February.
Malfoy was still going out of his way to provoke Harry on a regular basis.
The Constellation Society continued operating as usual.
Dumbledore's Army was still training regularly.
Everything seemed to carry on in an orderly fashion.
Umbridge had made discipline at Hogwarts unbearably tight—things had gotten so bad that even the staff had stopped talking in the staff room.
Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout would now gather outside the Charms classroom just to have a conversation. Students throughout the castle had long been fed up with Umbridge.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore still showed no sign of returning.
Which, for John, was actually a good thing.
Oz Hilled stomped irritably down the corridor, a pack of cigarettes in hand, looking for a quiet spot to feed her nicotine addiction.
Students greeted her along the way, but she only gave them perfunctory responses.
The next scheduled trip to Hogsmeade was set for Valentine's Day. At Hogwarts, they practically encouraged this sort of early romance. Back when Lockhart organized a whole Valentine's Day confession event, not a single professor or board member had tried to stop it.
On his way, Neville ran into Luna—a girl so full of quirks that he always found himself at a bit of a loss around her.
"What are you holding?" Luna's dreamy demeanor made it feel like her attention had wandered off to some faraway land.
"It's a sword," Neville scratched his head, walking alongside her. He asked curiously, "Where are you going?"
"Emmm…" Luna didn't say where she was headed.
She had promised to keep it a secret.
But that made things easy to misunderstand. Neville felt like he was being nosy and quickly apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
Come to think of it, Neville was the only one in their dorm who hadn't joined Dumbledore's Army—he hadn't even shown up at the bar during its formation.
Clutching the Sword of Marvolo, Neville made his way to the 7th floor.
He turned down another corridor, while Luna skipped over to a door and disappeared inside.
Neville looked back—Luna was gone.
Curious, he walked past a massive tapestry, then circled back to take a closer look.
He didn't remember there ever being a door here.
After lingering a while, he decided to investigate.
As his hand touched the door, he looked down—and the red gemstone on it lit up.
"What is this place?" Neville was startled and tried to go inside.
But the door began to vanish, turning back into a solid wall.
Neville stood there in a daze for a moment, watching the red glow fade away.
"Just like at St. Mungo's…" he muttered, glancing at the gem on the sword, then at the door that had disappeared.
He felt like he was close—so very close to finding it.
Even though John hadn't told him exactly what to look for.
Still, something unseen seemed to be guiding him.
After standing there a while longer, he finally turned and left.
…
Meanwhile, John's research had hit a dead end. He swept the parchment off his desk and sat there, rubbing his temples.
"This curse is different from a regular Blood Curse. The Blood Curse devours… but this one destroys."
He picked up a piece of parchment, covered in crossed-out notes and rewritten lines—revisions scribbled over revisions.
Neither he nor Daphne had told Astoria just how severe the results of that examination were. John slid the parchment into an envelope, then called over Basil.
"Send this to Democles Alex Belby," he said.
Basil swallowed a dried fish snack, clutched the letter in his beak, and flew off.
"I need a change of pace," John muttered to himself as he stepped out of the dorm.
As he passed by the common room, he saw Malfoy playing Gobstones with Goyle and Crabbe.
The loser of the game would be sprayed with foul-smelling liquid, and Goyle, who reeked terribly, looked like he had lost quite a few rounds.
The Slytherin Quidditch team was taking a rare break, all gathered together relaxing.
John left the common room and walked down the corridor.
He wasn't headed anywhere in particular—just out for some fresh air and perhaps a bit of inspiration.
As he walked, he eventually found himself at the covered bridge.
Hardly anyone ever came here.
Leaning against the wooden railing, John let his thoughts drift, mind going blank.
There were still some benefits to being at Hogwarts.
For one, he didn't have to constantly worry about sudden ambushes here.
Though the past year had brought the ever-annoying Umbridge, the academic atmosphere had actually started improving.
At the very least, students weren't slacking off as much during class anymore.
Feeling the damp breeze rushing in across the bridge, John looked down at the stream flowing below.
Back in first year, it was from down there—on a boat—that he'd arrived at Hogwarts for the first time.
"Feels like it's been a lifetime," John murmured, a trace of exhaustion flickering in his eyes.
He looked up just in time to see a barn owl flying toward him.
The owl landed on the bridge's railing and handed John a letter.
Once its delivery was complete, it quickly took off and vanished into the distance.
"No sender?" John stared at the envelope.
It was pitch black—almost no one used that color for correspondence.
After checking carefully and confirming there were no curses or enchantments attached, John opened it.
Inside was a small, elegant card with only a single sentence written on it:From death, comes life.
John's pupils contracted as he stared at the card.
He drew his wand and pointed it at the paper.
"Revelio."
Under the spell, the card remained unchanged—no hidden text, no invisible ink, no secret charm.
John took a deep breath, the fingers holding the card trembling slightly.
"Who could it be?" he muttered, staring at the words on the card, a thought surfacing in his mind.
Who had sent this unsigned letter?
He thought about the things he had been planning.
Ruling out the few who were in the know, John suddenly felt the urge for a glass of water—to clear his mind.
Carefully, he placed the card into his pocket and gazed off into the distance.
"Some things… even if you know they're impossible, you still have to try."
The black envelope drifted down into the water, floated for a moment, then slowly sank.
At that moment, a pleasant sound like fairy music rang in John's ears. A phoenix soared down toward him, carrying another envelope.
"Dumbledore..?"
There was only one person who could send a phoenix.
A flicker of wariness flashed in John's eyes as he opened the letter.
I hope we can have a meeting. The password is: Fizzing Whizzbee.
Dumbledore had sent him an invitation. John glanced at the phoenix, who was looking right back at him.
Fawkes tilted his head slightly, patiently waiting for John's reply.
The letter in his hand ignited, burning away in a soft flash. John reached out and gently brushed Fawkes's feathers, chuckling, "Why not?"
Receiving his reply, Fawkes took flight and soared away.
John watched the phoenix disappear into the sky, then opened his palm to find a single feather resting there.
Expression unchanged, he slipped his hand into his pocket. He had expected this day would come—Dumbledore wanted to have a talk.
John had thought Dumbledore would've reached out before Christmas, but the man truly had patience.
He walked to the ugly stone gargoyle crouched silently.
Leaning in, John whispered, "Fizzing Whizzbee."
The stone beast jumped aside, revealing the passageway.
Walking in and ascending the spiral staircase, John soon arrived at the headmaster's office.
He knocked lightly, and Dumbledore's voice came from inside.
"Come in."
Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, the eyes of the past headmasters' portraits all turning toward him.
"Look who it is! The finest of Slytherin!" shouted Phineas Nigellus Black.
As a former Slytherin headmaster, he offered John a friendly smile.
Though the portraits weren't the real people, they all carried echoes of their original magic, and their personalities were almost identical to their living selves.
Phineas felt proud of John's excellence.
Dumbledore looked up from the silver instruments before him. Fawkes had already returned and perched quietly on his stand. The Sorting Hat, though lacking eyes, still gave John the eerie feeling that it was watching him.
"John," Dumbledore tapped one of the instruments lightly, and the swirling mist above it dispersed.
He stepped over to his desk, extended a hand invitingly, and said, "Please, have a seat. It's been a while since your last visit."
John gave him a cold glance as he sat down. The last time he'd been here, he had tried to steal the Time-Turner.
He'd failed.
Dumbledore could've expelled him for that. But he didn't.
Mercy, in such excess.. it bordered on indulgence.
John let out a faint, mocking chuckle.
He approached the desk and sat, his eyes falling on something placed atop it—his expression briefly stunned.
"I think it's time we had a talk," Dumbledore said gently, having been watching John's face the entire time.
"Albus Dumbledore and John Wick," he added, voice warm. "Not as headmaster and student, not as elder and youth—just a conversation between equals. Between friends."
He exuded genuine goodwill and sincerity.
John finally looked up at Dumbledore. The old face seemed even more lined with age.
Trying to ease the stiffness in the air, Dumbledore chuckled and said, "Valentine's Day is coming. The school doesn't openly encourage it, but we don't oppose students falling in love either."
He gave John a playful wink. "I imagine the love letters confessing to you must be close to overflowing your drawer."
"Thanks for your concern," John replied coolly, his expression unchanging. "You must have had so many back in the day your hands went numb from reading them."
"Perhaps I did," Dumbledore replied shamelessly.
Bringing up teenage romance as an icebreaker didn't seem to be the best idea.
Dumbledore looked at John intently, his gaze kind and soft. "John, have you… discovered something about Voldemort?"
"Hm?" John's eyes flicked—barely noticeably—toward the silver device on the desk. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "What are you referring to?"
"Do you remember what I once told you?" Dumbledore's eyes took on a wistful look. "At the time, I said you were a true Slytherin."
"But I think I may have been wrong." Dumbledore studied John closely and shook his head. "You're not just a Slytherin. You carry the qualities of a Gryffindor as well."
"Even I make mistakes sometimes," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet and bowing his head to John. "And for this one—"
"I owe you an apology. For the injustice suffered by a student who deserved fair treatment… all because of the foolishness of an old man."
John's expression shifted subtly as Dumbledore bowed his head. It was as if he was taken aback by the headmaster's unhesitating admission of fault.
Dumbledore pushed the object on the desk toward him, the golden chain scraping harshly against the surface with a shrill sound.
"Magic isn't all-powerful, John."
A Time-Turner.
What John had failed to retrieve when he'd once snuck into the office was now being handed to him effortlessly by Dumbledore.
Dumbledore spoke earnestly, "You're different from Voldemort. You have what he never did. You possess the most mysterious power in this world… love."
"Heh.. Is that so..?" Staring at the golden hourglass, John's lips curled into a smile—whether self-mocking or bitter, it was hard to tell.
He reached out and touched the Time-Turner, feeling its solid weight in his palm.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the surge of emotion rising in his chest.
"Dumbledore," John looked him straight in the eye, "tell me—do you regret it?"
Without waiting for an answer, John continued on his own, "Too bad. I don't."
He grinned, a sharp and unsettling smile.
"Because I'm a Slytherin. I always repay what's owed."
As his words fell—
A dozen owls burst into the headmaster's office, carrying stacks of letters.
Dumbledore picked one up and tore it open, his eyes scanning the contents before lifting his gaze in shock toward John.
"Gringotts… exploded."
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