Hogwarts' John Wick

Harry was feeling down. He had come to Hogsmeade hoping to clear his mind.

But then he saw Cho Chang and Cedric in the teahouse, sweetly sipping tea together. The flirty and playful way they interacted—Harry had never seen that side of her.

He knew then that he had no chance. Just as he had made peace with it, Hermione dragged him to the pub.

There, he spotted Hagrid, whose face bore new bruises and cuts. He was drinking, his face gloomy just like Harry.

"Uh, Hagrid, are you alright?" Harry asked, looking at the black-and-blue marks on his face.

"Me?" Hagrid said. "I'm fine, Harry. Hermione. Just fine."

But as he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on his mug. He didn't sound fine at all.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look.

After a brief silence, Hagrid suddenly said, "We're kind of the same, aren't we, Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry was confused.

"Mm... I've said it before... we're outsiders," Hagrid nodded to himself, "both orphans, yeah... both orphans."

He took a deep gulp of his drink.

"Having a proper family makes all the difference," he mumbled, clearly having gone through something. "My dad was a good man. Your mum and dad were good people too. If they were still alive, things'd be different, right?"

Hagrid looked like he was searching for some kind of answer. Hermione could clearly sense how low his mood was.

"Maybe," Harry replied cautiously, realizing the same thing.

"Family," Hagrid said gloomily, "blood is important, no matter what anyone says."

At this moment, Hagrid looked downright depressed. He wiped away a drop of blood that had trickled from his eye.

That did it—Hermione couldn't stay quiet any longer. She sharply asked, "Hagrid, where did you get those injuries?"

"What injuries?" Hagrid tried to play dumb.

But Hermione wasn't Ron. She pointed at his face. "All of them!"

"Just some normal bumps and bruises," Hagrid tried to brush it off. "I do heavy work, don't I?"

He clearly didn't want to be questioned further. He set down his mug and made to leave.

"Heh heh heh, look who it is!"

Malfoy strolled in, walking like he owned the place.

He fixed his eyes on Harry and sneered, "Potter, where's your little sidekick Weasley?"

"Malfoy, I'm in a bad mood today," Harry stood up, glaring at him.

Neither of them backed down, and Hagrid stayed, delayed by the tension.

"You're Harry Potter?"

A surprised voice rang out as the white-haired man looked at Harry's forehead and exclaimed loudly.

Harry turned to look and saw the man stand up and walk over to shake his hand.

"Xenophilius Lovegood, editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. Very pleased to meet you."

Only then did Hermione realize that this was the very person she had arranged to meet.

The Quibbler? That joke of a magazine? Malfoy shook his head and laughed mockingly. "Potter, are you about to become a comedy star?"

"I'm not—" Harry started to protest, but Hermione tugged on his sleeve.

Hermione turned to Mr. Lovegood. "Hello, Mr. Lovegood. I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know you. My daughter's friend. Miss Granger, I've come just as arranged," said Mr. Lovegood, confirming that Hermione had invited him here.

That seemed to cement Harry's unfortunate title as the future Quibbler comedy star. His face turned pale.

"Comedy star Harry Potter!" Malfoy burst into laughter.

"I'm not—Malfoy!" Harry said irritably.

No one could underestimate Malfoy's capacity for snide remarks.

Hermione was at her wit's end, and Hagrid let out a low growl. "Enough."

With Hagrid's towering presence, the intimidation was real—Malfoy instinctively took a half-step back.

His back bumped into someone.

Just moments ago, Hagrid had been full of righteous fury, but upon seeing the person behind Malfoy, his head instantly turned the other way, and he tried to leave as quickly as possible.

John took a deep breath, a vein pulsing at his temple. "Hagrid."

"J-John." Hagrid looked terribly awkward.

Seeing Hagrid's face, barely healed and already starting to bruise again, John felt it was probably time to take a look in the Forbidden Forest—just what exactly was Hagrid raising in there?

"I bought you some healing potions," John said expressionlessly. "They're in the cabinet next to the suit of armor."

"Oh, right, I got it," Hagrid mumbled like a student caught sneaking out of class, then hurriedly exited the pub.

The way he scurried off, anyone would've thought a dragon was scorching his backside.

Turning his head, John saw Hermione and greeted her, "Hermione, what's all this?"

"Hi, John."

A voice rang out, light and melodic like a song. Luna had arrived, looking like she'd been delayed on the way.

She tilted her head slightly, radiating a dreamy, spaced-out air.

"Luna," John looked at her, then at Hermione. "You two had an appointment?"

Hermione nodded.

John waved his hand and said, "Then we'll take our leave."

John nodded to Mr. Lovegood, then left the pub with Malfoy.

"Bye-bye, John." Luna waved her little hand, and the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which had made her pocket bulge, also popped its head out.

Mr. Lovegood said in surprise, "That's 'the' John Wick? He really is young!"

"John is a very good person," Luna told her father.

Harry, still confused, asked, "So what exactly is going on?"

They sat down, and Hermione looked at Harry seriously. "Mr. Lovegood is here to help us—to let people know the truth."

"What truth?" Harry was still a bit lost.

Luna said dreamily, "That person has returned."

"The Ministry has been refusing to acknowledge it," Hermione added.

Harry understood now—this was about getting the truth out, just like Dumbledore had tried to do.

Since the Ministry wouldn't admit it, Dumbledore had been forced to make the announcement alone. And ever since the last time his scar hurt, Harry had been feeling increasingly uneasy.

Hermione was doing this for Harry, trying to make people stay alert to Voldemort's return.

Mr. Lovegood, as the editor of The Quibbler, might not match The Daily Prophet in reach, but still had considerable influence.

If Harry wanted to support Dumbledore, this was without a doubt the best option.

...

The Hogsmeade trip came to an end.

John returned to the castle, with Malfoy still loudly mocking Harry for becoming a "comedy star."

But once Daphne came back, he couldn't laugh anymore.

"Trying to steal my sister and take John away?" Daphne muttered.

What followed was quite tragic—Malfoy got hit with a Levicorpus and dangled upside down for over an hour.

The more Astoria pleaded for mercy, the harsher Daphne became.

John shook his head. This was what they called the unpredictable nature of life.

By the time Malfoy was finally let down, his whole face was red and swollen, blood rushing to his head, dazed and woozy.

Night fell.

Inside the Constellation Society, John's eyes were fixed on the metallic-colored liquid that still bubbled with energy.

He pulled out a box from the drawer, opened it, and took something from inside.

As he dropped the item into the cauldron, the metallic liquid vanished rapidly—As if something had devoured it entirely.

He sliced open his wrist, letting blood flow into the mixture.

A thick plume of white smoke burst out, instantly flooding the entire Constellation Society room.

After a few seconds, the white smoke froze, as if someone had hit a pause button.

Then, it began to reverse course, surging back into the cauldron of metallic-colored liquid.

As the metallic hue shifted to a deep red, John stopped the bloodletting.

His face had gone pale as he staggered out of the armory.

He had lost too much blood—his foot missed a step, and his head banged against the stairs. It took quite a while before he managed to climb back to his feet.

He went to the Constellation Society's cabinet and took out a bottle labeled Starfire.

After drinking a few sips, he felt a bit better.

The wound on his wrist began to heal under the influence of magic, leaving only a pale scar behind.

He poured a mouthful of liquor into his mouth, the magic-infused alcohol replenishing his strength, finally giving some color back to his face.

He walked to the round table and sat down, tilting his head up to gaze at the dome above.

The starry dome shimmered with countless constellations—Utterly beautiful.

His body relaxed as he leaned back in the chair, left hand loosely hanging down.

A golden chain dangled from his wrist, at the end of it a small, exquisite hourglass.

John stared at the stars for a while, then rubbed his brow.

The badge trembled slightly. Tapping it with his finger, John saw a message pop up.

His lips parted just a little, and a barely audible whisper echoed through the Constellation Society: "It's almost time."

...

He had fallen asleep in the Constellation Society.

The next morning, in the Great Hall, an owl flew in and landed in front of Malfoy.

It delivered something Malfoy would never have subscribed to in the past—but now he eagerly took it.

John glanced over. It was The Quibbler.

Malfoy said, "I need to see if Potter is really becoming a comedy star."

Rubbing his hands together, he opened The Quibbler.

"Harry Potter Speaks the Truth: I Saw the Dark Lord Return That Night."

As Malfoy read the headline, over at the Gryffindor table, several owls delivered letters at the same time.

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