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Chapter 121 — Emergency Mission!!
Darren didn't even need to think.
That last pathetic +1 Holy Father value?
Definitely Voldemort.
The Dark Lord repeatedly gave him tiny charity-points, as if flicking coins at a beggar.
This time he'd been stingier than ever.
Clearly not moved.
Well… maybe a little.
Everyone except Voldemort had been touched by his words.
Unfortunately, Harry had also been left deeply confused.
"Darren… you already knew it wasn't Snape—Professor Snape—and just now, when I said it, I saw you try to correct me."
Harry's face wrinkled, disbelief painted all over him.
Snape, after all, looked like a walking definition of "suspicious."
Darren sighed helplessly.
"I don't know why. No matter how much evidence you gave to accuse Professor Snape, something in me felt it wasn't him.
He's always been… gentle. Kind. The sort of person I can't imagine doing evil.
But you insisted it was him, and you wouldn't let me confront him, so… I could only listen."
Harry's jaw dropped.
He turned toward Quirrell, who lay before them.
The jittery, stuttering teacher—this was the one who had stolen the Philosopher's Stone.
And he had Voldemort on the back of his head.
Harry's scar throbbed with burning agony.
Where was Hermione?
Where was Snape?
They needed help—now.
Voldemort's amused hiss cut through the room.
"Darren Potter… before you arrived, I asked Harry about the Philosopher's Stone.
Tell me—do you think the Stone belongs to me?"
"Of course not!
My brother's opinion is my opinion!"
Darren answered without hesitation.
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
"Mm. Perhaps I should punish one of you," Voldemort purred.
"And you, Harry Potter… shall go first."
He raised his wand.
[Ding! Emergency quest detected!
Objective: After Voldemort casts the torture spell on Harry, interrupt him and shout, "Harry, run!"]
[Reward: 1x Bloodline Lottery]
[Accept quest?]
[Accept!]
…Emergency quests existed?!
And only triggered once a year?
Great.
But the reward—bloodline lottery—would it turn him into a cub again?
He already had the title of "unicorn cub."
What more could they do to him?
Darren focused sharply on Voldemort.
Just as Voldemort's arm lifted—
Darren threw himself in front of Harry again, shielding him completely.
Voldemort wasn't surprised.
He had expected this.
His eyes glinted with twisted interest.
"Sectum Dolor!"
(A dark pain curse, Voldemort's personal variant.)
The curse struck Darren instantly.
He collapsed to the ground, curling in on himself.
"Ha… Harry… run!"
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +100]
[Ding, Holy Father +10]
Darren accepted the flood of Holy Father points weakly.
In truth—
It didn't hurt.
He'd activated his Pain Shield, a passive from his newbie gift package.
The same one he used when he'd taken Betsy's bullet.
But Voldemort, like Betsy back then, began piling curses:
"Dolor!"
"Torquo!"
"Acerbitas!"
A barrage of pain curses—mixed together with something very… peculiar.
Because the Stinging Charm (Acutus Stimulus)—a healing spell used for therapy and stimulating nerves—
when stacked repeatedly, could mimic the exhaustion and trembling caused by a true torture curse.
Darren nearly snorted.
Voldemort—the feared Dark Lord—was using a healing spell to fake a torture curse.
If Darren hadn't known better, he might've believed he was being torn apart.
Harry definitely believed it.
"STOP! STOP IT!" Harry shouted, voice breaking as he cast every spell he knew.
None made Voldemort even blink.
"This is the power of the famous Harry Potter?" Voldemort mocked, eyes wild.
"The boy who defeated the Dark Lord?"
Harry looked at Darren—soaked in cold sweat, trembling violently.
His heart shattered.
"You let Darren go! What do you want?!"
"What do I want?" Voldemort hissed.
"The Philosopher's Stone, boy. Stand before the Mirror and tell me where it is!"
He was getting excited now—he could almost feel triumph.
Dumbledore's wards on the Mirror.
Dumbledore's childish reliance on Harry.
He would beat Dumbledore at his own game.
Darren watched Voldemort's smirk twist cruelly.
Voldemort glanced toward the darkness—where Dumbledore's distant presence lingered.
He believed Dumbledore was watching.
He believed Dumbledore would let the child suffer.
Perfect.
The misunderstanding was deepening nicely.
Harry stepped before the Mirror of Erised.
His face changed.
Voldemort immediately leaned forward with interest.
"Tell me, Potter… what did you see?"
Would he lie to save Darren?
Or tell the truth and hand Voldemort victory?
Would Darren finally see the ugliness of the world?
Harry's eyes darted to Darren.
Darren shook his head weakly—barely moving.
Even that small gesture cost him everything.
Harry's throat tightened.
His eyes were burning red.
He turned back toward Voldemort.
"I… I saw…" he stuttered, voice cracking.
Darren's eyes widened.
Here it comes—
"I saw… I saw myself and… and Professor Dumbledore shaking hands!"
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