Hogwarts’ John Wick

148: Cold War and Weiwei

Some things are indeed strange—like a Gryffindor slipping into the ranks of Slytherin.

John didn't understand it. The Golden Trio was bickering… yet again.

This time it was Ron and Hermione. Ron had found a bloodstain on his bed.

Furiously, he accused Crookshanks of having eaten Scabbers, yelling at Hermione until she stormed off, clearly upset. In private, Harry also suspected Crookshanks, especially since they'd found ginger cat hair in the room.

"So... you ended up here?"

John glanced to his right, where Hermione's eyes were tinged with sadness, then to his left, where Daphne's glare could've set something on fire.

"..."

He was at a loss.

Instinct told him he might be better off sitting somewhere else.

Draco Malfoy, who usually had a distaste for Hermione, pretended not to notice and drank his pumpkin juice like it was the finest delicacy in the world.

Even the usually oblivious Goyle and Crabbe were silent, heads down, munching away at their bread.

The atmosphere was intensely awkward.

Daphne's plate of smoked meat had been stabbed so many times it looked like Swiss cheese, while Hermione, lost in her own sorrow, seemed oblivious to the tension.

John felt a headache coming on and sighed. "I'll try to help you sort this out, Hermione. Don't be sad."

Snap.

A crisp sound echoed.

Malfoy buried his head even lower. Goyle had choked on his bread, while Crabbe, oblivious, kept shoveling food into his mouth.

Turning slowly, John looked at the plate that had broken clean in two. He thought to himself, With strength like that, it'd be a shame if she didn't take up sword fighting.

"I'm full," Daphne said blankly, then walked away.

John had a feeling she might be angry.

It seemed the prejudice between Slytherin and Gryffindor was as immovable as a mountain.

"Scabbers… I don't think he's dead," John said as he took a sip of water.

He knew that rat wouldn't die so easily. But finding it might be a challenge; maybe he could check the Marauder's Map later.

Hearing his words, Hermione looked up with hopeful, red-rimmed eyes.

"Some things aren't as simple as they appear," John said vaguely. "You should know by now—that rat of his is… different."

What exactly was different, only John knew.

Class time arrived, and when John turned around, he found Hermione had already disappeared, so fast he hadn't even noticed her leave.

Finishing his food in a few quick bites, John saw that Malfoy had finally lifted his head from his pumpkin juice.

Malfoy looked hesitant, as if he had something to ask.

After hesitating a few times, Malfoy finally spoke up. "John, I heard from Heinrich that… you have a Firebolt?"

He quickly added, "It's not for me—it's because of Flint. That Potter guy's got a Firebolt, and he said I might not be able to keep up."

But even with that excuse, Malfoy, the resident "big spender," was pretty frustrated to be outclassed by someone else's gear.

Hearing this, John raised an eyebrow. "So, you want me to give it to you?"

"No, just… lend it to me."

Malfoy wasn't that greedy—he just wanted to borrow it for the final match.

John chuckled, stood up, and said, "Come by the Constellation Society this afternoon; you know where it is. The broom's there."

Malfoy looked thrilled; he knew John would help him out.

But John wasn't offering this for free. In a low voice, he added, "Tell Flint to start showing a bit more respect to Seekers who ride Firebolts."

After all, it was just a collectible to him anyway—lending it to Malfoy was no big deal.

Thinking that Flint would show some respect, if only for the Firebolt's sake…

…

Hermione seemed busier than ever lately, while John sat staring into the crystal ball.

Inside, swirling mists seemed to be parting under invisible hands, revealing Hermione urgently talking to him, looking anxious.

Then he saw Professor Snape, unconscious, as if he had crashed into a wall.

Dementors filled the air, far more terrifying than the time at the Quidditch field.

The vision suddenly ended.

John pulled his gaze away, noticing that Professor Trelawney had appeared beside him at some point. With a look of intense interest, she asked, "John, what did you see?"

Around him, the students held their breath, faces tense with fear, as if bracing for another ominous prophecy from him.

John thought for a moment before saying, "I saw someone lying unconscious, with blood trickling down their cheek from their hair."

"Aah—! Stop, stop!" shrieked Lavender, the same girl who'd lost her rabbit after his last vision, her voice trembling as if fearing the prophecy was about her.

Others looked just as uneasy, while Harry and Ron exchanged glances, silently questioning if they believed any of it.

"John's just trying to scare everyone," Ron speculated confidently. "You know, he just happened to get one right by sheer luck."

Harry was just about to nod when John, still gazing into the crystal ball, added, "A black dog and a dark-haired man."

He froze mid-movement, turning to John stiffly.

Without acknowledging Harry's discomfort, John continued, "That's all there was."

"Wonderful, Johnny Boy!!!"

Sybill Trelawney clasped John's hand, her usual mystical manner replaced with genuine admiration.

"You're the most gifted person I've ever met," she declared. "One day, you'll become a true Seer."

John responded humbly, but it didn't deter Trelawney's enthusiasm. She promptly awarded Slytherin 50 points.

John felt a little like he'd cheated.

After class, he ran into Harry, who hesitantly asked, "John, what did you mean by a black dog?"

"Obviously, a black dog," John replied, looking at him like he was missing the obvious. He'd seen a black dog in the crystal ball, so he'd simply mentioned it.

Harry, however, immediately thought back to the black dog he'd seen earlier, looking unsettled.

Ron came over to join them, and John turned to him, saying, "Ron, you shouldn't have argued with Hermione."

"She told you, didn't she?" Ron said angrily. "Her cat ate Scabbers and she won't even admit it. She's always so full of herself!"

He went on, "And don't forget last time—she's the one who got the Firebolt taken away!"

Hermione, who had been approaching them, heard this and her eyes darkened as she walked away, visibly hurt.

John's face turned serious, and his intensity made Ron flinch a little.

"Ron, that was too harsh. The Firebolt's origin was unknown—do you want Harry to fall to his death from the sky?"

John's usual smile vanished as he continued coldly, "Sometimes, you need to think before you speak. You know Sirius Black is after Harry. It wouldn't hurt to think things through a few times before jumping to conclusions."

Ron was left speechless, muttering something unintelligible as he looked over to Harry, seeking support.

Harry started to speak up, but John raised a hand to stop him.

Not letting it go, John added, "Is trust really that hard for you?"

Some students stopped to watch, and the Slytherins, seeing John chastising a Gryffindor, quietly cheered him on.

John's admonishing tone made Harry uncomfortable.

"Think about it," John said. "You've known Hermione for ages. Do you really believe she's jealous of your Firebolt?"

John couldn't help but feel exasperated with Gryffindor's strange sense of certainty.

In their first year, Harry thought Snape was out to get him; in their second, he thought it was him, and now in the third, it was Hermione's "interference."

'Creating danger even when there isn't any,' John thought.

Malfoy saw the scene unfold and was thrilled.

"See? I told you John's a Slytherin!" he said excitedly to Flint, who'd previously argued that John leaned more towards Gryffindor.

Although the conversation with Harry and Ron had been unpleasant, John knew they'd understand once they calmed down.

John headed over to Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid had told him someone wanted to meet him.

When he arrived, he saw Hagrid there, dressed awkwardly in a suit, as if he were trying it on.

A few other oversized clothes lay on the table, looking big enough to be someone else's blankets.

"You're here, John. I told Weiwei you were looking for a unicorn horn, and she's willing to give you one," Hagrid said, looking a bit embarrassed as he took off the beige suit.

John glanced at the suit and remembered who Weiwei was—the unicorn he'd deliberately released. He'd almost forgotten about it.

Unicorns shed their horns, and she had gifted him one before.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll head over now."

As he waved goodbye, John pointed at Hagrid's beard and suggested, "Maybe tidy up your beard a bit. It'll make you look sharper."

Hagrid thought about it, nodded, and waved back.

By now, Hagrid was used to John going into the Forbidden Forest—after all, John was strong enough to handle it.

After walking a while through the forest, a white unicorn appeared.

John instantly recognized her as the one he had saved before.

As he approached, the unicorn nuzzled against his palm.

John stiffened a little; honestly, he didn't consider himself all that "pure."

Weiwei walked ahead, looking back to motion for John to follow.

Unbothered by any potential danger, John followed the trail she left deeper into the forest.

_______

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