Hogwarts' John Wick

Creating a Philosopher's Stone was no simple task.

John had been holed up in the alchemy room for two weeks straight.

Before him, the cauldron emitted a dazzling array of lights—green, red, blue, and purple—illuminating the entire room.

As the radiance finally dimmed, a blue stone appeared within the cauldron.

"Haah~ A Philosopher's Stone... tsk seems it still needs some refining."

Picking up the stone, the blue Philosopher's Stone shimmered with a flowing light in his hand.

Unlike the red Philosopher's Stone of legend, this blue stone had consumed nearly all the materials in John's warehouse.

Even so, John's expression remained calm, though there was a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

Clutching the Philosopher's Stone, John could feel his magical power growing stronger.

This was the third Philosopher's Stone he had successfully crafted to date. The first had been fashioned into a wand, which he gifted to Nagini.

The second was embedded into the Silver Wick Sword.

As for the third, John had other plans for it.

The silver ring on his finger transformed into a sleek gauntlet. He carefully inlaid the Philosopher's Stone onto the back of the glove.

With just one stone, the glove began to emit waves of blue light.

The five additional magic crystals channeled their energy into the Philosopher's Stone, amplifying its power severalfold.

With just a raise of his hand, John reshaped the objects before him.

A teapot disintegrated into raw clay, and a chair reverted to its original wooden form.

Taking out his wand, enhanced by the combined power of the magic crystals and the Philosopher's Stone, even a simple Reducing Charm could now obliterate an object into nothingness.

"This can boost a spell's power by nearly a whole level," John calculated, estimating that the strength of his Reducing Charm had increased by roughly one tier.

It was essentially a spell amplifier.

The gauntlet retracted back into a ring as John raised his hand and made a grasping motion in the air.

The Silver Wick Sword materialized in his hand, its silvery blade now adorned with delicate, golden crack-like patterns.

"Hmm, I need to add something more."

He glanced at the sword's blade, where flickers of fire and arcs of lightning danced faintly.

Speaking an unusual incantation under his breath, he uttered, ||Forge Through Brambles and Thorns.||

The blade seemed to be coated in an invisible, glass-like film as it sliced effortlessly through a block of gold without leaving a mark on its surface.

John raised an eyebrow in curiosity and reached out to pick up the gold.

Half of the gold block had been sliced clean through, leaving the other half with a perfectly smooth edge.

This was the effect of the powerful Severing Curse John had created. What was severed by this spell could not be restored with a Reparo Charm or any other means of magical repair.

"Permanent damage—what is stripped away can never be healed."

Rather than just cutting, "stripping away" was a more accurate description of its effect.

With a single slash of the Silver Wick Sword, John could even sever magic itself.

It was a devastatingly lethal enchantment.

Dispelling the magic, John set about inscribing new enchantments onto the Silver Wick Sword, further enhancing its capabilities.

After spending a while longer in the alchemy room, he finally stepped out and headed to his office.

In his hand, he carried a new creation: The Rod of Dominion.

The name was undeniably overbearing, but its functionality in the wizarding world was just as earth-shattering.

This artifact was strictly single-use, completely irreparable after activation.

Once triggered, it generated an unalterable suppression field with a fifty-meter radius.

Within this field, all individuals would temporarily lose their ability to fly or Apparate, and all magical effects—whether cast by oneself or others—would be suppressed.

'Neat, right!?'

Of course, there were exceptions to everything. This artifact, relying on a magic crystal as its core medium, essentially used the crystal's energy to blanket the surrounding area.

As long as the opposing magical power exceeded this threshold, the artifact could be bypassed.

John had calculated that the effective limit was roughly equivalent to Level 4 magic power.

In other words, this item was effective only against opponents within that range.

For those beyond this level, The Rod of Dominion would fail.

John hadn't produced many of these—it was extremely rare.

In fact, he only kept one in his office.

When Tommy visited and noticed the scepter-like artifact, he was curious but wisely refrained from asking too many questions.

"My lord, Mundungus has already handled the advertisement arrangements," Tommy reported.

Mundungus had been particularly proactive this time, likely hoping to restore his reputation with Johnny Silverhand..

John nodded casually. With the Quidditch World Cup approaching, Barty Crouch was appearing in the newspapers with increasing frequency.

It was a good sign—enough so that Peter Pettigrew seemed to have faded from everyone's memory.

Piers had been searching around Azkaban. Aware that Pettigrew was an unregistered Animagus, he had started capturing every rat he could find in the vicinity.

At this point, aside from the Ministry of Magic, it seemed like the only person who still remembered Peter Pettigrew was Sirius Black.

To clear his name, Sirius Black had visited the Ministry of Magic.

In the past, he always avoided such places, but this time he walked in openly, making Sirius feel rather uncomfortable.

Covering his face with a scarf, he made a strong demand to the Ministry to let him search Azkaban personally.

The Ministry, unsurprisingly, refused his request outright.

No one wanted to be bossed around by someone else.

Infuriated, Sirius was about to start cursing, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn't decide who to blame.

Fudge had been ousted, and Scrimgeour had been reassigned.

Now there wasn't even a suitable target left in the Ministry for his anger, leaving Sirius to sulk and retreat.

It was rumored he had visited St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries several times, hoping to find a cure for the swelling on his face.

Unfortunately, the spell was one of Snape's unique creations.

The countercurse, naturally, was also known only to Snape—a man Sirius despised most in the world.

In the end, he had no choice but to appeal to Dumbledore, who finally convinced Snape to lift the curse.

The price?

Sirius was mercilessly humiliated—nearly to the point of a breakdown.

...

John, pondering Peter Pettigrew's escape, had a theory. Recalling Lucius Malfoy's earlier mention of a summoning mark, he speculated that Pettigrew had gone to find Voldemort.

"This guy's life really is like a cockroach—he just won't die."

John clicked his tongue twice, marveling at the resilience of that master-servant duo.

Voldemort's survival was a mystery. John still didn't know the exact location of that forest. Originally, Voldemort had been clinging to life by feeding on Nagini's venom.

But after John took Nagini away, Voldemort, stuck in that dilapidated shack, still managed to survive somehow.

As for Peter Pettigrew, after being force-fed so much Veritaserum, his mind was practically mush.

For someone like Pettigrew to escape under those circumstances was nothing short of a miracle.

Reflecting on the saying "evil lasts a thousand years," John sighed.

Meanwhile, far away in the Albanian forest, Peter Pettigrew appeared.

He had somehow stolen a wand from some unlucky wizard and now wandered aimlessly, his mind in a haze.

Time passed, day by day.

...

August 22nd

This day marked a turning point for Watson.

The so-called "investors" had started to make their move against him.

These were powerful individuals with immense resources, the shadowy elite controlling London's underground.

Even a big shot like Fane Wallace was nothing more than a pawn in their hands.

Fane Wallace's aggressive attempts at legitimizing himself had angered the investors, setting the stage for everything that followed.

Sean Wallace somehow obtained intel on those people and planned to retaliate.

Watson got dragged into the chaos, prompting Uncle Seryozha to make a personal appearance.

Meanwhile, John found himself staring at a dish that Mrs. Wick had proudly prepared, lost in thought.

"Mom, why did you add dish soap when you were washing the rice earlier?"

"That's how you make it clean, my dear."

Mrs. Wick elegantly took her seat as John stared at the plate of banana-mango chicken wings with rice before him, sinking deeper into contemplation.

He distinctly remembered that Mrs. Wick didn't use to make... things like this, dishes that might warrant banishment from the kitchen.

If she had just said this wasn't a Asian dish, he might have let it go. But Mrs. Wick insisted with utmost confidence that this was a famous Chinese delicacy.

Her unwavering conviction—had John not spent time with Nagini—might have actually convinced him.

'This is something only Daphne could come up with...'

As he debated how to tactfully inform Mrs. Wick that this dish might earn her a one-way ticket out of the kitchen, a loud explosion suddenly rang out.

Boom!

"What the?"

The sound was deafening, like something had blown up.

The noise clearly came from across the street.

Stepping outside, John was greeted with the sight of the Dursleys' shattered windows.

What followed was the unmistakable roar of Vernon Dursley.

Same old formula, same familiar flavor.

Vernon bellowed at the top of his lungs, and John noticed an electric stove flying out of the house.

"What's going on over there?" Mrs. Wick, noticing the commotion, asked curiously.

John shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe the fireplace exploded?"

What he didn't realize was that his offhand remark was, in fact, true.

Inside the Dursley home—

Covered in soot and ash, the Weasley family had attempted to use the Floo Network to retrieve Harry. What they hadn't anticipated was that the Dursleys had long since bricked up their fireplace.

To make their way out, Mr. Weasley had resorted to blasting the fireplace open with a spell.

Vernon Dursley was on the verge of a coronary. He had tried so hard to be "cordial" this summer, and this was how those wizards repaid him?!

Unable to contain his rage any longer, Vernon let loose all the pent-up fury he had been bottling up for the entire holiday.

__________

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