The study hall supervisor position was the result of careful planning between Douglas and Professor McGonagall. In theory, any student from third year and above could apply for the role. Of course, not every upper-year had what it took to tutor younger students in spellwork, so each applicant had to fill out a form listing the spells they'd mastered, and secure at least one professor's signature of endorsement.
Once approved, their names would appear on the noticeboards outside each House's study hall classroom, allowing lower-year students to choose their tutor. After every session, the younger students would rate their supervisor: very satisfied, satisfied, average, or dissatisfied. Five sessions with ratings of average or above would make the student an official study hall supervisor.
For each student they tutored, supervisors would receive 1-3 House points depending on their rating. However, if an official supervisor received two dissatisfied ratings, their qualification would be revoked and they'd have to reapply. Upper-years could come and go from the study hall as they pleased, and were free to interact with others, but unauthorized students were strictly forbidden from tutoring on the sly.
As for whether the younger students might fudge their ratings out of politeness—well, the professors regularly checked on the study hall's progress. By picking a few practiced spells and having the lower-years demonstrate, any problems would quickly become apparent. (Fifth-years, it was decided, weren't allowed to apply for the supervisor role.)
With everyone's schedules so tight, most students crowded into the study hall between six and eight in the evening. Unfortunately for the Weasley twins, their detention was scheduled for seven o'clock. With only twenty House points to their name (and having just lost ten more to Professor Snape), this job was more than just a privilege—it was a lifeline. Lately, most professors had stopped awarding the twins many points, finding their antics a bit much; now, they were lucky to scrape together one or two points per class, and not even every lesson.
Douglas looked into those twin pairs of pleading eyes. In the end, he relented. Not only did he agree to push their detention back by an hour, he also reviewed their application forms, checking the spells they claimed to know. A few random tests—both theory and practical—proved the twins had put in real effort. Satisfied, Douglas signed his name on their application forms.
The twins were so thrilled they nearly leapt up and hugged him on the spot.
—
In the small hours before dawn, after everyone else had drifted off to sleep, Douglas pulled out the Marauder's Map to check the castle's layout. No night wanderers tonight. He did notice Moaning Myrtle—well, Myrtle the ghost—alone in the Prefects' Bathroom.
Casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he slipped quietly into the girls' bathroom. There, he paused to examine the childish graffiti he'd carved in his youth. He couldn't help but feel a pang of regret—why hadn't Voldemort ever left a reply beneath it? Something like "Read!" or "Voldemort was here!" would have been perfect.
He pulled out a specially crafted detector, installed it in the pipe beneath the enchanted tap, and activated it. If the sink experienced any magical disturbance—or was simply moved—the detector would emit a piercing alarm. It wouldn't echo through the entire castle, but as long as he was in his office or a classroom, he'd definitely hear it. Even if he missed it, the noise would surely scare off anyone trying to open the Chamber of Secrets.
Why hadn't he installed this detector before the Chamber was ever opened? Because Voldemort wasn't stupid—after so many years, he'd definitely inspect the place before trying anything. Besides, Douglas had already left a rather obvious clue.
Job done, he yawned and slipped quietly back to his office.
—
The next morning, he led the students on their usual run. For breakfast, he made a rare appearance in the Great Hall. The hubbub of student gossip died instantly as he entered.
Nearby, Snape was picking over his breakfast, a thin smile stretched across his face. "So, Professor Holmes, your skin is that thin? Just because students managed to break through your little obstacle course, you're letting monsters roam the castle at will. Is this your silent protest against the rest of our teaching content?"
Douglas took a savage bite out of his bun, thinking, This old fox—he's learned to gang up with the others now. Sure enough, when Snape finished, the other three Heads of House turned their eyes to him.
He shrugged. "Of course not. Professor McGonagall can vouch for that creature, can't you? I remember reporting it to you…"
Technically, he hadn't needed to report it, but out of respect for the school's leadership (and, well, maybe to ensure there was someone tall to take the fall if anything went wrong—Professor McGonagall was indeed quite tall), he'd done so anyway.
At his prompt, Professor McGonagall finished her sweet tofu pudding, dabbed her mouth, and nodded at Snape. "It's a remarkable piece of Transfiguration, with a few alchemical tweaks thrown in—quite effective. Unfortunately, it can't operate independently. It needs a wizard nearby, constantly sustaining the spell. So, Severus, that thing won't be wandering the castle unless Douglas is really bored and fancies a stroll!"
A hint of amusement played at her lips as she turned to Douglas. "That Transfiguration, Douglas—the one you saw in class—wasn't bad, right? I invented that spell back in my school days. Haven't used it in years!" She was careful not to mention the spell's name, lest it ruffle any other Head of House's feathers. Even so, she caught a cold snort from Snape.
Now Professor Sprout piped up, beaming, "Minerva, the best part was still my magical plants—Hufflepuff had the most students, finished fastest, and everyone passed! Of course, Douglas, your teaching plan was simply excellent."
Professor McGonagall shot a fierce glare at the Gryffindor table. I even broke out my secret-weapon spell for you lot, and you still couldn't win!
Professor Flitwick had to stretch so far he nearly stood up on his chair, craning around Snape and McGonagall to get a word in. "Douglas, my Human Displacement Charm wasn't bad either, was it? It's a rather obscure spell—too impractical for most uses. But for your challenge, it was perfect, so long as you controlled the direction carefully. Not an easy charm to master—only the best students can learn to move themselves like that!"
Douglas twitched at the corners of his mouth, speechless. Are you really talking to me? Did you think I wouldn't notice each of you glancing at Snape after your little speech?
Snape calmly wiped his mouth, then spoke in his usual icy tone. "I suppose Professor Holmes's—Professor—original intent was to test the students' ability to escape on their own two feet when magic fails them. I must admit, that's very much his style… heh. The Slytherin students used a modified Pepperup Potion—stronger than the standard, and it even improves physical constitution, thanks to a certain ingredient of… well, never mind. There's no point discussing it with someone who never took Advanced Potions."
With a look of disdain, Snape stood, swept his robes, and strode away with a flourish.
Douglas stared after him, eyes wide.
What was that supposed to mean?
How is that "very much my style"?
And what do you mean I'm not qualified to discuss potions?
If it weren't for the other Heads of House pinning him in place with their steely glares, he'd have shown Snape exactly why roses are so red.
Just as he was contemplating how much his breakfast bun resembled Snape's face, a flurry of owls swept into the Great Hall.
He noticed a strangely dressed little witch at the Ravenclaw table receive a stack of magazines. Like a mischievous sprite, she darted between the House tables, dropping off magazines wherever she pleased, regardless of whether anyone wanted them.
Soon, Douglas heard the moment he'd been waiting for: laughter erupted from the Gryffindor table, and someone shouted toward the Slytherin table, "Ha! Slytherin's Half-Blood Prince! Hey, Flint, you've got to read this magazine… Hahaha, Half-Blood Prince…"
Professor McGonagall frowned slightly, but relaxed once she saw the teasing didn't go any further.
Douglas glanced regretfully at Snape's empty seat, thinking, If only you'd stayed a bit longer, or if the magazine had arrived a bit sooner—what a show that would've been!
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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