HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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When Sargeras Apparated to Hogsmeade, the sky hadn't even darkened yet.

For once, he actually stopped by the pub and sat there for a little while, then strolled unhurriedly along the road leading to Hogwarts Castle.

On the way, he caught sight of a sneaky-looking figure. The person had bundled themselves up tightly with all sorts of things, disguising themselves thoroughly — but even as they brushed past each other, Sargeras instantly recognized who it was.

Quirinus Quirrell!

After all, that overpowering smell of garlic was far too obvious. No amount of disguise could cover up such a glaring flaw.

But Sargeras couldn't be bothered to care. That was Dumbledore's problem… or rather, Dumbledore had handed that task over to Snape. It had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Tomorrow was the Inter-House Quidditch Cup match. Just like last time, Professor McGonagall had already invited him in advance to come watch the game. He still wasn't interested, but he hadn't refused either.

Time slipped by quickly, and before he knew it, the next day had arrived. That morning, a shocking piece of news from The Daily Prophet swept through the school like wildfire.

One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families — the Flint family — had their manor and lands attacked by werewolves during the night.

The news stirred up no small amount of commotion within Hogwarts. Many of the Slytherin students were secretly discussing the incident, since their Quidditch team captain, Marcus, was a member of the Flint family.

As for the articles criticizing Sargeras' teaching methods… almost everyone had simply ignored them.

He was more than happy with that outcome. There was nothing more comfortable than teaching quietly at Hogwarts without any unnecessary trouble.

The Quidditch match ended peacefully. Nothing unexpected happened during the game — and that wasn't just thanks to Dumbledore showing up at the pitch. Harry Potter also deserved a fair share of the credit.

Because less than ten minutes after the match began, he had already caught the Golden Snitch, bringing the whole game to a swift end.

Sargeras' mood was rather pleasant. In a way, this has saved him quite a lot of time.

Which was why, after the match, he took a moment to speak with Harry alone.

"I'm glad you didn't lose yourself in front of that mirror," Sargeras patted Harry lightly on the shoulder, his voice carrying a rare note of warmth. "You did really well out there today. I hope that every time I come to watch one of your matches in the future, you'll finish the game just as quickly as you did today."

"Thank you, Professor Greengrass…" Harry, clearly flustered by the praise, blushed faintly with excitement.

Just as they were about to continue chatting, Dumbledore called Sargeras over, and his good mood vanished in an instant.

When he arrived at the Headmaster's office, he quickly realized that Dumbledore wasn't alone — Professor McGonagall was there as well.

The Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts sitting him down for a talk at the same time… what was this about?

Sargeras didn't overthink it. His expression stayed perfectly calm as he casually conjured a chair out of thin air and sat down.

"Sargeras, the reason I asked you here is because I need to discuss something with you…"

The old Headmaster cast a brief glance at Professor McGonagall beside him, his tone growing solemn as he continued, "This concerns whether or not you can continue serving as a professor at Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. She instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, clearly stunned. By contrast, Sargeras remained perfectly composed, only narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Albus… why did you ask me to come—"

"Minerva, don't forget… inviting Sargeras to teach at Hogwarts was a decision we made together," Dumbledore interrupted her gently, his tone calm but firm. "And as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, you deserve to be present for what comes next. This concerns both of us."

Once he finished, the old man turned his gaze back to Sargeras, his expression completely serious.

"Sargeras, I need you to tell me… is what happened to the Flint family connected to you in any way?"

Professor McGonagall's expression grew even more astonished at those words. She couldn't help but speak up, blurting out, "What are you talking about, Albus? How could that possibly have anything to do with Sargeras? That was because of the werewolves…"

"I'm afraid it may not be just the werewolves, Minerva…" Dumbledore's sharp gaze remained fixed on Sargeras as he spoke, his voice low and grave. "This might have been murder, Sargeras. I believe we need to know the truth!"

"Hmm… before we get to that, I have one question of my own." Sargeras narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he stared at the old man seated behind the desk, his voice calm yet carrying a hard edge. "Is this an interrogation?"

"Don't be like that, Sargeras. No matter what happens… I trust you," Professor McGonagall reassured him firmly, her voice filled with certainty.

Sargeras turned toward her, nodded lightly, his expression steady. "Yes, I admit it. What happened… is directly related to me…"

Before McGonagall could recover from the shock widening her eyes, Sargeras went on calmly, "But there's one thing I don't understand, Professor Dumbledore…" He leaned back in his chair, one hand absently running along the polished length of the Everbloom wood wand hidden beneath his wizard robes.

"If you truly respect the law, then why didn't you stand up and tell everyone the truth when The Daily Prophet was smearing my name?" He didn't give the old man a chance to respond, his words flowing steadily. "And if you believe in power… then why are you so quick to use the law to suppress me the moment I fight back to defend my own reputation?"

"Is it because I seem weak and easy to bully? Or is it that you've always held a prejudice against me?"

Sargeras didn't mince his words. "And let me tell you the truth, plain and simple — whether it's eighty or a hundred, I've killed more people than you care to know. But I sleep just fine at night, because every single one of them had a damned reason to die!"

His eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, steady, cold, and utterly indifferent.

"No matter what you think, that still doesn't justify taking someone's life. And I will never allow a murderer to stand in front of my students as their teacher…" Dumbledore's voice wasn't harsh, yet every word carried the weight of an iron verdict, impossible to argue with.

The office fell into a heavy silence. For a long moment, no one spoke. In the end, it was Sargeras who finally broke it.

"That's right. Yesterday, I went to The Daily Prophet headquarters. Barnabas Cuffe told me that Carbott Flint had threatened him into publishing those slanderous reports about me. So after that… I paid a visit to the Flint family estate."

Professor McGonagall was so stunned she couldn't even speak. Dumbledore's eyes darkened as he questioned, "And… then you killed him?"

"Sorry to disappoint you…" Sargeras' voice was utterly calm, not a ripple of emotion. "That inbred imbecile, stuffed full of family pride and pure-blood supremacy — trash like that isn't even worthy of dying by my hand!"

"Then who killed him?" Dumbledore pressed, his voice steady but cold.

"Why don't you go and find out for yourself, Headmaster?" Sargeras shot back, showing not the slightest hint of politeness.

"Sargeras, don't be like this… I know you would never do something like this without reason," Professor McGonagall tried to smooth things over, her voice gentle and sincere.

"Haha…" He let out a cold laugh, the sound sharp and mocking. "Do you two even know what spell Carbott Flint used on me?"

"The Killing Curse…" Sargeras spoke plainly, as if he were commenting on the weather. "And buried in the flowerbeds of his estate… you will find the corpses of at least thirty Squibs he had executed."

The two heads of the school opened their mouths, but no words came out.

Sargeras didn't even spare their stunned expressions a glance. His tone remained calm, as he continued, "In order to kill me, he didn't hesitate to collude with the Werewolves of the Blood Moon Alliance… and he even desecrated the bodies of those innocent dead and used Necromancy…"

"I have to ask… does a person like that not deserve to die?" His voice was cold, laced with quiet disdain. "And let me be clear, I didn't kill him. But even if I had… so what?"

"Even so… we shouldn't resort to vigilante justice. It's the law that should judge him," the Headmaster's voice softened considerably, his tone no longer as sharp.

"The law?" Sargeras snorted in contempt, eyes filled with icy mockery. "If the law actually worked, he would've been punished the moment they executed the first Squib."

"So it was those werewolves who killed him?" Professor McGonagall asked softly.

Sargeras nodded. "Yes. It was Gargoyle… the Blood Moon Alliance's tactical commander, who killed him."

"But weren't they allies? Why would they…"

"Before they transform into werewolves, they're allies. After they transform, they're not." Dumbledore seemed to have mostly pieced things together by now, his voice carrying a trace of reluctant understanding. "I owe you an apology, Sargeras… I misunderstood you."

"But I'm sorry, I can't forgive you…" Sargeras stood up, his expression cold and unreadable as he spoke. "So if the day ever comes when I am in the wrong, don't expect me to quietly surrender either."

With those words, he turned and walked straight out of the office, leaving McGonagall and Dumbledore behind. The two exchanged a glance but said nothing for a long moment.

"I don't believe he did anything wrong…" Professor McGonagall was the first to break the silence. Her tone was serious and unwavering. "You've been far too harsh on him, Albus… If you keep pushing him like this, you'll only drive him down the wrong path."

"Is that so, Minerva…" Dumbledore's eyes seemed to drift, his voice carrying a trace of distant reflection. He murmured under his breath, "But he's too young… and growing far too quickly. If someone like him ever loses control… the consequences would be far worse than ten Voldemorts combined."

Professor McGonagall covered her mouth again, her eyes wide with shock. She hadn't expected Dumbledore to say something like that.

"The Dark Lord wouldn't lift a finger for a few Squibs… or go after a pure-blood."

The portrait hanging on the wall finally couldn't stay quiet any longer and interjected coldly.

Both Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore fell silent again, deep in thought.

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[Chapter End's]

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