HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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At the same time, deep inside a dimly lit cellar adorned with the Flint family crest, Carbott Flint was gently tapping his wand against a stack of parchment.

"We need more… credible medical records." His pale fingertips brushed across the crystal ball, where an image of Sargeras teaching flickered softly. "Tell Madam Nott to inform everyone that her daughter's arm was injured by a troll during class… and that it's been diagnosed as permanent magical damage."

Another tall figure slowly emerged from the shadows, his face coming into view. "And that will be enough to get him thrown out of Hogwarts?"

"That's just the pretext…" A flicker of disdain swept across Carbott's face, though the man clearly didn't catch it. "The school board of governors can use that as an excuse to pressure Dumbledore. And tomorrow, I'll have the Daily Prophet publish some lovely rhetoric about 'removing dangerous elements'… After that, members of the pure-blood families will temporarily start pulling their children out of Hogwarts one by one…"

He paused for a moment, glancing at the man beside him. "Cornelius Fudge has already sent a letter to Dumbledore. As long as we keep escalating the situation, getting him expelled from Hogwarts won't be difficult. And once he leaves… stripped of Dumbledore's protection…" A cold chuckle slipped from his lips. "Well, you can imagine."

"For your sake, I hope it plays out exactly as you claim…" The tall figure stepped fully out of the shadows, leaning forward slightly as he stared coldly at Carbott. "Otherwise, you and your lot will pay the price for this."

"Hmph, perhaps you ought to worry about yourselves first," Carbott replied indifferently, unfazed by the threat. "The boy might be a filthy half-blood, but he's no easy target…"

"That won't be your concern…" A silver-haired woman emerged silently from the darkness. She shoved the tall man aside and approached Carbott with a quiet, almost playful tone. "All you need to do is make sure your part of the plan goes smoothly."

Her hand slid lightly across the front of Carbott's collar, but he instinctively took a step back without changing his expression. The silver-haired woman didn't seem to mind — her smile remained as charming as ever — though a glint of icy sharpness flashed through her eyes.

"So… when exactly are you people planning to leave this place?" Carbott's voice cooled as he questioned them.

"Not until he's out of Hogwarts." The woman's response was casual, almost amused. "I suppose none of us are going anywhere until then."

"You intend to stay in my manor the entire time?" Carbott's eyes widened slightly in disbelief.

"Well, where else would we go?" She smiled sweetly as she answered, as if the idea was perfectly natural.

Carbott's face darkened, but he forced down his anger and turned to leave. "The moment he's expelled from Hogwarts, you all need to be gone. Immediately."

The man and woman retreated slowly back into the shadows without offering a reply.

As soon as he stepped out of the cellar, Carbott no longer bothered to hide the disgust contorting his face. He raised his wand, casting a cleaning charm on his collar, but that still didn't seem to satisfy him. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a house-elf and ordered it to fetch him a brand new coat.

"Filthy vermin…" he muttered under his breath, still grumbling as he sat down to draft a letter to the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet.

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In the Headmaster's office, Sargeras sat quietly, holding a newspaper in his hand, his expression calm and unreadable.

Dumbledore smiled faintly as he passed over an envelope bearing the Ministry of Magic's official seal. "It appears we've stumbled into yet another… complication."

Sargeras didn't reach for the envelope. His eyes remained fixed on the newspaper, silently noting down the name of the editor-in-chief — Barnabas Cuffe.

"The Board of Governors is currently demanding a suspension of all outdoor practical lessons…"

"Professor Dumbledore…" Sargeras cut off the old headmaster's words, his tone still even and unhurried, "Since when did you start running errands for Fudge?"

"Sargeras, surely you wouldn't speak so harshly to an old man…" Dumbledore replied, his smile as gentle as ever.

Sargeras lifted the newspaper slightly in his hand. "Then you can't expect me to look for faults in myself every time the Ministry sends its dogs after me, can you?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Dumbledore said lightly, still smiling.

"Then… what's the point of me sitting here right now?"

Before Professor Dumbledore could answer, Sargeras tossed the newspaper onto the desk in front of them. "Never mind. I'll handle it myself."

"No, Sargeras…" Dumbledore straightened up, his expression finally turning noticeably serious. "As the Headmaster, this is my responsibility… and right now, what you need most is to stay calm."

"I am calmer than anyone." Sargeras rose from his seat with measured grace, towering over Dumbledore as he looked down at him. "You probably don't realise… I cast spells on myself every single day. Just to keep my temper in check!"

"Even so, I still hope you'll leave this matter to me…" Dumbledore looked him straight in the eyes, his voice steady and sincere.

"Professor Dumbledore, I'm sure you have your own ways of handling things… but I've spent all these years exhausting myself in pursuit of magic's true meaning… and it certainly wasn't so I could waste my time playing political games with the the Ministry…" Sargeras tapped his finger lightly on the envelope and newspaper lying on the desk. "You understand exactly what I mean… but clearly, those people out there don't. Which is exactly why I need to teach them a proper lesson."

He didn't wait for Dumbledore to respond. Without another word, Sargeras turned and walked straight out of the office.

As he descended the spiralling staircase, his expression remained calm on the surface… but deep down, his mood was anything but.

Back when he had been locked away in Azkaban, Dumbledore had made him a promise. As long as his teaching ensured the safety of the students, he would be free from all those ridiculous inspections and pointless interference from the so-called oversight committees.

And yet now, things had barely even started… and Dumbledore was already tossing the problem into his lap.

If Dumbledore truly intended to handle this himself, then what was the point of calling him in for this little chat? To test his attitude? Or to ask for his opinion?

Well, it just so happened that Sargeras already had a few… strong opinions about those Ministry of Magic officials who sat comfortably in their chairs doing absolutely nothing. And this time, he fully intended to make sure they remembered his name — remembered it so clearly that every time they heard it, or saw his face, they would instinctively keep their distance.

Sargeras thought of those ridiculous, exaggerated reports in the Daily Prophet, and under his breath, he softly repeated the editor-in-chief's name. "Barnabas Cuffe…"

The next second, his figure simply vanished into thin air.

Moonlight shattered across the surface of the River Thames like scattered silver scales as Sargeras stepped onto the marble staircase in front of the Daily Prophet headquarters. A surge of powerful magic instantly rippled out around him.

The mahogany door to Barnabas Cuffe's office began to blacken the moment Sargeras's eyes landed on it. As his fingertips traced the gold-embossed words etched on the door — Truth Above All. A faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Good evening, Mr. Cuffe." Sargeras greeted the editor-in-chief casually, as if they were simply old acquaintances meeting by chance.

Barnabas Cuffe lifted his head in confusion. He adjusted his glasses and looked at the unexpected visitor… and only then did he notice that everything around him was beginning to turn to charcoal. The papers stacked on his desk were already engulfed in roaring flames, and yet… inside The Daily Prophet building, not a single person seemed to notice.

Everyone else went about their business, bustling to and fro, completely oblivious to the strange scene unfolding right in front of them.

As a wizard, Barnabas Cuffe was sorely tempted to borrow a classic Muggle phrase to describe how he felt at that moment: This makes no sense! Though truth be told, this didn't even feel like magic. At least, not any kind he recognised. He had never heard of a spell that could do this.

"I think we can skip the self-introductions, can't we? After all, every piece of reporting about me comes straight from your pen, doesn't it…" Sargeras seated himself directly across from him, his tone light and casual, as if this were nothing more than a friendly chat.

"It's just that I heard… you seem to have some rather strong opinions about my teaching methods."

In an instant, cold sweat broke out along the back of Cuffe's neck. He shot to his feet behind the desk, only to realise with a sickening jolt that the elaborate protective charms he had painstakingly arranged throughout the office were completely useless.

His first instinct was to run… but that thought died almost as quickly as it came. The next moment, he found himself shouting for help, his voice echoing frantically down the corridor like a madman. When that failed, he switched to frantic, stumbling words, trying to calm his uninvited guest with clumsy, desperate attempts at diplomacy. And finally, as the last shred of courage bled out of him, he fumbled for his wand to fight back… but his trembling hands couldn't even produce a single working spell.

Outside the glass window, The Daily Prophet employees bustled back and forth as if everything was perfectly normal. Not a single one of them spared him so much as a glance.

In that moment, it felt as though he had fallen headfirst into some absurd, surreal nightmare.

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[Chapter End's]

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