HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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"Hagrid, what are you doing in the library?"

A voice filled with curiosity drifted over, making Sargeras perk up his ears. He instantly recognized it as the voice of Harry's good friend — Ron Weasley.

"Just… having a look around…" Hagrid's figure shifted awkwardly, half-hiding behind the towering shelves as he shoved a few books into the depths of his coat. His tone carried a hint of guilty mischief as he added, "You lot haven't… figured out who Nicolas Flamel is yet, have you?"

"Ha! We knew who he was ages ago…" Ron replied with smug satisfaction. "And we also know what that dog's guarding up on the third floor—it's the Philosopher's Stone…"

"Shhh… shhh…!" Hagrid nearly lunged to cover Ron's mouth, looking around frantically as if terrified someone might've overheard them.

From a distance, a peculiar smile crept onto Sargeras's face. He slipped his wand from his robes and tapped it lightly against his ear, casting a charm to sharpen his hearing so he wouldn't miss a single word.

"Actually… we've got a few questions for you, Hagrid," came Harry's voice, sounding determined.

"Yeah, apart from Fluffy, is there anyone—or anything—else guarding the Philosopher's Stone?" Ron chimed in eagerly.

"Shh…" Hagrid clearly didn't want to stay here chatting much longer. These little wizards, with their loose lips, were going to get him into trouble. "Listen to me, don't say another word! Especially not here, understand? This isn't something students should be poking their noses into… Dumbledore'll think I've told you lot everything!"

He squeezed his large, bulky frame out from between the bookshelves, leaning in close to the three young witch and wizards and lowering his voice. "This is strictly off-limits for students. You're not supposed to know any of this."

"Doesn't make much of a difference now, does it?" Ron said blankly, blinking at him. "You've pretty much already told us everything yourself"

Hagrid let out a groan and covered his face with one huge hand, utterly defeated. He gave up trying to argue and, with a grumble of frustration, turned and stomped off toward the Hogwarts library doors.

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"I think… he stuffed some books in his coat," Hermione frowned, watching him leave.

"You reckon it's got something to do with the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry's eyes lit up, clearly intrigued.

"I'll go see what books were on that shelf," Ron offered, tossing aside his homework and heading straight for the spot where Hagrid had been lurking just moments ago.

A few minutes later, he returned to their wooden table, his arms piled high with books that nearly reached his chin.

"Dragons," he whispered, his eyes wide with excitement as he leaned in toward his two companions. His voice dropped to a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "Hagrid's been searching for books about dragons."

One by one, he spread the books out across the table.

"Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland,"

"Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit,"

"From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon-Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid really does want a dragon," Harry recalled, the memory surfacing clearly in his mind. "He told me so the first time we met, when he came to take me to Hogwarts… though back then, I thought he was just joking."

"But that's against the Statute of Secrecy," Ron pointed out seriously. "According to the Warlock's Convention passed in 1709, dragons are classified as XXXXX-level magical creatures. Keeping one without special approval is completely illegal, and the Ministry of Magic hands down pretty severe punishments for it."

Seeing that Harry and Hermione didn't seem nearly as concerned as he was, Ron added earnestly, "And dragons are very dangerous. You know Charlie got bitten by a wild dragon when he was in Romania, right?"

"But… there aren't wild dragons in England, are there?" Harry asked, frowning in doubt.

"Who told you that?" Ron corrected him quickly. "There are Common Welsh Greens dragons, and the Hebridean Black dragons too. That's why the Ministry of Magic has an entire department for this — the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau is responsible for keeping those wild dragons hidden from Muggles."

"So… what exactly is Hagrid up to now?" Hermione asked, her brows knitting tighter.

"We'll head to his hut and have a look later," Ron suggested, glancing down at the unfinished parchment in front of him. "I just need to finish this first…"

Sargeras listened to the rustling of quills and parchment as they started on their homework, then finally set down his wand.

The amount of information packed into their little conversation just now was astonishing. First, they mentioned Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone…

Sargeras, of course, already knew exactly who Nicolas Flamel was. He didn't even need to look it up.

After all, Nicolas Flamel was the only known living alchemist capable of creating the Philosopher's Stone, his name revered throughout the magical world for his unparalleled mastery of alchemy.

And the Philosopher's Stone itself… an exceptionally rare product of alchemy, not only capable of turning ordinary metal into pure gold, but also granting the secret of Immortality.

Well… as for the whole "Immortality" thing… Sargeras still had his doubts. But there was no question that the Philosopher's Stone could greatly extend a person's lifespan.

After all, the fact that Nicolas Flamel and his wife had both lived well past six centuries was proof enough of that.

From what they were saying, it seemed… the Philosopher's Stone was currently hidden here at Hogwarts?

So that was why Voldemort had sent Quirrell back to the school… to steal the Philosopher's Stone?

Was it to heal his mangled body… or did he simply crave immortality?

A whole series of questions flitted through Sargeras's mind, though truth be told, he wasn't the least bit concerned. If the sky came crashing down, Albus Dumbledore would be the one holding it up. And as long as things played out naturally, Harry Potter would, sooner or later, defeat Voldemort anyway.

He was completely confident about that.

Of course… even if Harry Potter did fail, it wasn't like Sargeras would lose any sleep over it. In fact, he rather wanted to see for himself just how formidable the so-called Dark Lord really was.

Everyone claimed Lord Voldemort's mastery of dark magic was unmatched… but Sargeras didn't think his own achievements in that department were inferior to anyone's.

There was an old saying in the wizarding world: those who dabbled too often in dark magic would eventually lose their minds, their souls eroded, slipping into darkness without even realizing it.

Sargeras wouldn't say he scoffed at that idea… but honestly, he had never once worried about falling to the corruption of dark magic.

Thanks to his Mechanical Mind, he possessed absolute control over his emotions. His awareness of his soul's condition was crystal clear… that was exactly why he dared to study dark magic so brazenly, without the slightest hesitation.

At the same time, because he could adjust his emotions at will, his spellcasting potential was unusually high.

That, too, was common knowledge in the magical world: strong emotions could significantly amplify the power of spells. Although in battle, Sargeras always chose to suppress his emotions… but that was only because he had never yet encountered an enemy who required him to abandon reason entirely.

As for the other thing Harry and the others mentioned earlier—Hagrid wanting to raise a dragon…

Sargeras couldn't help but smile. Was that even worth worrying about?

He himself knew plenty of ways to secretly raise a dragon without anyone ever finding out.

Of course, the moment he thought about Hagrid's rather… unreliable personality, he quickly dismissed the idea. The three kids' worries weren't entirely unfounded.

A few more peaceful, class-free days passed by in the blink of an eye.

That day, just as Sargeras returned to his office from the Hogwarts library, a large Snowy owl landed steadily on the windowsill.

Opening the envelope held tightly in the owl's beak, Sargeras frowned without thinking.

◇◆────────────────◆◇

Dear Mr. Raven,

I'm writing this letter to you from the Ronnie underground black market in Belgium, hoping to ask for your help.

You know how those cockroaches at the underground auctions love to sneer that astrologers can't even pour themselves a cup of tea without consulting the planetary charts… so this time, I figured I'd put your unique understanding of the Forbidden Forest's ecology to good use.

Last month, at an underground auction in the black market, I 'adopted' a rather special guest… in exchange for three ounces of cursed mithril.

This centaur warrior (he calls himself 'Leon') had his right forehoof eaten through by a Dark Wizard's chaining curse, which is how he ended up captured by a group of poachers.

I managed to get him out of their hands, and in return, we struck an old-fashioned agreement: if I can get him safely back to the Frostdew Clan in the northeastern corner of the Forbidden Forest, he'll read the stars for me once and provide me with magical materials worth three thousand Galleons… materials that can only be found in the Forbidden Forest.

Of course, you know better than anyone that the Forbidden Forest these days is nothing like the cozy little showcase the International Confederation of Magical Creatures painted in their migration agreements. The Ministry's surveillance copper eagles are sharper than ever, watching every movement in the woods. And what's worse… the Frostdew Clan still has the murals carved into their caves, recording the wizard purge of the seventeenth century. Every single one of them harbors deep hostility toward wizards.

And due to certain… special circumstances, I can't come to Britain myself.

So I was thinking, if I could count on your help, this little transaction of mine might become much less troublesome.

Midnight this Friday, if you're willing to lend a hand, I'll arrange for Leon to be quietly transferred to Hogsmeade. As for your reward, I've attached two pieces of information you might find… enticing:

First, I've heard you've always had an interest in Time-Turners. Coincidentally, during a trip to Egypt not long ago, I acquired an old, rather worn Time-Turner. It can serve as your payment.

Second, the complete copy of "De Vermis Mysteriis (Mysteries of the Worm)" —the one you've been tracking for a while—currently rests at the very bottom of the Balk family's vault. If you're willing, I can get my hands on it and trade it to you.

Sincerely, your desperate seeker of help,

Snowy Owl

On the night when the moon begins to wane

◇◆────────────────◆◇

Sargeras folded the letter and set it aside. After a brief moment of thought, he pulled out a blank piece of parchment and began drafting his reply.

He hadn't originally planned to get involved. After all, this clearly involved illegal dealings with sentient magical beings… but the information Snowy Owl had offered was simply too tempting to pass up. In the end, he decided to help.

The real challenge in this commission lay not in sneaking Leon into the Forbidden Forest, but in actually collecting the magical materials the centaur had promised. Everyone knew centaurs harbored deep resentment toward human witches and wizards. Getting those proud and intelligent beings to willingly hand over precious magical materials? That would be no easy feat.

Additionally, he also changed the meeting location in his reply, arranging for the handoff to happen at the edge of the Forbidden Forest instead. After all, Hogsmeade was a wizarding village, crowded and full of curious eyes. The Forbidden Forest, in contrast, was far more… discreet.

Finally, he tied the letter to the owl's leg, watching the well-fed creature flap its wings and soar away from Hogwarts, disappearing into the night.

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