In the end, Douglas decided his first priority had to be lifting the curse.
There were still seven months left before the deadline, but more than two of those would be taken up by summer holidays. That meant, for the remaining four-odd months, disaster could strike at any moment. Better safe than sorry.
At the same time, Douglas resolved to devote the rest of his days to the noble cause of education at Hogwarts. After all, the Scholar Development System was brimming with enticing rewards—each one requiring points to unlock.
Take, for instance, that nine-thousand-year Holmes Orchard Peach and the legendary Nine Revolutions Golden Pill—a billion points each! The goal was daunting, admittedly, but he could always start small. There were other life-prolonging elixirs that promised decades of youth for just tens of thousands of points.
A bargain, really, when you thought about it.
As soon as Douglas selected the option to remove the curse, the ominous countdown vanished from his system interface. He felt a strange, fleeting tremor in his soul—gone in a heartbeat.
A wave of relief washed over him, and a satisfied smile crept onto his face.
The real reason he'd never dared open the Chamber of Secrets before was the lurking fear that, while facing the Basilisk, the curse might suddenly activate and spell his doom. But now, with the curse lifted, he could finally unleash his full potential.
He glanced at his remaining 17 points in the system. The shop was still accessible, though the list of extraordinary items had grown painfully short. Of course, ordinary Muggle books were still within reach.
He sighed. Time to work even harder for points!
It was monthly exam week at Hogwarts.
As usual, Douglas rose early to lead the students on their morning run. The running group had grown impressively large, mostly thanks to a study tip he'd shared: after a good run, reciting lessons beside the Black Lake left the mind clear and sharp, making revision twice as effective.
Word spread that this method worked even better than Baruffio's Brain Elixir or Powdered Dragon Claw, and suddenly the black market trade in those substances among fifth and seventh years dropped by half.
Now, some students even brought their textbooks along, and after running, they'd gather at the lakeshore, chattering away as they memorized their notes.
That morning, the first Transfiguration class was with the first-year Gryffindors.
As soon as they entered the classroom, they froze in shock, then quickly backed out to double-check the door—had they walked into the wrong room?
But no, they were in the right place. It was just that the back of the Transfiguration classroom now looked exactly like the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The only grades posted were for fifth and seventh years, but what really stunned everyone was the giant countdown for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s plastered beside them.
When Professor McGonagall swept into the room, she launched straight into a review of last lesson's material, not offering so much as a word of explanation for the new décor.
The students, of course, wouldn't dare bring it up in her class.
Afterwards, though, news spread like wildfire across the school, and the fifth and seventh years grew visibly more anxious. Everyone was desperate to know if the other classrooms had been similarly transformed.
To their relief, only the Transfiguration classroom had copied the Defence Against the Dark Arts setup. The rest remained unchanged.
When Douglas heard the students' complaints, he simply smiled to himself and said nothing.
On the first day of exams, as students filed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found banners draped across every wall:
[Let sweat and hard work pave your way to exam glory!]
[Confidence is the key to success!]
[A life without struggle is a wasted life; magic without hardship is flavorless!]
[You only get one shot at your O.W.L.s!]
The best part? When the students sat down, the banners would recite the slogans aloud, one after another.
Douglas insisted that every fifth-year student join in, shouting the slogans to fire themselves up before the test.
He'd even considered hanging portraits of Hogwarts' most distinguished headmasters in the classroom—but magical portraits carried the memories and personalities of their subjects, could talk, and wandered about. Having them in the room would be like being watched by the school governors during every lesson, so he'd reluctantly scrapped that idea.
Perhaps it was because Douglas had been doling out so much motivational advice since the start of term that the students had grown immune, even joking about rewriting the slogans for fun.
There was also a silent agreement among the students: whatever oddities they saw in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they'd never mention them to other professors. No one wanted that peculiar classroom spirit to infect the rest of the school.
Saturday was meant to be the practical exam for fourth, fifth, and sixth years, but with a Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin on the schedule, Douglas postponed the test until Sunday.
That Sunday afternoon, thanks to an invitation from Hagrid, Douglas and the trio gathered at his hut.
Over lunch, Douglas deliberately steered the conversation toward the time before they'd started at Hogwarts—those first, mysterious moments when magic had awakened in their lives.
Harry grinned, eager to share:
"There was this one time at the zoo—I accidentally let this huge python loose, and trapped Dudley—that's my Muggle cousin—in the reptile house. The python even told me it had never been to Brazil…"
Before Harry could finish, Ron cut in, eyes wide:
"Hang on, Harry, are you saying a snake actually told you it had never been to Brazil?"
Harry blinked at Ron, puzzled:
"What's so weird about that? I bet loads of people at Hogwarts can do it!"
Douglas set down his chopsticks and said, a touch regretfully,
"I'm afraid not, Harry. As far as I know, apart from Dumbledore, no one at Hogwarts can understand Parseltongue."
He leaned forward, curious.
"Can you describe exactly what happened? Did you hear the snake speak, or did you ask it something?"
Hagrid frowned, listening intently.
Harry, seeing everyone's serious faces, spoke more cautiously:
"I asked it, and then it answered me… Is that a problem?"
Hagrid lowered his voice, looking troubled:
"Harry, this isn't something just anyone can do. I heard Professor Dumbledore say that even he can only understand Parseltongue, not actually speak it. Wizards who can speak it are called Parselmouths…"
Hermione chimed in, her tone matter-of-fact but gentle:
"Parseltongue is the language used by snakes—and other serpent-like creatures. People who can communicate with them are Parselmouths. It's extremely rare, and usually inherited.
One of Hogwarts' founders, Salazar Slytherin, was a Parselmouth. Almost every known Parselmouth is descended from him…
Harry, if you can speak Parseltongue, you might be a descendant of Slytherin…"
Harry Potter's face drained of color. He turned to Douglas, desperate for a different answer.
He hated Slytherin—how could he possibly be one of its heirs?
Douglas wiped his hands and smiled reassuringly:
"Don't worry, Harry. As Hermione just said, Parseltongue is an inherited trait. It's not something you just pick up."
He looked to Hagrid:
"Hagrid, you knew Harry's parents. Did you ever hear of either of them being a Parselmouth?"
Hagrid shook his head emphatically:
"No way! Lily and James? Parselmouths? Not a chance…
Oh, Harry, don't look so down. Maybe what you remember was just your imagination. You're a Gryffindor—there's no way you're a descendant of Slytherin!"
Harry stared blankly at the table.
"But… when I first got here, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin…"
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