HP North Star's Radiance

Marcus paused for a moment, making sure he could speak. He said, "So, we're putting all our eggs in one basket with Draco."

Stella scoffed. "It's always like this, isn't it? The Seeker is the heart of a Quidditch team's victory! Do you really think Draco can't handle that role?"

Although the topic of conversation revolved around Draco, Draco himself remained almost entirely silent, listening only to the three people's analysis.

At this moment, he finally spoke, his gaze fixed on Praris: "What else did you think? Of course I'll win. Get ready to celebrate Slytherin's victory!"

Praris raised an eyebrow, finding the phrase strangely familiar, but too lazy to recall it.

As she grew up, she gradually learned to control her thoughts and attention, no longer frantically analyzing everything she saw, and no longer involuntarily digging into other people's hidden pasts.

In short, Slytherin's tactics were set, and this was the last effort Stella and Prarees could make for them.

After all, they could be external consultants for the Slytherin Quidditch team, but they couldn't be their babysitters, much less do everything themselves.

The next day, Praris found an atmosphere of panic pervading the entire Hogwarts Castle. Security measures were tighter than usual, and the students were on edge.

She walked into the auditorium, where breakfast was as somber as the school atmosphere: baked beans in tomato sauce, scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, grilled sausage, sliced ​​tomatoes, toast, yogurt balls, and orange juice.

Millison didn't seem very interested. After quickly finishing the grilled sausage and scrambled eggs, he started picking at the beans: "Who would eat this kind of breakfast?"

“Of course, it’s us British.” Daphne shrugged. “At least it keeps you full longer; we can skip lunch without worry.”

"Looks like I missed some of the excitement last night."

Praliss arrived late, and Pansy saved her a seat so she could sit with the girls. The only downside was that Draco was on the other side of her seat.

Last semester, Prarese wouldn't have dared to sit down in such a situation; she'd rather run away. Thankfully, Pansy has fallen for someone else and is currently deeply in love.

The person who answered her wasn't one of the three girls, but Draco: "Sirius broke into Gryffindor and nearly stabbed Weasley to death, but escaped after Weasley discovered him."

Upon hearing this, Theodore Nott, who was sitting opposite them, suddenly looked up and wandered over to them with an amused expression.

Prarese frowned, wondering why this usually quiet boy was looking at them like that. She poked at the sausage and whispered, "Why didn't you kill Weasley?"

"What?" Pansy asked, puzzled.

Prareas forked a slice of sausage, staring at it with a sharp look in his eyes: "I said, it's just killing one person. Since it's not the first time you've killed someone, why are you being lenient with Weasley?"

Draco sneered, "The Dementors scared him half to death. Now he's terrified of even a sleeping student."

Prareas said coolly, "Perhaps. If you ask me, the timing last night was pretty good. Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, and they celebrated so late. If someone were actually killed, even if it was noisy, Professor McGonagall and their prefects would probably think it was just students fooling around!"

Draco looked at her with a strange expression, three parts surprise and seven parts horror, as if he was shocked that she could say such frightening things.

Praris couldn't help but let out a laugh.

Pansy laughed too, and kept punching her arm: "You're so naughty, Pry! You scared me to death, I thought Sirius had turned into you!"

Millison laughed heartily: "Sirius is nowhere near as smart as our Prie!"

The school's owls swooped in and dropped off letters.

Praris found his letters inside, one from Diagon Alley and the other addressed to "spoon".

"Run, Neville!" Ron Weasley suddenly yelled.

A tremendous roar echoed through the hall, causing Praris to frown and cover his ears.

From his grandmother's scolding, everyone knew that Neville had lost a piece of paper filled with Gryffindor passwords, which Sirius had found.

"What a pity," Zabini shook his head jokingly, "Prince didn't treat me to buttered bread this time!"

Praris held the letter, his expression unwavering: "Out of a small token of friendship with Slytherin, I advise you to be careful with your words. I can make dozens of poisons, some of which I cannot guarantee have an antidote."

Zabini wanted to say something more, but Pansy waved his hands frantically, advising him to be careful.

Prarese opened the letter from Diagon Alley, a letter from Winnie filled with strange, concerned words. She held the letter up, looking at it from left to right, but nothing about it felt right.

She was certain that the letter was written by Winnie, and that it was not dictated by Ms. Prie and then written by Winnie on her behalf.

Prareas pondered for a moment and concluded that Winnie had taken the wrong medicine. She decided to write a letter to Ms. Priscilla, asking her to take Winnie to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries and Sicknesses to check if Winnie had inadvertently lost her mind while researching new spells.

The other letter was from Hermione; the girl was under a lot of pressure.

She and Weasley had a fight, Potter was busy with Quidditch, and the rocket crossbow incident was over, but their relationship hadn't yet returned to what it was before. She had to use the Time-Turner to attend many classes and figure out how to defend Buckbeak.

Neither her useless friends nor her pen pals who resolutely refused to help Hagrid could offer her any real assistance.

"Spoon, they don't trust me. They think I'm being unreasonable and that I'm trying to ruin their happiness. Rocket Crossbow and Spot, and other things I can't tell you. They think my heart is made of iron, but it feels like someone is pricking it with needles. My mind is sluggish, and I can barely breathe."

Praris wrote back: "Kitty, you need to understand one thing: none of us are born mind-stealers, so being misunderstood is our fate. You can relax about that; this kind of thing will happen often in the future."

“Last year, I was anxious about the slow progress of your investigation, especially after you were petrified. But it turns out they can do a good job on their own.”

“I know you’re worried about them. Just do your best. As for the rest, respect their fate. There are some things you can’t change no matter how hard you try. People aren’t puppets. They can’t just do whatever we want them to do. Even if we know how absurd it is, some people still insist on going down a path to their deaths.”

Kitty was Granger's pen name; it seems she really liked Crook Hill.

What are you writing?

Prarese was somewhat impatient with this, perhaps because her advice made Draco less hostile towards Porter, so he shifted his extra energy to monitoring Prarese's movements.

Christmas Eve, and today too.

Is Draco so idle that he has nothing to do?

“Nothing, just replying to a letter.” Praris folded the letter and stuffed it into the envelope. “How’s your training going? Are you confident you can fool Potter? Can you find the Golden Snitch?”

Draco was rendered speechless by the three questions in a row. He pursed his lips and walked away, his leather shoes stomping loudly.

Prarese returned to her dorm, opened the locked box on her bed, and put in the letters from Hermione and Winnie. She looked through them and was surprised at how many letters she had received.

At first, Praris had neither a box nor any letters. Initially, there were only Christmas cards from the "Half-Blood Prince," which were kept under her pillow and became her only hope in the convent.

At that time, she had a secret hope that one day the half-blood prince would come to the convent and tell Sister Maine, "I intend to adopt this girl," or "I am this girl's family, and I want to take her away."

In short, the most beautiful dream she had as a child was that a half-blood prince would take her away from there.

Of course, she no longer has such thoughts now, but she still occasionally wonders about the half-blood prince's identity.

When she was in her early years, she even wondered if the "Half-Blood Prince" was Professor Snape, since he had fulfilled Pralis's expectations by taking her out of the convent.

He also gave Prarisgalon, albeit as "compensation" along with Ms. Sprout.

But think about it, Professor Snape wrote her a Christmas card with the message "Have a wonderful Christmas."

How much alcohol did you drink? You're so drunk!

The letter from the "Hybrid Prince" was flipped open, revealing an old newspaper article from the Daily Prophet about "Sylvia Prince".

The young witch in the newspaper looked haggard, her eyes filled with regret.

Praris didn't know what she regretted, nor what she hated.

After confirming that Sylvia was indeed his biological mother, Praris stopped investigating his past.

Praris is doing well now and is past the age where she needs a mother. Sylvia's existence is dispensable to her, and she would rather not have her than have her.

Compared to a cruel mother who had been absent from most of her life, even if the half-blood prince only looked at her from afar each year and gave her a Christmas card, Praris felt that he was more important to her than Sylvia.

After all, when she finished washing clothes at night, she could still pick up the greeting card and give herself a little something to think about and fantasize about. After all, when she was so hungry that she wanted to eat the bedsheets, she could still use the money that the half-blood prince had tucked into the greeting card to bribe the old nun in the kitchen to give her a piece of hard, black bread.

On Saturday, her classmates went to Hogsmeade again, while Praris had to stay at school to continue her studies. Only Millison stayed behind to keep her company.

Praris's exceptional intellect was an advantage, but many intelligent people have vanished into the annals of time because they didn't understand that a clever mind alone is far from enough. Wisdom and intelligence are never the same thing.

"Ah!" Milison said despairingly, tilting his head back. "I feel like I have no imagination at all. Look at what my tea leaves look like!"

Chapter 59 Milison's "First Battle"

In front of Praris was a mountain of books: books and materials for seven required courses, three elective courses, two hobby courses, and her personal potion study and research notes—two thick volumes.

She turned the pages of the book every now and then, her green quill pen moving quickly across the parchment, making a rustling sound.

Her study schedule was already set for summer vacation, something most people would find unbearable, but she enjoyed it immensely. Countless pieces of knowledge flowed into her brain like a river, building her fortress of knowledge, making it ever stronger, larger, and more reliable.

When people are engrossed in studying, their hands and mouths often become uncontrollable, and they can't help but touch or chew on something. She almost chewed on her quill pen several times until she remembered how expensive it was.

Only a rich young master like Draco, who doesn't manage the household finances, would give such a flashy but impractical collectible as a gift.

When the recipient was Prarese, the quill pen was destined to work alongside her rather than be displayed on a shelf.

Praris pulled himself out of the pile of books, took Milison's teacup, and glanced at it: "It's shaped like a leaf. What are you divining?"

Milison scratched his head: "It's the third assignment, about my fortune for the near future. Let me see what the leaf is?"

Millison was still engrossed in flipping through the book when Praris, without even looking up, said, "You've turned to the wrong page. It's on the second page, in the middle. The leaves represent a new turning point, a new opportunity."

Millison immediately began writing: "Well, my life will undergo tremendous changes in the near future, with new opportunities coming my way. Speaking of which, are you really going to finish reading all those books?"

Praris patted the pile of books on his left: "These are all finished. Just review them once before the final exam."

She patted the stack of books on her right: "As for these, reading them is just the beginning."

Millison said, resting her chin on her hand, "Oh! I often wonder if we went to the same school. You're always so busy, it makes me feel like I'm doing nothing."

Praris turned a page in her book: "Millie, everyone cares about different things and wants to do different things. What I want to do requires a lot of effort, so I have to do it no matter how much effort it takes."

“I don’t know what I want to do, or what I’m good at,” Millison said, sounding a little lost. “I don’t even have any hobbies! At least Pansy and Daphne know how to dress up in pretty clothes, but I don’t like anything. What do you think I should do?”

Praris put down the quill and closed his eyes: "Let me think."

Like a film enthusiast analyzing a film, Prarese pulled out her memories of Milison, rewinding them frame by frame, searching for things that interested her.

After about ten seconds, Praris opened his eyes and asked, "Do you like Quidditch?"

“A little. I know what those Gryffindor boys say about me, they call me a shrew, and I'm very strong. Do you think I'd be a good fit for a Quidditch team?”

Milison pondered, "I don't know if the Chaser would be a good fit for me; I haven't played with anyone else before. The Goalkeeper is obviously not a good fit; Miles is perfectly capable. We have Draco as the Seeker, and we almost never recruit girls as Beaters, except for Stewart, who is an exception."

“You can try, but I have another suggestion.” Prareas looked at her and smiled. “How about a Quidditch commentator? Lee Jordan is too biased towards Gryffindor. Why can’t we have our own commentators? You can do very well; you could do it in your freshman year. Why not give it a shot?”

"This...this, I never thought of that at all!" Milison exclaimed in surprise. "I need to think about it carefully."

Praris said, "Your commentary skills are good enough. Perhaps you don't need to favor Slytherin like Lee Jordan favored Gryffindor. You just need to maintain a rational and neutral perspective, and you will be more suitable to be a Quidditch commentator than him."

"Like you most of the time?" Milison asked.

Praris chuckled. "Of course I'm biased towards Slytherin, but I'm biased in a different way. Making Slytherin better doesn't have to come at the expense of other houses, and I can do that."

Milison nodded. "Yes, compared to an explanation that favors Gryffindor and dislikes Slytherin, as long as the new explanation is neutral, it's progress for Slytherin. Good heavens, I can actually think as intelligently as you! What a huge improvement, Milison, well done!"

Millison couldn't wait any longer. She immediately stood up and declared confidently, "I'm going to Professor Snape right now. I'll beat Lee Jordan and get the professors' support to make me the new commentator."

“Remember, be fair. That will get you more support, even if that’s not what you really think,” Praris reminded her.