July 1992.
England.
Surrey, on the outskirts of town.
Inside the director's office at an orphanage.
Director George was practically beaming with excitement.
"Excellent, truly excellent! I've said all along, Douglas, you can't stay here forever. You should've made this decision ages ago!
I'll miss you, of course, but I'm genuinely happy for you..."
Seated across from him was a young man in his twenties, chestnut hair framing a face set with strikingly deep green eyes—impossible to forget.
A faintly resigned smile crossed Douglas Holmes's lips as he protested, half-heartedly,
"Director, I've told you so many times—please use my full name, Douglas. Just calling me 'Doug' might sound affectionate, but... it's awfully close to 'dog,' you know."
Director George nodded enthusiastically.
"Right, Doug—"
Douglas was rendered speechless, but embarrassment soon crept onto his face.
After all, he'd originally promised the director he'd teach at least a year.
Yet here he was, saying his goodbyes after just four months.
Still, facing the man who'd once been his guardian, Douglas offered a heartfelt thanks.
"Well, call me however you like. But I really do appreciate your understanding, Director..."
After bidding a final farewell to the orphanage children, evening had already draped the streets in lamplight.
Dodging the rush of cars and people, Douglas slipped into a dimly lit residential alleyway.
He walked briskly, eyes scanning his surroundings.
Once certain no one was watching, his wand slid smoothly from his sleeve into his palm.
He pictured his destination in his mind and cast Apparition.
With a fiery whoosh, his body twisted and spun—then vanished on the spot.
A moment later, in a shadowy corner of a small park at the northwest edge of Surrey, Douglas appeared out of thin air, the same sharp pop ringing in his ears.
He straightened his clothes, then strolled out as if nothing had happened, quickly blending into the crowd.
He'd long since placed a discreet Muffliato and a Muggle-Repelling Charm around this Apparition point, so he never worried about being spotted by Muggles—or, Merlin forbid, materializing on top of one.
He'd earned his Apparition license just after turning seventeen, having passed the test at the Apparition Test Centre under the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Transportation.
So, he wasn't exactly "apparating without a license."
Thanks to a good relationship with his instructor, Wilkie Twycross, he'd even learned the counter-charms for Apparition and Disapparition—knowledge he'd put to use after graduation, warding the house his parents had left him to keep out any unexpected magical intruders.
Back home, Douglas whipped up two simple dishes for himself.
Life alone was as plain as ever.
Despite being from Hufflepuff, he was never much good at domestic magic.
Truth be told, he enjoyed the process of cooking—so long as he didn't have to make too much.
After dinner, he took out two thick envelopes made of parchment.
Even magical items couldn't resist the slow erosion of time.
One envelope's ornate crest had faded, its shine long gone.
"Twenty-one years since I landed in this world. Time really does fly," Douglas sighed.
Between his past and present lives, he was already over fifty.
At seven, a car accident had awakened a strange power within him.
But the ability had only protected him—his parents in this life hadn't survived the crash.
He was too young, and his parents had few close relatives.
The community had considered sending him to some distant kin, but no one wanted to take him in.
Douglas understood all too well: in Britain, a child without a guardian would find life nearly impossible.
In the end, at his own request, the community sent him to Director George's orphanage in Surrey.
His parents' house he entrusted to his mother's cousin and her husband—the Evanses, who lived in Cokeworth.
Conveniently, they had one daughter married in Surrey and another away at boarding school, so they visited Surrey often and could keep an eye on the place.
Unfortunately, when Douglas was nine, the Evanses died in an accident as well.
He'd wanted to entrust the house to their eldest daughter in Surrey, remembering her wedding from when his parents were still alive.
Was it Petunia, or Penny...?
But when he called, she'd barely let him introduce himself before launching into a tirade.
She called him a jinx, a monster—said he'd brought disaster to his own parents, and now hers as well.
Douglas hung up before she could finish.
He never spoke to that cousin again.
It was then he understood why none of the distant relatives wanted to be his guardian after his parents' deaths.
From then on, he settled into orphanage life, quietly planning how to use his newfound abilities to become an outstanding transmigrator.
One day, he'd show them what it meant—thirty years on the east bank, thirty on the west, never underestimate a youth with special powers.
Then, one day, an owl swooped down and dropped a letter at his feet: an acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He hadn't known whether to laugh or cry.
On one hand, he'd landed in the legendary Harry Potter world.
On the other, his so-called "transmigrator's cheat"—his abilities—turned out to be nothing special here, and would now be monitored by the Ministry of Magic.
He chuckled, remembering how cautious he'd been upon receiving that first Hogwarts letter.
Now, he picked up the second envelope from the table. Its crest still gleamed—clearly a recent arrival.
He'd checked it several times already, but couldn't help looking again.
Maybe, just maybe, something unexpected would happen—maybe that mysterious system, which had only appeared after graduation, would finally activate.
Dear Mr. Douglas Holmes:
Regarding your application for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, our school has approved it. The Floo Network will connect your home's fireplace to the Deputy Headmistress's Office at Hogwarts at 10:00 a.m. on July 5th (a five-minute window). Please arrive promptly for your interview.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Douglas gave the letter a shake and muttered, dissatisfied,
"Still nothing. Guess it'll only activate if I actually get the job at Hogwarts!"
He rubbed his temples.
What really troubled him now was that he couldn't guarantee he'd be hired.
If he remembered right, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in 1992 was supposed to be that notorious fraud, Lockhart.
Douglas stroked his chin, eyeing the letter again.
"Maybe I should gather evidence and expose him ahead of time?"
After a moment's thought, he decided to go to the interview first.
If it didn't work out, he'd just send his rival straight to Azkaban.
As for whether that would change the world's original course...
Well, the professors at Hogwarts would surely be curious to see what the magical world looked like without Douglas Holmes.
July 5th. 10:00 a.m. sharp.
Douglas stood in the fireplace, dressed smartly and holding a briefcase.
With his free hand, he tossed a pinch of Floo Powder at his feet and called out,
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Deputy Headmistress's Office!"
He'd barely steadied himself when a stern voice rang out,
"Mr. Holmes, kindly clean the soot off yourself!"
With a practiced flick of his free hand, Douglas cast,
"Scourgify!"
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, adjusting her square spectacles, and offered her habitual praise.
"Oh, an excellent bit of wandless magic. If you were still at Hogwarts, I'd award Hufflepuff ten points."
Douglas replied modestly, producing a small gift from his modified briefcase and handing it over.
"It's an honor to hear your praise again, Professor McGonagall. I hope I haven't missed the interview. I brought some new pastries I made myself. I'm sure you haven't—"
He stopped short as Professor McGonagall's expression grew suddenly wary.
Awkwardly, he hurried to explain,
"Er, don't worry, Professor. I promise—there's absolutely no catnip in these. You can enjoy them safely."
At his words, Professor McGonagall's face flickered, then quickly returned to normal.
Faced with a student who'd always shown a maturity—and a penchant for mischief—beyond his years, her feelings were understandably mixed.
She glanced at the small, square package—parchment-wrapped, sealed with a red label bearing the pastry's name, and tied neatly with twine.
In her experience, Douglas was always perfectly polite—provided he didn't slip any catnip into his gifts...
Professor McGonagall gave a silent nod, then said briskly,
"Just leave it on the desk for now. I'll take you to see Headmaster Dumbledore!"
She led him to a halt before an enormous, hideous stone gargoyle.
"Iced lemon juice!"
Hearing the password, Douglas couldn't help but grumble inwardly.
After all these years, the headmaster's office password was still so plain... far too easy to guess.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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