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"Another year has passed!"
Dumbledore raised his hands, voice echoing through the Great Hall.
"In enjoying this wonderful feast, we must also rember…"
"Well then! Let us announce the House standings.
Fourth place, Gryffindor: 312 points.
Third place…
And in first place—Slytherin: 472 points!"
"AH!"
"Hahaha!"
"FIRST AGAIN!"
"I KNEW IT!"
"Eight years in a row!"
"What's Gryffindor compared to us now?"
The Slytherin table erupted in cheers.
Darren didn't cheer.
He knew very well Slytherin would not be keeping that trophy. Not in the canon tiline—and not with Dumbledore in charge of awarding "bonus points."
Still, for the sake of his persona, he turned toward the Gryffindor table with a gentle, supportive expression.
Harry was staring at him in shock, mouthing, et after the feast!
Darren nodded.
Then Darren felt a heavy stare.
Snape.
Snape should have been pleased, but the mont Darren t his gaze, the man's expression soured. His lips moved…
It looked very much like: detention.
Wonderful.
Was Snape really planning to lock him up until graduation? Darren scratched his hair, the tips sticking up awkwardly.
"Stop scratching your head," Kassandra muttered. He couldn't tell whether she was scolding him or soone across the table. Probably both.
He looked around, found no one glaring at her, then turned his attention back to Dumbledore.
And now ca the annual drama.
The deduction.
The additions.
The roller coaster.
Darren braced himself.
"Before awarding the House Cup," Dumbledore announced, "we must acknowledge what has happened recently."
Harry imdiately tensed.
The Gryffindors buzzed around him with pride and excitent.
Around Darren, however, the Slytherins muttered with sharp, threatening concern.
Kassandra leaned close, voice low and grim:
"Next ti, if you dare to do sothing that reckless again—Slytherin won't help you."
"Yes… I'm sorry…"
Darren said, face full of guilt.
He was just about to say more when the Slytherin table suddenly burst into whispers.
"No need to be harsh."
"Yeah… watching him do sothing stupid is fun."
"He ca back alive. Don't nag him to death."
"He's just cute, that's all."
"Who broke the voting machine if it wasn't you lot?"
"I only hit it accidentally while practicing a spell!"
"Childish."
Darren lowered his head, trying to identify who said what.
When he looked up, the table was silent. Everyone sat primly, as though nothing had happened.
A bunch of arrogant idiots.
But he had to keep his Holy Father act.
So he spoke gently:
"Thank you… When I was sorted into Slytherin, I was so scared I'd be hated or pushed aside. But all year, you've taken such good care of . You've even held back in duels—I noticed. I…"
He wiped at his eyes. His green eyes misted beautifully.
[Ding! Holy Father 30]
[Ding! Holy Father 40]
[Ding! Holy Father 20]
[Ding! …]
A rain of small-value notifications.
Darren smiled internally.
"Hmph! Nobody wants your gratitude!"
"We're Slytherins—we don't take care of people!"
"Whoever did, show the proof!"
"And even if there IS proof, it wasn't on purpose!"
"If we DID help, it was only so you'd owe us later!"
"Exactly! Repaynt is essential!"
Their grumbling contrasted sharply with Gryffindor's glowing praise of Harry.
So much so that across the hall, Harry's face darkened.
He looked furious, convinced Darren was being bullied.
He clenched his fists—yet he couldn't intervene. Not without causing more trouble.
He wished—desperately—that he'd gone to Slytherin that first night.
If he had, he could protect Darren from this.
While Harry seethed, Dumbledore continued:
"First—Ron Weasley! For the finest ga of wizard chess Hogwarts has seen in many years: fifty points to Gryffindor!"
The twins shot up.
"RON IS OUR BROTHER!"
Ron turned scarlet and collapsed onto the table.
"Second—Hermione Granger! For cool logic under pressure and mastery of Devil's Snare: fifty points!"
Gryffindor: 412 points.
"Third—Harry Potter! For exceptional bravery: sixty points!"
Now Gryffindor matched Slytherin.
"There are many kinds of courage… For standing up despite fear—Neville Longbottom: ten points!"
The Gryffindors roared so loudly it rattled the ceiling.
The Slytherin table rose in protest.
Darren was trying to calm them, but it was like soothing a nest of Nifflers in a jewelry store.
"Lastly," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "one more student. Darren Potter—undaunted in the face of danger. Slytherin: sixty points."
"And so, the House Cup goes to… SLYTHERIN!"
The green-and-silver table exploded.
Hats flew into the air.
Several bold witches ran over to hug Darren.
Of course, not everyone was pleased.
"Dumbledore is too biased—Darren clearly did more than Harry Potter, yet they got the sa points!"
"Exactly! Harry Potter—what did he do?"
"Well, if Darren hears you talking like that and starts lecturing you about Harry, you'll regret it."
"Yeah, I'm scared."
"Honestly, twenty points would've been plenty. If we give him too much, he'll do sothing even more reckless!"
"We need to scare him a little. Keep him cautious."
"Yes! Next ti let the Bloody Baron handle him! The Baron doesn't care if soone is kind!"
The cheering, the chaos, the threats—
Everything blended into one loud, glorious Slytherin victory.
And Darren smiled through all of it.
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