[Brain storage station (Pensieve edition)]
July, 1992.
Britain.
The outskirts of Surrey.
An orphanage.
Director George's office was as cramped as ever.
His fat fingers tapped a cheerful rhythm on the desk.
"Good, wonderful! Doug, I knew you wouldn't stay here forever!"
The director's booming voice made the windowpanes hum.
"Much as I hate to see you go, this is the right decision. I'm truly happy for you..."
Across from him, Douglas Holmes rubbed the bridge of his nose helplessly.
He had chestnut hair and deep green eyes.
At that moment, those eyes brimmed with an expression caught between laughter and tears.
"Director, could we discuss what you call me?"
"I've said this many times. Please call me Douglas."
"Doug sounds friendly enough, but... it's too easy to mistake it for 'dog.'"
Director George nodded vigorously, his smile bunching up his face.
"Of course, Doug."
Douglas gave up resisting entirely.
A trace of guilt quietly spread through his heart, like ink dropped into clear water.
After all, he had only stayed four months.
He had originally promised a full year.
"All right, call me whatever you like."
His voice softened, carrying a barely perceptible note of gratitude.
"Thank you for understanding, Director."
Saying goodbye to the children took more out of him than he had expected.
By the time he stepped out through the orphanage gates, orange light had washed over the streets.
Traffic flowed in glowing rivers, its clamor rushing toward him.
Douglas did not linger, turning into a residential alley.
The light was swallowed here, and the air instantly turned cold and damp.
His footsteps echoed through the narrow alley, solitary and distinct.
He scanned his surroundings warily, making sure no prying eyes were watching.
An unremarkable wooden stick slid from his sleeve into his palm.
It was his wand.
He closed his eyes, precisely mapping out his destination's coordinates in his mind.
The next instant, the air around him compressed violently inward.
The whole world twisted into a blur of colors.
Pop!
With a faint crack, he vanished from the alley.
A small park in the northwestern corner of Surrey.
In a dim corner, the air rippled slightly.
Douglas appeared out of thin air, his feet landing on soft grass.
He steadied himself and straightened his collar, which had been slightly crumpled by the pressure.
He had placed a Silencing Charm and a Muggle-Repelling Charm on this corner.
To Muggles, it was nothing more than an unremarkable patch of shrubs, one they might even instinctively want to avoid.
Ever since obtaining his Apparition license at seventeen, legally qualifying him to Apparate from one place to another, he had grown accustomed to this form of "legal" speeding.
He emerged from the shadows and casually joined the people strolling through the park.
His home was an ordinary Muggle house.
The house his parents had left him was firmly protected by an Anti-Apparition Jinx.
For that, he had the private guidance of his Apparition Class instructor, Wilkie Twycross, to thank.
No uninvited visitor would be able to lock onto this place.
He did not like surprises.
In the kitchen, he quickly stir-fried two dishes for himself.
The clanging of the spatula against the iron wok, the sizzling of oil dancing in the pan.
These homely sounds of the Muggle world put him at ease.
He enjoyed making food with his own hands, provided, of course, that he only had to cook a few dishes.
After dinner, he sat down at his desk.
Two parchment letters lay on it.
One old, one new.
He picked up the old one first.
The crest on the envelope had faded, and the parchment's edges were worn.
The magic of time was stronger than any spell.
As his fingertips brushed the envelope, the floodgates of memory silently opened.
Twenty-one years.
He had been in this world for twenty-one years.
When he was seven, a piercing screech of brakes had split his life in two.
The supernatural power that awakened during the crash had protected him, but had failed to save his parents.
He had been too young then, and his parents had no close relatives.
People in the community had considered sending him to some of his more distant relatives.
But those people had refused outright to become his guardians and take him in.
Douglas knew perfectly well that, in Britain, a child without a guardian would struggle at every turn.
In the end, with no other option, the community had sent him, at his request, to George's Orphanage, also in Surrey.
Douglas had entrusted the house his parents left him to the Evanses in Cokeworth-his mother's older cousin and her husband.
As it happened, one of her daughters had married and moved to Surrey, while the other had gone to a distant boarding school.
So every year, she spent some time visiting her elder daughter in Surrey.
Having somewhere to stay worked out well for everyone.
Unfortunately, when Douglas was nine, the Evanses had also died in an accident.
He had originally intended to entrust the house to their elder daughter, who also lived in Surrey.
While his parents were still alive, they had taken him to her wedding.
What was her name again? Cousin Petunia, or Pelly...
But when he called, he had barely introduced himself before she unleashed a torrent of abuse.
She called him a jinx and a monster!
Not only had he brought disaster upon his own parents, he had brought it upon hers as well!
Douglas hung up before she finished.
From then on, he never contacted that cousin again.
It was only then that he understood just how ominous his so-called "supernatural power" appeared to others.
So he had asked to go to the orphanage himself.
He had once thought his story was one of fortunes turning, of getting his chance to rise after years of hardship.
Until an owl brought him his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Only then did he discover that the script in his hands was actually Harry Potter.
And the "supernatural power" he had been so proud of was nothing more than the magical talent every wizard possessed.
In an instant, he had fallen from a chosen one to an ordinary young wizard subject to Ministry of Magic supervision.
Douglas smiled self-mockingly and put down the old letter.
Then he picked up the second letter.
This one was crisp and new, the Hogwarts crest still bright and splendid.
He flicked the parchment between his fingers, hoping some miracle might occur.
Such as the "system" that had only arrived after graduation, yet had remained completely inactive ever since.
The parchment did not react.
[Dear Mr. Douglas Holmes,]
[Your application for the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts has passed our preliminary review. At precisely ten o'clock on the morning of July 5, the Floo Network will connect your fireplace to the Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress's Office (for a duration of five minutes). Please arrive punctually for your interview.]
[Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry]
"It seems I'll only have a chance of activating it after I officially take up the post."
He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
An interview.
He was not certain he could succeed.
If his memory served him correctly, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts in 1992 should have been that fraud named Gilderoy Lockhart, all style and no substance.
Douglas stroked his chin, his gaze roaming over the letter.
"Perhaps... I should gather evidence first and send this bestselling author to Azkaban?"
The thought passed in a flash.
He decided to attend the interview first.
If he failed, he would consider how to dispose of the competition.
As for changing the plot...
The corners of his mouth lifted in a meaningful smile.
Perhaps the professors at Hogwarts would also be very interested to see where a world without Douglas Holmes would go.
July 5, precisely ten in the morning.
Dressed formally, Douglas stood in his fireplace.
He held a briefcase in one hand and scooped up a handful of glittering Floo Powder with the other.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's Office."
He scattered the Floo Powder at his feet, his voice clear and steady.
Green flames roared up and swallowed him.
The spinning sensation lasted only an instant.
He stepped out of a whirl of green flames and had barely found his footing.
A voice so stern it bordered on severe came crashing down on him.
"Mr. Holmes, I think you had better clean the soot off yourself first."
Douglas looked up.
Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, watching him sternly through her square spectacles.
He lightly waved his free hand over himself.
"Scourgify."
The dust clinging to him vanished instantly.
The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth relaxed almost imperceptibly.
"A very fine nonverbal, wandless spell."
She offered the assessment out of habit.
"If you were still a Hufflepuff student, I would award your house ten points."
"It's an honor to receive your praise again, Professor."
Douglas smiled in reply and took a parcel tied with twine from his briefcase.
"I hope I'm not late."
He handed her the parcel.
"These are some new desserts I made. I thought you might..."
He stopped halfway through.
Because he saw Professor McGonagall's eyes turn wary in an instant.
It was the sort of look reserved for the sight of some highly dangerous contraband.
Douglas's smile froze on his face.
He immediately remembered something and hurried to explain.
"Professor, I promise!"
"There is absolutely no catnip in these, not in any quantity. You can eat them without worry."
At the word "catnip," Professor McGonagall's expression instantly darkened.
But that awkwardness lasted only half a second before her usual dignity returned.
She glanced at the plainly wrapped gift.
This student, who gave her endless headaches yet whose talent she could not deny, was always like this.
Beneath his impeccably courteous exterior lurked a mischievous streak that caught people off guard.
"Put it on the desk for now."
Her tone brooked no argument.
"The headmaster is waiting for you."
She stood up and led Douglas out of the office.
At the end of the corridor, an ugly stone monster stood faithfully guarding the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office.
"Iced lemonade!"
Professor McGonagall spoke the password to the stone statue.
At her words, the statue sprang aside, revealing the staircase behind it.
Douglas followed behind, silently grumbling to himself.
After all these years, Dumbledore's tastes were still so plain and simple, and so easy to guess.
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