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Chapter 188 — The Restless Madam Pomfrey!!
Of course, after the forged card finished rewriting the scene, Darren's body looked absolutely devastated.
Deep gashes. Torn robes. Blood everywhere.
It looked horrific.
But every wound was fake.
Darren poked at one gash with a finger.
Nothing.
Not even a sting.
The blood looked real, the torn flesh realistic, but he knew—this was all the system's handiwork.
He had also implanted new memories into the surviving students' minds:
A group of Death Eaters had supposedly infiltrated Hogwarts by unknown means. Flint and the others—"secretly Death Eaters"—had seized Darren and dragged him here as bait for Harry Potter.
Then an argument broke out between them, turning into infighting.
Darren, "outraged," had thrown himself between them to stop their evil plan, fighting bravely.
That explained the "injuries."
But unfortunately, there had been too many enemies. Darren, despite fighting courageously, couldn't save the ones who died.
He had finally unleashed a massive spell—powerful, but still a legal one in the wizarding world—that shattered the Death Eaters' arrangement and violently expelled them from Hogwarts.
As for where these Death Eaters came from?
Well, Darren was just a poor, innocent child.
How could he possibly know?
Even the traces of magic cast earlier had been replaced—every spell looked noble, bright, heroic.
After finishing the scene preparation, Darren clutched his wand dramatically and lay down among the bodies, "barely alive," chest rising shallowly.
The others' wounds were far less severe.
No one would doubt the Holy Father narrative now.
Satisfied, Darren decided to sleep.
Let the Slytherins wake up tomorrow, let Professors Snape and Dumbledore interrogate them, and once everything finished…
He would wake up at the most "appropriate dramatic moment."
Before dozing off, he used the forged card's lingering power to scatter expulsion charms, concealment charms, confusion spells—enough traces to fool any wizard.
Perfect.
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Sunday Morning — 5 A.M.
Harry snapped awake.
His arms were healed.
He glanced at Colin Creevey's bed.
The small first-year still lay stiffly petrified, his hands frozen around his ruined camera—now leaking something unpleasant.
Colin had adored Harry.
Probably tried to visit last night after Harry's disastrous Quidditch match—first chased by a rogue Bludger, then having Lockhart remove all the bones from his arm.
And in the middle of the night, Harry had even run into Dobby.
The elf had confessed:
He blocked Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
He tampered with the Bludger.
He was trying to force Harry to go home because Hogwarts was in terrible danger.
Harry grabbed the elf to demand details, but—
Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had suddenly arrived carrying petrified Colin.
Dobby vanished instantly.
Madam Pomfrey, still rattled, now fussed over Harry.
"You're awake? After breakfast we'll send you back to your dormitory. And do go see Darren—he must be terribly worried… but why hasn't that child shown up yet?"
Her voice wavered with unease.
He should have been here already.
Was he… upset?
Harry didn't even touch breakfast.
He dressed in seconds and sprinted out of the infirmary.
"You haven't eaten!"
"I'll eat later in the Great Hall!"
He bolted toward the Slytherin common room—only to find it empty. Too early.
And he absolutely didn't dare ask Snape.
Snape would hex him into next week for daring to request Darren's presence.
Maybe Darren was simply still asleep.
Neither Ron nor Hermione were awake either.
So Harry returned to Gryffindor.
Also empty.
It was Sunday, fine. But back in the boys' dormitory, something felt wrong.
Ron wasn't there.
Only Neville and Seamus snored peacefully.
Harry froze.
No way—
He rushed to the girls' bathroom.
CRASH!
The door slammed open. Something hit the floor.
Hermione's books.
"It's me!" Harry gasped.
Hermione pulled him inside, pressing the door shut.
"Your arm—are you all right now? And what did you tell Darren last night? I was sure at least one of us would stay with him—otherwise he'd worry about us running into trouble."
"I didn't even see him," Harry said. "Maybe he's still asleep?"
Hermione frowned.
"That's not like him… Could he be angry? But no—Darren's never angry with you, Harry. Yesterday when you broke your arm, he nearly cried."
Her irritation faded as she thought.
Everyone knew Darren only ever worried for Harry.
Darren openly said: Harry protects the world. I protect Harry.
"How could Darren be angry?" she muttered.
"Maybe he's just exhausted," Ron said cautiously. "Darren's still a kid too—it's normal to sleep in."
"That's possible," Hermione admitted. "Anyway, what were you coming to tell us?"
"Colin," Harry said. "You didn't know—"
"No, we heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick talking," Hermione interrupted. "That's why we're here preparing the Polyjuice Potion. We have to catch whoever's behind all this."
"Well… there's something else you haven't heard," Harry said seriously.
"Dobby.
Dobby came last night."
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