Douglas's mind raced, connecting every piece of information, analyzing, deducing.
He set down his wine glass, leaned forward slightly, and assumed the posture of a man engaged in serious discussion.
"How to contribute?"
He asked carefully. Each word was measured.
"Act as a guest lecturer? Or does he have his eye on my position?"
"He applied for an administrative post at the school."
Dumbledore seemed completely oblivious to the probing beneath those words.
"He hopes to conduct a full evaluation of Hogwarts' security systems, upgrade them where necessary, and provide additional practical training for upper-year students."
"Sirius is all for it."
Sirius's support made sense. They had been the most fearless comrades in the Order of the Phoenix, the kind of friendship forged only in the shadow of death. Dumbledore's trust was equally logical. Moody was the most legendary Auror the wizarding world had ever produced; his experience was simply unmatched.
Unfortunately, Douglas had a certain advantage — he already knew part of the story.
A Death Eater wearing Moody's face was about to walk through Hogwarts' gates.
He feigned a thoughtful pause, fingers drumming lightly against the tabletop as though weighing things carefully.
"His experience is unmatched," he began, then shifted course. "But his... methods. And that legendary paranoia of his. I worry it might cause unnecessary panic among the students."
Subtle. Barely a seed. But it was there, planted , a small, inconspicuous justification for whatever suspicions he might voice later.
"A valid point."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, appearing to accept the concern entirely.
"Which is why I've arranged for him to go to the Academic Affairs Office. As Sirius's assistant."
Douglas went still.
Academic Affairs Office?
Assistant?
Dumbledore's gaze came to rest on his face, filtered through the familiar half-moon spectacles. In those wise eyes, something flickered , a depth of meaning that only Douglas could read.
"The Academic Affairs Office," the old Headmaster added pleasantly, as if discussing tomorrow's weather forecast, "is right next door to your office."
Douglas's heart dropped.
Then, just as quickly, clarity arrived.
He understood.
Dumbledore was not without doubts. A decorated veteran from the Ministry of Magic, suddenly seeking employment , even a former comrade would raise questions in the mind of a man who had lived for over a century. This old man's wisdom ran far deeper than Douglas had given him credit for.
He was using an open gambit. Placing the ticking time bomb beside the person he trusted most. Placing it under the sharpest, most constant surveillance in all of Hogwarts.
Douglas's office. The Academic Affairs Office. Lupin's office. All three on the same corridor.
Three young, keen-minded people. An invisible triangle.
And the soon-to-arrive Moody would stand at its center, every move quietly watched by three pairs of eyes.
"I understand, Professor."
Douglas picked up his glass and drained it.
This time, the burn in his throat felt less like whisky and more like the first kindling of a fight.
"I'll... make sure to get along well with our distinguished senior colleague."
---
The new semester began.
Douglas sat at the staff table, fingers moving absently over the smooth grain of the wood.
The air in the Great Hall was thick. Like a cauldron of badly brewed potion, drifting some indescribable, unidentifiable odor. The students' voices had been pressed low, splintered into countless tiny murmurs that never quite built into the usual roaring sea of celebration.
Half the hall carried the loose relief of finished exams. The other half simmered with sympathy and barely concealed schadenfreude over the make-up tests still waiting. The two emotions were irreconcilable, colliding silently above the long tables until they curdled into something that wasn't quite either , just a heavy, restless quiet.
The Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron, Nearly Headless Nick.
They passed straight through the wall and materialized in front of Douglas.
"Good evening, Professor Holmes." Nick managed a smile. His pearlescent face, however, could not disguise the disappointment written plainly across it.
The ghosts drifted away, bored.
The other professors laughed openly. For two years running, the ghosts had been hoping for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It had become a tradition of its own.
The corner of Douglas's mouth twitched.
He glanced at Snape.
The Potions Master was sweeping his gaze across the student tables with that signature stare, the one cold enough to curdle milk, a thin, icy curve at the corner of his mouth.
"It seems your new policies have given this year's Start-of-Term Feast a certain... novelty, Professor Holmes."
Snape's voice slid across the tabletop like a snake along cold stone, oily and sharp.
"I've never seen such a lifeless Start-of-Term Feast. A truly remarkable achievement."
What made it interesting was that Sirius sat not far away, and Harry was clearly visible at the Gryffindor table. Two of the people Snape despised most in the world , and he ignored them both completely. This semester, Douglas was the primary target. All fire directed at one point.
Douglas didn't flinch. Didn't even lift an eyelid.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin and replied in a tone so measured it almost sounded like genuine praise:
"Thank you for the compliment, Professor. A quiet environment helps the new students better absorb the Sorting Hat's wisdom, wouldn't you say?"
Snape's face darkened instantly, as if something had lodged in his throat.
Only then did Douglas look up at the enchanted ceiling.
In previous years, it had been a starry sky , candlelight and starlight woven together. Tonight, thick clouds churned overhead, black and purple masses devouring each other, pressing so low they seemed on the verge of collapse. A silent flash of lightning tore across the dome, briefly throwing every young, unreadable face into stark relief.
The doors of the Great Hall swung open.
Professor McGonagall led a line of shivering first-years inside. Their robes were soaked through and clung to them. Their faces were red with cold, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and barely contained panic at the sheer scale of everything around them.
The Sorting Hat was set on the three-legged stool. The long rip along its brim opened slowly.
The song that followed was nothing like the cheerful tune of previous years. It was hoarse, ancient, like a voice that had crawled up from the deepest roots of history.
Through a thousand years of wind and rain, this castle yet stands tall,
Four hearts united , wisdom, courage — answering the call.
But darkness watches, shadows wake, and danger draws more near,
Set aside what separates you — let only unity be clear.
Snake and Lion, Eagle and Badger,
Sail as one, and weather the disaster.
The song ended. The applause was scattered, sparse , nowhere near the enthusiasm of past years. Students exchanged uncertain looks, confusion winning out over excitement.
The Sorting Ceremony moved quickly through a heavy silence.
"Dennis Creevey!"
The small figure swaddled in Hagrid's moleskin coat shuffled forward, nearly tripping over the garment's oversized hem. The Sorting Hat descended over his head and swallowed it almost entirely.
"Gryffindor!"
A smattering of cheers broke out at the Gryffindor table. Dennis bolted over, beaming, and immediately launched into a proud account of how he'd fallen into the lake, directed entirely at his brother Colin.
That pure, uncomplicated joy , a drop of clear water falling into ink , dissolved almost instantly into the weight of the room around it.
Douglas's gaze passed across the faces of the new students, then drifted back to the staff table.
The ceremony ended.
Gold plates filled with food in an instant. The clatter of cutlery, though, was quieter than Douglas had ever heard it.
➤ Next: The Academic Affairs Office is Established! Sirius Black's New Broom Sweeps C...
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