Hogwarts’ John Wick

155: Aftermath and Valentine’s Day

John had underestimated the cost of dabbling in forbidden magic. He'd started to grow feathers.

Yes, feathers.

Golden feathers had first appeared on his arms, and at first, he thought he'd accidentally brushed against something. But when they wouldn't shake off, he reached to pluck one out, yelping in pain as he did.

He realized they were real.

Within a day, feathers had started spreading rapidly over his body.

John brewed a potion to fix it, but after drinking it, nothing happened.

He suspected the massive surge of magic that had flowed through his wand into his body had caused this transformation.

And considering his wand's core was a thunderbird feather, John was starting to feel uneasy.

"Am I… turning into a bird?"

His mouth twitched slightly, but thankfully, the transformation wasn't entirely disadvantageous.

He'd discovered he could control the weather within a small radius. Just moments ago, a bolt of lightning had struck right at Malfoy's feet, making him jump.

John lazily raised an eyebrow, saying calmly, "Two more laps."

An exhausted Malfoy glanced at Neville, who was now only a figure in the distance, and a surge of stubbornness sparked within him.

Gritting his teeth, he dragged his weary legs forward, lugging a rock nearly as big as his head, which looked like it might snap his spine at any moment.

Heavy footsteps left two lines of marks by the Black Lake. John glanced down at his own hands.

They were thinner than before; his long fingers moved slightly, and arcs of electricity danced between them.

"Guess it's a good thing?" he muttered.

Even he wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse.

With this power, it felt as though he'd been given a free infusion of magical blood.

The side effects, however, were more than he'd bargained for; John had no desire to turn into a thunderbird.

Rolling up his sleeve, he saw more golden feathers growing under his clothes.

...fuck.

Expressionless, he rolled the sleeve back down. Two options for a cure came to mind.

One was using Animagus transformation—a stronger transfiguration spell to reshape his body.

The other was to wait until the end of term and reset it with a magical blood infusion surge.

Either way, what he needed now was to wait.

After flushing out the thunderbird bloodline, he might lose this power, but John wasn't about to live with a bird face.

No No No. I like my face very much!

Not everyone has the courage to go around noseless, right? Looking at you, Voldemort.

He felt despair. 

Slap!

This isn't a time to go into depression, John! He slapped himself and then tried to cheer himself up.

Let me tell you a joke. If Voldemort made his nose into a Horcrux, I would never be able to find it in my lifetime.

Voldemort snorted, his nose held high, arrogant of his genius. Oh, by the way, he has no nose.

…

Valentine's Day was here.

With Lockhart gone this year, there was finally no fear of some chubby little dwarf dressed as Cupid leaping out to cling to one's leg with a love confession.

In the Great Hall, a few Slytherins who were fairly familiar with John started whistling.

Remembering last year's events, the Slytherins figured they could do the same.

It seemed everyone had quietly decided that this was John's day to be embarrassed.

Malfoy, even more eager than usual, stood up and shouted, "Anyone who wants to send John a love note, I can deliver it for you!"

His words sparked laughter across the hall, and the Weasley twins exchanged whispers, clearly plotting some light-hearted prank for the occasion.

John thought it was just casual banter—until an origami crane drifted over from who knows where.

It landed directly in front of him, with Malfoy leading the chorus of whistles.

The way they looked, it was as if they were saying, 'Let's see who sent a love letter to our Slytherin Dark Lord.'

John glanced around and figured it wouldn't hurt to entertain the little snakes a bit on this holiday.

He unfolded the paper crane, revealing graceful handwriting in emerald-green ink.

The familiar script—John recognized it immediately as the same person from last year.

That love letter was still stashed in his drawer; he just hoped his dad wouldn't find it.

This time, at least, there was no mention of his eyes being like salamanders or his hair like oil-slicked silk.

Before Malfoy could peek over, John smoothly tucked the note away.

Malfoy, disappointed, slumped back into his seat and raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction, almost tauntingly.

"Potter, didn't your little admirer from last year send you a note?"

Harry, catching on, couldn't resist glaring back.

Admirer?

It was a prank, pure and simple!

He fumed while Hermione, ever the calming influence, tried to soothe him.

Yes, they'd made up yet again.

Their relationship was like putty—cut it into pieces, knead it together, and it would form a lump all over again.

Ron's eyes were wide as saucers, as if sheer force of will alone could knock Malfoy flat.

The day Snape caught Harry was a truly grim one.

Snape had torn into his father's name and had nearly burned the Marauder's Map, only for Professor Lupin to step in and save both Harry and the map.

...

Back in the common room, Hermione arrived with a letter from Hagrid.

Buckbeak had lost the case.

This meant he was sentenced to be beheaded.

One piece of bad news after another, and Hagrid was crying his heart out.

Just then, Malfoy came back, still bitter from being pranked by Harry in the Invisibility Cloak, and retaliated with some venomous insults.

Ron pulled out his wand, ready to curse him, and Malfoy wasn't one to back down.

The two faced off, and it was Harry's intervention that calmed things down.

Harry noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were itching for a fight—Slytherins had gotten quite the reputation for being scrappy lately.

If a brawl started, Ron would definitely get the worst of it.

Harry's intuition was spot-on; he could see the eager gleam in Malfoy's eyes.

In the end, neither side cast a curse, though Hermione seemed distracted, only reacting after they'd all returned to the common room.

…

What the ACTUAL fuck..?

Today, John managed to receive a chocolate spiked with a love potion.

He got a lot of chocolates—girls just tended to like his type.

Tossing the suspicious chocolate aside, John, with his Level 5 alchemy skills, could spot an added potion a mile away.

He gave Goyle, who was eyeing it hungrily, a warning. He genuinely feared that the big lug, who'd eat any random cake, might pick up the chocolate and eat it too.

Without a sense of taste, John had no interest in chocolates anymore.

After all, chocolate without flavor felt like wax. Without taste, it was just a block of black wax.

Not being in the habit of eating wax, he stashed the chocolates in his drawer.

Maybe one day, if his taste returned, he could try a sample of these Hogwarts witches' handiwork.

Since getting punished, Tom had become incredibly subdued—like a dejected dog, leaving John disappointed.

"A love-struck fool never has a happy ending, Tom," he muttered.

All you could say was that the poor little girl, naive and inexperienced, had been deceived by a big black dog.

John had three wands in total: one with a thunderbird tail feather core in red oak, one with a unicorn hair core in cherry wood, and a yew wand with a dragon heartstring core.

The one taken out was the unicorn hair wand, and John scolded it sternly: "Look at you—three-legged toads are hard to find, but four-legged dogs are everywhere, and yet you fancy an Animagus!"

Tom lowered her head onto her paws, his big eyes glancing up with a look of sheer grievance.

Seeing this expression, John sighed in resignation.

Fortunately, he found out Sirius Black and uncovered the secret. It's good that Black met John since John is powerful. If it was some other student in place of John? Even if Sirius hadn't gone for a kill shot, the student would've been seriously injured.

Ignoring Tom's pitiful expression, he confined her to his room, placing her under Basil's watch.

The snowy owl, Basil, sat atop a cabinet, his eyes fixed on Tom. Should the dog dare to leave, Basil would be within his rights to give him a good swatting!

In the common room, some young witches were eyeing him hopefully.

John had just walked in when someone tugged on his sleeve.

Turning, he saw Daphne's beautiful face, raised with a prideful and slightly haughty expression, as if to stake her claim.

Ever since she'd seen Hermione bite her lip and leave that day, Daphne had maintained this demeanor.

The young witches around took this in and quietly gave up on their plans.

Pansy's eyes shone, seeing her friend finally find the courage to step forward.

Daphne immediately stood up and scanned the room, as if silently daring anyone to approach her 'friend Wick'.

She didn't need to say a word—after all, she was Daphne Greengrass, the "Flower of Slytherin."

John looked at the hesitant young witches, then at Daphne's proud little expression.

He suddenly felt a chill down his spine.

Got it.

He bent down slightly, as he was a bit taller than Daphne, and leaned close to her fair ear, whispering, "Did you make some more food?"

His warm breath tickled her ear, making it feel slightly itchy.

Daphne's proud expression nearly slipped as a blush crept up her face.

John noticed, confirming his suspicion.

Of course, she had made a new dish.

With a knowing look, he then hesitated, gritting his teeth.

"As long as it's not fruit-based, I'm good."

He was truly scarred by creations like strawberry mapo tofu and strawberry dumplings and pineapple pizza.

Can't you let go of the fruit?

"Right!" Daphne's face lit up, and immediately asked in surprise: "How did you know I made Wellington Beef Chocolate today?"

Ah, Beef and Chocolate! Hmm Hmm! It's good that she didn't put any fruit this time—Wait! ???

Do you yourself listen to what you are talking about?

Beef and chocolate.

How can you put them together? ? ?

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