From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

From Azkaban to Hogwarts Author: I'm Just a Pigeon

Copywriter:

There are five houses in total, which is common knowledge.

So it's not surprising that you start in Azkaban, right?

-

Shortly after William opened his eyes, he found himself in Azkaban.

Shortly after a fellow inmate named Mundungus was released,

Strange things then happened.

A unique job fair was suddenly held.

"What? Hogwarts is recruiting professors?"

"To Azkaban?"

"Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Author-defined tagging system makes flow easy

In Azkaban

Chapter 1 Daily Life in Azkaban

"Tom's magic exam results weren't ideal, but..."

William sat by the only window in his cell that let in sunlight, earnestly telling a story to the prisoners around him. But this time, he was interrupted by the jeering prisoners below as soon as he got started.

"A magic exam? What kind of exam? OWL or NEWT?"

"Shut up, shall I talk or will you?" William glared at the prisoner who had the loudest voice, who chuckled and shrank back.

“Ahem,” William cleared his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention back, and began to speak again: “Tom’s magic exam results were not ideal, but he still got into Hogwarts.”

"Hogwarts doesn't have exams! Admitted students receive letters delivered by owls!"

William paused for a moment, then stared at the guy who kept arguing.

"beat him!"

It's just a story, using a background to help you connect with the story. Is this something to nitpick?

Besides, it's not his fault if there are some loopholes. He's only seen one Harry Potter movie, and it's good enough that he can remember the name Hogwarts. He was already in Azkaban prison the moment he opened his eyes after transmigrating, which was bad enough. It's already amazing that he can muster up the energy to tell the story. Why are you so picky about the details?

If it weren't for the need to improve his status in the cell, he wouldn't even be in the mood to speak—the magical knowledge in his mind was a vast treasure trove for him, like a gourmet encountering a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, a discerning reader finding a million-word masterpiece to their liking, or a pervert encountering Mount Akina…

A whole new, unknown world, yet one that satisfied his curiosity, opened up before him, like scratching a lottery ticket and getting the word "Congratulations." He longed to immediately abandon the prisoners and study the magic on his own, but that was clearly impossible.

This is Azkaban, the wizarding prison—where those who don't fit in are not only ostracized, but also beaten up.

-

This is an eight-person cell for minor offenders. Eight iron beds are magically fixed to the ground, taking up most of the cell's space. There is a sink against the wall, a toilet next to the beds in a dark corner, and a dilapidated iron table that is also fixed in place. That's all the belongings in this cell.

The eight prisoners were divided into three tiers. The two guys who could get their hands on scarce Azkaban supplies naturally became the first tier. The three who were good at talking and getting things done, including William, were in the second tier. The remaining three unlucky guys could only become the third tier, doing odd jobs.

The guy getting beaten up right now is a Tier 3 guy. He arrived much earlier than William, and his crime wasn't serious—he made a rude comment while riding the subway in the Muggle world, and a hot-tempered Muggle punched him. After the two fought, this guy lost, so he secretly followed him to a secluded place, used magic to turn the other guy into a pig, beat him up, and then turned himself in. Because the impact wasn't significant, he was ultimately sentenced to three years.

"Little William, I'm just a guy who can't keep his mouth shut, don't mind me, the brothers are waiting."

The guy who was squatting down with his head in his hands and getting kicked in the butt wasn't angry at all. It was obvious that the guys who kicked him were just going through the motions and didn't really put in any effort.

In daily life in Azkaban, everything was lacking except for prisoners, and being able to hear some fresh stories was the greatest enjoyment—he was just a bit too talkative, and if he really angered William to stop telling stories, he would have to punish himself a couple of times.

"You guys watch the 'movie' first, I'll revise the story outline, and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Lying in the sunlight, William waved his hand, ready to cancel the project altogether—the story was indeed not polished enough, with too many loopholes, and needed to be revised.

The group sighed in disappointment and then began to grope around in the gaps between the bed and the wall.

They carefully unfolded the paper scraps folded into various shapes, and the scenes that had been replayed countless times reappeared before everyone's eyes—these scraps of paper were smuggled in along with food and were considered high-value items in the transactions of Azkaban prisoners. The only drawback was that they were scarce, the plots were fragmented, and the repetition rate was high.

More importantly, the Dementors guarding the cells would consciously confiscate items that carried magical energy, making these scattered pieces of paper extremely easy to seize.

Just as the group was passing around the slips of paper they had all seen many times, 'Nine Fingers,' who was at the very edge of the cell, suddenly let out a mournful cry. His hand, which had been holding the slip of paper, fell to the ground, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably. Then, he desperately used his trembling hand to stuff the slip of paper into the crack in the wall.

The faces of the other prisoners changed instantly. They hurriedly hid the pieces of paper, and those who were close to the bed quickly lay down. Those who didn't have time either leaned against the wall or simply lay on the floor. Then, a suffocating chill descended upon the entire cell, and everyone trembled involuntarily, hugging their chests tightly and curling up as they tried to shrink themselves to their smallest size.

The heavy prison door was pried open with fingers, the rusty hinges creaking, and a tattered black cloak slipped through the crack, followed by the Dementors who served as guards, who floated in.

The face, tightly wrapped in a black cloak, slowly turned around to face everyone, then nodded, as if satisfied with the food. Then, the door creaked shut again.

After a long while, curses finally came from inside the cell.

"Damn it, these black guys never come from a fixed spot. If I hadn't been quick, I would have lost something again."

The voice carried a hint of weakness—having spent so much time with these Dementors, all the prisoners reacted more severely to them than normal people. The lightly convicted criminals were a little better off, but the more serious criminals, except for a few special cases, were extremely weak in their daily lives.

"Nine Fingers, you're not bad, kid. You managed to hide the stuff even when Blackie came. When the next newbie comes, let him take your place at Watchtower."

The fact that no losses had been suffered clearly put the jailer in a very good mood, and he gave the nine men sleeping on the bed closest to the passage next to the toilet a glimmer of hope.

As he spoke, he reached into his bunk and generously pulled out eight chocolate balls, tossing one to each person.

In Azkaban, where Dementors occasionally appear, chocolate, a warm and comforting substance, is a top-tier form of hard currency. Even the golden Galon is not as useful here as chocolate—the ships that replenish food each week only carry so much, it's simply not enough to go around.

William took the chocolate, thanked it weakly, and opened the packaging with trembling hands, greedily savoring the warmth as the chocolate melted in his mouth.

With one year left in his sentence, he can enjoy the daily meal from the Dementors for another year.

Fortunately, the magical data I've never seen before in my mind can last even ten years, not to mention there's still hope that this thing exists—a year isn't long.

Chapter Two: Azkaban's Retreat

Azkaban is a prison, and no matter what terrifying names the outside world gives it or what bizarre legends they create, it cannot change the fact that it is a prison.

Even if the good-for-nothing in the original body was scared to death after hearing he was to be sent to Azkaban during his trial, it doesn't mean the prisoners in this prison live a life worse than death every day—if that were the case, this prison would have been abolished long ago.

This is the only prison in the British magical world. No matter if you are a male or female prisoner, a minor offender or a serious offender, you will be sent to Azkaban after being sentenced. If this place did not distinguish between prisoners and just locked everyone up together, people would die in various ways in the prison.

Minor offenders like William are held in large, multi-person cells. The Dementors that patrol there don't stay all day. They come over every day under the guise of checking the cells to have a big meal. At other times, the Dementors don't come easily—firstly, to reduce protests from released prisoners, and secondly, to give these people time to develop new pleasures.

Even among these lightly convicted criminals who can avoid contact with Dementors for extended periods, a minimal degree of social interaction is still maintained.

Food, alcohol, and books smuggled in through various means circulated and were consumed among these lightly convicted criminals, establishing a new trading system.

"Nine chocolates, a new addition to the owner of Flour and Blotts' personal stash, seven pages!"

"Five bucks! Enough with the nonsense, last time you brought over a fairy tale!"

Such deals were quickly made among the clustered prisoners, while the temporary guards turned a blind eye to these transactions—for them, it was not a difficult job, and they could even make a considerable amount of Galleons each time.

This is a major announcement once a month, and also the busiest day for trading on the island.

The Dementors will not participate in this operation—they are unwilling to relinquish their ability to absorb happiness from their surroundings unless absolutely necessary, preferring to let the Ministry of Magic's enforcers handle it.

On this day, the prisoners are gathered together to have their hair cleaned, drink potions to ward off common prison ailments, and undergo a thorough magical cleansing—something that obviously couldn't be done with the Dementors present.

Meanwhile, William was being relentlessly swindled by the big guy in his cellmate—the big guy was a good six feet tall, but his main job in prison was like that of a middleman. When bartering, if the two parties couldn't agree on the price, he would be called over to do a simple calculation, and the deal would be done. He would take a piece of candy or a cigarette as a cut.

Before he came in, this guy was doing similar business. When they cracked down on the black market for hand-grabbed items, he was spotted because of his size and couldn't escape. His two-year sentence isn't too heavy.

He's currently rambling on and on, trying to persuade William to hold a book club or something. It's not really about selling books, but rather gathering a bunch of prisoners to secretly talk about books for half an hour, selling tickets. William would be in charge of giving the talk, while he would be in charge of attracting people, collecting money, and keeping watch. They'd split the proceeds 60/40, with William getting 60% and him getting 40%.

Taking advantage of the large amount of supplies smuggled in today, the two might be able to make a small fortune.

“Listen to me, William, this is a legitimate business. If you came from outside, you wouldn’t even get a fraction of what you earn in jail. You’re a beatster helping to watch people. Can you get this kind of treatment outside?”

Don't you have any idea whether you're being proper or not?

William ignored him. This wasn't the first time Big Guy had tried to persuade him. He had given all the reasons, but the guy still wouldn't give up. So William decided to let him talk. Anyway, William didn't intend to cultivate a large number of book fans here. Talking in prison was just to get some benefits or something. His sentence wasn't long. Did he think he could make a lot of Galleons in prison as extra income?

The prisoners in the cell had no intention of going to such lengths for a story. This was a mixed prison. If it were a purely men's prison, he would be too busy smearing mud on his face to come out and tell stories to get special treatment.

The reason he tolerated Big Guy's complaints was to conceal his identity—he was being sent to Azkaban when he arrived, along with his smuggling accomplices. The original owner received the lightest sentence, but he was the only one who died of fright, while many of his accomplices were still in Azkaban.

Those guys were really unlucky. They thought they had bribed enough money and there wouldn't be any problems, but then the Minister of Magic was replaced. The new Minister, Fudge, wanted to fulfill his campaign promise to crack down on smuggling. When the smugglers appeared, they thought it was a case of double-crossing. Apart from the original owner being too cowardly to take action, every single one of them was framed with a bunch of crimes, and the lightest sentence was ten years.

When they saw William, they couldn't even recognize him. The long-term guarding by the Dementors had deprived them of most of their self-care abilities, and they followed the prisoners' procession almost mechanically.

This relieved William, but also made him sad – the saying "when the rabbit dies, the fox grieves" reflects the sorrow of those of the same kind. If the original owner of this body hadn't been a coward, he probably wouldn't have fared much better after transmigrating.

The big guy put his arm around William's shoulder, turned him around and walked to the other side, saying, "Alright, little William, stop looking. They won't know. Hardened criminals can hardly stay sober. Those black guys are so greedy they even want to chew our bones up and swallow them. Take care of yourselves first."

He sighed and added, "Actually, they're a bit better off than us. Their sentences just passed by in a daze. We're the ones who are really suffering. Blackie comes over every day, and to make matters worse—he doesn't even pay us."

At this point, the big guy shrugged dramatically, which made William laugh.

"Alright, alright, I know you're popular, but I really didn't expect those dark-skinned guys to like you so much too. Next time, try standing with your back to the door, and who knows, those dark-skinned guys might actually refuse to come in."

"Okay, okay, but you have to promise me we'll have a book club and split it 40% for you and 60% for me."

"Ah~"

William took two steps to the left, directly increasing the distance between himself and the bigger guy.

……

During their free time, the clocks seemed to be under a spell; William didn't even realize how much time had passed before the sun had already set in the west. The batters checked each other's identities to confirm the number of people, and the Dementors appeared and began to eat impatiently—they had been craving food all day.

The prisoners were taken back to their cells, and after a delicious meal, the Dementors locked the heavy cell doors, leaving seven prisoners behind.

Seven?

"Where is the scammer?"

Everyone panicked. Disappearing in prison was no good—it meant either an escape or death.

The Dementors' kiss is not just a legend; if someone makes a confirmed attempt to escape, those guys really will kill.

If the escape is successful, the remaining prisoners will inevitably receive heavier sentences, which would be even worse.