Hogwarts' John Wick

This was someone easily recognizable, as once you saw him, you were unlikely to forget.

He looked as if he had been carved out of a piece of rotting wood, his face covered with scars on every inch of skin. His mouth stretched into a crooked gash.

Where his nose should have been was nothing but a sunken space, and he had one magical eye.

One of his eyes was small, dark, and gleaming. The other was unnaturally large, round like a coin, and a vivid, striking blue.

The blue eye moved constantly, darting up, down, left, and right, entirely independent of his normal eye.

Even more unsettling, the blue eye occasionally flipped into his head, leaving only a glaring white orb visible to everyone.

Suddenly, that blue eye turned toward John.

The rhythmic thumping of heavy footsteps ceased as Moody paused, turning his head to look directly at John.

Their gazes met and held for a moment before Moody resumed walking.

At the staff table, Dumbledore reached out to shake Moody's hand, which was as scarred as his face.

The two exchanged a few quiet words, but Moody's magical eye remained fixed in John's direction the entire time.

This made John frown.

Dumbledore responded briefly to something Moody said and gestured for him to take a seat.

Moody was a cautious man. He used a small knife to spear a sausage from his plate, sniffed it carefully, and only then proceeded to eat.

"Allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore cheerfully broke the silence. "Professor Moody."

Not a single student clapped, and even the professors remained silent.

Only Hagrid and Dumbledore showed any enthusiasm. 

Hagrid clapped twice before realizing something was off, leaving him uncertain whether to continue or stop altogether.

Noticing this, John slowly began to clap.

The crisp sound of applause from the Slytherin table drew the attention of everyone in the hall.

When they saw it was John, Draco Malfoy immediately joined in, clapping as well.

Soon, the Slytherin table followed suit, and the applause quickly spread throughout the entire hall.

The thunderous applause sharply contrasted with the earlier silence.

Moody paused mid-chew, his eyes—both normal and magical—fixating on the Slytherin table.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron whispered to each other, recalling how Mr. Weasley had mentioned dealing with something involving Moody earlier that morning.

Apparently, "Mad-Eye" Moody had claimed to be attacked by a trash can....

John ceased his clapping, and as if on cue, the applause died down completely.

He knew Moody—or more precisely, had seen him before. 

Moody had purchased numerous sneakoscopes from Silverhand Johnny's specialty store, convinced that someone was always out to get him. 

John was fairly certain Moody had dismantled each one after bringing them home. 

Tommy greatly admired Moody, having witnessed the ironclad determination of the legendary Auror. 

This was why Tommy had offered Moody a steep discount, practically breaking even on the sale. 

The legendary Auror was responsible for nearly half of Azkaban's inmate population after all. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him a living legend among Aurors. 

But legends often walked a lonely path. With his hands stained by the blood of so many Death Eaters, Moody had developed something akin to PTSD, distrusting everyone and everything around him. 

Dumbledore, as though blind to the students' unease, cleared his throat. 

"As I mentioned earlier," he said with a cheerful twinkle in his eye, looking out over the students before him, 

"For the next few months, we will have the distinct honor of hosting a truly spectacular event—an event that has not been held for over a century." 

He paused dramatically before announcing: "I am delighted to tell you all that the Triwizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this year." 

The Triwizard Tournament! 

"You're joking!" Fred Weasley exclaimed loudly. 

His eyes sparkled as he exchanged a fist bump with George, clearly gearing up to participate. 

The students erupted into lively discussions. 

In the midst of the excitement, Dumbledore attempted to crack a joke but was promptly cut off by Professor McGonagall, who wore a look of stern disapproval. 

Left with no choice, Dumbledore explained the history of the Triwizard Tournament for those unfamiliar with it. 

In short, it was a competition where three champions, each from a different school, competed in a series of challenges. However, due to the high mortality rate in past tournaments, it had been discontinued for some time. 

This year, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports decided that the time was right to revive it. 

In October, the headmasters of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would arrive at Hogwarts with their carefully selected competitors. 

The ceremony to select champions would take place on Halloween Eve, and, most enticingly, the prize money was a whopping 5,000 Galleons. 

The mention of such a substantial sum caused the Weasley twins' eyes to widen, and they could barely contain their eagerness. 

Unfortunately for them, Dumbledore quickly poured cold water on their aspirations. 

Champions needed to be at least seventeen years old to participate, which meant the twins, who wouldn't turn seventeen until next April, were ineligible. 

This also dashed the hopes of anyone younger than the sixth year, much to the dismay of Ron and Harry, who had been entertaining thoughts of entering. 

Meanwhile, Hermione silently protested against Hogwarts' use of enslaved house-elves, having just learned that over a hundred of them worked there for free. 

Even after the feast ended, the students continued discussing the Triwizard Tournament. 

As John was leaving the Great Hall, he turned back to glance at Moody, whose magical eye was swiveling wildly. 

...

"Age restriction? I call bullshit!"

In the Slytherin common room, the discussions carried on, but they had taken a somewhat... skewed direction. 

"Yeah! This has to be because they're scared of John. Everyone knows he's the best." 

"Exactly! John could defeat all of them by himself." 

"This must be one of Dumbledore's schemes. We all know how biased he is toward Gryffindor." 

"I'm going to have my father file a formal complaint. That man is unfit to be headmaster!" 

The Slytherin students, in their characteristic indignation, were convinced this was all part of Dumbledore's conspiracy. 

After all, with John's abilities, where was the competition? 

Even Malfoy chimed in, his tone filled with righteous anger, "All he ever does is coddle Harry Potter and the Gryffindors. John, this is clearly aimed at you." 

"The decision came from the Ministry of Magic," John replied calmly, flipping through a book without even lifting his head. "They're just afraid younger students might get killed." 

... 

The next day. 

It was the first day of classes for the fourth years. 

Slytherin and Gryffindor only shared one class together that morning.

During Care of Magical Creatures, the sight of the newly hatched Blast-Ended Skrewts was quite the shock for many. 

They resembled de-shelled lobsters—pale gray, slimy, and altogether horrifying to look at. 

John, however, was entirely unfazed. He had encountered these creatures more times than he could count. 

Not everyone shared John's level of composure. 

If Malfoy hadn't spent so much time around John, he likely would have already begun loudly voicing his disgust. 

Their task for the lesson? To raise the Blast-Ended Skrewts. 

Malfoy's expression made his disapproval clear as he asked, "Why exactly are we supposed to raise these things?" 

"Ah?" Hagrid blinked in confusion. 

Malfoy pressed on, "I mean, what's the point? What can they even do? What use are they?" 

This question struck at Hagrid's blind spot—he had been so focused on breeding them that he hadn't really thought about their practical uses. 

Hagrid's gaze naturally shifted to John for an answer. 

Catching the hint, John explained, "When fully grown, the hard shell of a Blast-Ended Skrewt is an excellent alchemical material. Its tail can also be used to produce potent explosives." 

Malfoy had no rebuttal—after all, the boss had spoken. 

After a moment's thought, John added, "When raising them, keep in mind that their tails can explode. Juvenile Skrewts might damage your skin, but the explosion from an adult Skrewt could easily blow off your arm." 

Students: "..."

Hagrid: ○( ＾皿＾)っ John, my saviour…

"Ten points to Slytherin!" Hagrid clapped enthusiastically, and John earned some extra points.

The other students, however, couldn't share the excitement—after all, the risk of losing a hand to an exploding Skrewt wasn't exactly a thrilling prospect.

In the afternoon, John headed to Divination class alone.

Professor Trelawney welcomed him warmly, treating him less like a student and more like an old friend.

"My dear, have you seen any changes in the stars?" she asked.

"I think I did," John replied, barely suppressing a laugh. "I saw a clumsy, unfortunate soul taking a nasty fall."

The astrological signs hinted at either Goyle or Crabbe—it was hard to tell which of them was the unlucky one.

During class, Harry got caught daydreaming and was subjected to Trelawney's elaborate but nonsensical analysis.

Ron, failing to keep his composure, burst out laughing.

Trelawney declared that Harry was born in winter, seemingly forgetting her previous prophecy that the savior was born at the end of July.

After class, Malfoy wasted no time flaunting The Daily Prophet in front of his supposed rival, sneering and mocking Ron specifically.

John glanced at the article and immediately recognized Rita Skeeter's handiwork.

Due to the Quidditch World Cup incident, all the credit had gone to old Barty Crouch. As a savvy journalist, Skeeter knew that highlighting flaws could amplify moments of supposed heroism.

So, she dug up the story of a missing witch official and sensationalized it.

Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley had been busy the previous day dealing with Moody's antics, making him an easy target.

"And there's a photo, Weasley!" Malfoy sneered, pulling out the newspaper and waving the interview photo around mockingly. 

To be fair, the Burrow could easily be classified as an illegal structure in any country—only wizards would dare live in such a place. 

Of course, Malfoy didn't outright say anything bad about it. After all, Percy lived there too. But as he scrutinized the Weasley parents in the picture, he blurted out, "Is that your mum? She looks..." 

Before he could finish, Harry shouted, "Shut it, Malfoy!" 

Malfoy paused, genuinely confused—he hadn't even said anything insulting yet. 

Harry tried to comfort Ron, who was shaking with anger, urging him to calm down. 

"Oh, right, Potter. You stayed with them this summer, didn't you?" Malfoy asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm—or was it jealousy? "Did his mum fold your clothes for you? Bet the food was great, huh?" 

Malfoy swore he was just making a casual observation, but Harry clearly took it differently. 

"And what about your mum, Malfoy?"

Harry retorted, recalling the haughty expression he'd seen on Mrs. Malfoy's face. "Does she always look like she just caught a whiff of something rotten under her nose? Or is it just when she's around you?" 

Malfoy's temper flared instantly at Harry's audacity to insult his mother. 

Hermione tugged on Harry's sleeve, signaling him to back down. Realizing he might have gone too far, Harry awkwardly told Malfoy to shut up and turned to leave. 

Just as Harry turned around, Malfoy made his move. 

He didn't use his wand. 

Hm?

John, who had remained silent on the side, suddenly narrowed his eyes, his expression turning icy. 

"Duck!" 

At John's command, Malfoy instinctively crouched down. 

John swiftly drew his wand, conjuring a shimmering shield of armor in front of him, which deflected a curse aimed their way. 

The rebounded spell hit a suit of armor nearby, which instantly transformed into a white ferret. 

Without hesitation, John retaliated with a spell of his own. 

________

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