HP North Star's Radiance

Farley, standing nearby, couldn't help but laugh out loud: "That's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart."

Prarese narrowed her eyes. At first, she thought the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a Lockhart fan, just like Miss Heidi was a fan of Fox's books.

Unexpectedly, this is just a simple daffodil.

“That’s quite surprising,” Praris said slowly. “It’s not what I expected.”

Prarese has already read Lockhart's book; the wording is slightly exaggerated, but the content is highly authentic.

Perhaps every capable person has some unusual personality traits. Prarese convinced herself of this, but some details swirling in her mind disagreed.

The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin, and Farley told her to hurry back to her seat.

She was unable to sit down promptly because she was chatting with the two class leaders.

She thought she would have to sit with the Bloody Barrow, but thankfully there were freshmen at the bottom, and Praris successfully sat at the very end of the second year.

Perhaps the predecessors from last year thought the same way, which is why Malfoy ended up having to dine next to the Bloody Barrow.

"What were you and Marcus talking about just now?" Malfoy leaned closer. "Do you know what the professor went to do?"

Praris glanced around the scene: "Look over there."

At the Great Hall entrance, Gryffindor's Potter and Weasley looked like they had rolled several times on the ground, while Professor Snape stood behind them with a sharp gaze.

"They're in for it!" Malfoy exclaimed excitedly.

Praris pressed down on his shoulder, pulling him back from his probing position: "If you get any more agitated, you'll be in trouble too."

Professor Snape took them both away, and Malfoy seemed reluctant to leave, looking as if he regretted not being able to see Gryffindor suffer any more.

Pansy said softly, "Draco, look, another red-haired Weasley."

Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow: "What's so surprising about that? I've seen it all before at Flourish and Blotts. These Weasleys are like rabbits, they give birth to a whole litter with every kick."

After saying that, he turned to Praris and said, "Hey, what's your relationship with that guy the other day? I mean, Brown. My dad said..."

Prareus clapped his hands, interrupting Malfoy's question. It turned out that a new student had joined Slytherin.

After the applause ended, seeing that Malfoy still had no intention of giving up, Prarese decided to find something to distract him.

She doesn't like others probing into her past, and she especially doesn't want to bring up Winnie's Death Eater past in public; at least, Winnie doesn't like that.

She couldn't bring herself to discuss other people's dark pasts as if they were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Look, the professor called Professor McGonagall out. I think Potter and the others are all right now.” Prarese knew how to make Malfoy forget what he had just been about to do.

Sure enough, Malfoy's attention immediately went to Gryffindor: "What do you think they did?"

“It’s hard to say,” Praris blinked. “They were late, arriving almost at the start of the Sorting Ceremony. Either they didn’t get on the train, or something happened when they got off. The fact that they had luggage with them means they didn’t even get on the train.”

“If you hadn’t told me, I could hardly have seen Professor Snape at all,” Malfoy said, dumbfounded.

Prarese continued, “Yes, they didn’t get on the train. But Professor McGonagall still needs Professor Snape to inform them. Something happened to these two who didn’t get on the train, and they didn’t even inform their professor. They had some twigs on them, not many leaves, and they looked very familiar.”

Praris paused for a moment: "The Whomping Willow, Ms. Sprout was planning to wrap a piece of canvas around it for warmth last winter. They're late, and they've messed with the Whomping Willow. I don't think we need to worry, tomorrow they'll be all over the place. You know, the savior treatment."

Malfoy muttered something under his breath, then sneered, "Yes, this is the treatment for a savior. Let's see what kind of show the savior can pull off this time!"

After welcoming the new students, Marcus and Farley led them slowly down the aisle, explaining things about the school as they went. The older Slytherins, meanwhile, went back on their own, arms around each other's shoulders.

“Prince, did you do this on purpose?” Pansy suddenly tugged at her.

Praris looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

“I’m talking to Draco, why are you interrupting? Aren’t you annoyed by Draco? Can’t you stay away from him?” Pansy still looked down on him with her chin.

Prarese frowned as she recalled the conversation she had just had, the scene of her talking to Malfoy replaying in her mind at double speed.

That's right, it was Malfoy who initiated the conversation with her, not the other way around.

Praris didn't understand her statement: "Pansy, I didn't interrupt. I remember he was the one who asked me the question. I wouldn't say I was annoyed by him, but I think if you have any feelings for him, you should try to get him to talk to you. After all, I was just answering his questions."

Pansy was silent for a long while before saying, "Do you think I don't want to?"

"So your questioning of me is your way of taking your own incompetence out on yourself?" Praris's tone remained unchanged.

Pansy took a deep breath, looking furious, but she couldn't find any words to refute it.

Prareas asked the same question again: "What do you like about him?"

“I don’t know,” Pansy said helplessly. “I don’t know why I like him. Is he smart? Maybe, but not nearly as smart as you. He’s not brave either. He’s not even successful. He’s always getting infuriated by the Gryffindors. But I still like him like that, damn it.”

"Is this what love is like? Even if he has no redeeming qualities in your eyes," Praris asked softly. "You don't seem like yourself anymore. After all, you wouldn't have shown this expression before."

What kind of expression did she have? She was no longer arrogant at all; Praris could only sense her anxiety, confusion, and helplessness.

Pansy hugged herself tightly: "I don't think I've learned what love is yet, but my eyes are always on him, I can't take them off. He can see Harry Potter, he can see you, he can even see Crabgoore and Weasley, but he can never see me."

Prarese couldn't quite describe how she felt; she felt a little sorry for Pansy.

Pansy's feelings for love blossomed too early, so early that the other person didn't even have the concept of it.

“Your love doesn’t seem to be making you feel any better,” Praris said, reaching out to straighten Pansy’s collar. “Then why don’t you give up?”

“Prince, you’re sometimes too smart, sometimes too stupid. If this were something I could just give up on so easily, would I be upset about it?” Pansy rolled her eyes. “You know what? Sometimes I’m jealous of you. You’re the only Slytherin girl he has something to say about you. I know it’s normal given your abilities, but I can’t help but envy you.”

Why can you so easily have what I can't have?

Praris shook his head: "Pansy, you're already doing great, why are you envious of me? You have a happy family, you're doing very well academically, and you have your own partner, Daphne. To be honest, I really like your short hair. I've been thinking about getting a haircut like that; it's too much trouble to put my hair up every day. You also know a lot about perfumes, like top and base notes."

“You’re watching me? Why?” Pansy asked incredulously.

Prare admitted, "Well, there are things that just pop into my head even when I'm not paying attention. It puts a bit of a burden on me."

"Is it painful?"

"Sometimes, so I often force myself to clear my mind, but voices still get into my ears on their own."

Pansy's expression was complicated: "It seems everyone has their own troubles."

"Perhaps," Praris smiled helplessly.

Pansy sighed, "God knows why I said these things to you, I almost regret it now."

“Don’t you think I’m weird? The Stella you know, I heard she didn’t start dating until fourth grade, and now I’m talking about these weird things,” Pansy said, staring blankly ahead.

Prarese shook her head: "No two leaves are alike, and no one else is Pansy Parkinson's. Why measure your feelings by someone else's experience?"

Pansy gave Praris a deep look: "Sometimes I hate you, sometimes I envy you, but I can't really hate you. Well, I can only try to ignore you as much as possible."

Pansy trotted into the Slytherin common room, her little leather shoes clicking softly.

They talked for so long, but Praris still couldn't understand what she was saying. Compared to purely physiological and psychological reactions, emotions seemed a bit difficult for her to comprehend.

The next morning, Praris went to the auditorium for breakfast as usual.

Sure enough, things that don't involve emotions are easier to speculate about than those involving emotions: everyone in the Great Hall was talking about Harry Potter.

Generally speaking, besides yourself, your opponents know you best.

The Slytherins recounted the events of yesterday in great detail, as if they had been eavesdropping on Potter's carriage.

"Weasley's dad secretly modified a Ford Anglia, and come on, he works in the Muggle Misuse Office! Then Potter and Weasley just drove that car up into the sky, and lots of Muggles saw it. He must have really wanted to show off, congratulations to him, he succeeded! But we can't forget to congratulate Arthur Weasley, he's definitely going to get some punishment, nothing makes me happier!"

Prarese didn't pay much attention to these things; she was focused on spreading butter on the toast.

Just then, a loud bang, like an explosion, rang out in the air, startling Praris so much that he threw his bread onto the Zabini plate next to him.

#@%*&(Praris's profanity)

"Draco, look, it seems our First Lady of Slytherin is eager to prepare breakfast for me."

Bress Zabini smiled with a slanted eye, his narcissistic, arrogant, and mocking expression making Praris want to throw a jet of water at his face to wash away his disgusting look.

Praris's face darkened: "Zabini, I don't think you want to know how many curses and potions I know—damn Gryffindor, what's wrong with you!"

See? Slytherins all become the same after a while. Praris has already mastered the art of cursing.

Malfoy said with a hint of schadenfreude, "Look how proud Mrs. Weasley is of her son! She couldn't help but send a congratulatory letter!"

Mrs. Weasley's curses could be heard coming from Gryffindor.

Praris lost all interest in eating. She put the spatula back on the table, stood up, and left.

But she didn't expect to feel so nauseous today!

Slytherin only had Herbs class today, which was good; Prairie was happy to see the Lady of Sprouts. She missed the kind and gentle witch so much.

Praris had no parents, and the witches, such as Lady Sprout and Lady Prim, to some extent fulfilled Praris's lack of maternal love.

"What's going on?" Daphne asked, frowning. "Are we having to assign two teachers to each class now?"

"Isn't he the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Why is he saying such nonsense here?" Pansy said, trying to ignore her, but still nudged Praris when she couldn't understand.

Praris casually picked up an earmuff: "Clearly, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class can't utilize his full power, and this gentleman is trying to increase his presence. Put on the earmuffs so you can't hear his chattering."

“Praris, why do you say that?” Milison suddenly seemed a little unhappy. “You also said that you couldn’t find any flaws in his book, which means he does have some ability. Why not admit it? Perhaps he just wants to use his knowledge to help his colleagues teach. What’s so strange about humbly learning from each other? Ms. Sprout should humbly accept the suggestion.”

Praris raised an eyebrow; she hadn't expected Milison to say that.

“Millie, I can’t be sure if he’s capable, but his ability and his desire for attention are two different things. Even Professor Snape would admit that Granger is talented, but he also said that Granger loves to show off. It’s the same thing,” Prarese tried to explain, she often had a little more patience with Millison.

Milison put on his earmuffs, seemingly unwilling to accept Praris's words: "Aren't you the same? If you're so capable, why hide it? You're always like this: 'Oh, what is this person thinking with that expression? Obviously, this person did something before. You just need to do this and that. Don't you have any desire to perform? You're too arrogant."

After saying that, she turned her head away from Praris.

Praris opened her mouth, completely unaware that she was like this. To her, it was simply stating a fact, but to others it was not.

Ms. Sprout began her lecture, and Praris had no choice but to listen, but Millison's words kept replaying in her mind.

Chapter 25 Milison's Sorrow

Praris is not a proactive person. She doesn't write to others to tell them about her recent situation. Usually, others write to her when they have something to say.

Millison wrote her three letters during the summer vacation: the first letter said she was happy to be on vacation and that her family was going to go on a trip together; the second letter said that her mother disliked her for not getting good enough grades; and the third letter said that catching up on homework was annoying.

Praris couldn't find the reason for Milison's sudden anger in this.

She could only deftly pull up the mandrake seedlings, stuff them into the pot, pile them up as fertilizer, and then casually slap the lively poisonous tentacles next to her.

The Mandrake was forcibly muted before it could even finish its howl, and the Poison Tentacle sadly retracted its sprouting bud. Seeing this, the Slytherins all began to experience Phantom Pain.

“Prareth’s technique was perfect, but don’t try to shoot the poison tentacles like that. You’ll easily get pricked by their spikes. Just be careful to avoid them. Slytherin gets five points,” Ms. Sprout said.

By the time get out of class ended, everyone except Praris, a regular at the greenhouse, was covered in mud and sweat.