Brain Storage (Pensieve Edition)
July 1992.
Britain.
Surrey suburbs.
Orphanage.
Principal George's office was as cluttered as ever.
His fat fingers drummed on the desktop, making a pleasant rhythm.
"Good, excellent! Douglas, I knew you wouldn't stay here forever!"
The Principal's voice was booming, making the windowpanes hum.
"Although I'll miss you, this decision is the right one. I'm truly happy for you..."
Across from him, Douglas Holmes rubbed his brow helplessly.
He had chestnut-blonde hair and deep green eyes.
Those eyes were now filled with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"Principal, can we discuss the way you address me?"
"I've said it many times, please call me Douglas."
"The word 'Doug,' while affectionate, can easily be mistaken for calling a dog."
Principal George nodded vigorously, his smile a crumpled mess on his face.
"Alright, Doug."
Douglas completely gave up the struggle.
A hint of guilt, like ink dripping into clear water, quietly spread in his heart.
After all, he had only stayed for four months.
His original promise was for a whole year.
"Alright, you can call me whatever you like."
His voice softened, carrying a hint of imperceptible gratitude.
"Thank you for your understanding, Principal."
Saying goodbye to the children was more draining than he had imagined.
By the time he walked out of the orphanage gate, the street was already bathed in orange-yellow light.
Traffic flowed like luminous rivers, and the clamor rushed towards him.
Douglas didn't linger, turning into a residential alley.
The light was swallowed here, and the air instantly became chilly.
Footsteps echoed in the narrow alleyway, solitary and clear.
He cautiously scanned his surroundings, confirming there were no prying eyes.
An ordinary wooden stick slid from his cuff into his palm.
It was his wand.
He closed his eyes, precisely outlining the coordinates of his destination in his mind.
The next moment, the air around him was violently compressed inwards.
The entire world twisted into a blur of colors.
"Pop!"
With a slight popping sound, he vanished from the alleyway.
Northwest corner of Surrey, a small park.
In a dim corner, the air shimmered slightly.
Douglas's figure appeared out of thin air, his feet landing on the soft grass.
He steadied himself and straightened his collar, which was a bit wrinkled from the compression.
He had cast a Sound-Dampening Charm and a Muggle-Repelling Charm on this corner.
To Muggles, this was just an ordinary, even unconsciously avoidable, patch of bushes.
Ever since he obtained his Apparition license at seventeen, granting him legal permission to Apparate and Disapparate, he had grown accustomed to this "legal" form of speeding.
He emerged from the shadows, blending nonchalantly into the crowd of people strolling in the park.
His home, an ordinary Muggle residence.
The house left by his parents was firmly protected by an Anti-Apparition Charm.
He had to thank his Apparition instructor, Wilkie Twycross, for the private guidance.
Any uninvited visitor would not be able to pinpoint this location.
He didn't like surprises.
In the kitchen, he simply stir-fried two dishes for himself.
The clanging of the wok and spatula, the sizzling of oil dancing in the pan.
These mundane sounds of the Muggle World made him feel at ease.
He enjoyed the feeling of creating food with his own hands, provided, of course, that he only had to make a small number of dishes.
After dinner, he sat at his desk.
Two parchment letters lay on the table.
One old, one new.
He picked up the older one first.
The crest on the envelope was faded, and the edges of the parchment were worn.
The magic of time was more powerful than any Incantation.
His fingertips traced the envelope, and the floodgates of memory silently opened.
Twenty-one years.
He had been in this world for twenty-one years.
At the age of seven, a screeching brake sound split his life in two.
His awakened ability protected him in the car accident, but it couldn't save his parents.
As he was too young at the time, and his parents had no close relatives.
The community had considered sending him to the homes of those not-so-close relatives.
However, those people refused to be his guardians or take him in, no matter what.
Douglas knew very well that in Britain, a child without a guardian would struggle immensely.
Finally, reluctantly, at his request, the community sent him to Principal George's orphanage, also in Surrey.
The house his parents left him was entrusted by Douglas to the Evans couple, his mother's cousin's family in Cokeworth, to look after.
Coincidentally, she had one daughter who married into Surrey, and another daughter who went to a distant boarding school.
So, every year, she would spend some time in Surrey to visit her eldest daughter.
It was a win-win, as there was a place to stay.
Unfortunately, when Douglas was nine, the Evans couple also passed away due to an accident.
Originally, he wanted to continue entrusting the house to the Evans couple's eldest daughter, who also lived in Surrey, to look after.
Before his parents passed away, they had taken him to her wedding.
What was her name again, Petunia or Cousin Petunia... As it turned out, when he called, as soon as he introduced himself, he was immediately scolded fiercely by her.
She called him a jinx, a monster!
Saying he not only brought disaster to his own parents but also to her parents!
Without waiting for her to finish, Douglas hung up the phone.
From then on, he never contacted that cousin again.
It was also from then that he understood how inauspicious his so-called "ability" was in the eyes of others.
So he voluntarily requested to go to the orphanage.
He once thought he was living out a "thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river" script.
Until an owl brought him an acceptance letter from Hogwarts.
Only then did he realize that the script he held was actually Harry Potter.
And his proud "ability" was nothing more than the magic talent that every Wizard possessed.
From a chosen one, he instantly became an ordinary young Wizard who needed to be supervised by the Ministry of Magic.
Douglas gave a self-deprecating smile and put down the old letter.
Then, he picked up the second letter.
This letter was new and crisp, and the Hogwarts crest on it was still splendid.
He flicked the letter between his fingers, hoping some miracle would happen.
Like the "system" that was supposed to activate after graduation but had remained silent until now.
The letter remained unresponsive.
"Dear Mr. Douglas Holmes:"
"Regarding your application for the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor position, our school has completed the preliminary review. The Floo Network will connect your fireplace to the Hogwarts Deputy Headmaster's Office at 10:00 AM on July 5th (connection duration 5 minutes). Please be punctual for your interview."
"Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"
"It seems it can only be activated after I officially take up the position."
He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
Interview.
He wasn't sure he would succeed.
If his memory served him right, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor in 1992 should be that charlatan, Gilderoy Lockhart.
Douglas stroked his chin, his gaze wandering over the letter.
"Or... should I gather evidence first and send this best-selling author to Azkaban?"
The thought was fleeting.
He decided to go for the interview first.
If he failed, then he would consider how to deal with his competitor.
As for changing the plot... he curved his lips into a meaningful smile.
Perhaps, the Professors of Hogwarts would also be curious to see where a world without Douglas Holmes would lead.
July 5th, 10:00 AM sharp.
Douglas, dressed in formal attire, stood in his fireplace.
He carried a briefcase in one hand and grabbed a handful of glittering Floo powder with the other.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Deputy Headmaster McGonagall's Office."
He scattered the Floo powder at his feet, his voice clear and steady.
Green flames roared up, engulfing him.
The dizzying sensation lasted only a moment.
He stepped out of a swirling mass of green flames, his heels barely steady.
A voice, serious to the point of severity, immediately crashed down on him.
"Mr. Holmes, I think you'd best clean the soot off yourself first."
Douglas looked up.
Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, watching him sternly through her square spectacles.
He gave a slight wave of his empty hand towards himself.
"Scourgify."
The dust clinging to him vanished instantly.
A nearly imperceptible loosening appeared at Professor McGonagall's lips.
"A very good nonverbal, wandless Incantation."
She commented habitually.
"If you were still a Hufflepuff student, I would award your House ten points."
"It's an honor to receive your praise again, Professor."
Douglas responded with a smile, taking out a paper package tied with twine from his briefcase.
"I hope I'm not late."
He handed over the package.
"These are some new desserts I've made, I thought you might..."
His words caught in his throat halfway through.
Because he saw Professor McGonagall's eyes instantly grow wary.
It was the kind of look one gives when seeing a highly dangerous contraband item.
Douglas's smile froze on his face.
He immediately remembered something and quickly explained.
"Professor, I promise!"
"There is absolutely no catnip added to this, you can eat it without worry."
Upon hearing the word "catnip," Professor McGonagall's face instantly darkened.
But that unnatural expression lasted only half a second before returning to her usual sternness.
She glanced at the simply wrapped gift.
This student, who gave her such a headache yet whose talent she had to admit, was always like this.
Beneath a polite exterior, he hid a mischievous mind that caught people off guard.
"Just put it on the table for now."
Her tone brooked no argument.
"The Principal is waiting for you."
She stood up and led Douglas out of the office.
At the end of the corridor, an ugly stone gargoyle faithfully guarded the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office.
"Sherbet Lemon!"
Professor McGonagall spoke the password to the stone statue.
The statue promptly jumped aside, revealing the staircase behind it.
Douglas followed, silently complaining in his mind.
After all these years, Dumbledore's taste was still so unpretentious and easy to guess.