Hogwarts’ John Wick

Champs-Élysées.

John stood by the window, his fingers brushing along the white wand.

The scent of elm drifted in from outside, sunlight falling just right across the windowsill and onto the side of the white-haired wizard's face.

This was the apartment he had found, rented for a considerable price.

The landlady was a kind old woman. Her husband had passed away two years ago, and she now lived alone.

Three tightly sealed envelopes lay on the table.

He looked at them intently.

Whether it would succeed depended on these three letters.

Each envelope bore the mark of an ouroboros. John needed to send them to three different places.

"Credence should be returning from the tour soon."

John placed a white lily into a vase. Beside it, on a chair, rested a gift box tied with a ribbon.

The custom-made clothes should be given to Credence as well.

A parting gift.

With a snap of his fingers, the three letters flew into his pocket.

"Perhaps I should find an old post office."

Picking up the gift box, John stepped out of the house.

As he went down the stairs, he ran into a French lady with silver-white hair.

"My dear, where are you going?" the woman greeted him kindly.

Madame Sheraz was John's landlady. Seeing that he was still young, she had reduced his rent by half.

It was a losing deal, and John was someone who repaid kindness.

He bowed slightly and said with a smile, "I'm going to a grand banquet, Madame Sheraz."

"A banquet? I do love banquets. I wish you a wonderful time," Madame Sheraz said, waving warmly at him.

"I believe I will. I've left you a small gift. Thank you for taking care of me these past months."

John waved goodbye.

When Madame Sheraz opened the door, she saw a beautiful diamond necklace hanging from the white lily in the vase on the table.

"You truly are… an exceedingly elegant gentleman, Mr. Wick."

When the cruel war of the future arrived, that necklace would become the lifeline of Madame Sheraz's family.

…

Ministry of Magic.

The familiar dark tones remained the signature style of this place.

In the interrogation room,

Newt had been brought in by his brother, Theseus.

The three people already seated inside exchanged glances when they saw them enter.

They all knew this was Theseus's way of protecting his younger brother.

And today's arrangement had also been proposed by Theseus. Whether as a pure-blood or as Head Auror, his words carried considerable weight.

Torquil Travers spoke. He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"The hearing will now begin."

A quill was rapidly recording their conversation.

Travers opened the file in front of him. It displayed Newt's wanted poster, along with photographs of the destruction in New York.

"You're applying to have your travel ban lifted?" Travers said. "Why?"

Newt: Allow me to argue—no, allow me to reconsider.

"Because I like to travel," Newt said.

"The subject is being uncooperative and evasive regarding the reasons for his previous departure."

Another man, Spellman, stared at Newt, waiting for his answer.

The others wore similar expressions.

The Ministry of Magic had always been wary of a certain individual.

And unfortunately, they all believed Newt was connected to that person.

"Field research, sir," Newt explained. "To gather material for the book I'm writing on magical creatures."

Travers watched Newt in silence, glanced at the file, and said flatly, "You destroyed half of New York."

Go on, explain.

Explain how your "research material" involves efficiently destroying a city.

"That's not right," Newt said, a bit flustered. "There are two errors in that accusation."

"Newt," Theseus said quietly.

Newt slowly fell silent, frowning.

Another man, a dark-skinned wizard from America named Guzman, spoke up. "Mr. Scamander, it's obvious you're frustrated."

"To be honest, so are we." Guzman glanced at Theseus, who was staring at him in a way that made it seem like he might draw his wand at any moment. "In the spirit of compromise, we're willing to propose a motion."

Newt cast a wary look at his brother. Theseus gave a slight nod, signaling him to hear it out.

Newt had no choice but to ask, "What motion?"

Travers picked up the thread. "The committee is willing to lift your travel ban, on one condition."

Newt waited for the condition.

Spellman leaned forward, a smile on his face. "You join the Ministry of Magic and be assigned to your brother's department."

The corner of Theseus's mouth lifted slightly as he gave his younger brother a look.

Newt: message read, no reply, thanks.

"That won't do," Newt said with a forced smile. "In my opinion, I… Theseus is an Auror. My talents lie elsewhere."

He refused without a second thought.

Theseus's expression returned to its usual blankness.

"Mr. Scamander, the magical and non-magical worlds have coexisted peacefully for over a century," said Guzman, the official from a country that had suffered under Grindelwald. "Grindelwald wants to destroy all of that."

"For a certain portion of our kind, that ambition is extremely tempting."

"Many pure-blood wizards believe that the right to rule is something they are born with, that they are natural rulers."

"Not only over our world, but over the non-magical one as well."

"They see Grindelwald as a hero," in the pool of water at the center of the round table, Credence's face appeared, "and Grindelwald sees this boy as the key to achieving everything."

"I'm sorry," Newt frowned, a smile that suggested he had just heard something absurd appearing on his face. "The way you're saying it makes it sound like Credence is still alive."

Theseus finally spoke for the second time. "He survived, Newt."

Newt froze, his eyes locking onto Theseus's.

Theseus gave a small nod.

That reminded Newt of the Obscurus he had seen drifting away.

"He's still alive," Theseus said. "He left New York months ago and is somewhere in Europe, moving constantly. We don't know exactly where."

"But… him."

The image on the table shifted, a vague white figure appearing within it.

"You want me to track down Credence and kill him?" The moment Newt saw the white figure, he immediately thought of the Obscurial who had been speaking with Credence.

"Still as stubborn as ever, Scamander."

From the shadows, a man stepped out.

He was covered in scars, his features fierce and menacing.

Grimmson, a hired hunter.

He dealt with dangerous magical creatures on behalf of the Ministry when they went out of control.

The moment Newt saw him, anger surged within him.

"What is he doing here?"

To Newt, who protected magical creatures, Grimmson was nothing more than a cold-blooded executioner.

Grimmson sneered. "You're too soft. The work you can't handle, I'll take over."

The image on the table shifted back to Credence. Grimmson glanced at it and said with disdain, "That's him?"

Newt had no desire to stay in the same room as this executioner for even a second. He stood up and strode out.

Travers rejected his request to lift the travel ban.

Theseus took a deep breath, glanced at Grimmson, who had taken Newt's place, and then moved with practiced ease to follow his brother.

The two brothers met in the corridor.

Newt angrily insisted that he was not like Grimmson, that kind of hunter.

But Theseus had his own difficulties. Only by doing this could he lessen his brother's charges.

Moreover, in the eyes of the Ministry, Newt had already aligned himself with someone else, which made him dangerous.

The Ministry's dirty methods were no better than Grindelwald's.

He needed to choose a side.

"I won't choose!" Newt growled.

"Newt," Theseus looked at him deeply and opened his arms, "give me a hug."

Newt didn't respond, nor did he pull away, allowing Theseus to embrace him.

Leaning close, Theseus whispered in his ear, "They're watching you."

Between the Ministry and his brother, he chose his brother without hesitation.

Just as Theseus had said, not long after Newt left the Ministry, he realized he was being followed.

He used a swirling wind spell to shake them off.

In a narrow London alley, he saw a floating glove.

Following the direction indicated by the glove, Newt looked up and saw someone on the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, waving at him.

The glove made a handshake gesture. Newt grasped it, and was immediately Apparated away.

When he reappeared, he was already on the dome.

"Dumbledore, have all the inconspicuous rooftops been taken?"

At forty-five, Dumbledore's reddish-brown hair and beard were already streaked with gray.

Newt returned the glove to him.

This Dumbledore no longer had the youthful restlessness of his younger days, nor the frailty and long beard of old age.

At the height of his prime, he carried the composed confidence of a British gentleman.

"I do enjoy a good view," Dumbledore said, gazing at the crowd below. The place was indeed quite conspicuous. He raised his wand.

A layer of fog rose across London, obscuring prying eyes.

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