Hogwarts’ John Wick

122: Quidditch Training Week and Borrowing Books

John had always been someone who swung back and forth between being meticulous and careless.

Take Daphne, for example.

She had been acting snarky around him for three days straight, and it was only now that John vaguely remembered hearing that tone somewhere before.

"Isn't this what Hermione said to me on her birthday?"

He was a bit stunned. It felt so familiar because, well, Hermione had said the same thing.

"Could it be that she's upset I gave a gift to someone from Gryffindor?"

After thinking it over carefully, John thought this was highly likely.

After all, as the leader of the little Slytherin team, even though, thanks to him, Slytherin's attitude toward Muggle-borns and half-bloods had changed significantly, their attitude toward Gryffindor had not. Slytherin and Gryffindor had always been rivals, one rising by stepping on the other.

It was practically ingrained in their bones. Even John had a bit of that sentiment.

If that's the case... then I didn't do anything wrong!

After all, when they became friends, there was no house division to consider. He was a loyal Slytherin, definitely not a traitor to his house.

I need to report this to the organization—I'm innocent!

After wrestling with this for a while, John finally decided that he should apologize to Daphne.

After all, this little rift had caused him to miss a Muggle Studies lesson.

John found Daphne and said earnestly, "Daphne, I know I've been a bit off lately. I'm sorry."

His serious tone made Daphne start to feel a bit awkward for her own petty behavior.

Blushing, Daphne replied, "I was wrong too. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

Thinking about how she'd been acting snarky these past few days, she couldn't help but rub her face, feeling like her constant cold smirks had made her face stiff.

"Yeah! That sarcastic tone—"John nodded knowingly and said, "It felt just like Professor Snape was right next to me."

As soon as he finished, he noticed Daphne's mouth open wide in shock.

John didn't understand—wasn't he just comparing it to Professor Snape? Why such a big reaction?

"Well then, Mr. Wick, you can ask someone else for your permission slip," came a cold, chilling voice from behind.

John felt a shiver run down his spine. Slowly turning around, he saw Professor Snape himself, dressed in his usual black robes, smirking at him.

A drop of sweat trickled down John's face. Snape rarely sought him out, but today of all days...

Awkwardly swallowing, John forced a smile and said, "Good day, Professor. I was just saying how handsome you are."

The lie was so painfully obvious that even Daphne couldn't bear to watch.

Snape's mouth twitched slightly in response, then he coldly glanced at John before tossing a note in his direction and walking off.

"Well, I'm doomed," John muttered.

The goodwill John had worked so hard to build up was gone in an instant.

With a look of frustration, John noticed the note out of the corner of his eye. He picked it up and saw Professor Snape's signature on it.

"Uh... what does this even mean?" John muttered, puzzled. A few days ago, Snape wouldn't give him the note, and now suddenly, he delivers it.

Was Snape playing hard to get?

John chuckled at the absurdity.

'You're not a girl, Professor, so what's the point of this game?'

But regardless of the reasoning, he had finally gotten the permission slip.

Having been too busy experimenting on Dementors for the past few days, John hadn't had the chance to visit the Restricted Section of the library.

Now that he had time, he took off running.

Daphne reached out as if to stop him but ended up stomping her foot angrily when he bolted away.

...

October.

Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to be a stellar class. In terms of teaching skills, John had to admit that he couldn't quite match up to Lupin.

"Who would've thought he's actually cut out to be a teacher? Maybe the young wizards in the werewolf community could use him someday," John mused, watching Lupin's confident and kind teaching style.

He was teaching in such a way that made learning enjoyable, helping the students not only gain knowledge but also have fun in the process. John admired that about him.

John habitually ran his fingers over his wand, a common gesture for him.

He always needed something in his hands to fidget with. If he had a ring on, he'd fiddle with the ring. If not, it was his wand.

He figured by the time he graduated, his wand would probably have a permanent polish from all the handling.

In Divination class, John racked up points like running water.

His performance was so outstanding that Professor Trelawney's address for him shifted from "child" to "my dear."

Care of Magical Creatures was also going smoothly. Despite a bit of chaos in the first lesson, John had handled it all well.

Thanks to John's training, even Draco Malfoy wasn't acting as pampered as usual and didn't go running to his father to complain.

Hagrid had started bringing in charming fairies, which were a huge hit with the girls.

He also introduced some magical creatures that, in Hagrid's opinion, were quite boring but were surprisingly popular with the students.

Hagrid had even complained to John about it, to which John, exasperated, replied, "What, do you want to bring in a dragon for the students?"

The suggestion made Hagrid's eyes light up, but he hesitated and said, "Well, one dragon would be fine, but if I brought too many, I wouldn't be able to manage them all."

Good grief, you're really something.

He was sure that if Hagrid brought a dragon to Hogwarts, he'd be kicked out immediately after.

"Even adult wizards wouldn't dare get close to such dangerous creatures, yet you want to use them for a lesson with young wizards," John remarked, putting an end to Hagrid's unrealistic ideas.

Afterward, John made his way to the Quidditch pitch.

It was Quidditch training season, and the pitch was fully booked by the four houses every day. No matter the weather—be it wind or rain—the sight of students flying on broomsticks, darting after various balls, was a constant.

Today, it wasn't Gryffindor in the air but Hufflepuff.

Hufflepuff had a new captain. Cedric Diggory, who had once sparred with John in a duel practice session last year, had taken over the position.

While Cedric might not have Harry's exceptional instincts and raw talent, his technique was impressive, particularly his fluid and seamless turns, which seemed contradictory to his tall and strong build.

As Cedric practiced, he spotted John from a distance and waved in greeting.

John nodded back and gave him a thumbs-up for encouragement before heading off to the library's Restricted Section, where he scoured through the books.

He ended up checking out a book titled The Origins and Theories of Dementors.

It was such an obscure book that when Madam Pince saw it, she was momentarily taken aback.

"You shouldn't be interested in Dementors," she said, frowning slightly, "even though they're lurking outside."

Madam Pince typically didn't say much to students, but she offered John a few extra words this time.

John flashed a toothy grin and said, "It never hurts to learn more, right?"

After that, Madam Pince didn't press the issue further. As he was leaving, she mentioned, "The ice cream you brought last time was quite nice, especially ..the red one."

'Motherfuc—!'

John stumbled slightly at her words, casting a suspicious glance at Madam Pince. He couldn't believe she had the same strange taste as Filch, enjoying the mapo tofu flavored ice cream.

Passing by the Quidditch pitch again, John noticed that the yellow-clad figures from before had been replaced by red ones.

It was Oliver Wood's final year, and he seemed as pumped up as ever, while Harry tirelessly practiced spotting the Golden Snitch over and over again.

The Weasley twins were perfecting a "sandwich" strategy, where they would flank an opponent from both sides and send them flying right off their broom.

John stopped to watch for a while, only to be shooed away by Wood.

Though Wood knew John wasn't the type to leak secrets, he still didn't like having a Slytherin watching their practice.

John just shrugged and left the pitch.

He had thought about joining the Quidditch team before, but with how busy he'd been lately, he decided against it.

"If only I could control time," he mused, imagining how much easier life would be with something like that.

But he quickly dismissed the thought.

Time was a forbidden subject in the wizarding world, as dangerous as meddling with souls.

There was no way an object like that would be easily available... right?

John returned to the castle and hurried to the Gryffindor common room, eager to open The Origins and Speculations of Dementors.

"Dementors are a fusion of soul and matter."

The first sentence immediately caught John's attention. During his experiments with Dementors, he had suspected something along these lines. It seemed the author was onto something.

He quickly settled in to keep reading.

"They are an artificially created, wicked, cruel, and pitiful entity. Their intelligence is pitifully low, and they cannot reproduce to increase their numbers."

John stared at the book in shock.

Dementors were artificial?

A sudden thought popped into his mind—Basilisks were also a man-made creation.

But unlike Dementors, Basilisks were the result of human intervention, using natural selection and genetics to bring them into existence.

Dementors, on the other hand, were different. The book speculated that they were entirely man-made. They had no gender, no concept of reproduction.

They were like malevolent spirits, spreading from dark, decayed places, growing like fungi.

John felt a shiver run down his spine.

What kind of person would create something as horrifying as a Dementor?

Forcing himself to keep reading, he uncovered more unsettling truths.

The creator of Dementors was an extremely evil being and also the very first prisoner of Azkaban.

Ekrizdis.

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