Chapter08 Flying and Duel
1244 Words
Old, worn-out brooms lay by each young wizard’s feet. Madam Hooch, dressed in her crisp attire, instructed each student carefully, repeatedly warning them to be cautious. Yet, despite her cautions, an incident was inevitable.
Neville, unable to control his broom, shot straight into the sky, dropping his Remembrall mid-air. Though his descent was slowed somewhat, he still managed to break his arm upon landing. Madam Hooch, abandoning her lesson, rushed Neville to the hospital wing, leaving the two houses standing there, exchanging glances.
Draco picked up Neville’s Remembrall, smirking as he began taunting Harry. His plans, however, were interrupted when Professor McGonagall noticed Harry’s natural Seeker talent. John, meanwhile, stayed out of it—not only because he knew Harry would be fine, but because he was busy grappling with his own broom.
After several attempts, John finally managed to lift off. Hermione tried urging him to stay grounded and avoid breaking the rules like “those two,” but he only grinned and shot into the air, leaving Hermione stamping her foot in frustration.
Though wobbly at first, John soon found his balance.
Ding!
[Ability Gained: Aviator — Increases broom flight speed and control]
“So that’s how it works?” With newfound stability, John flew freely, savoring every second of it. Snape, passing by, watched his performance, sneered, and moved on. Since ancient times, flying had been a coveted human ability, and now that he had control, John stayed airborne until the end of class, finally landing reluctantly.
At dinner, John encountered Malfoy, who, flanked by his usual goons, strutted up with newfound confidence. “Wick,” he sneered, “weren’t you challenging me to a duel? Well, I’m challenging you now. Tonight, eleven-thirty, in the Trophy Room. Don’t chicken out.”
Strutting away like a rooster, Malfoy left John chuckling. “Did he listen to too much motivational music or something?”
Later that night, John made his way to the Trophy Room with a bag of cat food from Mrs. Wick. Mrs. Norris was already waiting by the door, her eyes gleaming like rubies. John had gotten on good terms with her over time, and as he poured out the food, she meowed in appreciation.
Finishing his cleaning duties, he watched as Mrs. Norris polished off her meal. Gently picking her up, he took a brush from his pocket and combed her fur. She purred in contentment, and Filch, trusting John by now, had gone off somewhere, likely on the prowl for rule-breakers.
“Let’s see what you’re planning, Malfoy.” Knowing Draco wouldn’t dare show up for an actual fight, John decided he’d wait and see what kind of mischief the Slytherin was up to. After all, he was already here cleaning.
When eleven-thirty struck, it wasn’t Malfoy who arrived, but a set of hushed voices approaching. Four figures entered: the “Golden Trio” plus a stray Neville. Apparently, he’d been locked out of Gryffindor Tower after his trip to the hospital wing, rescued hours later by the others.
The five of them stared at each other in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” John asked, confused.
Harry, equally bewildered, replied, “Malfoy invited us here. Wait, are you helping him?”
John gave Harry an exasperated look. “Do you really think Malfoy walked away from his first encounter with me unscathed?”
That logic left Harry momentarily speechless. The four Gryffindors and one Slytherin stared at each other, until Harry finally groaned, “We’ve been tricked by Malfoy!”
Ron scowled. “Typical Slytherin—er, not you, John.”
Thanks to John’s three-against-one victory at the start of term, he’d managed to become the only Slytherin respected by Gryffindors.
When students from the four houses discussed John Wick, the first reaction was often disbelief—was the Sorting Hat broken? Surely, this guy belonged in Gryffindor. Even Gryffindor students thought so; the Weasley twins joked that too much dust had clouded the Hat’s judgment and even considered washing it.
As the group of students chatted, they suddenly heard Filch’s voice echoing nearby. John immediately understood Malfoy’s true intention: he’d set them up to get caught breaking curfew.
Realizing the trap, Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s Filch! Run!”
Without further thought, the four Gryffindors bolted. Neville and Hermione each grabbed one of John’s arms, dragging him along without giving him a chance to explain his innocence, turning him from a rule-abiding student into an accidental runaway. John, resigned, ran along with them, even grabbing Neville to keep him from tripping.
Filch gave chase relentlessly, and every now and then, Mrs. Norris’s warning meows echoed behind them. John grumbled internally, “All that cat food for nothing!” Despite his efforts to win her over, Mrs. Norris didn’t hesitate to betray him in a pinch.
The group finally reached the Charms corridor, leaning against the cold walls, panting heavily—except for John, who was calm and composed.
Strength versus magic: Round two.
Strength wins again.
Gasping, Hermione muttered, “I… told… you!”
“Malfoy tricked you,” she added, glaring. “He never intended to duel; he must have tipped Filch off.”
Harry, recognizing the truth, clenched his fists, but pride kept him silent. He knew if Filch caught them, they’d be expelled. “Malfoy, you sneaky…” he muttered.
But their troubles were far from over. Suddenly, a door creaked open, and out popped Peeves, dressed as a jester, his cackling filling the corridor.
Harry’s heart sank as Peeves spotted them. “Please, Peeves,” he begged. “If Filch catches us, we’ll be expelled.”
“Oh, I’ll tell Filch alright,” Peeves sneered gleefully, “for your own good.”
Ron, desperate, tried to intimidate him, but Peeves only laughed harder. Irritated, Ron swung at Peeves, which only escalated the chaos. Peeves shrieked, drawing Filch closer.
John, exasperated, shot Peeves a deadly glare. No wonder everyone hated the poltergeist; he was a pest. Peeves, recognizing John’s fierce reputation from earlier, looked slightly wary.
“When this is over, I’ll deal with you, Peeves,” John muttered, sliding his thumb across his throat in a menacing gesture. He recalled there was a spell that could handle Peeves, and he’d be sure to learn it.
Just then, they reached the end of the corridor, facing a locked door. Despair flickered across Ron’s face. “We’re doomed!”
“Stand back—Alohomora!” John drew his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the lock. With a soft click, the door opened. They slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind them and pressing their ears to it, listening as Filch argued with Peeves outside.
John, bored, glanced around the room—then froze. Right in front of him loomed three enormous heads. The creature’s giant body filled the room, six savage eyes glaring at them, as though equally shocked by their intrusion.
Swallowing, John managed to stammer, “Hermione, Harry, Ron, Neville… you’ll want to see this.”
The others turned, their faces going pale. Faced with a choice between certain death or Filch’s wrath, Filch suddenly seemed like the friendlier option.
“Run!” John shouted, snapping the four out of their shock. He grabbed the nearest person, a trembling Neville, and pulled him out. The others quickly followed suit, scrambling out of the room.
Bang!
The door slammed shut behind them, sealing the monstrous three-headed dog away.
- Writer
