HP North Star's Radiance

Like Draco's mission, Praris's mission is also extremely dangerous.

If successful, Prader would be inextricably linked to Voldemort, becoming his personal "doctor" for mending souls, and trapped in a perilous situation from which there is no escape. If he fails, he may incur Voldemort's wrath, be punished, or even implicate Professor Snape.

Prarese lowered her head, closed her eyes, and fell into deep thought: she needed to find a balance, and dear Draco had given her a good example—she couldn't do nothing, nor could she do everything; she couldn't fail completely, nor could she succeed completely.

"I think I have the answer."

Prarese used magic to remove the dampness from her face, her expression revealing a subtle tension and excitement, before she walked briskly out of the washroom and back to the Slytherin common room.

As the second semester began, NEWT's exams drew ever closer. Although the atmosphere at Hogwarts was heavy and tense, like a powder keg ready to explode, life had to go on, and things still had to be done.

Seeing Prarese return, Pansy, who had almost chewed her quill pen to the brim, looked up and complained in a low voice, "Prare, you're finally back—come and take a look at me!"

Praris walked over and glanced at it: "My goodness, I didn't choose this course! Daphne—"

“You probably overestimate me,” Daphne shrugged.

“Alright,” Praris said logically. “I guess it’s about feeding it some valerian, the kind used to make the Living Hell Potion and the Forgetfulness Potion. Valerian has calming and hypnotic properties.”

“That sounds like the perfect answer!” Pansy declared as if making a momentous announcement. “You’re the one, Valerian!”

"What if we're wrong?" Praris couldn't help but ask.

Pansy replied matter-of-factly, "That just means that half-giant has no vision!"

Seriously, who invented Pansy Parkinson's?

This girl always spoke and did things irrationally, with an air of self-righteousness. As her Slytherin friend, Prarese simply found her adorable—the Gryffindors would probably think the complete opposite.

This sounds very Slytherin-esque. Everyone who grew up and studied together here thinks they're all fine, but once you go outside, you see that everyone is flawed.

"Oh, right!" Pansy got up from her lying position and patted around on the bed. "Mirison sent a letter, which I received at noon."

Praris sat down directly on the edge of Pansy's bed and waited for her to open the letter.

Pansy quickly tore open the letter, which contained a letter and a newspaper: "What?! There's even a newspaper inside. They really don't check Slytherin packages much!"

She skimmed the letter, her expression growing increasingly grim.

Prarese unfolded the newspaper in surprise, only to find it was a copy of the South American Sports Daily. Prarese had seen an extremely similar newspaper before, just as she was searching for her origins.

The main newspaper was unremarkable, but the supplement featured a striking headline: "The pitch is a battlefield: Why I think the Death Eater Cup is the most dangerous trap in Quidditch history."

Chapter 246 Milison's Rebellion

"When I was a first-year student at Hogwarts, I saw the Quidditch pitch as a cradle of dreams, courage, and friendship."

"We applaud Gryffindor's courage, marvel at Ravenclaw's tactics, cheer for Hufflepuff's unity, and admire Slytherin's versatility."

"But when I saw the British Ministry of Magic announce in the Daily Prophet that international Quidditch tournaments would be restarted, my heart was immediately filled with deep worry and fear."

"This is because I know from the bottom of my heart that this sport that we love and that brings us joy is being used as a tool to whitewash the situation—when people are celebrating sporting events, who remembers the increase in missing persons over the past six months?"

The following paragraph lists examples of tyranny, such as the hunt for Muggle-born wizards, and the Ministry of Magic's inaction after the Azkaban breakout.

"As a wizard born and raised in the UK, I can't help but question the current UK Ministry of Magic government: How can the fairness, impartiality, and transparency of sporting events be guaranteed under such unfair policies? How can the safety of athletes and spectators be guaranteed in such an unsafe social environment?"

"Among Quidditch teams from various countries, there are many outstanding players who are Muggle-born, and they have brought us many memorable and exciting moments."

"If these players are about to face unfair refereeing decisions due to their bloodline, it will become a scandal in Quidditch history."

"If these players are about to face the prospect of winning a match with all their might, only to be arrested the next day because of their bloodline, it will become a permanent and hideous scar in the history of Quidditch."

"Even if none of the above happened, participating in the current British Ministry of Magic competitions is itself a betrayal and a defilement of the spirit of Quidditch!"

"Know that beneath our cheers lies the silent passing of countless wizards! The true spirit of Quidditch lies in fairness, courage, and freedom, not in fear, oppression, and lies!"

"I, Anna Fianne Lopez, warn all journalists, commentators, Quidditch players, and viewers with a conscience that every report on the upcoming tournament hosted by the British Ministry of Magic adds legitimacy to this dark regime; every ticket purchased could become a spell cast upon our wizarding companions."

"The Golden Snitch may be caught and locked in a box, but the truth and love will never be—they lie deep within our hearts."

"Thanks to my assistant, Miss B, for her great help with this report."

The letter was tucked inside Milison's package, and Miss B was undoubtedly Milison herself.

Prarese folded the newspaper in half and handed it to Pansy, who in turn handed the letter to Prarese, muttering to herself, "Mirison must have gone mad from eating poisonous mushrooms in the South American rainforest!"

Without saying anything more, Prarese simply opened Millison's envelope to see what she had to say to her good friends.

Milison's letter was very simple, saying that her "mentor," Mrs. Lopez, wanted to write the report, and that Milison had done the work of collecting most of the factual evidence for it.

"I hid this letter in the snacks I gave Pansy. There's no magic in it, and they won't open the chocolate bag just for me. I hope it will reach you."

"My aunt allowed me to do this, but she insisted that I remain anonymous when the news was published."

"I don't think my mom would be proud of what I did, but I'm definitely proud of myself. Pray, Pansy, Duffy, you might think this is ridiculous and stupid, but I'm going to do it anyway."

"I often wonder, if my mother had heard different voices back then, would things be different today? Sometimes I also wonder, if my father were still alive, would my family be happier?"

"Quidditch is my path to finding myself, my path to liberating myself, and my path to pursuing self-growth."

"I hope that as I walk this road, I will look up and see cheers and laughter, and look down and see no tears and blood."

Before long, all three of them had finished reading the letter and the newspaper.

Several Slytherin girls sat in a circle, the atmosphere heavy.

"Honestly, has her brain been damaged by a Quaffle?" Daphne said irritably. "Rebecca Burst actually supports her? Should I say, thank goodness she listened to her aunt and wasn't stupid enough to put her name on it too, huh?"

Prarese had a different idea. She whispered, "I think it might be because of Mr. Burst. Millie and Aunt Becky have always felt that Mr. Burst and their family are victims of the Mysterious Man."

The other two girls fell silent for a moment; they also knew a little about Mr. Burst's affairs.

Mr. Burst was entirely innocent. He neither served the Death Eaters nor opposed them, and he was a pure-blood, yet he still gave his life for the Death Eaters.

“Now that we’ve all read it,” Pansy said, her head bowed, her bangs and hair obscuring her face. The next second, Pansy looked up and said decisively, “Burn it—this letter and this newspaper will get us all into trouble!”

Praris raised her wand and whispered, and the papers on the table immediately burst into flames, the firelight illuminating the faces of the three girls for a fleeting moment.

When you spend a lot of time together, it's hard to notice any changes in the other person.

Pansy always seems to be like this: willful, bad-tempered, unreasonable, and timid. When it comes to her own people, she overreacts to any potential danger and always cares about each and every one of them.

Daphne is passionate about purebloodsism but doesn't always emphasize it. Her mouth is used for being sarcastic, revealing a Beatrice-like sharp tongue, yet occasionally there is a hidden warmth.

Praris was initially calm and rational to the point of seeming somewhat aloof, but after getting to know him, it was unexpected to discover that he was actually a gentle and tolerant person, with some extremely irrational rebelliousness hidden beneath his rationality.

But Millison's letter disrupted the stability between them, causing the three girls to re-examine each other.

“I’m going to write a letter to this idiot!” Pansy spoke first, looking at Praris and Daphne pleadingly, “Promise me you two won’t be like Milison, right?”

As Pansy said this, her gaze was mainly fixed on Praris.

"Don't worry," Daphne said sarcastically. "I'm not Barnabas; I wouldn't do something as stupid as dancing with a troll!"

Praris pondered for a moment, then said to Pansy, "Pansy, I know of a potion that, unlike Muggle invisible ink, leaves no trace in cold places but reveals itself in warm places. How about we use this to write letters?"

Scotland had just celebrated Christmas and the weather hadn't started to warm up yet, while South America was still in the transition from summer to autumn, which was perfect for the properties of this potion.

Daphne swept the ashes of the letter into the fireplace, while Praris went to get some wizard's invisible ink, leaving Pansy alone, deep in worry.

“Duffy—” Pansy whispered, “Pry didn’t agree to my request.”

Daphne clapped her hands and said casually, "If worrying were useful, my mother, the 'Queen of Worry,' wouldn't need to fret about Leah's unconventional behavior!"

“Honestly, Prareas is way smarter than us!” Daphne slowly walked over and sat down in front of Pansy. “Worrying about her is as ridiculous as that old Squirrel Filch worrying about Professor Snape’s incompetence. Give it a rest!”

It sounded like she was calling them both useless idiots, but Pansy knew Daphne was trying to comfort her and nodded reluctantly.

In the end, the three of them hesitated for a long time with the invisible ink, and didn't write anything particularly ugly. They just told Milison not to do such dangerous things again, that anonymity didn't mean it wouldn't be discovered—if the letter was intercepted, Milison could very well be in danger.

The letter was eventually stuffed into the package of Daphne, a notorious pureblood, who said with disdain, "I really don't know what's wrong with Millison, that he's speaking up for Mudbloods!"

"So you're still willing to help deliver the message?" Praris asked with a smile.

Daphne gave a cold laugh: "Isn't this letter meant to persuade Millison to turn back from the wrong path? Consider it compensation for the fact that I didn't say a few kind words to her before she left!"

Praris stood beside Daphne, watching her hand the package to the owl, and watched the owl fly into the sky.

Fate can be amazing; Milison's commentator was none other than Anna Prince, a reporter for the South American Sports Daily whom Praris had once investigated.

Anna Prince is a contributing journalist and writer for the South American sports newspaper, as well as a well-known commentator and referee for South American Quidditch tournaments. Several years ago, Anna married Lopez, a Quidditch star who graduated from Castelobuscher, and chose to change her name to Anna Lopez.

For these reasons, Aunt Becky was able to help her niece get the opportunity to transfer to Castelobusch, and Milison never thought there was any coincidence in the surnames of her teachers Anna and Praris, nor did she ever specifically mention her teacher's name to her friends.

After class that afternoon, a younger student relayed Principal Snape's summons, and Prarese arrived as promised.

This time, it was no longer a one-sided warning from Snape to Prarese, but a tacit consensus between the two.

Based on Prader's behavior, Snape became convinced that the girl was not entirely unaware of Voldemort's purpose in this trial. Prader, in turn, was convinced that Snape had certain expectations of her intelligence.

“It seems you understand why I invited you here today,” Snape said meaningfully. “Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has chosen a challenging subject for you.”

"Your task is to research a potion to cure the aftereffects of Dementors. It must be, and can only be, this." Snape's words were full of warning. "Any 'divergent' results will be considered a complete failure, with consequences far beyond what you can bear."

Professor Snape's message was very clear to Prareas. He was confirming that Prareas shared a substantial understanding with him and warning Prareas that he must carefully control the limits of his research.

Without a doubt, Snape had no doubt that Prares could produce decent research results.

After the "Limb Regeneration Potion," Snape would only worry that she might create some unconventional potion that inadvertently provides Voldemort with an undue advantage.

Therefore, he demanded that Praris's final output must be limited to the first step and must not produce any items that could truly repair the soul.

“Of course, sir.” Praris nodded slightly, his eyes sharp. “The boundaries and stability of the research are paramount. I will do my utmost to complete the experiments on emotion repair research, within the framework of observability and quantifiability, and live up to that lord’s high expectations of me.”

It was fake—it betrayed Voldemort's expectations of her.

Prareas understood that he had to complete his research on emotional healing, otherwise Voldemort would think that Prareas was unwilling to serve him and would punish and retaliate against him.

But in any case, it's just research on emotional healing; that madman won't see even a little bit of additional progress.

“Very good.” Snape picked up a parchment from his desk and handed it to Prarese. “I have drawn up a list of books and materials for your reference. I hope to see your progress at each stage of your research.”

“I believe, Miss Praris, that you understand the necessity of this.”

Prarese believes that what is written on this parchment is not reference material, but rather: "Your professor is giving you a second warning not to do random research. He will be watching your experimental progress and will interrupt you in time when you start to get carried away."

As she slowly unfurled the parchment, she responded to Snape's request: "I understand. You will receive all my progress records on the 'emotional restoration' research and the experimental results of each stage."

As Prarese left the principal's office with the parchment, she even had a strange feeling.

It's quite surprising, Professor Snape, that you have such confidence in my abilities?

Soul restoration—a mountain that has stood in the way of potion-making research for thousands of years, a mountain that no wizard has been able to overcome.

Your concern isn't whether I can deliver something decent to Voldemort, but whether my research will unleash some monster that shouldn't have been born.