HP: Professor From Azkaban

When William finally set the book down on the table, his stomach, long ignored, immediately issued a loud protest.

Rubbing his neck, stiff from hours of reading, William glanced at the time; it was already half past twelve.

"No wonder I'm so hungry. Once I start reading, I completely lose track of time," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in mild exasperation as he began tidying up the books and notes spread across the table.

He slipped his notes into the envelope containing test papers, securing them together before picking up the thick stack of books. Carrying the pile, he left the desk near the Restricted Section.

The library was now empty; it seemed the students had all gone to the Great Hall for lunch. Madam Pince, however, remained in her usual spot near the entrance, deeply engrossed in a book.

"Borrowing this many books at once?"

Madam Pince greeted him as she tapped a nearby quill. The enchanted quill immediately began recording the book titles and the borrower's name onto a piece of parchment.

"Oh, by the way, Professor, each book can only be borrowed for a maximum of half a term. If you need to extend the loan, you'll have to come back and register again," she reminded him.

Was this because other professors had caused trouble by not returning books?

With a smile, William assured her that he understood and carried his pile of books back to his office. Since he had already missed lunch in the Great Hall, he decided to have a house-elf bring some food to him instead.

Endless books, a generous salary, house-elves that are practically personal servants, and a group of students I can lecture with perfect justification; William thought as he ate the lunch delivered by the house-elf Bart.

If it weren't for that damned curse, this would be the dream job.

Then again, without that curse, how would I have gotten this job at Hogwarts in the first place?

"..."

What am I even thinking about? I went through nine years of compulsory education back in the modern world; more than twice the length of Hogwarts' seven years. I've done fine teaching the earlier classes, and there's no reason I won't keep doing well. What's there to worry about?

William shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts creeping in again; lingering aftereffects of Azkaban.

Those Dementors should never have been allowed to exist in this world!

Letting his guard down for even a moment had allowed a surge of repressed negative emotions to surface. Although some time had passed since his release from Azkaban, the experience had left an indelible mark on him.

Even spending time in a bustling pub, hoping the large crowds would help him shake off the shadow of Azkaban, hadn't completely erased the habits he had developed; being forced to relive sorrowful memories day after day.

Never again will I eat alone when I have the option to be in the Great Hall. I need to be around people. Thankfully, there are enough of them at Hogwarts.

Resolving this, William found he couldn't remain in his office any longer. He called the house-elf to clean up his leftover food and stuffed some chocolate into his mouth before heading out.

***

"William? Why are you so late?"

"Spent too long in the library. Then I stopped by my office to drop off some things, and here I am," William replied with a smile, answering Adams' question as he glanced at the Alchemy professor, who was intently focused on a plate of lamb chops.

"Why didn't I see you this morning, Professor Singed?"

"Getting enough sleep is more important than breakfast," Singed replied nonchalantly.

You could've just admitted you couldn't wake up. How relaxed is the schedule for Alchemy classes anyway?

William felt a pang of guilt.

Just moments ago, he had almost let himself spiral into a series of negative thoughts about having free time in his schedule. But looking at Singed and then back at himself, he couldn't help but feel his earlier self-reflection was downright pathetic.

"Oh, come on, Singed! I spent all last night harvesting plants and got up early today to finish the task. You're just lucky your classes are so light," Adams retorted with a look of disdain.

Then, glancing around to ensure none of the other professors were paying attention, he leaned in and asked quietly, "William, you don't look well. Are you feeling sick?"

"Maybe I was just really hungry," William replied. "I had some chocolate earlier, and I'm feeling much better now."

"That's good. But if anything feels off, go see Madam Pomfrey. Or, well, Professor Snape might actually be better at this kind of thing… But, you know how he is toward, uh… you."

It was no secret among students and staff that Professor Snape had always wanted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Even though William was technically a new name and face, it hadn't diminished Snape's grudge against him; just like everyone knew Professor McGonagall had never thought highly of the Divination professor.

Thanks to Adams' interruption, William was reminded of his own expertise. If it weren't unseemly to smack his forehead in front of so many professors, he would've done just that.

Potions!

The lingering aftereffects that had troubled him for so long could easily be dealt with using a Cheering Draught. While it did have some side effects, they wouldn't be a big deal as long as it wasn't used daily.

Of course, there was no way he'd be able to use the school's equipment. With Snape being the head of Slytherin House, the idea of getting access to shared tools was a nonstarter.

This weekend, I'll head to Gringotts, unlock my vault, and retrieve my own tools. My office at the school counts as a residence, after all. It might come in handy one day; William decided silently, adding the task to his mental to-do list.

As he was making these plans, Adams' voice interrupted his thoughts again.

"Alright then, it's settled. Wednesday afternoon, none of us have classes, so we'll head to the Hog's Head for a drink. Being a professor has its perks, but not being able to drink in public pubs is such a drag."

Wait a minute!

I was just thinking, responding with casual "mm-hm" sounds while distracted, and somehow you've managed to turn that into a plan?

"Wednesday is still a workday, isn't it? Drinking might not be appropriate," William hesitated.

"No problem," Adams assured him. "We'll say it's to celebrate our new colleague. Professor McGonagall will turn a blind eye to it. Besides, last year, two-thirds of my students passed their OWLs!"

Before he could fully grasp how it had happened, William's Wednesday afternoon had been booked. Adams didn't even linger on the topic, seamlessly shifting the conversation to this year's Quidditch season.

This new subject was clearly much more public, as several nearby professors soon joined in. They engaged in a serious discussion about which team would claim the championship this year.

Their voices grew so loud that Professor McGonagall, seated at the center of the staff table, shot them several pointed glances.

"Don't worry, William," Adams said mid-conversation, even managing to sneak in a small revelation.

"Don't let Professor McGonagall's indifferent appearance fool you. She used to be on the school Quidditch team herself. When it comes to Quidditch knowledge, no one at this table knows more than she does."

...

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