Chapter 5 — The Orphanage's Saint
In his heart, Darren was already roasting Dumbledore alive.
If sarcasm could raise the dead, he'd have already hung the old man's portrait over his own tombstone.
Still, on the surface, he kept his expression bright and harmless — the picture of a simple, innocent boy.
After all, right now he was supposed to be "a poor child who'd never even heard of magic."
So he tilted his head, widening his eyes just enough to look naive.
"Why apologize, Professor? Is it because you didn't find me sooner? It's all right — I'm really happy. I like it here. Even Kenley… he's quite likable."
That last part made his smile twitch.
Yeah, sure, "likable."
He could already picture Kenley's dumb face — and imagine the Father Value he could squeeze out of him later.
Maybe he'd "redeem" the bully while milking him for system points.
A few weeks of that, and he'd be the most "righteous" wizard in Britain.
He almost laughed out loud at the thought.
[Ding! The host has used the 'Light of the Holy Father' on his own initiative for the first time.]
[Reward: Phoenix Pet Egg (+100).]
"Wait—what? A phoenix egg?!" Darren's eyes widened.
A real phoenix!
Dumbledore's pet Fawkes was one of the rarest magical creatures in existence — and supposedly, the Dumbledore family had phoenix blood somewhere in their ancestry.
But now he had one too?
He wanted to summon the egg immediately, but one glance at Dumbledore stopped him. The old man was still standing there, smiling kindly. Darren forced himself to stay calm, rolling his eyes only in his head.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, saw only a gentle, selfless child in front of him.
Despite living through hardship, despite being bullied and starved, this boy still had a pure, untainted heart.
Even when he spoke kindly of Kenley — the same boy who had tormented him — Dumbledore felt something stir inside.
Love.
The one force he always preached as the greatest power in the world.
For a brief, shameful second, he wanted to show Darren that the world wasn't as kind as he believed — to prove that love could be cruel and disappointing. But he pushed that thought away almost immediately.
Otherwise, Albus Dumbledore, the world's greatest white wizard, would have to question his own beliefs.
He smiled instead.
"My dear child," Dumbledore said softly, "you already understand something many grown wizards never will — that love is the greatest power in existence. As long as you hold on to that, the world will be beautiful."
Darren nodded quickly, pretending to understand.
Best to just agree and move on.
Dumbledore chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
"Come now, little Darren. Let's go have a word with your headmistress. I believe we'll find her in her office."
The dean of the orphanage — Mrs. Linda — was known as the fiercest woman in the entire place.
Darren hadn't had to invent anything about her in his "fake memories"; everything he remembered about her cruelty was perfectly true.
She had starved the original boy multiple times — sometimes for two or three days straight. Once, she even made him kneel in front of everyone and "repent" for some petty mistake.
And the hunger — that was constant.
Mrs. Linda believed in "discipline through deprivation." The orphans were always half-fed, always desperate.
What she didn't deprive herself of, however, was money.
She regularly took children to charity events, parading them around to melt hearts and draw donations from wealthy patrons. Then she pocketed nearly all of it.
A token amount — maybe one-thousandth — went into adding a few books to the orphanage library, which, of course, the orphans weren't allowed to touch.
The rest went straight to her son in France, so he could "live among the upper class."
No wonder the original boy was skin and bones. He was thinner than even Harry Potter had been at eleven — and that was saying something.
At least Aunt Petunia fed Harry three times a day.
If Darren hadn't arrived when he did — and used his adult charm to sweet-talk a few kinder teachers into sneaking him extra bread — he might've starved to death already.
When they reached her office, Mrs. Linda was lounging at her desk, painting her nails.
At the sound of the door knocking, she quickly hid the polish and grabbed an open book, pretending to read.
When Dumbledore entered, she jumped up, putting on an exaggerated smile.
"Oh my goodness! I was so absorbed in my reading, I didn't see you there! And who might you be, sir? What brings you here?"
"Dumbledore," he said simply. His tone left no room for pretense.
He took Darren's hand, resting it firmly in his own.
"Darren is the son of a friend," Dumbledore said coldly. "I've been searching for him for years. I've finally found him — and I'm here to take him home."
Mrs. Linda blinked, then gasped theatrically.
"Take him away? Oh, heavens! Is that true? Why, little Darren is such a bright, sensible child — practically part of our family here! Surely, you can't mean to just take him without… a discussion?"
Translation: Pay me first.
Every time someone adopted a child, Mrs. Linda made sure to collect a "donation."
It was her unspoken policy — pay up, or the child stays.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly. His kind expression slipped into something colder.
But instead of exploding, he turned back to Darren and smiled.
"Child, why don't you pack your things first? I need to have a brief word with the headmistress."
Darren almost snorted.
Yeah, right — a "brief word." More like a magical lesson in consequences.
He could already imagine Mrs. Linda's smug face turning white as she realized she'd just tried to shake down Albus Dumbledore.
He started to leave, but then stopped. The Holy Father System inside him buzzed expectantly.
Right. Can't forget the performance.
He turned around, eyes wide and anxious.
"Professor Dumbledore, please don't pay for me! I can't let you spend money because of me!"
[Ding! +50 Father Value.]
Darren smiled faintly to himself as he stepped outside the office.
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