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Chapter 125 — Proud Slytherins
Dumbledore's blue eyes were filled with guilt.
Darren knew why.
Dumbledore hadn't stepped in when Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse at him.
Even though Darren knew Voldemort had held back, Dumbledore didn't know that.
It had been excessive.
But Darren didn't know exactly what Dumbledore was apologizing for now, so after thinking for a moment, he nodded softly.
"I forgive you… if that's what you wanted to hear…"
[Ding! Holy Father Value +100]
"No, no, child," Dumbledore said quickly. "I don't want your forgiveness. It is my fault. My selfishness. My prejudice against you."
His voice grew heavy.
He could not bear imagining what would have happened if Darren had truly taken the full force of the Cruciatus Curse.
But he also could not intervene.
"Harry must face Voldemort on his own one day," Dumbledore murmured. "And Darren… Voldemort sees you as a threat to Harry. I cannot always stand behind you both. You must be strong on your own—face what even I fear to see."
He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back on with forced cheerfulness.
"Well! No more gloomy thoughts. You and Harry are alive. That alone is worth celebrating. And the Philosopher's Stone… oh, my child, not lost—it has been destroyed."
Darren's heart cracked.
He really meant to steal it—if only Dumbledore, Snape, and Voldemort hadn't all been standing guard like overprotective dragons.
No chance at all.
Tragic.
"Mister Nicolas Flamel… will he make another Philosopher's Stone?" Darren asked hesitantly.
Dumbledore blinked.
"My brother always worries that the vault is running low," Darren explained quickly. "If I had the Philosopher's Stone, I could make lots of gold for him. But—but of course the Stone belongs to Mr. Flamel! I was only asking…"
[Ding! Holy Father Value +100]
His smile was embarrassed and guilty.
But Dumbledore only chuckled.
"Whether they make another Stone depends entirely on Nicolas and Perenelle. But if they do, I imagine they might allow you a rather large piece of gold. After all, you and Harry helped them more than you know."
Darren shook his head wildly.
"No, no—we can't accept that! I was joking. The Philosopher's Stone is too precious. And Paggie said business is wonderful lately—he promised he would raise Harry and me until adulthood!"
Dumbledore laughed softly and shook his head.
He picked up a toffee from the pile of sweets beside Darren's bed, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
"All gifts from your admirers and your friends. Madame Pomfrey stored several more boxes. She says too much sugar is bad for you and should be saved for your next hospital stay."
Ah.
Was he supposed to live in the infirmary permanently?
He sincerely hoped not.
"If you want to avoid more hospital visits," Dumbledore added cheerfully, "stay out of trouble. Severus says he plans to keep you in detention until graduation to cure your 'ferocious sense of adventure.'"
Darren's mouth fell open.
Dumbledore burst out laughing.
"Well, child, if you want to know more, ask Harry. I told him quite a lot. And—yes—you and Harry will stay at your Aunt Petunia's this summer. She is your only living Muggle relative."
He sighed, suddenly tired.
Then he popped a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean into his mouth—only to spit it out instantly.
"Merlin's beard! Stinky tofu flavour! Even stranger than the new batch they released."
Darren blinked.
Stinky tofu?
Didn't Paggie invest in part of the Every Flavour Beans manufacturing line recently…?
And didn't Darren encourage him to explore Chinese cuisine?
Oh no.
Future generations of wizard children would suffer because of him.
"By the way, my boy," Dumbledore added lightly, "you should change and hurry to the Great Hall. The feast begins in ten minutes. You wouldn't want to miss it."
He lowered his voice mischievously.
"Madame Pomfrey isn't here. I checked before sneaking in. Very lucky timing indeed."
He tossed another bean into his mouth—this time smiling.
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Ten minutes later
Darren slipped into the Slytherin table.
Malfoy sat on his right, staring as though Darren were a rare magical creature.
On his left sat Cassandra.
Lady Worley's face was icy, her glare sharp enough to cut stone.
If they weren't in public, she would have hexed him ten different ways for scaring the entire Slytherin common room.
The other Slytherins were no warmer.
Their gazes were cold, proud, cutting—silent scolding.
Not a single word.
The pressure was intense.
Until Betsy marched over, furious.
"Well, the vote for your punishment is finished," she announced loudly. "And I don't know why, but the voting box kept breaking."
The entire table went still.
"It broke multiple times. Every time I repaired it, it broke again two or three minutes later." She glared at them. "Someone cast spells on it. Lots of spells. A group crime. And if I find out who did it, I swear I'll hit them with the Cruciatus Curse!"
Every Slytherin immediately examined the ceiling, the floor, and anywhere except Betsy's face.
Betsy huffed, then—when no one was looking—winked at Darren before returning to her seat.
A warm, subtle ripple passed through the Slytherin table.
They had protected him.
"Ah, what a splendid night!"
Dumbledore called from the high table.
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