Hogwarts' John Wick

Hagrid was extremely sensitive when it came to certain matters.

After Umbridge finished inspecting each professor's teaching performance, she eventually set her sights on Hagrid and Trelawney.

As unpleasant as her character was, Umbridge's eye for weakness was razor-sharp.

There were only two truly unqualified teachers at Hogwarts, and she'd managed to sniff them both out.

This left Hagrid incredibly nervous during his lessons.

When he got nervous, he'd start teaching the wrong content.

And when he realized he was teaching the wrong thing, he'd get even more nervous.

It was a vicious cycle.

The moment he spotted Umbridge in class, he felt like he could already see himself being thrown out on the street.

Last time, after getting pelted with ten dungbombs by Peeves, Umbridge had been fuming with rage.

She tried to get Dumbledore to expel Peeves, but obviously, she was flat-out rejected.

That only made Umbridge even more hostile toward anyone associated with Dumbledore—and poor Hagrid just happened to walk straight into her line of fire.

John, watching how Umbridge was deducting points, could be quite sure that Hagrid's evaluation score was definitely below sixty.

Out of a hundred, anything under sixty was a failing grade.

After class, Hagrid was completely deflated.

He clutched a mug the size of a small barrel, guzzling down alcohol. The Golden Trio tried to comfort him, but he just told them not to come by after dark anymore—he was afraid they'd get dragged down with him.

As if he could already see the day he'd be kicked out, Hagrid couldn't help but wipe away a tear.

When John arrived, Hagrid was muttering complaints about the Ministry of Magic.

A tankard teetered dangerously at the edge of the table—just as it was about to hit the ground, John caught it.

Fang ran over to John, nudging him for some dog food.

John poured out two bags for him, then glanced at the suit of armor.

The armor he had given Hagrid was proudly displayed in the center of the room, clearly treasured.

"John," Hagrid stood up groggily, and John could practically hear the booze sloshing in his gut, "what brings yeh here?"

"You forgot to feed the Thestrals today."

"Oh.."

Setting the mug down casually, John said, "Don't worry, Hagrid. You'll be fine."

A gust of wind from the opening door blew straight into Hagrid's face, making him wobble so hard he nearly fell over.

Seeing that the man looked ready to pass out, John had no choice but to leave first.

As he stepped outside, he found Daphne standing there—clearly nervous.

John sighed helplessly. "Looks like Hagrid's already drunk."

Even through the door, Daphne could smell the overwhelming stench of alcohol.

She frowned slightly, trying not to show it, then asked in confusion, "Why are we here?"

John had asked her to come out here—it seemed like he had something to talk about.

Daphne suddenly thought of a possibility, and her cheeks flushed.

"Is it something you can't say in the Constellation Society?"

She regretted asking the moment the words left her mouth—it made her sound like she didn't want to be alone with John.

John didn't seem to mind. Tossing a slab of raw meat to a baby Thestral, he replied casually, "It's not convenient there."

Not convenient?

Daphne's heart began to pound like crazy. She looked at John nervously, but with a flicker of anticipation.

"This place isn't convenient either. We need to go deeper in." John glanced around, then headed toward the Forbidden Forest.

Daphne quickly followed. The deeper they went, the more nervous she became.

At last, they arrived at the old Acromentula den—the place where Sirius Black had once been held captive.

The prison cell inside was still intact. John cast a muffling charm at the entrance.

Daphne's breathing grew rapid—in a place this remote, just the two of them, a boy and a girl…

As a precocious child raised in a Western country, Daphne's mind instantly began to conjure up certain thoughts typical for her age.

Her hands nervously twisted the hem of her robe, and she bit her lip.

"Daphne, there's something I need to tell you," John said, stepping in front of her.

The faint lavender scent from Riddle (Johnny Silverhand's Owl) lingered on him, drifting into Daphne's nose.

In that instant, Daphne's brain practically crashed.

All kinds of possibilities flashed through her mind.

"This is something important," John said solemnly, taking a deep breath. "It concerns your sister."

My… sister?

Daphne's gaze instantly sharpened. Something seemed to click in her mind, and all the color drained from her face.

She spoke, almost in disbelief, "Don't tell me you like—"

"Have you heard of the bloodline curse?" John asked.

He seemed to think she had just said something, glancing at her in confusion. "What did you say just now?"

"Nothing!" Daphne's brain raced to recover. The color quickly returned to her face, and she forced a smile, changing the subject. "What's a bloodline curse?"

"A curse passed down through the family, similar to a blood curse."

John was a bit puzzled by how fast Daphne's expression had changed, but dealing with the bloodline curse was the priority right now.

He said seriously, "I need your cooperation for a check-up. It might be quite troublesome."

"I'm willing," Daphne said, looking into John's eyes—then suddenly noticed something and quickly asked, "You think I might be cursed?"

"You and Astoria both might be," John replied gravely. "It comes from your maternal side—a hidden curse. The sooner we treat it, the better."

"What do I need to do?"

Daphne glanced around. The fact that John had brought her all the way out here instead of doing this in the Constellation Society meant Hogwarts wasn't a convenient place for it.

Could it be that this check-up required… some other kind of action?

If it were John… she wouldn't exactly mind.

Daphne blushed. John noticed she had agreed.

Looking pleased, he stepped closer. Under Daphne's gaze, he took out his wand.

"I need a bit of your blood, and I need you to lower your mental defenses against me."

"That's it?" Daphne asked in confusion.

Now John looked confused. "What else would it be?"

"Then why did you ask me to come here?" Daphne fired off the ultimate question.

John didn't even hesitate, replying as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "It's quiet here, and we won't be disturbed. The Constellation Society could work too, but this concerns the secrets of the Greengrass family."

He was thinking of Daphne's privacy—after all, a curse like this was a personal family matter.

A flicker of disappointment passed through Daphne's eyes, but John had already begun the examination.

He drew a single drop of Daphne's blood to search for signs of the curse.

Suspended in his palm, the droplet rapidly dried up, its vitality drained away.

Daphne felt a bit dizzy, as if her energy had been siphoned out of her.

John's brow twitched—a bloodline curse.

"Redi, ad animam."

Daphne suddenly felt light as air. When she looked down, she saw her own body lying on the ground.

She was in a state of astral projection—soul separated from body. The sensation was strange and wondrous, and at the same time, her soul was completely exposed before John.

John's expression, however, was grim. The curse was hidden deep within her soul.

"A soul surgery…? No, that won't do."

The curse was clinging to her soul—if he wanted to cure it, he would have to perform soul surgery again.

This wasn't a simple matter—he needed to make much more thorough preparations.

He guided Daphne's soul back into her body.

John closed his eyes and thought in silence for a moment, working out the best solution.

"The curse is attached to your soul. Maybe because the time hasn't come yet, it's not active."

That wasn't good news. The curse seemed to be in a dormant state—while like this, it had almost completely fused with the soul.

The best method would be to wait until the curse became active; otherwise, soul surgery couldn't remove it.

Mr. Greengrass had mentioned that this curse was probabilistic—he didn't know when it would activate either.

The only thing certain was that after the age of thirty, the curse's activity would drop to near zero.

"A dormant period. The ideal time for treatment is when the curse first becomes active," John told Daphne. "If it appears before age thirty, it's fatal."

Just hearing that the curse existed made Daphne's heart tighten.

But there was still another female in the Greengrass line.

She thought of her younger sister and asked anxiously, "What about Astoria?"

"She needs to be examined too. But most likely, she has the curse as well," John said.

He didn't think it was a probability-based curse at all—it was more like everyone had it, but it hadn't been triggered yet.

Originally, he'd planned to treat Daphne first, then use the results to determine the treatment process for Astoria. But now… it seemed he had no choice but to medicate directly.

A few days later, Astoria was also confirmed to have the curse.

And hers was already slowly awakening.

The soul potion John had prepared earlier was now unusable—while it healed the soul, it would only strengthen a curse that was bound to the soul.

So, he began scouring books and research papers, trying to find a method to remove the curse before severing the soul.

Because of this, he had been missing for nearly a week.

Umbridge was furious and tried to stir up trouble, but Slytherin House shut her down.

After all, every one of these kids had powerful backers—Umbridge couldn't do a thing.

None of the professors were concerned either.

That student? He could graduate early if he wanted.

Midnight.

John was deep in the Restricted Section, searching through books on soul theory.

In the magical world, curses were notoriously difficult to deal with—Gringotts even had an entire profession dedicated to curse-breaking, used mainly for ancient tombs.

Bloodline curses were among the most troublesome of them all. John put down another book, brow furrowed tightly.

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