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Chapter Seventy-Nine: Snape Wants to Kill!!
Darren rushed out of the toilet stall, drawing on the power of his Obscurus.
A surge of force burst through his body.
"Impedimenta!"
"Stupefy!"
"Incendio!"
Thanks to Becky's battle style, Darren immediately chained spells together the moment he saw the troll.
The basement echoed with the troll's enraged roars.
"DARREN!"
Harry's voice rang out.
A moment later, stones, bits of wood, and whatever debris they could grab came flying toward the troll.
Darren risked a glance back.
Sure enough—Harry and Ron were frantically throwing anything they could find at the troll, trying to draw its attention away from Darren.
The troll actually hesitated, confused by the sudden barrage.
Its tiny mind could only process that something had hit it… and the boys were waving their arms.
Seeing that the troll's attention was shifting, Darren sprinted toward them and pushed both boys out of danger.
"Harry, Ron—get back. I can handle it!"
He stood in front of them with a pale face and trembling limbs, acting exhausted but refusing to retreat.
[Ding! Holy Father +100]
[Ding! Holy Father +100]
[Ding! Holy Father +100]
Three notifications in a row.
Harry, Ron, and even Hermione were clearly on the verge of tears watching him.
Darren, however, was relieved for a different reason: he was regaining the Father Points he'd spent on his Obscurus earlier.
Unexpected experience farming mid-mission.
Not bad.
But now wasn't the time to celebrate.
He had one minute before teachers arrived.
He needed to end this now—while still looking heroic and selfless.
He attacked again, squinting as he assessed the troll.
Its skin was thick; normal spells barely scratched it.
He missed Becky's spherical bombs.
"Confringo!"
"Reductor!"
"Impedimenta!"
"…Mors Umbra!"
The last spell startled him.
He didn't recognize it.
He hadn't learned it anywhere.
He'd… just invented it on the spot?
The effect was horrifyingly effective.
The troll shrieked like it was seeing its worst nightmare. It clawed at its own head, stumbling wildly.
"Mors Umbra!"
"Confringo!"
"Decem Milia!"
He froze again.
He had invented another spell.
As soon as he cast it, it felt like ten thousand invisible wands fired at once.
A shockwave burst through the basement—
and the troll's body erupted in dozens of small, bloody holes.
This didn't look like a student spell.
This looked like lethal Dark Magic.
Oh no.
He checked his status panel.
His Dark Magic Talent had shot up to 50.
His own effort could raise talent…
But this?
This was too fast.
Too much.
Footsteps thundered in the corridor.
He didn't have to pretend to hear them—anyone within the castle could have felt that blast.
He had seconds left.
"Harry, Ron—take Hermione and run. Now!"
He offered them a perfect chance to flee.
If they were quick, maybe a professor wouldn't explode at them on sight.
"What about you?" Harry grabbed him.
His face went white when he saw Darren's expression—ashen, ghostlike.
"Darren? Darren—hey—Darren!"
Darren's body suddenly sagged.
His eyes rolled back.
He collapsed into Harry's arms.
The perfect faint.
"YOU—WHAT—HOW DARE YOU?! You should consider yourselves lucky—Darren!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked as she rushed forward.
Her shock deepened when she saw Darren unconscious.
She closed her mouth sharply, summoned a stretcher, and levitated him onto it.
Without another word, she sped toward the Hospital Wing.
"Professor… Darren will be okay… right?" Harry asked, voice trembling.
His stomach twisted with fear.
"Harry Potter," came a cold, venomous voice, "the famous Harry Potter can worry about someone other than himself?"
It was Snape.
His expression was terrifying—fury barely contained under a calm mask, mixed with something like pain.
"Severus…" Dumbledore said quietly, stepping in front of him as if expecting Snape to lunge.
"Oh, my dear children," Dumbledore said with a strained smile, "Darren will be fine."
But his smile didn't reach his eyes.
A moment later, a silver cat Patronus darted into the hall.
Dumbledore listened, then finally smiled with genuine relief.
"Good news. Madam Pomfrey says Darren is merely exhausted. One night of rest, and you may visit him tomorrow."
Harry let out a long, shaking breath.
A real smile finally formed on his face.
Tonight… they had actually done something heroic.
Even if most of it had been Darren's doing, the three of them had still stood there together.
If the Gryffindors found out, they'd probably cheer the entire House awake.
"Well, well," Snape drawled, "the famous Harry Potter must be thinking: just a spare brother. Convenient. Someone who won't steal his spotlight or compete for the Potter name."
His voice was poisonous.
Every word dripping with resentment.
Harry felt cold.
"I didn't think that!" he shouted. "Stop twisting things!"
Snape's eyes narrowed with bitter hatred.
"Do not lie to me. Insolence—thirty points from Gryffindor. Perhaps I should suggest Minerva return to her old punishments: hanging brats upside down and using the Mind-Rending Curse."
He stepped closer.
"So. Tell me. What happened?"
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