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Chapter 65 — Malfoy Under Attack!
Malfoy was furious.
He'd spent the entire morning swearing in the Slytherin common room that he was going to teach Darren Potter a lesson.
Darren, who had been minding his own business, sighed as he watched the blond storm around like an offended peacock. But before Darren could ask what Malfoy planned to do, the boy had already stomped out of the lounge and reappeared clutching something round and shining.
A crystal ball?
Darren squinted.
Wait... that's Neville's Remembrall, isn't it?
No way. Even with all the butterfly effects he'd caused, Malfoy was still picking on Neville? Some things never changed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, Draco, sometimes you're your own worst curse."
And as if on cue—
[Ding! Detected: Holy Father Scenario Triggered!]
[New Task: Approach Draco Malfoy, retrieve the crystal ball, and during the struggle, block the spell aimed at him.]
Darren froze mid-step.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
---
Malfoy was still bouncing Neville's Remembrall in his palm, smirking as Gryffindors began to notice.
"Look what I found! Poor Longbottom's lost his toy!"
Darren sighed and walked toward him, expression darkening.
"Give it back," he said sharply. "I'll return it to Neville."
Malfoy turned with mock politeness.
"To you? What are you going to do, please me into giving it back?"
Darren's jaw clenched.
"Malfoy," he said evenly, "Neville—he's not as weak as you think."
"Oh really?" Draco sneered, tossing the Remembrall into the air. "He's a useless lump of—"
"He's a hero," Darren snapped before he could stop himself. "You just don't know it yet."
Malfoy blinked, startled by the rare flash of fury in Darren's eyes. Then, smirking again, he hurled the crystal ball higher. "Come and get it, then!"
---
The moment stretched.
Darren lunged, grabbing for the Remembrall—keeping one eye on Malfoy and the other on the restless crowd. Something in the corner of the room caught his attention—a wand raising slightly, the faint shimmer of a curse about to fly.
And then—
Red light.
Expulso.
Darren didn't think. He moved on instinct, shoving Malfoy aside and throwing up his arm.
The spell hit him full-force.
A burst of searing heat shot through his forearm, the air crackling. For a moment, the world blurred into color and sound—then went quiet.
When Darren opened his eyes, he was on the floor, the Remembrall rolling to his side.
"Y-you—"
Malfoy's voice cracked. "HELP! Someone—help! He's—he's been hit!"
"Shut up!" Darren hissed, forcing himself upright. "Becky's already caught the one who cast it. You'll wake the whole castle."
He bent down, picked up the Remembrall, and staggered to his feet.
"Potter! You—"
Darren ignored him, clutching the crystal ball and stumbling back toward the dormitory stairs. He didn't stop until the door clicked shut behind him.
---
Inside, silence.
Darren looked down at his arm. The sleeve was scorched and slick with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin. The curse hadn't been fatal—but it was close.
He winced. "Merlin's beard, if that had hit Malfoy…"
He sat heavily on his bed, letting out a slow breath.
In the original timeline, this had never happened.
So the butterfly effect's really starting to spiral, he thought grimly.
Still, the System had been clear: hide in his dormitory.
So, like a dutiful (and mildly bleeding) protagonist, he obeyed.
A familiar ding echoed.
[Mission Complete!]
[Reward: Malfoy Bloodline Obtained.]
Malfoy Bloodline: Pure Malfoy ancestry containing a trace of Veela charm. +20 Charisma when using persuasive magic. Triggers Lucius Malfoy's "Disapproving Glare."
Darren stared at the glowing text.
"…Excuse me?"
A Veela bloodline? In Malfoy's family?
"Bloody hell, Lucius, what did your ancestors do?"
He scrambled over to the mirror. His reflection blinked back at him—hair a bit shinier, face slightly too symmetrical, and eyes with just a faint, unsettling gleam.
"Great," he muttered. "Now I look like I belong in a Witch Weekly cover shoot. Just what I needed."
Still, the charm was subtle enough. No one would notice unless they stared too long.
He flexed his arm experimentally. The wound was almost closed, thanks to his natural regeneration. Another ten minutes and he'd be fine.
His robes, though, were another story. Blood soaked the fabric from wrist to elbow. He stripped off the ruined sleeve and changed into fresh clothes, planning to sneak out unnoticed.
Except—
When he opened the door, Draco Malfoy was standing right there.
---
"Cough," Draco said stiffly, crossing his arms. "Don't think I'm here to thank you or anything."
Darren raised an eyebrow.
"I have an amulet," Draco continued, eyes darting away. "Even if that curse had hit me, I'd have been fine."
"Sure you would," Darren said dryly.
For a moment, they just stood there. Then Darren asked, "Why did someone attack you, anyway? No one at Hogwarts is stupid enough to hex a Malfoy."
"I—I don't know." Draco frowned. "But Becky said Cass got hit by a Soul Reaper Curse. She took him straight to Professor Snape."
Darren froze.
A Soul Reaper Curse. That wasn't schoolyard magic. That was Dark Arts. Death Eater magic.
He frowned deeply.
Why would a Death Eater target Malfoy… instead of Harry?
The thought left a cold echo in his chest.
Something—or someone—was changing the story's path.
And for the first time, Darren wasn't sure if even his "Holy Father System" could predict what came next.
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