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Chapter 210 — Advising You Not to Make a Mistake!!
What Fudge said sent a ripple of whispers through the courtroom.
Harry quickly realized that many people around them—people who had pitied Darren moments ago—were now staring at him with a strange wariness, as if they hadn't been the same ones defending him earlier.
"Can't those people make up their minds?" Harry muttered angrily.
"Silence," Fudge snapped, turning on him.
"Harry Potter, I expect you to remain quiet unless I give you permission to speak. Even if you are the Boy Who Lived…"
He paused, lips curling in a smug, unpleasant smile. He was clearly about to say something nastier.
"Minister!"
Darren suddenly cut in.
"I understand… I understand what you mean. I'll tell the truth. Please—please spare my brother."
He spoke with a drained, pale expression. His green eyes slowly reddened, as though he was being pushed toward an unbearable decision.
[Ding, Father +60]
[Ding, Father +70]
[Ding, Father +50]
[Ding…]
"Hm. Then speak," Fudge said, still not understanding what Darren was doing. He assumed Darren had simply broken under pressure.
These were the questions the grieving parents had demanded he ask. They had agreed to withdraw the false accusations, but not to let Darren walk away freely. Especially not those grieving parents whose children had died.
Even though they had watched the memory ball and seen their children act against Darren first—seen Death Eaters, not Darren, deliver the killing blows—they still believed that if Darren had "resisted properly," maybe their children wouldn't have died.
So, naturally—it was all Darren's fault.
They'd even wanted him thrown into Azkaban.
Fudge had refused. He knew perfectly well Darren was a victim, and though he wanted to appear tough, he wasn't heartless enough to send Darren to Azkaban.
But the parents had kept pushing.
And Fudge, soft-hearted where gold galleons and political pressure were involved, had finally agreed to ask this question. No matter how Darren answered, someone would doubt him. People always found new angles—accusing Darren of letting them escape on purpose, of secretly allying with them, of being manipulated by the Imperius Curse.
Suspicion would follow him for life.
Fudge sighed inwardly.
But the pressure was real… as was the gold in his Gringotts vault whispering for him to be careful.
"So then, Darren," Fudge said coldly. "Why didn't you detain any of the Death Eaters?"
All eyes locked onto Darren.
His face went even paler.
[Ding, detecting a Father System dramatic opportunity. Temporary task triggered: Say in a trembling tone—"I colluded with the Death Eaters. I am guilty, and I admit it is all my fault."]
[Ding, reward for completion: title 'Blessing to Eat'. Receive?]
Blessing to eat?
Is that supposed to boost his appetite?
Confused, Darren accepted it.
This task wasn't hard.
So he said, voice trembling, "Because I… I colluded with those Death Eaters. That's why I let them go. I admit—it's all my fault."
[Ding, congratulations to the host for completing the task. Title 'Blessing to Eat' received.]
Blessing to Eat: After equipping, no matter how much the host eats, the host will not gain weight, and others will automatically ignore how much the host eats.
Oh.
That was… incredibly convenient.
Darren almost smiled. If not for the audience, he might've cheered. No more worrying about gaining weight—wonderful.
But Harry's shout jerked him back to the trial.
"Darren! What did you promise me!?"
Harry sounded furious.
Fudge didn't even bother telling him to quiet down—he was too shocked himself.
Then he turned stiffly toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked… resigned. Fudge wondered if the old man was mad.
Hadn't he said Darren would cooperate?
Hadn't Darren read his letter?
Fudge only wanted Darren to take a small share of blame—a gentle political stain. But instead Darren had swan-dived headfirst into the deepest mud possible.
"You—" Fudge jabbed a finger at him. "You claim you colluded with Death Eaters? Fine then—tell me. Which Death Eater did you collude with?"
"I… forgot…" Darren whispered, closing his eyes. A weak, bitter smile tugged at his lips—half self-mockery, half despair.
"You forgot?" Fudge snapped. "Stop disrupting the trial. If you keep this up, I won't let you leave so easily!"
"Fudge, are you threatening the victim?" Nicolas Flamel said sharply.
Fudge inhaled deeply. He shot Flamel an annoyed glance but held back.
"I'm not threatening him," he said tightly. "I want him to answer properly. He's attempting to evade a legal hearing. If this were the eighteenth century, I'd have used a much harsher method on him."
His words were practically grinding through his teeth.
Then he jabbed a finger at Darren again. "I advise you—don't make this worse for yourself!"
"What do you want me to say? I—I can't… Your request… I…"
Darren stammered, sounding confused, terrified, and pained. Anyone watching could tell he was being cornered.
Fudge was about to erupt again—
—but a woman's voice cut in.
"Minister, perhaps we can use Veritaserum now?"
Rita Skeeter.
Fudge stiffened. He didn't want Darren under Veritaserum. Under its influence, Darren's words would be unshakeable. If he claimed innocence, the parents would have no footing left.
He glanced toward the families.
They were hesitating too.
They shared his worry—if Darren was given Veritaserum, he would walk out spotless.
"Oh? Only a little Veritaserum," Rita purred. "Surely the Minister isn't afraid? Let me ask fewer questions, then. Or—do you not dare?"
Her red lips curled.
To Fudge's surprise, the parents nodded. They agreed.
Meaning…
He looked at Rita again—and understood.
Everyone knew her reputation. Darren had embarrassed her yesterday. Today she'd clearly come prepared to retaliate.
No question from Rita Skeeter's mouth would ever be "simple."
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