During their school years, Douglas and Tonks had always gotten along rather well.
Once, Tonks had even tried to join Douglas's nighttime wandering crew and his kitchen experiments. But her hands were hopelessly clumsy—she could drop a plate just by carrying it a few steps.
Back in Douglas's fifth year, he'd once brought third-year Tonks along to meet up with Bill and Charlie for hot pot. Thanks to Tonks's usual luck, they hadn't even made it out of the castle before Filch caught sight of them.
Everyone scattered, but Tonks was the one who ended up in Filch's clutches. Still, she'd been loyal—she never gave up Douglas or the other two.
Feeling guilty, Douglas gave Tonks a set of training booklets he'd put together on specialist wizard skills. He told her, "When you've mastered all this—and can track me without me noticing—I'll bring you along for some real adventures."
He never expected that, in all their time at Hogwarts, Tonks's natural clumsiness would keep her from ever succeeding. Not once did she manage to follow Douglas undetected, even when he tried to give her a break and pretended not to notice—she'd ended up in tears that time.
Just to be clear, Douglas had never harbored any romantic feelings for Tonks. To him, she was simply a little sister who matched his temperament. And, knowing how her story would end in the future, he'd tried to train her early, hoping she'd stand a better chance of surviving the coming war.
When the group reached the headmaster's office, they found Dumbledore deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman.
Both the Hogwarts professors and the officials from the Ministry of Magic greeted the old man with genuine warmth.
Such a gathering seemed to make the elderly wizard a little uneasy, as if he wasn't used to so many people at once.
At last, Douglas stepped forward, beaming.
"Long time no see, Professor Scamander."
The visitor was none other than the legendary magizoologist, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and proud Hufflepuff alumnus—Newt Scamander.
Newt looked curiously at Douglas, clearly wondering what he was doing at Hogwarts. Noticing Douglas standing among the Ministry's Aurors, he asked, a little hesitantly,
"Erm—Douglas, it's been ages! Have you… joined the Ministry now?"
The others, equally curious, turned to the pair. After all, when Newt Scamander had retired, Douglas hadn't even graduated—by rights, they shouldn't know each other.
But Newt Scamander had always been single-minded about magical creatures, paying little attention to the goings-on of the wider wizarding world.
As it happened, Douglas and Newt had met in the rainforests of Brazil, where Newt was researching Fire Slugs. Since Douglas was also a Hufflepuff graduate with a keen interest in magical creatures, the two had traveled together for a time.
Before Dumbledore or Douglas could explain, Minister Fudge cut in with a cheery smile:
"Newt, it seems your retirement really is off the map! This is Hogwarts' youngest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and a rather famous author in our world—he's written quite a lot, you know. I was just talking to him about joining the Ministry…"
Newt looked surprised, glancing at Douglas and then at Dumbledore—he'd clearly heard the rumors.
"Ah, so you've finished your first year already. How's it feel?"
Douglas shrugged, grinning.
"Not bad at all… Oh, Professor, I recently adopted a Niffler."
Professor Kettleburn piped up loudly,
"A newborn—I gave it to him myself!"
Newt broke into a wide grin.
"That's not the easiest pet to keep, you know…"
After a round of pleasantries, it was finally time to get down to business.
Dumbledore led the group to the girls' bathroom on the second floor—the one that hid the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
At Douglas's suggestion, Moaning Myrtle was already waiting at the door. Besides her, a number of other ghosts hovered in the corridor.
Among them was the Slytherin house ghost, the Bloody Baron—one of Hogwarts' first students and a personal pupil of Salazar Slytherin for seven years.
When he'd learned that Slytherin's Chamber was hidden here, the Baron had refused to believe it. What stung even more was that the secret had been uncovered by a Hufflepuff he despised.
Truth be told, none of the ghosts liked Douglas, but the Baron's dislike was legendary (and for the record, Peeves isn't a ghost).
Ever since Douglas's first hot pot party in the Astronomy Tower, when he'd caught the Baron humming along with his chains, the Baron had never forgiven him. No matter how the Baron tried to frighten them, Douglas and his friends wouldn't budge—one Gryffindor had even tried to dig into the Baron's tragic past.
Douglas had even suggested the Baron try a Muggle sport using his chains—a suggestion the Baron found deeply insulting.
As the Baron appeared, several Slytherin alumni greeted him with deference.
Douglas noticed that a few of them seemed awkward when looking at Myrtle.
He understood immediately—these were all former Prefects.
Myrtle had a habit of watching the male Prefects bathe in their special bathroom, chatting with them to help them relax and listening to their adolescent woes. It was an open secret among Hogwarts' male Prefects—over the years, Myrtle had heard more teenage confessions than anyone.
Of course, Douglas had never been on the receiving end of such "privileges"—he'd long since fallen out with the ghosts of Hogwarts.
Under the curious stares of the Aurors, Douglas swung open the girls' bathroom door.
Tonks just grinned knowingly—this was exactly the sort of thing Douglas would do.
The other professors proceeded to cancel their own protective wards.
As everyone stepped inside, Douglas suddenly announced,
"Before we go any further, there's an old case we need to resolve."
Fudge blinked, glancing at Dumbledore—this wasn't part of the plan.
Dumbledore's response was calm and simple:
"For this operation, Professor Holmes has my full authority."
All eyes turned to Douglas.
Hagrid was the first to react, beginning to sob quietly. Meanwhile, Myrtle—the victim herself—just looked around, bewildered.
Fudge frowned at Douglas, struggling to keep his tone diplomatic:
"Professor Holmes, what does this old case have to do with today's proceedings? Of course, I still remember it quite well…"
Douglas arched an eyebrow, replying bluntly,
"It's absolutely relevant. That case was a miscarriage of justice by the Ministry, and the true culprit was the basilisk."
He couldn't help but mentally criticize the Ministry's investigative skills. The Aurors, supposedly the wizarding world's top investigators, had clearly devolved into little more than a combat force.
"On June 13th, 1943, there was a murder in this very bathroom. The official verdict was that the killer was a monster kept by Rubeus Hagrid."
Hagrid, sniffling, managed to choke out,
"No—it wasn't Aragog! He never killed anyone… never…"
Without waiting for questions, Douglas turned to Myrtle:
"Myrtle, could you describe once more how you died?"
This wasn't the first time Douglas had asked her. In fact, he'd previously constructed a complete chain of evidence for Dumbledore's benefit—just in case the headmaster ever checked up on his story.
At the question, Myrtle's whole demeanor changed. Retelling her death was, for her, a rare honor—especially with such an audience.
"Oh, you asked me this before! I'll tell it again, then.
It was a dreadful thing—right here, in this bathroom. I remember it perfectly. Olive Hornby was teasing me for wearing glasses, said I looked like a four-eyed dog, so I ran in here, locked the door, and started crying."
Fudge interrupted, frowning,
"Myrtle, just get to the point. How did you die?"
Myrtle's face turned icy, deeply offended at being interrupted—especially by someone who wasn't even a professor. Instantly, tears began streaming down her cheeks.
"Oh, you don't care about my death at all—none of you do!
Yes, who would care about poor, weepy, miserable Myrtle?
Of course, except for the ghost killer, no one ever cares…"
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