The sky was an inky velvet cloth that had yet to be washed clean.
Five in the morning.
The castle's outline was merely a deeper silhouette in the thick darkness.
Douglas rose from bed, the cotton-linen fabric of his loose pajamas sliding soundlessly over his skin.
He walked into a corner of the bedroom, where an antique screen partitioned off a separate meditation room.
This was no passing whim or eccentricity.
It was a habit he had maintained without fail for years, and the secret behind his standing out among his peers.
Meditation.
At first, he had clung to a sliver of hope, trying to trigger the legendary cheat ability of someone transported to another world.
As it turned out, that idea had been far too naive.
He had neither seen dazzling magical elements nor gained sudden insight into any ancient divine spells.
Yet his long persistence had allowed the magic within him to settle and grow purer, like polishing a rough stone in the deep ocean of his mind.
His magic grew far faster than that of his peers.
His spellcasting response was also astonishingly quick.
Especially after reaching adulthood, when other wizards' magical growth curves began to level off or even stagnate, he could clearly sense that the "river" within him still surged without ceasing.
An hour later.
The first faint light of dawn brushed the spires of Hogwarts Castle like melted gold leaf.
A figure appeared amid the mist on the great lawn.
First, he jogged at a steady pace, the rhythm of his breathing and footsteps like a precise metronome.
Then he stopped, sank into his stance, and slowly began a sequence of Crane Form Fist.
Draw the body in to rise, conceal it to descend,
Weave into the woods, strike and seize with claws;
Gather vital energy within, hold the frame tight without,
Through smallness and deftness, the hawk form finds its ease.
He drew his body in to rise so that his next concealed descent would be swifter and fiercer.
His weaving footwork imitated a white crane entering the woods, using claws and beak together to lunge, strike, and seize.
This fighting form gathered vital energy inward and held the body's frame tight outwardly.
Its essence lay in just two principles-"smallness" and "deftness."
In the distance, behind a window in Gryffindor Tower, Minerva McGonagall stood wrapped in her tartan dressing gown.
She spotted the familiar figure on the lawn at once.
Professor McGonagall paused in surprise.
Then a dry smile tugged at her lips, as though her own thought had amused her.
"Heh, I thought someone had secretly used a Time-Turner on me."
She murmured to herself, a trace of nostalgia in her eyes.
"I almost forgot. Mr. Holmes is a Hogwarts professor now."
Douglas had been just like this as a student.
For several years running, he could always be seen jogging around the castle in the early morning, then making these strange movements on the lawn.
At first, some students had even reported to her that Douglas was performing some sort of Dark Magic ritual.
But McGonagall, who was a half-blood, and the widely knowledgeable Dumbledore both knew perfectly well.
It was merely a distinctive form of physical exercise from the Muggle world.
Although they could not make sense of its intricacies either, that did not prevent them from appreciating his perseverance.
After finishing his exercise, Douglas headed straight for the kitchen.
Warm, moist air mingled with the aroma of food washed over him.
He did not even need to speak.
The house-elves had already deftly laid out steaming portions of breakfast on the long table.
Soy milk, soft tofu pudding, fried dough sticks, and dainty little steamed soup dumplings.
These were, of course, not prepared for him alone.
Ever since he had introduced these Eastern breakfast foods to the kitchen, they had swiftly won over the taste buds of many teachers and students, becoming new favorites at the Hogwarts breakfast table.
After breakfast, he returned to his professor's office.
His fingertips brushed lightly over the parchment lesson plan prepared for his first class.
The first lesson of the school year: fifth-year Ravenclaws.
Before the bell rang, the classroom was already full.
The students' whispers merged into a humming background noise, every face filled with curiosity and scrutiny.
They all wanted to see just what sort of Defense Against Dark Magic lesson Professor Holmes, only a few years older than them, would deliver.
Soon, the classroom's side door swung open.
Douglas entered carrying a thick stack of parchment, his face expressionless.
Thud.
He set the parchment down heavily on the lectern, the dull sound instantly silencing the classroom.
His gaze swept across the room, passing over every young face.
The students instinctively straightened in their seats.
Douglas nodded in satisfaction, his voice level yet carrying an unquestionable force.
"Very good. No one is late."
"As your new Defense Against Dark Magic teacher, I would like to ask a question."
"As fifth-years, do you know what the greatest challenge you are about to face is?"
Silence filled the room.
The students exchanged glances, their eyes full of bewilderment.
Douglas's expression darkened.
What exactly had that fellow Quirrell been doing at school last year? Had he spent an entire term working on nothing but the Philosopher's Stone?
Just then, a timid female voice rose from the crowd.
"Is... is it the O.W.L.s? I heard an older student mention them. She did terribly last year and only got an A in Defense Against Dark Magic."
Like a pebble dropped into a pond, those words immediately sent ripples of discussion through the room.
Douglas's expression turned utterly cold.
It seemed that, as a young professor, he really did carry little authority in their eyes.
Who would dare behave so brazenly in McGonagall's or Snape's class?
"Silence!"
The word struck like a block of ice hitting the ground.
The temperature throughout the classroom seemed to drop several degrees.
"Has no one taught you to raise your hand before answering a question?"
His gaze locked precisely onto the source of the voice.
"The student in the middle of the second row, please stand up."
A girl with short tawny hair rose, wearing a somewhat defiant, haughty look.
As soon as she had enrolled, she had heard of this older Hufflepuff student's illustrious exploits.
What qualified someone only a few years older than her, who was always getting into trouble, to stand here as her teacher?
"It's the O.W.L.s," she repeated, a challenge in her voice. "Last year, I saw for myself how the fifth-years were run ragged over those exams."
Douglas nodded, his expression betraying neither pleasure nor anger.
"Correct. It is indeed the O.W.L.s."
Then he changed tack, a teasing curve lifting the corner of his mouth.
"However, I have a suggestion for this student. When your teacher does not yet know your name, if you volunteer it while answering a question, I think I would be quite willing to award Ravenclaw five points."
The girl's face instantly flushed scarlet as she struggled for words.
His words were like a soft blade, striking her pride with precision.
Finally, with something approaching a sense of grievance, she squeezed out her name.
"Windsor Shirley, Professor."
"Professor Holmes, my name is Windsor Shirley."
The frost on Douglas's face instantly melted, revealing a smile that could only be called gentle.
"Very good, Miss Shirley. There is no need to be nervous."
"Starting today, you will be the fifth-year Ravenclaw class representative for Defense Against Dark Magic."
"Class... representative?"
Windsor Shirley and all her classmates froze. The term was entirely unfamiliar to them.
No such position had ever existed in the Hogwarts system.
Douglas began explaining at an unhurried pace, his voice reaching every corner of the classroom clearly.
"A class representative's duties are, first, to exchange study experience with classmates and foster a studious atmosphere in the class."
"Second, to keep track of your classmates' progress and report to me at any time."
"Third, to act as a bridge between me and the students, conveying my instructions and passing on your suggestions."
"Fourth, to help classmates who are struggling, oversee homework, and strictly prohibit copying."
"Fifth, to lead by example and become a model for everyone's studies."
He paused, then added.
"Of course, I will add any further requirements as they arise."
"If you prove capable, at the end of the school year, I will award Ravenclaw House an additional thirty points based on your performance."
"I trust Miss Shirley will not refuse?"
As Douglas explained, the entire class's attention focused on Windsor Shirley.
Some looks held surprise, others envy, and a few even carried undisguised jealousy.
In certain respects, the authority these duties conferred was almost equal to that of a prefect.
Shirley nervously pointed at a boy and a girl in the front row.
"Professor... Professor Holmes, but... Ravenclaw's prefects are Marjory Vina and Lizzie Quentin. I..."
Douglas raised a hand, signaling for her to sit.
"Yes, of course I know about the prefects."
"But they are responsible for all of Ravenclaw House, and their energy is limited. You, on the other hand, will be responsible only for fifth-year Defense Against Dark Magic."
Then he turned to the two prefects.
"Miss Vina, Mr. Quinton."
"It will not just be Miss Shirley. Later, I will select a class representative from every house in every year to assist me with my teaching."
His tone grew solemn.
"I hope both prefects will help Miss Shirley when necessary. You could even put it this way: in Defense Against Dark Magic, the class representative's instructions take precedence over a prefect's."
"Understood?"
He dropped one final bombshell.
"Oh, right. Regarding the allocation of special fruit to the house leadership, starting today, my class representatives must receive a share as well."
The two prefects opened their mouths but could find nothing to say.
They had no authority to challenge an appointment announced by a professor in class and could only accept it for the time being, privately planning to seek out their Head of House, Flitwick, immediately after class to report this absurd decision.
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