I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

A powerful bodyguard was sent to Johnny Silverhand's shop in Knockturn Alley. Mundungus didn't know the background of this new arrival, Tommy Shelby, but judging from his respectful attitude toward Johnny, he was likely a trusted confidant.

This immediately poured cold water on Mundungus, who had been feeling a bit too full of himself lately. He had thought he was irreplaceable.

Now it seemed he was just a low-level lackey in Johnny's eyes. And for some reason, he felt an instinctive fear of Shelby.

It was like being stared down by an Auror while stealing something.

With someone like this watching him, he had no choice but to be on his best behavior.

How awful.

As a new hire, Tommy Shelby was paid a monthly salary of 100 Galleons, plus John would provide him with Wolfsbane Potion every month.

During his year of wandering, John had met quite a few werewolves. He planned to have Tommy recruit more of them once the shop expanded.

If they'd once worked with Aurors, their character likely wasn't bad—a point John understood well.

Johnny Silverhand's shop had opened a few days ago. Though business wasn't booming yet, making 200 Galleons a day was no problem.

Once word spread, things would only get better.

Especially once the First-Class Medal of Honor from Damocles Alex was awarded—John's Wolfsbane Potion would gain a solid reputation and attract more werewolf customers.

A regular Wolfsbane Potion cost 30 Galleons. It helped suppress bloodlust during a transformation.

A refined version cost 80 Galleons. It allowed the werewolf to recognize loved ones and stay put during the full moon.

The top-tier potion cost 150 Galleons. The user would still transform, but they'd retain full awareness and be capable of rational thought—though unable to use magic.

These three versions met different needs of werewolves and helped them escape the stigma and discrimination they faced.

The top-tier version took the most time and effort to brew, especially to maintain mental clarity through transformation.

That was the version John gave to Shelby—and the reason Shelby was willing to risk his life for him.

…

The start of the school year was approaching fast.

With Harry now living at the Burrow, John was left all alone.

All he did was count shiny Galleons—or spend them.

Money was never enough. Alchemy was a money pit.

But progress was smooth. He had inscribed the second rune onto the Sword of Ironwick and created a magical circuit for it.

Once activated, the sword's magic could be used without John's own magical power.

Of course, these circuits took time to recharge after releasing their effects, so they were really only useful in emergencies.

One day, while John was practicing Transfiguration—which stubbornly refused to level up—he was tempted to use his free stat points to boost it.

"Maybe I should read more books on Transfiguration…"

He had long been fascinated with the dragon transformation, which he guessed would unlock at level four, so for now, he let it go.

"Someone broke in?"

John frowned. He had set up magical sensors in his basement, which alerted him to intrusions.

Pointing his wand at a corner, he said coldly, "You think I wouldn't notice?"

A pair of huge, tennis-ball-sized green eyes appeared, along with two bat-like ears drooping backward.

John immediately cast a Transfiguration spell, turning a desk into cloth strips that bound the intruder tightly.

"A house-elf?"

Once he had everything under control, John blinked in surprise.

"Ah—!" the house-elf screamed. "Dobby came to see John Wick, Harry Potter's friend!"

Dobby tried to struggle, but the cloth wrapped him tightly, muffling his screams.

"Dobby? That house-elf?"

John remembered Harry's complaints and said sternly, "Who sent you? Trying to find out where Harry is through me?"

"No, no! Dobby wants John Wick to protect Harry Potter!"

As soon as he said that, Dobby realized he had nearly spoken ill of his master and tried to punish himself—but he was still tied up.

So he began bashing his head against the wall, scolding himself: "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Stop that!"

John, frustrated, had the cloth wrap around Dobby's head as well.

Still holding his wand, he approached, face serious. "You said Harry is in danger—how do you know?"

At this, Dobby's face filled with terror, as if he desperately wanted to harm himself but couldn't.

John sighed. These house-elves were way too dramatic. So he changed his question: "What kind of danger are you talking about?"

"A conspiracy! A terrible, dreadful conspiracy! Something horrible will happen at Hogwarts!"

Dobby screamed.

John released the magic, and Dobby flopped to the ground.

"Then why did you come to me for help?" John asked, lowering his wand but keeping a close eye on the uninvited guest.

Sniffling, Dobby said, "Dobby heard that John Wick is a powerful wizard, and he protected Harry Potter before."

"Uh… I admit I've protected Harry, but calling me a powerful wizard is a stretch."

John twitched at the corners of his mouth. Who was spreading these rumors? He was just a level-three magic rookie.

Glancing at Dobby, he sighed. "If you really want to protect Harry, you should tell me who's behind this conspiracy."

A name would be enough. If it involved the Boy Who Lived, John could write to Dumbledore.

With the White Wizard involved, no one would dare harm Harry.

"Dobby cannot say! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Dobby began self-harming again, and John had to restrain him once more.

He couldn't fully believe Dobby's words. But if Harry was really in danger, he would help.

"I'll look into this conspiracy—if it's real."

Dobby was beyond grateful. John waved him off.

Then he looked at Dobby—dressed in an old pillowcase, looking both pitiful and ridiculous.

"I have some old clothes. You can wear them if you don't mind."

John's kindness made Dobby squeal, "Dobby thanks John Wick so much! He is as noble as Harry Potter! A house-elf is only freed when their master gives them clothes!"

Dobby couldn't accept the gift but placed John almost on the same level as the Boy Who Lived—well, maybe just a bit lower.

With a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished with a pop.

"He can cast magic without a wand."

John stared at the spot Dobby had disappeared from. He had cast protective enchantments, but Dobby came and went freely.

Clearly, his defenses weren't enough.

He decided to install more sneak-detection spells to prevent this kind of intrusion in the future.

Time passed. As Johnny Silverhand's shop stabilized, the school year approached.

September 1st.

Watson brought the kids early to King's Cross Station. This time, he tried running straight into Platform 9¾ himself.

The result was predictable—he wasn't a wizard.

At least before the massive bump on his head, he'd still believed Hogwarts had just forgotten to send him a letter when he was a child.

Lady Wick was busy with her beauty salon clients, so John could only watch his dad crash into a wall with a mixture of pity and annoyance.

"All right, Dad. I have to go now."

Holding his sore head, Watson reluctantly watched his son walk away.

Then—

BANG!

"OW!"

"OUCH!"

Two loud cries made Watson turn in shock—two young wizards stared blankly at the now-impassable wall.

Harry asked in confusion, "Why can't we get through?"

"I don't know—but we're going to miss the train!" Ron exclaimed.

Time was running out. The blocked passage meant they couldn't board the Hogwarts Express.

Suddenly, Ron had an idea.

"The car! We can fly to Hogwarts!"

He remembered the flying car at the Burrow. Harry hesitated, but the fear of being expelled for being late pushed him to agree.

They rushed to the car—but just as they were about to start it, a hand tapped on the window.

"Hey, looks like you boys need some help."

Harry and Ron stared in shock at the man in a cap who had suddenly appeared.

Watson Wick flashed a confident smile. "Your uncle here used to be called the Driving King of Canary Wharf."