Hogwarts' John Wick

The Blind Pig Bar.

Normally a bustling place, the bar was now eerily empty.

The goblin owner wore a forced grin as he respectfully served drinks to his guest.

The scattered round tables had been transformed with deft Transfiguration into a single long table.

At the head of the table sat a man in a silver mask, his expression obscured.

Sweat dripped from the goblin owner's palms. He had followed instructions to invite everyone targeting the Johnny Silverhand Specialty Store.

As the most notorious rogue around, the goblin still had enough clout to bring them all in.

He had no idea what this dangerous man wanted to do, but he knew one thing: this person was exceedingly perilous.

After a while, a series of loud bangs echoed through the Blind Pig.

One after another, figures began Apparating into the bar.

The newcomers clearly hadn't expected that they weren't the only ones invited by the goblin owner.

The wizards eyed each other suspiciously, and one of the more short-tempered ones swore loudly, "Damn it, Bobby! What the hell are you up to?"

Bobby, the goblin owner, would usually have cursed right back. But now he played dead, pretending not to hear.

"Take a seat."

A voice rang out, cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

In total, thirteen wizards had arrived.

They were the key players controlling various underground trades in New York's magical world. After hearing the command, the short-tempered wizard who had spoken earlier shouted angrily, "Who do you think you are, telling us what to do?"

Some of the others smirked, clearly expecting to enjoy the spectacle of someone defying the masked figure.

But then…

"I said… sit down!"

A wave of oppressive energy erupted from John, like a predator fixing its gaze on prey. The wizards felt a bone-deep, primal fear clawing its way out of their souls.

John tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but chilling: "If chairs aren't necessary, I can make sure there's a fresh flower planted on your graves."

"Wait.. that mask.."

The instant they saw the silver mask, their confidence faltered. A wave of recognition and dread swept through the group—they knew that mask all too well. After all, they had been scheming against the very shops owned by the man wearing it.

Silently, they shuffled to the chairs around the long table. There were exactly thirteen chairs, but none of them dared to sit at the far end of the table where they would have to face the silver mask directly.

This hesitation nearly caused a brawl as they jostled for the less intimidating seats.

In the end, the short-tempered wizard was shoved into the thirteenth seat. His face darkened, and he sat there breathing heavily, his anger barely contained.

No one dared speak first. They waited, holding their breath, for John to break the silence.

"My father once told me," John began in an even tone, "that business shouldn't be handled in a way that leaves things too messy."

A deep, gravelly voice crept into everyone's ears as John rubbed the ring on his finger and said in a low tone, "Perhaps my shop has infringed upon your interests. For that, I offer my apologies."

This opening baffled the group. None of them expected someone so domineering to soften his stance.

This was the same man who had driven the Shafiq family out of Britain—how could he possibly act like a docile lamb?

The short-tempered wizard couldn't resist himself again. He sneered and said, "Good that you understand. I'm a reasonable person. As long as you hand over half the goods in your shop, I'll give you a way out."

He puffed up with self-importance, raising his head and looking down at John as if through his nostrils.

John laughed softly. The low chuckle sent a wave of unease through the room.

Lifting his head, John locked eyes with the brazen wizard. "I am indeed considering allowing certain individuals to act as agents for my merchandise. The goods will be sold at one-fifth below market price."

The proposal made everyone's eyes light up.

Silverhand's shop inventory was in such high demand that even at prices 50% above market value, the items couldn't stay on the shelves. The prospect of buying low and selling high promised an extraordinary profit.

Just as the wizards began to think that Lord Silverhand Johnny was a reasonable person, John's tone abruptly changed.

Leaning slightly forward, he fixed his gaze on the short-tempered wizard, baring his fangs as he said, "I won't disrupt the delineation of District 13 in New York, but I'll need an area to set up shop. Are you prepared to show me some sincerity?"

Even through the mask, they could feel John's sharp gaze piercing into the short-tempered wizard's soul.

The once-smug wizard froze, realizing too late that the atmosphere in the room had shifted drastically.

John leaned back in his chair, his tone nonchalant but commanding: "You may begin."

"You wouldn't dare, right? Guys.. H-He's just a foreigner!"

The short-tempered wizard shouted loudly, as if raising his voice could give him a greater sense of security. Turning to the wizard he thought was his ally, he exclaimed, "Let's take him out! The goods will be ours all the same!"

For a moment, the other wizard seemed to consider his words, even feigning realization. But just as the short-tempered wizard began to smile, the flash of red light from a spell hit him squarely.

His grin froze. Every person's curse also hit him. In a matter of moments, the short-tempered wizard was on the ground, unmoving, his breathing silenced under the barrage of curses.

"Well then, shall we now discuss the shares?"

John smiled faintly and snapped his fingers. The thirteenth chair transformed into a flower, settling softly on the body of the fallen wizard.

Folding his fingers in a cross beneath his chin, John continued, "Silver Hand Johnny will allocate 30% of the goods across twelve districts. This includes spirits, potions, and equipment."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a wizard to his right erupted in protest. "Thirty percent? We just killed someone for you, and all we get is thirty percent?!"

His face flushed with dissatisfaction. John's eyes flicked to him, his fingers tapping lightly on the ring he wore.

A pulse of magic rippled outward from John's seat, and suddenly, shackles extended from the chairs beneath each wizard, locking them in place.

"Fuck!"

The protesting wizard swore loudly, struggling against the restraints. John rose leisurely from his seat, his gaze sweeping over the now-panicked crowd. His voice remained calm, even gentle, as he said, "Don't misunderstand. The reason I'm negotiating with you isn't because I'm afraid."

He strolled over to the protesting wizard, whose face had turned pale. Trembling, the wizard screamed, "What are you going to do?!"

"Shh—"

John's wand rested lightly on the wizard's shoulder, signaling him to be silent. In a voice as soft and chilling as a devil's whisper, he murmured, "Anima, revertere ad me."

White smoke began to rise from the wizard's body. Watching this horrifying scene, the goblin owner, Bobby, couldn't stop his legs from giving out, collapsing weakly onto the floor. He had experienced this very treatment earlier and knew all too well the terror it brought.

Under the wide-eyed, horrified gazes of everyone present, the rebellious wizard's soul was forcibly drawn out of his body.

Gone was the earlier bravado. Now the wizard's face was etched with pure terror.

"Tell me," John said, his voice unnervingly calm, the silver mask on his face enhancing the menace. "Why do you resist me?"

Through the glint of the mask's eye slits, his pupils shifted into reptilian slits, a chilling vertical gaze that sent shivers into the very essence of the soul it bore down on.

The combination of draconic intimidation and overwhelming panic was devastating.

"S-sir Silverhand Johnny, I—I meant no offense!"

The wizard's shriek was piercing, his fear palpable.

The others at the table were equally petrified, screaming in panic and begging John for mercy as they watched helplessly.

John's eyes seemed like deep, endless voids, swallowing all hope.

"But I don't believe you," John said coldly. "Since the moment you entered this bar, you have radiated malice toward me—like a relentless tide of greed threatening to engulf me."

As he spoke, the other wizards began to notice something deeply wrong. White smoke started to rise from their own bodies, just like it had from the first wizard.

They thrashed and struggled violently, but it was all in vain.

"Apologies, but I don't have much time to waste on you all," John said calmly.

Drawing out twelve souls simultaneously had visibly taken a toll on him, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his eyes.

One by one, he carefully returned the extracted souls to their respective bodies, leaving behind a mark on each.

"Do you know," John said with a faint smile, "Silverhand never treats his friends unfairly."

After finishing his work, he released the restraints binding the twelve wizards.

In an instant, twelve wands snapped up, all aimed directly at him.

But John simply raised his gaze, his voice steady and commanding as he uttered, "Put them down."

To their utter horror and confusion, the wizards found their arms lowering their wands against their will, their hands refusing to obey them.

Terror and bewilderment painted their faces as they struggled to understand what had just happened.

Without sparing them a second glance, John turned and walked toward the door. His voice rang out, firm and unyielding: "The three percent share will be divided into twelve parts for all of you. I never shortchange my friends. But I am never merciful to my enemies."

As he passed by the corpse of the volatile wizard, John snapped the fingers of his left hand. Flames erupted around the body, consuming it until nothing but ash remained.

"Bobby, clean this up," John said casually.

The goblin owner scrambled over with a broom, hurriedly sweeping away the ashes.

When the door of the Blind Pig Bar closed behind John, the cacophony of curses and furious outbursts from the remaining wizards was left confined within its walls.

From that day onward, the underground wizards of New York silently and unanimously purged the remaining followers of the volatile wizard.

The very next day, they indeed received three percent of the goods from the Johnny Silverhand's shop.

At first, they assumed three percent would be a minuscule amount but had vastly underestimated its value.

That share was more than enough to generate immense profits.

This realization filled them with regret. Had they known the volume was so substantial, they would never have antagonized Silver Hand Johnny in the first place.

Now it was too late, and they could only rue their decisions.

Meanwhile, Nagini rose to prominence, becoming a sought-after figure in the New York wizarding community. Many wanted to establish connections with her; even a mere meeting was enough to boast about for weeks.

This also caused the Ministry of Magic to shift their attention elsewhere. The focus they had previously directed at Nagini was now entirely diverted toward the other twelve districts.

This was precisely why John had kept those wizards alive.

Not only did it eliminate those who might work against him, but it also served to draw the Ministry's gaze away from Nagini.

It wasn't until a week later that Nagini learned about these events. She promptly wrote a letter to thank John.

When her letter arrived, it coincided with a letter from Fleur.

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