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Chapter 11 — Warm Hands, Cold Hearts
But what could Darren do?
When you're standing under someone else's roof, you bow your head.
The original Darren and Voldemort shared similar beginnings — both grew up in orphanages, both were mistreated by their caretakers and bullied by other children.
The difference was that Voldemort had magic to protect himself.
The original Darren was a Squib — defenseless.
Still, Darren quickly realized that Dumbledore hadn't been trying to tempt him by handing over his wand earlier. The old man had probably just meant to test him — and since Darren had no wand of his own, there wasn't much choice anyway.
He lifted the Elder Wand gently and whispered,
"Wingardium Leviosa."
A piece of silverware on Dumbledore's desk lifted into the air.
Power surged through Darren's body, pouring through the wand like a living current. The silver utensil floated smoothly, rising and lowering with his thoughts.
The control felt effortless — intoxicating.
With a wand in his hand, Darren felt almost like a god.
"Perfect!" Dumbledore clapped his hands, his face lighting up. "If this were a classroom, I'd give you twenty points!"
He took the wand back, his smile genuine for the first time that day.
Good.
The child wasn't obsessed with power, nor did he fear it.
That was… promising.
But if that were true, then what on earth was going on with this "Silence"?
Could it be something connected to Lily's condition back then — the strange potions and spells used to save her life after the Death Eaters' attack?
Dumbledore remembered the story well.
Lily had been badly tortured.
Snape, desperate to save her, had used every potion and incantation he could find.
And somehow, Lily had survived — only to give birth to twins.
At the time, no one understood it. The healers whispered that it might have been a magical anomaly, even an experimental aftereffect.
No one knew which child was the "extra."
Now it seemed clear — Darren was that anomaly.
A miracle… or a curse.
Maybe that's why Darren's Obscurus — his "Silence" — could be controlled.
When Darren used magic, Dumbledore hadn't sensed any of the violent, unstable energy that normally came with Obscurials.
Instead, what he felt was… gentle. Balanced.
Perhaps this was what Darren had called the "power of kindness."
"Child," Dumbledore said quietly, "I can't draw a firm conclusion yet. But for now, I'll trust your instincts. It seems your Silence may be… controllable."
He sighed, his blue eyes heavy with thought. "In a way, you've been blessed by misfortune. You may have gained the very kind of power one of my oldest friends sought his whole life."
Darren blinked.
Oldest friend…?
Ah. He meant Grindelwald.
He'd heard the rumors — that Dumbledore and Grindelwald had once been more than friends.
Merlin's beard, Darren thought, smirking inwardly. Isn't it better to chase soft girls than dark wizards?
Outwardly, he smiled sweetly. "I've known since I was little that it wasn't evil. It always made me feel warm. I believe that if I'm ever in danger, it'll protect me."
He said it with such calm conviction that Dumbledore's heart eased.
The headmaster chuckled. "Then I'll take your word for it, my boy. But now, I think we've kept Madam Pomfrey waiting long enough. Minerva will have my head if she finds out I've delayed your treatment again."
He patted Darren's shoulder lightly. "You need rest, and proper nourishment. Mrs. Linda told me you were nearly dead when they found you."
Dumbledore's voice softened, but the weight in it was unmistakable.
Even he, a man long accustomed to tragedy, couldn't hide his grief at the thought of this child — Lily's son — living a life of neglect and pain.
Darren smiled faintly. "It's nothing serious, Professor. Kenley didn't mean to… Well, it's fine. I've already forgiven him."
> [Ding, Father +20]
Darren's smile was as saintly as ever, though he couldn't help being disappointed.
Only twenty points?
Was it because Dumbledore was the only one watching?
Oh well — something to test later.
Dumbledore gave him a fond but weary look, and with a flick of his wand, guided Darren toward the hospital wing.
---
Madam Pomfrey was waiting, bustling about with her usual efficiency.
The moment she saw Darren, her expression melted into maternal concern.
"Oh, my goodness! This is Darren? He's adorable — but who on earth bandaged these wounds?"
Her voice rose in disbelief. "Far too rough! Honestly, Muggles… these cuts are infected! Suppurating, even!"
Before Darren could protest, she swept him onto a bed, scolding under her breath as she worked.
Dumbledore leaned closer, speaking quietly. "Poppy, how bad is it?"
"How bad?" she snapped. "His wounds are splitting open! Didn't you or Severus notice? And look at him — he's skin and bones! He needs food, potions, and at least a week of rest!"
Dumbledore bowed his head slightly. "You're right. Severus and I were careless."
A cold voice cut through the room.
> "No, you were careless."
Snape stood at the doorway, cloak billowing, his expression unreadable.
He strode forward, placed several glass vials on the table beside Darren, and said curtly, "Nutrient Restorative. Healing Draught. Strength Replenisher."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You brewed these yourself?"
Snape didn't answer.
Madam Pomfrey uncorked one of the bottles and gasped. "You even added Moonlight Grass! Severus, this is advanced work!"
Snape turned away sharply. "I had some left over. Better to use it than let it go to waste."
Pomfrey smiled knowingly, though she said nothing.
She poured the pale potion into a glass and handed it to Darren.
"Drink up, dear," she said warmly. "You'll feel better in no time."
Darren took the cup with both hands, smiling softly.
Even through all the pain, manipulation, and scheming, a small part of him — the part that wasn't acting — genuinely felt warmth spread through his chest.
For the first time in years, someone was taking care of him.
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