Hogwarts’ John Wick

79: Uncle’s Gift and Cat Girl Hermione

John's "unsociable" behavior had become quite common in Slytherin.

It was rare to see John at dinner, and even the Christmas feast was no exception.

By the time John arrived, the feast was already over.

But as soon as he sat down, a golden plate in front of him would produce a steaming hot roast turkey, along with potatoes and bread.

"Thank you," he said softly, unsure if the house-elves working in the kitchen could hear him.

Because he often missed dinner, John had become quite familiar with the house-elves in the kitchen.

They always left a portion for him during dinner, and today was no different.

He cut a slice from the turkey, spread the last of his spices on the bread, and took a bite of the turkey sandwich. John closed his eyes in satisfaction.

After finishing his meal, John returned to the Slytherin dungeon.

Malfoy was in a rage. When he saw John, he warily asked, "Are you really John?"

John was confused. "Of course I am."

"Prove it!"

Malfoy looked like a little boy who had just been tricked out of his candy, holding his wand in hand.

If John couldn't provide proof, Malfoy was ready to make the person who tricked him pay.

John thought for a moment and then gestured for Malfoy to come closer.

Still wary of John, Malfoy approached slowly.

When he was close enough, John's left hand moved like a viper, catching Malfoy off guard. He twisted Malfoy's hand holding the wand, causing it to drop to the floor.

Immediately after, John grabbed Malfoy by the collar with his right hand and effortlessly lifted him off the ground.

"I believe you! I believe you!"

Malfoy, struggling to breathe, quickly patted John's hand in surrender. 

"See? That wasn't so hard," John said as he released his grip, causing Malfoy to fall back onto the floor with a thud. John then moved to sit down on a nearby couch, where Tom, who was always running around the Slytherin common room, jumped up next to him, seeking attention.

"Cough, cough... There were two people disguised as Goyle and Crabbe," Malfoy said, completely convinced now. He knew that no one else in Hogwarts, apart from John, could possess such strength.

He growled angrily, "If I find out who it was, I'll make them regret it with some nasty curses!"

"Disguised as Goyle and Crabbe? Could it be Polyjuice Potion?" John mused.

John patted Tom's head, and the dog, feeling content, sprawled out on the floor.

He thought about the trio—Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Besides them, no one else would likely pull such a stunt.

"So? How did they manage to trick you? What did you tell them?" John, knowing the answer, was curious about what the trio had asked.

It was probably something about the Heir, considering they'd been suspecting Malfoy all along.

Malfoy hesitated for a moment before saying, "I did most of the talking."

"...Draco, you really need to work on that habit," John said, exasperated. He couldn't believe Malfoy had just handed over information without being asked.

Feeling embarrassed, Malfoy shifted the blame, taking out his frustration on Goyle and Crabbe.

"I-It's all your fault for coming back so late."

"We just had some cake and then passed out," Goyle and Crabbe replied, sounding equally frustrated. John shook his head and patted Tom's head, signaling for him to get up.

"Alright, let's leave it at that."

As John got up to return to his dorm, Malfoy called out to him just before he left.

"John, they also asked about you."

"Me?" John responded, surprised.

John was taken aback for a moment, and Malfoy nodded. "I told them you often disappear, and no one knows where you go."

'Are they suspicious of me?' John thought it was unlikely. After all, he was a pure Muggle-born wizard.

He figured Harry had probably asked offhandedly, just curious about what his life was like in Slytherin.

Not giving it much thought, John returned to his dorm room.

Now that he had some free time, he could finally deal with the mountain of Christmas gifts.

Most of them were from his pen pals—maintaining relationships was important, after all. John or Johny Silverhand had sent out quite a few gifts for Christmas as well.

He opened one from Neville, which contained a beautiful glass orb. When placed near a candle, it projected stars.

Hermione had sent a finely crafted quill, Ron had sent a wizard's chess set, and Harry had sent a book on Quidditch.

His mother had sent a pair of cufflinks, and his father had sent a wizard's hat—made by Muggles, by the look of it, and handcrafted.

In his father's letter, Watson Wick had subtly hinted that John could bring back a Golden Snitch for him. It seemed the Quidditch book John had brought home during the summer had piqued his father's interest.

Mrs. Wick's letter was more straightforward: "Tell your father to go to hell. Don't listen to him."

After opening most of the gifts, John turned his attention to the last one.

The address on it made him pause—it was from his relatives.

He opened the gift and found a letter inside.

He picked it up and scanned it:

"My dearest Tiger cub, I hope this gift finds you well.

It's unfortunate that you couldn't come home for Christmas this year, but perhaps it's for the best—things have been rather chaotic here lately.

The situation is unstable, and your uncles have been affected as well. Your father is getting older as the manager, yet some people still try to drag him into the ground-related matters of The Continental.

Naturally, I've driven those scoundrels away—from the background of course. These heartless men wanted to squeeze out the last bit of value they could.

But enough about that.

Do you remember that brown bear? Its cubs have grown, and they're even stronger than their mother.

I really hope you can come see them next year. I still haven't taken you hunting.

Love, your uncle,

Seryozha Chovanovich."

Tiger Cub—only his maternal grandfather's family called him by that name.

The letter was sent by his uncle to his home, and then Mrs. Wick forwarded it to him.

A trace of nostalgia flickered in John's eyes.

Though his uncles were rough and loved to wrestle with bears, they genuinely cared for him.

Even though it had been a long time since he last visited, his uncles still made sure to send him gifts.

"I wonder what Uncle sent this time," John thought, feeling a mix of curiosity and anticipation as he opened the gift, which was about the size of a book.

After tearing off the white polka-dotted wrapping paper, a sleek black box was revealed.

John carefully opened the box, revealing something matte black lying quietly inside.

"!?"

Seeing the item inside, John fell into deep thought.

He maintained his position, then, refusing to believe what he was seeing, he closed the box and opened it again.

Yes, the contents remained unchanged.

With an expressionless face, he picked up the item.

The comfortable grip was a bit large for a child, but since John had developed faster than most kids, it fit him well enough.

The synthetic material of the grip, the matte black finish that wouldn't give away its position due to light reflection, the overall lightweight build, the 9mm caliber, an effective range of 50 meters, and a magazine capacity of 17 rounds.

"No way..."

That's right.

It was a gun.

His uncle had sent him a handgun.

John thought that either he had gone mad or that his eldest uncle's thought process was entirely different from a normal person's.

"Hmm... The idea of a wizard using a gun?"

There weren't many bullets in the box—just 17 rounds.

It seemed like his uncle didn't want to encourage too much violence... Or not! 

What kind of person gives a child a handgun? And he was only twelve years old, for crying out loud.

"Uncle, you're way too hardcore."

Silently, John put the gun back in the box and decided to seal it away.

On the second day of Christmas, John heard that Hermione had been hospitalized, so, being a caring friend, he went to visit her.

When he arrived at the school hospital wing, he was greeted by a very furry face.

Rubbing his eyes, John looked again, only to see that the face was now covered by a pair of hands.

"Stop looking, John, just leave!" Hermione cried out, covering her face in embarrassment.

"Hermione.. I know you are a good student and you like Professor McGonagall.. But," With a strange expression, John asked, "Are you so obsessed with Professor McGonagall that you want to become a cat?"

Why didn't he remember that Hermione's Transfiguration reached this level?

"John!" Hermione became even more embarrassed.

She had intended to transform into Millicent Bulstrode, with whom she had engaged in close combat at the Dueling Club. However, since Millicent owned a cat, Hermione had accidentally gotten her hands on some cat hair instead, leaving her too mortified to show her face.

"Pfft.. Hey~ pff.. cat's meow, they don't talk.."

John struggled to hold back his laughter.

"Johnn shut up! Stop behaving like a child and go!" Hermione tried to shoo him out.

"Ha.. pft.. Fu~ Alright.. Alright! Well, it's pretty cute, isn't it."

John even had the urge to rub the cat's head, but considering that he might be bitten by the future Minister of Magic, he held back.

Before Hermione could throw a pillow at him, John pulled out his wand and conjured a curtain to provide her some privacy.

"Hope you recover soon. Oh, and by the way, could you pass me the badge under your pillow?"

John had left the badge under Harry's pillow last time and had completely forgotten about it. Since Hermione was on the same bed as Harry had the previous night, it seemed the badge had stayed there.

John couldn't help but wonder—don't they ever wash these things?

Concerned about the hygiene of the school hospital, John retrieved his badge. Hermione looked puzzled, so John casually explained, "Last time when Harry got hit by a Bludger, I wanted to find out who was behind it. Seems like the heir wasn't after him."

 "Okay."

Speaking of the heir, Hermione felt a little guilty, and they turned into Slytherins to ask Malfoy and even suspected him even though John had vouched for him.

After saying goodbye to Hermione, John left the school hospital Wing.

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