C7: Snape and the Top Student
The next day, John headed down to the dungeons for Potions class.
As soon as he took a seat near the front, a noticeable ring of empty space formed around him.
When the Gryffindors arrived, their eyes instinctively drifted toward him—John Wick stood out even when he wasn't trying.
Hermione and Neville both cast him worried glances. John shrugged slightly and returned a nonchalant look, as if to say: I'm fine.
Class began.
Snape strode in, robes billowing dramatically like a dark, greasy bat. The air seemed to shift as he passed, his black robes snapping behind him as though enchanted with a permanent breeze.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape said, pausing at the front with his arms folded, scanning the students like a vulture.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."
His voice dropped to a silky, dangerous whisper.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death…"
John curled his lip at the dramatics. If you could really do that, would Voldemort have needed Horcruxes?
His gaze drifted, and a translucent interface shimmered into view.
---
[Magic: Level 1 (20/100)]
[Magic: Alajo Cave Opens (Level 3)]
[Skills: Short Weapon Mastery (Lv. 7), Polearm Weapon Mastery (Lv. 6), Heavy Weapon Mastery (Lv. 3), Thermal Weapon Mastery (Lv. 1)]
[Blessings: Physical Fitness, Quick Attack, Precision]
---
According to his system's calculation, he could gain five points of magic each day just through physical training.
Maybe I can get some dumbbells for the dorm… he mused.
But his moment of distraction didn't go unnoticed.
Snape's cold black eyes locked onto him.
"Perhaps some of you believe that arriving at Hogwarts with a reputation and a hint of power makes you too important to pay attention in my class," Snape said, his voice sharp and accusing.
John looked up just as Malfoy smirked at him.
Expressionless, John slowly picked up his quill.
That one motion alone wiped the grin off Malfoy's face.
Snape, though clearly irritated by John, had another target in mind.
"Potter," he sneered, his tone heavy with contempt. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry blinked, confused. He glanced around helplessly.
"I—I don't know, sir."
Snape's lips curled. He ignored Hermione's raised hand.
"Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"…I don't know, sir."
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They're the same thing… aren't they?"
Harry's hesitant reply brought a flicker of disappointment to Snape's face, as if the Boy Who Lived had failed to live up to even the lowest expectations.
John chuckled under his breath. This really is that scene, he thought. Classic Snape's Three Questions.
Snape's sharp eyes snapped toward him.
"Mr. Wick," he said, voice colder than ice, "perhaps you would care to enlighten us with the answers since you find this exchange so amusing?"
A soft ding echoed in John's mind.
---
[Ding! Plot Mission Triggered: Answer Snape's Questions Successfully.]
[Reward: Blessing – Academic Master]
[Academic Master: Increases learning efficiency by 200% for 2 hours daily.]
---
No way, that counts as a mission too? John blinked but quickly refocused. Though he'd forgotten many details of the movie, the Three Questions were etched into his memory.
He rose to his feet and answered in a steady, calm voice:
"Powdered root of asphodel mixed with wormwood makes a sleeping potion so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death."
Snape's expression barely shifted.
"A bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat."
Still, no reaction, just narrowed eyes.
"Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite."
John gave a faint, respectful smile.
Silence fell across the classroom. Malfoy looked like someone had slapped him with a wet towel.
Snape's expression remained unreadable for a long moment before he finally said, "Sit down. Slytherin gains five points. Gryffindor loses five."
The class erupted in confused whispers.
John raised an eyebrow. Still docking Gryffindor just to balance the books, huh?
He sat, and the system prompt flashed again.
---
[Blessing Gained: Academic Master]
---
Snape's frustration was palpable. His mood only soured further when Malfoy stopped smirking and Crabbe and Goyle sat like stunned trolls.
Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors stared at John as if he'd just dropkicked a troll—silently amazed and slightly grateful.
After class, the Slytherins exited together in their usual clusters.
John walked alone.
---
At lunch in the Great Hall, John stared at the food with a complicated expression.
Roast beef, boiled potatoes—skin still on and sticky treacle tart.
After years in Britain, he still missed proper Chinese food.
Hermione approached as he jabbed at a potato with his fork like it had personally offended him.
"John… are you okay?" she asked softly.
John glanced up mid-battle with the potato and replied dryly, "Of course. Don't you see? They're all terrified of me."
Hermione didn't look reassured, but John decided to prove it by extending an olive branch sort of.
Spotting Malfoy passing by, he raised a hand. "Malfoy."
Malfoy paused, eyes narrowing.
"What do you want, Wick?" he said defensively, already stepping back.
"Say that again, and you'll visit the hospital wing," John said in a calm, friendly tone that made the threat all the more chilling.
He clapped Malfoy's shoulder. "Relax. We're classmates. No need for bad blood."
Then he turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Right?"
The two nodded rapidly like bobbleheads.
"See? Even they agree. Let's not make things harder than they have to be."
Malfoy scowled. "I don't need your peace offering. And don't think beating me in a sneak attack means anything. Wizards settle things with magic, not fists!"
John withdrew his hand with a smirk. "Great. Let's have a duel then. Wands only. Pick a time."
Malfoy paled. He still remembered the pain in his ribs.
Muttering something unintelligible, he turned tail and fled.
John sat back down and glanced at Hermione. "See? Totally under control."
Hermione blinked. "That… that counts as fine?"
Top students had strange logic.
She changed the subject and began discussing potion recipes.
John nodded vaguely and devoured his food skinless potatoes and all before making a quiet retreat.
He'd only memorized those three ingredients. The rest of the syllabus was still a fog.
Suddenly, dozens of owls swooped into the Hall. Neville received a Remembrall and promptly forgot what he was supposed to remember.
---
One great thing about Hogwarts, John thought, was the schedule: short classes, long breaks, and weekends off.
That Saturday, he was jogging laps around the Black Lake, carrying a head-sized boulder in his arms.
"It's nice seeing real growth numbers," he said, glancing at his stats panel again.
For him, training was like leveling up in a game but he never lost sight of the real dangers lurking.
He'd seen Quirrell in class pale, stuttering, reeking of garlic. A walking red flag.
In the movie, Voldemort's literally stuck on the back of his head, John thought grimly.
He hadn't recognized him in the Leaky Cauldron, but now there was no mistaking it.
"How does Voldemort even stand that stench?" he muttered.
John might not remember every plot point, but he knew this: Quirrell was trouble.
"I need to get stronger. Fast."
He tossed the boulder aside and stared at his sweat-drenched robes.
Maybe Hagrid can help me find some training gear.
---
By the second week of school, another iconic part of Hogwarts life had arrived:
Flying lessons.
---