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Chapter 158 — Snape's Memories
Snape didn't take Lucius's earlier drama to heart.
Lucius was an aristocrat—dramatic displays were practically a hobby.
As long as that mysterious "friend" Lucius mentioned wasn't him, Snape didn't care.
And Lily…
Impossible.
Snape shook his head and returned home.
But the peace didn't last long.
He received news that Darren had invented a new antidote—
one capable of counteracting more than three hundred poisons.
Everything except werewolf venom.
Genius.
What a terrifying genius.
If Lily had married him, the child they'd had might very well have been a Darren.
Same looks, same noble temperament, same talent.
Dumbledore was even planning to nominate the boy for the Order of Merlin, First Class.
Why wasn't this child his?
Snape pressed a hand over his face.
Soon enough, the new term arrived.
But neither Harry Potter nor Darren showed up at the Welcoming Feast.
He sat at the staff table, bored and vaguely uneasy.
What were those two doing now?
Hopefully not causing trouble.
As he brooded, Darren slipped quietly into the Great Hall.
The moment he noticed Snape's eyes on him, the cub lowered his head in guilty panic.
Snape snorted.
Late.
That was all.
Did the child really think he'd explode over that?
He looked away, partly to stop Darren from trembling like a terrified fawn.
But before he'd turned fully, a small, fragile voice drifted up to him—
"Please… tell me… where is my brother?"
How does someone as large as Harry Potter manage to get lost?
Snape rolled his eyes.
Then Draco spoke up—
saying that Harry Potter had been seen flying a car over London.
Snape froze.
He grabbed the Daily Prophet Lockhart left lying around and stared at the front page headline.
HARRY POTTER FLIES A CAR — A HOGWARTS PRIVILEGE?
Idiotic boy!
Snape's anger burned.
Compared to Darren—who stood trembling and begging for news of his brother—Harry looked like a cosmic joke.
Before Snape could even fully process that irritation—
Screams erupted across Slytherin House.
"Dean! Darren's bleeding!"
"Professor! Darren—!"
"Professor, help him!"
Snape's blood turned to ice.
He sprinted down the aisle.
Darren was kneeling on the floor, soaked in blood, eyes glassy and unfocused.
His lips whispered Harry's name, over and over.
A dangerous wave of magic pulsed outward from the boy—wild, raw, deadly.
"POTTER!"
Snape's shout tore from his throat before he even realized it.
"Are you trying to die?! Relax—Darren—RELAX—!"
He couldn't suppress this.
The boy had to regain control on his own.
But one look at Darren's empty eyes told him the child might not survive this.
In desperation, Snape leaned close and whispered sharply:
"Darren Porter… the Great Hall is about to explode because of you. Students could die. Do you want that?"
It was cruel—
but it was the only thing that could reach him.
And it worked.
Slowly—painfully—Darren's mind clawed its way back.
But all Snape could see in the boy's face was fear—fear for others, fear for professors, fear for classmates, fear for Harry.
His skin was white as parchment.
Slytherin girls were crying.
Even a Gryffindor girl tried to rush forward to help him, only to be stopped by another professor.
Everyone was afraid he might lose control again.
Darren sat shaking, folding in on himself, lost in spiraling thoughts.
"Potter. Drink."
Snape approached cautiously, pulling a stabilizing potion from his pocket.
His wand was already in hand—
if Darren lost control again, Snape was prepared to stun him instantly.
But his shout snapped Darren back.
Even in his dazed state, the cub recognized Snape's potion.
Snape's shoulders loosened slightly.
Before Darren could protest, Snape poured it into his mouth.
"Cough—! Cough!"
The boy doubled over coughing.
Immediately, Snape felt a wave of disapproval.
Every girl within ten meters gave him death glares.
Oh, right.
When term starts, points will be deducted… generously.
Snape ignored the glare-daggers and guided Darren toward the hospital wing.
Behind him, McGonagall fretted:
"Severus… you mustn't force it down his throat like that. Poor little Darren…"
Poor little Darren?
If he hadn't forced that potion in, "poor little Darren" might have blown half the school apart.
Inside the hospital wing, Snape discovered what had really happened.
Darren had arrived at school already severely injured from saving Nicolas Flamel.
The Ministry had only given him minimal treatment—just enough to let him walk in.
He would have lasted until after the feast…
if the panic over Harry hadn't triggered a magical outburst.
Snape sat outside the infirmary, head in his hands.
Lily.
What would you say if you saw how kind your child is?
How he takes every wound, every danger, onto himself?
He inherited all your goodness.
It makes it impossible to scold him.
Even after a magical riot, he only worries about others.
Sometimes Snape wished Darren would be a little more selfish.
More like James Potter.
Maybe even a bit rotten.
It would be less terrifying.
He heard Dumbledore approaching.
He wanted to laugh—
mocking, sharp.
But nothing came out.
He only felt the crushing weight of Darren's nature.
Dumbledore assured him the boy would recover.
Recover?
He'd almost died!
Snape thought bitterly of the Prophet photo that revealed Harry's location.
If not for that—
Darren might have died from fear alone.
Then Dumbledore, in all his maddening calm, suggested Snape treat Harry kindly—
because Harry had Lily's eyes.
Snape nearly cursed aloud.
Had the old man not seen Darren's eyes?
Had Snape fallen so far that he needed James Potter's face to remember Lily?
Fine.
If Dumbledore wanted him to "grow closer" to Harry Potter—
"Then I'll go and wait for Harry Potter right now," Snape said through clenched teeth.
"As you suggested, Headmaster. Perhaps I should start getting close to the child."
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