Hogwarts' John Wick

"Quidditch World Cup?"

Reading Fleur's letter, John remembered he still had the tickets sent by Barty Crouch.

"André!"

A commotion arose from downstairs, likely Uncle André accidentally angering Mrs. Wick.

Since returning from his trip to America, John had noticed that Mrs. Wick had somehow acquired a cookbook claiming to be written by a master chef.

She'd been fervently working on improving her culinary skills ever since.

Uncle André tried to help, but every time he did, he made things worse.

John's father, Watson Wick, had mostly sorted out his own affairs—except for the peculiar rumors spreading outside. Apparently, there was talk of some mysterious "London underworld boss" tied to the Wick family.

What nonsense was that?

Whatever it was, it had somehow been resolved, but now Watson was on the verge of becoming London's new underground king.

This had caused Watson quite a bit of grief.

Every time he got frustrated, Uncle Seryozha would hand him a shot of vodka, urging him to forget all his troubles.

London's power dynamics had undergone a complete upheaval. Every big shot stepping outside seemed ready to shove their head into their trousers in fear.

One day, a Romani wanderer-turned-mob boss approached Watson, hoping he could help his son.

The man's son was the one who had killed Fain Wallace, and Shaun Wallace had been hunting them down like a madman.

From the evidence the Romani mob boss presented, however, it appeared there was someone else pulling the strings behind the scenes.

The mastermind had spent just 20,000 to take down a highly renowned figure.

Life was truly fragile.

Watson was on the phone with Shaun Wallace, discussing something about the investors.

By the end of the call, Watson was so furious he nearly smashed his phone. In contrast, the Jovanovich brothers remained completely calm.

None of this had much to do with John. He trusted his uncles to handle it. For now, his focus was on advertising for Johnny Silverhand's store.

Yes, don't think the wizarding world doesn't have advertising.

The upcoming Quidditch World Cup was an excellent opportunity for promotion.

John leveraged his connections to secure an ad spot from Barty Crouch.

The local Ministry of Magic was in a bit of chaos at the moment. The Minister of Magic position was vacant, leaving the responsibility for the World Cup to fall squarely on Barty Crouch.

As the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, this was his chance to rebuild his prestige—provided he managed the event flawlessly.

Johnny Silverhand's store's sponsorship came at the perfect time. John also offered discounted prices on small merchandise.

The task of arranging the advertisements was handed over to Mundungus Fletcher. While Fletcher had a reputation for being slippery, that was precisely the kind of person needed to deal with Ministry officials.

Meanwhile, John summoned Tommy to his office and assigned him a different task.

"A betting pool?"

Hearing John's plan to set up a betting pool, Tommy was a bit surprised. "Although it's never been done openly, there are plenty of secret ones already."

"Exactly. I believe many would jump at the chance to make some money during such a lively Quidditch match."

John smiled lightly and said, "Of course, the premise is that we know the outcome."

"My lord, you mean…?"

Tommy instinctively glanced at the crystal ball on the desk.

John nodded and replied mysteriously, "Control the odds properly. This will be a significant windfall."

Inside the crystal ball, the Irish team was shown lifting the trophy.

Tommy immediately understood how massive this opportunity was.

With tens of thousands—potentially over a hundred thousand—people watching the Quidditch World Cup every year, if each person bet even a Galleon, the total would be astronomical.

This required someone trustworthy to handle it. Tommy took a team of subordinates and headed to the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

It could have been done secretly, but there was no need for that.

Allowing a small portion of the profits to leak out would save a lot of trouble.

That kind of money wasn't something John cared about.

The approval process was surprisingly fast. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was absolutely thrilled when he heard about the betting pool.

He even subtly inquired if there could be any discounts for officials placing bets.

"Ludo Bagman is a compulsive gambler," Tommy reported back after his meeting, shaking his head. "He's already lost everything he owns and still can't resist betting. He used to be the best Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, but now his belly could fit a barrel of ale."

"You know him?" John picked up on something different in Tommy's tone.

Tommy hesitated for a moment before answering honestly, "I used to be a fan of the Wimbourne Wasps. Back then, I worked alongside Oz and Lippy for the Ministry of Magic."

As he reminisced, a trace of melancholy appeared on Tommy's face.

If not for the incident where he was bitten by a werewolf, he might still be struggling for a promotion in the Ministry of Magic.

During this visit to the Ministry, he had also run into his old friends, Oz Hild and Lippy Cobble. They were still stuck in the same positions, which left Tommy feeling both nostalgic and wistful.

John, without lifting his gaze from the Ministry documents he was reading, commented, "You can catch up with your friends properly. There's no need for you to hide anymore, is there?"

Tommy froze for a moment.

After confirming the documents were correct, John set them aside and looked at the still-dazed Tommy. With mild exasperation, he said, "Don't tell me you spent an entire day there and didn't even try to meet up with them?"

Embarrassed, Tommy scratched his head, his expression sheepish, making him look like an awkward, bashful young man.

Stepping into the fireplace, John glanced at Tommy and added, "I don't mind if you have your own friends, Tommy. Everyone has their social circles. I don't need to control everything."

With that, blue flames engulfed John, and he vanished from the office.

"I..."

In the silence that followed, Tommy's mind wandered to a bright, cheerful face from his past. Once, they had been inseparable. Before the werewolf attack, he had never imagined they could ever be apart.

Once filled with lofty ambitions, now wasting away in the Ministry of Magic.

Tommy made up his mind. He walked out of the Silverhand Exclusive Shop, not even noticing when one of his subordinates called out to him.

He headed to a nearby flower shop and, somewhat awkwardly, purchased a bouquet.

"It's been so long since we've met. Bringing a gift is the least I can do," he muttered to himself.

...

Recently, Dudley had started dieting.

John often spotted him jogging along Privet Drive.

Whenever Dudley passed by the Wick family's house, he ran as though a dog were chasing him.

Besides the eyeball that Watson had found while mowing the lawn a few days ago, John figured it probably had something to do with his four intimidating uncles.

By now, the Dursley family had fully convinced themselves that the Wicks were no different from the notorious big shots they'd seen in movies.

After all, they had personally witnessed several ominous-looking men step out of a line of cars parked in front of the house during the last holiday.

Men who looked like they belonged in prison.

Harry's treatment at the Dursleys' had significantly improved. Uncle Vernon no longer roared at him without reason. Occasionally, he would instinctively yell, but then he'd panic and awkwardly apologize afterward.

Even Aunt Petunia no longer wore her perpetual frosty expression.

One day, when Aunt Petunia handed him some new clothes she had bought for him, Harry genuinely thought someone had cast the Imperius Curse on her.

His room was no longer locked, and he didn't have to sneak around to do his homework.

However, due to Dudley's diet, Harry was now forced to join him in eating vegetables.

Harry, who had been eating nothing but vegetables for a month, was utterly miserable. He wrote letters to his friends, hoping they might send him something tasty to eat.

Of course, the key was making sure Dudley didn't find out.

Dudley couldn't control his cravings these days. On a few occasions, he had "sleepwalked" into the kitchen, only to find the fridge completely empty, leaving him on the verge of tears.

Harry had suggested that Dudley try visiting John's place, where there was bound to be plenty of delicious food.

Dudley was tempted, but his childhood trauma quickly resurfaced.

Shaking his head, he firmly refused to go. Back when they were kids, three children had stolen John's dumplings, and John had promptly pinned one of them down and performed the infamous "disappearing pencil trick" on his hand.

That incident left Dudley deeply scarred.

For a while, he had nightmares about pencils chasing him, even insisting on sleeping in his parents' bed for an entire week.

Harry had also been writing letters more frequently, most of them addressed to Sirius.

He could never run out of things to say to his godfather.

Because of this, Hedwig's previously plump frame had become noticeably slimmer.

Basil, on the other hand, loved to perch by the window and sneer at the busy Hedwig flying back and forth.

If it weren't for the window separating them, the two snowy owls would undoubtedly have fought.

As Harry waited with eager anticipation, his birthday finally arrived.

Hagrid, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius each sent Harry a large cake.

On the day Harry was joyfully celebrating, however, John sat silently, staring at the Daily Prophet in his hands.

The atmosphere around him was unnervingly quiet.

"The Ministry lost Peter Pettigrew?"

John looked up at Piers.

Piers, trembling with fear, replied, "A week after being sent to Azkaban, Peter Pettigrew vanished without a trace."

"He escaped. A rat through and through," John said flatly, setting the newspaper down.

He should have seen this coming. If Sirius could escape, then so could Peter Pettigrew.

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