The room at the Leaky Cauldron wasn't particularly large, but neither was it small. It didn't resemble any modern construction and instead perfectly adhered to an architectural style from a century ago.
However, neither the oak furniture nor the old fireplace managed to capture William's attention. The moment his head hit the pillow, he lost control and fell asleep. When his eyes opened again, a soft pinkish-golden light filtered through the window.
"Hiss," William instinctively raised his hand to block the sunlight, only to realize his entire arm was numb.
Stretching his body, stiff from sleeping fully clothed, William began searching the room for a clock.
He got lucky this time. Although the hourglass-like object on the table didn't resemble an alarm clock, the glowing sand displayed the current time when he glanced at it.
Nine o'clock? Did I really sleep that long?
Upon realizing the time, his stomach quickly voiced its complaints; William hadn't eaten anything since the previous afternoon except for a cup of hot chocolate.
Closing the door decisively behind him, he hurried downstairs, hoping to find any leftover breakfast to soothe his growling stomach. By the time he reached the bar, Tom was already smiling as he placed a small basket of sandwiches in front of him.
"The soup's in the kitchen. I'll bring you a bowl in a bit; oh, and eat well. The hungover lot upstairs will probably start cursing soon. Don't argue with them."
Before William could respond, a stream of curses erupted from upstairs. Some were in rural accents, others in Spanish or French, filled with incomprehensible slang and foreign insults that truly broadened William's horizons.
He didn't mind. Grabbing the food, he found a well-lit corner and sat down. After a couple of minutes, the cursing from upstairs gradually subsided. At that moment, Tom returned with a large bowl of soup and sat directly across from him.
"How did you get so exhausted? Last night, I knocked on your door for three minutes delivering food, and you didn't wake up."
"Don't even mention it. I was so thrilled to leave that damned place that once the excitement wore off, I collapsed from exhaustion. Haven't eaten a thing since yesterday," William mumbled, finishing the last bite of his sandwich.
The original owner wasn't particularly close to Tom, but he had taken on two potion-related jobs from him before, so they were on speaking terms.
As for having been to Azkaban, William figured that wasn't much of a secret to a pub owner. In fact, it served as a convenient excuse to explain any differences between himself and the original owner of his body.
After all, people change after a stint in Azkaban; it was only natural.
"What's your plan now? Still taking potion commissions?"
"Of course. Why not? It's not illegal. But I'll pass for this month. It's been a while since I've worked with a cauldron, so I can't guarantee my success rate."
William had no intention of giving up potion-making. Even though he had secured a teaching position, he was fully prepared to leave Hogwarts unexpectedly within a year. If that happened, he'd have to rely on potion-making to get by.
Potions brewed by a Hogwarts professor could fetch double the usual price. Defense Against the Dark Arts; or rather, 'Dueling Fast-Track Training'; professors didn't command the same premium.
Potion-making was a skilled craft, unlike traditional medicine, where you could simply gather ingredients and follow instructions. Common potions were fine, handled by shop employees daily. But complex or niche potions often required external commissions, and renowned brewers could sign their name on a potion, ensuring buyers trusted its efficacy and were willing to pay a premium.
William, being a self-taught potion-maker, would inevitably return to his old trade once his tenure at Hogwarts ended. He planned to use his time there to hone his skills and build a reputation.
Starting early meant he wouldn't be floundering later, jobless and clueless. If he discovered he had no talent for potion-making, he could always consider a career change.
After all, his understanding of the magical world was entirely based on the original owner's memories. How could he possibly plan everything for the future with such limited knowledge?
If he had that kind of foresight, he'd have already spammed the "Add" button on his system interface or maxed out cheats.
***
William's response satisfied old Tom.
They weren't close, and Tom's inquiry had come from an older man's habit of offering unsolicited advice to younger folk. Seeing that William remained level-headed even after Azkaban, Tom was more than willing to continue passing potion commissions his way.
Potion orders were plentiful, but letting inexperienced kids practice on them was out of the question. Every year, Hogwarts graduated a batch of students; some even managed to turn potions into poison. If something went wrong after submission, who would be held accountable?
"Alright, I'll keep an eye out for you next month. Hogwarts will be starting up again, so there'll probably be a flood of orders for support potions."
William paused for a moment. He had read extensively about potions but wasn't familiar with the jargon around potion commissions.
He quickly masked his confusion by nodding while grabbing another sandwich. Tom didn't seem to mind; in fact, he looked quite pleased. Any shop owner would be happy to see their goods in demand.
"Alright, you eat up. I need to check the stock. Seems like we're running low on mead. I'd better place a new order this morning," Tom chuckled as he stood and headed toward the bar.
Seizing the moment, William quickly racked his brain for answers.
Within minutes, he pieced together what support potions were.
It was actually quite simple.
Many first-year students, upon returning home for the Christmas holidays, often received news like, You're going to be a big brother or sister. Similarly, after the fifth-year O.W.L. exams, students with poor results might also hear similar news.
Support potions were essentially concoctions to help these situations along, with demand surging during the month when new students enrolled at Hogwarts.
William hadn't even studied such potions; who knew how many bizarre potions existed in the wizarding world? There seemed to be one for every purpose, even resurrection. It felt like there wasn't a single matter potions couldn't meddle in.
Swallowing his second sandwich, William finally felt his stomach ease its relentless demands. Now, he could finally taste the sandwich properly.
The sandwich itself was rather ordinary, but the sausage inside had a rich garlic flavor, elevating it from barely edible to something quite decent. The soup, with its subtle spiciness and tang, was surprisingly appetizing. He couldn't resist using a half-slice of bread to mop up the last of the broth.
Satisfied and full, William stretched with contentment. His journey through Diagon Alley was officially about to begin.