The corners of Douglas's mouth curved a little deeper.
That smile held a touch of Hufflepuff warmth, honest and almost simple, and a thread of cunning that was easy to miss.
"This isn't a test, Harry."
"This is training."
"I call it the Adaptive Knowledge Sorting Array. It adjusts the questions dynamically based on your blind spots and the ones you answer wrong. Its purpose isn't to give you a score. It's to help you build a complete Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge base — one that belongs only to you."
He let that settle, then continued.
"You've already lived through the chaos at the World Cup. Knowing a few spells isn't enough. What you need is tactical thinking. The ability to adapt in the moment. A mind that keeps working even when you're terrified."
Harry stared at the paper in his hands.
That faint mint scent seemed to drill straight into his head. The despair in his eyes gave way to shock, and then something else rose up from somewhere deeper , something that mixed gratitude and being genuinely moved in a way he couldn't quite name.
This wasn't a piece of torturous extra homework.
This was a weapon. Tailor-made for him.
As Douglas was heading out, Mr. Weasley pulled him aside.
This was a man who was almost always cheerful, always smiling at something. Right now his face held nothing but worry.
"Douglas, there's something I have to tell you." His voice dropped low. His eyes swept the room before settling back. "There's a secret loyalty review happening inside the Ministry. Targeting every employee who was at the scene during the World Cup riot. The atmosphere is very tense."
He paused. A flash of something fatherly crossed his face.
"Percy is right at the center of it."
"Percy was promoted by Mr. Crouch." His voice had gone hoarse, scraped thin. "Became his personal assistant. Even sat in on the Death Eater trial as a scribe. But he's become — I don't recognize him anymore."
He pressed his hands against his face and rubbed, as if he could wipe away the confusion and the distance.
"The investigation into the World Cup riot has gone completely off the rails. They're not looking for whoever actually conjured the Dark Mark. Instead they've set up a so-called Ministry Employee Loyalty Review Committee." He stopped. "The person in charge is Dolores Umbridge."
Douglas wasn't surprised. Fudge's stupidity and Umbridge's ambition had always been a natural pair.
He looked at Mr. Weasley , that broad, familiar figure, more stooped now under the weight of everything , and finally released a quiet breath.
"Mr. Weasley."
Douglas's voice was calm. There was something in it that settled you without quite knowing how.
"Sometimes, to protect the people who matter to us, we have to wear masks others won't understand."
He didn't soften it. "Percy is a smart kid. He knows what he's doing. And maybe precisely because he thinks we already know too much — he needs to draw a line. That line protects him. It also protects us."
His gaze drifted to the warm glow of The Burrow's windows. Harry and Ron's laughter carried faintly through the walls.
"If you can find the time, have Aunt Molly learn Occlumency with you. When the moment's right, I'll explain everything." A beat. "But for now , trust Percy. And trust me. His safety is my responsibility."
Mr. Weasley stared at him.
Those eyes of Douglas's, usually lit with easy good humor, held something else entirely now. Steadiness. Resolve. Something far older than his years.
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples spread.
He suddenly felt his age in a way he hadn't before. Bill at Gringotts. Charlie in Romania. Percy now Crouch's assistant. Fred and George already pouring themselves into their business.
The Ministry job he'd always been proud of seemed to have quietly, without his noticing, become a weight on his children's shoulders.
He nodded. Once. Heavily.
Douglas reached out and clapped him firmly on the shoulder, said nothing more, and left.
He didn't linger when he got back. He grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder, threw it into the fireplace, and the green flames surged up in answer.
"Hogwarts. Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's Office."
The familiar pull. The disorienting spin. Then he was standing steadily in the circular office, surrounded by stacked books and strange devices he'd accumulated over the months. Outside the windows, the sky above the Scottish Highlands stretched vast and overcast.
He didn't go to his desk. He pushed straight through the door leading out of the castle and walked, long strides, toward the Forbidden Forest.
The thin morning mist hadn't burned off yet. At the forest's edge, the land he and Hagrid had cleared together looked alive with it , dew beading on the pumpkin vines, the chickens clucking somewhere in the distance. Smoke rose from Hagrid's chimney. The smell of rock cakes drifted on the cool air, warm and a little burnt around the edges.
Hagrid wasn't inside. He stood in front of a clearing, a mountain of a man, humming something severely off-key as he watered the pumpkins. Water splashed across the broad leaves and rolled off in droplets that caught the pale light like pearls.
Before him, in the center of a massive oak trunk that had been split by lightning long ago, a deep hollow sat quietly open , and inside it, a faint swirl of luminous light turned in slow, steady circles.
He spotted Douglas and his face split into a grin somewhere behind all that beard.
"Hey, Douglas! Welcome back!"
The shout scattered a cluster of curly-winged creatures that had been stealing bites from the vegetable patch.
Douglas's eyes moved to the vest Hagrid was wearing. New. Very new. The hide was some magical creature's , dense leather with an oily sheen, rough stitching that looked almost like a child's scrawl, but every seam was locked tight. The whole thing radiated something raw and solid.
"Nice vest," Douglas said.
"Right!" Hagrid puffed up and thumped his chest. A low, dull boom. "The lads at Silvermane Academy made it for me!"
He gestured proudly.
"They call it the Keeper's uniform. Blocks most jinxes, and holds up against the pups when they get rowdy!"
He was clearly very pleased with his new role. Portal Keeper for Silvermane Academy at Hogwarts.
"Sirius has me on double wages!" Hagrid dropped his voice like he was sharing something extraordinary.
"And the best part , I can go over and sit in on classes whenever I want!"
His eyes lit up. That old hunger for knowledge, the one that had never really gone away, the one that being expelled had never managed to kill , it was right there on his face.
"They run practical courses for adult wizards. Douglas ," He straightened up, beaming. "When I cast a Cushioning Charm now, I don't send things flying three meters into the air anymore!"
Douglas smiled and nodded.
This was exactly what he'd wanted.
Binding people through shared interest was always stronger than binding them through empty words. That was true of anyone.
➤ Next: This Course, Even Werewolves Are Fighting to Take!
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