I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

Ever since John had decided he would become the next Dumbledore of the wizarding world, he had begun amassing power.

Figures like Damocles, Mundungus, and Tommy were all part of his external network.

Gilderoy Lockhart was weak—so weak he couldn't even deal with a house-elf—but he had an enormous fanbase and many connections among publishers and book enthusiasts.

This gave John an idea.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, are you going to tell me the truth willingly, or should I give you a drink of Veritaserum?"

John casually pulled a potion bottle from his small bag, terrifying Lockhart.

He had no real strength, and Veritaserum, especially in large doses, was known to scramble the brain.

Hearing that John might force him to drink it, Lockhart backed away in panic—only to bump into a wall. With no escape, he surrendered.

It was like the spine had been ripped out of him. He collapsed to the floor and confessed how he had used Memory Charms to steal other people's stories and pass them off as his own.

John's expression turned strange as he listened.

"You mean… all your stories were plagiarized?"

Watching Lockhart's embarrassed smile, John was genuinely surprised.

With a wave of his wand, John conjured a chair and sat down, a smirk on his face.

"Didn't think you'd turn out to be a networking genius. Weak as hell and full of lies."

Seeing that John didn't intend to smash him into pieces, Lockhart relaxed a little and stood up awkwardly.

"I really did want to be an adventurer at first," he said sheepishly. "But I was just too weak. The only spell I was good at was the Memory Charm."

After graduating from Hogwarts, he tried traveling like the heroes in the books—but what he got instead were beatings and injuries.

Then one day, he met an old wizard in a tavern who told him a tale about an adventure with the Tibetan Snowman. Lockhart got a wicked idea.

He cast a Memory Charm on the wizard, made him forget the entire story, wrote it down himself, and published it—becoming the beloved Gilderoy Lockhart, winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.

That success became addictive. He continued collecting stories from others, embellishing them, and publishing them as his own.

Sales soared. He became a favorite of publishers and the darling of housewives everywhere.

Eventually, he lost himself in the vanity and fame.

"You're quite the character," John commented, tapping his cup, which refilled itself with tea.

Taking a sip, John said calmly, "Relax. I won't drive you out of Hogwarts. In fact, you can stay on and continue teaching."

"Really?"

The relief hit Lockhart like a wave. He hurried over and asked, "What do you want? I mean… what must I give in return?"

He was fully prepared to offer money or favors—as long as John didn't expose him.

John glanced at the anxious man and pointed at him, speaking flatly: "I want you."

"Uh…?"

Lockhart was stunned. Did John like him?

A chill ran down his spine.

"Maybe… could you ask for something else? I'm worried my fans will be heartbroken. Besides… you're so young."

His bashful expression nearly made John spit out his tea. He set the cup down and snapped, "I want you to work for me!"

Realizing his mistake, Lockhart let out a breath of relief—but still looked puzzled. What could a second-year student possibly want from him?

"Lockhart, you're not stupid. You must know cleverness won't get you far forever. I can protect your position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. In exchange, you'll do things for me."

"What things? Maybe writing letters, or contacting people on the outside."

A glint flashed in John's eyes. Lockhart had built quite the network over the years—especially among noble pure-blood families and upper-class witches. With just a word from him, many of these women would go absolutely crazy.

If Lockhart maintained his public persona, these ladies would be a powerful asset.

John stood and offered a hand to the flustered professor with a smile.

"Let's work together, Professor Lockhart."

Lockhart didn't know how John intended to help him, but he had no other choice. He shook John's hand, sealing the agreement.

Saturday.

John had planned to stay in the Gryffindor secret room, but Malfoy came knocking at his dorm door.

"Watch closely, John. You're going to see how we humiliate those broke Gryffindors."

Malfoy was holding a Nimbus 2001—the latest in the Nimbus broomstick line.

It outperformed the Nimbus 2000 in every way.

Even more outrageous: Slytherin's entire Quidditch team now had seven of them.

John shook his head helplessly. Classic pay-to-win tactics.

They had used the excuse of "needing to practice with the new brooms" to get a special permit from Professor Snape—and intentionally scheduled it during Gryffindor's training time.

John hadn't wanted to get involved, but Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't stop banging on his door, so he eventually gave in.

At the pitch, John stood off to the side while Malfoy strutted over to start provoking.

Harry had originally wanted to visit Hagrid, but Wood—Gryffindor's Quidditch fanatic—had dragged them into a new training routine.

Ron, Hermione, and Colin Creevey tagged along to watch, with Colin snapping photos nonstop.

This made Wood suspicious.

"I think he's a Slytherin spy!" he grumbled.

George Weasley rolled his eyes. "Slytherin doesn't need spies, Oliver."

But Wood, in full Quidditch-mode, snapped, "How would you know?"

George simply pointed. "Because they're here."

Sure enough, a wave of green-robed Slytherins came marching in. Wood immediately descended, blocking their way.

"Flint! This is our training time. Get out!"

Marcus Flint, the burly Slytherin captain, sneered.

"There's plenty of space, Wood."

The Gryffindor players quickly gathered around, sensing hostility.

"I booked this pitch!" Wood shouted. "I booked it!"

Flint, clearly prepared for this, coolly pulled out a note.

"Signed permission from Professor Snape, to train our new Seeker."

Wood choked. "You have a new Seeker? Who?"

Malfoy stepped forward with a smug smile. Harry's fists clenched.

Fred sneered. "You're Lucius Malfoy's son, aren't you?"

That was exactly what the Slytherins wanted to hear.

"You said his father? Then you should see the gift he gave us!"

Seven brand-new, gleaming Nimbus 2001s gleamed in the sun, dazzling the Gryffindors.

There was nothing they could do. Ron and Hermione stormed over, both furious at Malfoy's smugness.

Hermione snapped, "At least the Gryffindor team doesn't buy their way onto the roster!"

The barb hit Malfoy right in the pride. His face darkened as he snarled, "No one asked you, you filthy little Mudblo—"

He caught himself just in time, remembering John was nearby. He swallowed the rest of the slur, but the Gryffindors had already heard enough.

They surged forward in rage. The Slytherins had to step in to protect Malfoy.

But before Malfoy could recover, Ron acted.

"Eat slugs!"

With his newly repaired wand, Ron cast confidently. Malfoy fell, clutching his throat.

Something slick wriggled up from his stomach and forced its way out of his mouth.

He spat out a fat slug.

Then another.

And another.

Disgusted and retching, Malfoy had to be taken to the infirmary.

The Gryffindors erupted in cheers around Ron, calling it a perfect move.

Even Hermione looked at him with newfound admiration.

John, watching from the sidelines, shook his head.

"Draco needed to be taught a lesson," he said calmly. "In this world, power reigns supreme. He shouldn't mock someone stronger than him."

Judging a person by their bloodline was, in John's eyes, pure foolishness.

Though both sides were his friends, John didn't think Draco was undeserving of the punishment.

He could've stepped in and ended the spell, but he felt Draco needed to suffer a bit.

Besides, if John hadn't fixed Ron's wand, Draco wouldn't have gotten cursed in the first place.

He thought to himself:

"Don't stir trouble, and you won't get hurt."