Hogwarts' John Wick

Hogwarts' kitchen had a hundred house-elves working at all times, so John grabbing a late-night snack was nothing out of the ordinary. 

He hadn't visited much since his third year. 

Tonight, on a whim, he decided to stop by. 

Reaching the kitchen entrance, he skillfully scratched the pear on the fruit painting. 

The pear let out a giggle and transformed into a bright green door handle. 

As he stepped inside, a shrill voice immediately rang out. 

"Get out, you disgraceful freak!" 

John spotted an older house-elf, furious, pointing at a familiar figure. 

Looking closer, he realized—wasn't that Dobby? 

A whole group of house-elves glared at Dobby with hostility. Next to him stood another familiar elf. 

'If I'm not mistaken, that's Winky, from the Crouch family,' John narrowed his eyes, unable to figure out why two rogue house-elves had shown up here. 

The yelling continued, with an endless stream of insults pouring from the mouths of the other house-elves in the kitchen. 

They called Dobby a disgrace to all house-elves, a filthy creature who tarnished their reputation by demanding payment from great wizards. 

Coming from the Malfoy household, Dobby had long since grown used to this.

Dobby faced the accusations fearlessly, but Winky wasn't nearly as strong-willed. 

She sobbed loudly—starting as soft whimpers, but soon escalating into full-on opera-level wailing. 

The moment John stepped inside, the house-elves who had been scolding Dobby immediately lowered their voices. 

"Mr. John Wick!" 

Dobby let out an excited squeak and ran over, waving his tiny hands wildly. "Dobby knew it! Dobby knew he would one day meet John Wick again!" 

As he rushed forward, Winky continued crying in the background. 

The house-elves who had been leading the insults all made faces of disgust and stepped back, wanting nothing to do with Dobby. 

"When did you get here, Dobby?" John asked. 

"Today, sir! Dobby started work today! The pay is one Galleon per week, and Dobby gets one day off per month! Professor Dumbledore originally offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, but Dobby bargained him down to this!" 

Dobby's face was full of lingering fear, as if taking that much money would have gotten him hit with the Cruciatus Curse. 

The moment he finished speaking, the other house-elves couldn't help but hurl more insults, as if he wasn't receiving one Galleon, but a pile of dung. 

Even though one Galleon wasn't much, in the house-elf world, it was an explosive amount—let alone the fact that he even had a day off each month. 

This completely shattered their worldview, and the other house-elves cursed Dobby furiously, refusing to associate with him.

But since the esteemed wizard, Professor Dumbledore, had spoken, they had no choice but to accept working alongside the "abnormal" Dobby. 

"Well, I didn't expect this." 

John shrugged, surprised to have run into Dobby here. 

Winky was still crying. To shift the focus, John asked, "How much are you getting paid, Winky?" 

That only made her cry harder.

Tears gushed like a broken dam as she shrieked, "Winky was cast out, but Winky has not fallen that low!" 

Alright, so Dobby really was the only house-elf of his kind. 

John didn't hold much hope for house-elves gaining equal rights, but he also didn't feel like getting involved. 

While looking around the kitchen, he noticed a spot that had been polished until it gleamed. 

An older house-elf, puffing up with pride, declared, "That was cleaned by Puffy! That is where Miss Greengrass cooks." 

Puffy was the elder house-elf's name. 

Apparently, for house-elves, serving a wizard individually was considered the highest honor. 

The other house-elves looked on with envy as John approached. 

The table was neatly arranged with knives—from the smallest paring knife to a full set of specialized blades. 

There was even something resembling a crescent-shaped guillotine. 

Everything had been scrubbed spotless and was sharpened to perfection every single day.

There was also a section for ingredients—fresh fruits of all kinds, various meats preserved with magic to keep them fresh, different types of flour, and an array of grains and nuts neatly stored in jars. 

John was stunned.

With this setup, it was practically like moving an entire marketplace into the kitchen. 

He also spotted a small notebook, which turned out to be Daphne's personal cooking notes. 

He wanted to open it, but considering it was Daphne's possession, he restrained himself. 

Good friends shouldn't pry into each other's privacy. 

Even though that notebook likely contained the source of his suffering. 

After making a round through the kitchen, John left. 

Before he departed, all the house-elves gave him a deep bow as a send-off. 

Anyone unaware of the situation might have thought they were bidding him farewell forever. 

... 

A week had passed since the first task, and the fiery excitement of battling a dragon had gradually been extinguished by the reality of coursework. 

At the very least, John no longer saw students in the corridors provoking Filch as if he were a dragon, only to get caught and sent to detention. 

Filch, meanwhile, was experiencing a second spring—not in romance, mind you, but in physical fitness. 

After being utterly left in the dust last school year, he had been training relentlessly to improve himself. 

Where he used to struggle just climbing three flights of stairs, he could now charge up to the 7th floor in one go without breaking a sweat.

John congratulated Filch and even gifted him some weighted steel blocks along with a pair of shoes that had a speed-enhancing charm.

Filch was delighted. That very night, he managed to catch three students sneaking out after curfew.

The young wizards couldn't understand how Filch, who had been on the ground floor, managed to reach the 4th floor in just a dozen seconds.

One Gryffindor student, just a step away from the common room entrance, turned around for a moment—only to find that Filch, who had been at the end of the corridor, had suddenly appeared right behind them and dragged them away.

Even the Weasley twins, notorious for their nightly escapades, were now hesitant to venture out.

"Another day of making great contributions to improving Hogwarts' learning environment."

John nodded in satisfaction.

...

Divination Class.

Honestly, whether John attended or not made no difference, since Professor Trelawney continued to show him an unusual amount of favoritism.

Gazing into the crystal ball, John found that he could already make out images within the swirling mist.

"A darkness spreads—it drowns in death, grasping for the living to pull them under. Water, both life and poison, once consumed, cannot be stopped until all is drained.

The champion's choice will lead to bloodshed, death blooming under the night sky, and an unquenchable flame that will claim the dearest of all."

Unknowingly, his eyes had turned a ghostly gray, his voice hollow and raspy, like an empty vessel echoing in the dark.

At some point, Trelawney had appeared in front of him, silencing the other students, who had been noisily fabricating their own predictions.

Her voice trembled as she softly called out, "Dear?" 

John's gaze shifted away from the crystal ball, his gray-white eyes appearing eerie and mysterious. 

The color slowly faded from his eyes, but an inexplicable, unbearable feeling welled up inside him. 

Lavender's fearful voice quivered, "John… started making death prophecies again." 

Taking a deep breath, John forced away the unsettling sensation. 

A crack suddenly appeared on the crystal ball, and in the next instant, it shattered with a loud explosion. 

Even Trelawney was startled, clutching her chest in shock. 

The entire class felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding. 

Harry and Ron, who had recently reconciled, stared at John with expressions of unease and suspicion. 

Forcing a stiff smile, John turned to Trelawney and said, "Sorry, Professor, I'd like to take a leave of absence." 

The class had only been in session for half an hour, yet John was already asking to leave. 

Trelawney, full of concern, immediately granted his request and even awarded him 30 points for his prophecy. 

Leaving the classroom, John's face remained grim. 

That prophecy… gave him a terrible feeling. 

Could this be about something happening around me?

Arriving at the Black Lake, John tried to calm himself. 

Staring into the water, for the first time, he felt an unsettling fear deep inside. 

"It'll be fine. If I equip everyone properly, everything will be fine."

John tossed a stone into the Black Lake, and it just so happened to hit a merperson who had poked their head above the surface. The merperson cursed loudly in the water.

John shot them a look.

The merperson immediately shut their mouth and fearfully dove back into the lake.

By the time John returned to the castle, news of his latest death prophecy had already spread.

This time, the message was even more direct than the one in third year.

"The warrior's choice will lead to bloodline slaughter, death will bloom in the night, and an unquenchable fire will take away a beloved one."

Ernie Macmillan swallowed nervously, his expression tense. "This is telling us that one of the champions is going to die."

Hannah Abbott gasped, covering her mouth in shock. "Which champion will die?"

"I think it's Harry Potter. I mean, you all know…" Ernie trailed off as he noticed Harry walking past.

After John started feeling better, he made his way to the Great Hall.

He spotted Malfoy deep in discussion about something, looking absolutely delighted.

John immediately walked over and doubled his training regimen.

Among all the people involved, John figured Malfoy was the most likely to run into trouble.

After all, he attracted way too much hatred—he could probably get into an accident just by walking down the hall.

__________

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