Douglas had prepared his gift and set off alone toward the Dursleys' house.
Through the glass of the balcony, he could see the family enjoying their lunch together—well, everyone except Harry. Harmony, it seemed, was a relative thing in this household.
Standing at the front door, Douglas was just reaching for the doorbell when a woman's shrill voice erupted from inside:
"Don't you dare use that ungrateful tone with me. Vernon and Petunia took you in out of the goodness of their hearts. I certainly wouldn't have! If they'd left you on my doorstep, you'd have gone straight to the orphanage."
More voices followed, muffled but unmistakably laced with humiliation and contempt. Douglas didn't try to listen, but even so, the words stung.
The woman's voice rose again, brimming with scorn.
"…you little liar, dumped here to become a burden on these decent, hard-working relatives!"
"And like I said the other day, it's all in the blood. Bad breeding always shows itself eventually. Oh, Petunia, I'm not insulting your family, of course…"
BANG!
The Dursleys' front door exploded.
Luckily, the dining room was far enough away that no one was hurt. But inside, chaos broke out—Aunt Marge and Dudley screamed in terror.
Vernon and Petunia, faces ashen, turned to glare at Harry, who stood not far from the scene of the blast.
"It wasn't me!" Harry shouted, voice tight with panic.
He was already wondering if he should dash upstairs for his wand. But instead, he fixed his gaze on the swirling smoke at the doorway. Through the haze, a figure began to emerge.
As the dust settled, Douglas stood framed in the ruined doorway.
A frightened old bulldog, startled by the commotion, barked furiously at the newcomer, ready to lunge. Douglas had dealt with enough dogs lately to know what to do—he simply shot the animal a stern look. Instantly, the bulldog's bravado vanished; it whimpered and dove under the table.
Aunt Marge, alarmed to see her precious Ripper cowering, waddled down to comfort him.
"Ripper, poor old Ripper, what's the matter…?"
Harry looked at Douglas with a mix of excitement and pent-up frustration. At this point, he couldn't care less about guardian signatures.
Petunia shrieked, jabbing a finger at Douglas:
"It's you! Get out! You're not welcome here, you Holmes boy—"
Vernon, who had been reaching for his shotgun, froze mid-motion, staring in disbelief at the man in the doorway.
He knew the Holmes boy. When Petunia's parents were alive, they'd stayed with the Holmes family. After that terrible car accident, the only survivor—their son—had ended up in an orphanage.
Vernon had told Petunia at the time that it was the sensible thing to do.
But what puzzled him was how his wife could possibly know the grown-up Holmes…
He wasn't the only one stunned. Even Harry was thrown for a loop. For a moment, he wondered if the explosion had damaged his hearing—had Aunt Petunia really just said "Holmes"? He rubbed his ears, convinced he must have misheard.
Then, unable to contain himself, he blurted out to everyone:
"He's not a bad person! He's my professor—Professor Holmes! I think… I think that was just an accident, right, Professor…?"
But as the words left his mouth, Harry's confidence wavered. Douglas stood there, perfectly calm, as if the explosion had nothing to do with him.
Petunia stared at Harry in shock, then glanced at Douglas, then exchanged a loaded look with Vernon.
Years of marital understanding kicked in—they shouted in unison:
"Marge, take Dudley back to your room!"
At the sound of Harry calling Douglas "Professor," Aunt Marge had already struggled up from under the table.
She rounded on Douglas with a furious roar:
"I know who you are now—the Holmes brat nobody wanted! Your parents died in that car crash, and only you survived. Oh, and Petunia's parents… Vernon, what are you—mmph—!"
Before she could finish, Vernon rushed over and clamped a hand over her mouth.
The two hefty relatives tangled together, while Dudley, chicken leg in hand, howled with laughter.
Harry was still reeling. How could his professor have any connection to his aunt's family? Just as he was puzzling over whether Petunia's parents were his own grandparents, he caught sight of the faint, knowing smile on Douglas's lips.
Immediately, dread flooded him. The last time he'd seen that smile, his homework load had doubled. He doubted Professor Holmes would assign extra work to a Muggle, but still…
Pushing aside his own grievances, Harry rushed forward, forcing a smile:
"Professor, please, calm down, calm down! You can't let a Muggle get to you. Please, don't be angry…"
As he pleaded, Harry grabbed Douglas's right sleeve. He remembered the professor's wand was hidden there—and he absolutely couldn't let him draw it. Attacking Muggles was strictly forbidden…
Noticing Harry's actions, Douglas said coolly,
"Let go. I'm not you—I'm not about to do anything to her."
Harry blinked. What did he mean, 'not you'? What had he ever done?
But he still asked, a little nervously,
"Really?"
Douglas snorted,
"Questioning your professor? This might not be Hogwarts and term hasn't started, so I can't take points, but you just earned yourself another homework assignment!"
Harry recoiled as if shocked, instantly letting go and declaring with utmost sincerity,
"Professor, I swear, I trust you completely! I've never doubted you for a second!"
Aunt Marge finally managed to wrench herself free from her brother's grasp. She shoved Vernon aside, jabbed a finger at Douglas's nose, and snapped,
"So you're his professor, are you? Hmph, I never thought St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys called their teachers 'professor'… Wait, Petunia, didn't you say this one went to an orphanage? How'd he end up in a place like that? Your family's genes really are something…"
"Shut up, Marge!" Petunia finally exploded, her voice shrill as she yelled at her sister-in-law.
Then, with a forced smile, she leaned out the window to address the gawking neighbors:
"So sorry for the disturbance, everyone! Our door broke, so we called a repairman…"
She snapped the window shut in one swift, practiced motion.
Aunt Marge, snapping out of her shock, turned on Petunia with a fresh bellow:
"How dare you yell at me! I'm Vernon's sister! How dare you—!"
Her voice made Douglas's head throb. He snapped his fingers.
"Enough. You're far too noisy. Go to your room and sleep. Don't come out until nightfall."
The once-blustering Aunt Marge suddenly looked vacant, muttering Douglas's words under her breath as she lumbered off toward her bedroom.
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