Hogwarts’ John Wick

107: Silverhand Angel Investment

As the head of the household, Vernon reluctantly stepped forward and carefully said, "It was Marge. We accidentally brought up some things about Harry's parents."

"Accidentally?" John glanced at him.

Vernon quickly corrected himself, "There may have been some... unpleasant words involved."

He cautiously looked at John's face, but saw no sign of anger.

John sighed. No wonder Harry was so upset.

In Harry's mind, his parents were perfect and the best people. Today, under those circumstances, he was provoked and unknowingly released magic, causing Marge to inflate.

And it was wandless magic, which only confirmed John's theory that magic is closely tied to emotions.

John sat on the sofa, tapping his fingers on the armrest.

As the Dursleys watched in fear, everything that had been thrown into chaos earlier seemed to be tidily restored, as if by invisible hands.

John's gaze turned deep as he looked at Vernon and calmly said, "It seems you have some misunderstandings about wizards."

Vernon wanted to deny it, but seeing John's eyes, he decided to stay silent.

Leaning his head back on the sofa, John said coldly, "You seem to think wizards are nothing more than street magicians, playing cheap tricks to fool people."

"Wrong," John said calmly. "With just a flick of a wand, a wizard can easily demolish a house or send your car careening off a cliff."

Vernon gasped, staring at John with wide eyes. His voice trembled as he asked, "But students aren't allowed to perform magic outside of school, right?"

"Yes, and no."

John chuckled softly. "It's not unheard of for students to drop out of Hogwarts. Do you think that once a wizard leaves school, they cease to be a wizard?"

He stared directly into Vernon's beady eyes, enunciating each word slowly: "Mr. Dursley, I'm not trying to scare you. But you're provoking Harry, pushing him down a path that could turn him into a murderer."

"Gasp!" Vernon's mind buzzed with panic. He had never liked Harry, but he hadn't realized things could be this serious.

"Today, if Harry had been less rational, you might not have lived long enough for me to arrive. Life is fragile. Why would you provoke a wizard with such a terrible attitude? You could have been good family to him."

At the mention of "family," Petunia Dursley squeezed Vernon's hand tightly. Harry was her sister's child. 

When Voldemort killed Harry's parents, she had lost her sister too.

Though she had always envied her sister's magical abilities, Petunia had never considered abandoning Harry. 

Now, hearing John's words, conflicting emotions surfaced, making her realize the gravity of her actions. 

Vernon, drenched in cold sweat, was shaken to his core. Yes, when Harry had pointed the wand at him earlier, he had felt as if his heart might stop beating.

"That's all I have to say, Mr. Dursley. Sorry for the disturbance."

Seeing that they had finally understood the need to change their attitude toward Harry, John stood up and left the Dursley household.

On his way back, John once again spotted the large black dog.

He sighed internally, 'Really? After I just gave you some fish snacks, you're back again?'

He took out his last fish snacks, placed them on the ground, and fiddled with the now-empty tin. "That's it, no more."

The big black dog stared at John for a moment before approaching and gobbling up the fish treats.

John gave the dog a pat on the head and headed home.

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Sirius Black, in his animagus form, had observed the scene clearly. This guy was one of Harry's friends... a very good friend.

Chewing on the last bits of fish snacks, Sirius mulled over how he could capture that traitor.

...

There was less than a month of summer vacation left.

John lightly nudged the crystal ball, and it rolled off the desk and onto the floor.

Tom, noticing this, immediately dashed over, attempting to pick up the ball with his—her mouth.

"It seems young wizards are quite enthusiastic, after all," John mused, eyeing the growing pile of letters on his desk—all addressed to the generous "Johnny Silverhand."

The Little Wizards Foundation, besides covering the cost of Wolfsbane Potion for young wizards cursed with lycanthropy until they come of age, still had a large portion of its funds unused.

Now, with the "Johnny Silverhand" store bringing in a steady stream of income from the sales of Lockhart's books and other profitable ventures, the amount of money had grown to a staggering figure.

Since the money wouldn't multiply by just sitting there, John decided to use it to boost Johnny Silverhand's reputation.

He created a program that offered young wizards the chance to fulfill their dreams. As long as you had a good enough idea, Johnny Silverhand's angel investment would sponsor your startup.

This initiative became a huge help to many aspiring wizards who dreamed of starting their own ventures but lacked the initial funding. Letters flooded in from all over the country, addressed to the Johnny Silverhand Speciality store.

To manage the influx, John set up a dedicated letter-receiving window.

Every time Basil flew over to John's house, he carried a large sack of mail.

John picked up a letter, and when he saw the address on it, he paused for a moment.

"Fred and George?"

What a coincidence—these two dreamers were actually his schoolmates.

Knowing their boundless imagination for invention and creativity, John opened the letter with interest.

Inside, it was one of the rare instances where the twins were being serious. It seemed they were in real need of this money.

"A joke shop, huh? That's actually a pretty great idea."

John picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing a reply to the Weasley twins.

"But even if we're schoolmates, I still need to inspect the goods."

Just as he was about to send Basil off with the letter, John remembered that the brothers were currently on vacation in Egypt.

"Never mind, I'll send it after they return."

Setting the letter aside, John continued going through the other mail.

Hermione had gone to France and even sent a photo from Paris.

John glanced at it. Hmm, she seemed a bit tanner, but it could just be the camera angle.

"Looks like Damocles Belby finally came out of his research."

Seeing the response from Damocles, John opened the letter and took a quick look.

Damocles was indeed very intrigued by the research John had sent him earlier. He had been holed up in his lab ever since, and now that he had made some progress, he was eagerly inviting John to his manor again.

John, of course, didn't refuse. Using Apparition, he quickly arrived at Belby Manor.

He was greeted by the Belby family's house-elf, who respectfully led him into the manor.

When Damocles finally appeared, John was startled.

"Don't drink too many stimulants," John said.

Damocles Belby's ears were emitting smoke like a steam train, and heavy dark circles lined his face, as if he hadn't slept properly in months.

"John! Come Come!"

But even in this state, nothing could dampen Damocles's enthusiasm.

He grabbed John's hand, dragging him over to see his research results.

"You're an absolute genius! The Blood Curse—something that's plagued wizards for centuries—and you've come up with a way to break it," Damocles exclaimed, his eyes wide as if they were about to pop out.

John looked at his creation: a vial of blood-red potion.

"Without an actual Blood Curse victim to experiment on, I had to rely on principles from the Wolfsbane Potion," Damocles explained.

If he had known the Blood Curse himself, Damocles would have likely tried the curse on someone just to test it out.

"The Blood Curse is a hereditary curse. It's incredibly dark, and there's no known way to break it," John said as he picked up the blood-red potion, noticing the foul stench emanating from the crimson liquid.

"I'm more interested in its hereditary nature," John remarked, putting down the potion and glancing at Damocles. "Magic dies with the caster, but the Blood Curse isn't bound by that rule."

...

Once Damocles had calmed down, exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave. He yawned widely and, after trying to stay awake for a bit longer, eventually collapsed onto the floor, snoring loudly.

John stared at Damocles, who seemed like he was going to sleep for quite a while.

As John was about to find a place to wait, a strange light shimmered in his eyes.

His vision shifted, transforming into a scene of a dense, ancient forest. A faint, elusive chanting echoed around him, drifting in and out of his awareness.

"What's going on?" John's body tensed as the sounds around him gradually morphed into something he could understand.

"I'm here."

A shadowy figure flickered before his eyes, and John widened his gaze, trying to focus.

It felt as if his body was being yanked by an invisible rope, similar to the sensation of traveling through an Apparition tunnel.

He was pulled backward and upward, farther and farther. Just as he was about to completely leave the strange vision, John caught a glimpse of floating silver threads ahead.

Summoning all his strength, he reached out and grabbed one of the silver threads, jerking himself downward.

Everything vanished in an instant, and he found himself back in the Belby manor.

"Haah.. Haah..."

John leaned against the table, panting heavily, trying to steady himself. He focused on his right hand, where a silver thread was still connected, its other end disappearing into the void.

"What was that?" John muttered in confusion. He felt something in his hand and looked down to find... a book.

On the open page of the book, there was a detailed entry about the Blood Curse.

At the same time, a notification appeared in his mind—his mastery of Ancient Magic had leveled up.

Focusing on his newfound knowledge, John realized that the voice from earlier sounded familiar. As he thought about it, it reminded him of the words in Goblin Forging.

"Ancient magic, huh."

His fingers lightly brushed over the page describing the Blood Curse, and John's expression shifted with intrigue. That voice... it had been an ancient call, melancholic, and distinctly feminine.

"Well, no harm in checking it out," he said to himself, gripping the silver thread in his hand tightly. But it seemed that the place it led to wasn't within his country's borders.

_________

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