HP North Star's Radiance

Upon hearing Voldemort's plan, Snape frowned, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopping himself.

Voldemort asked softly, "Severus, it seems you have some objections, huh?"

Bella's eyes widened immediately, looking like she wanted to devour Snape, her face clearly saying, "I knew you were up to something!"

"Master, I have some additional information to report," Snape said. "Plares is capable of fighting, that's absolutely true. She also lacks a mission to prove her loyalty."

"But her research tasks are demanding and stressful, and she travels between two places frequently, lacking rest. Slytherin students told me that she once slept for nearly nineteen hours at the school... I suspect that increasing fieldwork is not good for her health, will hinder your research, and could easily expose the fact that she is secretly working for you."

Snape, of course, wouldn't directly deny Voldemort's involvement. Instead, he said he had something to add. After all, Voldemort wouldn't make mistakes. If he did, it would be because Snape, as his subordinate, hadn't noticed anything that needed to be reported, resulting in a missed report and causing his master to make a relatively correct decision based on incorrect information.

Snape pointed this out not for himself or for Prasris, but for Voldemort—so that Prasris could better carry out Voldemort's mission.

"Ah, that's surprising." Voldemort's voice was completely flat. "Severus, make sure Praris takes good care of himself."

Snape nodded, then said, "As for proving Prares's loyalty... isn't her task enough? Her potions are extraordinary, and she's experimented on Peter Pettigrew. We only need to keep her experimental records and potion samples, and that will be enough to make her a target of those so-called 'good guys'."

Prarese's research involved the soul, producing potions comparable to Dark Magic, and it served Voldemort's purposes. Having such a record in her hands made her "tainted."

Of course, these were all perspectives Snape had designed for Voldemort. He had to give Voldemort a reason that would be acceptable, lest he actually force Prader to kill someone.

The truth is, towards the end of the experiment, Voldemort had lost interest in Praris's long, tedious reports. Praris would simply bring a pine cone to the manor to give his explanation, and Voldemort would listen attentively without saying much. As for the last potion, the seemingly named Soul-Concentrating Elixir, it was completely unrecorded.

If Voldemort had actually read the report, he would have found that the wording of these records was very deliberate. Not a single word mentioned the soul, but every sentence hinted at the essence of the study of the soul.

To the untrained eye, this looks like ordinary potion research. Even to the experts, there's nothing concrete to accuse them of—no kidding, this is the ultimate non-stick pan created by two potion geniuses working together!

Voldemort pondered for a moment and also felt that Snape's explanation made sense. He couldn't wait to witness the potion's creation; causing trouble for Prader at this point would only be asking for trouble.

Moreover... the potions related to the soul are a secret that Praris and he keep together.

The soul is the most fundamental part of a wizard's being; studying potions related to the soul is tantamount to studying the most evil black magic. It's like an ethical experiment for Muggles; no Muggle wants scientists to clone humans—there are ethical issues at play here.

Voldemort didn't want his secrets exposed to cover up his weaknesses, while Prarese didn't want his secrets exposed to avoid infamy and trial.

With this in mind, Voldemort accepted Snape's suggestion to replace the bloody tasks with experimental records and samples.

It was only after Voldemort realized that Praris had already boarded his ship that he began to trust Praris somewhat.

Soul-coagulating potion is not easy to make. During the entire Easter holiday, Praris only made a amount about the size of a thumb, and Little Star and Voldemort each drank half of it.

Voldemort was satisfied upon learning of the successful creation of the Soul-Gathering Potion. However, after tasting it, he became dissatisfied with the potion's production volume. Had Prasris not already raised the issue herself, Voldemort would have urged her to improve.

What Voldemort didn't know was that the output was actually more than he imagined. Praris, however, was adept at understanding human nature and deliberately created obvious flaws in her task's results to prevent Voldemort from giving her extra work on a whim.

Now, Praris got a breather, struck a working pose in the makeshift lab, and then... rested.

The two-week Easter holiday was over, and Pralis and Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express together.

Draco propped his cheek on one hand and looked out the window—where his father and mother were standing.

“Stop looking,” Praris said. “Graduation won’t be long.”

Draco lowered his eyelids, his eyes darting around.

After a while, he said, "I think you don't have anyone else going for your prom, right?"

“I’ll give you a chance—” Praris said calmly, “say something nicer, or else you’ll be in trouble right now.”

Draco looked up in surprise: "How come there's one so soon? Who? Who is it?!"

“People who like me line up from the lobby all the way to Black Lake,” Praris said with a smile. “I just don’t give them the chance.”

Objectively speaking, Praris is very beautiful. Even under the pressure of the past year or two, she has only changed from a pretty girl to a pretty girl with a somewhat melancholy and thin face.

After all, Deepple Williams is a recognized handsome man, and Sylvia's current appearance shows that she has beautiful bone structure.

However, her genius arrogance, cold personality, penetrating insight, and recognized fighting prowess make it easy for people to overlook her appearance and simply keep their distance.

When there's a green mamba snake nearby, poised to strike, do you think its skin is beautiful, or do you think, "Run! It's venomous!"?

Yes, most people only realize how beautiful it is after they've finished running it.

But Praris isn't always aloof; when she's joking around with her girlfriends, she becomes much more approachable, and her smile becomes more genuine. Some people admire both beauty and strength, and thus become somewhat eager to try their luck.

Praliss could easily see through many people's thoughts; after all, teenage boys were much easier to understand than Voldemort. But these feelings were superfluous to her; she either ignored them or casually crushed the hearts of some young men.

After Miles, Draco never considered the issue of competition. Harper was, in his eyes, a complete clown, not worth his attention, and was easily forgotten.

In Draco's eyes, Pras's feelings were always so gentle yet firm; he never doubted that she loved him, and he still does now.

But Draco immediately stood up, walked to the only empty space in the box, cleared his throat, and made the most standard invitation gesture, extending his hand to Praris: "Miss Prince, may I invite you to be my dance partner?"

Praris pondered for a moment: "I'll have to think about that carefully..."

Draco grew anxious, his speech quickening considerably: "Believe me, you have nothing to consider. I personally believe this is your best option; missing out would be like losing a diamond in the Atlantic!"

Praris chuckled: "Excuse me, who would call themselves a diamond! Can't I even consider it, gentleman?"

Draco showed no sign of embarrassment whatsoever. Clearly, he was self-righteous and self-assured. But he knew he couldn't say that, so he could only purse his lips and reluctantly say, "Of course, Miss, I respect your choice."

—But once the hand is outstretched, it will never be pulled back.

Prareas chuckled, a laugh that made Draco dizzy. He heard the girl he liked say, "I'm thinking about... what to wear to the prom."

As he spoke, Prareus placed his hand on Draco's hand.

Draco was overjoyed, saying "I knew it," but he wouldn't let go of Praris's hand. He even sat down next to Praris without any gentlemanly manners, looking more like a playboy.

To put it nicely, he was a charming young man; to put it bluntly, he was... a "scoundrel," Praris said.

Draco said shamelessly, "That's your own scoundrelship."

Humans need love, Prarese thought, especially in an age rife with evil. It would make her feel that humanity wasn't so hopeless, that there were still emotions in the world that could offer a respite.

Sometimes, Pralis also experiences self-doubt. Does she love Draco the person, or just certain qualities within him? Does she love Draco the person, or the Draco who loves her?

Ordinary people don't have this kind of trouble, but Praris does. Wisdom and reason are never just a unity of spear and shield, but also a double-edged sword without a hilt. She uses this sword to protect herself, and bleeds from using it, yet she will never let go.

Priscilla's mother said, "Darling, love is subjective; it's not negotiable. Only you know that you love her, no matter what kind of love it is... As long as you're willing, that's love."

Pralis then accepted one thing: her love for Draco wasn't actually that pure.

Sometimes she doesn't love Draco as a whole, but is captivated by the way Draco loves her. Sometimes she doesn't like some of Draco's little flaws. Sometimes she doesn't even like Draco—she doesn't like or want anyone, and just wants to spend some time with herself.

Accepting that she doesn't completely love Draco seems to have actually made her more comfortable and at ease in love.

Looking at Draco, who had shed his youthful naiveté but still revealed a childlike side in front of her, Praris smiled.

The Hogwarts Express rumbled forward, announcing the end of the holiday and the continuation of classes.

NEWT is in June, and by the time Easter ends, it will be early April, with the exams getting closer and closer.

Slytherin is actually quite complex, not just a place outsiders imagine, filled with dark wizards and Death Eater trainees.

There are Death Eater children here, as well as many who are still observing. As long as the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters don't fight to the death, even if Voldemort supports pure-bloods, these people won't make a choice so quickly—Daphne and Zabini are examples of this type.

"Anyway... I haven't graduated yet. It's not a loss to wait for the results." Daphne said slowly while doing her homework. "It's just a little less money, isn't it? It's better than making the wrong choice or losing your life in battle."

As graduation approached, the Carol siblings subtly promoted the Death Eaters in class, hinting to the students to make a choice. Crabbe, of course, enthusiastically supported them, along with Goyle, but Daphne started thinking about getting her nails done.

Daphne smiled with a hint of sarcasm: "After all, some people have a history of failures..."

"Hey, stop talking nonsense," Pansy quickly stopped Daphne from uttering those words.

Chapter 293 Dumbledore's Appointment

Daphne shrugged dismissively: "What a fuss—ah!"

As they were talking, a figure darted past like a wild dog. Daphne wasn't paying attention and didn't notice what was happening behind her. Fortunately, Praris reacted quickly, pulling her into his arms and switching places with her, so that he could block her way.

"Grab him!" Alexo shouted hoarsely. "Praris, grab that damned bastard!"

"That sounds awful," Praris thought.

She shielded Daphne, remaining motionless, only glancing at the boy who ran past to confirm he was mixed-race. It seemed the term "Mudblood" was no longer sufficient; she'd have to supplement her vocabulary with Muggle swear words.

Praris thought to himself, "Letting a mongrel catch another mongrel, Alecto is quite interesting."

Alecto was too exhausted to run any further. He put his hands on his knees and stopped panting a short distance away from them, with Filch trailing far behind him, barely managing to catch up.

“Praris Prince!” Alecto said aggressively, poking Praris with his finger. “Why didn’t you stop him!”

Praris glanced at her calmly, then looked down at Daphne, released his arm from hers, and asked softly, "Were you bumped into?"

She was bumped into by Potter when she was in first grade, and she knew that those tough boys could run like cannonballs. If you were bumped into, although you wouldn't break a bone or need bone-strengthening medicine, it would hurt terribly and be extremely painful.

Daphne was still in a daze! She unconsciously rubbed her arms, shook her head blankly, and her sister's words floated into her mind—"Play makes people feel especially safe!" These words, which she had once scoffed at, were now playing in a 3D loop in her head.

Once he was sure Daphne was unharmed, Praris turned to the furious Alecto and said in a lighthearted tone, "You see, I don't have a third arm either, do I?"

Alecto glared at her fiercely, then turned and stomped away.

"Did you upset her?" Pansy asked.

Praris said, "No."

“And her expression…” Pansy didn’t understand.

“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Praris said with a smile. “She needs to take a break, find a pub, have a few drinks, and chat with friends or something.”

She took a deep look in the direction where Alecto disappeared, which was also the direction where the DA disappeared.

Voldemort was well hidden from her, Professor Snape didn't want to add to her stress and refused to tell her what was happening outside, Bellatrix and Mrs. Burst were mentally unstable, the Death Eaters at the Hogwarts gates were too low-level, and the information was delayed... Alecto was in the perfect position.

From her, Praris keenly sensed that the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore had caused the Death Eaters a lot of trouble, enough to make a mid-level Death Eater like Alecto uneasy.

At night, Neville was receiving the food that Aberforth had "smuggled" them through the tunnel, but this time Aberforth did not let go.

“Kid, I heard you have something good,” Aberforth whispered.

“What?” Neville was stunned. “I don’t have anything good.”

“Don’t be so quick to deny it,” Aberforth said. “I think a girl once gave you a mirror, didn’t she?”

Neville's expression changed drastically, and he involuntarily let go of her hand.

Upon hearing Aberforth's words, Seamus replied in a teasing tone, "Neville, don't be shy! Which girl gave you a mirror—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff? I have absolutely no idea!"

Neville didn't answer Seamus, but instead asked warily, "Aberforth...why are you asking this?"

"Give it to me," Aberforth said urgently, "the sooner the better."

“No, Aberforth,” Neville refused decisively. “I believe you, but I won’t give it to you.”

Grandma said that one should never be ungrateful.