Hogwarts’ John Wick

Picquery gazed at Grindelwald.

She saw neither fear nor tension on that man's face. Instead, there was a strange sense of ease, as if he had returned home.

"Keep a close watch on him."

Picquery gave the order to the Aurors.

Ministers of Magic from various countries, having learned of Grindelwald's capture, began negotiating with her, hoping to have him transferred to prisons in their own nations.

Picquery would have to engage in negotiations with them for days on end.

The significance Grindelwald carried made her want to extract every last bit of value from him.

Newspapers filled the skies.

Whether they were Grindelwald's followers or those opposing him, all were watching this event closely.

Including John.

Spending the Niffler's money, he was shopping at a high-end clothing store.

"Sir, according to your request, the clothes will take half a month to complete."

The attendant spoke beside John.

John nodded. "I'll come to pick them up in half a month, but I'd like a few adjustments. Add some decoration around the collar."

Custom tailoring in this era burned through money. After settling the details with the shop, John left the clothing store.

A week had passed since he left Beauxbatons, and Credence had already been working odd jobs at the circus for over a month.

John wasn't in a hurry to bring Credence back. Instead, he went to the French wizarding district.

This place was similar to Diagon Alley, serving as the main trading hub for French wizards.

Thanks to the Niffler, John had gained the means to spend freely overnight.

Yes, many thanks for the Niffler's generosity.

Sitting in an open-air café along the street, John sipped his tea with quiet elegance.

Opening the newspaper, he read the reports about Grindelwald.

This was the influence of a Dark Lord. Even more than a month after his capture, the topic still carried immense attention and discussion.

The Head of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement sharply criticized Grindelwald's threat and the events in New York.

The matter of the Obscurus had also made the headlines.

At this point, everyone believed the Obscurus had already died, leaving Credence temporarily safe.

But how long that could remain hidden was another question.

After all, the Ministries of Magic in this era were still quite competent, unlike the later days under Fudge.

Using gold, John indulged in a spree of purchases throughout the district, his small bag gradually filling up.

Newt's pet, a hidden tycoon belonging to a hidden tycoon.

There had been no shortage of gold in that Niffler's nest.

No wonder some people believed that if you let a Niffler into your home, you'd be bankrupt by the next day.

A natural master of amassing wealth, though whether it was legal was another matter.

He opened his palm. Resting there was a crystal-clear drop, like a tear.

This was something he had refined after repeatedly drawing magic from Credence—a single drop of highly concentrated, pure magical energy.

Just one drop was enough to overload ten wizards, yet an entire cauldron of condensed material had only produced this much.

Unlike magical crystals, its magic was far purer.

And it required a special constitution to absorb it. Otherwise, it was nothing more than a potent poison.

In other words, those who could use it were either extremely powerful wizards, or Obscurials like John.

He stored away the pure magic. It wasn't yet time for him to use temporal flashes.

"The clothes will take some time to finish. In the meantime, I can go there."

There was another place John needed to visit.

Azkaban.

His supply of souls was running low. He needed to restock.

Even though he already possessed a thousand-year-old soul, when it came to souls, there was no such thing as too many, only too few.

As the first to discover the uses of Dementors, John used the sins of others to fuel his magic.

"I probably can't take too many this time," he murmured to himself.

As he set about dealing with the Dementors…

That would be too ruthless. If he went that far, the Dementors in his own era might end up affected as well.

He found a person near an alley by the square in the hidden district, someone holding a shepherd's staff and wearing a fur hat.

He needed to smuggle his way back.

…

Azkaban.

After that terrifying disappearance, a rumor had begun circulating among the Dementors.

A legend about something that could drag Dementors into darkness.

Of course, it only spread within a small circle, limited to the Dementors themselves.

The Aurors didn't believe that anything could capture Dementors.

After all, the only known spell capable of affecting them was the Patronus Charm.

And even that could only drive them away.

The Ministry's lack of concern left the Dementors furious, but they had no other options.

They could only become more cautious.

Yet one Dementor was particularly bold.

"Come on, that's way too lame. We're Dementors, you know."

"Oh? So you're really that brave?"

"Of course. I, Crado Falmoy, am extremely brave!"

After saying that, the Dementor suddenly realized something.

It was patrolling alone—where had that second voice come from?

Then, a sharp clinking sound rang out.

The Dementor turned around and saw a magical net woven from black threads spreading open.

Crado Falmoy…

was gone.

…

Credence was working under the table.

Exactly what it sounded like.

Since he was officially supposed to be dead, someone who couldn't be seen in the open, he received the lowest wages in the entire circus.

After deducting food expenses, his pay was even less than that of a Hogwarts house-elf.

He did the dirtiest and most exhausting work, cleaning up after the Kappa and shoveling the droppings of the young fire-dragon.

The fat wizard owner had completely dropped the friendliness he'd shown on the ship. Now he shot vicious looks at Credence whenever he got close to his money-making asset.

"Go clean the Kappa!"

Credence took a deep breath, his fists clenching as he watched the fat owner lead away the cash cow.

A flicker of black mist passed through his eyes, but he restrained it.

John's training was beginning to show results. He could control his power.

He kept waiting for John to come back for him.

But John never came.

A voice deep within him told him that he had been abandoned.

Just like what Grindelwald had done. Once he was no longer useful, he was cast aside.

But Credence resisted that voice, telling himself, "He's not the same as Grindelwald."

The voice inside him replied, "What's different? He already told you—it was a transaction."

"No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't abandon me."

"Stop lying to yourself, Credence. You're someone destined to be abandoned over and over again."

"Shut up!"

"Face reality. Your parents abandoned you. Grindelwald used you. He's no different."

"He's an Obscurial. He's my kind!"

"You're going to die. To them, something without value is nothing but trash."

He argued with the voice inside his head, the black mist around him growing thicker.

He trembled where he stood, black energy seeping from his eyes.

"Credence."

A gentle voice pulled him back. He looked over.

A beautiful Asian woman in blue.

She softly called his name, warmth in her eyes.

"Nagini."

Credence walked over and saw her.

Separated by iron bars, the two reached out and touched hands.

"He made you turn into a snake again?"

Nagini was the main attraction of the circus. Many people came here just to see the legendary Maledictus.

In the month since his arrival, it was Nagini who had first brought solace to Credence's lonely soul.

"It's always been like this," Nagini said gently. "I'm used to it."

"I'll take you away from here," Credence said firmly, gripping her hand. "I promise."

Nagini smiled faintly.

Both of them were outcasts, abandoned.

They relied on each other, like birds that had each lost a wing.

…

Azkaban.

"Fuua~ This should be enough."

Visiting once again, John tossed the red-and-white sphere into his small bag.

After storing away the bottle that emitted a sacred white glow, he absorbed the dark, murky curse into his right hand.

It had taken John several days to reach Azkaban, and several more to capture the Dementors.

Half a month had nearly passed, and he had obtained everything he needed.

Just as he was about to leave, John paused.

"Herpo the Foul left behind The Book of the Dark. Then did Ekrizdis, who was just as wicked, leave something behind as well?"

He had once seen the inhumane experiments Ekrizdis conducted on sailors.

If there were experiments, there might be original records left behind.

Ekrizdis was different from Herpo. His application of the soul could be glimpsed through the Dementors.

He had even gone so far as to survive among Dementors, turning himself into a curse.

Like Herpo, it was another form of immortality.

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