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

Early that morning, Douglas had to carve out more than two hours for writing. After all, he didn't want to be harassed by three owl deliveries a day from Mr. Slane, each one pestering him for new chapters.

Once he finished, he made his rounds to both practical classrooms. The corridors were packed with long lines of students. Seventh-years in charge and House class reps were busy dragging out lower-year and fifth-year students who tried to sneak in with the crowd.

Well, except for Gryffindor—their class rep was nowhere to be seen.

Spotting the fifth-years lingering, clearly reluctant to leave, Douglas had to cast a Sonorus Charm:

"Fifth-years, don't be impatient! Your own practical classroom is already arranged. What you should do now is review and reinforce all the spells and knowledge you've learned over the years. I'd hate to see no one make it past the first stage!"

The fifth-years' eyes lit up. They began whispering among themselves, analyzing the exam hints hidden in Douglas's words, then bolted back to their dormitories or the library.

Scanning the crowd, Douglas didn't spot Percy anywhere.

Tsk, that boy's always busy. Other than Thursday's classes, he was practically a ghost.

But Douglas knew the truth: Percy was one of the rare students taking all twelve subjects—a Time-Turner user.

He himself wasn't interested in Percy's Time-Turner. Back in the day, he hadn't taken twelve courses, but Bill had, and Douglas had borrowed Bill's Time-Turner more than once. Each time, he'd just hole up in the Room of Requirement to practice spells.

Time magic was notoriously unstable, and breaking the laws of time could have catastrophic consequences. The Ministry of Magic enforced strict regulations and hundreds of laws about Time-Turners, with the harshest punishments for abuse.

Douglas certainly didn't want to be the reason Bill ended up in Azkaban. Besides, using a Time-Turner couldn't change history—everything you did was already part of what had happened.

He'd once wondered about going back to the scene of that car accident, but honestly, he was more afraid that if he did, he'd somehow become the cause of the tragedy himself.

The past can't be changed.

Ah, he'd gone off on a tangent.

Douglas didn't wait until afternoon. By midday, he was already headed to Hagrid's hut, gifts in hand.

He'd never paid much attention to the edge of the Forbidden Forest before, but now he saw long rows of potato noodles hanging outside to dry.

When he knocked on Hagrid's door, he was greeted with a beaming smile.

"Ah, Douglas, you're just in time! Something's come up and I need your help. I know you'll sort it out!"

He stepped aside, letting Douglas in.

Turns out, he wasn't the first guest. Douglas set his gift on the table. Inside, Harry and Hermione were frantically trying to shield Ron, who was slumped in a chair, from view—desperate to hide his sorry state from their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

But Hagrid had other ideas. He nudged the two aside and pulled Douglas over.

Ron sat with his head down, face burning red, hiccuping and spitting slugs into a large copper basin.

"Douglas, take a look—he got hit by his own spell. I'm afraid I haven't got a solution!"

Hagrid then fended off Fang, the boarhound, who was bounding over, tail wagging.

Douglas took in the scene.

"Slug-Vomiting Charm! When you're hit with this, you hiccup and spit out shiny, slimy slugs—sometimes it even gives you jaundiced skin. But, Ron, you're looking pretty healthy!"

Hermione piped up, worried,

"Professor, I think there's nothing to do but wait for it to wear off. I read about this spell—it's difficult even under ideal conditions. And Ron's wand is broken…"

Douglas smiled, flicked his wand, and in moments, Ron realized he'd stopped hiccupping—and the slugs were gone.

Hermione looked at Douglas with awe.

Professor Holmes straightened up, explaining lightly,

"Just a silent Finite Incantatem. It's a spell that cancels and limits all magical effects—a very practical counter-curse. Of course, it depends on the difference in magical power between the casters. You'll learn it in your fourth year."

Then he looked regretfully at the now-relieved Ron.

"Too bad the Slug-Vomiting Charm doesn't produce slugs with tentacles—those are ingredients for Boil-Cure Potion, actually worth a bit of money."

Ron looked crestfallen. All that suffering, and nothing useful to show for it.

After tidying up, Douglas conjured a table by the fire and set his gift on top—a large jar of pickled pepper phoenix claws.

Hagrid, a bit embarrassed, hurried to make tea for everyone. He couldn't hide his excitement.

"Ah, pickled phoenix claws! I haven't had these since you sent some two years ago. I know how to make them, but you know… it's just so much work…"

Before he could finish, the three students stared at Douglas in shock.

Harry and Ron were just stunned, but Hermione looked genuinely puzzled. She instinctively raised her hand.

"Phoenix? A Ministry-classified magical creature. They're extremely rare—phoenixes can be found in Egypt, India, and China, but there are only two known to be domesticated. One is Professor Dumbledore's Fawkes, the other is Spark, the mascot of the Moutohora Macaws Quidditch team in New Zealand. I mean, how could there possibly be so many phoenix claws? Unless… are they Augureys? They're sometimes called Irish phoenixes…"

Before Hermione could finish, Douglas and Hagrid exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

Seeing the young witch's indignant expression, they struggled to stifle their laughter.

Hagrid quickly explained,

"It's not what you think. They're actually chicken feet! From the flock I keep behind the pumpkins. Well, not from those chickens exactly…"

He brought out several large, clean bowls, set them in front of everyone, and tipped out the contents of the jar.

Then, grabbing a handful from his own bowl, he popped them into his mouth.

"The pickled peppers are spicy, but they're nothing compared to the super-hot ones!"

Douglas picked up a chicken foot and bit in. These were boneless phoenix claws—he'd used a spell to remove the bones, so there was no need to spit anything out.

He teased,

"Not everyone's got a tongue as tough as yours, Hagrid. If you're so brave, try the extra-fiery batch I made for Fawkes! Hmph."

At the mention of "not as spicy as the super-hot," the three students finally picked up their own chicken feet and gave them a try.

Heaven knows what they'd gone through last year—when Hagrid had them over for barbecue, the super-hot sauce sent Hermione straight to Madam Pomfrey.

Luckily, Harry and Ron had insisted on "ladies first," or it might have been them instead.

So, ever since, they'd been extremely cautious about any unfamiliar food.

Hagrid kept munching away, then pointed at the cauldron hanging over the fire.

"Now you know, at Douglas's, chicken feet are called phoenix claws. So, can you guess what he calls the pig's trotters simmering in that pot? Oh, right—once those are done, we'll start the stew."

The last sentence was directed at Douglas.

Douglas ignored him, grinning as he teased Fang with a chicken foot.

The three students thought for a moment. Hermione swallowed her bite and said,

"Professor Holmes seems to name dishes after magical creatures. Maybe… Erumpent trotters?"

Harry and Ron, who'd never heard of such things, stared at her blankly.

Hermione explained,

"Erumpents, like phoenixes, are Ministry-classified magical creatures. They can turn invisible."

Douglas, still holding down Fang's head, protested,

"My dish names are meant to sound impressive, not to trick anyone. These are just ordinary Yorkshire pigs…

Hagrid, how come Fang's looking less and less robust these days?"

That last bit was directed at Hagrid.

Hagrid, having just swallowed a mouthful of chicken feet, was caught off guard by the question and nearly choked on the spice. He started coughing violently.

Hermione quickly stood and handed him a cup of tea, which finally soothed his burning throat.

Still wheezing, Hagrid grumbled,

"Cough, cough! Douglas, don't forget—when you used to play with Fang, you were just a kid. It's not that he's weaker—you're just stronger now, all right? I'll never understand why a wizard like you is so obsessed with physical exercise…"

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