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Chapter 279 — Fiendfyre, Improved Edition!!
As Snape and Darren left, the professors who had gone into the Forbidden Forest returned looking relieved. Their faces carried small smiles — clearly nothing catastrophic had happened.
At worst, a number of Acromantulas had been burned. Those creatures were violent and dangerous; few would mourn them. The only person at Hogwarts who might feel genuine loss was Hagrid.
"Where's Darren?" Professor Flitwick asked, puzzled. He noticed Professor McGonagall studying Darren's wand, and with a helpless little smile, commented, "Don't fuss with it like that — it's obvious to anyone who knows spells."
"This is a modified Fiendfyre," McGonagall said, finally looking up. "Many incantations are shaped by the caster's emotion. The same words, cast from a different heart, can become something else entirely."
"For example, use a Patronus with dark intent and it becomes a harmful charm," Flitwick added. "Darren cast Fiendfyre with love and protection in his heart, so the flames changed color and became controllable. The Fiendfyre burned the Acromantulas and then died out."
Flitwick's explanation eased a lot of tension. Professor Sprout looked embarrassed but relieved; McGonagall's expression softened into a smile.
"I knew it," McGonagall murmured. "Darren always blames himself too much. He could not be a bad child."
"Right — tell the boy the news," Flitwick said. "Give him his wand back gently. He must be terrified."
McGonagall handed the wand to Harry, still warm and relieved. She even forgot to punish them for wandering off.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ron jabbed him in the ribs. "You want points docked?" Ron hissed.
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Snape escorted Darren back toward the Hospital Wing. Darren walked slowly, shoulders hunched, as if carrying the whole world's blame.
"Hurry up, Potter," Snape snapped, though there was a thin thread of concern in his voice. "Or are you saving it for tomorrow?"
Darren sighed. He hated the Hospital Wing — potions, inspections, being told to rest — but he kept moving. His face stayed carefully sorrowful; it earned him pity, and the system rewards followed.
Inside, Madame Pomfrey was already waiting, cross but worried. Darren, keeping up the act, asked in a small, desperate voice, "Professor, Madam — am I a bad person? I used Fiendfyre. Should I be sent to Azkaban?"
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding...]
His eyes reddened. Both Madame Pomfrey and Snape exchanged uneasy looks. The problem was real: Fiendfyre was a dark, dangerous magic, and most who used it were hardened by war or darkness. They could not answer him bluntly.
"Don't be ridiculous," Snape said finally, though his voice was tight. "Whether you can cast a dangerous spell does not make you evil. Drink this."
He shoved a potion forward; Darren took it obediently. Madame Pomfrey eased him onto a bed.
"Sleep now. When you wake you'll be right," she said, softer than she'd sounded in days. "No one's going to make a public fuss about this."
But Darren could not accept comfort. "Please don't lie," he whispered. "If I weren't hopeless, you would have told me. I've made things difficult for you."
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding...]
The potion's drowsiness washed over him. A small tear slid from the corner of his eye as he fell asleep.
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding...]
Harry and Ron burst in then, breathless and worried. Seeing Darren asleep, a tear-brightness at his lashes, made their chests ache.
"We came to tell him," Harry said quickly, voice raw, "that the professors realized his Fiendfyre was cast with love and protection. He isn't a bad person."
"But it looks like we're a little late," Ron added.
Snape, standing by, managed a dry remark that couldn't fully hide relief. "Fiendfyre itself is not categorized the way the Ministry treats the three Unforgivable Curses," he said. "It's dangerous, but the crime is intent and uncontrolled destruction. The Unforgivables are what land you in Azkaban by law."
He folded his arms, looking torn and stern at once. The words were a reprimand and a reassurance both. Snape's relief was plain beneath the bark — Darren had used terrible power for a noble purpose.
Harry and Ron sat quietly at the bedside until Madame Pomfrey hushed them. Outside, the rest of the castle was calming; the immediate threat had passed. Inside, Darren slept, exhausted and blamed himself in his sleep — but at least, for now, he was safe.
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