From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

"Ah, Professor William—another new file has been completed?"

Professor Binns' distinctive voice rang out as he floated up from his seat and asked a question with a smile that could shatter the worldviews of a bunch of students.

William wasn't surprised by the smile, but Professor Binns' speed really startled him.

It's not even Saturday morning yet, and all the extra files that so many people prepared last week are already used up?

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor, it's only Saturday today. The written materials won't be delivered until Monday."

Although the students' Saturday confinement has been lifted, it shouldn't be a problem to let them write more on Sunday—do you think those kids can solve the case over the weekend?

"Monday? Okay, I'll use these two days to organize the information on the past principals. I can't fabricate Albus's information yet, I'll start with Armando Dippert."

Professor Binns scratched his head, but nothing came off.

"Armando Dippet?"

William asked curiously. Professor Binns glanced at William, his eyes filled with doubt, then confusion, and finally he uttered a reluctant sound.

"Armando Deppet, the former headmaster, Albus' predecessor, retired in 1956 for some reason, and Albus Dumbledore became headmaster."

"Why?"

"I can't say, it involves Albus."

William, whose curiosity had just been piqued, felt he was making things difficult for himself so early in the morning—Professor Binns had already told William the rules for compiling the school history when they were discussing it.

The first and most important point.

'When compiling the school's history, do not interfere with matters concerning the current principal; when compiling the history of magic, do not interfere with matters concerning the current government.'

William could understand such remarks that seemed to disregard contemporary history, but he was incredibly eager to hear about the former principal, Armando Dippet—"You know you're only halfway through your story, Professor?"

"Do you intend to have something hidden in Principal Armando Dippert's history?"

“Of course not. Once Professor McGonagall becomes the principal, everything about Principal Armando Dippert can be recorded. Compiling history requires patience, Professor William.”

……

There was no doubt that Professor McGonagall would become the principal, but William still felt that Professor Binns' patience did not refer to waiting for approval or anything like that, but rather that he simply intended to wait until the principal died before taking notes.

Since the ghost won't die, there's no doubt that Professor Binns will win in the end.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Professor William?"

"I'd like to ask the other ghosts something, but I'm not familiar with the ghosts of the various colleges. Professor Binns, could you introduce them to me?"

William noticed a barely perceptible hesitation on Professor Binns's translucent face—it seemed the professor was torn between writing his own history book and wasting his time on William, an outsider.

He eventually received a note from the professor's sketch.

-

As the only professor ghost among a group of unemployed wanderers to have secured a permanent position, Professor Binns wields considerable authority.

Although, based on William's observations since arriving at the school, Professor Binns's classes were among the least popular, this did not diminish his prestige among the many ghosts.

William initially thought Professor Binns was fooling him, but almost all the uncooperative ghosts would give William some face and chat with him after seeing the note.

'yawn--'

After another conversation, William discovered the side effects of waking up early.

He simply found an empty classroom and lay down on the table.

'Turns out the most troublesome thing isn't asking about ghosts, but finding them—where have all those ghosts gone so early in the morning?'

'I'll lie down for a bit, then I'll go look for it. I still have to prepare for the dinner party tonight... phew...'

Chapter 132 The Great Lama Wang, Residing at Wudang Mountain

"Help!!!"

The piercing screams startled William awake from his sleep. He instinctively drew his wand and hid behind the table like a cat.

He quickly pulled a small silver mirror from his pocket, glanced at the doorway, and found that no one had broken in.

'Safety is not a trap—'

Relieved, William quickly donned the Iron Mantle and prepared to rush out to see what had happened, but he stopped with a smile as soon as he took a step—the shout rang out again, this time coming from the wall inside the classroom.

'I always tell people that walls aren't a foolproof defense, but today I almost made a mistake myself.'

After giving himself a warning, William slowly walked up to the ghost on the wall who was crying for help—he could easily handle it if it suddenly attacked.

At William's target location, within the ordinary walls of the castle, a ghost was stuck in the wall, struggling violently, its spirit flickering as if it were putting in a great deal of effort.

'It's good to listen to other people's experiences, especially protective spells to use when setting up camp. After using them once, I can sleep peacefully in the classroom.'

"Professor William?"

The ghost stopped struggling, its slightly chubby face fixed on William. It was a normal greeting, but the combination of its tone and manner gave the listener a strong sense of joy, like, "Oh my god, someone can save me!"

Looking at him with such expectant eyes, William felt as if not saving them would be a mistake—even though he was the one who set the trap.

"Oh, professor, I'm stuck in the wall, can you help me?"

This question almost made the culprit blush – “Of course, of course, there’s no problem at all.”

A few minutes later, with the ghost looking on gratefully, the professor, after experimenting with several anti-spell techniques, successfully broke the trap on the wall and rescued him.

“Great, thank you, Professor—it’s probably Peeves playing another prank; he never stops setting up all sorts of traps in the castle.”

The rescued ghost patted the non-existent dust and complained, causing William to turn his head slightly.

This is another ghost I don't recognize, and it's dressed terribly—most ghosts in the castle wear wizard robes, but this one is wearing monk's robes!

"Hello, I am William, the professor of Wizarding Self-Defense."

William was so curious about the other person's identity that he introduced himself directly.

"Professor William, hello." Perhaps it had been a long time since he had been introduced so seriously, for the ghost fumbled around for a while before awkwardly introducing himself. "I'm sorry, it's been so long, I've forgotten my name—they all call me Fat Monk, Professor, if you don't mind, please call me that too."

"Cultivator?"

There were so many things to criticize about this title that William unconsciously and impolitely repeated it.

“Of course, of course, I am a monk, a certified clergyman, a professional monk—I have served the Lord ever since I graduated from Hufflepuff.”

This statement has even more flaws—although William's utilitarian approach to learning resulted in him being worse at magical history than a third-year student, he was still very clear that the Church had indeed hunted down wizards.

Moreover, even if you changed careers halfway through, how did you end up switching from a cultivator to a ghost?

However, this fat monk finally made William understand what Hufflepuff meant by "they accept all kinds of people"—if Hogwarts ever admitted centaurs or leviathans as students, those students would probably mostly be Hufflepuffs; the house is just too inclusive.

But these complaints obviously couldn't be said face-to-face, so William suppressed his curiosity and began to ask the other party about the rooster incident this week.

"Rooster?"

The fat monk thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I didn't see it, Professor. In fact, most ghosts wouldn't even notice it."

"The majority? Why?"

"Only wizards become ghosts and linger in the places they left behind. Although I can't remember when the Forbidden Forest became the Forbidden Forest, most ghosts never went there in their lifetime."

"most?"

William couldn't help but ask a question in return—although he hadn't been in the position for long, he had already gotten quite a sense of how many people at the school liked to go to the Forbidden Forest during this time—he would believe that most first-year students hadn't been there, but the number of students who graduated without ever having been to the Forbidden Forest was even smaller than the number of female students in the science and engineering departments!

"Of course, most students who have the courage to go to the Forbidden Forest will not choose to become ghosts, Professor."

The fat monk's voice lowered, losing its previous cheerfulness.

"Feel sorry…"

"That's alright, Professor. So your problem is finding the students who sneaked out on Mondays and Fridays to kill roosters?"

"Yes."

Although Professor McGonagall had taken over the work, William wouldn't mind checking it out himself if there was a breakthrough—Hogwarts Castle had too many secrets, and the investigation was not only to deal with this incident, but also to ensure that he wouldn't be completely clueless if any accidents happened in the future.

"Hmm... I think about it, Professor, let me think about it."

The fat monk started floating in circles on the spot, looking very serious.

“I’ve got it! Professor, do you know Nick? Sir Nicholas de Minsey-Poppinton.”

How could I possibly know him!

“Um,” seeing William’s slightly confused look, the fat monk quickly added, “It’s Nick, the almost headless ghost of Gryffindor. His five-hundredth death anniversary party is coming up soon. On that day, almost half of the ghosts in the British wizarding world will come, and all the ghosts of Hogwarts will be there. If you’re willing to go, I think Nick will be very happy. You can ask the guests there for all the details.”

Five hundred years, a death anniversary celebration?

Is rebirth calculated from the day of death? You ghosts really know how to play games.

However, this is indeed great news—it would be much more efficient to get the host's consent than to ask around one by one.

“That’s wonderful, thank you, Fat Monk—when is the banquet? If possible, I would like to speak with Nicholas—well, Sir Nick—first.”

The name was too long for William to recall.

"It will be soon, but I think you will have plenty of time to talk—the banquet is at the end of October, on Halloween."

The fat monk's voice was full of joy at helping.

"It's only September..."

"In the blink of an eye, Professor, sometimes I can stare at a painting for a month or two."

The fat monk replied with a grin—which made William feel uneasy.

"Are other ghosts like this too?"

"Of course, time is meaningless to us. Once we figure it out, we may be able to accept death with equanimity."

What's the point of asking? If everyone's contemplating life, William might not be able to find himself at the end of the semester.

'Forget it, let's keep this as a backup plan. We can't rely on investigating the ghosts. But if everything goes smoothly with Professor McGonagall, we probably won't need to do it again.'

“In that case, please discuss it with Sir Nick. I will attend the banquet.”

“That’s wonderful, wonderful! Nick will be so happy. I’ll go find him right now and tell him the good news,” the fat monk said with a smile, then began to float towards the wall.

'What a kind ghost—I guess it got stuck in the wall because it heard I was looking for ghosts, otherwise what a coincidence!'