I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

John saw the jealous look on his face and simply shrugged before heading off to buy books.

But just as he had gathered all the books he needed, he noticed Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy in a brawl.

The Weasley twins stood by loudly cheering, and if Malfoy hadn't been clearly outnumbered by the whole Weasley clan, he might have charged in as well.

"What the heck is going on here?"

John watched as Mr. Malfoy was struck in the eye by Mr. Weasley with a hefty book titled A Compendium of Deadly Fungi, leaving him with a black eye.

Hagrid came over and separated the two men, and Mr. Malfoy let out some harsh threats.

Before storming off, he threw a book into Ginny's cauldron.

"At least they knew not to use magic."

Even though the fight had looked intense, neither had actually used any spells.

John understood why—they were both afraid of getting into trouble with the Ministry of Magic. Using magic would've escalated things far beyond a simple scuffle.

"Heavens, was there a fight here?"

Mr. Watson exclaimed as he realized his son still needed to finish buying books.

When they came over and saw the mess of books scattered all over the floor, Mrs. Wick looked around anxiously for her son.

John watched Mr. Weasley get scolded like a child by Mrs. Molly Weasley. Since he had finished shopping, he said goodbye to Harry and the others.

As they parted, John noticed a worn, diary-like book in Ginny's cauldron. Remembering that the Weasley family used second-hand books, he didn't think too much about it.

Since his family were Muggles, John couldn't use Floo Powder to leave.

The family spent another day exploring London before heading home.

Once back, John began experimenting with materials. The supplies Hagrid had bought for him arrived in batches over the following days.

...

"These books are actually quite entertaining."

John closed a book by Gilderoy Lockhart. The stories inside were indeed exciting.

Especially since some of them subtly hid magical theories that John found fascinating enough to read the entire series.

"Could it be that this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is actually competent?"

Based on Lockhart's dazzling stories, the man seemed extremely experienced—he might turn out to be a decent teacher.

"Now I'm a bit curious."

Setting the book down on the table, John picked up a bit of powdered dragon fang.

This substance came from a fire dragon's tooth and contained mild toxins.

John mixed the dragon fang powder with other materials to create a thick liquid, which he then carefully applied to his Ironwick Sword.

After an even coating, the blade darkened, and later took on a mirror-like shine.

"Using dragon fang to coat it with an anti-magic layer… but I wonder how effective it really is."

John had upgraded the Ironwick Sword with anti-magic properties. This way, even if he faced magical creatures, he could still damage their scales.

Running his hand along the blade's surface, he found it sharp yet durable.

He sheathed the sword just as Laurel brought him a stack of letters.

Some were responses from various alchemy masters, others were from runes experts.

These were the fruits of his hard work over the holidays. He had been writing to experts, asking questions and discussing solutions—even potion masters were not spared.

His goal? Building a network.

In the wizarding world, guidance from experienced mentors was invaluable. Nicolas Flamel had told him it was important to communicate and not lock himself away in isolation.

And it had to be said—being a Hogwarts student brought certain advantages. Many of these experts were Hogwarts alumni.

They were more than happy to help a current student from their alma mater.

"Dear John,

Your suggestion for improving the Wolfsbane Potion was deeply intriguing. I would love to meet you in person.

— Damocles Belby"

"Wolfsbane Potion, huh? Might be worth going."

Damocles Belby was currently researching the Wolfsbane Potion. A former Hogwarts student himself.

John had taken an interest in the potion while researching—it was known for allowing werewolves to retain their rationality during transformations.

Feeling sympathy for werewolves as victims, John had sent some ideas to Belby.

He didn't expect such a big response. Belby wanted to meet in person.

The meeting place was St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

John figured there was no harm in meeting—it would help him expand his connections.

Setting the letter down, he opened the last one.

And his face filled with sorrow.

The Flamel couple had passed away.

They hadn't allowed John to visit, wanting him to remember them as they lived—not as they died.

John was heartbroken. Such a good teacher, gone just like that.

No funeral, no grand ceremony. Only one friend, Dumbledore, stood witness.

...

At St. Mungo's, John arrived.

It wasn't located in Diagon Alley, but rather behind a red-brick department store called Purget and Daughters Ltd. in London.

"Entering the hospital."

John spoke to the dummy in the shop window to state his reason for visiting.

He made his way inside and arrived on the second floor, where he saw a wizard who had been bitten by a werewolf—unlucky indeed.

Next to him, a thin man was diligently recording the wizard's reactions to the pain.

This was Damocles Belby, observing the effects of a werewolf bite.

John leaned closer for a look—the man was in great pain. His wound had been treated with dittany and sealed with silver.

"Silver doesn't help with werewolf bites. It's the dittany providing enough nutrients to help the patient survive the early pain."

Belby muttered while taking notes. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned around.

"And who are you?"

He assumed it was just some random kid and said impatiently, "I'm busy right now. Please leave."

John smiled and said, "John Wick. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Damocles Belby."

"John Wick?"

Belby paused, staring in disbelief.

"You're the student who wrote to me?"

He had assumed the writer was a seventh-year student—anyone who could point out details he'd overlooked had to be exceptionally talented.

But the talent was even more extraordinary than he imagined.

John looked older than his peers, but still appeared to be around third or fourth year.

"Forgive me for my earlier rudeness, Mr. Wick."

Belby's tone shifted entirely, becoming enthusiastic.

He invited John to visit his estate, and John accepted, of course.

After observing the unfortunate bitten wizard for a while, they agreed to continue communicating via letters, and John left the second floor.

In the hospital, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure and exclaimed, "Neville?"

Neville was walking down the corridor, looking dejected. He turned toward John's voice.

"John? Are you sick? What are you doing here?" Neville asked nervously.

He was very worried that his good friend might be unwell.

John shook his head, indicating he was fine. But seeing Neville here was quite surprising.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit my parents."

Neville's expression darkened, and John realized they must be sick.

Since they'd met, John accompanied Neville to the fifth floor: the Spell Damage Ward.

There, John saw Neville's parents—two once-brilliant Aurors.

They had been tortured by Death Eaters until they lost their minds. They didn't even recognize their own son.

Neville stood there in tears, unable to stop crying. John let out a quiet sigh and patted him gently on the shoulder.

Voldemort and his followers had committed far too many atrocities.

Eventually, they left the hospital, and John bid Neville farewell. He noticed Neville's grandmother waiting for him outside.

She looked strict, but the fact she was waiting showed her care.

John nodded to her respectfully, and she returned the gesture.

Leaving the hospital, John returned home to continue his preparations.

He remembered the Wolfsbane Potion appearing in Harry Potter's third year. At the time, it was Snape who brewed it.

It clearly hadn't been released yet. John didn't remember every detail, but he vaguely recalled one key ingredient: aconite.

It was highly toxic and not something one would typically use on humans.

A few days later, John sent his theory to Damocles Belby by owl.

Some time later, a reply arrived.

"It worked."

-->

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