Hogwarts' John Wick

December.

The snow was heavy, piling up in thick white layers on the tree branches.

Tom was sleeping under a tree, all four legs in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Fang lay not far from her, also with his tongue hanging out.

After a while, the weight of the snow on the treetop snapped a branch.

A large pile of snow dumped down on the two dogs, making Tom jolt awake with a shiver.

She darted to the side and dug up the music box buried under the snow, slamming a paw on it to stop its music.

Fang spat out the snow in his mouth, eyes filled with confusion and daze.

Tom held the music box in her mouth, tail high in the air like a gang boss, striking a proud pose.

As if to say, young pups just don't have the stamina—look at you, almost knocked out.

She shook her head, flinging snowflakes everywhere.

The two dogs ran around the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, one after the other.

Up in the tree, Basil squinted down with disdain, clearly unimpressed as he watched them knock the snow down earlier.

After a while, a platinum blond head popped up from within a snowdrift.

Malfoy was shivering from the cold as he found John and complained, "Can you not let Tom run around with that music box? I nearly froze to death out there."

John glanced at him—Malfoy still had snowflakes clinging to his robes as he sipped hot mulled wine to warm up. He didn't need to ask to figure out what had happened.

Tom had gone out again with that Dark magic music box, using it to lull herself to sleep.

The box didn't have any deadly abilities, but it did cause people to fall into a deep sleep.

And of course, Tom adored it.

Malfoy had originally been out on a conditioning run, but the moment he heard the music box, he ended up napping outside in the snow.

If the snow hadn't come crashing down and startled Tom awake, Malfoy would've spent the entire night out there.

"If you can convince Tom, I'd be more than happy to oblige!" John said with a cheerful smile.

Malfoy's face darkened—Tom didn't listen to him.

Gazing out the window, John said, "It's really snowing hard this year."

"I'm not going home."

With Christmas approaching, Malfoy had no desire to return.

Watching his father grovel before Voldemort was worse than death itself.

Neville came over with a pot of hot wine. "Draco, do you want more mulled wine?"

"Neville, did you just bring out the entire pot from the kitchen?" Malfoy yelped. "What's that awful sour smell?!"

Neville, with tissues stuffed up his nose, said sheepishly, "It's Daphne's creation—hot pineapple wine."

"Pineapple… wine?" Both Malfoy and John fell into deep thought.

What in the world was pineapple wine?

Malfoy cautiously leaned over and took a deep sniff.

Ugh—!

The sharp sourness shot straight up his nose, and his legs gave out—he collapsed onto the floor.

When he got up, utterly horrified, he gasped, "G-Get it away, get it away from me!"

Before he could finish, he saw Daphne cheerfully coming over with a ladle, ready to serve drinks.

"John, let's run for it!" Malfoy grabbed out in panic—only to find John grabbing his hand, looking deeply apologetic.

Malfoy blinked in confusion. "John?"

John said with guilt in his voice, "Forgive me, Draco."

The next moment, Malfoy felt a chill creeping through his body, until he was nearly frozen solid.

He could only watch, wide-eyed, as John stood up and shouted, "Oh no! Draco's passed out from the cold! We need a hot drink, quick!"

Daphne rushed over and said, "I have hot pineapple wine ready!"

"That's perfect," John nodded rapidly, while Neville looked on with pity as Daphne enthusiastically poured the entire ladleful of hot pineapple wine straight into Malfoy's mouth.

Malfoy went from struggling at the beginning to complete numbness by the end.

John stood up and made the sign of the cross over his chest, saying devoutly, "You're a great friend, Draco."

Cedric hadn't known what was going on at first, but once he came over and saw the situation, he joined the team feeding Malfoy the wine.

The whole pot of hot pineapple wine was forcibly consumed by Malfoy.

By the time Malfoy thawed out and recovered, the first thing he wanted to do was fight John to death.

Then John beat him up again!

"..."

Malfoy sat there, beginning to question the meaning of life.

"I'm not going home for Christmas either," Cedric said as he sat down, silently pushing the pot away.

He added, "I made plans with Cho."

"You two made up?" Daphne asked.

Cedric smiled and nodded. "I have been neglecting her a bit lately, so I figured I'd take the chance to spend some time with her in Hogsmeade."

He shrugged a little helplessly and said, "Cho gets a bit jealous sometimes. I think she needs a bit of reassurance."

Hearing this, Daphne's thoughts stirred. She asked in a small voice, "Where are you taking her?"

"Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop—it's a classic date spot."

Hearing that, Daphne looked at John with eyes full of expectation.

Seeing how gossipy she was being, John paused and asked, "Daphne, aren't you going home?"

"My dad and mum went on a trip," Daphne said without batting an eye.

Astoria happened to run by just then. Hearing that, she asked in confusion, "When did Mum and Dad go o—mmph…"

Daphne covered her younger sister's mouth, her smile radiating a dangerous gentleness as she said, "Yes, they're going to Finland, and Astoria is going with them."

"..."

Astoria couldn't fight her sister and was eventually dragged away while thinking the meaning of life.

...

A week before Christmas.

John also had no intention of going home. He was in the Shrieking Shack, holding a golden card in one hand and caressing a crystal ball with the other.

As the glow on the card lit up, a pale blue light filled John's eyes.

Scenes flashed continuously before him.

The card ignited in flames and was eventually consumed completely.

John looked at his fingers singed by the fire, a dazed expression on his face.

The crystal ball shimmered with light. John stared at the images inside, clenched his fist.

Grabbing the crystal ball and stuffing it into his pocket, he turned and left the Shrieking Shack.

...

Harry had a nightmare.

He seemed to be hiding in some corner, his eyes fixed intently on one spot.

There was a person—sitting on the ground, head drooped against his chest, his silhouette flickering faintly in the dim light.

Harry moved closer to the man.

Something was writhing—it was him—crawling across the ground toward the person.

The slithering was fast. Before the person could even react, he had already reached them.

A bloodthirsty hunger overwhelmed Harry's mind. He wanted to bite that man to death.

No—he had to hold back. There were things left to do.

But the man woke up. Harry had no choice.

He raised his body and lunged at the man—once, twice, three times.

Sharp fangs pierced the man's skin; ribs snapped like twigs under his teeth.

The man screamed in agony—until he couldn't. He collapsed in the corner, motionless.

Harry moved to deliver the final blow, his throat rolling with anticipation.

And just then—he felt his consciousness being pulled away, drawn toward another place.

He found himself inside a glass chamber.

A silver mask appeared before his eyes.

He was pulled out.

The silver mask studied him, and in its hand, black threads began to coil around him.

Harry could feel his soul being slowly, painfully tugged apart.

The sense of horror was overwhelming.

The scar on his forehead throbbed violently, as if it were about to explode.

"Harry! Harry!"

The urgent shouting tore him away from that chamber wrapped in countless black threads.

"Haa.. ugh.."

Harry woke up. He opened his eyes, drenched in cold sweat, the bedsheets twisted around him like a straitjacket.

His forehead burned as if seared by a pair of red-hot tongs, and he clutched it in agony.

Ron was standing at the bedside, clearly frightened. There were a few other figures at the foot of the bed.

The pain drove Harry to the edge of the bed, where he vomited uncontrollably.

Then—he remembered.

The man who had been bitten.

Looking at Ron, Harry forced his trembling body to stop retching.

"Your dad," Harry panted, feeling like his stomach was about to turn inside out, "something happened to your dad!"

"What?" Ron looked completely bewildered.

But Harry didn't care—he gasped in pain, "Your dad was bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere."

One of their dormmates, frightened by Harry's outburst, dashed out to find Professor McGonagall.

"Calm down, mate, you were just dreaming," Ron said, half-convinced, half-uncertain.

Harry shouted furiously, "No! It wasn't a dream!"

"You mean..?"

"I was there! I saw it! I did it!"

He looked completely deranged, and Ron became even more convinced Harry was ill.

But Harry was struggling too violently for Ron to hold him down.

Neville stepped in to help restrain him.

Fortunately, the dormmate returned with Professor McGonagall.

Unlike Ron, Professor McGonagall took Harry's words seriously at once and immediately took him to find Dumbledore.

________

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