info
chapters: 1005
word count:2.4 million
chapter done :1005
Free 150 chapters at my Patreon, and the rest is there .
# Chapter 1: Azkaban's Daily Life
"Tom's magic exam scores weren't ideal, but..."
William sat by the prison cell's only sunlit window, earnestly telling a story to the surrounding prisoners. However, his tale had barely begun before it was interrupted by the hecklers below.
"Magic exam? What exam? O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s?"
"Shut up. Am I telling this story or are you?" William shot an irritated glare at the loudest prisoner, who chuckled and shrank back.
"Ahem," William cleared his throat, recapturing the crowd's attention. He started again, "Tom's magic exam scores weren't ideal, but they still got him into Hogwarts."
"You don't get into Hogwarts by taking an exam! New students who are accepted get a letter delivered by an owl!"
William fell silent for a moment, staring at the guy who kept arguing.
"Beat him up!"
*It's just a story! I'm using the setting to give you guys a sense of immersion. Is this something to nitpick about?*
Besides, it wasn't his fault there were a few loopholes. His knowledge of Harry Potter came from seeing just one of the movies; it was a miracle he even remembered the name Hogwarts. Waking up in Azkaban Prison after transmigrating was bad enough. It took a great deal of mental fortitude for him to tell stories at all, so why demand so many details?
If it weren't for the need to improve his status in the cell, he wouldn't even bother speaking. The magical knowledge in his mind was a vast treasure to him, like a gourmet finding a hidden gem of a restaurant, a picky reader finding a satisfying million-word epic, or a man of culture stumbling upon a goldmine...
A whole new world, unknown yet tantalizing to his curiosity, had opened its doors to him. It was like scratching a lottery ticket and seeing the word "Congratulations." He desperately wanted to abandon these prisoners and study magic on his own, but that was obviously impossible.
This was Azkaban, the wizarding prison—a place where loners were not only ostracized but also beaten.
***
This was an eight-person cell for inmates with light sentences. Eight iron beds were magically fixed to the floor, taking up most of the space. Against the wall was a sink, and the toilet was tucked away in a dark corner next to one of the beds. Add a dilapidated, equally fixed iron table, and that was the sum total of the cell's furnishings.
The eight prisoners were divided into three tiers. The two who could get their hands on Azkaban's scarce supplies were naturally the first-tier figures. The three who were eloquent and capable, including William, were considered second-tier. The remaining three poor sods were relegated to the third tier, tasked with all the chores and odd jobs.
The one getting beaten now was one of the third-tier guys, who had arrived long before William. His crime wasn't serious—he'd run his mouth while riding the tube in the Muggle world and got punched by a short-tempered Muggle. He lost the fight, so he secretly followed the man, found an empty spot, used magic to turn him into a pig, and gave him a thrashing before turning himself in. Since the impact was minor, he was sentenced to three years.
"Little William, my mouth just gets away from me, don't mind it. The guys are still waiting."
The man, squatting with his head in his hands while getting kicked in the ass, wasn't even mad. Clearly, the ones kicking him were just for show, not using much force.
In the daily life of Azkaban, everything was in short supply except for prisoners. Listening to a new story was the ultimate luxury. He just had a big mouth; if he actually made William stop telling stories, he'd have to slap himself a couple of times.
"You guys go ahead and watch some 'movies'. I'll revise the story outline and tell it tomorrow."
Lying in the sunlight, William waved his hand, ready to bail for the day. The story really wasn't polished enough and had too many loopholes; it needed a rewrite.
The group sighed in collective disappointment, then began fumbling in the cracks of their beds and walls.
They carefully unfolded pieces of paper folded into various shapes, and scenes that had been "broadcast" countless times appeared before them again. These torn pages were smuggled in with food and were considered high-value items in the trade among Azkaban's prisoners. Their only drawbacks were their scarcity, fragmented plots, and high rate of repetition.
More importantly, the Dementors on guard duty would deliberately confiscate any items in the cells that had magical fluctuations, which made these scattered papers easy to lose.
Just as the group was passing around the scraps of paper they had all seen many times, Nine-Fingers, who was at the very edge of the cell, suddenly let out a cry of despair. The hand holding the paper dropped, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably as he desperately tried to stuff the paper into a crack in the wall.
The faces of his cellmates changed in an instant. After hastily hiding their own papers, those near their beds quickly lay down. The ones who couldn't make it in time either leaned against the wall or simply lay on the floor. Then, a suffocating chill descended upon the entire cell. Everyone began to shiver involuntarily, hugging their arms tightly to their chests, curling up to make themselves as small as possible.
The heavy cell door was pushed open by a finger, the rusty hinges creaking loudly. A tattered black cloak slipped through the opening, followed by a Dementor, which floated in.
The face, completely hidden by the black cloak, slowly turned to survey everyone. It then nodded, as if satisfied with this "meal." The creaking sound echoed once more as the door was slammed shut.
A long time passed before curses finally broke the silence in the cell.
"Damn it, these black cloaks never come at a predictable time! If I wasn't so quick, I would've lost my stuff again."
His voice was weak. After being around the Dementors for so long, all the prisoners reacted more severely to them than a normal person would. It was slightly better for the inmates with light sentences here. As for the serious offenders, aside from a few exceptions, the rest were extremely weak in their daily lives.
"Nine-Fingers, you did good, kid. You managed to hold on and hide your stuff even when the black cloaks came. When the next newbie arrives, let him take that Lookout Corner spot for you."
Not losing anything clearly put the cell boss in a great mood, giving Nine-Fingers, who slept on the bed by the toilet closest to the passageway, a glimmer of hope.
As he spoke, he fumbled around his bunk and generously produced eight chocolate balls, tossing one to each person.
In Azkaban, where Dementors appeared from time to time, chocolate, something that could bring warmth, was the top-tier hard currency. Even glittering Galleons weren't as useful as chocolate here. The ship that delivered food each week could only smuggle in so much, and it was never enough to go around.
William caught the chocolate, thanked him weakly, and tore open the wrapper with trembling hands, greedily savoring the warmth that spread through him as it melted in his mouth.
He still had one year left on his sentence. One more year of this life, of Dementors coming for their daily "meal."
Fortunately, the magical knowledge in his mind, things he had never seen before, could sustain him for ten years if need be. And besides, there was always hope. One year wasn't that long.
(end of chapter)