"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 371: Douglas's Checkered Past
In the bustling departure lounge, the two found a quiet corner and sat down.
Lupin picked up a discarded Muggle newspaper, squinting at the dense columns of unmoving text and pictures, his brow furrowing deeper with every line.
Across from him, Douglas looked up from a thick Muggle novel.
"Give it up, Remus. Muggle news is sometimes even less reliable than The Quibbler."
He jerked his chin toward a man in a floral shirt and sunglasses lounging nearby. "See that bloke over there? Five Galleons says his suitcase is either stuffed with Hawaiian souvenirs or props for a secret tropical rendezvous on some island."
Lupin put the paper down with a sigh. "Douglas, we're here on official business."
Douglas snapped his book shut with a grin. "Business and fun aren't mutually exclusive! Life's like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans—you never know if the next one's going to taste like honey or like troll bogies. Since you can't dodge it, you might as well take a bite yourself."
He fished a handful of Every Flavour Beans from his pocket and offered them.
Lupin took one, popped it into his mouth, and eyed Douglas up and down. "Not bad—honey. You didn't swipe these from the Headmaster's office, did you?"
He paused, then added, "By the way, you haven't updated any of your novels lately—neither in the wizarding world nor the Muggle one."
Douglas stared at the ceiling, sighing theatrically. "That's because… I'm lazy!"
Boarding went surprisingly smoothly.
When the giant metal bird finally rumbled down the runway and soared into the sky, Lupin couldn't help but grip the armrests, his face turning a shade paler.
Douglas handed him a tiny box of orange juice, the carton emblazoned with a smiling sun. "Special sedative—Muggle brand."
During the in-flight meal, Lupin poked dubiously at what looked like a plastic model of chicken and rice, with a dollop of mashed potatoes an alarming shade of beige.
"Douglas, be honest—did we spend a lot of Muggle money on this?"
His voice was filled with doubt. "This looks like it came straight from a Muggle rubbish bin."
Douglas cut off a neat piece of chicken, chewed thoughtfully, and declared, "The texture's a bit like waterlogged parchment, and the taste… well, imagine the aftertaste of a troll's socks left to dry for three days.
But the good news is, it fills you up and doesn't make you sprout a third eye.
Face it, Remus—Hogwarts food has spoiled you this year."
With a flourish, Douglas set down his fork and produced an exquisite meal, clearly prepared in advance by Dobby the house-elf butler.
Suddenly, turbulence rocked the plane. A chorus of startled gasps rippled through the cabin.
Lupin instinctively gripped his wand, muttering half of a Protego incantation—
Only for Douglas to smack his hand away.
Lupin: …
Douglas, meanwhile, was unbothered, tapping his fingers along with the soothing music piping through the speakers.
"Relax, Remus. Just a bit of Muggle turbulence—like a headwind on a broomstick. Nothing to worry about."
At last, just before Lupin was convinced his bones would rattle apart, the plane touched down smoothly at Rome Fiumicino Airport.
Setting foot on Italian soil, Lupin was nearly moved to tears.
"Thank Merlin—solid ground never felt so good!"
Baggage claim was easier than expected; Douglas navigated the Muggle systems like a native.
He quickly spotted their two hand-crafted, utterly out-of-place trunks trundling down the conveyor belt.
"See? My Muggle-Repelling Charm still works wonders."
He winked at Lupin as he hefted a suitcase—though, in truth, he was referring to the airline tags he'd stuck on, not any actual spell.
They pushed their trolley out into the arrivals hall, instantly enveloped by a wave of coffee aroma, clouds of perfume, and the lively babble of Italian.
Lupin felt dizzy, as if he'd stumbled into a goblin street market.
Douglas stretched, clearly in high spirits.
"Pizza, the Colosseum, and—best of all—Ministry officials who talk with their hands even more than the Brits."
He scanned the crowd, then led Lupin toward a corner of the plaza.
Leaning against a duty-free billboard was a striking young woman, arms crossed. Her olive skin glowed in the sunlight, and her hazel eyes swept the crowd with predatory sharpness.
When she spotted Douglas, she broke into a teasing smile.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, that outfit—is it for a Muggle… oh, what do they call it? Business meeting?"
Douglas arched an eyebrow back. "Isabella Rossi. Or should I say, Rome's unofficial fashion critic?"
Isabella Rossi burst out laughing and strode over, giving Douglas a hearty slap on the shoulder.
Lupin watched with a knowing grin. Douglas had never mentioned having such a well-connected—and strong-handed—acquaintance in Italy.
He could tell, just by the sound, that wasn't a gentle pat.
Isabella wasted no time exposing him.
"Oh, please, Douglas. Last time you came to Rome, that floral shirt you wore—supposedly to 'blend in'—had our whole Auror office laughing for a week straight.
I still have the photos, you know. Should I send them to the Daily Prophet with the headline 'A British Gentleman's Italian Adventure'? I hear you're quite the celebrity these days."
For a moment, Douglas's face froze.
That floral shirt—his misguided attempt at "Italian romance"—was a stain on his personal history he'd rather forget.
Isabella turned to Lupin, curiosity and scrutiny mingling in her gaze.
"So, you must be the famous Remus Lupin?"
She stuck out her hand, grip firm.
"Pleasure to meet you! I'm Isabella Rossi, Auror Office, Italian Ministry of Magic."
Lupin smiled warmly, matching her handshake with equal measure.
"Hello, Miss Rossi. Douglas often speaks of your… efficiency and, er, energy."
Isabella shot Douglas a withering look.
"Oh, Mr. Lupin, don't give him too much credit. He 'mentions' me? Nine out of ten letters never reach him. If it weren't for the Daily Prophet two years ago, I'd have thought he'd vanished into some forgotten cave."
Douglas shrugged. "But what brings you here? I thought it'd be Lorenzo."
Lorenzo Dino—the pragmatic, smooth International Magical Cooperation officer from the Italian Ministry of Magic whom Douglas had befriended on his last visit. A man after Douglas's own heart.
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