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Chapter 430 — Can't Be Too Kind!!
Darren buried his head and ate seriously.
Of course, even though he was eating quickly, his movements were still elegant.
After all, in Slytherin, no one ate rudely.
Even first-years would instinctively observe the older students and slow down their movements.
Darren always felt that the atmosphere in Slytherin was a little like attending a funeral.
But when he glanced at Gryffindor's table…
He decided he still preferred Slytherin's style.
Just as he was eating, the great doors of the hall suddenly opened.
Darren looked up.
A terrifying man entered from outside.
He had a metal prosthetic leg with a clawed foot.
One eye was abnormally large, while the other spun wildly in its socket.
The spinning eye suddenly locked onto Darren.
Darren felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"Dumbledore… I'm late," the man growled.
"Excellent! You've finally arrived, Moody!"
Dumbledore stood up cheerfully and announced:
"This is Alastor Moody — your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Moody.
Darren studied the man carefully.
Was this really him?
Or was this… Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise?
According to canon, it should already be him.
Still…
Darren didn't trust plots.
Especially since he'd already caused too many changes.
Then his eyes fell on the small flask hanging at Moody's waist.
Darren relaxed.
That was it.
No doubt now.
This man was definitely fake.
Of course, Darren only thought about this briefly.
Because at the moment, he was far more focused on his apple pie.
It was unbelievably good.
He'd already finished his third slice.
By the time he leaned back in satisfaction, his eyelids were already drooping.
And just then, Dumbledore stood.
"Before you all fall asleep into your plates, I'd like to make a few announcements.
First — Mr. Filch has once again expanded the list of forbidden corridors.
The number has now exceeded three hundred.
If you're curious… you're welcome to find out personally."
Darren twitched.
Filch really didn't know how to rest.
Wasn't he supposed to be learning magic now?
Where did he even find the time for this?
But Darren knew.
Confiscation was Filch's life purpose.
Next, Dumbledore continued:
"Second, as always — the Forbidden Forest remains off-limits.
And students below third year are still prohibited from visiting Hogsmeade."
Then Dumbledore paused.
"This year's Quidditch Cup… will be canceled."
A loud gasp came from Gryffindor's table.
Elsewhere, most students simply smiled.
They already knew.
"Because," Dumbledore continued,
"Something far greater is coming.
This year…
Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament."
A ripple of excitement swept the hall.
"The Tournament was founded more than seven hundred years ago…"
He explained its history briefly.
Then sighed.
"Unfortunately…
Only students aged seventeen and above may participate."
Fred and George protested loudly on the spot.
They were only months away from seventeen.
But Dumbledore didn't even spare them a glance.
"Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will also be arriving in October.
They will stay for the year.
Be kind.
Be welcoming.
But…" Dumbledore paused deliberately.
"Not too kind."
His eyes landed squarely on Darren.
Darren immediately lowered his head, embarrassed.
And yawned.
Softly.
When would he be allowed to sleep?
Finally…
After eleven.
The welcoming speech ended.
Darren was barely conscious as he followed the Slytherins into their common room.
Snape stood in front of them again.
"First-years will follow the routine explanation.
To set an example—
We will select from a higher year."
His gaze moved slowly over the room.
Every year except one became excited.
Nobody wanted to be picked first.
They raised their hands enthusiastically.
Darren yawned.
Smiling obediently on the surface.
Laughing inside.
That old bat always picks fourth year anyway.
Next second—
"Since last year it started with third year," Snape said calmly,
"This year…
Fourth year first."
Every fourth-year face instantly turned toward Darren.
Darren shook his head with visible hesitation.
"I'm too easily targeted… and I always bring trouble along.
I'm unworthy of being a prefect.
I'm sorry."
[Ding, Father Value +50]
[Ding, Holy Father Value +60]
[Ding, Father Value +50]
Snape's lips twitched.
"If you don't want it—get out of the line."
Darren brightened immediately.
"Oh, thank you, Professor!"
He almost flew away happily.
Finally.
Freedom.
---
Early the next morning, Darren followed Cassandra into the Great Hall.
The place was buzzing.
Even Slytherin was unusually lively.
Malfoy had just sat down when he announced:
"Those Weasley twins tried to buy Aging Potion.
Like idiots."
"That rubbish can't fool detection magic."
"But my family?"
He sneered.
"We have real brews."
"I'm trying tonight.
If it works, Gryffindor will be kneeling in front of me begging for drops."
Crabbe asked eagerly:
"Then… why not enter yourself?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"The Tournament can kill people.
No one from my family is stupid enough to enter."
"And if Dumbledore dares push me in—
My father will transfer me immediately."
A voice came lazily from behind.
"The strongest in the school?
I remember you failing Potions last term."
It was Ron.
And Harry followed right after him, smirking.
Malfoy slammed his hands on the table and stood.
His eyes moved from Ron… to Harry…
Then he sneered.
"Scarhead.
Your brother's a burden.
How do you still have the nerve to stand here?"
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