When Douglas entered the classroom and saw the stack of books already neatly placed on his podium, he paused, lost in thought.
—
Lunchtime at Hogwarts was abuzz with rumors and speculation.
Students flitted between the house tables, trying to figure out just how many classes now required after-class memorization.
At the Gryffindor table, a group of students were teasing George and Fred:
"George and Fred nearly lost their minds in Transfiguration today!"
"The moment Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, they both leapt up to answer!"
"In the end, she banned them from speaking in that class at all!"
"Haha, I'll never forget what she said: 'Messrs Weasley, do you think answering together will double the points?'"
George and Fred threw their arms around each other, grinning.
"So what? She still gave Gryffindor five points in the end!"
Smack!
They high-fived.
"Keep it up!"
"We'll hit two hundred points in no time!"
"George, what's on this afternoon's schedule?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms—oh Merlin, and History of Magic too. We're doomed!"
Ron piped up from the side, unimpressed.
"That's nothing. In Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning, Neville earned twenty points!"
Fred and George gasped theatrically.
"Blimey, merciful Professor Holmes! Looks like there's hope for the rest of us after all!"
The chatter at the table was lively and varied, but there was something odd:
Out of all three classes that had Defence Against the Dark Arts today, not a single student brought up asking Professor Holmes for his autograph.
Unless directly asked, they'd only whisper,
"Oh, Professor Holmes is really easygoing. Just put your book on the podium during class, and he'll sign it for you!"
Soon, this phrase was making the rounds throughout the Great Hall.
And then, as if on cue, students from those three houses and classes quietly grabbed their lunch and slipped out—no communication, just an unspoken agreement.
No one dared linger, afraid they'd burst out laughing if they stayed any longer.
—
After classes ended that afternoon, Douglas sat in his Defence Against the Dark Arts office, rubbing his temples as he stared at the mountain of books students had dutifully handed in.
He'd seen—and even orchestrated—plenty of house rivalries at Hogwarts,
but this was the first time he'd witnessed students from different years in the same house setting traps for one another.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Douglas opened it to find Draco Malfoy, the second-year Slytherin class representative, standing stiffly at the threshold. Not far behind, two students peered around the corner, trying (and failing) to be inconspicuous.
"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, do come in!"
He ushered Draco inside and wandered over to the tea table.
Draco took a deep breath, then did his best imitation of his father's stately, aristocratic stride—though he sorely missed his walking stick, which would've made the picture perfect.
Standing across from Douglas, Draco arranged his face into what he thought was a flawless, polite smile.
"Esteemed Professor Holmes—"
He'd barely finished his opening flourish when Douglas cut him off.
"No need to be so formal, Mr. Malfoy. You're here to report on your class's recitation progress, aren't you? Has everyone finished the first section?"
Draco blinked, momentarily forgetting what he'd come for.
Douglas shook his head, clearly displeased.
"I'm afraid I have to criticize your performance, Mr. Malfoy. How are you handling your responsibilities? Among the four houses, Slytherin's second-years are in fourth place for recitation progress.
You told me earlier some students haven't even finished the first section!"
Draco's pale cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red. He quickly asked,
"Professor… may I ask where Gryffindor stands? And how far along are they?"
Douglas replied, not bothering to hide his irritation.
"They've finished the second section. Neville Longbottom is already on the third.
You know Mr. Longbottom—slow to react, not the best memory. But he gets up before dawn every day to study, and through sheer hard work, he's caught up with most of his classmates.
Why can't you do the same? You're all pure—
Never mind. There are some things better left unsaid."
Draco shook his head and waved his hands frantically.
"Professor, I'll go back and push everyone to study harder! Don't worry, Slytherin will definitely catch up—and surpass them!"
He spun on his heel and hurried for the door.
The moment his two cronies saw him emerge, they rushed over. Draco looked like he wanted to smack them both.
"What are you doing here? Get back to studying! Those dumb Gryffindor lions are already on the third section, and you two haven't even finished the first!
Slytherin's in fourth place because of you!
Tomorrow morning, you're both getting up before dawn to study. Got it?"
Goyle and Crabbe stared in confusion.
What was happening? Getting up before sunrise to memorize—wasn't that torture?
They asked, hesitantly,
"Weren't you supposed to deliver a message to the Professor? So, how did…"
Draco Malfoy's face went from red to white and back again.
After being interrupted by Professor Holmes, he'd completely forgotten about the original errand.
Now, there was no way he could go back and bring it up. The thought alone made his blood boil.
"Is that any of your business? Get back to studying!"
—
At seven that evening, several class representatives appeared at Douglas's office in perfect synchrony.
Some handed in homework, others asked questions, a few came just for autographs…
Then, as if on cue, they all left together—leaving only the twins, still slogging away at memorization and transcription.
George handed Douglas a slip of parchment.
"Professor, Harry asked me to give you this."
Fred chimed in,
"I think he's right—the Malfoys are rotten to the core!"
Douglas unfolded the note. It read:
[Professor, whatever you do, don't accept Malfoy's invitation. His whole family looks down on Muggle-born wizards!]
Douglas blinked in confusion.
"Do you two know what invitation this is about? Malfoy did come by today, but it was only to report on recitation progress.
Honestly, can't you lot focus on your studies for once?"
—
In the Gryffindor common room, the moment Hermione returned, she summoned all the second-years.
The upper- and underclassmen weren't sure what she was up to, but happily made room by the fireplace and gathered around to watch.
Standing in the center, Hermione announced,
"I just spoke with Professor Holmes about the current house rankings for recitation.
Ravenclaw is first, we're second, Hufflepuff third, Slytherin fourth…"
Before she'd even finished, the common room erupted in thunderous applause.
Not just the second-years—students from every year cheered.
In a corner, Percy frowned over his homework.
Ginny whispered to a friend,
"I asked the Professor too. For first-years, Gryffindor is third and Slytherin's second.
I'm thinking of gathering everyone later for a meeting, just like Hermione."
Hermione quickly sobered, her expression turning serious.
"But can we really be satisfied with this? No! What we want is first place!"
The students groaned in unison.
"Hermione, come on, beating Slytherin is good enough—we don't have to compete with Ravenclaw in this!"
"Yeah, Hermione, Ravenclaw's unbeatable at this sort of thing!"
"We'll outfly them in Quidditch! We've got Harry!"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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