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Chapter 171 – Revoke His Privileges!!
Harry's instincts were right.
Snape suddenly turned to Dumbledore and said coldly, "Headmaster, perhaps our suspicions should shift away from little Potter… and toward the famous Harry Potter."
Harry's stomach lurched.
Darren opened his mouth to defend him, but Snape shot him a sharp glare.
"Some people haven't cleared their own suspicions," Snape snapped. "And now, Harry Potter—why were you in that corridor? Why did you skip the Halloween Feast?"
Harry and Ron immediately launched into panicked explanations, insisting dozens of ghosts could testify they'd been at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party.
"Then why go upstairs?" Snape pressed.
Harry blurted, "Because I heard the same voice Darren heard!"
Snape smirked in triumph.
"Our Harry Potter is clearly lying. More likely he overheard some foolish boy muttering to himself, pieced something together, and then used that foolish boy to commit mischief. His intentions? Perhaps to have the boy expelled… or thrown into Azkaban. Then nothing will stand in the way of the glorious Harry Potter."
"I didn't!" Harry shouted, furious.
He knew Snape was doing this intentionally.
Snape wasn't accusing him because he believed it—he was trying to sow discord between him and Darren. As if Harry would ever resent Darren. Darren had only ever been good to him.
This was his twin brother. His closest family.
Snape was doing it on purpose.
"Professor Snape," Darren said resolutely. "I believe my brother. He would never hurt me."
Harry smiled at him gratefully.
But Snape sneered.
"Oh? Then tell us, Potter—if you heard this mysterious voice, why didn't you say so earlier? Why stand silent and let your brother shoulder suspicion? Why let everyone accuse Darren Porter while you said nothing?"
Harry froze.
He couldn't say the truth—that Ron had once told him hearing voices no one else could hear was a very bad sign for a wizard.
So he'd been terrified to mention it.
"I… I forgot," Harry muttered weakly.
Snape laughed, cruel and triumphant.
"Headmaster," Snape said, turning to Dumbledore with exaggerated politeness, "I believe Potter is lying. Perhaps some of his privileges should be revoked. For example… Gryffindor's Quidditch team."
Harry understood instantly.
Snape was jealous he'd won Gryffindor the Cup.
"Oh, Severus, you may cancel anything else," Professor McGonagall said sharply, "but you will not take Quidditch from him. He's done nothing wrong on the pitch!"
She didn't entirely trust Harry's explanation either—but she would not allow Snape to sabotage Quidditch.
"Severus," Dumbledore said firmly, "unless they are proven guilty, these children are innocent."
Snape's face twisted with frustration.
Filch erupted, "And what about my cat? Mrs. Norris is petrified—!"
"She can be saved," Dumbledore replied. "There are Mandrakes growing in the school. When they mature, the restorative draught can revive her. Darren—what is it?"
He had noticed Darren's sudden nervousness.
Darren swallowed and said quietly, "Headmaster, I had Paggie help me brew some new antidotes earlier… I still have a little left…"
Dumbledore sighed.
"No, Darren. You misunderstand. The situation is already known around the school—and will spread. If we use your antidote now, you would be openly breaking wizarding law."
He turned to Filch, eyes suddenly sharp.
"If the matter had remained private, perhaps there would be no issue. But you—Mr. Filch—chose to turn this into a spectacle. Publicly assaulting students… drawing a knife…"
Dumbledore's voice dropped to a cold, disappointed murmur.
"Argus Filch… I may have no choice but to inform you—
You are dismissed."
"No!" Filch's scream cracked.
Hogwarts was the only place he had.
"Where am I supposed to go?" he sobbed.
Though he cried, almost no one felt sympathy… except Darren.
He had to defend Filch—for his task and the long-term rewards.
So Darren hurriedly stepped forward.
"Headmaster, Mr. Filch was not actually attacking students," Darren stammered. "I—I gave him permission. We were just… practicing. Fighting. And the knife behind him—that was only… only an apple!"
He winced at how absurd it sounded.
"Mr. Filch conjured it! It looked frightening, but it was fake!"
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +80]
[Ding, Father +50]
[Ding... ］
…
Darren quietly nudged Filch to agree—to play along.
But Filch only stared at him blankly, then broke into fresh sobs.
Darren tried again, helpless.
"Professor, I—I promise… it's the truth…"
[Ding, Father +80.]
[Ding, Father +90]
[Ding, Father +70]
[Ding... ］
…
The Holy Father points kept pouring in.
But Filch's uncontrollable crying made Darren want to scream.
He wasn't a poet—he couldn't spin elaborate lies.
He only had sincerity, and sincerity wasn't enough when the person he was trying to save couldn't cooperate at all.
How could Filch be this useless at a critical moment?!
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