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

The sky outside was still shrouded in darkness—it was already five in the morning.

Douglas Holmes slipped out of bed in his loose pajamas and settled into a meditation nook, screened off in his bedroom. This daily ritual was more than a habit—it was the secret behind his superior magical control.

Meditation.

At first, he'd hoped it might trigger some kind of transmigrator bonus. Sadly, there'd been no miraculous effect, no sudden ability to see swirling magical elements. But over the years, perseverance had paid off: his magical reserves grew faster than any of his peers, and his spellcasting was noticeably quicker. Even now, as most adult wizards found their magical growth slowing—or stopping altogether—Douglas could still feel his magic steadily increasing.

An hour later, as the first rays of sunlight crept across the Hogwarts lawns, a lone figure appeared—first jogging, then moving through a graceful set of Crane-style boxing forms.

Restrain the body, rise and vanish,

Dart through woods, strike and snatch;

Gather qi within, hold posture without,

Small, swift, the sparrowhawk finds its match.

From the distant window of Gryffindor Tower, Professor McGonagall, still in her nightgown, spotted that familiar silhouette on the slope. She paused, then chuckled softly to herself.

"Heh, for a moment I thought someone had used a Time-Turner on me. Nearly forgot—Mr. Holmes is a Hogwarts professor now."

Back when Douglas was a student, he'd made a habit of running laps around the Hogwarts grounds every morning, always finishing with those strange movements on the lawn. Some students had once reported him for performing dark rituals. But McGonagall, with her half-blood background, and the worldly-wise Dumbledore, recognized it as a Muggle form of physical exercise. They couldn't make heads or tails of it, but saw no harm in the practice.

After his morning routine, Douglas made his way to the kitchens. Before he could even say a word, the house-elves had already prepared his usual breakfast—soy milk, silken tofu, congee, fried dough sticks, steamed buns, and more. Of course, these weren't just for him anymore. Ever since he'd introduced these hearty breakfasts, students and professors alike had grown fond of them.

Breakfast finished, he returned to his office to review the lesson plan for his first class of term: fifth-year Ravenclaws.

By the time class was about to begin, every student was already in their seat, whispering excitedly. They were eager to see what kind of lesson this young Professor Holmes—barely a few years older than themselves—would deliver.

Soon enough, Douglas strode in through the side door, face stern, arms full of parchment. He set the stack down and swept his gaze across the room, noting with approval how upright everyone sat.

"Very good. No one's late," he began, his tone cool and measured. "As your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, let me ask you this:

You're in your fifth year now—do you know what your greatest challenge ahead is?"

The students exchanged bewildered glances. Douglas's expression darkened. What on earth had Quirrell been doing last year?

A timid voice piped up from somewhere in the room:

"Is it the O.W.L.s? Last year, I heard from an older student—she did terribly, only managed an 'E' in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Whispers broke out among the class. Douglas's frown deepened. Clearly, being a young teacher earned him no authority here. Would they dare act this way in McGonagall or Snape's classes?

"QUIET!"

The room fell instantly silent.

"Has no one taught you to raise your hand before answering? Second row, center—yes, you. Stand and answer!"

A girl with short, tawny hair stood up, chin lifted with a hint of defiance. She'd heard tales from older students about this notorious, troublemaking Hufflepuff who was now—unbelievably—her professor, despite being only a few years her senior.

"It's the O.W.L.s, Professor. Last year, I saw the fifth-years running themselves ragged over those exams."

Douglas nodded. "Very good. It is indeed the O.W.L.s. However, I'd suggest that when the professor doesn't know your name, you introduce yourself when answering. I'm not above awarding Ravenclaw five points for that."

The girl flushed scarlet, her pride momentarily wilted. After a pause, she managed, "Windsor Shirley, Professor. Professor Holmes, my name is Windsor Shirley."

Douglas's sternness melted into a smile. "Excellent, Miss Shirley. No need to be so nervous. From today forward, you'll be Ravenclaw's Defence Against the Dark Arts Class Representative."

Windsor Shirley—and the rest of the class—looked utterly confused. Class Representative? That was a new one at Hogwarts.

Douglas explained, "The duties of a Defence Against the Dark Arts Class Representative are as follows:

First, actively share learning experiences with your classmates, lead them in improving study methods, organize activities related to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and help foster a strong academic atmosphere.

Second, keep in close contact with your peers and stay updated on everyone's progress.

Third, maintain a direct line to the professor—that's me—relay feedback and suggestions from the class, and serve as a bridge between students and teacher.

Fourth, actively help classmates who are struggling, ensure they complete assignments on time and make corrections, and prevent any copying of homework.

Fifth, hold yourself to the highest standards, study diligently, and set an example for others.

If there are additional requirements, I'll let you know.

If you can fulfill these duties, at year's end, I'll award Ravenclaw an extra thirty points based on your performance.

I trust you won't refuse, Miss Shirley?"

As Douglas spoke, every eye in the classroom turned to Windsor Shirley. Some girls already looked at her with open envy—after all, these powers, in some ways, rivaled those of a Prefect.

Nervously, Shirley pointed to a girl and a boy in the front row. "Professor—oh, Professor Holmes, I mean, Ravenclaw's Prefects are Marjorie Vina and Lizzy Quinton, I…"

Douglas gestured for her to sit. "Yes, I know. But they're responsible for the entire House—their attention is divided. You'll be in charge of Defence Against the Dark Arts for fifth-year Ravenclaws only."

He turned to address the Ravenclaw Prefects.

"Miss Vina, Mr. Quinton, Miss Shirley won't be the only one—soon, I'll be appointing a Class Representative for every year and every House to assist me with teaching. I hope you'll support Miss Shirley as needed. In fact, during Defence Against the Dark Arts, the Class Representative's authority will exceed that of the Prefects. Understood?

And regarding the distribution of fruit from the House management, my Class Representatives are to receive their share as well."

As a professor, Douglas's word was law—for now. The Prefects exchanged glances, already planning to take this up with their Head of House after class.

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