From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

The thought of Azkaban sent a shiver down his spine—those scoundrels were utterly immoral, bullying a poor, middle-aged wizard like him. It was truly unacceptable, especially given their methods of tormenting people. They claimed to be just messing around, but then they'd come back with a series of confessions and toilet cleaning, clearly well-prepared. The youngest of them, in particular, was full of wicked schemes and deserved to be imprisoned in Azkaban without any injustice.

A thought flashed into his mind and then lingered there.

'What if we sent those guys to Hogwarts as Defense Against the Dark Arts professors?'

In a way, it solved Dumbledore's major problem, and in a way, it avenged him—don't be fooled by the fact that the other party might leave Azkaban early because of this incident, but no professor in that position can stay for a year, and they will most likely have to stay in the hospital for a period of time before they leave.

Thinking of this, Monton couldn't suppress his smile, a wide grin spreading across his face: "If we really can't find a professor outside, we can go to Azkaban. The people there are more or less involved in dark magic, and they'd definitely be willing to become professors in order to get out of prison."

"To be a professor and teach them how to go to Azkaban?"

Moody gave Monton a look that said, "Are you out of your mind?"

"I think I've caught enough prisoners in Azkaban, and Hogwarts doesn't need to send any more people in."

"Not every prisoner should stay there for life. For those who have committed minor offenses, they can still be educated on normal topics."

Monton increasingly felt that his idea might come true. If professors had to be used for a year or even less, then those minor offenders would undoubtedly be the best choice. Their crimes could be forgiven to some extent, and they wouldn't give up and fail to do their jobs properly.

If he makes that choice, there's a very high chance that his cellmate will become a professor, and it would be a huge win for him no matter which bastard becomes a professor.

One idea accomplishes two things; it's a sure win!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

When William and his men returned to their cells, they discovered that their cells had been burgled again.

However, everyone was in high spirits this time, without the disappointment of last time—after all, the total amount added up to less than a Galleon, which in prison was not even as valuable as the chocolate they consumed every day.

The reason I was happy wasn't because of the money being lost, but because a new prisoner would soon be moving into the cell.

This means a lot of outside news and new fun, which is something to celebrate for Azkaban, whose daily life is rather dull.

Although those supply ships would occasionally smuggle in a newspaper, such sought-after items were not only expensive but also not very interesting. They were nothing compared to the information brought by living prisoners.

What if another new prisoner with the same talent as William comes along? Wouldn't that be double the fun?

William was also very happy, as newcomers meant new treasure chests—what if he could draw a card of higher rarity?

Or this time, a Hogwarts dropout might come along, cheating on exams or using magic outside of school—that would be great too, as it would allow his increasingly slow magical research to break through several more hurdles.

Unfortunately, everyone guessed wrong this time.

This time, what came in wasn't human...

Although he already knew that this magical world was real and that there were many non-human beings in it, William was still completely distraught after a non-human magical creature became his cellmate.

It's a complete little monster, with two huge bat-like ears and two bulging eyes that are almost as big as tennis balls—most importantly, it doesn't look cute at all.

He was short and his clothes were filthy; he was practically dragged in and thrown in by the beat officer.

The hitman didn't even bother with a joke. After throwing the guy in, he left with a dark face, as if the little guy owed him a lot of money but couldn't pay it back, so he could only vent his anger by throwing him in jail.

"Hey William, our cell is in luck."

The big guy patted William on the shoulder with a sly grin, making William want to complain—thankfully, the big guy didn't mention that our cell has money.

Suppressing his barely suppressed urge to complain, William pointed at the magical creature he didn't recognize and asked, "What's that?"

"You're a smuggler and you don't even recognize this?"

Where did you get this kind of sarcastic comment that makes you feel like a farmer who can't even tell the difference between grains?

"What a coincidence! I haven't been in this industry long enough to have seen this before. What is it?"

"House-elves, the top-tier household helpers, only purebreds have them. Tsk, they're a symbol of status."

"Very expensive?"

"All you smugglers think about all day is money, money, money. You have no ambition whatsoever. No wonder your stories are all about humans. The Muva and the Centaur are great too, aren't they?"

You're the one who's acting strange!

And you, a black market operator, where do you get the confidence that you're superior to smugglers? Everyone's in Azkaban, big brother, don't talk about second brother, okay?

"Okay, let me put it this way. These guys not only don't need a single nut of pay, they eat little and work a lot, and they're incredibly loyal. When they're serving a family, they'll never think of switching to another. They're also quite skilled; an ordinary school graduate might not be able to beat these house-elves."

As he spoke, the big guy gazed out the skylight, as if imagining himself with a house-elf.

"Most importantly, these guys do a better job than the best butlers. Whether you live in an ordinary house or a huge castle, they manage everything perfectly. They'll bring you a delicious meal when you come home, warm the fireplace, wash all your clothes, and polish all the furniture—and all of this, without paying a single nut!"

Goodness, even smart furniture isn't this convenient!

William couldn't help but feel envious.

Just as he was dreaming of becoming a house-elf himself, the new inmate stood up.

Hello everyone, my name is Gold Coin!

The new house-elf looked up, his expression serious.

"As long as you pay me enough Galleons, I will provide the best service to my employer!"

Chapter Nine: Schools Need Professors

William thought he knew a lot of people in the magical world: a Hogwarts dropout who sold illegal potions, a hardened criminal who was like a walking corpse, and a researcher who put himself in jail. But he never expected that the first non-human race in the magical world he encountered would also be such an oddity.

A house-elf who's obsessed with money.

The big guy used a series of introductions and fantasies to create a description of the race's characteristics, and then this guy destroyed everything with two sentences.

I have to bear with it... Big Guy is a good person, it's normal for things to go wrong occasionally...

"Kukuku," William couldn't hold it in any longer.

The big guy turned to look at William, his expression full of helplessness, as if to say, "If you want to laugh, then laugh. Don't hold it in."

-

The new inmate is an oddball among house-elves, and he's really good at fighting.

After refusing to take on the cleaning duties that the newcomer should have taken on, the few guys who were preparing to teach the newcomer a lesson were given a good lesson by this short guy with his quick punches and agile footwork.

After the more capable fighters were all taken down, leaving only William and a few others with less fighting experience, the newcomers naturally became the second tier – they were all minor offenders, not involved in much fighting or killing.

After everyone calmed down, the house-elf named Goldcoin described his dream.

He was unwilling to do anything that traditional house-elves were used to—cleaning the house, cooking, and handling all sorts of household chores.

His dream is to be a great adventurer, or at least a mercenary.

He has already taught himself how to break common magical traps, how to identify and deal with common wild creatures, magic heraldry, wilderness survival, and a series of other subjects that will be useful in adventures. He is also actively raising funds to establish his own adventure team.

However, all these preparations were thwarted – because he was unwilling to perform servant services and could not pay the ransom, he was sent to Azkaban.

“I tried to convince them that if I was allowed to go out for a year, I could bring back three hundred Galleons to redeem myself, but they wouldn’t believe me.”

Gold Coin leaned against the bed in the corner (Nine Fingers was very glad that the new couple did not insist on changing the bed), looking melancholy.

"So, I'm now a mercenary gold coin. As long as you have Galleons, you can hire me to do all sorts of things—of course, I won't do things like staying here a little longer or cleaning."

That's really unique.

William guessed that someone in the cell was definitely having designs on the idea, because he was having designs on it too.

A guy this good at fighting could be used as five or six prisoners in jail. When no one has a magic wand, fists are the only thing that matters. You can hire such a powerful weapon for money. Who wouldn't be tempted?

But William soon turned over and went to sleep—no money, goodbye.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Hogwarts, the main tower of the school castle, the headmaster's office.

An elderly man with a flowing silver beard was looking at the letter in front of him with a troubled expression.

He is currently recognized as the strongest white wizard in the entire magical world, a living legend, a walking epic. What's even more terrifying is that while possessing such formidable strength, he also has a head of flowing, smooth white hair that almost reaches his waist.

The letter was sent by an old friend who offered a new solution to a problem he was facing, but this new solution only brought him more problems.

After thinking for a long time, the old man finally picked up a piece of parchment and hurriedly wrote a few words on it.

After a clever fold, with a wave of the wand, the parchment transformed into a paper airplane and disappeared into the fireplace flames.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the office door opened, and an anxious female voice came through along with footsteps.

"Albus, I'm glad to see you in your office during the busiest time of the school. To be honest, even though there are no students in the school right now, we have so much to do. If you don't mind, I would like you to review next month's funding application and write a funding application to the Ministry of Magic."

The tall, black-haired witch in a bright green robe spoke to the old man in a suggestive tone, but her eyes told him firmly—if he didn't do this, she was going on strike.

Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, finally caught Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster who had completely shirked his daily duties.

Albus gave a helpless look, smiled gently, and then handed over the letter that had been troubling him.

"Would you like some honeydew honey, Minerva?"

Professor McGonagall glanced at the name at the end of the letter out of habit, which made her frown, but her eyebrows quickly furrowed and she threw the letter on the table.

"What a joke! Albus, I don't understand why you called me here. If you're asking for my opinion, my opinion is absolutely not!"

"Relax, Minerva, it's just an idea."

"What kind of crazy idea is it to have Azkaban prisoners teach at Hogwarts! To teach those kids how to get to Azkaban?"

"Actually, I think the prisoners in Azkaban seem safer than the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor from last year."

These words calmed Professor McGonagall down. As one of the few people in the know, she was very clear about the situation of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year. Last year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts was the least deserving person to be chosen as a professor. A mysterious person had been hiding in the back of that professor's head for almost a year!

"What's worse is that it seems even he himself couldn't control the curse."

"Albus, can't you solve it?"

Professor McGonagall couldn't help but ask, but quickly realized her mistake—if the curse could be easily resolved, Hogwarts wouldn't be hiring professors so frequently.

In fact, the professors over the years have all believed they have unique insights into Defense Against the Dark Arts and wanted to make a name for themselves by solving this curse that even Dumbledore couldn't handle.

They were all told what might happen before they came, but everyone thought that I could handle it.

But now there are fewer and fewer people willing to take on the challenge—in fact, later positions even require the use of the Phoenix Order's valuable fighting force, who could have done much more outside of school.

“Let’s convene a board meeting and tell them about the school’s current problems. Either we should invest more money in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor position, or we should get them to agree to recruit prisoners from Azkaban, or we should get them to provide candidates—in any case, the school must have a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Professor McGonagall skillfully found endorsers for the new policy, and the two unanimously approved the decision.

Chapter Ten Diary