Wading ever deeper, nearly reaching the center of the pool, the fourth-year still hadn't spotted a single Grindylow. The absence made him uneasy, but he pressed on, inching forward through the water.
Suddenly, a glint—eyes lurking behind the weeds. Instantly, he snatched up his wand and blurted, "Stupe— blub blub—" The spell was only half-cast before his mouth slipped below the surface. He swallowed a mouthful of water, coughed, and clamped his lips shut.
But curiously, the Grindylow didn't attack. It simply stared at him, unmoving, as he cautiously paddled toward the surface.
He didn't notice that, just as he'd sunk, his frantic movements had sent ripples through the pool. The water plants, sensing the disturbance, began to stretch and curl.
The moment he broke the surface, something seized his ankle.
Assuming it was the Grindylow, he abandoned his wand and kicked furiously, hoping to land a blow and break free. After several wild kicks yielded nothing, he glanced underwater—only to see the Grindylow still lurking behind the weeds, watching but not moving.
Looking down, he realized it wasn't a creature at all—it was a tangle of enchanted water plants binding his legs. Worse, his struggles only attracted more tendrils, which slithered toward him with alarming speed.
His mind went blank. Only then did he recognize the plants: not ordinary Black Lake weeds, but a magical species he'd studied in Herbology. No wonder the Grindylow kept its distance—it must have had a run-in with these plants before.
He couldn't fathom why Defence Against the Dark Arts class now included Herbology content, but by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late…
In the end, two seventh-year students had to haul him out of the water.
Dripping and defeated, he groaned, "Why did the practical lesson change?"
One of the seventh-years explained, "Professor Holmes says that in real life, you never know what you'll run into. It's rare to face just one magical creature in isolation."
The other seventh-year pulled out a piece of parchment and asked warmly, "Any suggestions for improving this challenge? For example, should the magical plants be stronger, or maybe we should add more underwater species to make things more interesting?"
The fourth-year opened his mouth, then simply sighed, "We're only fourth-years..."
—
Meanwhile, Douglas finally turned his attention to Sirius.
He gathered a stack of recent magazines and back issues of the Daily Prophet, shoving them toward Sirius. "You've been out of touch for far too long. The wizarding world isn't what it was a decade ago. Read these—you'll catch up quickly."
Sirius didn't object. For all his schoolboy mischief, he'd always valued knowledge. The Black family home was full of ancient magical lore, but Sirius had always liked to get his hands dirty—and he was just as curious about new things.
But as he sifted through the pile, his eyes widened at the thick stack of Nature and Science magazines. "Don't tell me wizards are actually studying Muggle science now?"
Douglas looked genuinely surprised. "Wizards have always tinkered with Muggle stuff. The thing is, most only bother with simple objects. The really complex things require a bit of Muggle theory—something most wizards simply can't manage."
Sirius flipped through the magazines, shaking his head. "Probably because most people think it's pointless. Magic solves almost everything. And what about all the Muggle-born wizards like you? Can't they handle it?"
Douglas sighed. "It's not that they don't want to change. Most lose touch with the Muggle world as soon as they enter ours. After graduation, it's tough to relearn what they've missed. Even I struggled when I started at a Muggle university.
Wizards have magic. Muggles have technology. Wizards can use Muggle technology to enhance themselves, but Muggles are stuck with what they've got.
That's why I want to blend Muggle ingenuity with wizarding magic—to bring real change to our world.
I have a dream: when I've earned enough Galleons, I'll start a foundation to help Muggle-born and poor students who've just left Hogwarts. Not everyone lands a top job straight out of school..."
At the mention of Galleons, Wangcai poked his head out of the Cornucopia, glanced around for gold, found none, and slunk back in, disappointed.
Sirius snorted, "How's that any different from those pure-bloods who use Galleons to buy off Muggle-borns after graduation? They just want servants. What makes you any better?"
Douglas took a sip of tea. "It's not the same at all. I don't want them to serve me—I just want to give them a chance to follow their own dreams.
But I'll need you to help me deal with the pure-bloods. You're better at that than I am.
Of course, all of this depends on clearing your name, getting rid of Voldemort for good, and letting a new generation rise up. Only then will I have allies in the wizarding world.
Actually, I got the idea from Professor Sprout. It's far too much for one person to handle alone."
At the mention of fighting pure-bloods, Sirius's eyes lit up. He thumped his chest. "I may hate the Black name, but if I can use it to help Muggle-born wizards, well... heh heh heh..."
Douglas rolled his eyes at Sirius, who was already daydreaming about putting pure-blood supremacists in their place.
He sighed inwardly. People do what they must—if he'd had two fine fields in Luoyang, would he ever have chased the seals of six kingdoms?
His new book, Throne of Magic, had been flagged by the Ministry of Magic for its focus on the fusion of Muggle technology and wizarding magic. The story imagined a world where technology and magic intertwined—but the Ministry warned him because there was, in their opinion, too much Muggle science and not enough magic.
Mr. Slane had sent over a dozen apologetic letters in just three days. The manuscript had already gone to print, but a certain pure-blood family caught wind of it. Under Ministry pressure, publication was abruptly suspended.
Douglas was furious, but he didn't storm off to argue with the Ministry. Even Dumbledore couldn't change the Ministry's special protection of the pure-blood elite.
Still, Mr. Weasley, who knew the whole story, sent Douglas a letter of comfort—and asked to borrow the unpublished book.
Douglas generously had a copy delivered by Dobby, but told Mr. Weasley not to stick his neck out on his behalf.
Unite every possible ally. Then, when the time is right, deliver the Ministry a blow they'll never forget.
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