I really like this fanfic that is why i started translating it but i really don't like how mc is such a prick , perhaps i wanted him to be a little bit good so i wrote this interlude myself,
This is not part of original fanfic so you skip it if you want
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Divination class ended in its usual muddle of incense and half-believed laughter. Darren remained in his seat long after the others left, his wand resting loosely in his palm.
Kassandra crying wouldn't leave his head.
Those dreams had been fake—carefully stitched-together illusions, exaggerated just enough to deceive. He had done things far colder than that in this world.
And yet, watching her desperately blink back tears, something in him had gone slightly off balance. That didn't sit well with him.
So this is what it looks like, he thought, when someone kind runs straight into one of my calculations.
From the start, he hadn't been pretending to be merely good. He had been pretending to be a little Holy Father—gentle, considerate, endlessly patient. Impossibly kind. Not because of morality, but because the system rewarded it.
Every softened heart, every moved soul converted neatly into points.
Clean. Efficient.
From first year till now, he had been pretending. At first, the act was survival. A harmless child. Talented, but never threatening. Helpful, but never standing out too much.
Second year, the act sharpened. He learned how to pace kindness, how much warmth people accepted before they started expecting things back. The points came steadily.
But slowly, things started to change. He was evil—he knew—but perhaps because of how long he had been pretending, sometimes helping others became second nature.
He had started helping people in ways they never noticed. (Without them knowing.)
Not because it was smarter—often it wasn't.
Not because it earned points—it didn't.
But because sometimes, he simply wanted to.
That night patrols—the twins laughing too loudly, one wrong turn away from detention. Darren had altered a staircase by half a step, deepened a shadow, and nudged Peeves toward a different corridor. The chaos followed, and the twins escaped.
They never knew.
If they had, there would've been thanks. Jokes. Gratitude. Points.
That was exactly why he hadn't let them notice.
Perhaps it was guilt for deceiving everyone, perhaps something else—he wanted to do something genuine.
Fourth year only made it clearer. Fear was everywhere. People were breaking quietly, trying not to be seen doing it.
A subtle Refreshing Charm on Kassandra when she was shaking from exhaustion.
Secretly helping her with potions, or with homework.
A stabilizing adjustment to Neville's potion before it boiled over.
A corrected parchment here, a silenced spark there.
No one knew.
No one looked at him.
No one thanked him.
He didn't want them to know.
(Perhaps she knew.)
And for once, he hadn't been disappointed by that.
He was selfish—he knew it. He calculated outcomes, manipulated impressions, and rarely did anything without weighing the cost. But sometimes, genuinely, he wanted to help someone without owing them, without being owed anything back.
I'm not a good person, he admitted calmly.
But I'm not completely rotten either.
There was a line he wouldn't cross.
He wouldn't hurt the innocent—unless they forced his hand.
((Even the ones he killed in second year were because they crossed a line, and well, he wanted to help her—an unfortunate soul stuck in such a helpless situation.)
And as he promised her, he took care of the problem. Though it did create a lot of trouble and took a lot of effort to cover up, it was worth it.))
Kassandra had always been good to him ,though she won't show it.
Other than that, the only people he had been cruel to were Death Eaters or that pink toad.
His thoughts drifted.
Perhaps he should make something new.
A potion, he decided.
Like before. The Squib-to-Wizard stimulant. Or the improved Wolfsbane.
Something useful.
It would help people.
And yes—it would earn an absurd amount of Holy Father Points.
The irony didn't escape him.
At first, he had only been pretending to be good to survive.
Then to grow stronger.
Somewhere along the way, the pretending had started to leave marks.
He was still lazy. Still calculating. Still very much himself.
But he was grateful—for the trust people gave him, for the support he didn't always deserve, and for the fact that, when it mattered, he could still choose to help without being seen.
Darren finally stood, the classroom empty now.
If the final battle comes, he thought evenly,
I won't let people like her become collateral.
He wasn't good, nor was he worthy of her feelings of sympathy, but he would repay her in one way or another.
Not redemption.
Not heroism.
Just a quiet choice—and the resolve to keep making it.
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