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

As the professors were preparing to leave, Douglas suddenly spoke up, his voice calm but every sentence laced with the word "Mudblood":

"But none of you have told me—what exactly is a Mudblood? Why did Bill and all of you get so angry when you heard it? Why do Slytherin students think I'm a Mudblood? Was it you, Professor Snape, who taught them what it means? So, do you see me as a Mudblood too? Is it just because I'm Muggle-born? Why have I never heard students from other Houses use that word? Does being a Mudblood mean you can't be friends with pure-blood or half-blood wizards? Mudblood…"

The air in the room grew heavy. Bill stood by, clearly sensing the tension, and gently tugged at Douglas's sleeve, urging him to stop.

Tears shimmered in the eyes of Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout. In Douglas's words, they heard a thousand grievances and a deep-seated bitterness. Right then and there, both professors silently vowed: these two children would not be punished. They would never let Douglas suffer such injustice again.

But before either could speak, Professor Snape, listening to Douglas repeat the word "Mudblood" over and over, grew ashen. A powerful magical aura began to radiate from him. His shoulder-length hair whipped wildly behind him, and his robes billowed as if caught in a storm.

Startled, McGonagall and Sprout drew their wands and stepped in front of Bill and Douglas protectively.

But Snape didn't attack. He just roared, his voice shaking the room:

"You! Do not—do NOT say those three words again!"

And with that, he swept his robes around him and stormed out, not waiting for a response.

Douglas felt an inexplicable force choke his words into silence.

Later, Douglas heard what happened to those Slytherins sent to the hospital wing. The very day they were released, during Potions class, they were made to drink their own brews. Unfortunately, their brewing had gone awry, introducing some unknown toxin into the potion. The pain was so intense that even Professor Snape, the Potions Master himself, couldn't save them. They were sent straight to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for a month of recovery.

First, they'd been sent back to the hospital wing by Douglas and Bill; the second time, their own potions did the job.

Douglas could only smile and offer them his sincerest condolences.

Back in Hagrid's hut, the group was still sharing stories to cheer up Hermione. Under so much praise, she blushed furiously, right to the tips of her ears.

Douglas didn't add his own words of comfort—he trusted Hermione wouldn't let it bother her much. After all, the environment here was different.

The truth was, the reason people truly loathed the word "Mudblood" had much to do with Voldemort's first reign of terror. Back then, being called a Mudblood was a death sentence—often for your whole family. The word had shifted from a slur to a mark for murder. That's why wizards of all backgrounds despised it.

During those dark years, Voldemort's mantra was that Muggle-borns were "shameless thieves," stealing magic and wands from "real" wizards. His Death Eaters made it their mission to purge Muggle blood, slaughtering and burning entire families.

In that era, being called a Mudblood could make you the next target.

Even after Voldemort disappeared, and people tried to forget the terror the word brought, the hatred for it remained—shared even by some peace-loving pure-blood families. In a wizarding world with more and more Muggle-borns, even the proudest pure-bloods had a few Muggle-born friends.

Douglas couldn't recall this subplot from the original books, but he did remember one thing: Ron's wand was broken. If memory served, it was that very wand that would later cause trouble for Lockhart.

Ron noticed Douglas staring at him oddly. He quickly set down his chicken foot and gave a sheepish grin.

"This stuff's just too good—honestly, I think I'm addicted! Ha… haha… Professor, if you've got something to say, just say it. You're scaring me, staring like that."

Douglas snapped out of it and coughed awkwardly.

"Ahem, I heard your wand's broken. Mind if I take a look?"

Ron let out a sigh of relief, quickly pulling out his wand and handing it over, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Douglas examined it, then shot Ron another look.

Good grief—a wand held together with tape. Douglas peeled the tape off, revealing a wand nearly snapped in two. He wondered how, in the original story, Ron had managed to survive a whole term with this thing.

"Ron, if I'm not mistaken, this used to be Charlie's wand. Twelve inches, ash wood, unicorn tail hair?"

Ron nodded, voice low.

"Yeah, you're right. You know how things are at our place—Charlie's old wand, Percy's rat… Professor, can you fix it?"

Douglas studied the wand carefully and shook his head regretfully.

"Wands are incredibly delicate magical tools. I'm afraid I can't repair it properly. But I can try a Reparo."

He remembered from the books that Harry had once used the Elder Wand to restore a broken wand. And as luck would have it, Douglas owned a wand that, according to Ollivander, was every bit as good as the Elder Wand—or so the old man claimed.

As he drew his wand, Harry noticed for the first time that Douglas actually carried two wands.

Everyone watched, holding their breath, as Douglas pointed his wand at Ron's battered stick and murmured,

"Reparo!"

A glow enveloped the broken wand, and before their eyes, it fused back together.

Ron's face lit up with joy. He was already planning how, next time he ran into Malfoy, he'd hit him with a Slug-Vomiting Charm—let him see what it felt like to puke his guts out.

Just as everyone was celebrating and Douglas exhaled in relief—

BANG!

The newly repaired wand exploded on the table.

Luckily, Douglas reacted instantly, casting a Protego Shield over the three students and himself. And don't underestimate Hagrid—for all his size, he was quick as lightning, throwing his massive arms protectively around the big jar of pickled phoenix claws.

When the smoke cleared, everyone stared at each other in shock.

Douglas looked down at the remains of the wand in his hand, then at his own wand, and muttered quietly,

"Ollivander, you old fraud…"

~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~

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