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Chapter 216 — Harry Is Afraid to Die!!
After the frenzy over Darren's trial finally settled, Hogwarts quickly slipped back into its usual rhythm of chatter and rushing corridors.
But Darren himself remained at the center of everyone's curiosity.
Students from every House had read about what happened — in the Daily Prophet, in The Quibbler, and in countless half-accurate gossip columns.
To them, Darren Potter wasn't just kind and selfless; after everything he'd endured, he looked very much like a hero.
And because Darren was popular to begin with, no one dared swarm him the way they often did Harry.
No one stood in front of him whispering about his situation, or poked questions at him like he was some odd creature in a jar.
At most, they whispered among themselves — quietly, cautiously — as if afraid Darren might overhear.
The boys were mostly respectful.
The girls… reacted differently.
Every single one of them seemed convinced Darren had suffered terribly.
They tried to "help" him by sending sweets — piles of them — as if chocolate frogs could heal emotional trauma.
And then came the letters.
Students from Hogwarts wrote to him.
People outside the school wrote to him.
Some envelopes arrived with tear stains still visible.
Every single one stuffed with emotional encouragement:
Stay strong.
Don't let this break you.
We're all behind you.
Hermione, however, hated those letters.
To her, they weren't sweet — they were a security nightmare.
"The Death Eaters are still out there," she insisted. "What if they send something cursed? Darren, you shouldn't open any more letters."
But Darren refused.
"These letters are people's feelings," he said gently. "I have to read them."
He meant it.
He truly did.
But after a full day of opening envelopes until his fingers cramped, he regretted every noble word he'd spoken.
Owls kept swooping in with more and more letters — in the middle of dinner, during classes, even while he was walking in the corridor — and Darren felt a stab of guilt toward the bold declarations of sincerity he'd made to the Father System.
Thankfully, Dumbledore soon intervened.
For safety reasons, he temporarily banned all outside mail addressed to Darren.
The Hogwarts students were encouraged to leave Darren alone for a while and give him some peace.
That part, at least, was a relief.
But while Darren finally relaxed, Harry and the others definitely didn't.
They were still secretly brewing Polyjuice Potion.
Their plan hadn't changed:
break into the Slytherin common room and force information about the Chamber of Secrets out of Draco Malfoy.
They hadn't told Darren a single word about it.
So Darren just pretended not to notice as they clumsily tried to hide their preparations from him.
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In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall made her usual rounds collecting the list of students staying over the holidays.
Harry, of course, stayed.
Ron and Hermione also signed up — because Darren informed them that Malfoy was staying too.
To them, that was immediately suspicious.
Malfoy always mocked both Harry and Darren for being "unwanted children," yet suddenly he wasn't going home either?
"He must be planning something," Ron whispered darkly.
Something big.
Their new goal:
enter Slytherin at Christmas, using Polyjuice, and expose whatever Malfoy was plotting.
But their Polyjuice Potion was still missing two key ingredients — rare ones unavailable anywhere except through illegal channels… or in Snape's private storeroom.
So, naturally, they decided to steal them.
"Steal from Snape?" Harry choked. "I'd rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower!"
He knew how Snape viewed him.
There was no delusion in him that luck would save his life.
Ron nodded gravely.
"Yeah, if Snape catches us, we'll be expelled before we manage to scream."
Then Ron brightened suddenly.
"Wait — what if Darren gets them? He could just tell Snape he needs them for some potion research. It's believable! He's brilliant at potions!"
Hermione shot Ron a glare so sharp he nearly fell off his chair.
Honestly, Ron was convinced Hermione was becoming more and more like Professor McGonagall.
"Yes, Ron, wonderful idea," Hermione said icily.
"And what happens when Darren realizes what we're doing? He'd figure it out immediately."
Morally devastated expressions crept across Harry and Ron's faces.
"If he knew," Hermione continued, "he'd be terrified — every day — that we might be expelled or hurt. He'd panic constantly. Do you want to put him through that?"
Harry and Ron shook their heads so fast their necks cracked.
Right. Darren would absolutely worry himself sick.
"So we don't involve him," Hermione declared.
"But we still need the ingredients."
Harry swallowed.
"Steal from Snape…"
He felt his lungs seize up.
Hermione sighed.
"Fine. I'll steal the ingredients. You two will create a distraction in Snape's classroom."
Harry nearly fainted.
This Thursday's Potions class would be their only chance — five minutes of pure chaos needed to distract Snape long enough for Hermione to slip into the pantry.
"Five whole minutes," Hermione repeated without looking up. "Don't let him turn around."
Harry and Ron felt tears prick their eyes.
Causing trouble in Snape's class was equivalent to sticking your hand into a sleeping fire dragon's mouth.
And recently, Snape's temper was explosive.
He treated every student — even Slytherins — like enemies.
Points vanished.
Detentions piled up.
No one was safe.
Except Darren.
But that wasn't because Snape liked him.
It was because Darren was too good.
His potions were perfect.
Every time Snape looked at Darren's cauldron, his expression tightened like he'd swallowed a Dungbomb.
Harry was certain Snape's frustration was partly because he still hadn't found a way to humiliate Darren.
And somehow, Snape took it out on everyone else — especially Harry.
From first year onward, Snape had glared at Harry like he wished his eyes were swords.
If looks could kill, Harry would have died fourteen different ways by now.
Lately Snape behaved like an uncontrollable Hungarian Horntail — snapping, roaring, deducting points with every breath.
And now Harry had to create a distraction in that classroom.
Harry felt cold.
Truly cold.
He wasn't exaggerating.
He was genuinely, honestly afraid he was going to die.
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