Just then, two voices—rough but unmistakably young—rang out from the entrance of the pub.
"Oi, Madam, we'll have a great big barrel of butterbeer!"
"Yeah, a whole barrel! We want it to go!"
The entire pub fell into a brief, stunned silence.
Madam Rosmerta rose from behind the bar, chuckling. "Well now, sounds like we've got some newcomers!"
But the professors at the corner table all stiffened in unison.
Douglas flicked his wand, silently lifting the soundproofing charm around their group.
Hagrid spun around, booming in surprise, "Harry! Ron!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip across the room. "Potter, Weasley! What on earth do you need a barrel of beer for?"
At Hogwarts, students weren't exactly forbidden a small glass of beer now and then, but a whole barrel at once…?
She shot a glare at Douglas, her patience worn thin. Today, her grievances with him were piling up—she was fairly convinced that it was only after Harry had spent the summer at Douglas's that he'd picked up this taste for drink.
Catching her look, Douglas blinked, then called out to the stunned pair at the door, "You two! Over here, now!"
Ron and Harry felt their heads buzzing, their legs rooted to the spot as if filled with lead.
Hadn't George and Fred said that Douglas had gone to the Hog's Head, the real haunt of adult wizards? That was why they'd dared to waltz into the Three Broomsticks so boldly.
They'd never expected to stumble straight into a den of professors.
With faces full of dread, they glanced back at Hermione, still standing in the doorway.
She hadn't heard McGonagall's voice—there was a soundproofing spell at the entrance. Seeing the boys' odd expressions, she muttered, "Honestly, can't you handle something this simple?"
She strode straight into the pub, missing Ron's frantic little wave.
As Hermione entered, the two boys exchanged a look of pure despair. This was it. They were doomed. All three, caught in one net.
Hermione glared at the boys, then, as if trying to summon some courage, called out, "Excuse me, Madam—don't you sell butterbeer by the barrel?"
Professor Flitwick's sharp, incredulous voice rang out, "Miss Granger!"
Hermione froze, then slowly turned toward the corner—where four professors sat, eight eyes fixed on her.
Ron muttered under his breath, "Told you not to come in…"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Douglas spoke gently, "What are you three whispering about? Over here, please."
Hermione took a deep breath and murmured, "There's nothing in the Hogwarts rules against students drinking. Don't be afraid!"
It was half for the boys, half to steel her own nerves.
She clenched her fists and marched over. Ron and Harry shuffled along behind her, step by reluctant step.
The rest of the pub burst into laughter at the sight.
Professor McGonagall gave a cold, sweeping glare, and the pub fell instantly silent. Everyone ducked their heads, suddenly fascinated by the bottoms of their glasses.
Who came into a pub and ordered a whole barrel of beer? Especially when it was three third-years, and right under the noses of the professors! If that wasn't begging for trouble, what was?
When the trio reached the corner, they saw a portly man sitting with the professors, smiling at them with a twinkle of amusement.
Harry thought he looked familiar, but Hermione and Ron were visibly uneasy.
Seeing Harry's confusion, Ron hissed through gritted teeth, "That's the Minister for Magic—my dad's boss."
Professor McGonagall's tone was icy. "Third-years drinking, and a whole barrel at that. Truly a credit to Gryffindor."
Douglas chimed in with mock sternness, "Exactly! Are you even of age? Where'd you get the nerve to order alcohol?"
Madam Rosmerta laughed as she set down a tray, "Douglas, have you forgotten? Back when you first brewed your own wine, you weren't of age either! And since when did Hogwarts ban students from drinking? That'd be the end of half my business!"
Professor McGonagall huffed, "Just look at you—corrupting Gryffindor's best and brightest."
At this point, Professor Flitwick stepped in to defend Hermione. "Minerva, I doubt this was Miss Granger's idea. Of course, perhaps Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley would like to explain why they need a whole barrel of beer?"
Flitwick was always so forgiving with his star pupils.
The trio hung their heads in silence.
Hagrid tried to smooth things over, "It's just a barrel of butterbeer, what's all the fuss? Back when this place was still called the Two Broomsticks, I used to order a whole barrel myself…"
Everyone stared at him, speechless. That wasn't exactly helping.
Ron mumbled, "It was for you, actually."
Hermione tugged frantically at his sleeve, but it was too late—everyone had heard.
All eyes turned to Hagrid. Professor McGonagall's glare grew even frostier, and Flitwick cleared his throat, ready to interject.
Douglas glanced between the trio and Hagrid, and suddenly understood what the kids had been plotting. Of course, the three of them had no idea just how much Hagrid could put away.
Under the weight of everyone's gaze, Hagrid waved his hands, "You all know I prefer a good whiskey."
Hermione quickly apologized, "Actually, we wanted to buy you a barrel of butterbeer for your birthday. Sorry, Hagrid—we didn't know you didn't like it."
The other two nodded in earnest agreement.
They weren't lying; their cover story really had been Hagrid's birthday.
Before anyone else could speak, Hagrid was already sniffling, "Such good kids… so thoughtful!"
Douglas rolled his eyes.
Fudge applauded from the side, "Truly considerate children! First time in Hogsmeade and already thinking of birthday gifts for a professor—ah, reminds me of my own first visit…"
At last, Professor McGonagall relented, "You can find a different gift for Hagrid. Too much drink isn't good for anyone…"
In the end, the three of them left the pub unscathed—though, of course, there was no butterbeer in tow.
Once outside, the trio exchanged glances and sighed in unison.
Clearly, if they wanted to get information out of Hagrid, they'd have to try a different approach.
Halloween Feast.
Since tonight was the night of Lupin's transformation, Douglas didn't attend the feast.
The ghosts of Hogwarts had originally planned a private gathering in an underground classroom. But halfway through, hearing that Douglas hadn't shown up in the Great Hall, they all floated up to perform a medley of ghostly entertainments for the students.
Defence Against the Dark Arts Office.
This time, having learned from past experience, the group didn't head to the Shrieking Shack.
Douglas cleared out a large space in his office and set up another hotpot feast. The dragon meat, courtesy of Charlie, was—naturally—charged to Sirius's account.
Just as everyone was digging in, Lupin felt the transformation coming on. He quickly stood aside, changed, and then pulled a large bedsheet over himself.
"This time feels even better than before," he said, voice muffled but cheerful. "The potion's working wonders."
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