Too few classes-there had to be more!

Shortly after the phoenix Patronus left the Headmaster's Office.

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, and a smile all but spilled from the corners of his mouth.

"Douglas, I think you can go and see Minerva now."

He spoke cheerfully.

"If you stay much longer, she really might think we're having hot pot in the office..."

Douglas swept his gaze around the office.

There were the spinning silver instruments and the sleeping portraits of former headmasters, but no sign of the cauldron supposedly reserved for hot pot in Hogwarts legend.

Catching his glance, Dumbledore gave an understanding shrug.

He gave him a look that said, "Don't you know?" as though sharing an unspoken secret.

"You know Severus often visits me here."

"I wouldn't want to test a Potions Master's nerves with an office steeped in the smell of spicy hot pot."

With that, he winked playfully toward the dungeons.

Douglas understood perfectly.

When he stepped into Professor McGonagall's office again, its strict, orderly atmosphere greeted him.

The snacks he had brought had already been opened on the desk, their exquisite wrapping paper neatly folded to one side.

Professor McGonagall was reviewing a document with her head lowered, candlelight reflecting off the square spectacles perched on her nose.

Without looking up, she said, "They taste quite good. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Albus has just sent me a message by Patronus, so..."

At this, she finally put down the parchment in her hands and raised her head.

A sincere smile actually showed on her usually stern face, softening even the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

"Welcome aboard, Professor Holmes."

"I imagine Pomona will be so delighted to hear the news that she'll give her precious herbs an extra ladle of water."

(Pomona Sprout, Hogwarts' Herbology teacher and head of Hufflepuff House.)

Douglas returned her smile politely, keeping his manner humble.

"It's only a temporary appointment for now. I'll still need your guidance and help in the future, Professor."

"Of course."

Professor McGonagall nodded briskly and pushed a roll of parchment toward him.

"But you'll need to look at this first."

There was an uncompromising decisiveness in her tone.

"This is the only teaching position currently vacant at the school. Everyone else's classes have long since been scheduled."

"So the times for your classes have essentially... already been decided."

She paused, a sly smile curling her lips.

"Of course, if you really have something to attend to, you can ask Severus to cover for you."

"I imagine he'd be quite willing..."

Beaming, Douglas took the parchment, which carried the scent of ink.

The next second, his smile looked as though it had been hit with Petrificus Totalus.

Starting at the corners of his mouth, it stiffened bit by bit, cracked, and finally froze into an odd expression.

"Professor... everything on this timetable..."

His voice was a little dry.

"These are all my classes?"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her expression seeming to say, "What else would they be?"

"Of course. Oh, I almost forgot. You've probably only seen the student version of the timetable before."

She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and watched him at her leisure.

"Professors' lives aren't nearly as easy as you imagine."

Douglas suddenly felt a stab of bitter regret.

He regretted not agreeing to Dumbledore's proposal earlier to have two professors share this cursed course.

But the hint of "you're not up to it" in Professor McGonagall's tone ignited the competitive streak in his bones.

He felt he had been underestimated.

"Oh, Merlin's beard!"

Douglas instantly wiped the frozen expression from his face and replaced it with a look of anguish.

"Just look at this timetable! I mean... we have so few classes!"

Professor McGonagall: "???"

Her face plainly said, "Did I mishear a word?"

Douglas, meanwhile, had fully hit his stride. Pointing at the densely packed Defense Against the Dark Arts timetable, he launched into an impromptu speech.

"Look, Professor, our classes are mostly between eight thirty in the morning and four forty-five in the afternoon."

"Astronomy is the exception, but that isn't until eleven at night."

"There's so much time being wasted in between!"

He grew more animated as he spoke, as though he were Hogwarts' director of studies.

"I noticed it back when I was a student. We could absolutely add morning reading sessions! Six to seven thirty! For memorizing material like History of Magic!"

"And the evenings! We can't waste the time after dinner either. We could..."

Listening to his impassioned speech, Professor McGonagall initially thought he had something of a point.

Gradually, however, the way she looked at Douglas grew strange, as though he were a student she had never known.

"Mr. Holmes," she interrupted, "if I remember correctly, you never showed such a diligent side during your school years."

"You were late to my Transfiguration classes alone no fewer than ten times."

"Ahem." Douglas hastily cleared his throat. "Professor, I believe I explained..."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose a little higher.

"Yes, I remember. You were always busy researching new recipes in the kitchens, fertilizing fruit trees outside the Forbidden Forest, and, oh yes, cultivating a little vegetable patch of your own..."

Her gaze sharpened, as though piercing through time.

"I nearly forgot. Over a few pieces of fruit, you also cast spells on several young ladies from Ravenclaw House, ultimately setting off... well, a brawl involving all Four Houses."

Douglas shrugged unconcernedly.

"Professor, you know how it was. Although I received detention for it, to this day, I still don't believe I was wrong."

Memories from seven years earlier unfolded in his mind like a painted scroll awakened by a spell.

It had been Douglas's third year. With Hagrid's help, he had established a small orchard on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He tended it like his own child, rising early and staying out late each day to inspect it, fertilize it, and recite Growth Charms.

That afternoon, he hurried there straight after class, only to find a group of girls in Ravenclaw uniforms in his orchard.

Had they merely picked a few pieces of fruit to eat, he might even have taken the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

What he saw, however, was a mess strewn across the ground.

Broken young branches, and plenty of clearly unripe, green fruit discarded after a single bite.

One tall girl even smiled when she saw him and said:

"Your apples and bananas are nowhere near as good as the ones served in the Great Hall..."

Perhaps they meant no harm and were merely pampered girls in an ivory tower who knew nothing of life's hardships.

But in that moment, Douglas's fury was thoroughly ignited.

This was the orchard into which he had poured countless hours of painstaking effort.

He pointed at a green apple on the ground, his voice cold as ice.

"I always thought Ravenclaw stood for wisdom. Now I see you're nothing but a bunch of female monkeys that can talk."

Clearly, they were not monkeys.

They were witches who could use wands.

Spell light flared in an instant.

But Douglas was no pushover. He moved through the interweaving spells, his wand whirling like a windmill.

After a few crisp cries of "Expelliarmus," every one of the girls' wands flew into his hands.

He did not even use any other spells.

He merely used Transfiguration to turn the broken branches into tough ropes.

Then he tied the girls securely to the wooden posts outside the orchard.

The wizarding world was small, and Hogwarts was smaller still.

Who didn't have a few friends, or a boyfriend they were passionately in love with?

The final outcome of that brawl was:

Gryffindor: three sent to the Hospital Wing.

Ravenclaw: nine sent to the Hospital Wing.

Slytherin: five sent to the Hospital Wing.

Hufflepuff: zero.

As a consequence of that battle, a beaming Professor Sprout sentenced Douglas to a week of labor in the orchard.

The heads of the other three houses, meanwhile, wore dark expressions as they sentenced everyone involved to tend those fruit trees for an entire term without using magic.

What left the heads even less able to be angry was that Douglas subsequently volunteered to supply fresh fruit free of charge to all the school's staff and the Prefects of every house.

Furthermore, his orchard could serve as a designated site for students assigned manual labor as punishment.

"Mr. Holmes." Professor McGonagall's voice pulled Douglas out of his memories. "I have no authority to interfere with other professors' teaching methods, but your timetable is settled."

Her words left no room for negotiation.

"The Floo Network connection window is nearly here. Unless you intend to spend several hours on the Knight Bus, you'd best go home through the fireplace now."

The distance from the northern Scottish Highlands to Surrey in London was no short one.

Even Dumbledore might not choose to cover such a distance in a single Apparition without going all out.

When Douglas stepped out of the fireplace again, his familiar home furnishings came into view.

"Scourgify!"

With a casual wave of his wand, he shook off the soot covering him.

Then he strode toward the basement, the private space he had specially fitted out for magical experiments.

He sank into an armchair and found the most comfortable position.

Then he called softly in his mind.

"System? Top Student Development System?"

An inexplicable sense of embarrassment at his own adolescent theatrics welled up in him.

The next moment, lines of ghostly blue text appeared in his vision like a projection.

[Top Student Development System]

[After each class, points will be awarded based on a comprehensive assessment of student satisfaction, homework completion, classroom participation...]

[Student satisfaction:]

[Above 9: 20 points awarded per 10 classes.]

[6-9: 10 points awarded per 10 classes.]

[Below 6: 0.5 points awarded per 10 classes.]

...

[Monthly overall teacher quality rating: 0. Points earned: 0.]

[(*Monthly rating above 9: 1,000 points awarded.)]

[(*Monthly rating of 6-9: 500 points awarded.)]

[(*Monthly rating below 6: 300 points deducted.)]

...

[Academic year examination results assessment:]

[Outstanding: 0 students. Points earned: 0.]

[(*Outstanding: 1,000 points awarded per student.)]

[Pass: 0 students. Points earned: 0.]

[(*Pass: 500 points awarded per student.)]

[Fail: 0 students. Points earned: 0.]

[(*Fail: 300 points deducted per student.)]

[The system shop will unlock once 10,000 points have been accumulated.]

...

Douglas was still reeling from the impact of all this complicated information, his mind a jumble.

Suddenly, a line of blood-red text, pulsing ominously, seared itself into his mind.

[Warning: the host is afflicted with an unknown curse that will take effect in one year. It can be removed by spending 10,000 points!]

"A curse... ten thousand points?"

He abruptly sat bolt upright.

He picked up the timetable Professor McGonagall had given him, his mind racing.

There were approximately 190 teaching days in an academic year, with an average of seven classes a day, making 1,330 classes in total.

Even if he worked conscientiously and poured his heart and soul into ensuring that every class and every rating scored above 9...

Over an academic year, teaching alone would barely net him 2,660 points.

The bulk of the points lay in the monthly ratings and academic year examinations.

But those last two glaring deduction conditions were like two monsters with gaping, bloodthirsty maws, watching him hungrily.

This system was hardly here to help him.

It was clearly here to screw him over.