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Chapter 305 Memories of Sirius!!
Harry read the letter again and again.
Dumbledore's handwriting was neat as always, but the contents made Harry's stomach twist.
> Darren didn't want me to tell you… He always thinks he can handle everything himself… But you and I both know he is a little fool, full of love, always letting himself get hurt…
Harry could almost hear the Headmaster sighing as he wrote it.
And honestly… it sounded exactly like Darren.
His brother—his twin—his closest person in the world.
Just seeing Darren always made him feel lighter. Warmer. As if he could breathe again.
But Darren had a flaw.
No—Harry corrected himself—not a flaw.
Darren was simply too kind.
Too willing to sacrifice for others.
Too ready to help, even at the cost of his own peace.
Too soft-hearted. Always choosing everyone else first.
And now, Darren had somehow ended up signing a 200,000 Galleon debt—all because he wanted to help a girl from Beauxbatons. He wouldn't let Harry pay it. Wouldn't let Nicolas Flamel pay it. Wouldn't touch the money in the vault because he thought it belonged to Harry too.
Typical Darren.
The same Darren who, last year, fell into a trap set by Death Eaters and several Slytherin students. They tortured him outside the castle. Nine students died in the chaos. Six were dragged to Azkaban.
And even after all of that… Darren still tried to hide what they had done. Tried to protect them.
Only when those students eventually exposed themselves did Darren finally admit the truth.
Harry had been furious. Terrified. Heartbroken.
The Ministry still hadn't found those Death Eaters. Some believed they fled. Others whispered that Fudge had tipped them off—how else could they have entered Hogwarts so easily?
Fudge ended up clearing his name after a private interrogation with Veritaserum, but Harry never trusted him again.
Still… Harry was just a student. No one listened to him.
Not even Darren, sometimes.
With a sigh, Harry picked up his quill and parchment and began to write back.
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Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Darren is his own person. I cannot force him to do anything… Every time he looks at me, I lose the ability to scold him.
As for the debt—neither you nor Mr. Flamel need to worry. We have more than enough resources, and Paggie earns so much that I doubt we'll ever run out of Galleons in the vault.
… I will try to make him use the vault funds to pay back the debt. There are still four years left. There is nothing to be anxious about.
And please don't reprimand him. He's still a child… and this time, he survived without serious injury. I am already grateful for that.
Your student,
Harry
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He set the quill aside, blew the letter dry, and tied it to Hedwig's leg.
"You take this to Professor Dumbledore… and also comfort Darren…"
Harry paused.
"No. I'll write him a letter too. He's probably terrified of both Dumbledore and Mr. Flamel right now. And it's just a bit of Galleons anyway."
He muttered as he began writing the second letter, hoping Darren was safe.
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Meanwhile — Azkaban Prison
Sirius Black opened his eyes with difficulty.
The world felt foggy, as if he were waking from a nightmare that had lasted years.
Maybe it had.
He wasn't sure anymore.
All he knew was guilt.
If he hadn't suggested the switch…
If he hadn't convinced James to use the Secret-Keeper plan…
James and Lily might still be alive.
People celebrated the fall of Voldemort, but only a few mourned the price that had been paid.
Sirius mourned every day.
With a low, bitter exhale, he shifted—his body stretching and shrinking until he became a large black dog. In this form, he could think more clearly. Survive the Dementors' pull.
But clearer thoughts brought something else—something that had shaken him to the core.
The child he had lost…
The baby he had thrown out of his arms during the attack…
He was alive.
Sirius had felt it—Voldemort's aura, faint but unmistakable. And it wasn't coming from Harry.
It was from Darren.
He had felt a trace of James in the boy, but also something dark—something belonging to Voldemort.
Not as strong as Lily's aura had been when she was captured, but enough to terrify him.
He remembered the past vividly:
Lily, fighting on the front lines even while pregnant.
Captured when her magic weakened.
Everyone had feared the worst.
James had once said, "As long as she comes back alive, I don't care about anything else."
So when Sirius sensed Voldemort's aura lingering on Lily, he panicked. He even suggested—without saying it directly—that perhaps she shouldn't carry the child.
James had refused instantly.
"Lily has been hoping for this. She doesn't remember what happened… and I won't force her to relive it. She will give birth to both children. Don't bring this up again."
Sirius had dropped the idea. He had to.
But when Lily finally gave birth, he sensed it again. The faint breath of Voldemort in Darren.
And then everything collapsed.
Death Eaters invaded. Sirius had grabbed Darren instinctively—even though Lupin was supposed to be guarding him. A spell hit Sirius, and the baby slipped from his arms… seized by the attackers.
Lily's screams still echoed in his nightmares.
She had forgiven him. Told him he did his best.
But James… James had looked at him with haunted eyes.
James had understood.
James had guessed.
And Sirius knew the truth:
A child with Voldemort's aura could not stay with them.
If people learned Lily had given birth to a child touched by Voldemort's blood…
Everything James and Lily had fought for would be ruined.
They would not be heroes.
They would be mocked.
Hunted.
Destroyed.
He could not let that happen.
So he let Darren go.
And he had lived with that guilt ever since.
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