As the stone gargoyle slid aside, it revealed the spiral staircase winding upward.
Douglas Holmes followed the moving steps, then pushed open the heavy door to the headmaster's office.
He glanced around. Nothing had changed since his student days—the same shelves crammed with curious instruments, the same whir of magical devices, the same comforting, slightly eccentric atmosphere.
Professor McGonagall noticed Headmaster Dumbledore hunched over his desk, nose buried in a book, apparently oblivious to their entry. She raised her voice, just a touch:
"Ahem! Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Holmes has arrived!"
With obvious reluctance, Dumbledore closed his book.
Douglas caught a glimpse of the familiar cover, and his eyes narrowed instinctively. That was a book that had no business existing in the wizarding world.
He looked up—only to meet those piercing blue eyes, twinkling knowingly behind half-moon spectacles.
On reflex, Douglas activated his Occlumency, quickly weaving a layer of false memories. He'd started training in Occlumency back in third year, after the wizarding world's brush with the Dark Lord. At the time, advanced defensive magic had been made available to a handful of promising younger students.
Seeing Douglas's momentary change in expression, Dumbledore coughed awkwardly.
"Ahem, Douglas, it's been far too long! This brings back memories of those hot pot feasts we used to share—right here, in this very office..."
Douglas realized he'd reacted a bit too sharply.
"Ah—Headmaster, it really has been a while! I miss those hot pot days as well. After all, it's not easy to whip up Dragon Blood Tofu without side effects outside these walls..."
Professor McGonagall shot them both a withering look.
"Albus, I'll leave you to it—I have plenty of work to do!
And let me remind you both, once again: no using cauldrons for hot pot in the headmaster's office!"
She left, muttering under her breath. Years ago, the two of them had been caught mid-hot-pot by none other than Professor Snape, Slytherin's Head of House. The incident had nearly driven Snape—still new to the job at the time—to resign on the spot. Ever since, even though Douglas had scored an O (Outstanding) in Potions on his O.W.L.s, Snape had flatly refused him entry into N.E.W.T.-level Potions—no exceptions.
McGonagall sighed on her way out. If they really did hire Mr. Holmes, Hogwarts—peaceful these past few years—would be lively again.
Once she was gone, Douglas retrieved a small, neatly wrapped package from his bag—the same sort of gift he'd given Professor McGonagall earlier.
"Professor, before we begin the interview, may I offer you a little something?
This is a pastry I made myself—'Wife Cake', filled with candied winter melon, wheat flour, malt syrup, sesame... I think you'll find it quite—"
He was abruptly cut off by a booming voice from a portrait on the wall.
"Bribery! Outright bribery! The honest, upright little Hufflepuff's gone bad!"
Dumbledore turned, smiling.
"Oh, Phineas, don't get so worked up. I'm sure this is nothing more than a returning student's affection for his former headmaster."
Other headmasters' portraits hurried over, crowding into Phineas Nigellus's frame to clamp a hand over his mouth.
"Please, Douglas, have a seat! No need to stand on ceremony. The usual?"
Before Douglas could answer, a cup of steaming black tea and a selection of fresh fruit appeared on the side table next to him.
The tea was no surprise—before and after graduation, whenever Douglas got his hands on a good batch, he'd send some to the Hogwarts professors, including even the infamously strict Professor Snape.
But these fruits were clearly freshly picked.
The only place at Hogwarts that grew such ordinary fruit was a little patch of land near the Forbidden Forest—a patch he himself had cultivated, leading a handful of like-minded Hufflepuffs, with a bit of help from Professor Sprout.
Back then, some of the fruit had gone to the professors, the Head Boy and Girl, and the prefects of each house. The rest became the Hufflepuff common room's post-dinner treat. That little orchard had even sparked the legendary "Honey Badger vs. Three Houses" fruit war.
He'd assumed that after he graduated, those trees would fall into neglect.
Seeing the surprise on Douglas's face, Dumbledore smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.
"That orchard is still there, you know. Still called Holmes Orchard, and I imagine it always will be. Hogwarts never forgets a student who's made a real contribution.
Even though you've graduated, those trees are well tended—by professors and prefects alike.
It's just a shame—since you left, no one's added any new varieties..."
Douglas nodded, picking up a banana and remarking dryly, "Easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go back the other way."
Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle—he could hardly disagree, especially considering his own weekly hot pot habit these days.
Still smiling, he picked up the book he'd been reading.
"Douglas, you've done rather well these past few years.
This 'Banana-Loving Honey Badger'—that's you, isn't it?"
"Er—cough!"
Douglas nearly choked on his banana, but seeing Dumbledore's twinkling, utterly certain gaze, he simply shrugged, feigning calm.
"I didn't expect you to find out, Headmaster. But yes, that's my pen name. Although..."
Before he could finish, Dumbledore gave a casual wave, and several hardback books soared from the shelves to land on the desk.
"I must say, you're truly remarkable—and remarkably discreet.
You always insist these are just fantasy novels, but I can see how far you've gone in exploring ancient magic and constructing new magical systems.
For example, in Magic Chef, you describe magic levels: Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, Mage, Archmage.
If I'm not mistaken, you hadn't even started your second year when you wrote this..."
He paused, catching Douglas's wary look.
"Oh, don't worry—I'm not accusing you of anything.
And in Full-time Magician, you break down magic into elements: Fire, Earth, Lightning, Summoning, Space...
And in Master of All Professions, you introduce all sorts of fascinating ideas—magic guilds, potions, magic arrays..."
Before Dumbledore could continue, Douglas interrupted, astonished.
"Wait—Professor, if I remember correctly, none of that was published in the wizarding world! You actually read Muggle novels?"
When he'd realized how barren this world's magical culture was, Douglas had immediately set out to remedy it—by writing novels.
He'd started in his very first year, laboriously scratching out stories with a Quick-Quotes Quill and a bit of Transfiguration, turning ink into words at a pace no Muggle technology could match.
He'd been lucky, too.
Mr. Slane, a fellow Hufflepuff and an intern editor at the Silent Publishing Company, had offered him a hand—no questions asked—simply because they shared a house.
Douglas had never let him down.
But to avoid riling the Ministry of Magic, and to keep from stirring up trouble in the wizarding world, he'd always released two versions of every book:
One for the magical community, with settings grounded in the current magical reality; and one for Muggles, drawing on ideas from his previous life.
Otherwise, he'd risk being accused of leaking magical secrets—and sent straight to Hogwarts' legendary "fifth house": Azkaban.
Only the editors at the two publishing houses knew his true identity. But with the world's future so uncertain, Douglas had taken every precaution.
And yet, somehow, the greatest wizard of the age—Albus Dumbledore—had discovered the Muggle versions, and had taken a keen interest in their contents...
Dumbledore didn't seem the least bit annoyed at being interrupted. In fact, he looked genuinely impressed by Douglas's caution.
He understood the risk: if the Muggle-edition settings ever spilled into the magical world, the effects on spellcraft and wizarding society could be unpredictable—maybe even catastrophic.
Never underestimate the wizarding world's love of tradition.
A mischievous twinkle lit Dumbledore's eyes, as if Douglas had finally asked the right question.
"Merlin's socks, what a marvelous coincidence.
Last year, a first-year student brought me this book and asked if I was a Grand Archmage.
That's how I first took note of the author...
'Banana-Loving Honey Badger'..."
Through his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's gaze was almost impish.
Douglas could only marvel at how small the world really was.
Who'd have thought a Hogwarts student would pick up a Muggle book about magic—and then ask the headmaster the very same question he himself had once asked?
Because once upon a time, he too had blurted out: "Are you a Grand Archmage?"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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