HP: Too Late, System! I’m Already the DADA Professor

For the remainder of the lesson, Douglas Holmes didn't utter a single word. Instead, he paced silently up and down the classroom, occasionally stopping behind a student and staring at their parchment for what felt like an eternity.

Some students grew so anxious under his gaze that their minds went blank.

Then, with fifteen minutes left, Douglas suddenly called out in a tone that struck them as oddly theatrical:

"Attention, candidates: fifteen minutes remaining. Fifteen minutes left!"

If they could have, those students with piles of unanswered questions would have groaned, "Professor Holmes, you absolute menace."

Half the hundred questions were short-answer, and many covered topics from years ago. Even if every Ravenclaw were a born scholar, writing still took time.

When the hour struck, Douglas gave his wand a sharp flick. Finished or not, every parchment soared through the air and landed neatly on his desk.

He clapped his hands and said simply, "This was just a baseline theory assessment. No need to be too nervous. From now on, we'll have a monthly exam—you'll get used to it soon enough. Oh, and Miss Shirley, please come to my office after seven this evening. That's all—class dismissed!"

As soon as Douglas announced the end of class, a series of ding ding ding chimes echoed in his mind.

But this was hardly the place to space out. Without waiting for the students to file out, he gathered up the test papers and headed straight for his second-floor office.

The Ravenclaws shuffled out, faces clouded with misery. For students who lived for grades, nothing was more excruciating than running out of time with unfinished answers.

On the way back to the Ravenclaw common room, the two Prefects sidled up to Windsor Shirley, quietly discussing the exam.

Prefects were quick on the uptake; they'd already figured out the true meaning behind the existence of a Class Representative. Now that it was a done deal, they could only accept this new, unofficial member of student leadership.

Girls who hadn't gotten along with Windsor before lingered nearby, curious just how much of the test she'd managed to finish. The prospect of eating fruit every day was a powerful motivator.

To them, Windsor Shirley had simply lucked out—she'd been the first name Professor Holmes called. If they could outscore her, surely they'd be next in line.

What they didn't know was that Douglas's choice of Class Representative was anything but random.

Other Ravenclaws were already plotting. With electives coming up, how could they trade this juicy bit of news to Hufflepuffs in exchange for some fruit? After all, at Hogwarts, only Hufflepuffs—every last one—got to enjoy fruit. The other three Houses reserved that privilege for Prefects alone.

The break between Defence Against the Dark Arts classes was a mere fifteen minutes.

After stowing the test papers, Douglas focused his mind.

[Scholar Development System]

[Student satisfaction rating for this class: 6 points.

Homework completion rating: 0 points.

Average progress rating: 8 points.

Classroom activity rating: 5 points.

...]

Douglas hadn't expected stellar marks on his first lesson. His teaching style was a far cry from traditional Hogwarts methods. The students would need time to adjust.

When he returned to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, all the second-year Gryffindors were already seated. Some were still catching their breath—they'd clearly sprinted to make it on time.

But what really caught Douglas's eye was Ron Weasley, grinning from ear to ear, chest puffed out with pride. Several students kept glancing between Douglas and Ron, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened: Ron had already spread the word about his friendly ties with the new professor—and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had confirmed it.

Douglas chuckled. "Well, since everyone already knows who I am, I'll skip the formal introduction…"

He caught Hermione shooting Ron a pointed glare. Douglas shot Ron a knowing smile of his own. Since you've been so eager to share our families' connection, I suppose I'll have to honor Mrs. Weasley's request and look after you.

"Who can tell me what to do when you encounter a Boggart?"

The words had barely left his mouth before Hermione's hand shot up, high and unwavering.

At Hogwarts, the curriculum for third-years and below mostly covered magical creatures, with exams focused on rote memorization and little to do with spells. Only in fourth year did students begin learning counter-curses, defensive magic, and some rudimentary dark arts.

Douglas glanced around—only Hermione's hand was raised.

A few students shot Ron and Harry looks that clearly meant, "Didn't you say this professor was nice and easygoing?"

Ron shrugged and winked at his classmates. "Relax, relax. Every professor lays down the law on the first day."

Harry nodded in agreement.

Just then, Douglas's cold voice cut through the room:

"Let's have Mr. Weasley answer!"

Ron's grin vanished. He stared at Douglas, dumbfounded.

Several students snickered.

Ron stammered, "Professor, I—I don't know… but I'm sure Hermione does!"

He started to sit, but Douglas's voice snapped like a whip:

"Did I say you could sit down?

Mr. Potter, your turn—answer the question!"

Harry Potter hadn't expected to be called on. He adjusted his glasses, squinting at the professor as if to check whether Snape was hiding beneath the surface. The last time he'd been put on the spot like this was in Snape's Potions class.

Hermione's hand shot even higher.

Douglas gave Ron and Harry a look of deep disappointment. That morning, he'd received a letter from Mrs. Weasley, imploring him to keep a close eye on her two troublemaking sons. She'd also mentioned that Mr. Weasley was currently under Ministry investigation—something that made Douglas feel a pang of guilt. After all, the enchanted car had been his idea in the first place.

Reading the original stories, he'd thought Ron and Harry's antics were brilliant. Now, they just seemed like a pair of mischief-makers.

Seeing Hermione practically bouncing in her seat, Douglas relented.

"It seems only Miss Granger knows the answer. Miss Granger, please explain it to your classmates."

Hermione stood and rattled off the textbook answer with perfect clarity:

"Boggarts are magical shapeshifters that transform into whatever you fear most. The spell to repel a Boggart is the Boggart-Banishing Spell—Riddikulus. The incantation forces the Boggart to assume a ridiculous form. The more people present, the easier it is to defeat, because the Boggart gets confused about which fear to become. What truly destroys a Boggart is laughter—if you laugh at it, it bursts into smoke and disappears. As for the casting method, the textbook doesn't actually provide it…"

Douglas nodded in genuine surprise, then led the class in a round of applause. He'd heard Hermione was exceptional, but hadn't expected her to be quite this exceptional. After all, Boggarts weren't covered until much later in the textbook—second-years weren't supposed to be able to handle them at all.

PS: In the original series, the second-year Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum was derailed by Lockhart. Much of what Lupin taught in third year should have been covered in second year.

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