Hogwarts' John Wick

Basil beat up Hedwig again.

This time, a few feathers even flew off, and Hagrid got pecked twice as well.

John was called over to take Basil away. He glanced at Hedwig.

Poor snowy owl—she was now hiding behind Hagrid, not even daring to stick her head out.

Basil was still squawking aggressively, but John ended up grabbing him by the leg and dragging him off.

He figured he ought to give Basil some proper tasks—otherwise, the owl had way too much pent-up energy.

John wrote a few letters and sent Basil off on delivery.

At last, the owlery wasn't filled with feathers flying everywhere.

"Thanks," John said after taking a sip of water, thanking Goyle, who had a very awkward-looking smile on his face.

Goyle, who now took turns with Crabbe as John's tea-serving sidekick, nearly tripped on his way out.

Malfoy came over and said, "Umbridge is stirring up trouble again."

"Oh?"

John gave Malfoy a glance. After absolutely dominating Harry in Potions class, Malfoy was clearly in a great mood.

Having sneakily peeked at Umbridge's record book, Malfoy declared with confidence, "One of our professors is about to leave Hogwarts."

"She's finally making her move?"

John wasn't surprised. With Umbridge's control-freak personality, and having been subtly insulted last time, there was no way she wouldn't retaliate.

"Who is it exactly?"

"Didn't see," Malfoy said a bit awkwardly. "I only caught a glimpse before Umbridge came back."

Well, can't expect too much from Malfoy, after all.

Although he hadn't seen the name, it didn't make much of a difference.

Based on the current lowest scores, it was either Hagrid or Trelawney.

Those two had been docked the most points. And during that subtle insult showdown last time, Trelawney had actually said something nice about Harry—blessing him with many descendants and a long life.

Umbridge's face at the time had practically turned pitch black.

So John was still inclined to believe Trelawney would be the one to get fired.

The only question was when.

If he was right, it wouldn't take long.

…

Saturday.

Slytherin had a Quidditch match.

John went to watch.

He had to admit, at Hogwarts, aside from Harry, there was basically no one who could keep up with Malfoy's Firebolt.

With that kind of foundation, beating anyone was just too easy.

The Trident Tactic proved effective time and again, and Slytherin's cheers echoed throughout the stadium.

On the other hand, the rest of the audience looked like they were attending a funeral—Slytherin's victory clearly didn't bring them any joy.

Slytherin was used to it anyway.

They'd won, and by a huge margin.

Singing their song of glory at the top of their lungs, John saw Malfoy absolutely basking in his triumph.

John helplessly gave a quiet reminder, "You knocked Cho Chang out of the sky. Cedric had his wand out at that point."

Malfoy's smugness faltered.

It had been a Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match, and he hadn't held back at all.

When facing Cho Chang, he didn't even bother with the pretense of sportsmanship—just a straight-up boost and body slam, nearly sending Cho flying.

A brutal blow to his own society member's girlfriend.

Cho had landed in tears and walked off crying—probably sobbing in the arms of the Head Boy by now.

Sure enough, Cedric showed up with his wand in hand, coming straight for Malfoy.

Malfoy immediately ran for it, leaving Cedric fuming and chasing after him.

The two of them raced from the Quidditch pitch all the way to Hogwarts Castle.

As someone who trained regularly, Malfoy clearly had better stamina.

He managed to escape successfully.

Only to be ambushed shortly after by Daphne, who had him hanging upside down in no time.

Malfoy was so full of grief and indignation, he nearly forgot Daphne hated him just as much.

In the end, it was John who came by and let him down—otherwise, Malfoy might've been left dangling until nightfall.

…

Harry had watched Malfoy's match and, even though he really wanted Cho Chang to win, deep down he knew it was hopeless.

Whether it was gear or skill, Malfoy completely outclassed Cho.

But more frustrating than that was the fact Harry had gotten two D's in Potions.

He kept thinking about that dream and didn't dare tell Hermione or Ron.

Because he didn't want to be scolded again.

The only person who might understand him was Sirius.

Unfortunately, Sirius couldn't talk to him either.

Harry was now under special supervision by Umbridge—so much so that even the Gryffindor common room fireplace was under her watch.

Hedwig had been injured by Basil and couldn't deliver any letters.

Then came the time for Occlumency lessons.

He was kneeling in Snape's office.

Despite his best efforts to clear his mind, he was still forced to relive a childhood memory.

And it wasn't a pleasant one. Most of his early years had been spent under Dudley's bullying. But even so, against a master Legilimens, his secrets were still exposed.

"What was the last memory?" Snape asked.

"I don't know," Harry mumbled, his mind foggy and heavy. Exhausted, he stood and asked, "Was it the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?"

"No," Snape replied, his twisted sense of humor not quite that low. "It was a man kneeling in the middle of a dark room."

A flicker of panic passed through Harry's eyes, but he forced himself to speak calmly. "That… was nothing."

Snape's eyes were like rulers—sharp, unforgiving—staring straight into Harry's soul.

Eye contact was key in Occlumency, and Harry pretended to blink to avoid his gaze.

But he had underestimated a master Legilimens. Snape spoke in his usual acidic tone, "And how did that man and that room end up in your mind, Potter?"

"That was just a dream I had."

Harry continued avoiding eye contact, which made Snape scoff in disdain.

After a moment of silence, Snape growled in a low, menacing voice, "You should remember why you're here, Potter! Do you know why I gave up my evenings to do this loathsome task?"

"I know." Harry's tone turned stiff.

That attitude again.

Snape took a deep breath—it was just like that detestable James Potter.

Arrogant, conceited.

And Sirius hadn't been wrong either. All those reprimands seemed to go in one ear and out the other with Harry.

"You're a fool. I thought after two months you'd have made some progress. How many more dreams have you had about the Dark Lord?"

He wanted Harry to tell him the truth—so that even if he was an idiot, at least he'd be an honest one.

"Just this one."

Harry lied. Now he didn't even qualify as an honest idiot.

"Perhaps," Snape sneered, lips curling into a mocking smile, "you enjoy these hallucinations and nightmares, Potter. You think they make you feel special, important?"

"No!!" it was the same kind of talk again. Harry clenched his teeth and shouted in anger, "I've never thought that way!"

"You're not even close to John Wick," Snape said coldly. "You're not special, not important, and certainly not clever."

Harry gripped his wand tightly.

"Do your job, Potter," Snape said. "You don't need to know what the Dark Lord says to his Death Eaters."

"Right, because that's your job, isn't it?!" Harry yelled, blinded by fury.

"Yes, that's my job," Snape replied, quite pleased to see Harry lose his composure. "Now, ready? Again… Legilimens!"

Harry's mind was instantly yanked into memory—he saw a hundred Dementors descending from the sky.

In the midst of the crisis, he saw Snape's face come into focus, lips moving silently in incantation.

Snape became clearer, and the Dementors began to fade.

Rage surged up inside Harry. He raised his wand.

"Protego!"

Snape's wand flew from his hand; he staggered and grabbed onto the desk for support.

And in that moment, something surfaced in Harry's mind—a memory that didn't belong to him.

A young Snape sat alone in a bedroom…

"Enough!"

Harry was shoved hard in the chest, stumbling backward and crashing into a shelf.

Snape's face was pale, and he said coldly, "You're even more reckless and ignorant than I imagined, Potter."

With a flick of his wand, he cast a restorative spell to return the fallen items on the shelf to their places.

"That was an improvement. I don't recall telling you to use the Shield Charm, but it was undeniably effective."

"If you can cast a Shield Charm to protect yourself every second," Snape said icily, "then do it. If not, we go again—without the Shield Charm."

Harry felt like Snape was taking revenge on him, but he had no power to refuse.

He was dragged back into the trance again.

But this time, he returned to that same corridor—and to his shock, he saw the door was open.

Even he was stunned. He had never opened that door before.

Snape saw it too, and demanded Harry explain.

But Harry had no explanation. He didn't know himself.

Snape pressed aggressively, and Harry's temper flared.

"Could you explain," Harry snapped, "why you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that."

Snape's face twisted as he prepared to scold him for saying the name, but just then, a sound came from outside.

...

Entrance Hall.

Umbridge had made her move.

Two large trunks were violently thrown down the staircase, tumbling into the entrance hall.

Trelawney stood in the middle of the hall, still holding a wand in one hand and a bottle of sherry in the other.

John saw the scene and the corners of his lips curled into a smile.

He pulled a letter from his small bag, and Basil swooped down to carry it away.

Just as John had expected—Trelawney, one of the "two most watered-down faculty members at Hogwarts," had managed to beat Hagrid to the chopping block, thanks to the blessing she gave Harry last time.

Trelawney shrieked, "No! This can't be happening, I refuse to accept this!"

She screamed at Umbridge, her eyes scanning the crowd in the entrance hall, desperately seeking someone—anyone—who would help her.

The smell of alcohol around her was still as strong as ever, and students nearby couldn't help but cover their noses.

To be honest, with Trelawney's habit of predicting the deaths of several students at every opening feast, it was truly hard to find anyone in Hogwarts willing to help her.

"You—you can't!" Trelawney howled in disbelief, tears welling up behind her enormous glasses. "You can't fire me! I've been here for sixteen years! Hogwarts is my home—my home!"

"It was," Umbridge replied coldly.

As someone who had successfully dethroned Draco Malfoy to become the new number one most disliked person at Hogwarts, Umbridge clearly wasn't going to be moved by tears.

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