Hogwarts' John Wick

John Apparated next to Heinrich and tossed the unconscious body down.

"Who's this?" Heinrich asked, staring at Barty Crouch Jr.

John pulled off his mask, and his clothing reverted to his usual attire. "Take him back to Silverhand Manor first."

As a capable second-in-command, Heinrich didn't waste words. He squatted down, grabbed Barty Crouch Jr.'s hand, and with a wave of his wand, pop, they disappeared.

Heading back toward the woods, John ran into Hagrid.

"Thank goodness, John, you're safe!" Hagrid's face was full of lingering fear.

John patted him on the shoulder and said apologetically, "Sorry, Hagrid, I shouldn't have left without telling you."

If it had been anyone else, being abandoned in such a dangerous situation might have led to resentment or even a fallout.

But not Hagrid. He waved his hand generously and said, "You must've had something urgent to take care of, didn't you?"

This was why John liked being friends with Hagrid.

He never remembered your mistakes; he only focused on the good.

"Of course, Hagrid. In fact, I think I've got something you'll love."

John gave a mysterious smile.

Under Hagrid's surprised gaze, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, slightly dazed creature.

"Moo~?"

"Merlin's beard," Hagrid gasped, his eyes widening like saucers. His lips trembled, and he nervously wiped his hands on his coat.

"This little one... I've never seen anything like it before!"

The Snorkack shook its head, finally realizing it had been taken out of its cozy space.

It burrowed back into John's pocket to continue sleeping—it hadn't even woken up during its airborne journey.

John explained, "This is a new creature I... found. Hagrid, could you take care of it for a while? Just until school starts."

"Of course I can!" Hagrid nodded eagerly, worried John might think he wasn't enthusiastic.

"Do you know what species it belongs to?" Hagrid carefully took it from John's hand.

"Just call it a Snorekack.." John couldn't tell him that he 'made' this creature now, could he?

As a magical creatures enthusiast, Hagrid's favorite things were rare and unusual beasts.

Although a Snorkack wasn't exactly in the same league as dragons, when it sneezed and poofed onto Hagrid's shoulder, he was utterly captivated, his eyes practically glowing with excitement.

Then, a hint of worry crept across his face. "John, I've never cared for a Snorkack before."

"Don't worry. I don't know much about it either, which is why I need a magical creature expert to look after it, right?" John chuckled. After all, as his own creation, and he didn't know much about it himself.

Hagrid accepted it like a treasure, beaming with pride.

As dawn broke, John said his farewells to Hagrid and left, heading directly to Silverhand Manor.

...

Formerly known as the Shafiq Manor, the estate was now heavily guarded, with layers of magical defenses to ward off intruders.

Wearing his silver mask, John appeared at the entrance.

"Ah! Sir Silverhand!"

"Welcome back, Your Excellency!"

"Mn-hmm."

The guards greeted him with a mix of fervent admiration and reverence.

He made his way to the dungeons, where Heinrich was already waiting for him.

Heinrich stood there with his usual indifferent expression, while Kim tried to strike up a conversation with him. 

Tommy leaned closer to John and whispered, "Old Barty is in the study." 

John glanced into the dungeon, where the young man was bound and restrained. Even through the shimmering water mirror separating them, the madness etched on the man's face was unmistakable. 

John gave instructions to Tommy: "Ask Old Barty to come down." 

Tommy left to carry out the order. 

Turning his attention to Kim Ledislay, John offered a faint, knowing smile. "You've figured it out, haven't you?" 

Kim, composed and cheerful, responded with an easy smile, scratching his head. "Honestly, I've been curious about what you looked like from the start. Yesterday, I just happened to notice the ring." 

John felt a twinge of helplessness—his momentary lapse in vigilance had led to his cover being blown. 

Still, it was no big deal. Spreading his hands, John asked, "So, what now? You could sell the truth about Johnny Silverhand's identity and become rich overnight." 

"I'm not an idiot," Kim replied with a respectful bow. "Youth has always been a valuable asset. If Johnny Silverhand's power can make Knockturn Alley tremble, then the thought of a young John Wick is enough to send chills through the entire wizarding world." 

John chuckled, amused. Kim truly wasn't a fool—no wonder he had caught his eye. 

Jin had a point. Youth wasn't a weakness. If Johnny Silverhand's strength was rooted in his own abilities, then his age only amplified the fear he could inspire. 

Tap-tap-tap!

Old Barty Crouch arrived. 

After just one night, Old Barty looked as if he had suffered a devastating blow. 

His steps were unsteady as he was escorted into the room, where his eyes immediately fell on young Barty, restrained in the dungeon. 

A struggle flashed in his gaze as he approached John. With a heavy tone, he said, "Thank you, sir." 

He was referring to John's efforts in crushing the mob and bringing his son back. 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk~ I want to make you the Minister but my friend Barty, oh, what should I do~," John said, shaking his head with a sigh. "Your negligence nearly brought down everything you've worked for your entire life." 

"Women and children can afford to be careless, but we gentlemen cannot." 

Old Barty Crouch's face turned pale at the reprimand. His lips trembled slightly, but in the end, all he could manage was a weary sigh. 

"I'm sorry, sir. Perhaps it's because he was once my pride, my wife's dying wish, and the child she gave her life for.."

Old Barty said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He seemed to age another ten years as he spoke, his once-straight back now bent. "I used the Imperius Curse on him, tasked the elf to watch over him, and yet I still softened." 

His eyes reflected a swirl of emotions—resentment, pain, or perhaps both.

This man, who had once passed judgment on countless criminals and waged ruthless battles against Death Eaters, now appeared frail and weary. 

Time does not only age the body but also leaves deep scars on the soul. 

Sigh~

John stepped forward, grabbing Barty's shoulders and giving him a firm shake, forcing him to snap out of his despair. 

"Old Barty, leave this to me. I'll take care of him for you." 

Old Barty looked at his son through the shimmering water barrier. All he could see in those eyes was hatred. Eventually, whatever words he wanted to say dissolved into yet another sigh.

Old Barty left; there were still many matters requiring his attention.

John could see the complicated emotions Old Barty held toward young Barty, while the latter harbored nothing but simple, unadulterated hatred.

"Resentment, is it?" John stepped into the dungeon, his cold gaze fixed on young Barty. "Do you hate your father?"

"I no longer have a father! He said so himself!" Barty Jr. screamed hysterically.

He had been imprisoned for thirteen years, and subjected to the Imperius Curse for thirteen years!

Back during his trial, no matter how much he wept and pleaded, explaining that he hadn't tortured the Longbottoms, Old Barty had roared back those damning words: 'I have no son.'

From that day forward, Barty Crouch Sr. became the sole object of young Barty's hatred.

Bound hand and foot by chains, young Barty was helpless. John raised a hand, and the chains tightened, pulling him upright.

Grabbing his left arm, John pulled back the sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark.

At the sight of the mark, young Barty's eyes gleamed with fervor.

Only Voldemort—like young Barty—had been trapped under the shadow of his father's name.

In the endless days of his imprisonment, Barty Jr. had come to see Voldemort as a surrogate father, someone worth following.

"Lord Voldemort will return to this world!" he shouted fanatically, his face twisted with madness.

Tommy entered the room with a grim expression, but John stopped him from taking action.

John spoke softly to young Barty, "Do you know? Your father actually loves you." 

Young Barty sneered, his face full of disdain, showing no sign of caring. 

Looking at the Dark Mark, John asked Tommy, "This mark connects the Death Eaters to Voldemort, doesn't it?" 

Tommy nodded, though he didn't fully understand the purpose of the question. 

Fixing his gaze on the mark, John raised his hand and made a grasping motion in the air. 

The Silver Wick Sword materialized in his hand. 

Young Barty felt an inexplicable panic. When he saw the sword pointed at his left arm, he shouted, "What are you doing? Stop!" 

"Do you know," John said softly, "the Voldemort you follow—I've already killed him twice." 

"Huh.." Young Barty's pupils dilated in shock. 

In a flash of silver light, his left hand was severed at the base. 

"AaaaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!!"

A piercing scream echoed, muffled by the water barrier enclosing the dungeon. 

Young Barty's eyes bulged with rage, the veins in his neck popping as his face turned a furious red, his mouth agape in a soundless roar. 

The agony of losing his hand overwhelmed his mind, even shaking the fervent devotion he held for Voldemort. 

The scene left everyone stunned and unprepared. 

Tommy had anticipated that John might imprison young Barty, but he never imagined it would be this ruthless.

That was Barty Sr.'s son, after all.

And yet, John wasn't done. He pulled out his wand and, with an indifferent tone, said to young Barty, "Redi ad animam tuam."

Young Barty's convulsions ceased as his soul was forcibly dragged out of his body.

On his soul, there was a serpent-like mark—Voldemort's magic.

With a deft thrust of the wand, John pierced the soul and tore the mark away.

Flicking his wand, he transferred the mark onto the severed hand.

Carving a spell into the soul, John nodded in satisfaction and said, "Congratulations, you've been officially expelled from the Death Eaters."

Pressing the soul back into Barty Jr.'s body, John snapped his fingers, and the severed hand flew into the air before him.

With a wave of his wand, he conjured a box to store the hand. Muttering to himself, John said, "This might just be the bait to lure out Voldemort."

Casting a glance at the now despondent young Barty, John said calmly, "You're free to move around, but I trust you understand—there's no way out."

With a casual wave of his hand, the chains binding young Barty fell away.

John then left the dungeon with the other three in tow.

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Tommy asked, "My lord, are we really just going to leave him be?"

"Heh, what do you mean by that?" John scoffed. "Let him stay put. That's Barty Sr.'s son—we must ensure he's well cared for."

Heinrich's expression was one of fervent admiration, utterly enthralled by the display of soul magic he had just witnessed.

"..." Tommy, however, was speechless. "You cut off his hand and call that 'taking care of him'?"

John had etched an inescapable mark on Barty Jr. That was the real reason he'd unshackled him—there was simply no way for him to escape.

The severed hand was carefully preserved.

And John ensured Rita Skeeter wrote a detailed article praising Barty Crouch Sr.'s heroic leadership in resisting the mob from the previous night.

Of course, proper rewards were distributed as well—after all, you can't let your subordinates grow disheartened.

________

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