Douglas bristled at Snape's biting sarcasm. He was an adult now—a professor, for Merlin's sake. He could stand his ground.
"Oh, Professor Snape, you simply don't appreciate the finer points of gourmet cuisine.
Never judge a brine by its stench—the stinky tofu it produces is absolutely divine: fragrant, tender, irresistible...
And by the way, I scored an 'O' on my Potions O.W.L."
Professor Sprout's eyes brightened at the prospect that this foul concoction was meant for a new culinary creation. She was about to ask more, but Snape cut in first, lips curling in mockery.
"Heh. This from the boy who once mistook a Horklump for a mushroom…
Did the gnomes in your head take that exam for you?"
Merlin, who knew how long Snape had been waiting to say that? He finally got it off his chest tonight, and he looked positively gleeful.
(A Horklump is a fleshy pink creature covered in black bristles, favored by gnomes as food. Horklump juice is used in Herbicide Potion.)
Professor Sprout, hearing this tale for the first time, couldn't help but slap her forehead. Still, it was classic Douglas.
But Douglas was less amused. Some things were better left unsaid—no need to expose a man's youthful mistakes.
Snape, you absolute troll.
But what could he do? For the sake of peace—personal, magical, and Hogwarts-wide—he swallowed his retort and muttered darkly,
"I got an 'O' in Potions O.W.L.s!"
Snape snorted,
"Some people can't even tell horseradish from a turnip!
Yet somehow, they walk away with an 'O.' Preposterous."
Douglas could feel his blood pressure rising. That was ages ago! All he'd done was ask,
"Professor, is this some sort of turnip?"
when handed a horseradish root. He'd eaten horseradish sauce before, but never seen the actual plant.
His lips twitched. At this moment, he seriously regretted working alongside his old teacher. It was exhausting.
Especially when Professor Sprout chimed in,
"Oh, Severus, that's hardly the only time he's misidentified a plant.
He nearly picked aconite from the greenhouse to eat, thinking it was just another vegetable!
If it looks edible, he simply can't help himself."
Douglas coughed awkwardly. Who hasn't done something foolish in their youth?
After that, he'd memorized every magical plant in the book—no way was he going to poison himself by accident.
"Er, right—weren't you both here to investigate what happened tonight?"
Professor Sprout shrugged,
"Oh, there's really nothing to investigate. Everyone knows about you and Peeves.
But you should be careful… the ghosts are actually rather pitiable."
Snape gave a derisive snort, then sneered,
"I've already sent word to Dumbledore. When he returns, you can explain yourself.
Frankly, I hope he expels you.
Anyone who uses a cauldron to brew idiotic food hardly deserves the title of Professor."
With that, Snape turned to leave.
Douglas called after him,
"I got an 'O' in Potions!
And I'm the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor!"
Snape paused, then turned his icy glare on the Weasley twins, who were shuffling along as slowly as possible.
"Is there a Swamp Jinx in the corridor, or have the gnomes eaten your brains too?
Need me to toss you back to Gryffindor Tower?"
(For reference: To get rid of gnomes, you spin them until they're dizzy, then throw them over the garden wall.)
At that, the twins' legs seemed to sprout motors—they bolted for the Gryffindor common room at record speed.
Professor Sprout could only shrug helplessly. They were all her students—what could she say?
"Douglas, even if Peeves ruined your experiment, don't be discouraged. Just make another batch.
I'm looking forward to seeing what sort of delicacy you can create with that stinky brine!"
As Professor Sprout yawned, preparing to leave, Douglas couldn't help but ask,
"Is something going on? Why isn't the Headmaster at school? And Professor McGonagall seems to be gone as well."
Professor Sprout shook her head,
"I'm not sure either. The Headmaster's been away for over a week.
This afternoon, he sent a message summoning Minerva and Filius too.
Don't worry—it shouldn't be anything to do with the school.
And you won't be expelled over this incident—it's not your fault.
I'll speak to Albus about it myself."
Douglas finally relaxed. He'd been worried something big was happening in the wizarding world.
What he feared most was that, if the diary hadn't made it into the school and was still out there somewhere,
Voldemort's Horcrux might find a dark wizard and resurrect early.
He regretted not letting Lucius give the diary to Ginny so he could intercept it himself. Now, he was stuck searching for a needle in a haystack.
Still, if Dumbledore was dealing with something related to Voldemort, he'd have taken Snape with him.
Since Snape was still here, it probably wasn't about Voldemort.
As Douglas pondered, Professor Sprout—already halfway down the corridor—turned back.
"Douglas, don't let things get so tense between you and Severus!
From what I hear, he actually thinks highly of you. I've heard students say
that Severus used to tell his class, 'That bloke who only uses a cauldron to make soup still does it better than any of you!'
But ever since you returned, he never mentions it anymore.
Oh, and here's a secret, straight from the house-elves in the kitchen—
Severus has been popping in during meal prep, watching them work.
And he only pays attention to the techniques you taught them…
See? You two have more in common than you think."
With an encouraging wink, Professor Sprout departed.
A small smile tugged at Douglas's lips. So Snape had noticed the "hidden chapters" at the end of the book he'd gifted him.
He'd tailored those notes just for him.
Back at school, Douglas had noticed the greatest quirk of Hogwarts Potions class: extravagance.
Yes—extravagance!
They'd have total novices practicing with real potion ingredients, many of them rare and costly.
Potions class was rolling in Galleons.
He hadn't minded the waste back then—after all, many potion ingredients were edible.
If you could survive Snape's tongue-lashings, even a botched potion could yield a decent meal.
He'd realized that most of the ingredient prep in Potions—slicing, decocting, simmering—wasn't so different from traditional Eastern cookery.
Boiling, steeping, reducing, controlling the flame…
Waiting for an aroma to rise from the cauldron—though not all potions smelled pleasant.
That was why he'd sometimes unconsciously brew his potions into consommé.
Compared to his classmates' disasters, at least his failures were edible—especially since Snape often forced students to drink their own concoctions.
Being edible was a definite plus.
He'd slipped some "private notes" into that book, hoping to nudge Snape toward reforming the Potions curriculum.
Why not have students practice with ordinary foodstuffs before moving on to rare ingredients?
Or have them brew soups to practice fire control?
The result? Less waste, lower costs.
And if the kitchens had to buy more food, that meant more funding channeled through Hufflepuff—since the kitchens' budget was managed by their House.
He still remembered, just before graduation, when Professor Sprout quietly called the less privileged or orphaned Hufflepuff students—especially those from Muggle backgrounds—into her office.
She'd offer them a little nest egg to help them get started in the wizarding world.
That's when Douglas learned she did this every year, giving away nearly half her salary.
(Hufflepuff did have the largest House, after all.)
She always refused to let those who'd managed to get by pay her back.
In her words: "I'd rather see these Galleons help you build a good life. That's the best repayment I could ask for."
Of course, some better-off students would donate to Hufflepuff through the Board of Governors.
But for a Muggle-born Hufflepuff like Douglas to save up enough to donate a broomstick worth over ten thousand Galleons—that was almost unheard of.
The reason Professor Sprout hadn't refused his gift?
She knew he wasn't the type to show off.
It was all for Hufflepuff's honor.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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