The teacup touched the desk with a crisp clink of porcelain.
Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, their light gentle, yet seemingly able to pierce the heart.
"The theories in your book are quite remarkable, in both the Muggle and wizarding editions."
His voice was quiet, yet it echoed clearly through the spacious Headmaster's Office.
"It is clear you weren't speaking without substance. I tried out a few of your spell concepts in private, and they actually proved workable."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, interlacing his fingers on the old peachwood desk.
"Those two ideas you mentioned in the wizarding edition..."
"Imagination matters more than magic."
"The essence of a spell is the inner self changing the world."
"I agree wholeheartedly." He nodded, a barely perceptible hint of wonder in his voice. "I find it difficult to imagine how you grasped these deeper truths of magic when you were still a child."
Understanding dawned on Douglas at once.
So that was it.
Perhaps that was the real reason I could sit here and pass this unusual interview.
Just then, the gentle atmosphere in the office abruptly shifted.
Dumbledore's change of subject cut in with the precision of an unwarmed scalpel.
"So, I'm curious, Douglas. Why did you choose to return to Hogwarts to teach?"
"Or rather, why did you specifically choose the Defense Against Dark Magic position?"
His gaze sharpened, no longer appreciative but scrutinizing.
"From your student days through to reading your works, I have felt that the Charms classroom would be a better place for your talents."
"Of course, Filius has no plans to retire just yet," Dumbledore added.
"I still remember Filius praising you more than once back then, saying you had taken a simple Lumos and turned it into a defensive spell that could effectively counter dark magic..."
"So, I'm still curious. Why did you..."
Before he finished, Douglas felt as though the air in the office had frozen for an instant.
Dumbledore's blue eyes rested silently on his shoulders, bringing an invisible weight.
Douglas shrugged with feigned ease and leaned back in his chair, evading the sharp edge of that gaze.
"The truth is, the world outside is full of turmoil, Professor."
"People's dealings with one another are riddled with deceit."
"That holds true in both the Muggle world and the wizarding world."
"You might even say that the scheming in the wizarding world is deadlier, which is... very detrimental to my writing."
Douglas's tone held just the right degree of weariness, like a weather-beaten traveler.
"It made me think of my school days at Hogwarts. Those days were simple and wonderful."
"Hogwarts is like an ivory tower."
He saw Dumbledore's eyebrows lift slightly, apparently unfamiliar with the modern usage of this Muggle expression.
"Oh, it seems your knowledge of the Muggle world isn't quite comprehensive yet," Douglas explained, taking the opportunity. "The term 'ivory tower' has acquired a new meaning in the modern Muggle world. It no longer means what it did in the Bible."
He switched to an older term.
"To me, Hogwarts is a utopia in the real world. Although it isn't free of disputes of every kind, on the whole, the souls here are... relatively much simpler."
He paused, seemingly weighing his words, then offered a more persuasive reason.
"Of course, there's also the most important reason..."
An awkward, rueful smile appeared on Douglas's face.
"I've hit a bottleneck in my writing."
Dumbledore frowned slightly, his gaze questioning behind his spectacles.
"Professor, since you've read Master of All Trades, you must have noticed that updates stopped eight months ago, in both the wizarding and Muggle editions."
"The truth is, I have access to too few reference materials, and most of them come from the Muggle world."
"Since you know I began writing novels in my first year, that was because the Hogwarts library gave me my earliest, and greatest, help..."
He sighed, looking even more helpless.
"And there's also... because the hiatus has lasted so long, some readers in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds have become extremely dissatisfied."
"I've heard that some extreme fans have already started doxxing me... I mean, using all sorts of methods to hunt down my real identity."
After hearing this explanation, much of the scrutiny faded from Dumbledore's eyes, and he nodded in understanding.
He chuckled, that childlike twinkle of mischief returning to his blue eyes.
"I understand. I understand completely."
"I have a few fans myself who send me rather strange, sometimes even dangerous things."
"Simply because they want to see whether I really am too old to move anymore."
Dumbledore winked playfully, his expression seeming to say: see, we have the same troubles.
"But you needn't worry. I think that, apart from a few friends who know you very well, others would have difficulty discovering that you are the author of those bestsellers."
Yet that ease did not last long.
Dumbledore picked up his teacup again but did not drink, merely rubbing his fingertips gently against its warm surface.
Only the crackle of flames in the fireplace remained in the office.
Then he casually dropped a name, yet it struck a heavy echo in the air.
"Douglas, I remember that during your time at school, you were... quite close to Professor Quirinus Quirrell, weren't you?"
Douglas's heart sank.
Quirinus Quirrell.
Of course I remember.
His Muggle Studies professor back then, a brilliant, elegant wizard.
As one of Hogwarts' finest graduates, Quirrell had stayed on to teach straight after graduation, and had even privately been considered a strong contender to become the next Head of Ravenclaw.
At first, Douglas had also wondered whether this Quirrell might be the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from Harry's first year in the original books.
But the man before him was worlds apart from that stammering coward who clung to life at Voldemort's side.
He had simply taken it as a coincidence that they shared a surname.
Since the man also loved traveling and was equally outstanding in character and learning, the two had indeed been on good terms during Douglas's school years.
After graduation, they had remained in contact by owl for a while.
That lasted until more than two years ago, when Quirrell said he planned to take a year off and explore the forests of Albania. After that, their contact had broken off completely.
Looking at Dumbledore's expression now, Douglas felt a sense of foreboding rise within him.
"Yes, Professor. As you know, I'm Muggle-born, so I always had a bit of an advantage in Quirinus's classes," he answered cautiously.
Dumbledore nodded, his spectacles reflecting the firelight.
The next question struck like a bolt of icy lightning.
"Is that also why you applied to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?"
*???*
For an instant, Douglas's mind went completely blank.
What did my application for Dark Magic Defense Class have to do with Quirinus Quirrell?
Seeing the utterly genuine shock and confusion on Douglas's face, the stern edge in Dumbledore's eyes finally began to fade.
He sighed, as though explaining an exhausting episode from the past.
"Last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was Quirinus."
"And he..."
"What!"
Douglas cried out involuntarily, his body shooting upright in his chair.
He had always thought that stammering Quirrell with the garlic-smelling scarf on his head was a temporary hire Dumbledore had found in some obscure corner.
Merlin's tattered underpants!
I hadn't known a thing about this!
Perhaps the original books had mentioned it, but he had last read them more than thirty years ago. Those details had long since blurred in the river of memory.
But none of that mattered now.
What mattered was Dumbledore's unspoken implication.
The old man clearly suspects I'm Voldemort's second undercover agent!
With Dumbledore's suspicious nature, as long as he harbors the slightest doubt, he certainly wouldn't mind making me another minor boss on Harry Potter's path to clearing the game.
What do I do!
What do I do!
Waiting online for answers-urgent!
This damned system isn't making a peep at the most critical moment!
I came here to get a job and unlock the system, not to become a starter-zone XP pack for the Chosen One!
In a flash, Douglas forced himself to calm down.
Fear could not solve the problem. Only thought could.
He quickly gathered his thoughts, raised his head, and looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes.
"Professor, I last contacted Quirinus more than two years ago."
"He said he was going to Albania for a year's holiday."
"We haven't had any contact since. I know absolutely nothing about when he returned to the United Kingdom or when he became the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."
He leaned forward, his tone filled with just the right amount of shock and curiosity.
"But I heard my editor mention that last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was someone with a garlic-smelling scarf wrapped around his head, who stammered when he spoke."
"That sounds... like a completely different person from the elegant Quirinus, doesn't it?"
"Professor, if possible, could you tell me what exactly happened?"
"And where is he now?"
Douglas's gaze swept over the empty professors' seats before he finally asked the most direct question, and the one best able to clear him of suspicion.
"Don't tell me... this position really is cursed?"
This move to turn the tables clearly caught Dumbledore somewhat off guard.
Looking at Douglas's sincere, bewildered face, he found himself with something of a headache.
Now he was rather worried that, if his guess truly was wrong, this rare, excellent candidate might abandon the job because of the rumors of a curse.
In that case, he would have to go to the trouble of finding another professor again.
How exhausting.
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, then finally, slowly gave a broad account of what had happened with Professor Quirrell the previous school year.
"Douglas, you must understand that studying dark magic... is a very dangerous thing."
"It can erode and alter a person's mind without them realizing it..."
When he mentioned Voldemort living on the back of Quirrell's head, Dumbledore deliberately watched Douglas's reaction.
He keenly noticed that, the instant the name was spoken, Douglas did not shrink back at all. His eyes remained clear; only his frown deepened.
That allowed the taut string within him to loosen a little.
Douglas, meanwhile, was diligently playing the part of a competent listener.
He made none of those exaggerated exclamations, simply giving the most genuine reactions at every key point in Dumbledore's account.
When he heard of Quirrell's experience in Albania, he showed regret.
When he heard how Voldemort had attached himself to him, his eyes filled with incredulous horror.
When he heard of the many crimes Quirrell had committed to steal the Philosopher's Stone, his expression grew complicated and grave.
He said little, but every subtle expression made Dumbledore feel that his account had not fallen on deaf ears.
When Dumbledore finished his final word, a long silence settled over the office.
Douglas lowered his head, lost in thought.
He was no longer listening to this story from the perspective of a reader in the Muggle world.
He was reexamining the entire incident as a wizard who lived in the wizarding world and was well versed in magical theory.
He noticed some overlooked details, some questionable points in the logic.
Some possibilities that even Dumbledore himself might not have considered carefully at the time.
Yet, at that moment, Douglas hesitated.
He did not know whether he should speak.
Because the moment he did, he would risk being suspected of whitewashing Quirrell.
To put it more seriously, he might very well be branded a Voldemort sympathizer outright.
And become a priority target for elimination by the Order of the Phoenix.
Dumbledore seemed to see through his struggle, and his aged, wise voice rang out again.
"Mr. Holmes," he deliberately emphasized the surname, "is there a problem with any of this? Or is there something you wish to say?"
Douglas raised his head and met those eyes that seemed able to see through everything.
He took a deep breath, carefully composing his words.
"Professor, what follows represents only my logical deductions based on your account."
"It does not represent any personal stance of mine."
Dumbledore picked up a Sherbet Lemon and put it in his mouth, nodding indistinctly as an encouraging smile flickered in his eyes.
This childlike gesture did not make Douglas lower his guard entirely.
But he understood Dumbledore's goodwill.
And so, he slowly voiced the doubts in his mind.
Before you continue