Hogwarts' John Wick

"My master, my master!"

When the grotesque, infant-like Voldemort was finally found, Peter Pettigrew could only mumble incoherently, as if in a stupor.

Voldemort, seeing his servant's pitiful state, used what little strength he had left to heal him.

Afterward, he was taken out of the dilapidated shack.

Unfortunately, a witch with poor judgment stumbled into the area.

Voldemort noticed she had been struck by a powerful Memory Charm. After curing her, he used Legilimency to probe her thoughts and discovered that some of his followers were still alive.

Meanwhile, as Barty Crouch Sr. headed toward Silverhand Manor, he was unaware that someone had already entered his home.

Voldemort waited an entire night but didn't see any sign of his loyal followers.

...

A week had passed since the events of the Quidditch World Cup.

John hadn't returned home; his belongings were already moved to Silverhand Manor.

Tomorrow was the start of the school term, and Kim Ledislay was heading back to Ilvermorny.

Before leaving, John appointed him as an assistant manager for the American branch, assigning him to help Nagini.

"I'm off, see you next year," Kim sighed as he said goodbye.

Heinrich's face darkened as he coldly said, "Get lost already."

Kim grinned, waved goodbye, and vanished through a Portkey.

Because of the Triwizard Tournament, Heinrich would be bothered by his fellow Durmstrang students.

John spent the remaining time crafting Philosopher's Stones and finally completed the fourth one on the morning of the first day of term.

They headed to King's Cross Station, with Tommy driving the car.

John sat in the backseat, holding a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"Rita is a smart woman," he remarked.

The newspaper was filled with glowing praise for Barty Crouch Sr.'s diligence and achievements during the Quidditch World Cup. It highlighted how, during the riot, he had responded swiftly and prevented any casualties.

At the article's conclusion, Rita even extended thanks to the helpful citizen, Sir Johnny Silverhand, for stepping in.

According to insider reports, Sir Johnny Silverhand had taken down a large contingent with a single strike.

The incident caused a sensation in the Ministry of Magic. After all, there were close to a hundred wizards involved in the riot. To defeat them all with one strike—such power was clearly on par with Dumbledore's.

Whispers began circulating among the public, with some quietly bestowing a new title upon Johnny Silverhand: The Second King.

The identity of the First King was, of course, self-evident.

John finished reading the newspaper and smirked self-deprecatingly. "Dumbledore's level? They're overestimating me," he said. 

He wasn't being modest. By his estimation, Dumbledore's magical power was at level 7—an absolute top-tier wizard in the magical world. 

To put things in perspective, Hogwarts professors were likely at level 4 or 5. Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick were closer to level 6, perhaps even at level 6, but definitely not at level 7. 

That was a chasm few could cross. 

John himself was only at level 4. It was only with the aid of ancient magic and the Infinity Gauntlet's boost that he could pull off that single attack. 

And while the attack had a wide range, it didn't necessarily have great destructive power. 

The rioting wizards had been weak; otherwise, they wouldn't have been defeated so easily. 

The gap between him and Dumbledore was enormous. 

Glancing at his experience points, he noted he was still 100 points shy of reaching level 5. 

John absently rubbed the ring on his finger. Once he reached level 5, perhaps he could stand a little taller. 

The car came to a stop outside King's Cross Station. Tommy stepped out to retrieve John's luggage. 

"I can handle it from here," John said, waving him off and signaling for Tommy to head back. 

Tommy nodded, watching John as he walked away.

Walking into the station, John didn't encounter anyone familiar as he made his way to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 

On the train, he casually picked an empty compartment and sat down. 

Tom swished its tail and darted out of the compartment. 

John didn't stop it. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to think. 

This term would feature the Triwizard Tournament, but that wasn't John's primary concern. 

He was well aware that Voldemort's return was inevitable. All he could do was try to weaken Voldemort's power as much as possible. 

In John's estimation, Voldemort and Dumbledore were on the same tier of magical strength. Voldemort might currently be a bit weaker than Dumbledore, but killing him wouldn't be easy even for the most powerful white wizard. 

More importantly— 

Dumbledore was old. 

Voldemort, at most, was in his sixties, while Dumbledore had already surpassed a century. 

Even with wizards' generally robust constitutions, Dumbledore was entering the twilight of his strength. 

In contrast, Voldemort was at the peak of his magical power. 

A waning phoenix versus a venomous serpent at its prime. 

The difference between them was time. 

If only Dumbledore were younger, perhaps Voldemort wouldn't be as terrifying. 

But there were no "ifs" in life. 

John's fingers absently stroked the ring as he calculated the whereabouts of Voldemort's Horcruxes. 

Much of the storyline had slipped his mind due to the shock he receaved while transmigrating, but after this much time, some key details have been resurfaced. 

Like Snape's unyielding love and sacrifice, the Deathly Hallows, the main trio, and of course, the Horcruxes. 

As long as the Horcruxes existed, killing Voldemort over and over again would be meaningless. 

From what he remembered, aside from Nagini, the other Horcruxes were relics of the four Hogwarts founders. 

With the exception of the Sword of Gryffindor, the other three founders' items were Horcruxes. 

Unfortunately, John vaguely recalled that Slytherin's locket might be hidden in some cave. 

But regarding that cave, he had no solid leads. 

He could only speculate: it might be near the orphanage where Tom Riddle had stayed, or perhaps close to the house where Voldemort's Muggle father once lived. 

"If only there was a device that could detect Horcruxes," he muttered. 

After mulling it over, John finally stopped fiddling with his ring. 

He opened his eyes just as the compartment door slid open. 

"John!" 

Daphne's initial excitement quickly turned into a composed, elegant demeanor as she remembered to maintain her image as a refined young lady. 

"Oh, hi, Daphne!"

She sat down beside John, thinking gleefully that this was finally their private time together.

"Once again.. thanks for those tickets, John."

"Ah, no need to thank me, we are friends after all!"

"Friends.. yes!"

Tossing her younger sister into another compartment had definitely been the right move!

But her happiness lasted no more than three seconds before the compartment door opened again. 

"Oh! So you two were here, huh?"

Draco Malfoy strutted in, exuding his usual arrogance. 

The moment he sat down, he noticed that the atmosphere felt... chilly. 

Looking up, he was met with Daphne's glare, her eyes practically spitting fire. 

"..."

Draco shivered and began calculating how to retreat without losing face. 

Just as he was about to make his move, the door opened again. 

This time, it was Goyle, lugging an armful of snacks as he clumsily squeezed himself into the compartment, effectively blocking Draco's escape route. 

The tension in the compartment grew even heavier, but Goyle's thick skin made him oblivious to it. 

Outside, rain lashed against the train windows. Draco wished he could just kick Goyle out into the storm. 

However, the door wasn't done being a revolving spectacle today—it opened yet again. 

This time, it was Crabbe, who entered excitedly and announced, "I just saw Potter!" 

At this, Draco's eyes lit up, and even Goyle forgot about his food. 

The three of them immediately rushed out of the compartment, Draco's arrogant voice echoing in the hallway as they left. 

"My father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang..."

Daphne clenched her fists discreetly, thrilled to finally reclaim her one-on-one time with John.

As she pondered over what to say, she tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear and hesitated briefly before opening her mouth. "John—"

Clatter!

The door opened again.

Daphne's inner thoughts: Are you kidding me?!

Unfortunately for her, the new arrival was Heinrich.

John greeted him, "I thought you'd go back to Durmstrang to double-check."

Heinrich responded coolly, "No need. Karkaroff might be foolish, but he's not an idiot."

Igor Karkaroff was the headmaster of Durmstrang.

But in Heinrich's eyes, he was just a cowardly fool.

There wasn't an ounce of respect in Heinrich's tone when he spoke about him.

Edgar believed in the principle of respecting strength, and Karkaroff was not a powerful wizard.

"He joined the Death Eater ranks alongside my uncle," Heinrich continued indifferently. "Unfortunately, he chose the most cowardly way to escape."

Heinrich held nothing but disdain for Karkaroff. Although he wasn't fond of his uncle either, he found someone who gained freedom by betraying his comrades even more detestable. 

Daphne, on the other hand, was intrigued. Heinrich rarely spoke about Edgar. 

Among pureblood families, Edgar was considered an anomaly. Curiosity piqued, she asked, "Heinrich, can you tell us about your family?" 

"My family? There's nothing much to say."

Heinrich replied with the same detached expression, as if he were narrating someone else's story. "My grandfather once followed Grindelwald and died for that man. That generation left only two male heirs." 

"My uncle—he was gifted and ambitious. After losing to Voldemort, he willingly pledged allegiance to him, becoming a Death Eater. Even after Voldemort's downfall, he never returned to the family." 

Edgar took pride in serving powerful figures. Their family was known as the lieutenants of the strong, willing to lay down their lives for someone they deemed worthy. 

Heinrich didn't look down on his uncle—he simply thought he had chosen the wrong person to follow. 

As Heinrich finished recounting his family history, the rain outside grew heavier. 

The Hogwarts Express gradually slowed as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station. 

Lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating Hagrid's towering figure. As he did every year, he was there to greet the students. 

He waved warmly at John. 

________

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