Chapter 747: The Bloodline of the Great Enemy!!
Harry leaned closer, trying to see through the mess of hair and beard on the owner of the Hog's Head.
He couldn't make out much.
Only those blue eyes behind the glasses.
"Aberforth Dumbledore," Darren said calmly, taking a sip of lemon juice. "You were the one who told Dobby. He found me, and I called Pagie to save them."
Aberforth didn't deny it.
"I like that elf," he muttered.
Harry frowned slightly. "Then… the mirror?"
Aberforth shrugged. "Your brother gave it to me. Said you'd get into trouble sooner or later. Gave me the other half of the two-way mirror. If you want details, ask him."
Harry froze.
He didn't look at Darren.
He couldn't.
The words from earlier still echoed in his head—
bloodline.
Voldemort's bloodline.
Everything Darren had done… all of it was for him.
They shared the same mother.
They were brothers.
And yet—
that truth sat between them like something rotten.
He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to face it.
Darren seemed to notice.
His expression dimmed slightly.
A trace of hurt showed—but only for a moment.
Then he looked away first.
"Is there anything to eat?" he asked quietly.
The shift was obvious.
Harry felt it, but said nothing.
Only then did he realize he was hungry too.
Aberforth snorted and brought food over.
"Eat. Don't say I starved you."
He placed a tray in front of Darren.
Darren picked up a plate and passed it toward Harry.
Harry didn't take it.
He passed it to Ron instead.
For a second, the movement felt heavier than it should have.
Darren lowered his hand slowly.
He didn't say anything.
Just let out a quiet breath and started eating.
The food tasted fine.
But he missed Ginny's cooking… the meals at Hogwarts… even the ones Pagie used to bring him.
He sighed again.
Another bite.
Hermione noticed immediately. "Darren?"
He smiled. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired."
He nudged her gently. "Eat."
Aberforth watched all of this without saying a word.
When they were done, he took the plates away—cutting Harry off halfway through his steak.
"Enough. Don't eat too much at night," he said roughly. Then he leaned back. "Now talk. Why are you here?"
Darren answered directly, though he made it sound hesitant.
"We need to get into Hogwarts. You should have a way, right? Since… last time I left, I haven't been able to go back freely."
Aberforth raised an eyebrow.
"Go back? For what? To walk into that place with these three and get yourselves tortured?"
Darren shook his head quickly. "No, I wasn't—"
He glanced at Harry instinctively.
As if worried Harry might feel bad.
But Harry didn't react at all.
No expression.
Nothing.
Darren paused for a second.
Then looked away.
He understood.
So Voldemort really did let him see it.
Fine.
It wasn't unexpected.
On the surface, Darren only looked confused.
A little hurt.
Nothing more.
Inside, he was already adjusting.
This wasn't something that couldn't be handled.
Not compared to everything else.
He turned back to Aberforth.
"We really need your help. This concerns Headmaster—"
"Enough!"
Aberforth snapped.
"Don't mention my brother."
His voice hardened.
"You think he's some perfect man? If you really knew him, you'd call him cold-blooded."
Hermione leaned forward. "Then… what Rita Skeeter wrote—was it true?"
Aberforth didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Darren.
Then toward a portrait in the corner.
A young girl.
Her eyes were fixed on Darren.
She smiled when he looked at her.
"Brother," she said softly, "part of me is in him."
Aberforth nodded slowly.
Then looked back at Darren—his gaze turning sharp.
"You heard that, didn't you? A part of her is in you. You know what that means?"
Darren didn't speak.
"Why do you think my brother treated you so well?" Aberforth continued. "It was never about you. It was about her. He was trying to bring her back."
His voice grew colder.
"The only way to bring a soul back… is to let it take over a body."
Hermione froze.
Harry's hands clenched.
"You think Albus cared about you?" Aberforth said harshly. "He never cared about anyone properly. Listen to me—leave. Right now. My sister won't take your body. My brother is dead. You still have a chance to live your own life."
Silence filled the room.
Darren looked at him for a long moment.
Then he spoke, quietly.
"I'm sorry."
A pause.
"I still believe him."
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
Harry opened his mouth—
but nothing came out.
Aberforth glanced at him.
He had already seen enough.
Harry knew it.
But he couldn't say it.
Couldn't explain what he had just learned.
Because how do you say something like that?
That your brother—
is the bloodline of your greatest enemy?
He still cared about Darren.
That hadn't changed.
But now… something else was there too.
A hesitation.
A barrier.
And he hated it.
He hated Voldemort more than ever.
This wasn't the time to stand still.
They had to move.
Had to finish this.
Darren had already made his choice.
Harry clenched his fists.
So had he.
But Aberforth—
he clearly didn't agree.
He watched them, jaw tight.
Like he'd been holding something back for a long time.
And now—
he couldn't anymore.
He exhaled sharply.
And finally said everything.