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Chapter 463 – Drama Spirit
Darren naturally promised the Horntail that he would not kill it.
With so many people watching, how could he possibly slay a dragon?
The Hungarian Horntail agreed reluctantly.
It felt that humans were truly insane—forcing it to perform a betrayal scene.
If dragons could speak, it would expose this little human's shameless schemes to everyone.
Sadly, it couldn't. The frustration was unbearable.
Darren did not care what the dragon thought.
Once it agreed, he lowered his wand as if completely defenseless and picked up the dragon egg.
Then he walked toward the judges.
But just as he raised the egg for them to see—
"Darren, look out!"
Bagman's terrified shout rang across the arena.
Darren froze, turning back in apparent fear.
The Hungarian Horntail was charging at him, roaring ferociously.
Its face was twisted in rage, but its eyes were filled with desperate pleading—begging Darren not to go too far.
Such acting…
Big brother, please don't actually kill me!
Darren appeared stunned.
He raised his fist slowly.
Many spectators gasped and covered their eyes.
Dumbledore reached for his wand but realized it was far too late—the Horntail was already upon Darren, its massive spike poised to skewer him.
Screams erupted from the stands.
Darren's fist shot forward and slammed into the dragon's body.
The Horntail, fully cooperating, let itself be flung sky-high as though struck by tremendous force.
It arced across the sky before crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact that sent stones flying everywhere.
It lay there glaring at Darren.
Seriously?
Enough with the fake dragon-slaying already.
I'm cooperating as much as I can.
Darren nodded subtly, satisfied.
But aloud, he rushed forward anxiously.
"Somebody help it—it's hurt!"
"Darren, stop!" Charlie Weasley grabbed him, eyes red.
"It's fine if the dragon dies! As long as you're safe. We never wanted you and Harry in this tournament. Watching you fight like that—it's driving us mad!"
…A bit dramatic, Darren thought.
He wasn't risking his life.
He was just showing off.
"Oh my God, he survived! How is that possible?!" Bagman shouted.
Many agreed.
Most spectators had squeezed their eyes shut and missed the entire scene.
But it didn't matter—hundreds of photo-spheres hovered overhead, replaying everything from every angle.
Charlie pushed Darren back toward the tent.
"Go. Don't wander."
Darren had no choice but to enter.
Professor McGonagall rushed in immediately.
"His hand! Quickly—his hand is injured!"
Only then did Darren notice a small cut the Horntail's spike had grazed onto his skin.
Good.
If he hadn't noticed, he might've lost the chance to look even more pitiful later.
Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore stormed in afterward, their faces full of anger and concern.
They clearly wanted to scold him for turning his back on a dragon—especially after it had already surrendered.
This betrayal attack was obviously staged.
Well… yes, it was.
They just didn't know it.
Darren sighed.
Seeing that everyone was preparing to reprimand him, he made a decision.
He closed his eyes and pretended to faint.
Perfect.
Everyone panicked instantly.
After all, he had faced the Horntail alone.
Mana exhaustion, shock, physical strain—they were all believable.
"Darren! Quickly, to the infirmary!" McGonagall cried.
She conjured a stretcher and rushed him out.
Harry and the others hurried behind her.
When they arrived at the hospital wing, Darren decided it was time to "wake up."
Snape was already pulling out one of his potions, which Darren absolutely wanted to avoid.
He slowly fluttered his eyes open.
"Professor… I'm fine. I'm probably just tired."
"Tired?" Snape snapped.
"You are magically depleted, physically exhausted, and—drink it!"
He shoved the potion beside Darren.
Darren weakly tried to refuse.
"If you don't drink it," Snape said coldly, "then I will administer it through irrigation."
…Not ideal.
Darren sighed inwardly and sat up with visible difficulty.
The potion smelled strongly of life-and-death water.
He took one sip—and his consciousness immediately blurred.
The strength of the water alone wouldn't knock him out like this.
Snape must have mixed in several other potent herbs.
He wished he had time to analyze the formula.
But he passed out before he could swallow again.
When Darren finally woke up, it was already evening.
Dumbledore sat by his bedside.
"Oh, Darren," the headmaster said warmly, "more than half a day has passed. If you hadn't woken soon, Severus was prepared to send you to St. Mungo's."
He chuckled lightly.
"And rumors have already started circulating that you died in the first task."
…Really?
He slept half a day and people already buried him?
"There's nothing we can do," Dumbledore continued.
"People believe what they see… such as you collapsing from Hungarian Horntail toxins.
If Severus hadn't recognized the symptoms and prepared the antidote beforehand, you truly might have died."
Toxins?
Really?
Darren suddenly remembered his dramatic collapse.
It did look like poisoning.
He had only been pretending to faint, yet everyone assumed he was mortally envenomed.
Well… that wasn't his problem.
Trying to maintain the right expression, he said gratefully,
"Please thank Professor Snape for me. If he hadn't acted, I might really have died—and then I couldn't fulfill the promise I made to my brother."
"Oh, I think he received your gratitude," Dumbledore said, amused.
"The hug you gave him earlier—he'll be pleased for a long time."
Darren froze.
How did he know?
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