Hogwarts' John Wick

Watson Wick, in a rare departure from his usual flamboyant red tie, donned a dark one instead. He styled his hair into a more mature look and put on a sleek suit, exuding a rare aura of sharpness and sophistication.

This wasn't John's observation but Mrs. Wick's.

She seemed transported back to their courtship days, clutching her chest dramatically as if gazing at the Watson of yesteryears.

"Heh~"

Watson, noticing her reaction, tilted the corner of his mouth upward, his expression carrying a hint of aloof charm. For a moment, he really did look the part.

John insisted on accompanying his father to the event. Watson initially resisted but quickly caved, knowing that with his in-laws en route, refusal would likely result in his brothers-in-law demonstrating their version of "smashing Watson's chest."

Though Watson had little concept of his son's true abilities as a wizard, he reluctantly acknowledged that John had grown up.

Driving the car himself, Watson took the wheel while John sat in the backseat.

John's attire mirrored the somber mood—a dark ensemble paired with a dignified air. On his chest, a finely crafted badge stood out as a unique accent.

When they arrived at the Wallace estate, the security guards at the gate recognized Watson. After a brief exchange, they allowed the car through.

"Mr. Wick, Sean is waiting for you," said the middle-aged, bald-headed butler, who was a Black man.

Approaching the father and son duo as they got out of the car, the butler's eyes briefly landed on John.

"My son. Don't mind him too much," Watson said casually, brushing off the butler's curiosity.

"Let's not keep Sean waiting." 

Watson Wick brought along several contracts—documents related to the shares and funds that had been entrusted to him by Fein Wallace for investment.

The butler, seeing this, refrained from further questions and led Watson through the front hall and upstairs.

John noticed that the once-chatty elites in the room fell silent as soon as Watson entered.

Their gazes landed on the stack of contracts in Watson's hands, unmistakably filled with greed.

"Dad really is a prized target," John muttered to himself with a deeper understanding.

Quietly committing the faces of these individuals to memory, John followed his father upstairs.

Sean Wallace, Fein Wallace's eldest son, sat waiting in an upstairs room. His expression was dark and heavy, the grief of his father's death etched deeply into his furrowed brow.

The moment he saw Watson arrive, some of the shadow in Sean's demeanor seemed to lift.

"Watson, I'm so glad you're here," Sean said, standing to greet him.

Since the funeral began, Sean hadn't offered a warm reception to anyone, nor had he shaken hands with any of the attendees.

He refused to shake hands with people who might have been responsible for his father's death.

But when Watson gripped his hand firmly, Sean's guarded gaze softened slightly, a flicker of trust apparent in his eyes.

"Those people downstairs," Sean began, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "Any one of them could have killed my father. I know you wouldn't."

A flash of hatred crossed Sean's face as he spoke, his fists clenching momentarily at his sides.

Watson Wick allowed himself to be pulled into a chair by Sean, then calmly opened the file bag he had brought with him.

"These are the investment projects that Mr. Wallace entrusted to me. Aside from these, there are shares in several companies and funds held in trust," Watson explained as he placed document after document on the table.

Each file represented investments worth millions, if not billions. Sean glanced over them briefly before signaling to the butler with a subtle nod.

The butler understanding the unspoken message quietly left the room, taking Sean's son—who also worked for the Wallace family—with him. Once the door closed, only three people remained in the room.

Sean leaned closer to Watson, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Watson, you're the only one I can trust to help me find out who killed my father."

His expression was earnest, and his tone was laden with emotion. "My father always told me you were the person he trusted most. I've always seen you as family."

Watson was visibly moved by Sean's words. After a moment of thought, he offered a wry smile and replied, "Sean, you know I only handle investments."

"Watson!" Sean interrupted him, his tone becoming more insistent. "Help me, and I'll ensure you're remembered as the Wallace family's most respected friend."

But the truth was that Watson had no clue who the killer might be. He was skilled at managing money, but the dark games played by these power-hungry elites were far beyond his expertise.

He shook his head again, declining the request. This time, Sean's expression darkened noticeably.

Taking a deep breath, Sean's voice hardened, laced with a faint threat. "You control all my father's legitimate businesses—a fortune beyond imagination. Those people downstairs won't leave you alone."

When appeals to familial loyalty failed, Sean shifted tactics, turning to intimidation.

A cold sneer appeared on his face as he continued, "You're clever, Watson, but those people have no humanity. They'll come for the ones you hold most dear. They'll take your wife, your son... They'll cut off your son's fingers one by one. You know what they're capable of."

John's expression turned odd. I'm right here, you know. Isn't that statement a bit much?

Predictably, Watson's face darkened.

The last thing he wanted was for his family to be dragged into this mess.

Sean, confident in his position, leaned back on the sofa with a relaxed demeanor.

Watson wavered. He knew that some of his clients might have access to information about Finn Wallace's murder, but his professional ethics made him reluctant to delve into such matters.

From outside the room, a knock interrupted them, reminding Sean he was needed to oversee the funeral proceedings.

"Think it over carefully," Sean said as he stood up, patting Watson on the shoulder.

As Sean approached the door, a sudden voice rang out behind him.

"If my father refuses to help, does that mean Mr. Wallace will also count us among his enemies?"

Sean froze, shocked. He had assumed only two people were in the room. The unexpected voice startled him, and he glanced around the room warily, trying to pinpoint its source.

John emerged from the shadows, his steps measured and deliberate. He stopped beside Sean and stared directly into his eyes.

Sean's face went pale with fright. The way John appeared, as if out of nowhere, was chilling—like a specter materializing before him.

If this had been an assassin, I'd already be dead, he realized with a sinking feeling.

"Who are you?" Sean stammered, the idea of calling in his bodyguards flickering in his mind. Cold sweat dampened his back.

"John Wick."

John stared directly into Sean's eyes, enunciating each word clearly:

"I'm the son of Watson Wick—the one you mentioned would have his fingers chopped off."

As he spoke, John raised both hands, as if to emphasize, Look, all my fingers are still intact.

Sean's expression shifted uneasily, doubt and suspicion flickering across his face. He even considered asking where this kid had come from.

Before he could say anything, Watson stood up and spoke. "Sean, I'll hand over everything that belonged to Mr. Wallace. But forgive me—I won't get involved in any of this."

Sean's face darkened. "Watson, that's your choice."

John, noticing his father's decision, shifted slightly to the side, making way for Sean to leave the room.

Sean walked out with a grim expression, his face clouded as he prepared to deliver his father's eulogy.

Watson led John downstairs. When they saw the body of his old friend, Watson couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness.

John glanced at Finn Wallace's body.

An old man, shot in the head, he observed.

Other than that, he felt nothing.

Sitting beside his father, John's attention shifted. His expression subtly changed as he noticed a man standing not far away.

His lips moved slightly, barely audible: "Wizard?"

At this gathering of powerful figures, John spotted a wizard!

He narrowed his eyes, noting the man's appearance—his nose was missing half its bridge. Clearly, he didn't look like someone from the legitimate side of the magical world.

Tilting his head slightly, John looked in another direction.

There was yet another wizard there.

In total, five wizards were present at this gathering of powerful figures. It was clear that they didn't know each other, each remaining cautious of the others.

'So, even wizards work for Muggles.'

Unnoticed by anyone, John's expression remained indifferent as his scrutinizing gaze laid bare the nature of these wizards.

They weren't legitimate practitioners, nor Aurors.

Most likely, they were dark wizards. Working for Muggles, stuck in mediocrity—their capabilities were probably unimpressive.

To ordinary people, such methods would be near impossible to guard against, but John could think of at least a dozen ways to eliminate them without breaking a sweat.

During the funeral, someone abruptly left. Sean's eyes fixated on the man's retreating figure, struggling to suppress the urge to pull out a gun and shoot.

Once the ceremony ended, Watson prepared to leave with John.

At that moment, a towering Black man approached. Broad-shouldered and imposing, he was flanked by four or five similarly intimidating men.

"Watson, I hope you'll give this some serious thought."

The man's gaze swept over John, carrying an unmistakable air of menace.

John met the look with a calm, unbothered expression.

Watson's face turned cold. Without a word, he ushered John into the car, and they drove away.

As they were leaving, John noticed the Black mob boss standing next to the wizard with the missing piece of his nose.

The two appeared to be talking. The mob boss said something that made the dark wizard nod with a cruel smile.

"Looks like there's some action coming tonight," John muttered to himself.

After returning home, John was immediately embraced by Mrs. Wick, who gave him a thorough once-over to ensure he was unharmed. She then turned her attention to her husband for the same inspection.

...

Dinner time.

To the couple's astonishment, John ate just a little before excusing himself and heading to the basement.

Scratching his head, Watson hesitated before guessing, "Do you think he got scared today?"

He assumed the gathering of powerful figures had intimidated his son. Mrs. Wick, on the other hand, thought her cooking skills might have declined. More than anything, though, she was filled with concern for her child.

She had originally believed John's recent weight loss was due to his growth spurt. Now, it seemed it might be the poor food quality at Hogwarts.

"I can't let that happen!!"

Picking up the phone, she dialed a number.

After three rings, a lazy female voice answered, "Hello?"

"Lucy, remember the recipes you bought from that master chef, Chen, the 'Little Master of Heavenly Cuisine'? Send them over to me. I'll pay double."

_________

A/N: Fuck! That's the Chef Chen Daphne mentioned!ヾ(.◣∀◢.)ﾉ

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