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Chapter 190 — I Want to Know the Truth!!
Thinking of Darren, Harry felt sadness crash over him again.
He couldn't stop imagining the worst—that Darren might have been taken away somewhere, tortured, suffering alone.
Maybe those people even planned to kill him…
Just the thought made Harry feel like he couldn't breathe.
"Dumbledore, perhaps you should come to the edge of the Black Lake…"
A silver-white tabby cat darted between Dumbledore and Snape. It spoke urgently in Professor McGonagall's voice.
Before the cat even finished speaking, Snape had already disappeared in a flash of black robes.
Even Dumbledore—who had been trying to stay calm this whole time—ran after him with clear panic.
"The Black Lake… Oh my God!"
Harry heard Hermione's trembling voice. Tears filled her eyes immediately.
"I passed by there so many times this morning, but I never thought to check… Maybe Darren was right there. Maybe he was being tormented. Maybe he saw me walk past him…"
Harry's stomach twisted painfully.
Because he, too, had passed by there.
"Don't say that! Are we going to the Black Lake or what?" Ron urged anxiously.
If they didn't go now, they might only hear the news after everything was over.
Harry and Hermione snapped back to reality. They ran after Dumbledore without hesitation.
They didn't bother to hide their steps anymore—that would only slow them down.
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"This is it!"
Out of breath, they finally reached the spot where Dumbledore had stopped.
The scene looked completely ordinary—grass, lake, wind—but all the professors (except Lockhart) were scanning the air with solemn expressions, tapping their wands at empty space.
"I've seen this before," Lockhart announced proudly. "Someone is trapped inside a spatial pocket. Time might be passing very differently inside—perhaps hundreds of years!"
Harry felt faint.
Darren… turning white-haired after living alone for centuries?
Lockhart was still talking enthusiastically.
"Or! It could be a time node. He enters here and gets thrown into the past, grows up from there…"
Harry, panicking, began to wonder if he had ever met anyone who looked like an older Darren. Darren would definitely try to find him if he traveled back in time… right?
"There's a Confundus Charm," McGonagall said gravely, examining the air. "And an invisibility ward."
Lockhart immediately shifted his story.
"Yes, yes, now that I think about it! I once saw something exactly like this in Wallong! They opened it and it turned out to be a battlefield full of corpses—"
Harry nearly burst into tears.
A battlefield?
Darren standing in the middle of corpses?
Terrified out of his mind?
Darren was so gentle. He couldn't handle things like that.
"Found it."
Dumbledore's voice cut sharply through the air.
He tapped at a point in mid-air and chanted an incantation.
The world changed instantly.
The green grass turned dark red.
The clean air became thick with the smell of blood.
And a dozen bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Harry spotted Darren immediately.
He lay collapsed on the ground, still clutching his wand tightly, as if he'd been fighting until his final conscious moment. His robes were soaked with blood.
Harry stumbled forward and dropped to his knees.
He touched Darren's forehead, then checked his nose.
A breath.
A weak one—but it was there.
"Move."
A furious voice snapped beside him. Before Harry could react, someone grabbed him by the collar and threw him aside.
Snape.
He knelt beside Darren and began casting rapid spells, then pulled several potion bottles from his cloak and poured them into Darren's mouth one after another.
Snape's face was twisted with such fierce intensity that Harry almost thought he was poisoning him.
Thankfully, Professor McGonagall was monitoring Darren's condition with her wand. After all the potions were administered, she finally exhaled shakily.
But her voice still trembled.
"Albus… I'll take this child to St. Mungo's. The others… the rest of you handle them."
St. Mungo's.
Harry froze.
Students were almost never taken there—Madam Pomfrey could handle nearly anything. If McGonagall insisted on St. Mungo's…
Darren's injuries must be terrifying.
"Professor, Darren—?"
"Good child… go back. Darren will be fine," McGonagall whispered, wiping tears before hurrying away with Darren in her arms.
Harry could barely hold back his own tears.
Beside him, Hermione wasn't holding back at all.
No professor even tried to send them away—everyone's expression was grim as they examined the scene.
Finally, Professor Freeway reported stiffly:
"Besides Darren, there were fifteen Slytherin students here. Nine are dead. Six survived. Their injuries aren't too severe. I believe, after taking the potion Severus administered to Darren, they should regain consciousness soon."
All eyes shifted to Snape.
Snape snorted coldly.
"How could I possibly have so much precious potion? I ration those carefully—even for myself."
Harry immediately knew he was lying.
The way Snape had poured potion after potion into Darren without hesitation—he obviously wasn't thinking about preserving anything.
But Harry still couldn't understand why Snape would care so much.
Was it because Dumbledore asked?
Maybe… maybe because Darren was his younger brother, the boy who defeated Voldemort.
Snape lived on Dumbledore's orders.
He couldn't refuse.
So he treated Darren slightly better.
Snape was still unbearably annoying.
"I brought my own medicine," Madam Pomfrey said sharply as she arrived. "Dumbledore, we should wake the surviving students immediately so they can tell us what truly happened."
"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said gravely. "Wake them. We must learn the full truth before the Ministry arrives. Bring them all to my office."
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