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Chapter 166 – Mrs. Norris Is Petrified!!
"Brother, my shoulders are fine!"
Darren tried to roll his shoulders naturally, smiling as if nothing hurt.
But Harry, Ron, and Hermione could see at a glance that he was lying.
It had to hurt — badly.
And it wasn't just one shoulder. The other looked wrong too.
"Let me see. Don't you listen to your brother?"
Harry's voice sharpened with anger.
Darren bit his lip, his face gradually draining of color, and he looked up at Harry almost pleadingly.
"Brother…"
"Hurry up!"
Darren couldn't deceive him at all. With trembling fingers, he opened his collar.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all froze.
Darren's shoulders were covered in dark purple bruises, and even his upper arms were swollen.
"What happened? Did those Slytherins lay a hand on you?!"
Harry yanked out his wand, furious, fully ready to storm into the Slytherin common room and drag every last one of them out by their ears.
He'd hit them all over the head with his wand if he had to.
"No, no! It wasn't a Slytherin classmate — it's my own problem. Brother, don't ask… let's just go to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party, okay?"
"If you want to go to the Deathday Party, you can tell your brother what happened first! Don't be afraid — your brother can beat them up too!"
Harry's jaw clenched.
Darren was so kind, so soft-hearted, so innocent — why did people keep picking on him?
Was it Slytherin?
Or someone else?
Were people bullying Darren just because they didn't like Harry?
"Darren, tell me. Say it, and I'll take you to the Deathday Party."
"I…"
Darren lowered his head and stayed silent.
Harry's temper snapped.
He paced in a tight circle, then hissed, "If you won't tell me, then I swear — I won't take you. I won't! You can forget the Deathday Party!"
"Brother…"
Darren's green eyes were turning red, shimmering with tears.
Harry swallowed down his own grief. Someone had hurt Darren — and Darren was too scared to even speak.
"You're not going. Stay here at the feast, and think of how you're going to explain this when I come back!"
Dragging Ron and Hermione with him, Harry turned and marched off.
Only Darren was left, head bowed…
…and absolutely thrilled.
Aha!
Plan successful.
And who hurt him?
He did.
Himself.
Just moments earlier, he'd had a brilliant impulse and gave himself a few convincingly ugly bruises with some mild swelling. Then, by refusing to explain the "injury," he guaranteed Harry wouldn't let him attend the Deathday Party.
Perfect.
Of course, he already planned to blame the bruises on scrubbing Filch's office too hard.
Wasn't it touching?
A devoted younger brother injuring himself while cleaning to spare the famous savior from detention?
But he couldn't smile now.
He forced down his grin and wandered back to the Slytherin table with a suitably dazed expression.
The entire night, he "sadly" poked at a mound of mashed potatoes…
Then "absentmindedly" ate two cakes.
Then a pile of puddings.
Then some ice cream.
Because he was "too heartbroken" to watch what he was doing, he ate far too much — and now his stomach hurt.
Darren suspected he might actually have diarrhea.
Rubbing his stomach and grimacing, he gave up watching the Ghost Orchestra's bone dance performance.
It was interesting, sure — but he was seconds away from losing control.
If his little Holy Father self watched a dancing skeleton for a minute longer and then accidentally farted in the Great Hall…
He'd die on the spot from shame.
Muttering to Kassandra that he needed the bathroom, he hurried out with stiff dignity.
After finishing in the loo, he swore to heaven and earth that he was never overeating again.
Who knew wizarding food could give a person diarrhea?
Unbelievable.
"Tear him… tear him apart… so hungry…"
A faint, eerie voice hissed from somewhere upstairs.
The Basilisk had begun its work.
[Ding. System detects a Holy Father scene forming around the host. Temporary task issued:
Follow the Basilisk's voice and arrive at the destination in three minutes.]
[Ding. Reward for completion: +500 Holy Father Points. Accept?]
Not a high reward…
But why not?
[Accept.]
Darren followed the faint voice, timing his steps carefully.
Three minutes later, he finally slipped into a crowd gathering in the corridor.
[Ding. Congratulations to the host for earning +500 Holy Father Points.]
"What's going on?" Darren asked, blinking innocently.
No one answered — but they immediately parted to give him room.
And then he saw them:
Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing pale as ghosts, trembling.
They looked as if they'd stared into death itself.
Likely because they had just seen Mrs. Norris, petrified.
"Brother! Are you hurt? Why's everyone around you? Did someone bully you?" Darren rushed forward, anxiously checking Harry from head to toe.
He looked even more distressed than Harry did.
"N-no… no…" Harry stammered, quickly glancing to the side.
Only then did Darren "notice" the scene:
Two torches burning on the wall, and between them, a message scrawled in something dark and wet:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR… BEWARE.
Beneath it lay a cat.
Mrs. Norris.
Her wide, glassy eyes stared at nothing. Her thin body was frozen stiff.
Seeing her, Darren suddenly wondered where his own cat, Rez, had run off to.
Rez had barely left Hagrid's hut after last year's incident, but nowadays he slept in Darren's dorm during the day and roamed as usual at night.
Rez had been good friends with Mrs. Norris.
Who knew where he was now?
Not important.
Putting on an anxious expression, Darren cautiously approached. Filch had already been pulled away.
He gently tapped Mrs. Norris with his wand.
Yes — she was petrified. Nothing else wrong.
He placed a hand on her head, preparing to attempt his mental-healing spell—
When suddenly—
"Potter! Who gave you permission to meddle here?"
Snape's cold voice snapped through the hallway.
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