HP North Star's Radiance

No wonder Professor Snape gave her double Galleons for three years in a row; he really didn't care about the money at all.

"Pry, have you gone back to the life you had before you entered Hogwarts? Not eating on time all the time is bad for your health."

Old Tom gave her a disapproving look and poured another fried egg into her plate.

Praris swallowed the bread in his mouth and took a sip of unsweetened black tea: "There's nothing we can do about it. When we're focused on doing something, time flies by like a Zouwu."

It's a problem if a child doesn't study, and it's also a problem if a child loves studying too much.

After Old Tom and Winnie had a private conversation, Winnie sat down opposite her and said through gritted teeth, "You have some assignments that don't require tools, right?"

"There are some, what's wrong?" Praris looked up blankly.

Winnie declared sternly, "Young people who stay in their rooms all the time will only grow into moldy mushrooms, not towering trees. Starting today, bring your homework and come with me to the Muggle coffee shop to do it!"

Adults can be so childish sometimes, acting on a whim.

Prarese couldn't do anything with her, so he would do research in the mornings and evenings, and accompany her to coffee shops in the afternoons, while also supervising Winnie's work on her manuscript.

As a result, Praris's meals became regular: breakfast when he got up, lunch before going out, afternoon tea at a cafe, and dinner when he came back.

But supervising Winnie is no easy "job," as this writer is the kind of inattentive author that editors dread the most.

Winnie has a set process for writing novels. She'll first order a cup of coffee and write a couple of lines. Not long after, she'll pick up the menu, order a small plate of dessert to cheer herself up, and then squeeze out another couple of lines.

Finishing the cake wasn't the end of it; she couldn't sustain her writing for long, so she started observing cafes and passersby, ostensibly to collect writing material.

Winnie's inability to write anything herself wouldn't make Praris feel too secure. She would harass Praris in a cheeky manner, completely forgetting that she was actually the elder, until Praris, unable to tolerate it any longer, would punish her.

As for Praris? For her, it doesn't matter where she writes it, it makes no difference.

She usually carries nothing but parchment and a quill pen; the textbooks are already memorized and readily available. If she plans to spend time revising her own papers, she needs to bring even less.

Prarese and Winnie are two extremes. While she finishes writing quickly, Winnie is still playing with her fingers, playing with the table, or even chatting with Muggle housewives.

“Yes, that’s right, this is my student,” Winnie said with a smile. “I’m a tutor, and I teach English literature.”

At this point, the ladies would be very pleasantly surprised and would chat with this big-time fraudulent writer about their children's studies, before soon veering off to their boring, overweight, balding husbands and their neighbors with their unsightly lawns.

If Winnie gets carried away and starts chatting, the lady she's talking to might be entering the next stage of her life ahead of schedule—divorce.

Praris shook her head and took out the letter she wanted back from her bag.

As common as drinking water, Millison and her mother were arguing again. Mrs. Burst has recently become obsessed with the "Mysterious Man resurrection theory."

She claimed to feel the tattoo subtly heating up. She had a premonition that her master would soon return and reclaim his throne, while Lady Burstd hoped to once again reach the pinnacle of dark magic!

Milison's assessment was that St. Mungo's failure to establish a psychiatric department was an inhumane act, as there were definitely quite a few wizards with mental problems!

Pansy, however, was starting to get a little tired of the handsome German man, Jacob. She wondered if all German men were like this; Jacob was just a stubborn mule.

He could be fiery and passionate in his letters, but fall silent in person. If Pansy were passionate, she'd seem too unreserved. But if Pansy were as aloof as Jacob, the two of them could put on a silent play.

The most outrageous thing was that once Pansy dressed up beautifully to meet him, and Jacob took her for a walk in the mountains, and they also took a two-hour stroll by the lake.

He probably thought it was romantic.

Pansy, however, only felt her legs were sore.

Prarese shook his head, and Pansy, after Draco, actually started eating a piece of German dry bread.

Daphne had just finished venting her anger. Her sister Astoria had made a Hufflepuff friend, a Muggle-born girl.

Astoria thought her sister was making a fuss: "Duffy! I've never cared what kind of friends you make, so you should give me some space, right?"

In her letter, Daphne wrote: "Millison said that girls this age think it's cool to be different from home, and Leah is the same way. But I'm really furious. She believes in that stuff outside, makes some shady friends, and betrays her bloodline."

Daphne's handwriting was so strong it seemed to penetrate the paper; it was clear she was really angry.

Praris shook his head, surprised that he was the one who had the most comfortable summer vacation. Intimate relationships really are the biggest obstacle to a happy life.

Oh, I almost forgot, she also has that frivolous "teacher" playing with her fingers across from her.

From this perspective, Draco should be the happiest person.

Draco didn't go out to play for the time being; he stayed home to repair a magical violin. It was said to be a magical item that his ancestor had bought casually, and it probably hadn't been used for a long time, now becoming "junk" over time.

Draco's letter is very evocative, allowing you to picture him speaking with pride and drawing out his words: "I did a lot of research. You know, I have some books on this subject at home. I restored the violin, and it will soon be able to play on its own. It wasn't difficult for me; in fact, it didn't take me much effort."

"The only problem is, I think it really should be thrown into the trash in the storeroom. The sound of the piano was awful and a complete waste of my precious time. I suspect its creator made it hoping to attack wizards' ears with its awful sound."

The letter was signed "DM".

Praris paused for a moment, then wrote a reply: "Draco, I'm not sure what your restoration process was like. But I hope you replaced the strings with suitable ones, reinforced the tuning pegs, and adjusted the bridge. —PP"

Draco didn't reply for half a month after the letter was sent. When he wrote back next time, he seemed to have completely forgotten about the violin.

In his letter, Draco said he had repaired a magical tea set that could automatically add water, brew tea, and pour it himself, which was very convenient.

Prareese mocked him mercilessly from afar. She bet Draco had definitely made a mistake in repairing the violin, but he was just too embarrassed to admit it.

At the very bottom was Professor Snape's letter; his handwriting was dense and small, yet very neat.

The reply was merciless in its criticism of her paper, telling her that schoolwork papers and published papers were two different things. If Prarese still wanted to publish, she should immediately rewrite it entirely according to the requirements he had attached to the letter.

Prader slumped wearily into her chair. The tables had turned; Draco had been mocked by her, and she had been criticized by Professor Snape. If Draco hadn't been afraid to criticize Professor Snape, the three of them could have formed a perfect Slytherin loop.

Chapter 66 Uninvited Guest

"Ho ho ho!"

Harry sprang out of bed like a stranded fish.

He was panting heavily, his clothes were soaked with sweat, and the scar on his forehead felt hot and painful, as if someone had been burning his forehead with hot tongs.

He had a dream, a dream so real it felt like he was actually there.

Voldemort, Pettigrew, and an old man lying on the ground... In his mind, chaotic memories surged and crashed like a mad bull.

Pat pat—

Harry remained in the same position and slowly raised his head.

He had just been woken up by this sound. It was an anonymous "apology gift" he received in first grade—an Indian dreamcatcher.

The upper half of the dreamcatcher is made of tree branches, the lower half is made of feathers tied with hemp rope, and in the middle are circular net-like totems and pebbles of different shapes connecting the tree branches and feathers.

Just as Harry was trapped in a nightmare, the stones in the dreamcatcher collided with each other, making a rapid clattering sound, waking him from his dream.

For more than two years after Harry got it, the dreamcatcher never made a sound. Now, however, it was clattering against itself on a windless, moonless night.

Harry staggered to the dreamcatcher and reached out to touch its drooping feathers. The feathers brushed against his palm, tickling him, but strangely, they made him feel a little better.

Through the window, Harry looked out onto Privet Drive. In the quiet night, the curtains were drawn in the windows on both sides of the street, and there wasn't a single person in sight, not even a cat.

The last time Harry's scar hurt because Voldemort appeared, what about this time?

Harry's mind wandered, and he wanted to confide in his two best friends about his troubles and how his scars were hurting again.

Hermione would only tell him to tell Dumbledore, or to look through the book as if he could actually find the answer there. After all, he was the only one who had survived Voldemort's curse.

Can we really find solutions in books?

As for Ron, perhaps he'll ask his father. Mr. Weasley is a good wizard, but he's not good at breaking curses.

Ah! How come he didn't think of that?

Although he doesn't have a father, he has Sirius!

Sirius Black is Harry's godfather. A month ago, he was exonerated and freed from the injustice he had carried for over a decade. Now, he is working with the Aurors to track down Peter Pettigrew.

After learning that Sirius hadn't betrayed his parents, Harry was eager to spend the summer with him. But Dumbledore disagreed, wanting Harry to remain under the protection of blood magic.

Sirius, of course, wanted to argue his case; he was never a man bound by rules. At that moment, Lupin reached out to stop him.

In the instant their eyes met, perhaps the consequences of disobeying Dumbledore's arrangements last time came to mind, and Sirius couldn't find any reason to take Harry away.

He could only hug Harry, press his cheek against Harry's, and whisper to his godson, "Don't be sad, Harry. I'll write to you, wherever I go. Write to me anytime you need me, I'll always be waiting for you, okay?"

Sirius Black wasn't actually with Harry, but he still protected him. Harry used Sirius's name to scare his aunt and uncle into believing he had a godfather who had killed more than ten people.

Now, it's time for Harry to need Sirius again.

While cooking the Scottish seafood soup, Praris heard a knock at the door.

Did Winnie forget her keys? Or did her Muggle neighbor come to deliver groceries again?

Praris quickly wiped his hands and shouted, "Coming!"

Praris opened the door and was suddenly met with a pair of deep eyes.

The man in front of her was thin and tall, at least 1.8 meters. He had short black hair and gray eyes, stood casually, and looked melancholy.

He seemed somewhat surprised when he saw Praris: "You're Brown's child—I mean, where's your mother?"

My own mother is in Azkaban; she used to be your cellmate!

Pralis recognized him, of course. Although his hair was no longer disheveled and his expression was no longer as haggard and crazed as it appeared on the wanted poster, she could still tell that he was Sirius Black, who had recently been exonerated.

Praris and he looked at each other for a while before Praris said, "How should I address you, sir? She didn't say there were any guests."

Sirius seemed to be going through a social recovery period, appearing somewhat awkward around a strange child: "Sirius, just call me Sirius. Uh, I need to talk to Winnie about something..."

"Little Pley, is this a guest?" Mrs. Willow from next door asked curiously, opening a crack in the door.

Prarese glanced at Sirius, then at Mrs. Muggle next door, and nodded. "Yes, Winnie's guest. Mrs. Willow, thank you for the clams, they're very fresh—come in."

In fact, Sirius came from Lupin; Lupin and Winnie had met again after their last correspondence. Winnie, as Hill's best friend, vehemently denied that Prader was Hill's daughter. Lupin had no choice but to accept this explanation.

After receiving Harry's letter, both Sirius and Lupin were struggling. Sirius's spellcasting skills remained at their pre-imprisonment level, and perhaps even had regressed. Lupin, on the other hand, had been struggling to make ends meet for years, and neither of them had the extra energy to improve their magic.

Lupin pondered for a long time: "Why don't we ask Winnie Brown? In England, no living person knows more spells than Brown, not even Dumbledore."

Winnie may not be powerful enough, but when it comes to unorthodox and even sinister spells, no one knows more than her. This includes many spells created by Voldemort himself.

Voldemort once used her as a fully automated spell-generating machine. Whether it was white magic or black magic, as long as she was given enough spells, she could quickly create, synthesize, and improve more and easier-to-cast spells. She could also teach these spells to other wizards effortlessly.

Winnie Brown, a powerful tool to enhance the combat capabilities of Death Eaters.

"Are you crazy! She's Voldemort's student!" Sirius Black stood up as quickly as if he'd sat on a thorn.

Lupin said calmly, “Can you believe a dark wizard has never killed a single person? Brown has never killed a single person. Sylvia once said that Brown was too young and blinded by Voldemort. Dumbledore also chose to believe her and helped her resign from the Ministry of Magic safely and escape the Death Eaters.”

Sirius scoffed at this: "What she did was far more impressive than those wizards who killed people. Believe?! Dumbledore believed in Snotty!"

That being said, for Harry's sake, Sirius changed into Muggle clothes and discreetly arrived at Black Rose Alley.