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

Hagrid leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

"You lot will never guess what this dish is called—One Hand Covers the Sky. Means someone's got so much power, they can blot out the sun with a single hand. It's about using influence and trickery to fool everyone. Douglas told me he made this one especially for the Ministry of Magic…"

Douglas cleared his throat. "Hagrid, don't go corrupting the kids now."

Truth be told, his first thought had been to dedicate the dish to Dumbledore. But with Hagrid being Dumbledore's most loyal supporter, he figured if he'd said that out loud, Hagrid would've slapped him into the wall and left him there for good.

Hagrid pressed on, undeterred.

"There's another dish, too—you'll never guess the name. Here's a hint: it's Slytherin's absolute favorite."

Ron gulped down a huge mouthful of water, trying to wash away the lingering spice.

Panting, he said,

"I know this one! It's some sort of meatball. George told me it's called 'Big Meatball.' Slytherins love it because their brains are just big meatballs anyway."

Harry frowned, thinking.

"I think it goes by another name over at the Slytherin table. I overheard them talking about it once, but I didn't catch exactly what they called it."

Hagrid scowled, the memory clearly still fresh.

"It is a delicious meatball, I'll give you that. But it was originally called 'Lion's Head'… Because of the name, Gryffindor and Slytherin ended up brawling in the Great Hall. In the end, Professor McGonagall had to step in and the dish was renamed 'Big Meatball' for the sake of peace."

When he finished, Hagrid shot Douglas a wounded look. The three students turned to Douglas in surprise.

Ron asked, almost in a whisper,

"Professor, aren't you good friends with Bill? Why would you pick a name like that?"

Douglas could only shrug, helpless.

"I'm just a cook, Ron. That's what the dish is called in the Muggle world—'Lion's Head.' How was I supposed to know Slytherins would go absolutely mad for it? Besides, I'm a Hufflepuff, not a Gryffindor."

Even now, Douglas found it a bit ridiculous. Back then, he'd just been making it in the kitchens, and only Hufflepuffs got to eat it. But he hadn't counted on one of his Housemates trying to impress a Slytherin girl—sneaking her some of the famed dish.

And that's how both Douglas and his Lion's Head meatballs became Hogwarts legends.

For "threatening inter-House unity," Professor McGonagall sentenced him to a month of exclusive professor-only cooking duty. As for the lovesick Hufflepuff, he never did win over his "goddess"—and when Gryffindors got wind of the whole affair, they cornered him in the bathroom and gave him a proper drubbing.

The three students watched as Douglas finished his story, a distant, sardonic smile on his face. Suddenly, they were reminded—this man was their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, not just a friendly chef. A chill ran down their spines.

Only Hagrid seemed unfazed, still happily sucking the sauce from his fingers.

Douglas, snapping out of his reverie, noticed the kids' nervous faces and couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's with those looks? You'd think I was the Dark Lord himself!"

He turned to Ron.

"By the way, Ron, I never did ask—who were you trying to hit with the Slug-Vomiting Charm when it backfired?"

At once, Ron's cheeks turned scarlet. He clenched his jaw and said nothing.

Harry nearly burst out laughing, but with a chicken foot in his mouth, it was hard to tell if he was red from the spice or from holding in his laughter.

Hermione stuck out her tongue and answered,

"It was Malfoy! He called me a 'Mudblood,' and Ron just lost it. I mean, I didn't know what it meant at first, but it was obviously something horrible…"

Ron lifted his head, breathing hard.

"It's a rotten word—everyone was furious. 'Mudblood' is a filthy insult for Muggle-borns. Some wizards—like the Malfoys—think they're better than everyone else just because they're so-called pure-bloods…"

He wiped sweat from his brow and pressed on,

"'Mudblood' really is disgusting. It means dirty, inferior blood. But nowadays, most wizards are half-blood anyway. If we didn't marry Muggles, we'd be extinct by now… I mean, Professor, you really ought to punish those Slytherins…"

Harry leaned over and whispered in Ron's ear,

"Don't forget, Professor Holmes is Muggle-born too…"

Suddenly, Hagrid slammed his hand on the table, glancing at Hermione and then at Douglas.

"What Ron just said reminds me of something."

Douglas just shrugged—he knew where this was going.

Hagrid told the trio,

"What you went through today happened years ago, too. I remember Douglas and Bill sent a bunch of Slytherins right back to the hospital wing after they'd just gotten out! Hah!"

He turned to Hermione, beaming with pride.

"So don't let it get to you. Trust me—there isn't a spell in the world our Hermione can't learn. And look at Douglas—Muggle-born and brilliant all the same…"

Of course, Douglas remembered that day. He'd nearly driven Professor Snape mad.

It had all been pretty simple. Right after the House Cup showdown, a few Slytherins he'd sent to the hospital wing came looking for payback. The moment they got out, they hunted him down at the orchard and challenged him to a duel.

Douglas had just gotten in trouble—he wasn't about to risk expulsion with another fight. But those Slytherins wouldn't let up, hurling insults about "Mudbloods" and how he belonged with the dirt.

He knew "Mudblood" was an insult, but honestly, for a kid from a northern Chinese village in his previous life, their curses were pretty weak. If he'd let loose in Mandarin, he could have cursed their pure-blood ancestors so badly their ghosts would rise from the grave just to smack him.

He didn't care, but Bill—standing nearby—couldn't take it. Green spells flew without hesitation.

Seeing that, Douglas drew his wand and joined in. Together, they sent those Slytherins straight back to the hospital wing.

When Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Professor Snape arrived, they decided—for the sake of Hogwarts unity and to protect their own students—that every House would get thirty whacks. That was the end of it.

The professors all despised the word "Mudblood"—especially Snape. But even he couldn't afford to offend the pure-blood families over it. After all, back in his school days, he'd been Lucius Malfoy's right-hand man, and it was through Lucius that he'd wormed his way into the pure-blood social circle.

All things considered, thirty strokes each was the best anyone could hope for. The insulters were hospitalized and punished, the fighters were punished too, and the professors were satisfied the situation hadn't escalated.

But Douglas had no intention of letting those Slytherin boys off the hook so easily…

~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~

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