Chapter 753: War Is to Die!!
Harry couldn't say a single word.
He knew Hermione was right.
None of this was Darren's fault. Darren hadn't chosen his bloodline. He hadn't asked for any of it. And yet, ever since Gringotts, Harry had been snapping at him, pulling away, letting that thought sit between them like something poisonous.
He hated it.
He hated himself for it.
But every time he looked at Darren, that thought came back—the connection, the blood, the image of Voldemort—and he couldn't stop it.
On top of that, his scar kept burning, reminding him that Voldemort was getting closer. They were running out of time. They still hadn't found the last Horcrux.
Everything felt like it was closing in at once.
He opened his mouth, wanting to explain, wanting to say something—anything—but nothing came out.
Hermione watched him struggle, and it only made her angrier.
Ron hovered awkwardly between them, clearly not knowing what to do.
"Hey… don't start fighting now," he said uneasily. "If the Dark Lord could see this, he'd be laughing."
Hermione knew that.
She still couldn't let it go.
Her voice shook when she spoke again.
"If tonight turns into the final battle," she said, "and if Darren dies here… do you really want the last thing he feels to be that his own brother hates him?"
Harry's head snapped up.
"He won't die!"
Hermione didn't argue.
She just wiped her eyes and took a steady breath, like she had been holding that sentence in for too long.
"Fine," she said quietly. "He won't die. We all know how strong he is."
Ron nodded quickly, trying to ease the tension. "Yeah, exactly. He'll be fine. He always is."
Hermione glanced at Harry again, several times, like she was deciding whether to say more.
In the end, she did.
"Harry… if anything happens to him tonight, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
Her voice was softer now, but it hit harder.
"I don't know what's going on in your head. But you will regret it."
Harry felt his chest tighten.
Still, he couldn't answer.
Hermione didn't wait for one.
She turned away and spoke more practically now, forcing herself back into focus.
"Darren has a lead. Flitwick said no one alive knows about the crown—but that doesn't mean no one does. The dead might."
She looked at them briefly.
"The Grey Lady."
Then she added, "I'm going to help evacuate the students. If you actually want to follow Darren's plan, come with me."
She didn't wait.
She ran.
Harry stood there for a moment, staring in the direction Darren had gone.
Guilt sat heavy in his chest.
He would apologize.
He had to.
But right now, there were still students to move.
So he turned and ran as well.
---
Darren, meanwhile, was already heading toward Ravenclaw Tower.
He knew exactly where the diadem was.
But that didn't matter.
Some things had to play out properly.
And besides—compared to the chaos outside, talking to a ghost was a lot simpler.
He found her without much trouble.
The Grey Lady.
Tall, pale, her long hair falling neatly over her shoulders, her expression distant and proud. She rarely spoke to anyone.
But when she saw Darren, she looked slightly surprised.
"What do you want?"
Darren stopped in front of her.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, polite as always. "But I need to know—where is your mother's crown?"
For a moment, she just stared at him.
Then she let out a faint, humorless breath.
"You're just like him," she said. "Interested in the same thing. Though you're far less patient."
Darren gave a small, helpless smile. "You mean Voldemort?"
Her expression tightened.
"…Yes."
"Did you tell him your story?" Darren asked quietly.
She hesitated.
Then nodded, regret clear in her voice. "I did. And I've regretted it ever since. But at the time… I didn't know what he would become."
Darren lowered himself to sit beside her, as if this were just an ordinary conversation.
"Then tell me the same story," he said. "Think of it as making up for it."
She looked at him strangely.
"Making up for it? Even ghosts need that?"
Darren seemed genuinely surprised.
"If you've done something wrong, shouldn't you try to fix it?"
She didn't answer immediately.
But after a moment, she gave in.
"My name is Helena Ravenclaw," she began quietly. "I am Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter."
She looked away as she spoke.
"I wanted to be greater than her. Smarter. More brilliant. So I stole her diadem."
Darren listened without interrupting.
"My mother never exposed me," Helena continued. "Even when she was dying, she kept my secret. She sent the Bloody Baron to find me. He loved me—she knew he would never stop searching."
Her voice hardened.
"He found me. I refused to go back. I didn't trust him… and he killed me."
There was a pause.
"Then he regretted it. Took his own life with the same blade. Now he wanders as a ghost as well."
Her expression turned cold.
"He deserves it."
Darren didn't comment.
He only asked, "So where is the diadem?"
Helena met his eyes.
"When I first fled, I hid it in a hollow tree in a forest in Albania."
She paused.
"Later… he found it. And brought it back here."
She stepped back slightly.
"I won't tell you exactly where. Ravenclaw values wisdom. If you want it, you'll have to figure it out yourself."
Then she turned and drifted away.
Darren watched her go, a faint surprise in his eyes.
She had said more than expected.
Much more.
But it didn't matter.
He already knew enough.
He stood up, brushed the dust from his clothes, and headed toward the Great Hall.
---
By the time he arrived, students were already gathering.
Whispers spread the moment they saw him.
Shock. Relief. Hope.
Harry was there too.
The moment he saw Darren, guilt flickered across his face. He clearly wanted to say something.
Darren didn't give him the chance.
When someone disappointed him, he didn't pretend otherwise.
He simply turned away, as if nothing needed to be said.
McGonagall stood at the front, but she didn't speak.
Instead, she gave Darren a small nod.
The floor was his.
Darren stepped forward and looked out at the students.
A calm smile appeared on his face.
"You all know me," he said. "And I know you."
His voice was steady, carrying clearly through the hall.
"So I won't lie to you."
He paused.
"Tonight… Voldemort is coming to Hogwarts."
A ripple of fear passed through the room.
Darren didn't stop.
"You also know what we've been doing. Me, my brother, and others—we've been fighting him this whole time."
He looked across the crowd.
"This battle is unavoidable now."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"But no students will take part in it."
A murmur rose.
Darren raised his hand, silencing it.
"This is not a request. It's an order."
He pointed toward the exits.
"All students are to leave the castle immediately. Use the secret passages. The professors, Mr. Filch, the Order, and a few others will stay."
His gaze softened slightly.
"War means death."
He didn't dress it up.
"Even I might die."
Silence fell completely.
"I will not have you die here."
His voice was firm.
"So go. Now. Don't waste time."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then slowly—
they began to understand.
And move.
[Ding, Father +100]