Chapter 7: A Flying Car and Bad News
"The moon is like a hook, and tenderness refuses to fade… bloody hell."
Douglas had only just muttered the line when something moving across the moonlit sky caught his eye.
A car.
A flying car.
And it didn't seem particularly far away.
He immediately remembered what it had to be.
Lifting two fingers to the side of his eyes, he murmured,
"Visual zoom."
In an instant, the distant image sharpened as though he were looking through a powerful telescope. The flying car rushed into focus until he could clearly make out the figures inside.
Sure enough.
There were four people in the car.
Three of them had red hair.
Two of them had to be the twins—Fred and George, unless he was very much mistaken. He had met them years ago at the Burrow.
There was also their youngest brother, Ron, though the last time Douglas had seen him, the boy had only been seven or eight.
And then there was the most important one.
A thin black-haired boy with glasses.
Douglas narrowed his eyes.
"He does look familiar… is that Harry Potter?"
Before he could study him more closely, the car plunged into a bank of mist and vanished from sight.
Douglas frowned and rubbed his eyes.
"If I remember correctly, this should be the night the Weasley boys break Harry out of Privet Drive in the flying car."
He looked in the direction it had disappeared.
"Given the direction they were flying—and where the Burrow is located…"
He paused.
"Does that mean Harry Potter actually lives not that far from my house?"
Douglas tried to remember whether he had ever accidentally crossed paths with the famous boy in daily life.
Nothing came to mind.
Still, another thought quickly followed.
"Arthur Weasley really is talented."
A slow smile touched his lips.
"Maybe I should buy a car and ask him to modify it for me."
About five years earlier, Douglas had grown quite close to Bill Weasley, one of the best students in his year.
That Christmas, Bill had invited him to spend the holiday at the Burrow.
It was there that Douglas first met the twins, little Ron, and little Ginny.
Of course, he already knew Charlie from school.
During that week at the Burrow, Arthur Weasley had asked him endless questions about the Muggle world.
When Douglas realized Arthur had not yet begun modifying a Muggle car, he had even offered a few suggestions.
That was when Douglas learned something important.
Turning a Muggle object into a truly magical one was not as simple as casting a charm on it.
It required real skill in alchemy.
Unfortunately, Hogwarts had lacked an alchemy professor for years because of the instability in the wizarding world.
As an elective subject, alchemy had quietly disappeared from the timetable, leaving only a few books behind in the library.
Still, Arthur's enthusiasm had told Douglas something else.
The Weasley family might not have been wealthy in gold—
But as one of the old pure-blood families, they clearly possessed a heritage of their own.
Douglas told himself he wasn't envious in the slightest.
But then—
His expression shifted.
At last, he remembered what had been bothering him.
It had been nagging at the back of his mind for days.
Now, after seeing the Weasley children, it finally came back to him.
Ginny.
The diary.
The Chamber of Secrets.
The basilisk.
Too much time had passed.
Back in his first year, Douglas had actually gone searching for the Chamber himself.
He had successfully found Myrtle's bathroom.
He had even discovered the tap engraved with a tiny snake that produced no water.
At the time, he had tried mimicking the Parseltongue sounds he remembered from films in his previous life, hoping to force the entrance open.
That had taught him one valuable lesson.
Muggle films were not to be trusted.
Douglas touched his chin, remembering that embarrassingly childish moment from his school days.
"If I remember correctly, I also found a copy of Hogwarts, A History in the library…"
His expression turned complicated.
"Beside the passage about the Chamber, I wrote down the location and what was inside in Chinese pinyin."
He winced.
"And I may have left a note by the sink that said, 'Welcome home, Mr. Voldemort.'"
The memory made him feel faintly ashamed.
Using the maturity of an adult soul to do something that ridiculous…
He really had been impossible at times.
Whether the note had ever frightened Voldemort or not was no longer his concern.
If the sky fell, someone taller would hold it up.
Right now, Douglas had more immediate problems.
For instance—
How he was going to survive his meeting with his editor at the end of the month.
Being chased for a manuscript was one of the great sufferings of the world.
August vanished quickly.
By the final days of the month, Douglas had completed enough writing over the past several weeks to make up roughly a full volume.
He packed the manuscript and traveled to London.
There, wedged between a bookshop and a record store, stood the Leaky Cauldron.
As Douglas stepped inside, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
The pub was exactly as he remembered—dim, cramped, and old-fashioned. Aside from the bar itself, only a few shadowy tables occupied the room.
Behind the counter hung a grimy old poster advertising a pig's head dish.
That poster, incidentally, had been Douglas's idea.
As for the actual recipe—
He would not part with it unless someone caught him in a very generous mood.
The moment he entered, the sharp-eyed barman, Tom, noticed him.
"Well now, if it isn't Mr. Holmes," Tom said brightly. "A distinguished customer."
"It's been a long while. Fancy a Butterbeer? On the house."
He lowered his voice with a grin.
"To celebrate your becoming—"
Douglas coughed lightly and cut him off at once.
"Old Tom is as well-informed as ever."
He smiled politely.
"But thank you. I've got business to attend to in Diagon Alley first. I'll come back and chat with you later."
Tom merely shrugged and went back to polishing the glass in his hand.
He could make a good guess as to whom Douglas was here to see.
After all, that pig's head recipe had served very well as hush money.
And as the man guarding one of the most important entrances into Diagon Alley, Tom knew perfectly well when to keep his mouth shut.
Douglas made his way into the small yard behind the pub.
He drew his wand, used the dustbin as a reference point, counted three bricks up and two across—
because he rarely came here often enough to remember it by instinct—
and tapped the brick lightly.
With a deep grinding sound, the wall split open.
The noise of a crowded street immediately poured through the gap.
Before him stretched a long cobbled lane lined with strange and magical shops of every kind.
Douglas smiled faintly.
"Wizarding world," he murmured, "long time no see."
Obscurus Books stood at Number 18 on the south side of Diagon Alley.
Its most famous title was, of course, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.
A fellow Hufflepuff, naturally.
Although the bookshop was Douglas's destination for the day, he needed to stop somewhere else first.
Gringotts.
The goblin-run bank was not, in Douglas's opinion, nearly as secure as the goblins liked to claim—but there was little alternative.
He couldn't very well keep piles of Galleons lying around his house.
His royalties were usually transferred by Slane directly into his private vault there.
Unfortunately, the walk to Gringotts was not nearly as simple as it should have been.
It was nearly the start of term, and Diagon Alley was crowded enough already.
The narrow street was packed with parents and students.
The sight brought back memories of the first time Professor McGonagall had escorted him into the wizarding world.
Then a voice cut through the noise.
"Douglas!"
He looked up.
Without realizing it, he had drifted with the crowd to the front of Flourish and Blotts—and standing there was Slane, waving him over with obvious impatience.
"My dear Merlin, Douglas," Slane called as he strode toward him, "I was beginning to think I'd never see you again in this lifetime."
"Tell me, how exactly do you come to Diagon Alley without visiting me first?"
His expression was a curious mix of real offense and theatrical grievance as he grabbed Douglas by the shoulders.
Though Slane thought highly of his fellow Hufflepuff, the two had been working together for ten years now.
And in all that time, Douglas had become increasingly difficult to track down.
Back when he was still at Hogwarts, at least he turned in manuscripts on time.
After graduation, however, he had begun roaming all over the world.
Owls sent by Slane had returned exhausted from Egypt, from the distant East, and once very nearly failed to return from North America at all.
He was not an easy man to catch.
When Slane threw an arm around his neck, Douglas smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat.
"Oh, senior, it's been far too long."
He looked Slane up and down with exaggerated sincerity.
"You're looking remarkably radiant lately. There must be good news."
He patted his bag.
"I was just on my way to Gringotts to collect some Galleons. Let me treat you to a proper meal and celebrate whatever happy occasion this is."
Slane snorted.
"A proper meal?"
He looked Douglas over with open disdain.
"What feast could possibly be better than food cooked by the man who kept a private kitchen for himself in Hogwarts' kitchens?"
He jabbed a finger at him.
"The last time I ate your cooking was right after you graduated, wasn't it?"
Then his expression darkened.
"And what good news could I possibly have?"
"I've just been threatened by your readers through Howlers."
Douglas immediately took advantage of the moment to slip out from under his grip.
Then he quickly drew a thick manuscript and a box of snacks from his bag.
"I told you ages ago," Douglas said smoothly, "when fan letters arrive, just toss them into a spare room first."
He pressed the manuscript and snack box into Slane's arms.
"When you've got time, sort through them properly. If you find anything unusual mixed in, consider it a free extra ingredient for the kitchen."
Then he brightened.
"Speaking of Hogwarts, I actually do have some good news. I succeeded—"
Before he could finish, Slane took both items without even looking at them.
Then he gave Douglas a mournful look.
"You can tell me your good news in a moment."
He paused.
"Because I have bad news."
"And it's about you."