When Percy finally lugged the package up to the office, it was nearly time for class.
Douglas had to set it aside, deciding he'd open it over lunch.
The first day of exams was, as always, the written theory test.
Compared to the entrance exam and the first monthly assessment, everyone seemed much more at ease this time.
After the Gryffindor second-years finished, Ron practically bounced with excitement.
"I can't believe it—I actually thought those questions were easy!"
Harry nodded enthusiastically beside him.
The two of them had already copied out the Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook by hand, so their grasp of the material was far stronger than most.
While others had simply memorized the content, Harry and Ron had internalized it through repetition.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Other classmates didn't look pleased either.
Especially Neville, who nearly whimpered,
"I feel like I've already forgotten everything I memorized..."
—
At lunchtime, Douglas sat in his office, eating as he flipped through the letters from Bill and Charlie.
Along with the letters came some of Bill's notes on spell research and a bundle of carefully treated dragon sinew from Charlie—Western dragons, no less.
Dear Old Dao,
You applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor job and didn't even tell me???
Merlin's beard, do you not know that position is cursed? I remember we talked about this...
Cha (that's Charlie) thinks you'll be fine—he's always had faith in you. Honestly, I'm tempted to remind him of that time you embarrassed yourself in the Forbidden Forest...
"A son of gold doesn't sit under a crumbling wall." You taught me that, remember?
Anyway, stay safe.
...
This is my second letter—yes, you read that right.
I sent the first one as soon as Mum told me you'd taken the job, but a week later the poor owl brought it back, exhausted. If I hadn't seen your name in the Daily Prophet soon after, I'd have thought you'd already met your end...
I'm guessing you hid your name, didn't you?
Haha, was all your research into that spell just for this day...?
I'm sending you some weird curses I've encountered over the years, along with my notes on breaking them—hope they help.
If you find anything or get into trouble, let me know. I've got some holiday saved up...
(By the way, I finally learned to use that Muggle email you taught me, but I've sent loads of messages and never got a reply. Are you sure it's faster than owls?)
Don't forget .c.
Waiting for your reply!
Miss you, sb.
Dear Old Dao,
Too cool—you actually went and became Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
sb's letters are always full of worry. He reckons you didn't tell us because you knew we'd try to stop you.
Since when did the mighty sb get so sentimental?
...
Last time you visited Romania, you mentioned dragon sinew might boost your spell's power.
I've collected a batch for you—you know that's easy for me...
Looking forward to seeing what you make of it.
You could always resign early, you know. I remember you said if you leave that job before the end of term, nothing bad usually happens...
Anyway, I believe in you!
Cooler than sb, Cha.
Reading these letters, Douglas felt a wave of warmth.
He hadn't told them about the job at first, worried they'd try to talk him out of it—after all, the post's curse was infamous.
Old Dao, sb, and Cha were their old school code names.
Of course, when Douglas picked them, he'd done so with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Bill and Charlie, not knowing the real meaning, were more than satisfied—so much so that Douglas had never dared change Bill's code name, even when he'd wanted to.
Some of Bill's notes covered things they'd discussed in Egypt, but others even touched on secret Gringotts enchantments.
Douglas could tell Bill had taken a real risk sending them.
As for the dragon sinew from Charlie, he knew it hadn't been as easy to get as Charlie claimed.
He'd only mentioned it offhand, never expecting Charlie to go to such lengths.
All in all, Douglas was in a great mood—he just needed to think about how best to reply.
—
That afternoon, during the practical exams, everyone noticed a change in Professor Holmes.
He wasn't pacing the classroom, or looming behind students with heavy sighs.
Instead, he sat at the lectern, grading papers and occasionally drifting off into thought.
Everyone breathed easier; the test felt less daunting than usual.
Afterwards, the mood was light—except among the Quidditch players.
Starting in November, there was a match nearly every fortnight, and they had to squeeze in as much practice as possible.
This year, with two houses sporting the latest broomsticks, the pressure on the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw captains was especially intense.
—
That evening, detention.
George and Fred sat in the office as meek as lambs, dutifully copying out more than the usual amount of material—Douglas's orders, of course.
But what really caught their attention was Professor Holmes himself, hunched over his desk, scribbling out a long letter to Bill.
Bill Weasley was the eldest and, in the eyes of the family, the coolest sibling. Even the twins, who loved to tease Percy, held him in the highest respect.
The last thing they wanted was for Douglas to send a report to Bill about their mischief.
When they finished their dictation, they saw that Douglas already had four or five sheets of parchment—each a foot long—covered in tiny handwriting.
And he was still writing.
The twins exchanged glances.
"Is he writing a letter?"
"Looks more like a novel to me."
Douglas caught their looks and reached for their work.
"Hmm, not bad. Big improvement—your error rate is down to under ten percent.
At this rate, your detention should be over by the end of the week.
Of course, that's not just up to me.
Your Transfiguration and Potions dictations will have to pass muster with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape."
At that, the twins' faces fell.
Show their work to Snape?
With his attitude toward Gryffindor, one mistake and they'd be starting from scratch.
Still, they forced themselves to smile.
"Professor, we've been really good lately, haven't we?"
"Yeah, Professor, you might not know it, but all the professors have been praising us in class..."
"Oh, and we've earned loads of points—really, loads... heh."
Douglas eyed their increasingly sycophantic grins and snorted.
"Good behavior, huh?
I'm sure you can guess why today's dictation was longer than usual."
George and Fred coughed awkwardly.
Douglas figured they were angling for the Marauder's Map.
He thought for a moment, then said,
"You really have improved—a lot. Professor McGonagall has praised you several times in private.
But I still need the Marauder's Map for now. You know there's been trouble in the castle.
Once this all blows over, I'll return the map to you.
In the meantime, I'll be keeping a close eye on things—so you two had better behave.
"As compensation, I'll invite you to join my magical device research group afterwards.
Bill tells me you've got real talent in that area.
I might even put in a good word for you with Mrs. Weasley—
assuming your grades meet my standards, of course."
George and Fred exchanged a stunned look, then broke into wide, eager grins.
"Professor, if we get to work on magical gadgets, we'll do anything..."
"Yeah, even if you made us copy every textbook in Hogwarts—ow!"
Fred jabbed George in the ribs before he could finish.
"Professor, George is just joking—just joking, really..."
It was hard for them; with strict parents and little money, so many of their brilliant ideas had never seen the light of day.
Douglas's words were like a Lumos spell, lighting up the path to their dreams.
Douglas smiled.
Truthfully, their knowledge was still too basic for the higher-level inventions he needed,
but for Bill and Charlie's sake, he was happy to start nurturing them early.
Of course, George and Fred were celebrating a bit too soon.
"Grades meet my standards"—well, that wasn't up to Douglas alone...
Just as the twins were about to leave, feeling they'd scored a huge win, they suddenly remembered why they'd been on their best behavior tonight.
They hesitated at the door, nudging each other to see who'd bring it up.
Douglas, watching from his desk, cut in coldly,
"I've got a little game that'll help you decide who speaks first, if you like..."
George and Fred immediately chorused,
"What game?"
The words were barely out when they saw Douglas's expression darken.
He asked, voice icy,
"Am I a monster or a boggart?
Do you need to pick a champion just to talk to me?
Or are you about to make some ridiculous request...?"
The twins shook their heads furiously,
then bolted for the door, calling as they ran,
"We're fine, really!"
"Good night, Professor!"
"Sweet dreams, Professor!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
The story isn't over...
🤔 Want to know what happens next to the characters?
🤫 Eager to explore the untold secrets of this world?
✍️ Ready to read more of my wildest stories?
✨patreon.com/GoldenLong