I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

"John, you're back. Your mother hasn't looked too happy these past few days."

A month after leaving home, John finally returned. Watson was thrilled to see him but quickly glanced nervously toward the kitchen.

"You didn't do what you promised your mother, but as your father, I know something else must have come up."

Don't be fooled by Watson's usual childish behavior—when it comes to important matters, he's never careless.

To him, Mrs. Wick's mood was a very important matter.

John felt a heavy weight in his heart at those words. He had spent the last week learning at Nicolas Flamel's house.

The place was protected by a Fidelius Charm, and even owls couldn't find it, so he hadn't been able to send his weekly letters.

That had completely enraged Mrs. Wick. She rarely got angry, but when she did, it was hard to calm her down.

The last time she was angry, she gave Watson the cold shoulder for a week, and John had to live on bread dipped in various sauces.

Thinking about Watson's awful cooking made John shiver.

Fortunately, he had come back prepared. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Wick, her face cold and silent.

Beautiful and poised as she was, when she got mad, she was just like a sulky girl. Under her frosty gaze, John grinned sheepishly and pulled a bottle of perfume from his suitcase—something he'd bought in Paris.

"This is perfume I got just for you, Mom."

John shamelessly acted cute, giving his mother a pitiful look.

Mrs. Wick had been angry at him for not writing, but within three seconds of seeing this display, her anger melted away.

Still, as a mother, she gave him a stern lecture.

"Little John, you're still too young. Going abroad to such a dangerous place by yourself—you can't forget to write to your mother."

John took the scolding, bowing and nodding, looking just like Watson.

Watson peeked in from outside, looking on with a satisfied, "this child can be taught" kind of expression.

Once he'd soothed his mother's anger, John was heading back to his room when Watson brought him a pile of letters.

"These are all from your friends. One of the owls was so old it crashed into the mailbox a few times."

Watson left right after setting down the letters—he'd just heard Mrs. Wick's warning shout about his shoes on the stairs.

John opened the top letter—it was from Hermione. She'd listed a huge stack of books she'd read over the holidays.

He set Hermione's letters aside and read through them all. In the last one, she mentioned Harry—none of her letters to him had gotten any response.

Next, John picked up other letters—some from Ron, Hagrid, and surprisingly, even three from Malfoy.

He opened them all one by one. Except for Malfoy's, everyone mentioned Harry.

None of them had heard back from him and were asking if John knew what was going on.

"Could Harry have been arrested by the Ministry of Magic?"

John began to worry. He thought back to the magical surge he'd caused the other day—maybe Harry had taken the blame and gotten in trouble for it.

Since Harry had covered for him, John felt responsible and decided to investigate.

He hid his unicorn-hair wand at home and took a different wand downstairs.

Using a bit of charm, he convinced Mrs. Wick to give him a freshly baked apple pie.

He packed it up in a box and went to knock on the door at 4 Privet Drive.

"Who is it?"

What luck—a chubby boy opened the door.

Dudley had smelled the apple pie and rushed to the door before his mother could answer it.

He thought it was a surprise visitor who might make up for the dinner Harry had ruined a few days ago. It was a surprise alright—just not the kind he wanted.

"It's you—John Wick!"

Dudley screamed. The chubby kid had a surprisingly strong set of lungs.

Petunia Dursley, who had been wondering who it was, came running out when she heard Dudley scream.

When she saw John, she didn't forget that he'd once appeared at King's Cross Station with Harry and a group of wizarding friends.

Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, came out too. He looked to be in his forties, so fat he had no neck, and he wore a thick beard.

When he saw John, Vernon's expression twisted, and he bellowed, "You freaks dare come to my house again?!"

A few days ago, he'd seen the Ministry's warning letter sent to Harry and learned that young wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside school.

So he wasn't scared of John at all and started yelling to throw him out.

"Mr. Dursley, I believe you're mistaken."

John smiled politely.

"I am now the son of the homeowner at 6 Privet Drive—your neighbor, in fact, just coming by to knock on your door."

His words made Vernon pause, and John continued coolly, "Surely, Mr. Dursley wouldn't be so rude as to throw out a neighbor bearing gifts?"

Vernon looked again and realized that John had indeed brought something.

The sweet aroma of the apple pie had Dudley drooling uncontrollably. Vernon's expression changed several times before he finally said gruffly, "Since you're not one of those freaks, then come in."

John smiled and handed the pie to the still-stern-faced Petunia.

...

"Sit down and leave in one minute."

Vernon gave him no warmth at all. John glanced at Dudley—still munching down pie—and thought how alike father and son looked.

"Where's Harry?"

"Harry? Don't talk to me about that brat."

Vernon already suspected John had an ulterior motive. Harry was locked up, the door sealed with iron bars, with only a hatch left open to deliver food three times a day.

He had decided to prevent Harry from returning to school no matter what. No one would change his mind.

Vernon checked his watch and started to shoo John out. "Now get out of my house. You people are never welcome here."

John's polite smile began to fade as he frowned.

He didn't move, and Vernon tried to push him out himself.

But John grabbed Vernon's fat, stubby finger and twisted it.

Vernon howled like a stuck pig. Petunia screamed and rushed over, only to see her husband kneeling before John, holding his hand in pain.

"Mr. Dursley, I believe you may be misunderstanding something."

"Misunderstanding? No! If you don't leave, I'm calling the police!"

Still trying to kick him out, Vernon's threat was cut short when John coldly said:

"I'm not just Harry's classmate. My father has connections with Mr. Finn Wallace—you know, the kind of person who handles things… in other ways."

Finn Wallace.

At that name, Vernon forgot his pain entirely.

That was the boss of a London gang—not someone the police could touch.

He had thought young wizards weren't scary without magic—but if what John said was true, getting rid of him would be child's play for that crowd.

"I—I'm sorry. Please forgive my rudeness," Vernon said, forcing a pained smile. "Harry's upstairs."

"Very good. Mr. Dursley, if you don't mind, I'd like to go see my friend."

John released Vernon's finger. Vernon looked as if he'd been granted a royal pardon, nodding furiously and stepping aside to inspect whether his finger was broken.

John turned to Dudley, still scarfing down pie, and said casually, "Dudley, don't you think it's your job to guide a guest?"

Dudley didn't respond, but Vernon stormed over and yanked his ear, forcing him to lead John upstairs.

Dudley whimpered from the pain, reluctantly leading John upstairs.

When they reached Harry's room, John stared at the sealed door, which had only a small flap for food deliveries.

"I thought the UK had child protection laws."

"It was him—he ruined my father's business a few days ago," Dudley stammered, afraid to be dragged into trouble.

A year had passed, but Dudley's fear of John hadn't lessened.

John smirked—he hadn't brought a pencil with him this time.

He stepped forward and ordered Dudley to open the door.