HP North Star's Radiance

Voldemort's gaze slid from the potion vial to Snape standing to the side, receiving a nod of approval from his subordinate: "It has such an effect."

But honestly, stabilizing emotions... isn't that just a heavily modified version of a general-purpose euphoric drug?

Snape knew perfectly well what was going on, but he certainly couldn't say it aloud. He was determined to stick to one principle: he wouldn't tell Voldemort unless asked, and he would be surprised if Voldemort asked.

"Have you tested it?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

Praris nodded slightly: "We've done experiments on cold-blooded animals."

"Cold-blooded animals" refers to the spiders, lizards, and salamanders that Amycus Caro used in class. But whether some of today's inhuman Voldemorts would have been stung is another matter.

"It hasn't been tested on humans?" Voldemort asked.

Prarese would never experiment on people, but if she said that, it would be tantamount to making Voldemort her first human experiment subject.

Her head was bowed low, her chin almost touching her chest: "Master, there are no suitable test subjects at Hogwarts. I thought you might have some here..."

“Prareth, what are you afraid of?” Voldemort said. “Look up at me.”

Praris slowly raised his head, meeting Voldemort's red vertical pupils—he was using Legilimency on Praris.

Even though she knew nothing before, Prasri now "should" know that Voldemort was spying on her mind. She felt somewhat "apprehensive" and "uneasy," but had no choice but to open her mind to Voldemort.

Voldemort rummaged through her memories and found that Prareas "believed" that the students at the school were all mixed-bloods and pure-bloods, unsuitable as test subjects, but Axley must have some Mudbloods.

"Hmph!" Voldemort sneered inwardly. "Alector Caro's brainwashing is actually having some effect!"

He said to Snape, "Severus, bring in Wormtail."

After saying that, he coldly added in a calm and unwavering tone, "Of course, Praris, the Mudbloods are suitable test subjects, but I will not allow you to do so—I emphasized secrecy to you, didn't I?"

Praris suddenly understood and nodded in agreement. She finally "realized" that she couldn't use her classmates for experiments, not because of their superior bloodline, but because if they didn't die, they might reveal the mission her master had given her.

Chapter 281 Experiments

While waving the banner of "pure-blood" is important among Death Eaters, it is by no means more important than Voldemort's own will.

Professor Snape pushed open the door to the drawing room, followed by a short, hunched-over, timid wizard. He looked like some kind of uncouth rodent, blinking incessantly, his eyes flashing with tension and fear.

Praris had never met this cowardly wizard. The number of Death Eaters was not small, but thanks to her previous good hiding, she had been fortunate enough to never have seen most of them.

Voldemort made no attempt to introduce them, probably because Peter Pettigrew was too insignificant, while Prader's work was far too important.

"Wormtail, come here." Voldemort's voice was soft, but everyone present heard it clearly. "It's your honor. The time has come to prove your worth."

The wizard known as "Wormtail" scrambled to Voldemort's feet, trembling all over: "Master...Master!"

He seemed to know that being summoned by Voldemort was not a good thing and harbored great fear of this unknown potion.

“A bug tail, is that it?” Praris glanced away, somewhat displeased. “What’s there to be afraid of? To be fair, it’s a good thing!”

Her tone was full of disdain for Peter Pettigrew and confidence in her potions, and she naturally assumed that Peter Pettigrew's attitude was an insult to her abilities and potion-making skills.

“This is your chance to atone for your past infidelity.” Voldemort leaned down, his voice lowered, like a viper flicking its tongue. “I bestow upon you this honor, and you will be the first among us to taste it—drink it.”

Under Voldemort's wand, Peter Pettigrew trembled violently as he shakily accepted the small vial, making one almost doubt whether he would spill the potion.

Pralis was thinking this when Professor Snape blurted out her thoughts: "Wormtail, there aren't many potions left. Don't let Carpet drink them all!"

Upon hearing Snape's words, Peter Pettigrew was startled and nearly dropped the potion bottle. Luckily, he didn't actually feed the potion to the carpet.

With Voldemort watching, Peter Pettigrew dared not hesitate and drank it all down with a death-defying air, earning him a speechless sneer from Praris.

Praris didn't know if this "wormtail" had suffered any damage to its soul, but most people's souls would be "worn down" with age, more or less.

According to Draco, the alchemist's lifelong pursuit is to make the soul more complete. Take the Philosopher's Stone, for example; it can grant longevity without increasing physical strength, and the body still ages outwardly. This is said to be because the Philosopher's Stone prolongs life through the sublimation of the soul and the rebirth of the spirit.

As for how to extend lifespan by influencing the soul, that is the core principle of the Philosopher's Stone—only Nicolas Flamel himself knew.

Therefore, Praris was not worried that the potion would not work because the "worm tail" had not entered Azkaban.

Peter Pettigrew drank the potion and waited anxiously for his body to react. The three wizards present all stared at him, making him even more uneasy; he almost thought he was going to die there!

However, the expected pain did not occur. Instead, an inexplicable force spread from his body to his limbs, gradually calming his violent trembling.

Peter Pettigrew's face first showed a blank expression, which was quickly replaced by disbelief. He subconsciously touched his left chest, as if to confirm whether he was still alive.

He unconsciously murmured to himself, "No...it doesn't hurt?"

Voldemort did not immediately accept the results of the experiment, but instead cautiously observed Peter Pettigrew.

Everyone knows that the real test has only just begun.

In the reception room, the pendulum of the brass grandfather clock continued to swing, and time passed second by second.

Under everyone's gaze, Peter Pettigrew's panicked expression as he was chased by the cat gradually faded, replaced by a... quite thorough calm.

He stood up from the carpet, slowly raised his head, and surprisingly no longer shrank back, but almost like any other healthy Gryffindor.

"Well, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked, his red eyes gleaming menacingly.

Amazingly, such a terrifying gaze did not frighten the timid Peter Pettigrew into cowering; instead, he remained calmly standing in place.

“Master, I feel incredibly calm and clear-headed,” Peter Pettigrew said in a tone that even he himself found unfamiliar, “as if… my brain is wearing glasses.”

Yes, he wore glasses!

Peter Pettigrew wasn't sure if he was nearsighted, but he had to wear James's glasses in both his lower and upper grades because of games with his friends.

The older James's glasses made him dizzy, but the younger James's glasses surprised him greatly. The world seemed to have just been washed by rain, becoming brighter and clearer, and even the colors seemed a little darker.

James guessed he must be a little nearsighted, but Peter didn't want to wear glasses because Sirius said with certainty, "James, rats just have terrible eyesight! Peter's used to it, isn't he?"

Peter remembers nodding unconsciously.

James and Sirius were both amused by the metaphor and found it a very interesting topic. They began to study their nicknames—their Animagus—with great interest, and how fitting they were to themselves: "Pronged" Stag was strong in attack, like James's magical abilities; "Bigfoot" Black Dog was strong, clever, and alert, like Sirius…

Peter's mind had never been so clear, as if the fog had lifted. He clearly remembered how much he wished his nickname could be more impressive, with a better meaning, instead of something like a worm's tail.

Why was his Animagus just a mouse? How frustrated young Peter was!

Peter, in his thirties, stood in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He had experienced far more frustrating things, spending ten years like a rat in the sewers. This little thing could no longer make him unhappy... or perhaps it was the power of the potion that calmed him down and prevented him from being bothered by it.

Peter just remembered it, and then nothing more.

In this life, not all the problems and troubles we encounter can be answered. More often than not, we are just stung and then we continue on our way, carrying that thorn with us.

At Voldemort's request, Peter performed several more spells, including both ordinary and dark magic.

Their power is not greater than before, but they are very smooth and stable, like a faucet with a control valve added to the pipe, with even water flow.

Prarese and Snape stood one behind the other with their arms crossed, looking at Peter with the same appraising gaze, occasionally exchanging their thoughts with glances or in hushed tones.

“Good, very good.” Voldemort’s gaze was fixed on Peter, extremely sharp, yet Peter showed no reaction whatsoever. “Plares, this is of great significance—in our shared ideals. Severus, what do you think?”

It was clear to the naked eye that the potion had successfully calmed down even the cowardly Pettigrew. Its control over both emotions and magic was undeniably successful. Pettigrew didn't die or go mad from the potion, nor did he experience any pain or physical damage.

Voldemort knew that for a genius like Praris with extraordinary potential, saying he couldn't do it was just an excuse. He believed that any excuse meant he wasn't being pushed hard enough—potential is like water in a sponge; you can squeeze it out.

Before Snape could answer, Prareas spoke first. She glanced at the clock and said calmly, "Master, let's wait and see. We have to wait until the potion's effects have completely worn off."

About half an hour after taking the medication, Peter's mood began to fluctuate noticeably.

He seemed to realize the tone he had just used when speaking to the Dark Lord, and fear crept onto Pettigrew's face like water seeping into a tissue, making him timid and cowardly again.

Prareas couldn't help but marvel at the vast difference between experimenting on cold-blooded animals and on humans—this thought was a performance for Voldemort, meant to reveal Prareas's hidden cruelty.

In fact, she wasn't genuinely interested in forced human experimentation. Come on, Prader isn't a real perverted researcher; she's cultured and has moral principles!

After the effects of the drug completely wore off, Voldemort kicked Little Star out—he was now worthless and could get lost.

Before leaving, Voldemort gave Pettigrew a warning, ordering him to keep silent about what he had seen and encountered that day. Pettigrew, trembling with fear, obsequiously agreed and left, curling up in a ball, his heart pounding.

Stepping out of the reception room, Little Star shrank back to a corner at the end of the corridor, cautiously touching his chest, savoring the feeling he had just experienced—how magical, like a brief and beautiful dream!

Little Pettigrew thought fondly of how he had just stood before the Dark Lord with composure and calmness, just like Dumbledore, without the slightest fear, like a true... knight!

Realizing what he was thinking, Pettigrew's heart pounded, and the fear finally dispelled the lingering effects of the potion. But the composure that perhaps only the strong possessed wasn't completely erased, and Pettigrew couldn't help but look forward to being called in for experiments again... Would there be a next time?

In the drawing room, Snape offered his expert commentary on the human experiment: "The effects are remarkable, but it seems... it has smoothed out too much. Master, a servant without reverence may also be a worthless servant."

This is also why Prass "pushed" herself. If she were completely driven by experimental purposes and had no fear of Voldemort whatsoever, Voldemort would be most wary of her.

Seeking room for negotiation is essential, but constantly having the Dark Lord on guard is unacceptable. Maintaining this balance is extremely difficult, but Praris has been striving to achieve it.

Voldemort said dismissively, "Fear is something that resides within, not something that needs to be felt constantly. A clear mind and steady magic are far more valuable tools."

The first half of the sentence was a response to Snape's words, while the second half was addressed to himself.

The potion's effects lasted only half an hour, and Wormtail soon reverted to his cowardly self, still terrified of Voldemort's power. In Snape's presence, Voldemort wouldn't fully reveal his true purpose—soul research—but instead used the effects of the potion to explain.

Voldemort said, "Prareth, continue your research. I look forward to seeing more and deeper results from you."

Praris readily agreed, and then took the opportunity to make some requests that were of little consequence to Voldemort, such as raw materials and experimental animals.

Half an hour later, Prarese and Snape returned to the Hogwarts Headmaster's office.

Prarese stood in front of the mirror and tidied her hair, which had been messed up by the hood—she was the only one using this mirror now.

“Very good.” She looked in the mirror and whispered to Snape, “Sir, do you consider this a success?”

Snape paused for a moment, then said instead of answering the question, “Peter Pettigrew’s emotions are like a mountain that has been flattened. After taking the drug, he lacks positive emotions and all negative emotions have disappeared. His emotions have been completely stripped away during the drug’s effects.”

“That’s right.” Praris rarely showed such confidence and exuberance, almost like a girl her age. “But the Dark Lord doesn’t care about these little flaws, and that’s his mistake.”

What are these minor issues if they can soothe the instability caused by the trauma to his soul? In fact, Voldemort was quite happy with these so-called shortcomings, believing they would help him make more rational decisions!

To destroy someone, you must first drive them mad.

And the ultimate end of all extremes is madness.

"The abyss is never satisfied, yet the water clock is always empty," Praris recited slowly. "The days grow shorter, the nights longer, remember this well—"

Snape whispered what she hadn't said aloud: "The death knell will soon be tolling."

Praris would never commit murder outright. She couldn't bear to damage her own soul, nor was she willing to take such a risk. But planting a time bomb, having someone willingly plant a ticking time bomb, was something she would gladly welcome.

"Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew?" Prareas recalled what Snape had just said. "That's interesting."

The experiment's partial success made Voldemort trust Prarese even more, and also made Prarese certain that his little tricks had passed the test.

Little Stark never entered Azkaban and was therefore spared the persecution of the Dementors; his soul was less damaged than that of the other Death Eaters. His soul state was different from Voldemort's, suggesting that the effects of the drug Voldemort took would have been more "significant."

Chapter 282 is the same