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Chapter 602: Who Had an Accident This Time?!!
Darren shook his head.
"It seems the forgetting still isn't thorough enough. She forgot everything—completely."
Before Umbridge lost her memory, despair had clearly filled her face.
She had obviously guessed what she had suffered before the Obliviate.
But once the spell took effect, her usual arrogant smile returned.
She looked at Darren and said cheerfully,
"Continue tomorrow!"
Darren nodded, looking pale.
Umbridge subconsciously felt like laughing—but then she shuddered violently.
Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
Darren, of course, didn't dare stay any longer.
He hurried out of the office, not giving Umbridge any chance to hesitate or rethink things.
As soon as he stepped outside, he saw Harry and Hermione waiting for him, worry written all over their faces.
Darren immediately reassured them,
"It's fine. Look at me—there isn't a single injury."
But neither Harry nor Hermione could smile.
How could being tortured from six in the evening until midnight leave someone completely unharmed?
"Darren," Harry asked, clenching his fists,
"do you remember what kind of punishment she used on you?"
Darren thought of many spells.
Some were curses Voldemort had once taught him during his first year.
Others were spells he had devised himself.
For hours, Umbridge's screams had echoed through the office. Even repeated Obliviate Charms hadn't been able to erase her terror.
Even Darren found it… a little excessive.
But he wasn't going to tell Harry any of that.
So he said softly,
"Just copying lines. The same punishment my brother once received."
Harry and the others clearly didn't believe him.
Just copying lines?
Would Umbridge keep Darren locked up until midnight just for that? Would that strange quill alone exhaust him to this degree?
But since Darren refused to say more, they had no way of pressing him.
Hermione sighed.
She took out a small bottle of potion and said,
"This is the Draught of Living Death Professor Snape gave me. He asked me to pass it to you. He said you should get a good night's sleep. Maybe… he's trying to make amends?"
Darren stared silently at the bottle for a long time.
Then he nodded and accepted it.
Harry and the others watched his retreating figure, confusion and worry plain on their faces.
"I don't know why," Ron muttered,
"but after Hermione gave Darren that potion, he seemed even stranger."
"Well, of course he'd feel uncomfortable," Harry snapped.
"Who wouldn't, if their enemy suddenly gave them something?"
"But according to Snape, they're not enemies," Hermione said with a frown.
"He said he just disagrees with Darren."
Even as she said it, Hermione began to regret her decision.
Perhaps she should have told Darren that the potion came from Madam Pomfrey.
Perhaps then Darren wouldn't have hesitated.
But she didn't want to lie to Darren.
Especially not for Snape's sake.
"In any case," Ron said at last,
"we should head back now. If we're late, the Fat Lady might disappear again."
They returned to the Gryffindor common room.
It was still crowded.
Fred and George had enlarged magical projections of Darren's and Harry's heads and hung them on the wall. The projections shouted insults about Umbridge and mocked the Ministry of Magic.
Harry almost laughed.
But Hermione frowned sharply.
"Darren would never shout things like that," she said firmly.
"This is strange—and wrong."
Fred and George shrugged and removed Darren's projection.
Harry noticed that only his own remained.
Suddenly, it didn't feel funny anymore.
He declined several classmates who wanted details and returned to the dormitory with Ron.
Lying in bed, Harry tried to empty his mind—just as he had been taught.
But the image of Darren staring blankly at the potion Snape had sent refused to leave his thoughts.
How had Darren and Snape ended up like this?
Just as Harry thought of Snape, pain suddenly flared in his scar.
He bit down hard, forcing himself not to cry out.
Then the world around him shifted.
He was standing in a dim room, curtains drawn, candles flickering.
A man was kneeling before him.
"So," a cold voice asked,
"did my plan fail?"
Anger surged through Harry.
"Was I deceived?"
"I–I'm sorry, Master…"
the man trembled.
"I don't blame you, Lucius," Voldemort said calmly.
"At least you brought news."
"Voldemort thanks you."
"Now go. Call Avery."
Harry felt as though he were moving toward a mirror.
Then he saw himself.
A face whiter than bone.
Red eyes like a serpent's.
"Ah—!"
Harry jolted awake.
"Don't move," Ron said hurriedly.
"You nearly fell off the bed."
Ron helped him sit up.
Only then did Harry realize how close he had been to crashing onto the floor.
"Who got hurt this time?" Ron asked anxiously.
Harry gasped for breath.
"No one… but Voldemort is furious."
"Avery gave him false information. Lucius corrected it."
"Tell Dumbledore," Ron urged.
Harry shook his head.
"I can't," he said quietly.
"I'm supposed to be learning Occlumency. I shouldn't be seeing any of this. If I tell him, I'll just get scolded."
Ron fell silent.
He turned over and went back to sleep.
Harry lay there awake, teeth clenched, scar throbbing with pain until morning.
He knew exactly what would happen next.
Avery would suffer.
Because Voldemort's anger hadn't faded at all.
Harry told Darren and Hermione about it the next day.
Hermione urged him to stop dwelling on such dreams.
Dumbledore clearly didn't want Harry witnessing these visions anymore. He needed to close his mind.
Harry snapped at that.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
He was angry because he still hadn't mastered Occlumency.
Perhaps he truly had no talent for it at all.
And that realization filled him with uncontrollable frustration every time it was mentioned.
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