Chapter 12 — Three Days of Sleep
Darren accepted the potion that Madam Pomfrey handed him. He leaned forward, sniffed it cautiously, and took a small sip to test the flavor.
To his surprise, it wasn't nearly as bitter as potions were said to be in the original story.
In fact, it had a mellow, herbal taste.
He shrugged and drank the rest in one go.
Pomfrey had mentioned that it contained Moonlight Grass — apparently a rare and valuable ingredient.
Well, Darren thought, if it's free, might as well enjoy it.
"Good. Now that he's taken his potion, this boy needs rest!" Madam Pomfrey declared, flapping her hands toward the two men. "Out, both of you!"
Before either Dumbledore or Snape could protest, she had practically herded them out of the infirmary.
Darren barely had time to chuckle to himself before a wave of drowsiness crashed over him. He yawned once, and the world went dark.
---
When he opened his eyes again, sunlight poured through the window.
On the bedside table sat a dozen bags of sweets, two sets of black Hogwarts robes, and two sets of neatly folded Muggle clothes.
Snape must have bought these, Darren guessed.
Next to the clothes lay a small pile of greeting cards. Curious, Darren picked one up and began to read.
All of them were from Hogwarts professors — polite, welcoming little notes.
But one name made him pause.
Quirinus Quirrell.
Darren blinked and stared for a moment, then sighed softly.
"Poor guy. Guess this is your last year alive."
He couldn't help but laugh under his breath, the sound half amused, half melancholy.
---
Not long after, Madam Pomfrey bustled over with a bright smile.
"Oh, you're awake, dear! Let's have a look at you." She ran a few diagnostic charms, then nodded in satisfaction.
"Excellent! The wounds are completely healed, and most of your lost nutrients have been replenished. Severus's potion worked beautifully."
Darren blinked twice and realized he did feel… wonderful. It had been years since he'd slept that deeply or woken up feeling this light.
"Madam," he asked, "how long was I asleep?"
Surely just a few hours, he thought.
"Three days, my boy. You slept for three whole days!"
She laughed at his stunned expression. "If Severus and I hadn't checked you regularly and confirmed there was nothing wrong, Professor Snape would have marched you straight to St. Mungo's."
Darren's mouth fell open.
Three days?!
That meant he'd missed nine temporary missions!
He groaned inwardly. It's all Snape's fault — that potion was way too good. I drink one bottle and I'm out for seventy-two hours!
He sighed. Does this count as a workplace injury? Maybe the system will compensate me for lost quests?
No response.
Not even a beep.
Figures. The system didn't care about his suffering.
---
"All right, dear," Pomfrey said briskly, "you're free to go. But I don't want to see you ending up in here every week like half the Gryffindors do!"
"Gryffindor?" Darren echoed blankly.
"Ah, of course — you're Muggle-raised. Hogwarts has four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
She warmed to the topic immediately, her eyes sparkling.
"At the Sorting Ceremony, the Sorting Hat will place you where you belong. But I'll tell you a little secret — if you truly fit a House, you can ask to be placed there. The Hat will take your wishes into account."
She winked. "I was originally bound for Hufflepuff, you know. But I fancied a Slytherin boy back then, so I asked the Hat to put me in Slytherin instead!"
Darren blinked, half amused, half impressed.
So the Sorting Hat isn't as secretive as it sounds. Everyone and their grandma seems to know how it works.
"Oh, Madam," Darren asked, keeping his tone polite and curious, "who's in charge of the Sorting Ceremony?"
Pomfrey smiled mysteriously, clearly enjoying herself.
"Ah, some things are better left as surprises, dear. When I was your age, my brother told me I'd have to fight a troll to be Sorted!"
She chuckled to herself as she left, humming an old tune.
Darren stared after her, torn between laughter and disbelief.
The wizarding world was ridiculous.
If he were truly a clueless Muggle-born, he'd probably be terrified right now — convinced he'd have to duel a troll just to get into school.
"That's the Chosen One's business," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not mine."
---
He sighed and reached for one of the wizard's robes on the table.
It fit perfectly — not too loose, not too tight.
Darren paused, trying to imagine Snape standing in a shop, glowering at fabric swatches and muttering about sizes.
The image made him grin.
Gathering up the candies and greeting cards, he stepped out of the hospital wing.
And promptly froze.
Hogwarts stretched before him — endless corridors, moving staircases, and high-arched ceilings gleaming in the morning light.
Even though he'd memorized the castle map from the novels, the real thing was overwhelming.
Where am I even supposed to go?
---
"Mr. Darren!"
A sharp pop! echoed through the hall.
An elf appeared — large ears, huge eyes, and a clean, tidy tea-towel uniform.
"Mr. Darren, sir! I am Paggy, a house-elf of Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore has instructed me to look after you."
Darren studied her carefully.
She wasn't like Dobby — no self-punishing, no nervous muttering.
Paggy looked well-groomed and composed, smiling at him with gentle warmth.
"Hello, Paggy. My name's Darren Potter," he said politely. "Just call me Darren. Could you tell me where I'll be staying before term starts? I'd like to put my things down first."
Paggy's smile widened. She reached out, taking his hand in her tiny one.
"Of course, Darren! Professor McGonagall has arranged for you to stay in your Gryffindor dormitory until school begins."
She tugged his hand lightly, leading him down the corridor.
Darren followed, his robes swishing softly behind him — a faint, curious excitement stirring in his chest.
For the first time, he was really inside Hogwarts.
Not as a reader, not as a dreamer — but as someone who belonged here.
Even if, secretly, he knew he didn't quite belong anywhere at all.
---
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