C8: Flight and Duel
At precisely three o'clock, Madame Hooch laid out a line of old broomsticks on the ground before the gathered first-years.
Dressed sharply in her Quidditch referee robes and carrying a whistle, she stood authoritatively before the crowd of excited and nervous young wizards.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, 'Up!'" she commanded crisply.
John observed quietly, hands behind his back. He wasn't in a rush, he knew Harry Potter was the main event here.
Across from him, Neville Longbottom's broom shot straight up into the air with him clinging desperately after a misstep. "Come down this instant!" Madame Hooch shouted, but it was too late.
Neville soared uncontrollably into the sky, zig-zagging wildly above the courtyard before finally plummeting.
Though the fall was slowed by a protective charm, he crashed onto the grass with a cry, clearly injured. Madame Hooch knelt beside him, quickly examining his arm. "Broken wrist. No more flying lessons today, none of you move while I take him to the hospital wing!" she ordered, lifting Neville with a spell and striding briskly away.
The students from both houses were left behind in awkward silence.
Malfoy suddenly bent down and picked up Neville's Remembrall. He sneered. "Looks like Longbottom forgot how to fly." Holding the glass orb mockingly, he turned toward Harry. "Want it, Potter? Come and get it."
This challenge sparked a chase through the air, one that ended with Harry catching the Remembrall in a spectacular dive—mere inches from the ground.
Unbeknownst to him, Professor McGonagall had seen it all. Eyes wide with amazement, she promptly whisked Harry away—not for punishment, but to introduce him to Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain. "We've found ourselves a Seeker," she said with quiet excitement.
Meanwhile, John remained behind. He hadn't intervened. Partly because he trusted Harry could handle it, and partly because he was still struggling with his own broom.
After several wobbly attempts, he finally managed to get airborne.
Hermione, ever the rule-follower, warned him sharply. "John Wick, don't you dare break the rules like those two!"
But she was too late, he was already off the ground, teetering like a newborn hippogriff.
After a few tense seconds, his posture steadied.
> [Ding! Received Blessing: Pilot]
[Pilot]: Enhances broom speed and control.
John blinked. "Seriously?"
Within moments, he was gliding through the air confidently, wind tugging at his robes as he darted across the courtyard.
Professor Snape, passing by, caught a glimpse. He narrowed his eyes, snorted in disdain, and turned sharply on his heel.
Since ancient times, the desire to fly has burned in human hearts.
Now that he had mastered it, John flew until the end of class, reluctant to come down.
That evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, John was cornered by Malfoy, who flanked himself with Crabbe and Goyle.
Straightening with mock arrogance, Malfoy declared, "Wick! Midnight. Trophy room. Duel. Unless you're afraid."
With a dramatic flip of his robes, he strutted away like he'd won a duel already.
John watched him leave with mild amusement. "Has this kid been listening to too much Liang Jingru? That's some blind courage."
Of course, John knew the real issue—cleaning the trophy room was his punishment duty.
Later that night, with a bag of cat food gifted by Mrs. Wick, he headed there as usual.
Mrs. Norris was already at the door. Her lamp-like red eyes fixed on him as she gave a soft meow.
John, by now familiar with her, knelt and opened the food. She purred, brushing his leg.
Once he'd finished cleaning the dusty silver and gold trophies, he scooped her into his lap and began combing her matted fur with a pocket comb.
She purred louder in delight.
Filch was likely off hunting night-time rulebreakers again. Knowing John was reliable, he had stopped supervising him.
Leaning back against the wall, John mused aloud, "Let's see what Malfoy's really planning."
At half-past eleven, instead of Malfoy, whispers echoed down the corridor.
In walked Harry, Ron, Hermione and a wild-eyed Neville, who'd apparently forgotten the Gryffindor common room password and had been locked out for hours.
They froze when they saw John already inside.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, brow furrowed.
John raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy set you up. Do I look like his sidekick?"
Harry paused, then nodded slowly. "That… makes sense."
Ron muttered, "Typical Slytherin trick... No offense, John."
By now, John's early-year duel with three older students had become legend. Even Gryffindors liked him.
The Weasley twins were convinced the Sorting Hat had suffered dust damage that day. They even brewed magical detergent to wash it.
Before more could be said, a gravelly voice echoed through the corridor. "Students out of bed? I'll have them hung by their toes!"
Filch.
John's eyes sharpened. "So that was Malfoy's plan—get you caught."
Harry's face paled. "We have to run!"
Hermione and Neville each grabbed one of John's arms and dragged him into the hall.
"No time to explain!" Hermione huffed.
John sighed but followed, catching Neville mid-stumble as they sprinted through the dark corridors.
Mrs. Norris yowled, and Filch's footsteps drew closer.
"Traitor," John grumbled under his breath. "So much for all that cat food."
They ran, ducking around corners until they reached the corridor near the Charms classroom.
Panting and breathless, the four Gryffindors leaned against the cold wall.
John stood calmly, unbothered.
Strength vs. Magic. Round two. Strength wins.
Hermione wheezed, "I—told—you—not—to—come!"
Harry groaned. "Malfoy set us up."
Ron fumed. "Filthy little snake... Not you, John."
But things were never that simple at Hogwarts.
Suddenly, a door creaked open and Peeves the Poltergeist floated out, cackling madly.
Harry gasped. "Peeves! Please! Don't tell Filch!"
"Oh, but I must! It's for your own good!" Peeves sing-songed.
Ron lunged at him, but Peeves just laughed harder.
John's fists clenched. Peeves always needed a good exorcism.
When Peeves spotted John, he recoiled slightly. Even Peeves remembered the terrifying student who once stared down the Bloody Baron.
John made a cutting gesture across his throat—a silent threat.
Peeves wasn't sure what it meant, but it gave him pause.
They reached the end of the corridor and found a locked door.
Ron whimpered. "We're done for."
John stepped forward, wand already out. "Alohomora."
With a click, the door swung open.
They all slipped inside, closed it quickly, and listened as Filch argued with Peeves down the hall.
John turned—and froze.
Three enormous heads glared at them, drool dripping from monstrous jaws.
Fluffy, the three-headed dog.
John's voice trembled. "Harry. Hermione. Ron. Neville. You really need to see this."
They turned—and nearly screamed.
Compared to this, Filch was a kitten.
Without hesitation, John yanked the door open and barked, "RUN!"
He dragged Neville behind him, the others bolting in sheer panic.
Bang!
The door slammed shut just as the beast lunged.
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