HP North Star's Radiance

When the door opened, Sirius didn't see Winnie Brown from Ravenclaw, but a familiar little girl.

Without a doubt, Sirius had seen her many times, near the greenhouses at Hogwarts.

Although Sirius didn't know her name, he knew she wasn't a good cook.

To help him, Crookshan had begged a lot of food from the boy, mostly tasteless dried chicken and dried beef.

However, for Sirius at that time, having food was good enough, so he had no right to be picky.

Later, Crookshanks even managed to get him a high-quality healing potion, allowing him to hold out longer against Lupin in his transformed state until Professor McGonagall arrived.

Sirius sat on the sofa, watching the girl named "Little Pray" pour him a glass of juice, and said, "This is all we have at home."

After giving the guests a perfunctory reception, she returned to the kitchen and continued her busy work.

Sirius curiously peeked out and realized that she wasn't just good at making dried chicken and dried beef.

Alas—

"I'm back! Pray~ You have to praise me, the nearby supermarket didn't have celery, so I ran to... Sirius Black? What are you doing here!"

Winnie's lively and cheerful voice abruptly stopped, her tone filled with disdain.

Wednesday is really not a good day.

Prim Purnell is going back to her family home in Devon to visit her graves, and she has stated that she will not be taking anyone with her.

So, after finishing her coffee and rushing to finish her draft, Winnie wriggled on the sofa like a boneless snake, complaining that Prim wouldn't take her out with her.

Praris shook his head helplessly: "Stop howling. I'll cook you dinner before I leave. Don't use food magic to turn into snacks for dinner."

Prarese and Winnie were both terrible at eating on time, so they kept a close eye on each other and wouldn't let each other compromise.

To be honest, they just can't stand seeing others live such indulgent lives, so they accuse each other of having decadent lifestyles.

What food could Winnie possibly have? A few neighbor ladies chipped in some vegetables for her, but she was still short a bunch of parsley for soup.

Winnie went out to buy groceries and missed Sirius's arrival.

Sirius Black said with a grin, "Brown, I didn't realize your child was so big already, and also attending Hogwarts? He looks exactly like you! I have a small problem that I need your help with, for Dumbledore's sake—"

“I might not even help Dumbledore!” Winnie rolled her eyes. “Little Pu, you go back to your room first.”

Praris nodded, naturally pushed open Winnie's bedroom door, and went inside.

"Speak up. I won't help with troublesome matters, and I might not help with non-troublesome matters either."

Winnie considered it repayment for Dumbledore's kindness in sending Prader to her side.

Sirius thought for a moment and said cautiously, "Perhaps you know of any magic, especially dark magic, that allows you to share what you see and hear? For example, if something happens here at Jack's place, Mary can see it in her dream."

Winnie gave him a strange look: "Why all the mystery? Of course there's no such spell, neither black magic nor white magic. Anyone who didn't know better would think you were dealing with the Dioscuri brothers!"

What are the Dioscuri brothers?

Winnie said, "The legend of Gemini. The older brother's life was shared with the younger brother, their destinies intertwined, they lived and died together, never to be separated. From then on, they possessed the same soul, and would eventually return to the same fate, seeing each other as seeing themselves."

Sirius blinked rapidly a few times and muttered to himself, "He doesn't have any brothers."

Winnie yawned, crossed her legs, and looked even more relaxed than Sirius: "Let me give you some advice, Black. This doesn't sound like something a spell could produce directly. It sounds more like something involving blood ties and the soul. You'd be better off finding a reliable fortune teller than me."

“Don’t call me Black!” Sirius frowned. “Never mind, thanks anyway! Looks like I’ll have to ask Dumbledore for help!”

Winnie scoffed, "Get out of here! Don't even think about staying for a free meal!"

"A mean-spirited woman!"

"What an irresponsible scoundrel!"

Praris opened the door and stood in the doorway, his brows slightly furrowed.

"what happened?"

Winnie stepped forward and brushed the stray hairs from Praris's forehead to her sides.

Praris said softly, "There's a 99 percent chance that Sirius Black was asking on behalf of Harry Potter. He's a sieve when it comes to Hogwarts."

“What about the remaining one percent?” Winnie asked.

Praris chuckled softly: "Miss, the remaining one percent represents my modesty."

Winnie was both amused and exasperated. She patted Winnie's chest and said, "Come on, humble chef, have a taste of your food."

Praris was naturally a good cook; every girl in the monastery could cook, which helped out during church alms and festivals.

To encourage Prares to continue cooking, Winnie praised the meal to the skies, making uninformed people think that British cuisine was far ahead of the rest of the world.

Ms. Prie still hadn't returned by the next day.

When Ms. Priscilla is around, you don't always notice her; she always listens to you gently, quietly, with soft eyes. She's always there, as if she'll never leave, and you can see her as soon as you turn around.

But even if she only goes out briefly, you'll feel something's different, you'll feel uneasy, and you'll worry that something might happen to her outside, or that she might not be doing well.

Prareas kicked Winnie under the table: "You didn't write a single word today."

"That's because my muse isn't with me!" Winnie shamelessly made up an excuse.

Praris shook his head: "You haven't written a single word in the shop."

Winnie added, "Distance makes the heart grow fonder, but the distance shouldn't be too great."

Prarese ignored Winnie and folded her paper, which she had revised countless times, into an envelope, intending to mail it as soon as she got back.

“Are you going to watch Quidditch? The Quidditch World Cup,” Winnie suddenly said.

Praris shook his head: "I'm not interested in that."

“It’s going to be really exciting!” Winnie seemed to have decided not to write anymore. “The week after next, Priscilla, you, and I will go together. I happen to have three tickets.”

“Uh, okay then.” Praris nodded with difficulty. “I won’t go out for the next two weeks, otherwise I won’t be able to complete my plan.”

Chapter 67 Undercurrents

In the quiet night, the old floor of the Leaky Cauldron bar made a slight sound under the footsteps of leather shoes.

Praris pulled his thoughts away from "Advanced Potion Making" and looked warily toward the doorway.

It's almost time for Old Tom to close up shop, and the kitchen staff have long since gone home. Who would be going to the end of the second-floor room at this hour?

Knock knock—

“It’s me,” Winnie’s voice came from outside the door.

Praris waved the wand that had long since slipped into his palm, and the door unlocked silently.

A figure quickly slipped into the room and closed the door behind them.

Today, Winnie wasn't wearing her usual stylish clothes; instead, she wore a black wizard's robe. Her face was pale, and her eyes flickered.

"It's so late, is there something you need?"

There was nowhere to sit on Praris, so he offered Winnie a few books to sit on, but Winnie waved them off.

Winnie couldn't look Prares in the eye and whispered, "We...we're not going to the Quidditch World Cup."

“Us? Does that include Ms. Prie?” Praris caught the key phrase. “Did something unexpected happen? I don’t recall seeing any news about the World Cup being canceled in the newspapers.”

“Life is always full of surprises.” Winnie’s gaze was unfocused. “To be honest, the World Cup isn’t that interesting.”

Praris stared silently at Winnie's profile, the silence as pervasive as the air, broken only by the sound of bubbles bursting from Praris's crucible as it boiled.

Praris slowly removed the crucible from the fire and said softly, "Miss, I think you know I'm not the kind of person who can be easily brushed off with a few words, am I?"

Winnie's gaze fell on the candlestick in front of Praris, and she said blankly, "They've come to me, trying to test my loyalty. You know, I once had a special status, but I was fortunate enough to escape the post-war reckoning."

Praris was somewhat surprised: "The Mystic is really back? Are they planning to create some buzz at the World Cup to announce his return?"

Praris's expression turned serious; this had come far too quickly!

If that's the case, what should Professor Snape do?

Based on Prarese's observations over the past three years, Professor Snape's stance has been quite ambiguous. He was once a Death Eater, yet he gained Dumbledore's trust, became the Head of Slytherin, and even brewed wolfsbane for Lupin under Dumbledore's instructions.

Praliss is a Slytherin. She is Snape's student, his apprentice, and a relative of Professor Snape.

Without the constraint of absolute life-or-death interests, Snape's stance would very likely influence Prares's decision on which side to take.

At least for now, that's what Praris thinks.

Winnie rolled up her sleeves, revealing a pattern on the inside of her left forearm: a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, which looked sinister and terrifying.

She shook her head frantically: "I don't know, he didn't summon us personally. But I don't know if it's psychological or if he really came back to life, but my tattoo has been giving me strange feelings lately."

Praris said calmly, "So you haven't responded to their demands yet, have you?"

Winnie sat on Praris's carpet and sighed deeply. "No. They certainly won't tell me their specific plans until I've made up my mind to attend the gathering. Anyway, you're a half-blood, and even if nobody knows it now, you absolutely can't watch the World Cup. Not just you, Prim can't either! Who knows what they'll do when they go crazy! Death Eaters have killed purebloods before!"

“I’ve never been interested in Quidditch.” Prareus poured the potion into the bottle. “Did you speak with Dumbledore?”

“I’m not sure if I should do this,” Winnie said, burying her head in her hands. “What if he really comes back?”

“You don’t know how powerful he used to be, but I saw it with my own eyes. Dumbledore couldn’t stop him! Dumbledore is old, and he couldn’t stop his expansion in the past. Are we really going to rely on Harry Potter, or on miracles happening again? To put the fate of countless people on the shoulders of a child is such a cowardly and incompetent act!”

Praris nodded and shoved the potion bottle into the shelf behind him. "I understand. You're hesitant. You're afraid of Voldemort, afraid he'll come back and corrupt your soul. But you also can't fully trust Dumbledore and are unwilling to entrust your fate to someone else."

“You don’t need to spell it out,” Winnie said dejectedly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve matured, but other times I feel like my mind is stuck in the year I argued with your mother, and I’ve never grown up.”

“Winnie,” Prarese said, looking at her, “Do you remember what you told me? Letting go of the past isn’t that hard for you. You just need to figure out what you want now.”

Winnie felt somewhat helpless. There are no small matters when it comes to life and death. When a decision involves life and death, even the simplest decision becomes significant.

Deciding to live is easy; no one wants to live. But when a decision could lead to one's own or someone else's death, it becomes much more difficult.

However, Prarese's words ultimately pointed Winnie in the right direction. As long as she could convince herself, what did it matter? The Winnie Brown who went crazy for her ideals was long gone; all that remained was her, her edges worn smooth by reality.

Having figured this out, Winnie stopped torturing herself. She slowly lowered her sleeves and scanned her surroundings.

After agreeing to go to the Quidditch World Cup together, Prader kept her word and didn't leave the Leaky Cauldron for over ten days. Even letters from her friends were picked up by Old Tom on her behalf.

The room in front of Winnie could no longer be called an ordinary guest room; it was more like a laboratory.

Old Tom acted like a doting elder, completely indulging her every whim.

She moved the bed away and placed a large wooden shelf in its place, filled with all sorts of bottles and jars. Some of these bottles and jars contained herbs, while others contained ready-made medicines.

The rest of the room, apart from the fireplace, was filled with books of varying thicknesses, rolls of parchment, and a jumble of tools.