I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

"Good morning, Titi."

Reaching down to pick up the cat rubbing against his legs, John smiled contentedly at the fluffy creature.

The cat called Titi meowed in response, and soon, three more cats came running out.

They gathered around John's feet as he pulled out some canned cat food he had brought along.

Tom, the dog, wagged his tail in circles with a bit of dissatisfaction. They were supposed to go for a walk, and instead, John was here feeding cats.

An old lady was slowly approaching, leaning on a cane. John noticed her and greeted warmly, "Good morning, Mrs. Figg."

Arabella Figg smiled upon seeing John. No one would have guessed this seemingly ordinary old lady was actually a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

She was a Squib, personally asked by Dumbledore to keep an eye on Harry.

Six months ago, another name was added to her watch list.

It was none other than the boy in front of her—John Wick.

Dumbledore had come in person. He wanted to learn more about this student.

Mrs. Figg had a good impression of John—this child often came to take care of her cats.

His fondness for the fluffy creatures was as strong as Dumbledore's love for sweets. Perhaps it was this very trait that made Dumbledore decide to entrust the Philosopher's Stone to John temporarily.

John didn't realize it, but maybe he owed some thanks to the old lady in front of him. He gently petted the four small cats one by one.

"Outdoor cats are better. They don't suddenly turn into mature catgirls."

After satisfying his love for fluff, John was about to leave when he suddenly felt like someone was watching him.

"Am I being watched?"

His first thought was Death Eaters—but he dismissed it quickly.

The last time he encountered them, they were searching for Nicolas Flamel. He didn't believe they would come all this way just to monitor him.

He wasn't Harry Potter, the Chosen One. He had no value worth monitoring.

He stood up, keeping his expression neutral. Tom stopped circling. After bidding farewell to Mrs. Figg, John started jogging with Tom.

"Gone?"

Once he left Privet Drive, that eerie sense of surveillance vanished.

He felt puzzled. The next morning during his run, the sensation returned.

This time, John clearly saw the person—a figure completely wrapped up like someone suffering from a severe skin condition.

As soon as John jogged past the boundaries of Privet Drive, the figure didn't follow.

"Could they be watching Harry?"

But Harry had long since left. That didn't seem likely either.

John's confusion deepened. On the third morning of his run, he "accidentally" dropped something from his pocket.

The bundled-up figure saw it gleam in the sunlight and ran over with greedy eyes.

It was a gold Galleon. The man grinned with delight.

"Good luck never runs dry."

He pocketed the coin and didn't bother continuing the surveillance.

That night, John slipped out of his house under a Disillusionment Charm.

In his hand was a piece of parchment—but not the Marauder's Map.

This parchment had only one simple arrow. As John moved, the arrow shifted accordingly.

Eventually, John entered a house.

The house was pitifully bare—nothing but a fireplace and a small tent.

John walked up to the fireplace, which was connected to the Floo Network.

"Let me guess—Diagon Alley."

Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, John clearly called out the destination.

A burst of green flames engulfed him. In the next second, he appeared in another fireplace.

With soot on his nose, John brushed the ash away and stepped out to find himself inside a shop in Diagon Alley.

"If I don't find that guy, I can at least browse a bit."

With that thought, he recast the Disillusionment Charm and stepped out.

Diagon Alley at night was sparsely populated. Holding the locator map he made himself, John followed the arrow deeper in.

People became scarcer. Those he did see wore cloaks to conceal themselves and appeared to be exchanging suspicious items.

It all looked very shady—clearly illegal.

"Knockturn Alley?"

Unknowingly, John had entered Knockturn Alley.

It was just next to Diagon Alley but felt like a completely different world.

This place was a hub for illegal dealings. The person who had been watching John was currently engaged in a shady transaction.

"You're too greedy! Do you know how much trouble I went through to get this?!"

The man, now wearing a cloak, was yelling at a shop owner.

The shopkeeper merely glanced at him and replied with a mocking tone, "Trouble? This is just a tiny Sneakoscope. Mundungus Fletcher, the quality of your stolen goods is really going downhill."

So that was his name—Mundungus Fletcher, the one who had been watching John. Enraged, he stormed out, slamming the door.

But he wasn't stupid enough to rob Borgin and Burkes. He just left in frustration.

As he walked toward the Leaky Cauldron to drink away his sorrows—and maybe find some foolish rich person to scam—he muttered under his breath:

"Bloody day. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye on that kid, now I don't even have time to steal. Watching Harry Potter is one thing, but this kid? Why?"

All this surveillance time would've been better spent making money.

But just as he was preparing his next plan, and walking through a narrow alley in Knockturn Alley, he felt the cold tip of a wand pressed against his lower back.

"Don't move. Unless you'd like a hole in your gut."

Mundungus's legs buckled in fright. Trembling, he stammered, "C-Calm down! I've got a few Galleons—you can have them!"

He cursed his bad luck. He had been robbed while trying to rob others.

He reached for his wand to try and escape, but it was already snatched away.

Disarmed—physically.

Now he was really doomed. He didn't dare move.

John dragged him into a dark corner and growled threateningly, "Seems you haven't been honest."

Mundungus forced a grin. "No, no! I swear! I was just scared!"

"Heh." John didn't believe a word. He deliberately lowered his voice, keeping Mundungus from recognizing him.

Now John knew who had sent the spy—it was Dumbledore.

He figured it was probably for his own protection.

Given his recent run-in with Death Eaters in France, Dumbledore likely repurposed someone already watching Harry to also keep an eye on John.

John's guess wasn't far off. He was no longer just a student—he was the inheritor of Nicolas Flamel's legacy.

Even without considering his future, Flamel's experimental manuscripts alone were enough to drive greedy people mad.

Now that he knew the spy wasn't a Death Eater, John had no reason to eliminate him.

Instead, an idea sparked in his mind—maybe he could use this man to set up a business in Knockturn Alley.

Just as Mundungus thought he was about to die in that alley, John suddenly said, "Want to make some money, Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Money?" Mundungus blinked, stunned that his mugger was offering to pay him.

He had no idea what the man meant, but he knew if he said no, it wouldn't end well.

"I've got a few items I need moved. Once they're sold, we split—20/80."

Some of John's creations weren't lethal, but a few were the result of his research into dark magic.

Such items couldn't be sold in Diagon Alley—they needed a place like Knockturn Alley.

"You only need to answer yes or no. I won't force you," John said—but his wand still jabbed sharply into Mundungus's side.

Mundungus nodded frantically, almost snapping his own neck.

John smirked and pulled a few dangerous artifacts from his bag.

"In three days, I expect to see shiny gold Galleons."

With that, John pulled back the wand from Mundungus's waist.

Mundungus sighed with relief and quickly retrieved his disarmed wand.

He looked at the items—his eyes lit up with greed. His fear vanished.

"These are amazing... Borgin's gonna love them."

He looked around and quickly tucked the items into his cloak.

John didn't leave—he watched Mundungus return to Borgin and Burkes.

When he came out again, his hands were full of Galleons.

He hesitated for a moment and divided the money into two portions—thinking of keeping one for himself.

But just as that thought formed, he felt that familiar pain in his side.

Frightened, he immediately placed the money down.

From the pile, John took 20%, then his voice rang out again: "I said 20/80. If you want to continue, use this to contact me."

John tossed him a piece of parchment. Mundungus hesitated, then picked it up.

He stood there for a long while, afraid to move. Only after confirming John was truly gone did he breathe a sigh of relief.

Looking at the pile of Galleons—more than he ever made from stealing—he fell into deep thought.