Chapter 18: Arrangements for the Future
The room in The Leaky Cauldron was neither large nor small. It didn't resemble modern architecture; in fact, one could say it perfectly followed the building style of a century ago.
However, neither the oak furniture nor the old fireplace captured William's attention. The moment his head touched the pillow, he lost consciousness. By the time his eyes opened again, a pinkish-golden light was already filtering through the window.
"Hiss," William subconsciously raised a hand to block the sunlight, only to find his entire arm was numb.
Stretching his stiff body, a result of sleeping for a night without changing his clothes, William began to look around the room for a clock.
This time, he was lucky. Although the hourglass-like object on the table didn't look anything like an alarm clock, when William looked over, the sand still displayed the current time with a fluorescent glow.
Nine o'clock. I slept for that long?
Upon realizing this, his stomach quickly began to protest—since yesterday afternoon, William had only had a single cup of hot chocolate.
Closing the room's door without a second thought, William hurried downstairs, hoping to find some leftover breakfast to fill his ravenous stomach. But by the time he rushed to the bar, Old Tom was already smiling, placing a small basket of sandwiches in front of him.
"The soup is in the kitchen; I'll bring you a bowl in a moment. Oh, and eat well. Those hungover blokes will probably start cursing in a bit, so don't get into an argument with them."
Before William could even process that, a torrent of curses erupted from the upper floor of the pub. There were country accents, some in Spanish, some in French; the incomprehensible slang and foreign insults were a real eye-opener for William.
He paid it no mind, simply grabbing the food and finding a spot with slightly better light to sit down. After about two or three minutes, the shouting from upstairs gradually died down. Only then did Tom arrive with a large bowl of soup and sit down directly across from him.
"Why are you so exhausted? I knocked on your door for three minutes when I brought up your dinner last night, but you didn't even stir."
"Don't even mention it. I was so happy after getting out of that damned place that once the excitement wore off, I collapsed from exhaustion. I haven't eaten a thing since yesterday; my stomach's completely empty."
William swallowed the last bite of his sandwich before mumbling his reply. His body's original owner wasn't very familiar with Old Tom, but he had taken on two potion commissions from him before, so they were at least on speaking terms.
As for having been in Azkaban, William figured it was hardly a secret to a pub owner. In fact, it served as a convenient excuse to cover up the differences between him and his predecessor.
After all, having been to Azkaban, it was only natural for him to have changed.
"So, what are your plans now that you're out? Still taking on potion-making jobs?"
"I am, why wouldn't I? It's not illegal. But I'll skip this month. It's been a while since I've touched a cauldron, so I can't guarantee a good success rate."
William had no intention of abandoning the craft that put food on his table. Although he had successfully been hired as a Professor, he had already prepared for the possibility of leaving Hogwarts due to some accident before the year was up. When that happened, wouldn't he still have to rely on potions to make a living?
The label "A Potion Brewed by a Hogwarts Potions Professor" could easily double its price. A potion brewed by the Professor of Defense Against the Dark—no, the Professor of Protection Against Fighting for Young Wizards, on the other hand, just had a longer title and wouldn't sell for much.
Potion brewing is a technical skill. It's not like preparing Traditional Chinese Medicine, where you just gather the herbs, add a catalyst, and decoct it over a controlled flame according to a doctor's instructions. Common-use potions are one thing; employees at an apothecary brew them daily. But more complex or niche potions are generally commissioned to outsiders. A master can sign their name on the potion, and because everyone trusts the potion's efficacy, they are naturally willing to pay a high price.
For a self-taught potioneer like William who hadn't made a name for himself yet, he would naturally have to return to his old profession after his stint as a Hogwarts Professor. He couldn't afford to waste his year at Hogwarts. On one hand, he planned to improve his potion skills; on the other, he would build up his reputation for the future. By taking on jobs early, he wouldn't be completely lost without a way to make a living after he left.
If he found out along the way that he had no talent for potions, then he would just consider changing professions. His current impression of the Wizarding World came entirely from his predecessor's memories; how could he possibly plan out his entire future knowing so little?
If he had that kind of ability, he would have already set up an auto-clicker on the plus sign in his System interface. Not even a game trainer would dare to make such bold modifications.
William's reply seemed to satisfy Old Tom. He and William weren't particularly close; his questions stemmed from an old man's habit of lecturing the young. Since the lad hadn't become impatient even after getting out of a place like Azkaban, he would naturally continue to pass potion orders on to William.
There were plenty of potion orders, to be sure, but he wasn't about to let some greenhorn use them for practice. Hogwarts graduated a batch of new students every year, and some of them could even turn a potion into poison. If he submitted a potion like that and someone got sick, who would be responsible?
"Alright then, I'll keep an eye out for you next month. Hogwarts starts school next month, so there will probably be a flood of orders for auxiliary potions."
William paused for a moment. He had reviewed many memories about potions, but he didn't really understand the jargon related to potion-making orders.
However, he quickly covered it up with a nod as he reached for a sandwich. Old Tom didn't seem to notice and was even pleased—it's never a bad thing for a proprietor when his wares are popular.
"Alright, you eat up. I'm going to check the alcohol stock. It looks like we're running low on mead. I need to get a new order in this morning."
Old Tom chuckled and left the table, heading for the bar. William took this opportunity to quickly search his memories.
In less than a few minutes, he figured out exactly what those auxiliary potions were.
It was actually quite simple. Many first-year students, upon returning home for the Christmas holiday after starting at Hogwarts, would be greeted with joyous news like, "You're going to be a big sister!" or "You're going to be a big brother!" The same sort of news was also common after the fifth-year O.W.L. exams, especially if one's grades were too poor.
The so-called auxiliary potions were basically concoctions used to help bring about these situations more quickly. Demand for them would see an explosive increase during the month new students arrived for school.
However, William hadn't even learned about similar potions yet. Who knew just how many strange and bizarre potions existed in the Wizarding World? There seemed to be one for every purpose, even for resurrection. It was as if there was nothing a potion couldn't have a hand in!
After swallowing his second sandwich, William's stomach finally stopped its urgent demands. Only then did he have the time to properly taste how the sandwich was made.
The sandwich itself was unremarkable, but the sausage inside had a rich garlic flavor, elevating it from "barely edible" to something more. The soup, however, with its faint spiciness and sourness, was exceptionally appetizing, compelling him to use half a slice of bread to wipe the bowl clean.
Full and satisfied, William stretched contentedly. His journey into Diagon Alley was now officially underway.
(end of chapter)