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Chapter 168 — No One Hurts Students at Hogwarts!!
[Ding — A scene suitable for the Holy Father System has been detected.
Temporary Mission Released:
When Filch attempts to strike Harry Potter, block the attack with your own body.
Do not resist Filch's blows.
When Filch draws his knife, say:
"Mr. Filch… if hurting me makes you feel even a little better… then please… go ahead."
Reward for completing the mission:
Squib-to-Wizard Method (Advanced Complex Version).
Accept mission?]
[Accept.]
Sure enough — from basic theory to a highly complex version — the System clearly intended for him to release the "Squib-to-Wizard" method in stages.
But first, he had to finish the task.
Filch lunged at Harry, face twisted with grief and rage.
Harry froze — terrified. He had probably never encountered a grieving owner reacting with such hysteria.
Darren hurriedly stepped in front of Harry.
Filch's fist slammed into Darren's ribs.
Darren staggered, wincing in pain, but still held his ground, shielding Harry with his body and refusing to dodge.
"It's you! It's all you — you killed my cat!"
"You— pretending to help me with cleaning— pretending to be kind— but you just wanted to kill her!"
"I even let you into my office every day, and this is what you do?!"
Filch screamed, voice cracking.
Harry stared, stunned — and suddenly he remembered Darren's bruised shoulders, the swollen arms.
Was it… from cleaning Filch's office?
And Filch said something about helping Harry?
Helping him with what?
"What did Darren ask you to help him with?" Harry demanded sharply.
Darren quickly shook his head, panicked.
"No— no— I didn't ask Mr. Filch to help my brother. I only went to clean because I made a mistake. I lied to Mr. Filch… and he thought I was trying to help my brother."
He shook his head again desperately — telling Harry to stop asking.
But Harry didn't believe a word of it.
Darren? Lying? Impossible.
"Filch!" Harry roared. "What did Darren tell you?"
"Tell me what?!" Filch shrieked. "The boy told me — told me that when you come back from Quidditch practice at night, if you track in mud, I shouldn't punish you. He said he'd take your punishment for you!"
"He lied to me! He's a liar! He killed my cat!"
"I'll kill you! Both of you — Darren Potter and Harry Potter!"
Filch's hand fumbled into his coat.
Darren immediately recognized the shape — a dagger.
He took a breath, closed his eyes, and said softly, voice trembling:
"Mr. Filch… if hurting me makes you feel better… then please… do it. Just let my brother go."
"I won't let him go!" Filch roared. "You'll pay— BOTH OF YOU WILL—"
CLANG!
The dagger skittered across the floor, knocked cleanly from Filch's hand.
"Argus."
Dumbledore's voice rang through the corridor.
He stood at the entrance, other professors behind him, expression grave.
"I believe I made myself very clear," Dumbledore said, eyes hard as steel.
"No one harms students at Hogwarts."
In a blink, he was beside them, lifting Mrs. Norris gently into his arms.
"Come with me. Harry, Ron, Hermione. And Darren — you as well."
"My office is closest— oh! No, no, my office is closest!"
Lockhart jogged forward eagerly.
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said — and from his tone, no one could tell whether it was gratitude or resignation.
Lockhart beamed as he trailed behind. He glanced dramatically at Darren.
"Oh my stars, Darren! You — you would harm a cat? I heard every word!"
"Darren didn't do it!" Harry snapped, pulling Darren protectively behind him.
"My brother would never hurt Mrs. Norris!"
"Then why was he cleaning Filch's office?" Lockhart sniffed. "You must ask yourself—"
"Gilderoy," Dumbledore cut in, turning his head slightly, "we have no conclusion yet. Please refrain from accusing the children."
"Well— well— your Headmaster is quite a sly old dog, isn't he?" Lockhart muttered smugly.
"But he clearly agrees with me—"
"Shut up."
Snape's hiss cut through the air.
Lockhart opened his mouth to argue — but then noticed every single professor was glaring at him with identical murderous expressions.
One more word and they'd all hex him together.
"Ah… well! If you insist…"
Once inside Lockhart's office — walls plastered with dozens of moving photographs of himself — Darren nearly gagged.
All the Lockharts winked at him in perfect synchronization.
He lowered his head quickly, pretending to tremble with fear.
Before his head dipped fully, he caught Dumbledore's gaze — curious, searching.
Great, Darren thought. Did I do something else suspicious? Maybe I'll just tell the truth and use Mind-Healing… what's the worst that could happen?
Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris gently on a long table and began examining her.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept glancing anxiously at Darren — guilt written all over their faces.
Darren really was innocent.
He had only wanted Filch to go easier on Harry.
He'd done chores for Filch, been punished for Harry's sake, and in return… Filch accused him of murdering his cat.
Harry's chest tightened painfully.
He had never noticed everything Darren did for him.
He hadn't even known Darren went to clean Filch's office.
If he hadn't seen the bruises today…
If Filch hadn't blurted everything out…
He never would've known how much Darren was doing for him — silently, secretly, every day.
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