Chapter 8: First Meeting with Harry Potter
Douglas frowned.
He rarely came to the wizarding world these days. How could bad news here possibly have anything to do with him?
Slane shifted the things in one arm, then freed his other hand and gave Douglas a firm pat on the shoulder.
"You know Gilderoy Lockhart, don't you? The author of Travels with Trolls and Magical Me—the one I mentioned to you before."
Douglas felt an odd flicker of emotion at hearing the name again.
Although he had effectively taken Lockhart's teaching position, the two of them had never actually met. There was no personal grudge between them.
Besides, Dumbledore had made it clear that Lockhart had declined first.
And since they weren't even signed to the same publishing house, there was no professional conflict either.
Seeing Douglas remain silent, Slane looked at him in disgust.
"Oh, Merlin's beard, my dear Mr. Holmes, you really ought to pay more attention to the British wizarding world."
He lowered his voice and leaned in as they moved through the crowd.
"Lockhart was built up by our old rivals at WhizzHard Books, and today he even held a fan event at Flourish and Blotts."
Slane's expression became even darker.
"And he publicly produced Dumbledore's invitation letter for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts…"
Douglas had been expecting something far worse.
He stepped aside to avoid an oncoming witch carrying three cauldrons and said lightly,
"Don't worry, dear Slane. I'm handing you the latest volume of Master of All Trades."
He tapped the manuscript bag.
"And this time, it's only the wizarding-world version. I haven't even started the Muggle edition yet—"
Slane did not hear another word.
His attention had already locked entirely onto the manuscript in Douglas's hand.
A moment later, his face lit up with pure joy.
He smacked Douglas hard on the shoulder.
"Wonderful news! Young man, this is magnificent!"
Then he lowered his voice at once.
"If only you'd agree to reveal your identity as the author, it would be even better…"
After saying that, Slane glanced warily around at the passing crowd.
He hugged the manuscript tightly to his chest like a starving man clutching a loaf of bread.
"I need to get back and read the rest of it. No—review it. Properly review it."
His tone grew faster with every word.
"Then I have to arrange publication as soon as possible."
"And promotion too. The previous volume came out ages ago. This might even drive sales of the earlier books back up again…"
Before Douglas could answer, Slane turned and sprinted straight back toward the publishing house.
Douglas watched his retreating figure and gave a helpless shrug.
He knew perfectly well that Slane's daily manuscript-chasing was mostly for his own satisfaction.
Publishing in the wizarding world was not especially fast, and Douglas was already considered remarkably productive.
Three separate series in ten years, each running close to twenty volumes.
That was more than enough to satisfy any reasonable publisher.
Taking a year or two off between releases was hardly a crime.
Without Slane nagging in his ear, Douglas made his way toward Gringotts.
At the bronze doors of the tall snow-white building stood a goblin in a scarlet-and-gold uniform.
Douglas was privately grateful the creature did not shout, Welcome, sir! in some theatrical tone.
Otherwise he might have felt as though he'd wandered into a bathhouse.
The goblin led him into the vast marble hall.
Although many customers were already inside, the goblin guiding him was sharp-eyed enough to choose a counter with no queue.
After verifying Douglas's identity, the bank staff quickly escorted him to his vault.
It was a very small vault.
And inside it lay nearly all of Douglas's wizarding wealth.
Roughly four hundred thousand Galleons.
A fortune accumulated over nearly ten years.
Apart from that, the vault contained nothing particularly impressive.
No grand heirlooms. No rare magical artifacts. No priceless alchemical instruments.
In older wizarding families' vaults, there were often shelves of enchanted tools and mysterious relics.
Douglas, by comparison, possessed nothing except money.
It was not that he had never acquired magical items.
During his travels over the past few years, he had come across a number of worthwhile objects.
But compared to the collections of old wizarding families, his possessions were still rather modest.
Of course, the number in the vault was never fixed.
Every month, royalties continued to arrive from Obscurus Books.
His Muggle accounts were just as comfortable—well over two million pounds by now.
If Douglas had ever agreed to publicly market himself or license merchandise and related products, his wealth might easily have multiplied many times over.
But he had never cared much for that kind of thing.
As long as he had enough money to spend and enough food to eat, that was enough.
Before the system appeared, Douglas had lived exactly the way a thoroughly unambitious traveler ought to live.
Lazily.
And if the system had not imposed a deadline, he suspected he could have kept doing so forever.
Before leaving, he withdrew ten thousand Galleons, along with a scattering of silver Sickles and copper Knuts.
Then, guided once more by the goblin, he returned to the main hall and stepped out through the bronze doors of Gringotts.
As he looked at the bustling crowds in Diagon Alley, Douglas paused in confusion.
Why had he come to Diagon Alley in the first place?
Then he remembered.
Right.
Slane had insisted on meeting him.
Only to abandon him the instant he got his hands on the manuscript.
Douglas suddenly thought of somewhere worth visiting.
A little shop known as the Junk Shop.
Every city seemed to have a place like that—a kind of hidden ghost market where one could find all sorts of odd treasures.
It had the same irresistible charm as rummaging through a second-hand market.
Back when he was a student, Douglas had found several old Hogwarts textbooks and handwritten notes there.
Those notes from former students had helped him enormously on his magical path.
Just as he stepped away from Gringotts, something familiar caught his eye near the entrance to Knockturn Alley.
No—
Not one familiar figure.
Two.
Rubeus Hagrid was impossible to mistake. As Hogwarts' gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys, his sheer size made him unmistakable from any distance.
He had also been a good friend of Douglas's during his school years.
And beside him—
Harry Potter.
Douglas stopped walking and waited for the two to come closer before calling out.
He was not surprised in the least to see them near Knockturn Alley.
Harry, if Douglas remembered correctly, had mispronounced the name of his destination while using Floo Powder.
As for Hagrid—
Well, Hagrid himself was not a Dark wizard, but some of the "little darlings" he liked to raise were hardly harmless magical creatures.
People with unusual tastes often found useful things in unusual places.
As the pair drew nearer, Hagrid was saying something with a distinctly unhappy look on his face.
Harry's face was smeared with soot and dirt.
Just as Douglas was about to greet them, a little witch came running down the white steps of Gringotts and straight toward them.
Douglas took a closer look.
"Is that Hermione Granger?" he murmured.
Then, over the noise of the crowd, Hagrid's rough voice rang out.
"You won't have to look far—eh? Wait, is that… Douglas?"
Hagrid's wandering gaze suddenly locked onto him.
Smiling, Douglas stepped forward.
"Hagrid. Long time no see."
"I spotted you a moment ago and thought I'd say hello once you came closer."
He looked Hagrid up and down, then added with a laugh,
"Though I did wonder if the quality of your meals had declined after I left. It seems not."
Then he glanced at the two children standing nearby, both staring at him curiously.
"And who are these two?"
Hagrid brightened at once and nudged them forward proudly.
"This is Harry—Harry Potter—and Hermione Granger. Both second-year Gryffindors."
He grinned broadly.
"They get along with me just fine!"
Douglas nodded and offered them a warm smile.
"Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. A pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Douglas Holmes."
Hermione responded immediately, polite as ever.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes."
Harry, on the other hand, stared at Douglas in surprise.
It was the first time he had met an adult wizard who showed no visible shock at hearing the name Harry Potter.
For a moment, he forgot to say hello at all.
Still, something about the name Douglas Holmes tugged faintly at his memory, as though he had heard it somewhere before.
Hagrid, meanwhile, had already begun introducing Douglas with all the enthusiasm of a man showing off an old friend.
"Harry, Hermione, don't underestimate Douglas."
"You know all those dishes you've eaten at Hogwarts—braised pork, sweet-and-sour Black Lake fish, boiled chicken?"
He jabbed a thick finger toward Douglas.
"He started all that."
"And Harry—the orchard you were punished to work in last year? Douglas planted that too."
Hagrid drew breath to continue, clearly preparing to reveal something even more impressive—
But before he could, a breathless voice called out from behind Douglas.
"Harry! Let's hope you only missed the fireplace, because Molly's frantic. She'll be here any moment."
Everyone turned.
Harry especially looked mortified.
Douglas turned as well—and broke into a grin.
"Mr. Weasley. Long time no see."
Arthur Weasley blinked, then quickly pressed a hand to his heaving chest to steady his breath.
"Merlin's beard—it's Douglas!"
He looked delighted.
"What are you doing here?"
Then, without waiting, he rushed on.
"I mean, I haven't heard from you in ages. When did you get back to Britain?"
"Bill and Charlie both wrote to me before—said you'd visited them…"
"And last Christmas, Bill came home asking whether I could possibly travel to South America. How was it there?"
Arthur shook his head at once.
"I mean—it's terribly far, isn't it?"
Then his expression softened.
"Molly still regrets not managing to send you a Christmas present last year."
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