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Harry's face lit up with pure relief.
As long as he wasn't being left outside with Snape, he felt like he'd been spared a terrible fate.
As for Dumbledore's comnt about "contingency situations," Harry understood perfectly—if Darren refused to cooperate, the Ministry might force him to tell the truth.
Use Veritaserum.
And by Ministry regulation, a family mber had to be present.
"So, let's go," Dumbledore said.
He swept forward toward the courtroom, robes brushing the floor with calm purpose.
Harry rubbed his palms, nerves fluttering.
Important witches and wizards filled the chamber—icons he'd only ever seen in books.
The mont Darren entered, a stern witch guided him to the solitary chair in the center of the courtroom.
Harry instinctively tried to follow but Dumbledore gently held him back.
"Harry, your place is over here."
An official area had been set aside for the family—right beside Dumbledore's place on the Wizengamot bench.
Harry sat down, glancing around. More than forty adult witches and wizards were already present.
Their expressions were severe, asured.
A few whispered to each other.
Harry leaned in just enough to catch fragnts:
"…don't… Veritaserum… refuse…"
That was enough.
They absolutely did not want Darren questioned under Veritaserum.
Disgust twisted in Harry's stomach.
So people were worse than Malfoy.
At least Malfoy wasn't trying to get Darren killed.
Alright—maybe Malfoy was simply too scared.
Especially after seeing the Death Eaters.
Harry snorted.
Then he hurried after Dumbledore, who took his seat among the Wizengamot.
Next to him sat a white-haired, impossibly ancient man—Nicolas Flal.
The Alchemist.
The man who had once said he wanted Darren as his heir.
If Flal had co in person… Darren was far from alone.
Harry exhaled.
With Dumbledore and Flal both here, how could they possibly lose?
Darren sat in the center chair.
The six other students sat nearby, stiff with tension.
Ahead of them, Cornelius Fudge presided with the Wizengamot.
To Darren's right sat the family section where Harry waited.
Behind everyone, reporters clustered in rows—so with bulky caras, others scribbling furiously.
Many wore eccentric, eye-catching outfits that instantly reminded Darren of Rita Skeeter.
And indeed—there she stood.
He recognized her at once, though not because she was unforgettable.
It was because Rita Skeeter held his Deathly Invisibility Cloak draped casually over her arm.
Wonderful.
Sohow Rita Skeeter had ended up with his cloak.
Or soone using Polyjuice disguised as her.
Which was worse?
His mischievous cat Lezzi had spent weeks stealing the cloak and gifting it to random people like a souvenir.
Darren only found out when Harry ntioned it.
He'd integrated her with system, but ever since the Voldemort diary incident, he'd been too overwheld to track where the real cloak ended up.
And apparently… it was with Rita Skeeter.
Was she planning sothing?
Spying?
Eavesdropping?
Trying to stir trouble?
Darren's thoughts broke off as Fudge cleared his throat sharply.
"So, let us begin… Conte, do you have anything further to add regarding your prior accusations?"
A boy nad Conte stood.
Fudge didn't start with Darren—clearly wanting to avoid looking like he was targeting the victim first.
"Mr. Minister," Conte said stiffly, "I have decided to withdraw everything I said before. My earlier statents… may have been too subjective. Darren Potter must have simply failed to hold back the Death Eaters."
Conte even smiled at Darren—unpleasantly eager.
Darren's eyebrow twitched.
Oh?
Trying to sell pity?
If every accusation vanished all at once, the world would assu he'd intimidated witnesses.
If Rita Skeeter were writing, she'd turn this into a 100,000-word scandal.
Darren watched silently.
As expected, the other students followed Conte's lead—dropping their charges and smiling sycophantically at Darren.
Reporters scribbled even faster.
Jurors exchanged uneasy glances.
If this scene dragged on, suspicion would build on its own.
Trying to twist his image?
Outmaneuver him?
[System, compile everything into a complete mory Ball. Expose all of them.]
[Ding — Creating a full mory Ball requires 5,000 Father Points. Proceed?]
[Proceed.]
Darren smiled faintly.
He almost felt bad for them.
To clear his na—and put these students exactly where they belonged—he had to spend five thousand Father Points.
But outwardly he allowed gratitude to soften his expression.
He looked genuinely moved.
"Thank you… thank you all…"
[Ding, Father 50]
[Ding, Father 60]
[Ding, Father 70]
[Ding…]
The points climbed quickly.
What he had spent was already returning.
Sincerity really was the best Father-Point thod.
Darren's expression ward naturally; he looked like soone genuinely touched by the world.
Harry saw that smile and nearly teared up.
Darren was like that—he rembered every scrap of kindness.
Harry wished he weren't so easy to coax… yet he loved seeing him smile.
But just as the tension eased, a sharp voice sliced through the murmurs.
"So, Darren Potter—now that the others have withdrawn their accusations, it is ti for you to answer. Why didn't you manage to stop even one Death Eater?"
It was Fudge.
Harry stiffened.
Why ask that?
Wasn't it obvious Darren was a student?
Why would he be expected to stop Death Eaters?
What suspicion was Fudge trying to create?
"I understand so may find my question strange," Fudge continued, "but consider the mory Ball currently circulating across the wizarding world. Look at the power Darren Potter displayed. He pursued those Death Eaters for quite so ti. Only when they threatened the other students was he forced to retreat."
His voice rose sharply.
"So tell —why, after Darren fought back, did he not manage to stop even one Death Eater? Does that not seem… suspicious?"
He leaned forward.
"After all, the mory Ball ends exactly when Darren begins to retaliate."
The courtroom fell into heavy silence.
Every eye turned to Darren.
And the real interrogation began.
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