Hogwarts’ John Wick

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"John, do you know why the Abraxans have been shedding feathers excessively lately?"

Madame Maxime had been quite worried recently because something was wrong with her horses.

It was unclear whether it was due to fighting over mates or depression, but the Abraxans were shedding feathers like crazy.

Initially, it wasn't noticeable, but now their wings and manes had visibly bald patches.

Not even single malt whisky could cheer them up anymore.

Fleur cast a suspicious glance at John, who had been behaving well since his arrival.

Though there was no evidence, a woman's intuition told her that John Wick was somehow involved.

"Abraxans? You mean those giant horses?" John asked with a look of surprise and astonishment. "I have no idea. I've been busy studying alchemy books lately."

To prove his point, John produced his reading list.

It was filled with alchemical literature.

As a magical school with a history of seven hundred years, Beauxbatons had no shortage of valuable texts, comparable to Hogwarts.

In fact, thanks to Nicolas Flamel, a renowned alchemist, Beauxbatons had an even richer collection of alchemical writings, perhaps more than Hogwarts.

Among them were books written by Flamel himself, which John found incredibly beneficial.

"Is that so?" Fleur hesitated.

The reading list made her think John was innocent, yet something still felt off.

Fleur left, still somewhat doubtful.

After she departed, John waited nearly an hour before leaving the library himself.

He carefully returned the books to their places and rubbed his tired temples.

He hadn't used the "Academic Scholar 2.0" yet, as he wanted to save it for a more critical moment.

Like when he entered Nicolas Flamel's alchemy room.

Yes, Nicolas Flamel's alchemy room.

Following the clues provided by Dumbledore, John had spent several nights using the most basic methods to search around the Flamel fountain, tapping and knocking.

Finally, he found the entrance to a secret room at the fountain's base.

It was an alchemy room!

Filled with numerous notes and materials related to alchemy.

One diary-like item revealed that the owner of this room was none other than the famous Nicolas Flamel himself.

This room was one Flamel had used when he was a student at Beauxbatons, and all the notes were written by him.

John delved into this treasure trove voraciously. Though the young Nicolas Flamel had some naive ideas, they were perfect for a beginner in alchemy like John.

Besides the notes, the greatest surprise was the diary.

John took out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing in the diary.

"Dear Nicolas, I'm John Wick, I have some questions about alchemy that I hope you can help me with."

After writing that line, John continued to describe the difficulties he had encountered.

When he finished writing, it seemed as if an invisible pen was moving beneath his writing.

Beautiful handwriting appeared on the diary:

"Of course, dear John. You might find the answer to your question in the seventh notebook from the left on the third shelf. I hope it helps."

Upon seeing the writing, John quickly stood up and went to the mentioned bookshelf.

In the seventh notebook from the left on the third shelf, he found notes on how to sublimate and refine a substance.

This discovery delighted John, and he quickly wrote a response in the diary to express his gratitude.

"Thank you, Nicolas, you've been a great help."

"You're welcome."

This was an incredibly magical diary, which he could also call "Nicolas's Encyclopedia."

Nicolas Flamel had created this book, recording his alchemical insights, and placed it on the shelf, making it an intelligent index.

There were other items with similar abilities to retain the emotions and personality of their original owner. For example, the portraits on the walls of Hogwarts could retain some of the personality and wisdom of their subjects, although they might not have many functions.

And "Nicolas's Encyclopedia" was far beyond the existence of a mere portrait; John even felt like Nicolas Flamel resided within it.

However, reason told him that this was impossible.

With this book and the room full of volumes, John's alchemical skills improved rapidly at Beauxbatons.

He even used the feathers from the Abraxans to create a pair of shoes that allowed him to fly. These shoes were somewhat slower than a broomstick but offered significantly greater agility.

He also successfully added a permanent directional charm to the badges, ensuring that wherever they were, the nine badges would always point to each other.

Like stars guarding the moon, they pointed out each other's direction.

John planned to keep one badge for himself and give the remaining eight to others.

To become the next Dumbledore, he couldn't fight alone.

Even Dumbledore didn't fight alone; he had the Order of the Phoenix and the vast network of connections through Hogwarts and its community.

John needed connections to solidify his position, and maintaining those relationships required the help of the badges.

He aimed to form a society or have a team that would follow his lead.

He already had someone in mind for the first badge.

Connections.

This was what John lacked the most. Coming from a Muggle family, he didn't have the innate connections of a pureblood family, nor the network of a half-blood wizard family with their parents and classmates.

What he could do was surround himself with powerful allies.

This strong ally could be a genius wizard, someone with a strong family background, or someone with a character that would never betray a friend.

John spent all night in the alchemy room, returning to his dormitory to sleep for two hours before dawn.

It was during the holiday, so no one would care if he was slacking off.

In fact, some people felt that the area seemed quieter without the presence of the black-haired boy.

...

"John, perhaps we could go see the Quidditch World Cup group matches."

After a month of getting to know each other, Fleur had become quite friendly with John.

Despite being three years older than John, Fleur didn't see the black-haired boy as a child.

John's every action mirrored those of peers her own age, and he often seemed even more mature than the boys in her year.

"The Quidditch World Cup group matches? That could be interesting."

John waved his wand lightly, and the books on the table flew back to the shelves automatically.

He hadn't expected Fleur to be a Quidditch fan, but it wasn't surprising. After all, who didn't like Quidditch?

The Quidditch World Cup was held every four years. Any country could form a team and register within 12 months after the end of the previous finals.

The last World Cup was in 1990, a time when John had not yet started school.

There were still two years until the next World Cup, and the group matches were already in full swing.

"You said the group matches are in Bulgaria. How are we going to get there?" John asked, watching as Fleur flashed a bright smile.

"I know a place where we can get a Portkey. It only costs three Galleons, and it will take us straight to Bulgaria," Fleur replied.

It's true that wizards have a much easier time traveling compared to Muggles. With a Portkey, a whole family can travel to different parts of the world in a short time.

John, curious about Portkeys, agreed immediately after hearing this.

Fleur cheered, her silver hair brushing against John's cheek. She looked like a happy little girl, exclaiming, "I've always wanted to travel without adults."

Seeing Fleur's lively demeanor, John thought she might get along well with the students in Gryffindor.

They didn't need to bring much, and they used Floo Powder to travel to the hidden wizarding area in Paris.

This hidden place was like Diagon Alley, a wizard shopping district.

Led by Fleur, they turned and twisted through the streets until they finally found the Portkey in a small alley at the corner of a plaza.

The Portkey's owner was a man wearing a fisherman's hat and a shabby brown trench coat.

He was unkempt, with a scruffy beard, and he occasionally let out a drunken burp. The strong smell of alcohol made it seem like he had spent the night sleeping in a barrel of wine.

John leaned in close to Fleur and whispered, "Are you sure this guy is trustworthy? He won't drop us in the middle of nowhere, will he?"

Fleur, feeling a bit uncertain herself, responded with a somewhat shaky tone, "Probably, maybe, should be fine, right?"

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