Chapter 16: Class Representatives
At first, Douglas had only begun meditating out of curiosity.
He had wanted to see whether it might trigger some hidden advantage reserved for travelers from another world.
Unfortunately, nothing dramatic ever happened.
He never saw the so-called magical elements drifting through the air.
No sudden enlightenment arrived.
No mysterious system voice praised his diligence.
And yet, after years of persistence, the results were real enough.
His magical power had grown unusually quickly compared with others his age.
His spellcasting had become faster and smoother.
Most notably, after reaching adulthood—when the magical growth of many witches and wizards slowed sharply or even stopped—Douglas could still feel his own magic steadily increasing.
An hour later, as the first sunlight spilled across the grounds of Hogwarts, a lone figure appeared on the castle lawn.
Douglas ran first.
Then, once he had warmed up properly, he began moving through a sequence of crane-form techniques.
His body rose and settled with deceptive lightness.
He darted, turned, and snapped into place with controlled precision.
At times he seemed ready to spring; at others he appeared completely still.
Far above, in Gryffindor Tower, Professor McGonagall—still wearing her dressing gown—caught sight of the familiar figure through the window.
She stared for a moment, then gave a dry little laugh.
"For a second, I thought someone had secretly used a Time-Turner on me."
She sighed.
"I nearly forgot that Mr. Holmes is a professor now."
When Douglas had been a student, he had spent years running laps around the Hogwarts grounds at dawn.
Afterward, he would stand out on the grass and perform a series of strange, flowing movements.
At first, one student had even reported that Douglas was conducting some kind of Dark ritual.
But Professor McGonagall, half-blood though she was, and Dumbledore, who had seen rather more of the world than most, both recognized it for what it was—
a Muggle form of physical training.
They did not understand it, but neither did they object to it.
After finishing his morning exercise, Douglas went straight to the kitchens.
Before he could ask for anything, the house-elves had already prepared the breakfast he preferred.
Soy milk.
Tofu pudding.
Porridge.
Fried dough sticks.
Steamed dumplings.
Of course, the breakfast was no longer prepared for him alone.
Since Douglas had introduced those dishes to the school, a good number of students and professors had become quietly fond of this sort of substantial morning meal.
After breakfast, Douglas returned to his office.
There he looked over the lesson plan he had prepared for his first class of the term.
His opening lesson was with the fifth-year Ravenclaws.
Before class had even begun, the students had already arrived and settled into their seats, whispering among themselves.
They were curious.
Everyone wanted to see what sort of lesson Professor Holmes—who was only a few years older than some of them—would actually teach.
A few moments later, Douglas entered through the side door carrying a stack of parchment.
His face was stern.
The room fell quiet at once.
He set the parchment down on the desk, glanced around the classroom, and studied the students sitting up straight in their seats.
Then he nodded once, apparently satisfied.
"Very good," he said lightly. "No one is late."
He paused.
"As your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I would first like to ask you all a question."
His gaze moved across the room.
"You are in fifth year now. Do you know what the greatest challenge before you is?"
The students looked at one another blankly.
Douglas's expression darkened a little.
What, exactly, had Quirrell been doing with them last year?
At last a girl spoke up weakly.
"It's the O.W.L. examination. I heard from one of the sixth-years that she did badly last year and only got an E in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
At once, several other students began murmuring in low voices.
Douglas's face went cold.
Apparently, his youth had convinced them that he carried no real authority at all.
They certainly would not have dared this in Professor McGonagall's class.
Or Snape's.
"Quiet!"
The single word cracked through the classroom.
Every student jumped.
"Has no one taught you to raise your hand before answering?"
He pointed.
"The girl in the middle of the second row. Stand, and answer properly."
A girl with short yellow-brown hair stood at once, though not without pride.
When she had first arrived at Hogwarts, she had heard all sorts of stories about Douglas Holmes from older students.
According to the seventh-years, this senior from Hufflepuff had been one of the most troublesome and unconventional students the school had seen in years.
And now—
he was only a few years older than she was, yet somehow he was her professor.
"It's the O.W.L. exam, Professor," she said. "Last year I saw the fifth-years working terribly hard to prepare for it."
Douglas nodded.
"A very good answer. Yes, the O.W.L. exam is indeed the great challenge before you."
Then he tilted his head slightly.
"However, I would also suggest that when answering in a class where the professor does not yet know your name, you include it."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"If you had done that, I would not have hesitated to award Ravenclaw five points."
The girl's face immediately reddened.
At last, sounding both embarrassed and faintly aggrieved, she said,
"Windsor Shirley, Professor."
Then, more carefully:
"My name is Windsor Shirley, Professor Holmes."
Douglas looked very satisfied.
"Excellent. Do not look so nervous, Miss Shirley."
Then he said, as though announcing something perfectly ordinary:
"From today onward, you will serve as the Ravenclaw class representative for Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Windsor Shirley stared at him.
So did the rest of the classroom.
Class representative?
There had never been such a position at Hogwarts.
Douglas, however, continued calmly.
"The responsibilities of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class representative are as follows."
He raised one finger.
"First: to actively exchange learning methods with classmates, help improve their study habits, organize activities related to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and cultivate a strong learning atmosphere."
A second finger.
"Second: to maintain close contact with fellow students and remain aware of their learning progress."
A third.
"Third: to maintain close communication with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, accept guidance and instructions, and relay classmates' suggestions, concerns, and requests. In other words, to act as a bridge between the class and the teacher."
A fourth.
"Fourth: to actively assist students who are struggling, supervise them in completing homework and correcting mistakes on time, and discourage plagiarism."
A fifth.
"Fifth: to be strict with oneself, study diligently, improve one's own academic performance, and set an example for the class."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"And if I think of additional duties later, I shall add them."
Then he looked directly at Windsor Shirley.
"If you fulfill these duties well, I will award Ravenclaw thirty points at the end of the school year based on your overall performance."
His tone remained mild.
"I do not imagine Miss Shirley would refuse."
Now the entire classroom was staring at Windsor.
Some of the girls were already looking at her with open jealousy.
After all, in certain respects, the authority Douglas had just described was not much less than that of a prefect.
Windsor swallowed and pointed uncertainly toward the front row.
"Professor—Professor Holmes, I mean—Ravenclaw already has prefects. Margery Vina and Lizzie Quinton. I…"
Douglas gestured for her to sit.
"Yes, of course I know that."
His voice remained calm.
"But the prefects are responsible for all of Ravenclaw House. Their time and energy are limited."
He turned his gaze toward the prefects in question.
"You, Miss Shirley, are responsible only for fifth-year Ravenclaw Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Then he addressed the two prefects directly.
"Miss Vina, Mr. Quinton—this does not concern Miss Shirley alone. I intend to appoint one class representative from each house and each year group to assist in my teaching."
He smiled faintly.
"I also expect the two of you to provide Miss Shirley with some small assistance if necessary."
Then he added, with deliberate emphasis:
"In matters relating to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the responsibilities of a class representative may in fact exceed those of a prefect. Do you understand?"
He paused.
"Oh—and regarding the orchard fruit distributed through student leadership, my class representatives will also receive a share."
That was enough.
For the moment, the two Ravenclaw prefects could only swallow their objections.
But both were clearly planning to report the matter to their Head of House after class.
Chapter 17: The First Lesson — A Test
Even the most naïve student had no desire to see influence and privilege handed to someone else.
And as prefects at Hogwarts, the hidden benefits they enjoyed were not trivial.
Now Douglas had not only introduced a brand-new position into his classroom, but had openly announced that these unknown class representatives would share in the special treatment that had always belonged to prefects and upper-years.
Quinton could bear it no longer.
He stood up abruptly.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but those fruits are the spoils belonging to the prefects and the older students. They're very limited. They cannot simply be distributed to class representatives."
The moment he finished speaking, Quinton regretted it.
The previous evening, he had heard several seventh-years discussing stories from Douglas Holmes's fourth and fifth years.
From their descriptions, Douglas Holmes was Hufflepuff in only one respect—
he liked food.
In almost every other way, he did not resemble the usual image of a Hufflepuff at all.
One of the seventh-years had even mentioned that the rare full-scale conflict between the four houses years ago had somehow begun because of the new Professor Holmes.
The details, however, were vague.
At the time, those seventh-years had only been first- and second-years themselves.
Still, the overall conclusion had been very clear:
Professor Holmes was not easy to deal with, and students were expected to behave themselves in his classroom.
So when Douglas turned to look at him with that strange smile, Quinton immediately regretted standing up so quickly.
Then again…
If he defended the prefects' rights here and now, he might become a hero among all the student leaders in Ravenclaw.
Perhaps even the sixth-year prefect he admired would look at him differently afterward.
That thought filled him with renewed courage.
Douglas let out a short, disdainful laugh.
"The spoils?"
He nodded slowly.
"Oh yes. That is one way of putting it."
Then his smile sharpened.
"I suppose that does make sense."
"After all, they were indeed spoils won through labor…"
He paused.
"…while serving as prisoners of war."
The room froze.
Douglas had not expected the story to become so distorted over the years.
Apparently the prefects had passed down some convenient version of events from one generation to the next, telling each new group that the fruit privileges were theirs because they had somehow 'won' them.
It was only after Douglas graduated that the truth had finally been buried beneath years of student invention.
Douglas, however, knew perfectly well where the privilege had actually come from.
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had never treated the matter that way at all.
Hufflepuffs had access to the orchard's benefits whether they were prefects or not.
In part because Douglas himself had once been one.
And in part because Bill Weasley, by his seventh year, had not only been a prefect but Head Boy as well.
More importantly, neither Hufflepuff nor Gryffindor had ever been as calculating about such things as Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
Now Quinton was not the only one furious.
Vina, the other prefect, also looked deeply offended.
Both of them seemed convinced that Douglas was making things up.
That certainly was not the version they had inherited from earlier prefects.
Seeing the anger on their faces, Douglas decided not to torment them any further.
He simply explained.
"Have neither of you ever noticed that the orchard where students serve detention is called Holmes Orchard?"
The classroom went still.
Douglas folded his arms.
"Yes. You guessed correctly. I was the one who planted that orchard in the first place."
He let that sink in for a moment.
"Although the school never encouraged open discussion of what happened back then, I believe I am allowed to say a few words now."
Then he looked directly at the two prefects.
"And the reason you prefects enjoy that treatment is not because you defeated me."
🤗If you enjoyed this chapter, please add it to your collection and
keep supporting the story 💖✨