HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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As Sargeras stepped into the Great Hall, not a single seat was left empty.

The hall was adorned in the striking green and silver of Slytherin, the colours shining vividly under the enchanted ceiling, celebrating their seventh consecutive victory in the race for the House Cup. At the same time, hanging high on the wall behind the high table, a massive banner bearing the emblem of the Slytherin serpent swayed gently, casting its shadow over the entire hall.

Sargeras curled his lip in mild disdain. There was no question that Slytherin's triumph could largely be attributed to Snape's relentless efforts. If it weren't for his tireless point deductions from the other three Houses, the final outcome of the House Cup might still have been up for debate.

Of course, Sargeras himself had never cared much about who won the House Cup. In his opinion, it was nothing more than a symbolic form of so-called "glory."

Admittedly, it did help strengthen the students' sense of belonging to their respective Houses, but at the same time, it also deepened the divisions and prejudices between them, fostering rivalry that was not always healthy.

Inside the Great Hall, the air buzzed with excitement. The students were chatting away, their voices rising and falling like waves, filled with anticipation for the fast-approaching summer holiday. They were like caged birds, eyes fixed longingly on the doors of their prison, waiting for the moment they could finally spread their wings and soar free.

Up at the high table, the professors were also quietly conversing among themselves.

One thing Sargeras found rather puzzling was how almost no student had failed their final exams. This unusually lenient approach to education reminded him quite a bit of the so-called "happy education" philosophy that had once been popular in the West, or so he recalled.

But that had nothing to do with him. He would stick to his own standards all the same. If a student deserved a zero, they would get it without the slightest hesitation.

The moment Dumbledore's silver-white figure appeared at the entrance of the Great Hall, the uproar inside ebbed away like the tide.

"Another year has passed… how time flies," the old headmaster's voice was as smooth and warm as honey, yet it carried an undeniable air of authority that commanded everyone's attention. "Before we enjoy this magnificent feast, allow this old man to say a few more words." He playfully winked, drawing soft laughter from several younger students.

"In the past year, every one of you has grown in wisdom… of course, some of you may have grown a little more than others."

A round of good-natured laughter echoed through the Great hall, and even Professor McGonagall up at the high table couldn't help but press her lips together, suppressing a faint smile.

"And now… let us reveal the winner of this year's House Cup." With a casual wave of Dumbledore's wand, the four great hourglasses of the Houses shimmered and floated gently into the air, their gemstones gleaming in the light.

"Fourth place… Gryffindor🦁. Third place… Hufflepuff🦡. Second place… Ravenclaw🐦‍⬛. And first place…"

He deliberately stretched out the final words, his tone playful, and over at the Slytherin table, the students could no longer contain their excitement. The entire table rippled with restless energy.

"Slytherin!🐍"

A sea of silver and green erupted into cheers.

Draco Malfoy slammed his goblet down onto the oak table with a crisp thud as the crystal base struck the polished wood.

His pale cheeks flushed with excitement, and as he tapped the floor rhythmically with the heel of his shoe, his eyes swept toward the Gryffindor table, flashing a smug, provocative glare.

Crabbe and Goyle, looking like two small mountains on the move, swung their thick arms about wildly, nearly knocking over the pumpkin juice in front of them.

Pansy Parkinson let out a shrill laugh, tossing strands of silver and green ribbons high into the air.

"So far, this is how things stand — Slytherin holds the highest score…"

Dumbledore's long, silver beard trembled faintly under the flickering candlelight as he lifted his hand, signaling for the cheering Slytherins to quiet down. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkled with a playful glint.

"However…" The old headmaster's voice suddenly took on a teasing note. "I believe that everything that has happened before the end of term… ought to be taken into account."

His gaze swept across the high table. Professor McGonagall straightened her back ever so slightly, Snape's mouth twitched faintly at the corner, while Sargeras calmly picked up his goblet, the faint, meaningful smile on his lips hidden behind the rim.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley…" Dumbledore's voice echoed across the now silent Great hall.

Ron's face turned beet red in an instant, glowing like a furnace, and it seemed steam might come pouring out of his ears at any moment.

"He demonstrated remarkable tactical brilliance, commanding what may well have been the most impressive wizard's chess match Hogwarts has seen in years."

A cascade of deep crimson gemstones suddenly poured into the Gryffindor hourglass.

"For this… Gryffindor shall be awarded fifty points."

An eruption of deafening cheers burst from the Gryffindor table. Fred and George leapt up onto the bench, tossing their wizard hats high into the air, while Percy tried his best to maintain the dignity of a prefect, though the wide grin stretching to his ears betrayed him completely.

"Miss Hermione Granger…" Dumbledore continued, his voice warm as his eyes turned toward the bushy-haired girl. Hermione bowed her head so quickly that her brown curls fell forward, hiding the flush spreading across her beautiful cheeks.

"She displayed remarkable intelligence and courage in the face of fire and the threat of a troll."

Another stream of rubies tumbled into the hourglass.

"…Another fifty points for Gryffindor."

Padma Patil leaned toward her sister and whispered softly, "Told you she should have been in our House."

The Slytherin table turned into a sea of cold, dagger-like stares, stabbing into the backs of the Gryffindors, their flushed necks and stiff shoulders taut with frustration, like a group of volcanoes about to erupt.

"Mr. Harry Potter…" Dumbledore's tone suddenly shifted, becoming solemn and steady, and at once, the quiet murmurs filling the Great hall fell away. "He faced unimaginable challenges and displayed extraordinary courage and determination."

A waterfall of rubies poured into the Gryffindor hourglass, their crimson light shimmering under the enchanted ceiling.

"For this… I shall award Gryffindor sixty more points."

The roar of celebration from Gryffindor nearly lifted the magically enchanted ceiling right off the Great hall. Lee Jordan jumped up onto the long table, launching into an impromptu little dance, only to slide right back down under the sharp glare of Professor McGonagall.

"And lastly—"

Dumbledore smiled faintly, his expression carrying both warmth and sincerity.

"True courage is not only about standing up to your enemies… but also about standing up to your friends when it matters most."

His eyes turned to Neville, who was nervously clutching his toad in his trembling hands.

"Mr. Neville Longbottom… for standing up to your friends, for choosing to face the possibility of ridicule and isolation rather than allow them to break the school rules… I shall award Gryffindor ten more points."

For a brief moment, the entire hall fell into stunned silence. Then, as if a dam had burst, it erupted into an even louder and more thunderous wave of cheers.

Neville sat frozen like a statue, wide-eyed and speechless, only snapping back to his senses when Seamus gave him a hard shove on the shoulder. By then, Gryffindor's total score had already surpassed Slytherin by ten points. The red and green hourglasses shimmered under the soft candlelight, their glowing sands gleaming proudly for all to see.

"I believe," Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile, "it's time to redecorate the Great Hall a little."

He clapped his hands lightly, and in an instant, the silver and green Slytherin banners were replaced by a magnificent sea of scarlet and gold, the proud lion of Gryffindor roaring down from above. Countless red and gold balloons drifted down from the ceiling, and the ghost of the Fat Friar floated excitedly through the long tables.

Professor McGonagall straightened her wizard hat with dignified restraint, while Professor Flitwick clapped his hands enthusiastically. Professor Sprout's face bloomed with a gentle smile, and Snape… forced out the faintest, most reluctant trace of a smile, though it looked more like a grimace.

Sargeras watched the scene, the corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly in a half-smile that wasn't truly a smile.

In his eyes, the value of the House Cup had diminished even further.

After all, the power to award points lay entirely in the professors' hands. Snape's blatant favouritism toward his own House and Professor McGonagall's strict fairness… in the end, it hardly made any difference.

It was nothing more than a contest over who got to define the meaning of "excellence."

As for Dumbledore's last-minute addition of points for Harry and his friends, reversing the outcome entirely… it was, quite plainly, a public declaration of authority trampling over the rules.

And under such circumstances, what meaning could this so-called trophy of honour possibly still hold?

Sargeras rose from his seat and quietly left the Great Hall, the hem of his long robe trailing behind him in a graceful, flowing arc.

Dumbledore's little performance left him feeling thoroughly bored.

Although… watching Snape's greasy old face twist with fury, turning an unflattering shade of green, was admittedly a rather satisfying sight… this kind of childish, theatrical way of deciding things really did feel beneath the dignity of the school.

"Professor! Professor Greengrass…"

The hurried calls of young wizards drifted toward him from behind. Sargeras turned, only to see the golden trio breathlessly chasing after him.

"Is there something I can help you with, the three of you?" Sargeras asked with a faint smile, his expression calm and composed. "Shouldn't Gryffindor's heroic champions be basking in the cheers of victory inside the Great Hall right about now?"

The three exchanged awkward glances, clearly struggling to find the right words. The excitement that had lit up their faces only moments ago had already faded by more than half.

"Professor… we honestly didn't know Professor Dumbledore was going to give us extra points…" Harry finally opened his mouth, his voice carrying a tinge of guilt. "We all know you already awarded us points earlier… but…"

"Oh, come on!" Ron's fiery red hair seemed to flare up with his instinctive protest. "Snape's been handing out mystery points to Slytherin all year long, at least twenty times over! All we did was…"

"Ron!" Hermione suddenly looked up, cutting him off, her voice firm yet anxious. "That's not the point. The problem is… it's just… it's just not proper…"

The young witch struggled for quite some time before finally settling on a phrasing that wasn't too harsh.

Sargeras couldn't help but find the scene a little amusing.

It was obvious now, these three young wizards had indeed grown quite a bit. They hadn't let honour and glory completely cloud their judgement. On the contrary, they had begun to keenly sense the deeper, more complex truths hidden beneath the surface of all this cheering.

But… this was Dumbledore's decision. There was no need for them to feel the slightest bit ashamed because of it.

With a light wave of his right hand, the heavy curtains beside the corridor slowly parted, as though pulled open by an invisible hand. The warm, golden-orange glow of the setting sun streamed gently through the tall windows, casting the stone floor and their young faces in a soft, serene light.

"Relax…" he said softly, his voice calm and easy, "the House Cup… is nothing more than a childish little game. Its only real purpose is to help you learn to follow the rules… so you're easier to manage."

"Ah… is… is that so?"

A faint look of bewilderment appeared on the trio's faces. It was clear that Sargeras's few simple words had quietly shattered some of their youthful illusions.

The black-robed professor simply stood there, watching them quietly for a moment, then raised his hand, pointing toward the grand hourglasses glittering above the Great Hall's ceiling. His tone carried a rare, patient warmth as he spoke.

"The sparkle of those gemstones… is nothing but fleeting brilliance. True honour doesn't lie within the hourglass," he gently tapped his wand against their chests, right over their hearts, "but right here."

"The courage and wisdom within you will not be diminished by a few points gained or lost. What truly matters, I believe, is what Dumbledore intended to reward… your remarkable courage."

After all, the old headmaster had originally intended to present each of them with a "Special Award for Services to the School," but in the end, it seemed he had chosen to turn it into extra points instead.

Harry hesitated for a moment. "So… what you're saying is…"

"So you can fully enjoy all of this with a clear conscience, without fretting over whether it's 'proper' or not," Sargeras replied with a faint smile.

"Still sounds a bit too complicated…" Ron scratched his head, a helpless grin spreading across his face. "You lost me there, Professor."

"Put simply…" Sargeras explained patiently, "just follow your heart. Even if… the hourglass runs empty."

At that moment, a raven glided gracefully from the far end of the corridor, its black feathers shimmering faintly under the sunset glow as it landed lightly on Sargeras's outstretched arm, a letter clutched neatly in its beak.

"Now… go on, enjoy your feast to the fullest," Sargeras said, waving his hand gently to "shoo" the three young wizards back toward the Great Hall, "and that lovely holiday waiting for you."

The trio obediently turned back the way they had come, their footsteps quickening, laughter faintly drifting behind them.

Sargeras, meanwhile, turned and walked toward the direction of the Hogwarts library, his dark figure gradually fading into the distant shadows at the end of the corridor.

Fortunately, before he crossed over to this world, he had read quite a few "Success Psychology" books. At the very least, when it came to preaching grand values… coaxing a few underage little wizards was still well within his abilities.

As he walked, that rather amused thought echoed lightly through his mind…

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[Chapter End's]

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