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After class, Ron and Hermione were still arguing about the Sorting Hat.
"Salazar Slytherin was completely insane," Ron muttered. "He even built a secret chamber just to wipe out anyone who wasn't pure-blood.
That's ntal! Honestly, even families like the Malfoys aren't fully pure-blood. If wizards never married Muggle-borns, they'd have died out ages ago!
So thank rlin the Sorting Hat put in Gryffindor. If I'd been sent to Slytherin, I'd have packed my trunk and gone ho on the spot…"
He suddenly froze.
"Oh—sorry, Darren. I wasn't thinking. I didn't an you."
But he pushed on stubbornly, "Still, I'm telling you—you're definitely a Gryffindor, or maybe Ravenclaw. Worst case, Hufflepuff. But absolutely not Slytherin.
The Sorting Hat must've gone mad at the ti!"
Ron gestured dramatically.
Darren shook his head, a bit shy.
"Actually… the students in Slytherin are very nice. And Salazar Slytherin lived a thousand years ago. His ideas aren't the sa as modern Slytherins.
And… I did ask the Sorting Hat to sort into Gryffindor."
Darren lowered his voice. "But the Hat told I was too brave. It said if I went to Slytherin, I might get myself killed because I'd rush into danger.
I begged it because I wanted to be close to my brother. But the Hat said Slytherin and Gryffindor share many classes, and that Slytherin could teach ambition and self-preservation…"
Ron blinked.
Then, slowly, it all made sense.
Thinking about it, the Sorting Hat might've actually been right. Darren was too brave—recklessly brave.
He always put himself in danger to protect others:
Blocking spells for people.
Shielding them from Filch's temper.
Even stepping in front of Harry whenever Harry got in trouble.
And that was after being placed in Slytherin. If Darren had been put in Gryffindor… half the House would've been in constant danger, and Darren would run himself into the ground trying to protect them all.
Just babysitting his one trouble-magnet twin brother already exhausted him.
"Well… maybe the Sorting Hat was right then," Ron admitted. "Darren, mate, I think it's ti you changed your personality a bit.
If you learn even a tiny bit of Slytherin cunning, I'd happily vote for it!"
Ron nudged Harry.
But Harry wasn't laughing. His expression looked strangely dark, and he hadn't joined the conversation at all.
Darren almost used his "Father's Light" on him—
—but then he realized where they were.
The spot where Mrs. Norris had been found petrified.
Filch had placed a chair there, convinced the attacker would return and that he could catch them in the act.
Darren and the others crouched down, searching the area carefully.
There were scorch marks on the floor, and several spiders crawled along a crack near the window.
Ron recoiled instantly—he absolutely hated spiders.
Probably because Fred and George had once turned his teddy bear into a giant spider when he was three.
Still, he forced himself to help look around.
That was when they found a small golden door.
Ron grabbed the doorknob—and yelped.
"It's the girls' bathroom! We can't go in there!"
"There's no one inside," Hermione said. "This is Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."
"Moaning Myrtle?"
Darren of course knew about her.
She was the girl Voldemort had killed when he first unleashed the Basilisk, and her spirit had lingered here ever since.
But in this tiline, Darren had never interacted with her.
So he looked at Hermione questioningly.
"Well, Darren, you wouldn't know," Hermione whispered. "She's the ghost who haunts the girls' bathroom. Her… personality is a bit unusual…"
She pushed the door open anyway, dragging Harry inside.
Darren hesitated at the threshold until Hermione turned back, giggling behind her hand.
"Oh, Darren, don't be shy. No one uses this bathroom except her."
Darren cleared his head and stepped inside.
A pearly-white girl floated above one of the toilet cisterns.
Myrtle.
She peeked at Darren—and imdiately blushed.
"Oh—I know you!" she said excitedly. "There are several girls always holding your pictures and whispering about what Christmas gift to give you. I told them most boys like sweets. Do you like sweets?"
Ah.
Case solved.
So that's why girls kept giving him candy all month.
He had so much he ended up letting Paggie distribute most of it to children at St. Mungo's.
Apparently… Myrtle had encouraged it.
Darren gave a polite, embarrassed smile.
"Thank you. I liked them."
"No need to thank ," Myrtle said dreamily. "I like you too!"
Harry instantly saw Hermione's expression twist—just for a mont.
A flash of sothing sharp and unpleasant.
But when he blinked, Hermione's face looked normal again.
Strange.
"We ca to ask," Hermione said briskly, "did you see anything on Halloween night? A cat was found petrified right outside your door."
"I don't know… Peeves yelled at that day," Myrtle whimpered. "I ca back here thinking I might drown myself—"
Hermione cut her off sharply.
"Do you rember you're already dead?"
"You're awful! Waaaah!"
Myrtle burst into tears and dove straight into the toilet.
Darren's eyes widened.
"Is she okay? Should I get a professor to help her?"
[Ding, Father 100]
[Ding, Father 100]
[Ding, Father 100]
[Ding, Father 60]
Four Holy Father values—and one slightly smaller one.
Clearly, Myrtle was still listening.
"Don't mind her," Hermione sighed. "I'm not being rude—Myrtle likes dramatic reactions. If you're too gentle she actually gets upset."
"Really?"
Darren blinked.
Ron imdiately pulled him toward the exit.
"Of course! You don't believe Hermione?"
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