Chapter 689 Dumbledore Is Dead!!
Harry looked at the confidence on Hagrid's face.
He opened his mouth several times, wanting to tell him—
Dumbledore is dead.
But not a single word came out.
They rushed toward the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey was already pacing back and forth anxiously.
When she saw Darren, pain flashed across her face.
"He almost died. If you'd arrived even a little later, he would have been gone. What on earth is wrong with tonight?
So many things happening at once… I heard shouting—Death Eaters? What about Dumbledore?"
"He…"
Harry opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Neither Hagrid nor Madam Pomfrey pressed him.
It was as if neither of them had even considered the possibility that something might have happened to Dumbledore.
Their attention was entirely on Darren.
Madam Pomfrey poured potion after potion into him.
Only after a long while did Darren's face regain a faint trace of color.
That was when Harry finally heard the noise outside—the chaotic voices, the hurried footsteps.
Hagrid seemed to recover his voice at last.
He looked confused, then suspicious.
"Harry… why were you and Darren chasing Snape? I saw you fighting him. Darren looked like he wanted to kill him—and so did you."
Harry froze.
"He killed—"
He couldn't finish.
But someone else did.
Darren stirred.
He had regained consciousness.
Pain and shame crossed his face as he spoke hoarsely:
"He killed Headmaster Dumbledore… Headmaster Dumbledore fell from the tower…"
Hagrid stared at him in disbelief.
A laugh escaped his throat, half hysterical.
He turned to Madam Pomfrey and whispered, "Did he… did Darren hit his head?"
Madam Pomfrey looked equally doubtful.
She tipped another potion into Darren's mouth.
Darren let her.
Then suddenly—
He vomited violently.
First the potion.
Then mouthfuls of blood.
He gave a miserable, crooked smile.
"No matter how good Snape's potion is… I won't drink another drop of it."
The color drained from his face again.
The wounds that had just begun to close split open once more.
"You're insane!" Madam Pomfrey shouted.
Harry watched Darren struggle to sit up.
Something about him was wrong.
And yet—
It was as if he had forced himself awake by sheer will.
"Brother," Darren whispered, voice trembling,
"Can you come with me… to see him?
I don't believe it either.
What if… what if he isn't really dead?"
[Ding, Father +100]
Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid exchanged looks.
They clearly thought Darren had lost his mind.
They tried to stop him.
But Harry reacted instantly.
He pulled Darren up and dodged past them.
He understood.
He felt the same.
How could it be real?
Just a few hours ago, Dumbledore had been talking and laughing with them.
How could Snape have killed him?
What if—
What if this was just another of Dumbledore's tricks?
What if he would stand up at any moment, dust himself off, and say calmly,
"Just a joke. It seems I frightened you children a little too much."
Harry clung to that thought as he helped Darren run toward the Astronomy Tower.
Hagrid chased after them.
"Stop! Both of you! You're too worked up!
Darren, if you don't want Snape's potion, Madam Pomfrey has her own—!"
But neither of them looked back.
Hagrid followed them until they reached the edge of the crowd.
Gasps filled the air.
"It really does look like someone fell…"
Hagrid froze.
He finally understood.
He stared at Darren and Harry in horror.
They didn't look at him.
They walked straight into the crowd.
People parted for them instinctively.
Dumbledore lay on the grass.
His eyes were closed.
His half-moon glasses sat crookedly on his face.
Darren reached out and carefully straightened them.
Then he pressed his fingers to Dumbledore's neck.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
No life.
That made no sense.
If Dumbledore were truly dead, Grindelwald would have come.
He would have come.
And Dumbledore had clearly arranged everything tonight.
So was he really dead?
If not—
How could it be so real?
Darren pulled out his wand and began testing, over and over.
Given his current condition, being arrested for checking a corpse would have been understandable.
But no matter how he tested—
There was no sign of life.
Finally, he turned inward.
After paying 50,000 Holy Father points, he obtained the answer.
The faint scar on Dumbledore's knee—
It had been transformed into a transmission anchor, jointly created by Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
Dumbledore's soul and life force were no longer in this body.
They were with Grindelwald.
Darren was speechless.
So that was it.
No wonder.
No wonder every test showed death.
Those two old men…
They really were monsters.
And not once had they told him.
Probably because they thought he couldn't act naturally.
Or maybe because even they hadn't anticipated how tonight would unfold.
"Darren, get up."
"Darren, drink the potion."
"Darren, you need treatment."
"Darren…"
Voices overlapped around him.
In everyone else's eyes, he had been driven mad by shock.
Harry tugged at him.
Darren didn't move.
He stayed kneeling there, blank-faced, while his thoughts drifted.
Soul transfer.
Life force displacement.
Genius.
Absolute genius.
"Darren!"
Harry suddenly shouted in his ear.
Darren almost wanted to hit him.
Does this kid have no sense of volume?
What if his Holy Father persona collapsed from the shock?
But outwardly, Darren only turned his head slowly, dazed.
"Brother," he murmured,
"Headmaster Dumbledore is dead… he's dead.
Brother… who else died?"
Harry didn't answer.
He didn't know.
A soft female voice replied instead, carrying a faint floral scent.
"No. No one else died."
Darren finally seemed to come back to himself.
He looked up, recognized Ginny, and forced a weak smile.
"It's fine… tell me.
Malfoy said he stepped over a corpse… one of ours… or theirs…
Tell me.
Anyway…"
His voice dropped.
"I'm already prepared."