From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

But this time his curiosity really got the better of him. In less than a minute, he gave up the idea of ​​watching any longer—roller coasters and pirate ships were dizzying enough, but this ride was even more exciting than those.

Even disregarding the terrifying speed boost of traveling 100 miles per jump, this car's normal speed is faster than that of a racer. In particular, the car seems to have some kind of magic that causes anything it encounters to automatically move aside, making this high-speed race feel like the crazy racing games we played with keyboards back in the day.

Especially when the vehicle jumps and lands again, it's like completing a lap and changing the map, giving William the feeling that he's been transported into a game.

After several instances of packet loss (the network lagged and the screen suddenly changed drastically), the passengers gradually disembarked, leaving William as the only passenger heading to Diagon Alley. There was no other way; the Ministry of Magic offered various modes of transportation to Diagon Alley, with the bus being the slowest, most expensive, and worst in terms of experience.

After cleaning the bed with magic, the ticket seller sat down next to William and cautiously asked:

"What's the environment like in Azkaban? Is the food good? Are there a lot of Dementors there?"

How did this guy survive until now without being killed?

William had a thought that crossed his mind, and he almost kicked someone like he did in prison—only when he stood up did he realize that he was no longer in Azkaban.

The ticket seller didn't wait for his reply and continued, "I don't think I'll go to Azkaban. I'm just an ordinary ticket seller, and I haven't even graduated from school for long. Speaking of which, William, it seems like it's only been less than half a year since we last met, and you've already been to Azkaban."

William began searching his mind for useful curses and started checking whether any of the prisoners in the jail had been sent there because of wizard fights.

Just then, the sound of brakes rang out, and the Knight Bus slid to a stop in front of a dilapidated little bar.

That was the final stop of this trip, the entrance to Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron.

Relieved, William put the wand back and rushed towards the car door.

"Alright, William, let's talk more next time we meet!"

Behind William, the ticket seller waved.

"You have gained the temporary approval of a magical creature and have been granted a treasure chest x1."

What exactly is temporary approval?

William muttered as he opened the treasure chest.

A lone card popped out of the tattered box.

Sampak, the prisoner: Sampak, who speaks without thinking and is a chatterbox, was reported by an exasperated passenger when the person whose name cannot even be mentioned returned. With his poor reputation, he was imprisoned in Azkaban with almost no questioning.

Skill Out of Control: Tear up this card. For the next hour, your voice will have the power to ignite the darkest recesses of the opponent's heart. The success rate depends on the opponent's strength.

Having no other choice, William solemnly accepted the card and warned himself that he would never casually become an Onmyoji unless it was through an internet connection.

However, upon seeing this card, all the anger he had just felt vanished instantly.

Watching the bus drive away, William silently said, "You too," and then strode towards the Leaky Cauldron—the pub most frequently mentioned by all the prisoners.

William pushed open the door and walked towards the bar.

"Tom, give me a beer and a quiet room."

"William? It's been a while since you've been here—oh?"

Tom's voice suddenly stopped. He seemed to remember something, but quickly regained his composure and slid a beer in front of William.

"I'll treat you to beer, and five scones a day for the room. How long are you staying?"

"There's no definite answer yet; it depends on when I receive the notification."

William took the beer, pulled out ten Galleons from his purse, pushed the money over, and picked up the glass to take a big gulp.

"Breakfast and lunch will be eaten at the store, and we'll settle the bill later."

"Okay, dinner's on me tonight. Your room is number sixteen."

Old Tom tossed him the keys, which William caught, turned, and walked up the wooden stairs.

Chapter Eighteen: Arrangements for the Future

The rooms at Leaky Cauldron are neither too big nor too small, and they don't feel like contemporary architecture; in fact, they perfectly follow the architectural style of a century ago.

However, neither the oak furniture nor the old fireplace attracted William's attention much. His head went out of control the moment it touched the pillow, and when he opened his eyes again, a pinkish-golden light was shining through the window.

"Hiss," William instinctively reached out to block out the sunlight, but found that his entire arm was numb.

Stretching his body, which was stiff from sleeping naked all night, William began looking for a clock in the room.

He was lucky this time. Although the hourglass-like object on the table didn't seem to have anything to do with an alarm clock, the sand still glowed to show the current time when William looked at it.

It's nine o'clock. Have I been sleeping for so long?

Upon realizing this, his stomach quickly began to protest—since yesterday afternoon, William had only drunk a cup of hot chocolate.

William slammed the door shut and rushed downstairs to see if there was any leftover breakfast to fill his ravenous stomach. But when he reached the bar, old Tom had already placed a small basket of sandwiches in front of him with a smile.

"The soup is in the kitchen, I'll bring you a serving later—by the way, eat well, those hangover guys will probably grumble a bit later, don't argue with them."

Before William could even comprehend what was happening, the upper echelons of the bar were already hurling insults at him. Some spoke with rural accents, others in Spanish, and still others in French. The incomprehensible slang and foreign profanities were truly an eye-opener for William.

He didn't mind, picked up his food, found a slightly better-lit spot, and sat down. After about two or three minutes, the cursing from upstairs gradually subsided. Only then did Tom bring over a large bowl of soup and sit down directly opposite him.

"Why are you so tired? I knocked on the door for three minutes last night when I brought you food and you didn't wake up."

"Don't even mention it. I was so happy to get out of that awful place, but as soon as the excitement wore off, I was completely exhausted. My stomach has been empty since yesterday, and I haven't eaten anything."

William swallowed the last bite of his sandwich before muttering to himself—the original owner of this body wasn't very familiar with Old Tom, but having taken on two potion deals here, he could be considered to have some influence.

As for his past in Azkaban, William felt it was no secret in front of a bar owner; on the contrary, it conveniently concealed the differences between him and the original owner.

After all, having been to Azkaban once, it's normal for him to change.

"What are your plans this time? Are you still taking on potion business?"

"Why not? It's not illegal—but let's skip this month. I haven't touched the crucible in a while, so the success rate isn't guaranteed."

William has no intention of giving up his cooking skills. Although he has successfully applied for a professorship, he has long been prepared to leave Hogwarts before he can serve a year in office due to an accident. In that case, he will have to rely on potions to make a living.

The label of "potions made by the Potions Professor at Hogwarts" can double the price of a potion. Potions made by the Defense Against the Dark Arts—no, the Young Wizards Fight Protection Professor—are just long in name and don't sell for much.

Potion brewing is a technical skill, unlike traditional Chinese medicine where you simply need to prepare the ingredients and add the appropriate ingredients to brew the potion according to the doctor's instructions. Potions for general use are easier to prepare, as employees of potion shops usually do it on a daily basis. More complex or niche potions are generally prepared by outsiders. Famous potions can sign their names on the potions, and people are more confident in their efficacy and willing to pay a higher price.

William, an untrained alchemist who hadn't quite made it big, would naturally have to return to his old profession after his Hogwarts professorship. He couldn't afford to waste his year at Hogwarts; he was trying to improve his potion-making skills while also building a reputation for his future, so he could get some work early on and not be completely clueless about how to make a living later on.

As for what he might do if he discovers he doesn't have the talent for potions, then he'll consider changing careers—his current impression of the magical world comes entirely from his predecessor's memories. How could he possibly plan everything for the future without knowing anything?

If he had that ability, he would have already enabled an auto-clicker on the plus sign in the system interface. Even Game Master wouldn't dare to modify it like that.

Old Tom was quite satisfied with William's reply—he and William weren't particularly close, and his visit was simply an old man's habit of lecturing a young man. Since William hadn't become any more impatient even after coming from a place like Azkaban, he would naturally continue to push the potion list onto William.

There are plenty of potion recipes, but it's not appropriate to give them to young kids to practice on. Hogwarts graduates a batch of new students every year, and there are even people who can brew potions into poison. If someone drinks such a potion and gets sick, who will be responsible?

"Okay, I'll keep an eye out for you next month. Hogwarts is starting next month, and I expect we'll be getting a ton of support potions."

William was taken aback—he had reviewed many of his potion-making memories, but he was not very familiar with the jargon used for making potions.

However, he quickly covered it up by nodding while taking the sandwich, and Old Tom didn't have any objections, and was even somewhat pleased—it's never a bad thing for any boss to have their own products popular.

"Alright, you eat first. I'll go order some drinks. It seems we're running low on mead. I need to place a new order quickly this morning."

Old Tom chuckled and left the table to walk towards the bar, while William took the opportunity to quickly recall.

Within minutes, he figured out exactly what that auxiliary potion was.

It's actually quite simple. Many first-year students receive good news like they're going to be a big sister or brother when they go home for the Christmas holidays after entering Hogwarts. Also, after the fifth-year OWL exams, if their grades are too bad, they'll hear similar good news.

The so-called auxiliary potions are basically things used to help these situations be achieved quickly, and the demand will explode during the month when new students enroll.

However, William has never even learned about similar potions—who knows how many strange potions there are in the wizarding world, with all sorts of uses, including resurrection potions, as if they can't get involved in anything without potions!

After swallowing the second sandwich, William's stomach finally stopped urging him so urgently, and he finally had time to taste how well the sandwich was made.

The sandwich was unremarkable, but the sausage inside had a strong garlic flavor, which elevated it from barely edible to something else. However, the soup had a slightly spicy and sour taste, which was surprisingly appetizing, so he couldn't help but finish the remaining soup in the bowl with half a slice of bread.

After a satisfying meal, William stretched lazily—his Diagon Alley adventure had officially begun.

Chapter 19 Gringotts and the Wand Shop

Diagon Alley can almost be called the financial center of the British magical world, as Gringotts, the only magical bank in the UK, is located here.

However, Diagon Alley is not high-end at all, and the Leaky Cauldron, which serves as the entrance to Diagon Alley, provides ample evidence for this conclusion.

The financial system of the entire magical world is rudimentary and barbaric, riddled with loopholes. Any college student who has systematically studied finance can find these loopholes in the network and make a fortune from them.

But simplicity does not mean inappropriateness. An imperfect system not only means there are loopholes to exploit, but also that there are almost unlimited ways to deal with them. William saw a bunch of economic criminals in Azkaban, each of whom thought they had discovered loopholes in the system.

Clever tricks? Not a chance.

Because the laws concerning finance are inadequate, the length of the sentence during an arrest is entirely up to their whim—they dare to fleece the Ministry of Magic; do they really think Azkaban is built as a prestige building?

William clearly remembered that in the high-crime prison, a guy successfully predicted a major upheaval in the Far East using numerology, and then swindled a large sum of money from Muggles. When this guy tried to exchange the money for gold in Gringotts, the Ministry of Magic confiscated all his property on charges of violating the Secrets Act and disrupting financial order, and sent him to Azkaban for twenty years as a lesson for future generations.

Imperfect laws are the Ministry of Magic's greatest power. If everything is stipulated, how can the Ministry of Magic fight against pure-blood families?

William didn't have anything to complain about right now. He was just looking at Gringotts' doors and thinking about the prisoners in Azkaban. He couldn't interfere with the power of the Ministry of Magic. After spending so much time in Azkaban, his ambitions of unifying the Ministry of Magic in a year and reforming the wizarding world in two years were gone. Although he still had ambitions for the future, he couldn't afford to be so arrogant.

"If I remember correctly, I have less than thirty gallons in savings in the bank, but more importantly, I have that set of custom-made potion-brewing utensils. Although getting a new set would cost no more than twenty gallons, it would take too much time to make one, and besides, I don't have that much money."

Unfortunately, it seems to be payday in many places today, and there were long queues in Gringotts. Wizards lined up, carrying small bags of gold, chatting about all sorts of things in front of the bank.

Even worse, the fairies didn't speed up their preparations despite being busy. There were only a few fairies guiding people to their private underground vaults, and the line of people waiting to go down to the underground vaults was long, but the bank didn't seem to be able to send anyone over.

After waiting in line for ages with no sign of it shortening, William simply gave up on retrieving his belongings from Gringotts vault and headed straight for his second destination—Olivendine's wand shop.

Gringotts Vault should more be called a safe deposit box. When William was preparing to smuggle things before going to prison, he simply stuffed all the more important items into it. However, Gringotts was too busy, so he had to go to the wand shop to see what was wrong with his unruly wand.

After searching the streets for a while, William finally found the small, run-down shop after passing by twice. The signboard at the door was faded and worn. At first, William thought it was a closed shop, but after patiently looking through the signboard, he realized that this was the shop he was looking for.

Ollivanders – a company that has been crafting fine wands since 382 BC.

It's a well-established business with a thousand-year history, and it's the kind that has a solid reputation.

William mentally scoffed, then pushed open the store door.

The shop is not spacious, which is a far cry from its thousand-year-old reputation. However, apart from a chair, there is not much furniture outside, so it does not seem so cramped.

The first thing you see is a stack of boxes that reaches all the way to the ceiling. Against the backdrop of these boxes, an old man is busy with something with his head down. Beside him, an empty box that looks exactly like the one in the background is open and placed there.

"A new guest?" The other person looked up, their voice soft.

He glanced at William's pocket, which almost made William instinctively protect his wallet—he knew many petty thieves back in Azkaban, and Nine Fingers was one of them. He got his nickname because he was always in a nine-fingers state before drinking potions, since he would have one finger chopped off every day.

But the other person's eyes weren't on William's money pouch; instead, they were fixed on William's wand, which was half-exposed.

“Oh, it’s this one. Sold eight years ago. It’s twelve inches long, made of red willow. It’s very powerful to swing. It’s rare for a young wizard to get his own wand at the age of nine. This isn’t Japan (Note 1). Your name is William, right?”