Hogwarts’ John Wick

140: Angry Harry and Weeping Hagrid

Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry was having trouble sleeping.

Yesterday, he had finally gotten the chance to go to Hogsmeade.

But unlike the good mood he had when going there, he was hit by a shocking piece of news.

His parents....

They had been betrayed!

And the one who betrayed them was none other than Sirius Black.

What he couldn't believe the most was that Sirius Black had another identity.

Godfather!

That title, both strange and familiar, threw Harry into a daze.

Sirius Black was his godfather.

He was his father's best friend, his most trusted brother.

But he had betrayed them—betrayed his comrades, betrayed his good friend, betrayed... his parents....

In that moment, Harry knew, he clearly knew, that he couldn't remain calm.

It was like drinking poison—cold and piercing, yet boiling with rage—that coursed through him, twisting and entwining inside.

He was furious. It was that man who made him lose his parents.

He resented, his father had trusted that man so deeply, yet was still betrayed.

He feared, that man had escaped from Azkaban, coming to eliminate the last obstacle for Voldemort.

He grieved, the fortress his parents had built was torn down by someone they trusted. How heartbroken they must have been.

Anger, resentment, fear, sorrow... all these emotions fused together like a pot of boiling water filled with random spices and mud, bubbling and steaming, creating a foul and overwhelming stench...

Hatred!

He saw Sirius Black laughing at him in the dark, like someone had pasted a picture from a photo album right in front of his face.

It was like watching a movie—he saw how Sirius Black brutally murdered his father's other best friend, Peter Pettigrew.

In his ears, a voice echoed, filled with fawning and excitement: "I did it, Master! The Potters made me their Secret-Keeper!"

Screams intertwined with high-pitched, maniacal laughter, just as it had sounded when a Dementor drew near.

His father's resistance, his mother's pleading.

The green light flashed before his eyes, causing the two people he loved most to vanish.

Revenge!

Those two words appeared in his mind without warning, yet they felt so fitting.

The flames of vengeance began burning from his toes, and by the time an entire night had passed, even the tips of Harry's hair were screaming for revenge.

A person the same age as him appeared in his mind—strong and graceful.

If it were John, he would definitely do the same!

Though he didn't have John's power, he had the same fearless heart!

When morning came, Harry wasn't sure if he had slept at all.

His eyes were filled with gloom, and the aura he exuded made others wary of approaching him.

Leaving the dormitory, he sat on the soft couch.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Harry, you—you don't look well," Hermione stammered, unsure of what to say.

Since she had known Harry, she had never seen him like this.

At the same time, she understood how terrifying it must be to realize your enemy is your godfather.

Hearing his friends call out to him, Harry snapped back to reality a little. He asked, "Where is everyone?"

"They've gone out. Today's the first day of the break, remember?" Ron said, studying Harry carefully. "It's almost lunchtime. I was about to wake you up."

The drizzle outside had turned into snowflakes.

"Stop right there! Duel me, you yellow-bellied red-headed freckled-faced bastards!" Heinrich was chasing the Twins outside.

The fire in the hearth brought warmth, and as Crookshanks saw someone leave, he padded out behind them.

"Harry, listen to me."

Hermione knew her dear friend all too well. That expression—clearly, he was thinking of revenge.

She exchanged a look with Ron and said, "What we heard yesterday must have been really hard for you, but the important thing is—you can't do anything foolish."

Her concern was written all over her face. Harry looked up and asked, "Like what?"

What else? Of course, it was going after Sirius Black!

"Like going after Black," Ron chimed in, as if they had rehearsed, cutting straight to the point.

Harry's state was deeply worrying, but he said nothing.

Hermione, still anxious, asked, "You wouldn't do that, would you, Harry?"

Ron followed up quickly, "It's not worth dying for Black."

Even if they could defeat Sirius Black, committing murder would be inescapable, and Harry would be sent straight to Azkaban.

Harry understood all of this, but the thought of letting the person who caused his parents' deaths roam free gnawed at him like insects crawling over his heart, their jagged mouths tearing at him viciously.

"Do you know what I see, what I hear, every time the Dementors get too close to me?"

The youthful voice carried a newfound depth and hoarseness as Harry spoke, "I hear my mother screaming, begging Voldemort for mercy. If you heard your own mother screaming like that before she was killed, you wouldn't forget it either."

"You can't do anything!" Hermione exclaimed in panic.

"I know!"

Harry snapped, "But what do you expect me to do, nothing?!"

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Harry looked at Hermione, his lips moving slightly, but then his eyes dimmed as he finally muttered, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I... I just can't stop thinking about him."

"And when you find him, what do you want to do?" Ron swallowed hard, visibly tense, his voice trembling, "Do you want... to kill Black or something?"

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione quickly cut in, "Don't say such stupid things! Harry doesn't want to kill anyone, right, Harry?"

She desperately hoped for some sense to prevail, but unfortunately, Harry wasn't capable of that right now.

No matter how hard Hermione tried to reason with him, he remained silent.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Ron suggested they go visit Hagrid—it was Christmas, and surely Hagrid would be happy to have some company.

Hermione shot him a furious glare, like he was an idiot who just didn't get it. Of all the things to bring up! What if Harry got caught by Black out there?

In the end, Harry agreed immediately. Unable to argue with him and hoping that the outing might improve his mood, Ron and Hermione had no choice but to reluctantly accompany him, full of concern.

...

The snowfall, which had started lightly, quickly became heavier, blanketing the grass with a layer of fine, powdery snow.

Inside Hagrid's hut, John was staring at the investigation letter that had just arrived, deep in thought.

"Why does it feel like Buckbeak's head is on the chopping block?" He muttered, remembering a similar scene from the movie, just saying what came to mind.

Hagrid heard him, and it was as if he could already see Buckbeak's execution. A deafening wail erupted from him, practically exploding in John's ears.

John covered his ears, casting an envious glance at Hagrid.

The physique, the strength, that voice.

He was practically the perfect warrior template.

All the abs John had worked so hard to build were nothing in the face of Hagrid's raw, natural strength.

"Alright, Hagrid, there's still time, isn't there?"

John made an effort to stand on his tiptoes so he could reach Hagrid's shoulder, but he ended up patting his belly instead.

"..."

Just as John was trying to comfort Hagrid, there was a knock at the door.

He paused, about to open the door, but Hagrid had already made his way over.

When he opened the door, three familiar heads appeared.

The moment John saw the three of them, his face changed drastically, and he shouted in alarm, "Hagrid, hold off the hug!"

He was genuinely afraid that Hagrid, with just one careless move, might accidentally crush all three of them in a deadly embrace.

Fortunately, John had yelled just in time. Hagrid didn't use as much strength, but it was still enough to make the three of them cry out in pain.

After closing the door, Hagrid threw himself onto the table, sobbing uncontrollably.

John had originally planned to take a sip of tea to calm his nerves, but with Hagrid's collapse, the table almost buckled, and the teacups jumped into the air.

"John, what's going on with Hagrid?" Harry asked, confused as to why Hagrid was so upset.

Just yesterday at the Three Broomsticks, he hadn't been like this.

John pointed to the letter on the table, and Harry suspiciously picked it up.

"We accept Professor Dumbledore's assurance and believe that you are not at fault in this unfortunate incident," Harry read aloud.

"I don't understand, isn't this good news?" Harry asked, puzzled.

John motioned for him to keep reading, and when Harry saw the Ministry's decision about Buckbeak's case, his confusion deepened.

"It's just a hearing at the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, right? What's there to cry about?"

Hagrid, choking back sobs, said, "You don't understand, those people on the Committee, they're always against cute creatures."

Just as he finished speaking, a noise came from the corner of the hut.

Everyone turned to look and saw Buckbeak noisily chewing on some bloody food, the blood splattered all over the ground in stark contrast to Hagrid's words.

John was speechless. In Hagrid's eyes, as long as something is deadly, it probably counted as "Cute."

The trio had the same expression. Hermione started offering suggestions to Hagrid, saying they could help defend Buckbeak.

Harry, too, shifted his focus. His mind had been full of thoughts of revenge, but after Hagrid's loud wail, it transformed into how he could help.

Ron and Hermione had expected Harry to blame Hagrid for not telling him the truth about Black, but Harry couldn't bring himself to do that.

In a way, Hagrid had always taken care of Harry like a father figure, and there was no way he could say anything harsh to him.

Hagrid, however, didn't believe that a defense would help. He seemed already convinced that Buckbeak's "lovely" head was destined to be separated from his body.

Sadness and fear clung to the big man like a shadow.

John, meanwhile, attempted to bite into a rock cake, feeling like he was chewing on tasteless stone. He frowned in frustration.

"What did Dumbledore say, Hagrid?"

At John's words, Hagrid finally stopped burying his face in his hands and replied through sniffles, "He's already done so much for me. He's got so many things on his plate—Dementors, Aurors, and Sirius Black..."

At the mention of Black, Hagrid got even more upset and howled again, "My poor Buckbeak—"

"Alright, maybe there's another way," John interjected.

Everyone immediately turned to look at him.

Just as he was about to flash a confident smile, a sudden realization hit him.

His right hand was still injured. Normally, it wouldn't be that big of a deal.

But the embarrassing part was—Johnny Silverhand always wrote with his right hand.

___________

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