HP: Professor From Azkaban

Every wand crafted by Ollivander waits for its destined owner. Unfortunately, some people's owls just fail to deliver the letters in time.

William couldn't remember where he'd heard that phrase before. As someone who rarely watched movies, it hadn't meant much to him at the time. Now, as he tested the eighteenth wand, the thought suddenly popped into his head.

After a meticulous fitting process, more precise than any tailor's, Ollivander brought down an armful of wands for him to try.

Though William didn't sense anything magical about the steps, he still went along with everything, obediently following Ollivander's instructions to wave each wand.

These new wands didn't resist him as much as his old one had, but before he could attempt any magic, Ollivander would snatch each wand away, seal it back in its box, and hand him the next one.

When the nineteenth wand was placed in his hands, William instinctively accepted it. To his surprise, the wood, which should have felt cool, was warm; almost hot. It wasn't painful, though. It felt like holding a hot water bottle on a freezing winter day, making it impossible to let go.

He loosened his grip slightly, and the wand shifted comfortably, as if it had become an extension of his arm.

Silver sparks rained from the tip, transforming into dazzling fireworks that painted a breathtaking light display across the air.

"Excellent, truly excellent. A perfect match," Ollivander praised, clapping his hands. "Thirteen inches, cedar wood, with a unicorn hair core. It has chosen you."

"I think so too."

William beamed, showing the happiest smile since he'd arrived in the wizarding world. The sensation just now felt like holding hands with the best of friends, making him feel less alone in his struggles.

He didn't care about understanding what the materials meant. Right now, even if someone offered him a Gundam in exchange, he wouldn't take it. What did the materials matter anyway?

If not for his last shred of reason held back by poverty, William would have gladly thrown all his money away at that moment, carrying only the wand with him.

"Eleven Galleons. First wands come with a special discount," Mr. Ollivander said with a smile.

Far cheaper than he had expected. William resisted the urge to grab a handful of gold coins and instead carefully counted out eleven Galleons, handing them over. There was no doubt in his mind; This man is a true master.

Running such a niche business with such precision and meticulous attention to detail in every step of the process; those hack weapon and wand dealers back in Canada should seriously reflect on why they ended up as failures.

Bidding Mr. Ollivander farewell once more, William left the shop with two wands in hand.

He had a long list of things to do, but all of them were now pushed to the back of his mind.

What he needed right now wasn't random potion ingredients, unfamiliar magic, or even Galleons or other currency. What he needed was a quiet, undisturbed room where he could get familiar with his first wand and practice the magic he had secretly studied during his time in Azkaban.

***

The Leaky Cauldron.

Tom, the Barman, found it a bit odd that William wasn't outside savoring his newfound freedom after being released from Azkaban. Still, he merely reminded William of the meal schedule, adding nothing else. If he missed the designated time, his free meal would be replaced by the evening's paid special.

After acknowledging with a quick response, William hurried back to his room and locked the door.

Though it was highly unlikely that anything as dramatic as murder or robbery would happen in Tom's inn, William did it out of habit.

He then spent less than ten minutes clearing away furniture and clutter, carving out a modest practice area for himself.

Taking a deep breath, William slowly exhaled, raised his wand, and cast his first-ever spell.

"Lumos!"

The newly acquired wand lit up, the soft glow remaining undiminished even under the sunlight.

"Ha," William sighed, collapsing onto the bed. If even the simplest spells required such effort, he might very well go down in Hogwarts history as the most laughable professor ever.

Getting expelled from Hogwarts for incompetence would be a death sentence for him. He'd have to find work overseas just to survive; and most likely starve due to lack of skill.

"Next spell. The Levitation Charm."

"Key points; pronunciation must be accurate, or you might summon a cow instead--"

William proceeded with extreme caution. For students, the idea of summoning a cow might be a joke, but for someone with his magical power, it was a very real possibility.

A few seconds later, the quill he was using for practice floated perfectly in midair; success.

Aguamenti; success.

Alohomora; success.

…

…

By the time dinner rolled around, William had successfully tested over a dozen simple spells that didn't target himself. None took more than three tries to master. These basic spells weren't particularly difficult, and with his abundant magical power, casting them was almost effortless.

Feeling great by the joy of success, William bounded down the stairs, prompting Tom the Barman to call out several times for him to watch his step.

As the food was served, Tom couldn't help but ask, "What's up, William? Did you rob Gringotts?"

"Ha! Just got out of that hellhole. I'm not about to hand over credit to the Hit Wizards," William replied with a grin.

"Did some pure-blood take a liking to your face and decide to save you a few years of struggle?"

"I wish, but pure-bloods only go for other pure-bloods, right?" William played along with the joke. Right now, this was the only way he could share his happiness with others.

"Not necessarily; pure-bloods aren't all ladies, you know."

"Get lost! Careful, or I'll report you for watering down the drinks!" William pretended to be angry.

"If that's the case, then your drink is pure, and I'll have to charge extra," Tom replied with a grin, spreading his hands.

William fished out a knut and handed it over, feigning generosity. "Take it, keep the change."

The onlookers chuckled, and the tavern burst into laughter.

Tom, unfazed, pocketed the knut without a trace of disdain. He waved it proudly at the group of drunks before walking off, clearly pleased. Now, he was convinced that Azkaban hadn't left much darkness in this young man's heart.

William flashed a smug grin at those around him, then strode over to the bar and bought a round of drinks for everyone. It was his way of releasing all the happiness bottled up inside him.

The atmosphere in the tavern grew even livelier.