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Chapter 55 — A Saint Among Lions
"Did I… bother you?"
Darren tilted his head, his tone gentle but curious.
Hermione's face flushed crimson.
"No—no, not at all! I just—well, I wanted to ask what you thought about Professor McGonagall's last assignment."
She stumbled over her words, clearly scrambling for an excuse.
Darren nodded, pretending to think deeply. "Ah, that one. It was actually quite simple. Once you understand the transformation sequence, it's easy to visualize."
Even Harry and Ron — who weren't exactly known for top grades — could understand it when he explained.
"That's brilliant!" Hermione said, eyes bright with admiration.
Good-looking, kind, clever — and modest. How could anyone be that perfect?
She wanted to say more, but Ron's voice cut in before she could.
"Alright, Hermione, give him some air. Harry was talking to Darren first." He pushed her lightly aside, then looked at Darren, a bit sheepish.
"Er… sorry, mate. I've said some bad things about you before. Thought you were a dark wizard or something — but I was wrong. You've been standing up to Malfoy and the others. You really are Harry's brother."
Darren smiled kindly. "It's alright, Ron. But I should say this — not all Slytherins are bad.
Professor Snape, Sister Becky, Miss Kassandra… they've all treated me kindly. I like them very much."
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[Ding! Holy Father Value +20]
[Ding! +30]
[Ding! +20]
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Another small wave of points. Darren suspected most of those came from the few decent Slytherins listening in.
They were always restrained — stingy, even — with their praise.
Well, except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Those three were a disgrace to the entire House.
Ron wrinkled his nose but couldn't argue.
Come to think of it, aside from their usual snide comments, the Slytherins hadn't done anything truly evil. Maybe… one or two were alright.
That small concession made Darren smile sincerely.
Then Ron suddenly leaned closer and blurted, "Wait—Harry, are you and Darren really twins? Because honestly, I think Darren's better-looking than you."
Harry grinned, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder.
"Of course! I asked Professor McGonagall. I take after Dad, and Darren's more like Mum."
He said it with pride — and a little possessiveness.
Growing up, he'd always wanted a younger brother. Not like Dudley, who'd probably used "brother" as an excuse to punch him.
But Darren — polite, gentle Darren — called him brother with such warmth it made Harry's heart glow.
"So," Harry said curiously, "where did you live when you were little? Was it in the wizarding world?"
Darren shook his head softly. "I grew up in an orphanage. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape came to find me this August."
He tried to press down the single strand of hair sticking up on his head, but it only sprang right back.
Harry chuckled, eyeing it enviously.
"If only my hair did that. Mine looks like a broom exploded."
"It's cool, though," Harry added with genuine admiration. "I always thought living in an orphanage sounded nice. Loads of other kids to hang out with. Can I visit during the holidays?"
Darren noticed the sideways glances around them — professors and students both.
They were watching him, tense and wary, waiting for any sign of resentment or pain.
After all, everyone knew from Paige's reports what life in that orphanage had been like.
But Darren only smiled softly.
"That might be a little difficult," he said lightly. "When Professor Dumbledore brought me out, he gave Mrs. Linda — the head matron — quite a generous sum of gold.
If we showed up again, she'd probably demand everything in our Gringotts vault before letting us leave."
He said it with calm humor, his voice steady and bright — no trace of bitterness.
The teachers listening nearby felt their faces burn with shame.
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[Ding! Holy Father Value +50]
[Ding! +80]
[Ding! +70]
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Another wave of Father Points. Three thousand in total by lunch.
A very productive day of righteousness indeed.
Just as Darren began wondering how to keep the holy momentum going, the sound of wings filled the Great Hall.
Hundreds of owls swooped through the high windows, feathers catching in the sunlight as they delivered letters and packages.
The first time Darren saw it, he'd been stunned — the sight straight out of the Harry Potter novels of his past life.
Now, he mostly thought it was loud.
Still, it was spectacular.
And just a little disappointing.
Because his own phoenix — Carol — never brought him anything.
Granted, "phoenix" was a generous description. Carol was still halfway between majestic and plucked turkey.
Pachi, the caretaker elf, had taken Carol back to the old Potter manor for "training." Something about the first lady of the Potter family needing proper refinement.
Darren was still pondering that when an owl swooped straight toward him.
He flinched, but it veered at the last second — landing in front of Harry.
The bird dropped a folded note, affectionately pecked Harry's ear, and immediately dove toward the jam.
"Hedwig loves that stuff," Harry said sheepishly.
Then he glanced at Darren, realizing something. "Hey — you don't have a pet, do you? What kind of animal would you want?"
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