glared at him speechlessly. “Otherwise, we’d both be in St. Mungo’s for the cauldron explosion.”

“Simply put, you’re in so much pain, and there’s no proper outlet for these emotions,” Prares said in a calm and clear tone. “You’ve been forced to reveal your feelings to me far too many times without actually being hurt.”

“So, your body has taken me for a therapist.” Praris shook his head, pointing to the poetry collection. “I’m very busy, extremely busy. Your therapist is here; only you can save yourself—leave me alone, please?”

For Harry, this was the first time he had truly faced the death of an elder. Sirius was lucky enough to survive, narrowly escaping the horror of facing death head-on, but Dumbledore died right before his eyes.

Harry couldn't stay calm, nor could he. The fact that he still believed Praris was a testament to the trust he had built up over the years.