After class, Douglas had barely settled into his office when there was a knock at the door. Percy entered, clutching a letter.
"Boss, this is from Mr. Slane. He said your owl couldn't deliver mail, so he sent it to me instead."
Douglas took the letter, raising an eyebrow.
"And how does he know you?"
Percy stared at him, incredulous.
"Boss, have you forgotten? When we were in Diagon Alley, you introduced me to Mr. Slane yourself and had him give me the complete set of books. On the first day of term, I got the package he sent... I remember mentioning it. Don't try to back out now..."
The last bit was clearly a joke—Percy didn't think for a second that the books would be taken back.
Douglas smacked his forehead.
"Nearly slipped my mind. But what I was really wondering is—if a Hufflepuff editor wanted to contact me, you'd think he'd ask Professor Sprout for help, not a Gryffindor like you..."
He opened the letter and skimmed through.
It began with a good-natured rant about the impossibility of writing to him directly. Douglas's reclusive ways had, once again, resulted in his office being buried under a mountain of fan mail—just like last time, when he'd stopped updating and nobody knew who the author was.
There were a few business matters: the company wanted to launch a collector's edition of several series, officially crediting "Douglas Holmes" as the author, and hoped he would write a foreword as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. If he could get other Hogwarts professors to write forewords—especially Dumbledore—all the better.
They also planned a book signing during his tenure. Since the post of Defence professor was a one-year gig, this would be a unique, limited-edition run—sure to become a collector's item.
The last point wasn't a negotiation, but a direct order:
On Saturday afternoon, a Daily Prophet reporter would be interviewing him at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. He was not allowed to refuse.
Slane said he'd already promised the company, and if Douglas didn't show, he'd hang himself from the gates of Hogwarts.
He'd also specifically refused Rita Skeeter as the interviewer, proving he knew exactly what kind of trouble she brought.
After reading, Douglas told Percy to wait a moment, then sat at his desk and quickly penned a reply—agreeing to the plans and offering high praise for Slane's wise rejection of Rita Skeeter.
"Percy, could you take this to the owlery and send it off to Mr. Slane for me?"
Percy didn't bat an eye at the request. He put his copy of Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells back on the shelf, took the letter, and left.
Not long after, class representatives from each house arrived to report on their classes' progress.
Hermione brought in a stack of self-critiques from her classmates. Douglas noted that not a single one was under twelve inches long.
He hadn't set a specific length—he'd only said that sincere reflection might get them their books back, and perhaps a signed copy.
He glanced through the pile. The longest, of course, was Hermione's—a full twenty inches, crammed with tiny handwriting. She'd even cited several historical incidents that resulted from believing rumors.
Other students had also referenced various cases, clearly inspired by her style.
Douglas couldn't help but look up at Hermione, who was fidgeting nervously.
And it wasn't just the Gryffindor second-years—every class that had fallen for the rumor had the same assignment.
The Hufflepuff rep, seeing how long Hermione's was, looked a bit worried—their longest was only six inches. They were already losing the battle of morale.
Douglas told them to leave all the self-critiques; he'd read them and return the books to those who genuinely recognized their mistake.
After collecting all the assignments, he dismissed the group—he still had patrol duty and no time to give individual feedback.
Once everyone had left, he noticed three students still sitting at the tea table, helping themselves to pastries and tea.
Two of them looked perfectly at home, critiquing the snacks like regulars.
"George! Fred!
You really do treat my office like your own common room. Don't forget—you're here for detention, not afternoon tea.
Of course, Miss Johnson, you don't need to be nervous. My complaints are just for these two troublemakers.
Was there something you wanted to discuss?"
Angelina Johnson—tall, with long black hair in a braid, and Gryffindor's Chaser—looked uncharacteristically uneasy.
She might be bold in the Gryffindor common room, leading the fourth-years to pressure the Weasley twins into agreeing to a deputy class rep, but here in Douglas's office, she seemed genuinely nervous—whether from excitement or fear, it was hard to say.
Fred shot George a look, and together they'd brought Angelina along to blend in with the crowd, hoping the tea and pastries would help her relax.
When Douglas addressed her, Angelina glanced at Fred, unsure how to begin.
Douglas had already noticed that she could tell Fred and George apart at a glance—he, on the other hand, sometimes had to cheat with a subtle Name Charm.
Fred and George seized the moment to complain:
"Oh, Professor, the students are rebelling!"
"Yes, they're plotting to sideline us!"
"It's like the Deputy Minister of Magic going straight to Dumbledore!"
"Poor Minister Fudge, our fates are so similar..."
"Oh, Merlin's socks, Fred, you've stooped so low—you want to be Minister for Magic?"
"George, you've got it wrong—I'm not Percy..."
Through their theatrics, Douglas pieced together why Angelina was here.
He said to the twins,
"Since you've made it clear, from now on Miss Johnson can report directly to me about your class—and about you two.
Miss Johnson, you're now officially the deputy class rep for your year. You'll be responsible for making sure everyone's homework gets done…
And I do mean everyone!"
Angelina lit up. "Thank you, Professor! I won't let you down!"
The twins both breathed a huge sigh of relief. Since becoming class reps, they'd been swamped—chasing classmates about homework, collecting assignments, listening to recitations. There'd been no time left for their usual schemes.
If someone else wanted the job, they were only too happy to hand it over.
But Douglas saw straight through them, and put on a look of exaggerated seriousness:
"Fred and George, don't be discouraged. Let me be clear: Miss Johnson is only the deputy class rep—she won't replace your positions.
And to make sure you're not sidelined, I'm adding a special arrangement for your year:
From now on, all fourth-year Gryffindor homework must first be reviewed by the Messrs. Weasley.
If you judge an assignment unfit, send it back for rewriting. I only want to see the finished, acceptable work.
Miss Johnson, you'll coordinate!"
Angelina, who'd been about to protest her intentions, broke into a wide grin at this arrangement, nodding enthusiastically.
She knew the twins too well—this was perfect!
Douglas was quite pleased with himself, too. He knew the Weasley twins were more than capable—if they put their minds to it, they could easily handle the workload.
And if they didn't, the classmates forced to redo their homework would make sure they did.
The twins stared at each other in shock.
"You don't want to be sidelined?"
"I thought you didn't want to be sidelined!"
"No, we both want to be sidelined!"
"Looks like the Professor doesn't!"
"And Angelina doesn't either..."
"She's smiling!"
"She's fallen—corrupt bureaucracy!"
"She wants the title, not the work!"
Inside, George and Fred wept bitter tears. Why had they ever tried to outsmart Douglas?
History and experience had proven—they never could.
He got them every time.
That scene from five years ago flashed before their eyes once more.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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