From Azkaban to Hogwarts

Chapter 13 Questions

It was a makeshift room in the batter's lounge, and there were six prisoners in it besides Willem.

But the batters had no intention of letting the prisoners out, even though they were looking at the decorations rather than chatting with each other, and Willem was alarmed.

If this is a job search, are there only a few workers worth all this trouble?

While he was dreaming, the first prisoner was brought in, and the door was shut so firmly that no sound was revealed.

It's not like training prisoners, it's like hunting for death -- but what's Hogwarts hunting for death for? Raise an army against the Ministry of Magic?

Before Willem could think of the second possibility, the door of the room opened.

It was only when the batter led him into the house that he realized he was second.

This put him at ease, according to most of the story rules, the first will lose, like him, the second to take the test, either the background plate or pull to make up the number, do not have to worry about safety issues.

As he walked in, he glanced quickly at the next two interviewers and realized that they looked familiar to him.

A tall, thin man with white hair and a silver beard, and half-glasses, who looked very much like Gandalf, William had eaten pictures of the interviewer from a chocolate frog he saw less than two or three times a month, and knew that he was Dumbledore, the current headmaster of Hogwarts and acknowledged as the first White Wizard.

By the way, Dumbledo's cards were sold at the Chocolate Frog at an incredible rate, and William and his family managed to eat four Dumbledore cards out of only a few packs.

William seemed to have seen the other, too, and could probably guess that it was Professor McGonagall, the vice-principal of Hogwarts - but he would not be so confident if she were not with Dumbledore.

To William now, they are big men in every sense of the word.

Although the batters could easily take care of any prisoner in Azkaban, the batters at the door were afraid to even talk to each other in their hour of need.

"lee Williams, right?" "Said Dumbledore, grinning in his grey robes as he looked at the papers in his hand.

"Yes, Sir." "Replied Willem, with the utmost decency.

"Don't be so nervous. Please sit over here."

A chair had been magically pulled over by Dumbledore.

As Willem sat down, Professor McGonagall, who was next to him, began to ask questions quickly.

"You came in here for smuggling, didn't you? Did you know it was illegal before you did it?"

"Yes, Professor."

"And the reason?

"The workmanship was so bad that after one potion order the success rate was so low that we lost a lot of herbs and had to smuggle them in."

Willem answered, resisting the urge to hold his face.

"But I know from the Ministry's report that you had a very large sum when you were arrested. Isn't that enough?"

"A lot of the herbs that were damaged were from the Far East, and there were no herbs from the Far East in England at that time -- it was potions I had to pay for, and I couldn't be a professor in the Potions business if I just lost money."

"You never went to school?"

"Yes, I was taken away from home by my former teachers before I was eleven. My parents got a lot of money and sent me away happily. I have since learned from historical records that independent wild wizards were admitted before Hogwarts in order to smooth things over, but now more and more are choosing to go."

Willem kept his background to himself, and, with little sense of inclusion, had to keep a poker face.

"Then my teacher died after a failed potions experiment, and the laboratory was so ruined by the explosion of the failed experiment that I started my own potions business to support myself. I failed several times and had to go to the Far East to get herbs to make potions again."

"Well, we've got most of that."

Professor McGonagall began to scribble on the paper in front of her. Dumbledore smiled and said nothing.

"Then I'm out, Professor."

William saluted and turned and headed for the door.

Though these things had happened to him, somehow, he described them with the air of a silent old man who could see through all the lies.

This gives William the illusion of telling stories that are not entirely his that will be revealed the next moment.

He was about to push open the door when Dumbledore spoke behind him.

'Just a moment, Mr Williams.'

Dumbledore got to his feet, then hurried over to the cabinet beside the wall and pulled out a battered stone basin.

"It may be presumptuous of you to share your memory of the experiment. I only want those memories. I won't interfere with the rest of your privacy."

Memories of failed experiments?

Willem froze, then let the memories rush through his mind -- didn't the original guy tamper with the material before the experiment and then wait to collect his teacher's inheritance?

The memories were too long, and he was only looking at them, more concerned with getting in and learning magic than Willem cared much about anything else.

What's the use of knowing the past once you're in Azkaban? There's no danger inside, and there's no danger outside -- so many dementors out there.

After a quick confirmation that a frightened man had no stomach for anything, William breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then I'll need a wand."

"It's over there. Help yourself."

Dumbledore's expression was as relaxed as ever, not at all worried that Willem might think anything strange about his wand.

When the wand touched the temple, a thin thread was magically picked out and pulled into the basin by Willem.

Soon all William's memories of the experiment began to appear in the basin, from beginning to end.

The snarling wizard, the timid apprentice, the swearing instructions, the rambling laboratory full of precious materials -- and, at the end of the memory, the explosion that blew up the whole laboratory.

Willem repeated the memory too, and though he knew he wouldn't say anything if he turned down the professors in front of him, he was more than willing to try something new in the wizarding world once he had made sure his memory was fine - it wasn't likely that the wizarding world had much stock of something that could bring it back.

The magic that exists in memory is almost nothing compared to the magic that exists in front of us.

Turn around, open the door, close the door, all at once.

Until he sat down among the prisoners and breathed out -- this was the wand, this was the feeling of unleashing magic.