---
Chapter 165 — The Squib-to-Wizard Theory!!
Darren summoned a basin of water and began moving around Filch's office, occasionally using his Hygieo Mundaris spell while pretending to wipe things manually.
He also took the chance to look around, hoping to find something interesting.
But after inspecting every shelf and drawer, he sighed inwardly.
The only truly valuable thing Filch used to keep here was the Marauder's Map… and Fred had already stolen it long ago.
Everything else was ordinary junk—not even as good as the things Darren already possessed.
Still, Darren was thinking about it when—
[Ding! A Holy Father event has been detected. Temporary mission triggered:
Within one minute, smudge your face, pretend to be working hard, and when Filch enters say:
"Mr. Filch, please wait—I'll be done right away!" ]
[Reward: Squib-to-Wizard Theoretical Concept. Accept?]
Darren froze.
You can stack temporary missions on top of long-term ones?
Well… the system didn't forbid it, so technically it wasn't a conflict.
But the reward—
A theory about turning Squibs into wizards?
That was incredible.
If he could truly create a method for Squibs to become wizards, his name would instantly rise to the level of legendary figures—maybe even Dumbledore.
(At least in reputation… as Paige always joked, "The great Darren Potter—really?")
But as he read the description, he realized the system wasn't giving him the actual method—only a theoretical idea.
He wasn't supposed to unlock such a monumental breakthrough this early.
Still, the theory alone was priceless.
A seed. A foundation.
Naturally—
[Accept.]
He glanced at the time.
Filch was returning soon.
Darren quickly smeared dust across his cheeks, grabbed a rag, and began scrubbing the desk with great effort.
---
Filch entered.
For a moment, he stopped in the doorway.
His office wasn't spotless.
But it was hand-cleaned—the uneven wipe marks proved it.
And crucially: it did not have the polished, magical sheen of Scourgify.
He stiffened.
He had visited other professors' offices before—gleaming, immaculate, all cleaned with magic.
As a Squib, he despised that.
He loathed how easily students used spells he himself could not.
He even refused help from the house-elves because they cleaned with magic too.
He hated magic in his office.
To him, a student using magic to "please" him was the ultimate insult.
That's what he thought Darren would do.
After all, the boy had begged him earnestly earlier.
Filch had been unexpectedly swayed, even embarrassed, and left silently—giving the child a chance to "cheat" with cleaning spells.
So Filch expected to walk in and find magical results.
But instead…
He saw a boy with dust smeared across his face.
A boy wiped raw from scrubbing.
A boy who flinched when Filch stared at him—then urgently tried to wipe his cheeks clean, only making them dirtier.
"Sir, please wait—I'll be finished soon!" Darren said anxiously.
He clearly thought Filch would punish Harry if this room wasn't cleaned well enough.
"…Hmph. Hurry up," Filch snapped, slamming the door.
He gave the boy one more chance.
Surely the rest of the cleaning would be done with magic—he would tolerate it, just this once.
But when Darren called him back…
Filch walked in and froze again.
The room was still hand-cleaned.
Not even a trace of cleaning magic.
The child had done the whole thing manually.
Filch grunted.
"…Fine. You've got some sense after all. Next time Harry Potter causes trouble, I'll inform you first."
It was the closest thing to praise Filch ever gave.
"Thank you—thank you, sir!" Darren said gratefully.
[Ding! Holy Father Value +50]
Darren stepped out of the office and checked the status screen.
Filch's favorability: 10/80
This was going to take a while.
Filch despised magic so much that if he ever discovered magical residue in his office, he might explode.
So Darren briefly considered creating an illusionary clone spell to clean in his place every day…
…but immediately rejected it.
A clone wouldn't mimic his tiny nervous gestures accurately.
It would be exposed instantly.
And Darren's saintly image would collapse.
So instead, every day—whenever Filch left—Darren quietly tapped a few surfaces with his wand to simulate manual cleaning.
Enough to gain a little favorability.
Enough to maintain his façade.
Efficient and safe.
Halloween approached quickly.
Every day, Darren visited Filch's office for an hour, knocking the desk with his wand, "cleaning," and examining the strange confiscated trinkets.
By the time Halloween neared, he was consistently gaining +2 favorability per visit.
He also noticed Filch had a habit:
Leaving dramatically, stomping loudly out the door—as if announcing Darren's cleaning time.
Maybe the man felt embarrassed.
Maybe it was his odd pride.
Either way, it helped.
But Halloween brought new problems.
Peace never lasted long at Hogwarts.
Shortly before the holiday, Harry approached Darren with a guilty look.
"Darren… sorry, but I promised Nearly Headless Nick I'd go to his Deathday Party."
Darren almost refused instinctively.
A Deathday Party?
Cold food, moaning ghosts, wails, and gloom?
But refusing would mean breaking character.
He composed himself.
"Wherever my brother goes, I go too," Darren said warmly.
[Ding! Holy Father Value +100]
[Ding! +100]
[Ding! +100]
Harry's eyes softened.
He reached out to pat Darren's shoulder—
And Darren winced, flinching slightly.
Harry froze.
"What's wrong?" he asked sharply.
Darren never avoided his touch.
And that flinch… it looked like someone had hit him there.
Was Slytherin bullying Darren?
"Brother, I'm fine…" Darren said softly. "Let's go to the Deathday Party."
"What party? Show me your shoulder first." Harry insisted, already frowning.
---
---
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like it ? Add to library!
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!