I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

Two Weeks Later

John received a long-shaped parcel from America, tightly sealed in a wooden crate.

He eagerly picked up a crowbar to pry it open. As the six nails were removed, the crate lifted open.

Inside, packed in hay for cushioning, lay a knight's sword adorned with mithril.

The blade had a mirror-like finish. The crossguard was crafted using a casting technique with mithril and steel powder, forming a semicircle. The hilt was made of oak, with a rounded mithril pommel that had a circular gap left intentionally.

This sword was forged using three different enchantments. Its blade was straight, strong, and hard to break.

The more John looked at it, the more he fell in love. He picked it up and began to swing it around.

The blade's balance was near perfect—two fingers down from the guard, making the swings smooth and fluid.

It could be wielded with one hand or both. John had requested a slightly longer pommel so he could use it like a greatsword if needed.

After finishing a set of movements, John stopped with satisfaction.

Unfortunately, he wasn't at Hogwarts—otherwise, he would've tested it in the training grounds.

"There's a gap left in the mithril for enchantments—just right."

John immediately set out to enchant it. He fixed the sword in place and began carving runes into the mithril guard with a chisel.

Bit by bit, he inscribed a fire rune based on the runic symbol Fehu—which represents cattle, symbolizing both abundance and untamed fire.

He then took out his wand to complete the enchantment.

At the moment of success, John clearly felt the sword undergo a change.

He activated the rune. The runes glowed red, and flames instantly engulfed the blade—turning it into a sword of fire.

"Iron and fire—feels like I'm a witch hunter now."

If he had a full Viking set of armor, John felt like he could pull off the role of a witch hunter on the spot.

After extinguishing the flames, he put the sword into a small satchel.

Although the satchel looked a bit like a women's handbag, it was a convenient magical item—so John didn't complain.

"Time to name it—how about Ironwick's Blade?"

And so, Ironwick's Blade was born.

John returned to the living room to write some letters. He had just resumed communication with his friends.

Hermione had invited him to Diagon Alley the next day to buy their textbooks for the term. Her handwriting was a little messy, with ink blotches—likely from excitement and pressing too hard.

"Is something important happening tomorrow?"

John tried to recall but couldn't think of anything special. Why was Hermione so excited?

Coincidentally, Harry and Ron were also going tomorrow. The trio really were destined companions—always in sync.

After replying to each of them, John also wrote a letter to Hagrid, asking for help sourcing magical creature materials.

Once that was done, he switched his pen to his right hand and, using a completely different handwriting, wrote a letter to Mundungus Fletcher. He bundled several magical tools he had crafted.

"Mundungus may be greedy, but otherwise he does his job well."

John had been using Mundungus to sell the magical items he was practicing crafting. Despite always whining about wanting a larger cut, Mundungus claimed to be selling goods made by an alchemy master.

This doubled sales volume—and also doubled John's assets.

His vault had grown to over 3,000 Galleons from all those tool sales.

He was no match for Harry, who was rich beyond reason, but it was enough to count as a modest fortune.

Still, the more John earned, the faster he spent.

Soon, Hagrid's reply arrived. Based on the material list John had sent, Hagrid gave him a rough estimate.

Seeing the number, John couldn't help but take a sharp breath.

"1,200 Galleons—alchemy really does burn money."

His eye twitched slightly. Half of the money he had just saved was going to vanish.

He now deeply envied Hagrid—having the Forbidden Forest right behind him was like owning a gold mine.

Hagrid had already excluded some items he could supply himself; otherwise, the cost would've been even worse.

"If I'm going to Gringotts tomorrow to withdraw money, I might as well buy the books too."

Burning money—it was all he could think about.

Aside from alchemy costs, the profit margin wasn't great.

After telling his parents he'd be going to London, Watson happily opened the family safe, planning to buy some quirky things while there.

Seeing his dad about to exchange money with those gold-hungry goblins at Gringotts, John immediately stopped him.

In Watson's stunned gaze, John dropped a stack of Galleons onto the table with a jingle.

"Other kids cost money to go to school. You make money going to school," Watson said, eyes sparkling.

No doubt about it—his son was already supporting the family at such a young age.

John chuckled. "If you want to exchange money, come to me. I'll give you a better rate."

In other words—he'd still charge him.

Watson's smile stiffened. Not only did his son keep clear accounts with his brother, but also with his own father?

John knew that if he didn't set limits, his dad would likely come back from Diagon Alley with a cartload of useless junk.

To keep Mrs. Wick's blood pressure in check, Johnny ruthlessly squeezed Watson's little treasure chest.

Originally, John's school funds came from the family budget. Now, it was a "personal splurge," and Watson could only tearfully dip into his own stash.

The Next Day

The family of three drove to the Leaky Cauldron. Compared to their last visit, it didn't smell nearly as bad—probably because Quirrell wasn't there anymore.

Familiar with the route, John quickly led them to the rear door of the Leaky Cauldron.

Once inside Diagon Alley, he headed straight to Gringotts to deposit money.

After keeping aside enough for materials and textbooks, he stored the rest in the vault.

That even made the goblins smile—a rare sight. Though greedy and selfish, one had to admit Gringotts had excellent security.

Passing through an anti-theft waterfall, John discreetly collected a vial of the water.

This special water could remove magical enchantments. He planned to research whether it could be replicated.

After leaving Gringotts, he bumped into Malfoy.

Draco was walking beside a man with the same pale, sharp features—clearly his father.

They were heading toward Knockturn Alley.

John's own father was off to splurge, dragging Mrs. Wick with him, leaving John free to follow.

Casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he trailed behind the Malfoys.

Along the way, Draco kept muttering complaints about Harry Potter.

Even his father, Lucius Malfoy, grew impatient: "You've told me this at least ten times already."

Mr. Malfoy glared at his son, putting an end to the rant.

"Little Malfoy sure is... passionately obsessed with Harry," John thought to himself.

Following them, John arrived at Borgin and Burkes, a shady antiques shop Mundungus had once entered.

Instead of going inside, he changed direction and went to a nearby house.

Mundungus Fletcher had been living the good life lately. Aside from spying on some kids, he no longer had to steal—just wait for his daily mail.

He'd even ditched his shabby suit for something more respectable.

"By Merlin, I look like a proper businessman now," he said to the mirror.

Just then, he noticed his door creaking open.

Startled, he drew his wand and barked, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

A raspy voice responded coldly:

"Mundungus. You dare wave a wand at me now?"

The voice sent chills down Mundungus's spine. He immediately dropped the wand and folded his hands, bowing, "Lord Johnny, I meant no offense. I thought it was a thief."

"Hmph."

Johnny Silverhand—that was the identity John used with Mundungus.

He never revealed his real face. Taking a seat, John looked around and remarked,

"So this is the shop you acquired? Looks like it cost a fair bit."

"No, no, no, Lord Johnny, you don't understand. For 500 Galleons, this was the best location I could find!"

Mundungus looked pitiful—this time, he wasn't lying.

He had struggled to secure the spot. It was small, sure, but the location was excellent.

"Fine. Just make sure to renovate this place quickly. Mundungus, doing business is far more satisfying than stealing."

John wasn't really scolding him—just reminding him.

He knew retail alone wouldn't make big money. That's why he had Mundungus set up a physical shop—Johnny Silverhand's Exclusive Store.

Mundungus had already grown used to not living in hiding, and he was reluctant to let that comfort slip away.

He immediately promised to get the shop up and running.

But before he could ask for further instructions, John had already vanished without a word—as usual.

This Lord Johnny Silverhand... always leaves without warning.