It was clear the other professors had heard the rumors swirling beyond the castle walls. When Professor McGonagall mentioned a certain book, every eye turned to Douglas.
He met McGonagall's gaze head-on, his expression grave. She stared back, unflinching.
And in that moment, a thought struck Douglas—why had he ever bothered to hide his true identity?
Back in his school days, it was self-preservation. He'd kept a low profile to avoid flaunting his wealth—no need to tempt a desperate Dark wizard into mugging him once he left Hogwarts. After graduation, the reason changed: with the shadow of war looming, he didn't want to end up on Voldemort's radar.
But now? Hiding seemed pointless. Just by being a Muggle-born Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he'd already painted a target on his back. Voldemort would probably consider Avada Kedavra too merciful for him. Besides, back then he'd had no system, no powerful patron—he'd survived by keeping his head down.
But now, with the Scholar Development System at his side, what was there to fear?
After a long silence, Douglas suddenly chuckled, raising his glass.
"Professor, let's not make things so heavy! So—what's your plan?"
Professor McGonagall lifted her own glass, her tone brisk.
"I don't know what you're so afraid of. When you were a student, you broke more rules than anyone—and forced Hogwarts to add a few new ones just to keep up! Mr. Holmes, don't you dare laugh! That's not a compliment..."
But the rest of the table couldn't help themselves and burst out laughing. Even McGonagall gave in, her stern mask cracking into a smile.
At that moment, Madam Rosmerta arrived with a tray of pastries, grinning as she joined in.
"Speaking of rule-breaking, I still remember a snowy day years ago—Mr. Holmes and his friends cooking a picnic at the Shrieking Shack on the hillside. The best part? They hauled a cauldron up there! Somehow, Professor Snape caught wind of it and chased them all the way. They stashed the cauldron in my shop, slipped into the crowd, and finally ducked into Honeydukes to escape. After that, Hogwarts added a new rule: no using cauldrons for hotpot!"
At this, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout both frowned, glancing at Douglas. He instantly understood—they suspected he'd discovered the passage beneath the Whomping Willow back in school. But everyone kept tactfully silent. After all, too many people knowing about that secret would threaten Hogwarts' security.
Truth was, they really had been planning a hotpot at the Shrieking Shack—mainly to try cooking Occamy eggs. But some blabbermouth from Slytherin had reported them for wandering the castle with a cauldron on the weekend. They'd nearly been cornered by Snape at the shack.
Luckily, Douglas had acted fast. As Snape drew near, he'd blown up part of the tunnel, then used a spell to quickly dig a hole by the wall—just big enough for one person to crawl through. It had been the most desperate escape of his life. Afterwards, he and Bill had cursed the Slytherin who ratted them out—and whoever built the Shrieking Shack.
Who built a house with no doors or windows? And who put so many protective charms on an abandoned shack—what were they trying to keep out? If not for that, they could've just blasted a wall and walked out, instead of crawling through a hole like dogs.
Of course, when Bill cursed the builder, saying they deserved to have children born without eyes, Douglas had felt more than a little guilty. He'd never dared tell Bill that the "culprit" was likely none other than the greatest wizard of the age—Albus Dumbledore.
If it hadn't been for Bill's curiosity about the taste of Occamy eggs, they'd have just cooked in the Hogwarts kitchens and avoided the whole mess.
Glancing at Professor Kettleburn, who was still enjoying the story, Douglas wondered if he should tell the old professor that sometimes, being a bystander meant getting caught up in the drama yourself.
Professor McGonagall, ever the consummate Deputy Headmistress, was the first to regain her composure. She spoke with quiet gravity.
"Douglas, Hogwarts respects each professor's choices. But as your former Transfiguration teacher, I hope to see you shine in the wizarding world. I've read your book—there's a wealth of brilliant theory in there. If you'd published it as academic papers instead of fiction, it would be more than worthy of Today's Transfiguration, Charms Innovation, or Practical Potioneer."
Her words stunned everyone, even Madam Rosmerta, who lingered nearby.
Professor Flitwick was the first to recover, staring at McGonagall in astonishment.
"You don't mean those series we talked about, do you?"
When McGonagall nodded, Professor Sprout's eyes went wide with excitement.
"Merlin's beard! I should've guessed that book was yours. The banana-loving honey badger, Magic Chef—I always suspected the author was a Hufflepuff… Wait, but when Magic Chef was published, weren't you still a first-year?"
Suddenly, Sprout's expression sobered. She fixed Douglas with a stern look. She could accept her students being ordinary, but not dishonest—after all, honesty was Hufflepuff's greatest virtue.
Douglas managed a rueful smile and began to explain.
"I was alone, suddenly thrust into a strange magical world, with the future so far out of reach. The wizarding world had just come through a war, and I realized it wasn't as harmonious as it looked. With no family, no support, I had to find a way to survive—strength and wealth both mattered. Thankfully, Hogwarts was a place of harmony and acceptance. Hufflepuff gave me warmth, a sense of home… And the vast library helped me so much on my path to writing and earning a living."
As Douglas spoke, his words slow and measured, every professor at the table was moved.
Professor Sprout wept quietly, whispering that she hadn't done enough. She'd always wanted every Hufflepuff to feel at home—especially those from the Muggle world.
Thinking back over the years, she remembered how Douglas had sometimes broken school rules, but always admitted his mistakes and used the opportunity to bond with the professors—often by cooking new dishes for them to taste. During holidays, he'd volunteer as chef for the staff banquets. After breaks, he'd always bring thoughtful little gifts from the Muggle world for the teachers.
Even Professor Snape, who liked him least, would grumble advice about Occlumency—even though it wasn't part of Potions.
At first, some professors thought Douglas seemed more like a Slytherin than a Hufflepuff. But in time, they recognized his sincerity—and joked that he'd make a superb "social butterfly" at the Ministry of Magic.
After graduation, when they learned he hadn't joined the Ministry and had gradually faded from the magical world, the professors would sigh at their gatherings: another social butterfly, gone.
Only now did the truth come out—behind Douglas's actions lay a story of loneliness and resilience.
In their minds, they saw again that solitary child, stepping alone into a world of magic…
Madam Rosmerta reached out to gently rub Douglas's back, offering silent comfort. She remembered when the first batch of Holmes Wine was ready—how Douglas had wept after his first sip. She'd asked him about it then, and he'd told her the wine tasted of home from another world. She'd always assumed he meant his Muggle home.
Finishing his story, Douglas fought back tears and drained his glass. He hadn't expected his own words to move him so deeply.
People say transmigration is life's greatest blessing. But no one knows the pain of arriving in a strange world, never to see your parents again. The grief of losing even your adoptive family to accident. And then, to realize the world you know is still in the future—a cruel joke of fate.
No system, no foresight—just yourself, muddling through. There were times he felt utterly lost. Part of him wanted to leave his mark on this world, to make the journey worthwhile. Another part just wanted to survive the coming war, not end his story with a careless Avada Kedavra.
He'd never believed that simply siding with Dumbledore would guarantee his survival in that final battle. After all, transmigrators weren't the Chosen One.
But he was grateful—grateful that Hogwarts was a place of acceptance, and Hufflepuff a house that felt like home.
To Hogwarts!
To Hufflepuff!
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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