Hogwarts' John Wick

Harry received a lot of letters and was overjoyed. He felt like he had finally done something helpful.

At the same time, all that typical teenage frustration over romance seemed to vanish.

That happiness lasted… until Umbridge arrived.

As the Ministry's official tool to keep Dumbledore in check, the one thing Umbridge couldn't stand was students being happy.

Especially Harry Potter, who was right at the top of her "special attention" list.

"I can't touch John Wick, but I can certainly deal with you."

Umbridge stormed over to Harry and asked slowly, "Why are you receiving so many letters, Mr. Potter?"

"Is getting mail illegal now?" The Weasley twins, bold as ever, jumped in—Fred spoke up publicly, making a flash of venom flicker in Umbridge's eyes.

"Watch your tongue, Mr. Weasley, or I'll give you detention," said Umbridge. Then she turned back. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated. He wanted to hide it, but figured Umbridge would see The Quibbler eventually anyway. Might as well admit it. "People wrote to me. I did an interview and talked about what happened last June."

"Interview?" Umbridge narrowed her eyes dangerously, her voice rising an octave. "What did you say?"

"A journalist asked questions. I answered." Harry tossed The Quibbler at her. "It's all in there."

Umbridge caught it, and when her eyes scanned the content, ugly blotches of purple-red appeared on her sagging face.

"When did this happen?"

"Last time at Hogsmeade," Harry answered truthfully.

"Mr. Potter, it seems you really enjoy being the center of attention," Umbridge said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Why did you lie?"

"I didn't!" Harry said angrily.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Umbridge said with a sickly sweet smile. "And one week of detention."

Harry clenched his fists, trembling with rage.

Before noon, an Educational Decree was issued banning students from reading The Quibbler.

When Hermione saw the notice, she didn't get angry—instead, she laughed.

Harry didn't get it. "They're targeting us."

"Don't you see?" Hermione looked like a proud little lion cub as she whispered, "If you want everyone to read your article, the best way is to ban it!"

Students were naturally rebellious.

If it hadn't been banned, The Quibbler probably wouldn't have drawn that much attention.

But now that Umbridge had personally named it as forbidden reading, the students' rebellious instincts kicked in.

By lunchtime, even though no one had visibly seen a copy of The Quibbler around the school, every student was already talking about it.

News of Voldemort's return had started spreading through Hogwarts.

Moreover, the professors' actions seemed to silently acknowledge that Harry had done the right thing.

For example, when Harry handed Professor Sprout a watering can, she gave him twenty points.

Or when Professor Flitwick handed him a box of Screaming Sugar Mice at the end of Charms class, smiling from ear to ear.

They were all showing their approval.

This only added to the credibility of the article.

"Big comedy star, enjoying the spotlight, are you?" Malfoy appeared in front of Harry, using mocking words to sneer at him.

"Umbridge was right—you really are an attention-seeking show-off."

Ron shouted in anger, "What did you say!"

Malfoy responded by kicking Ron in the stomach, making him curl up like a shrimp.

He then grabbed Harry by the collar with both hands and slammed him against the wall, growling like a beast, "His death isn't your ticket to fame!"

"I warned you, Potter!"

This version of Malfoy was terrifying—no one could stop him.

It was the first time Harry realized Malfoy was actually this strong. He glared back furiously. "I never thought that! I just want everyone to know that Voldemort is back!"

"Don't say that name in front of me—Shut up!" Malfoy's arm pressed against Harry's throat, his face twisted with fury. "Stop pretending you're the savior of the world!"

"Malfoy!"

Professor McGonagall spotted them. Her face was pale, her lips tightly pressed together as she said sternly, "Put Potter down."

Malfoy didn't respond—until another voice rang out.

"Malfoy, put Harry Potter down."

Snape had arrived too. He swept a glance around the area, frowning. "Do you want to lose points?"

Harry could feel Malfoy's breathing growing heavier.

He was snorting like a bull, breathing loudly through his nose. At last, he released Harry and shoved him hard, causing Harry's head to bang against the wall.

Malfoy stormed off angrily through the crowd. No one dared to say a word, afraid to provoke the school bully.

...

Neville was panting, a black eye forming around his left eye. Malfoy looked the same.

The two had gone at each other with fists, and in the end, it was Neville who landed a punch to Malfoy's stomach that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Now the two of them were lying flat on the ground, gasping for air. John sat silently to the side, saying nothing.

"When are we finally getting revenge?!"

Malfoy shouted at the sky in frustration.

John rubbed the ring on his finger and said calmly, "Soon."

"I'm really not willing to accept this," Malfoy growled from his throat as he sat up. "Why—why was it Heinrich who died, and yet everyone only pays attention to Harry Potter?"

"Was his death so worthless? Is the so-called Savior that much more precious?"

What was written in The Quibbler repeated his death all over again, yet everyone was praising Harry Potter's bravery.

Heinrich Edgar's death was ignored.

It was as if the whole world was relieved that the one who died was some bad seed from a dark magic family, and not their beloved Savior.

They didn't even know Heinrich!

"I swear, if Harry Potter had died, there would be a massive funeral and everyone would be in mourning."

Frustrated, Malfoy stood up and punched the wall hard. Blood splattered from his knuckles, but he seemed to feel nothing.

His anger wasn't aimed at Harry—it was at the world that was secretly glad Heinrich was the one who died.

John stopped what he was doing and said calmly, "That's reality, Draco."

Yes.... Reality...

John stood and walked over to Neville. Neville, who had been silent this whole time, didn't say a word.

"I'm going to kill Voldemort," John looked at Neville, "Neville, I'm placing my hope in you."

Finding the Horcruxes was the key to killing Voldemort.

John was down to the last two—both still missing.

So, he needed Neville.

Neville had never felt such a heavy weight on his shoulders as he did today.

He didn't understand why John wanted him to search for that thing, but he knew—anything John said he would do, he would do.

If John said he was going to kill Voldemort, then he would.

It wasn't only the boy who lived who could save the world.

...

Little Hangleton.

Golden hair that had grown long was now greasy and unkempt, giving off a messy, oily look.

Footsteps echoed in the graveyard, and a wand emitted a faint, ghostly glow.

Arriving at the familiar place—once the site of a fatal delay—the masked figure stood silently for a long time on that scorched, irreparable land.

He stepped into the charred earth. The ground was dry, as if a black hole had swallowed all life from it.

He reached the center, and slowly lay down.

Stars dotted the night sky above. He slowly removed his mask.

The scent of burning still lingered in the air. He reached out and gently touched the earth, as if he could still feel the heat from that day.

"...So hot."

He sat up, revealing a face with blond hair and blue eyes.

Kim Ladislay.

As if afraid of disturbing someone, he spoke softly and gently, "It really was hot. So..."

"How did you have the courage… to walk into that?"

As he spoke, Kim gently lifted a piece of scorched earth with his fingers.

The scorched soil crumbled in his palm, slid past his fingertips, and scattered into the dust.

He stood up and looked toward the distant hillside, where a manor—clearly not one belonging to commoners—stood.

"The last place."

His eyes were filled with confusion, and he muttered, "I'm really afraid… afraid of failure."

He reached up and touched the badge on his chest. Even in its scorched state, it retained a trace of warmth, as if a hand were resting over his heart.

Kim began walking in that direction—toward his final target.

Before this, he had traveled to many places. Without exception, all of them had turned up nothing.

Even though he had dug through those places as if turning the earth inside out, he had never managed to find that item.

John had said—obtaining that thing was the key to success.

For this, even if it meant death, Kim wasn't afraid.

After all, he had witnessed things far more terrifying than death itself.

He wanted to forget, but that incident was branded into his mind, constantly reminding him.

The journey felt unbearably long.

From the graveyard to the hillside, the distance seemed endless.

But no matter how far the road, there would always be an end. And now, he stood before that manor.

The Riddle Manor.

The home of Tom Riddle's father.

_________

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