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

An hour later, George and Fred finally stumbled their way through reciting everything they'd written the night before.

Douglas picked up the dictation quill and examined their work. Not bad—the error rate was under twenty percent. For just six or seven hours of cramming, that was impressive.

He checked the time, then waved his wand: the two office chairs transformed into a single bed.

"No heading back to the Gryffindor common room tonight," he told the twins. "You'll sleep here. Saves me the trouble of escorting you, and keeps two notorious night wanderers from roaming the castle at three in the morning."

If they were caught, he was sure they'd blame it on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for keeping them out so late.

Douglas's internal clock was already set in stone.

Even though it was Saturday, he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in—by a whole hour.

When he emerged from his bedroom, he found the Weasley twins slumped over, dark circles under their eyes, looking like they hadn't slept a wink.

He blinked in surprise. Had these two really turned over a new leaf? Were they actually burning the midnight oil for their studies?

But when he saw the books clutched in their hands, his lips twitched.

The twins perked up as soon as they saw him.

"Morning, Professor!"

"Good morning, Professor!"

They waved the books eagerly.

"Professor, can we borrow these two sets for a bit?"

George, worried Douglas might refuse, tried to sneak a few extra glances at the pages.

"Professor, why do your copies—though they have the same titles—look so different from the set Percy has? They're by the same author, but your version's way more exciting."

Fred grinned wickedly. "We think someone gave Percy a bootleg copy."

Then, in perfect unison, they wailed, "Poor Percy!"

Douglas yawned and waved a hand dismissively.

"There are two versions of those books—a Muggle edition and a wizarding edition. Percy's set is the wizarding version, and I gave it to him myself. Not a bootleg, thank you very much."

The twins' eyes lit up with hope. "Professor, please?"

With a flick of his wand, the books flew straight back to the bookshelf.

"No chance! When you two get an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts, I'll give you a set. Until then, back to your House. Now."

Fred tried again, "One set each?"

Douglas gave a cold laugh, seeing right through their scheme.

"Ask one more time and I'll give the books to Percy. If you want to read them, you can borrow from him!"

The threat worked. The twins plastered on nervous grins and beat a hasty retreat from the Defence Against the Dark Arts office.

After they left, Douglas felt like something was nagging at him. He glanced around, then smacked his forehead.

"The Marauder's Map!"

He cursed his own forgetfulness. Last night, the twins' noisy recitation session had completely distracted him from his nightly routine of monitoring the Marauder's Map.

He still wasn't sure if Lucius Malfoy had managed to sneak the diary into Hogwarts. If he had, Douglas needed to be ready to intervene at the crucial moment—and alert Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible.

From now on, this had to be a top priority.

After tidying up, he went for his usual run around the castle lawns, then practiced his Crane-style boxing.

Today, something unusual happened: he spotted Hagrid approaching, yawning so hard it looked like his jaw might unhinge.

As soon as Hagrid reached him, he grumbled in a voice comically at odds with his enormous size,

"Mornin', Douglas! Haven't seen you all week!"

Douglas shook his head helplessly.

"Morning, Hagrid! You know I have seven classes a day—I'm swamped. I was planning to visit this weekend, actually. Thought I'd check on the orchard and vegetable patch I started."

At the mention of the garden, Hagrid's face lit up. He clapped Douglas on the shoulder—hard enough to make him grit his teeth.

"Haha! That's exactly why I came lookin' for you. You free this afternoon? I just finished makin' this year's potato noodles, and I'm slaughterin' a pig at noon. Come by later—we'll have pork and potato noodle stew together."

Just hearing the words "pork and potato noodle stew" made Douglas swallow unconsciously.

He'd taught Hagrid the recipe himself. They'd even cleared a patch behind the hut just for potatoes, specifically for making those noodles.

He nodded eagerly.

"I'll be there, Hagrid. Promise. I'll come by early this afternoon."

Hagrid yawned again.

"Great! I've invited a few students too—everyone'll eat together. Yawn—better get some shut-eye. The centaurs in the Forbidden Forest were up to all sorts of mischief last night. Had to sort it out myself. You know how it is—Professor Dumbledore and the centaurs both trust me. Anyway, I'm off. You're always up so early, doin' those funny stretches!"

He ambled away, muttering to himself.

Douglas looked around at the peaceful castle grounds, clicking his tongue.

"Mornings are golden, and look at this—whole school's still asleep. Not an ounce of campus spirit! Tsk, tsk."

Meanwhile, the Weasley twins, fresh from their all-nighter, had barely dozed off before they were shaken awake by Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

George mumbled,

"Wh…what is it?"

Fred squinted at the window. The sky was a pale, misty pink—dawn had only just broken.

He yanked the blanket over his head and groaned,

"Oliver! The sun's barely up!"

George wailed,

"Merlin's beard, Oliver, have a heart! It's the weekend!"

He buried his head under the covers, determined to sleep.

But Wood whipped the blankets away again, voice urgent,

"Quidditch practice! Up, now! This is part of our new training plan. Grab your brooms and follow me. While the other teams are still sleeping, we'll get ahead this year…"

George yawned,

"Oliver, if I'm not mistaken, both the fourth- and sixth-year practical classrooms are open this morning. Are you sure you don't want to keep working on your practical exams instead of Quidditch?"

Fred chimed in, muffled,

"Oliver, I heard you didn't subdue a single Inferius yesterday…"

Oliver Wood scowled,

"That's exactly why we need to practice now—while everyone else is off in the practical classrooms. We'll go tomorrow instead. Come on, lads! No more stalling—fifteen minutes on the pitch. I've got to wake the others!"

He dashed off, leaving chaos in his wake.

Lee Jordan, woken by the commotion, groaned,

"You know, Wood's always dreamed of winning the House Cup before he graduates. He almost did it last year, if only Harry Potter hadn't landed in the hospital at the last minute. Good luck, you two! If you don't win this year, Wood'll be even more bonkers next year! Don't worry, I'll get all the sleep you're missing. No need to thank me! Hahaha—"

The twins: ╰(‵□′)╯

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