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Chapter 147 – The Street Suddenly Explodes
Darren turned and walked away.
His steady, unhurried stride left Nicolle Flamel frozen.
How could he leave so easily?
Not even a glance back?
Nicolle decided he would count to ten—give that little troublemaker one last chance to turn around.
If Darren so much as looked back, he would officially make him their heir.
He reached ten. Then fifteen.
Darren still didn't turn. In fact, he had already disappeared around the corner.
"Then what are you standing here for? Go after him!"
Perenelle smacked him sharply on the back.
With identical exasperated smiles, Nicolle and Perenelle hurried after Darren with surprisingly long strides for such elderly legs.
"Darren! Darren Porter!"
Nicolle called out. Darren stopped, looking puzzled.
In truth, he was already trying not to laugh.
He had known they would chase him.
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[Ding! The system senses an opportunity for a Holy Father performance. Mission incoming.]
Task: Rush to Perenelle, shield her with your body, and shout: "Sir, Madam, hurry! It's a Muggle gun!"
Reward: Perenelle's Illusion
Accept?
Darren's gaze swept the area.
Sure enough—he spotted a man pulling a gun from his pocket.
The man looked distraught, desperate.
Darren doubted the attack was aimed at the Flamels; it felt more like a random incident.
But it didn't matter.
[Accept!]
The man suddenly raised the gun and fired toward Perenelle.
Darren lunged in front of her.
Blood splashed across his robes as he yelled, voice tight with panic,
"Sir—Madam—go! It's a Muggle gun!"
[Ding! Mission complete. Reward obtained: Perenelle's Illusion.]
Perenelle's Illusion:
Perenelle momentarily sees you as her uncle Galier, the man who raised her.
He died in a Muggle war. She spent decades trying—and failing—to change that fate.
"Galier…"
Perenelle whispered, her voice trembling.
Then she pulled Darren tightly into her arms, calling him by the dead man's name with aching nostalgia.
"Move!"
"Protego!"
"Expelliarmus!"
..
" "
Nicolle Flamel reacted too late.
Seeing the blood on Darren, seeing his pale face—rage overtook him.
With a furious sweep of his wand, Nicolle unleashed a barrage of spells at the attacker.
Too many spells. Too much strength.
A huge shockwave tore through the street, blasting windows, cracking pavement, and sending dust flying everywhere.
Within minutes, Aurors arrived, surrounding Nicolle with raised wands.
Others moved to help the injured Muggles.
They didn't know the situation—but they knew one thing: a wizard had just detonated half a street.
Dark wizard?
Death Eater?
They couldn't risk guessing wrong.
"Hello! Darren Porter speaking! Mr. Flamel didn't do anything wrong!"
Darren pulled away from Perenelle's embrace, still pale, and addressed the Aurors.
"A Muggle attacked Mr. Flamel. That's why all this happened. And—Mr. Flamel didn't kill anyone. The survivors can confirm it."
"Darren Porter?"
Harry Potter's younger brother?
The one who invented the new antidote?
Merlin order First Class medalist?"
A female Auror's eyes widened.
Darren nodded weakly.
The Aurors hesitated, their wands wavering.
Then Nicolle tossed them a document.
Recognition flickered across their faces.
"Mr. Flamel—our apologies!"
"We didn't realise it was really you!"
"I'm so sorry, sir!"
"Were you protecting Darren Porter?"
Nicolle ignored them.
He moved to Darren's side with a sigh.
"Let someone heal you. Honestly, child, what were you thinking?"
He glared at Darren.
This idiot boy—throwing himself in front of spells… and now bullets?
Then he remembered the investigation he'd done:
Darren had once saved a schoolgirl the same way—shielding her with his own body.
A kind, foolish little cub.
"Is that thing in your hand a stick?"
Nicolle demanded suddenly.
Darren flinched, turning even paler.
He hated disappointing elders.
"I—I'm sorry, sir. It's my fault. Please don't be angry…"
"What are you apologising for!?"
Nicolle spun in frustration.
He didn't even know what he was angry about anymore.
Then he looked into Darren's green eyes—wide with concern, not fear.
Realisation hit.
He wasn't angry at Darren.
He was angry that this child treated his own life so lightly.
Throwing himself in front of bullets for two people who had already lived centuries?
How could such a young boy be so reckless?
"Perenelle, talk some sense into him."
But when Nicolle turned, Perenelle was clinging to Darren, crying and murmuring Galier's name.
It struck him—Darren looked far too much like that young man Perenelle had lost to gunfire long ago.
And Darren… wasn't pushing her away.
He gently patted her shoulder, voice soft,
"Don't be sad. If… if it comforts you, you can think of me as Galier."
"I don't like being mistaken for someone else," he added quietly.
"But if it makes you feel better, I don't mind."
[Ding! Father Points +100]
[Ding! Father Points +80]
[Ding! Father Points +50]
[…]
The numbers kept rising.
Darren held Perenelle a little tighter.
Apparently, letting someone see him as another person counted too—
and people these days were far too easy to emotionally devastate.
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