A new week dawned at Hogwarts.
Aside from the addition of running laps around the Black Lake as punishment for certain students, everything else seemed business as usual.
In the first period with the fifth-years, perhaps spurred on by yesterday's practical assessment rankings, everyone's progress with the Shield Charm was nothing short of remarkable.
But when it came time for the second-year Gryffindor class, Douglas immediately sensed something off. The students kept sneaking glances at him, their expressions a peculiar mix of curiosity and awkwardness.
He chose not to press the issue.
...
Ever since the announcement that Lockhart had been sentenced to five years in Azkaban, certain tabloid magazines—Douglas gritted his teeth, mentally cursing The Quibbler in particular—had wasted no time running in-depth exposés: [Lockhart Wronged? A Bestselling Author's Dirty Deal with Those in Power].
The fallout wasn't limited to the wizarding world beyond the castle walls; even within Hogwarts, whispers and pointed fingers followed Douglas wherever he went.
He simply brushed it off with a wry smile, reassuring any students who worried about him that every path to fame is strewn with a few bumps and bruises.
Of course, he wasn't about to take out his frustration on a certain magazine editor's daughter in class, no matter how many times her parent had painted him as a devil lurking beneath a cloak.
Instead, he spent last night penning a short story:
The Half-Blood Prince of Slytherin.
It told the tale of a young wizard, John Prince, who ended up at Wool's Orphanage in London. After arriving at Hogwarts, he displayed extraordinary talent in Potions and Dark Magic. When his pursuit of a Muggle-born girl ended in heartbreak, he quickly moved on—flitting between older and younger witches from every House, leaving a trail of romantic chaos in his wake.
Upon graduation, having amassed a truly legendary number of romantic entanglements, he was finally hunted down by seven furious mistresses. They dismembered him, sealing each piece in a different magical object or animal—a necklace, a ring, a headband, a bathtub, a diary, a pet snake, and even inside one of the women herself—so that he could "accompany" them forever.
Each enchanted piece could still communicate, allowing the charming Half-Blood Prince to keep up a running conversation with his former lovers for all eternity.
Douglas was rather pleased with himself—an hour's work had produced a wizarding tale equal parts inspirational, scandalous, and macabre.
At three in the morning, he slipped out of Hogwarts in his Animagus form, intercepted a random owl mid-flight, and anonymously sent the story—along with fifty Galleons—to The Quibbler's chief editor, Xenophilius Lovegood.
In his letter, he claimed to be a loyal reader, grateful for the magazine's companionship through difficult times. He gifted all rights and future royalties from the story to Mr. Lovegood, hoping to support the continued prosperity of The Quibbler. The fifty Galleons were for a special-issue publication fee.
Whether Mr. Lovegood would end up targeted by two Dark wizards and one legendary white witch after publication was, frankly, not Douglas's concern.
After all, rumors travel on the wind, but chasing them down is like running a marathon.
The best way to combat a rumor? Drown it out with a better story.
And he wasn't worried about whether the story would be published—fifty Galleons wasn't pocket change. As for whether it would become a sensation? That was inevitable. The line between fact and fiction was thin, and someone was bound to get worked up.
...
So, as for the students' gossip, Douglas truly couldn't care less.
What did surprise him this lesson, though, was the number of students using a Transfiguration spell called Serpent Slide!—a charm that turned your shoes into a snake capable of whisking you along at speed. The effect was not unlike a Muggle hoverboard, except the conjured snake was uncannily lifelike and would automatically swerve around obstacles.
He eventually learned from Hermione that this spell was a spur-of-the-moment lesson from Professor McGonagall to the third-years last week. Because of its unique flair—literally riding a snake—it had become a favorite among Gryffindor students, who spent the weekend practicing it relentlessly.
Hermione added that Professor McGonagall had stressed the choice of snake was purely because they were the fastest reptiles—absolutely no deeper meaning.
Douglas couldn't help but chuckle.
Was this an attempt to upstage his Defence Against the Dark Arts class with a little friendly spellwork rivalry?
Should he gather all four Houses, bang a gavel, and open with a classic performance poem—"A thin horse with long hair and fat hooves, a couple fighting over a warm bed…"?
Thank Merlin he'd switched to Plan B in time, or his morning exercise regime would have been dead on arrival.
Sure enough, that afternoon, the Ravenclaw third-years and Hufflepuff first-years each brought out their own House specialties.
Gryffindor's Serpent Slide and Ravenclaw's Human Displacement Charm at least depended on each student's magical skill—those less adept would struggle.
Slytherin, for their part, relied on potions, but even that required a certain physical constitution; weak students saw little benefit.
But Hufflepuff? Oh, Hufflepuff.
They waited in silence—and then stunned everyone.
Their entire strategy relied on two pots of vine plants that Professor Sprout had recently placed in the common room. Each plant had a single, sturdy vine. The trick: set it on the ground, grip the tip, shout "Rapid Growth!" and the vine, sensing the wizard's magic, would shoot forward ten meters in the chosen direction. Release your grip, and it would snap back.
The first Hufflepuff student to enter the passage carried both plants. Apart from two mishaps—one student slammed into a wall after misjudging direction, another was launched into the ceiling—everyone else breezed through in record time.
They finished so quickly, the two injured students even had time for a second attempt after some quick healing.
In less than half a period, every Hufflepuff first-year had completed the course.
The first class to achieve a perfect pass? Hufflepuff.
What could Douglas say?
He could only cheer inwardly: "Professor Sprout, you're a genius."
At the end, the first-year class rep—whether from excitement or fear of Douglas's thunderous expression—stammered that they needed to take the two plants back, as the second and third-years would need them for their exams.
Douglas's mood soured for the rest of the day.
In stark contrast, the student body was in high spirits.
At lunch, a rumor began to spread from Gryffindor.
It started as a tale wildly embellished by Ron, with the famous Harry Potter himself as witness. By the time it had been passed through the Gryffindor grapevine and out to the other Houses, it had become almost unrecognizable.
"Professor Holmes let the monster from practical class loose to catch students sneaking out for dates at night… It's true! My roommate and his Ravenclaw girlfriend got nabbed that way."
"Professor Holmes released a monster in Hogwarts just to punish disobedient students…"
"I heard it's for students with poor stamina—apparently the Professor loves making people run laps…"
"That's rubbish—mine's the real story…"
"You're all wrong. The Professor released the monster to punish those who gossip about him…"
By the time the story reached the Slytherin table, it had become:
Professor Holmes, unhappy with Snape meddling in Defence Against the Dark Arts, had released the monster specifically to target Slytherin students.
Everyone knew that Professor Snape had always coveted the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.
When the rumor finally reached Ron again, he combined it with the mysterious voice Harry had heard that night, and a new version was born.
After further embellishment, it became:
"That monster only attacks pure-bloods… It might even kill someone…"
In reality, nearly every student knew the practical-class monster wasn't dangerous—at most, it could cast a Body-Bind Curse.
Professor Holmes never let fourth-years or above fight it, for fear they'd accidentally destroy the poor creature.
Still, for the sake of fun—and because, after all, they weren't the first—many upper-year students gleefully joined in the rumor-mongering.
It wasn't until evening that Douglas heard the various versions from the Weasley twins.
The look on his face at that moment gave the twins an odd feeling—like the Professor was taking this all very seriously.
And that this was a very serious matter.
They couldn't understand it. After all, the monster was so weak a fourth-year could take it down. Why would Douglas be so tense?
In the end, they were left completely baffled.
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