I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

"John, did you know that the Runespoors have been shedding feathers like crazy lately?"

Madame Maxime had been quite troubled recently. Her Runespoors were having issues.

No one knew whether it was due to fighting over mates or just depression, but the Runespoors were shedding feathers like mad.

At first, it wasn't obvious, but now you could visibly see bald patches on their wings and manes.

Even pure malt whisky couldn't cheer them up anymore.

Fleur turned a suspicious gaze toward John, who had been behaving perfectly since his arrival.

Although there was no evidence, her woman's intuition told her that John Wick must be somehow involved.

"Runespoors? You mean those huge horses?"

John looked surprised and confused. "I'm not sure either. I've been busy studying books on alchemy lately."

As he spoke, John took out his reading list.

It was filled with literature on alchemy. As a magical school with a 700-year history, Beauxbatons' records were no less extensive than Hogwarts'.

In fact, thanks to having Nicolas Flamel—the grandmaster of alchemy—as part of its legacy, the school housed even more alchemical texts than Hogwarts.

Naturally, several of these were written by Nicolas Flamel himself, and John found them extremely enlightening.

"Is that so?"

Fleur hesitated. Seeing the book list, she felt John might be telling the truth, but something still seemed strange.

Still skeptical, she left.

Shortly after she was gone, John waited nearly an hour before leaving the library.

He returned all the books to their shelves and rubbed his tired temples.

He hadn't used the "Scholar 2.0" tool yet—he was saving that for a more critical moment.

Such as, when he entered Nicolas Flamel's alchemy chamber.

Yes, Flamel's private alchemy room.

Following clues from Dumbledore, John spent several nights tapping around near the Flamel couple's fountain using the most basic methods.

Finally, he discovered a secret entrance at the base of the fountain.

Inside was an alchemy chamber filled with notes and materials related to alchemy.

Among them, something like a diary revealed that this room had once belonged to the famous Nicolas Flamel himself.

This was a space Flamel had left behind during his time at Beauxbatons, and every note inside had been written by his own hand.

John immersed himself in this treasure trove. While the younger Flamel's notes sometimes seemed a bit immature, they were perfectly suited for a beginner in alchemy like him.

Besides the notes, the biggest surprise was that diary.

John took out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing in the diary.

"Dear Nicolas, I have a few questions about alchemy that I don't quite understand. I hope you can help."

After writing this line, he continued explaining his confusion.

Once he was done, a line of handwriting began appearing below his own—as if written by an invisible quill.

Beautiful script materialized out of nowhere.

"Of course, dear John. You may find the answer to your question in the seventh book from the left on the third shelf. I hope it helps."

John immediately got up and went to the indicated shelf.

Sure enough, in the seventh book from the left on the third row, he found notes on how to sublimate and refine a substance.

Overjoyed, John replied in the diary:

"Thank you, Nicolas. You've helped me a lot."

"You're welcome."

The reply appeared as before.

This was what had most delighted John—a truly magical diary, which he now called "Nicolas' Encyclopedia."

Created by Nicolas Flamel himself, the book was a living archive of his alchemical insights—a smart index disguised as a diary.

Such magical objects that preserved the creator's personality weren't unheard of—like the talking portraits at Hogwarts.

Though those didn't possess great functionality, they did retain some personality and wisdom of their subjects.

But Nicolas' Encyclopedia was far more powerful—John even felt as if Flamel himself lived inside it.

Though reason told him that was impossible.

Armed with this book and the room full of tomes, John's alchemical knowledge at Beauxbatons skyrocketed.

He even used Runespoor feathers to craft a pair of flying shoes. They were a bit slower than a broomstick, but far more agile.

He also successfully added a permanent directional spell to the badges—no matter where they were, all nine would point to each other.

Like stars surrounding the moon, each one would guide the others.

John planned to keep one badge for himself and gift the other eight to people he trusted.

To become the next Dumbledore, he couldn't fight alone.

Even Dumbledore hadn't been alone—he had the Order of the Phoenix and the massive network of Hogwarts behind him.

John needed connections to solidify his position—and those connections would be built with the help of these badges.

He would either form a club—or assemble a team loyal to him.

He already had someone in mind for one of the badges.

Connections.

That was what John lacked the most. Coming from a Muggle family, he had no pure-blood family tree to rely on, nor any half-blood family ties or classmates.

All he could do was surround himself with powerful people.

These strong allies could be gifted wizards, heirs of influential families, or people with unshakable loyalty to their friends.

John stayed in the alchemy room all night, returning to his dorm just before sunrise for two hours of sleep.

It was the holidays, so no one cared if he slacked off.

In fact, some even felt that without the black-haired boy around, things were a little too quiet.

"John, maybe we can go watch it—it's the Quidditch World Cup group stage, after all."

After a month together, Fleur and John had grown quite close.

Though she was three years older, Fleur didn't think of John as a kid.

His behavior was on par with her own peers—even more mature than the boys in her year.

"The Quidditch World Cup group stage, huh? That might be worth watching."

John gave a light flick of his wand, and the books on the table flew neatly back to the shelves.

He hadn't expected Fleur to be a Quidditch fan. But then again, who wasn't?

The World Cup was held every four years. After each final, teams had twelve months to register for the next one.

The last one had been in 1990—before John had even started school.

The next final was two years away, but the group stages were already in full swing.

"You said the group stage is in Bulgaria. So how are we getting there?"

John asked, then noticed Fleur's bright smile.

"I know a place that has a Portkey. Just three Galleons and we'll be in Bulgaria."

Wizards really had it easier than Muggles when it came to travel. With a Portkey, you could take your whole family anywhere in the world in minutes.

Intrigued by the idea, John agreed.

Fleur cheered in excitement. Her silver hair whipped into John's face as she exclaimed like a giddy little girl:

"I've always wanted to go on a trip without any grown-ups!"

Seeing this lively side of her, John thought she might get along well with students from Gryffindor.

They didn't need to bring much. Using Floo Powder, they traveled to the Hidden District in Paris.

The Hidden District was like Diagon Alley—a shopping zone for wizards.

Led by Fleur, they weaved through turns and alleys until they reached a small square where the Portkey was hidden.

The Portkey's keeper was a man in a fisherman's hat and a filthy brown trench coat.

He was unkempt, stubbly, and hiccuped from time to time, reeking of alcohol—like he'd slept in a barrel the night before.

John leaned in and whispered to Fleur:

"Are you sure this guy's legit? He won't dump us in the middle of some forest, will he?"

Fleur looked uncertain too, but forced a confident tone:

"Probably... maybe... hopefully not?" 

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