HP: Too Late, System! I’m Already the DADA Professor

At nine o'clock sharp the next morning, Douglas Holmes finished tidying up his house. With two suitcases in hand, he stepped into the fireplace—a temporary Floo Network connection that Hogwarts had arranged just for him.

He tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames and called out,

"Deputy Headmistress's Office, Hogwarts!"

A swirl of green fire later, Douglas emerged into the office, brushing soot from his robes. Professor McGonagall greeted him with a rare, warm smile.

"Welcome, Professor Holmes! Let me show you to your Defense Against the Dark Arts office. There's a staff luncheon at one o'clock to welcome our new member. And just so you know—Pomona was quite put out that you didn't visit her last time!"

Catching the playful glint in Professor McGonagall's eyes, Douglas guessed she and his old Head of House, Professor Sprout, must have made some sort of wager.

He replied, testing the waters,

"Don't worry, Professor. I'll take charge of the main course for today's feast!"

McGonagall's eyebrow arched in satisfaction.

"Excellent. Your private kitchen has been kept ready, as always."

So that's what they'd been plotting. Judging by her look, Sprout must have lost the bet.

Back in Douglas's student days, plenty at Hogwarts had envied—and even resented—his privilege of having a private kitchen. Few realized its real purpose: it was meant as a place for detention, where Douglas would cook for the entire staff.

They soon reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts office on the third floor—a bare stone chamber, every inch the medieval castle it was.

Professor McGonagall gestured around.

"This is your office. Mr. Filch has already cleaned it. The inner room is your private quarters, and that side door in the corner leads up a spiral staircase to your classroom on the second floor. You're free to arrange the office and classroom however you like—the school doesn't interfere. On your desk are the student lists for all six years. Sixth-year students are selected based on 'Exceeds Expectations' in their O.W.L.s. If you need more… 'talented' students, let me know."

Douglas caught her drift immediately. If they only admitted students with 'Outstanding' marks, there'd hardly be anyone left in the advanced class.

"Understood, Professor. I'll sort it out myself."

Professor McGonagall nodded, then reminded him,

"The staff luncheon is at one o'clock in the staff room. Don't be late."

With that, she swept away—definitely not in the direction of her own office.

Once she'd gone, Douglas locked his office door. He gathered up the files on his desk, drew his wand, and pointed it at the furniture.

"Reducio!"

The furniture shrank rapidly, each piece shrinking to the size of a child's toy. Douglas carefully scooped them up and placed them in a waiting box—he'd have the house-elves help with these later in the kitchen.

From his suitcase, he took out another box. Inside was a full set of Chinese-style furniture, custom-made by master craftsmen from Hong Kong. With a few waves of his wand, a corner of medieval Scotland was transformed into a space of ancient Eastern elegance.

He glanced at the fireplace and muttered,

"Shame it isn't truly authentic—can't get rid of the fireplace."

Adapting as always, Douglas converted the space beside the hearth into a tea table, separating it from the office area with a wooden lattice screen. It was perfect for hot water and for heart-to-heart chats with students over tea.

Behind his desk stood a matching Chinese bookshelf, its craftsmanship exquisite. The walls were hung with calligraphy and paintings he'd collected over the years—treasures that, at Hogwarts, probably only he could appreciate.

His bedroom was simple: just a single bed and furnishings reminiscent of a meditation room.

With everything arranged and still plenty of time to spare, Douglas slipped through the side door and down the spiral stairs to the second-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Apart from the desks and chairs, nothing remained from his own student days. He referenced his memories of classrooms from his previous life, but decided no drastic changes were needed—clean and simple was best. The only addition was a large blackboard at the back.

Once finished, Douglas left the classroom and headed straight for Hogwarts' underground levels.

Down the entrance hall stairs, a left turn, and he pushed open a heavy door. A wide stone corridor stretched before him, torches lighting the cheerful paintings on every wall.

This place was as familiar to Douglas as his own home.

Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled leisurely until he stopped before a massive still-life painting. Just ahead on the right was the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, where he'd spent seven years as a student.

But today, his destination was something else.

Douglas turned to the painting, smiled, and greeted softly,

"Long time no see!"

He reached out his hand, but before he could touch the canvas, the painting swung open like a door from the inside. A shrill voice rang out:

"Mr. Holmes! Qian heard sir's voice—Qian... Qian simply couldn't help herself!"

A house-elf appeared—just over two feet tall, slight and delicate, wearing a Hogwarts-crested scarf as a tunic, bat-like ears sticking out from her tiny head. Her eyes were huge and bright green, each nearly the size of a child's fist, dominating her face so much that, if not for her large nose, Douglas half-feared they'd pop right out.

When Qian saw Douglas, she squealed with excitement. Then, as if startled by her own enthusiasm, she rushed to the wall, about to bang her head in apology. Douglas quickly caught her arm, stopping her just in time.

The Hogwarts kitchen lay directly below the Great Hall, adjacent to the Hufflepuff common room—a prime location, vast and bustling. A paradise for night wanderers, a haven for gourmands. Here, house-elves made even the most distinguished wizard feel pampered.

Inside, at least a hundred house-elves stood at four long tables, mirroring those in the hall above. As Douglas entered, every elf beamed, bowed, and curtseyed in greeting.

Qian led him toward a cozy corner—the small kitchen within the main kitchen. As they approached, several house-elves hurried over, bearing a large silver tray. On it sat a steaming cup of tea and a plate of freshly made pastries—all recipes Douglas had taught them himself.

The elves watched him with hopeful eyes. Douglas took a pastry and popped it into his mouth. It wasn't quite as authentic as what he'd tasted in Hong Kong, but the flavor was still excellent.

Seeing his pleased expression, the house-elves couldn't hide their delight. They placed the tea and pastries on a nearby table, bowed deeply, and quietly withdrew.

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