Swinging The Great Sword At Hogwarts

Chapter06 Sorting and Fights

The following events unfolded quickly, with Dumbledore delivering a few critical plot points, specifically warning students about the dangerous corridor on the right side of the fourth floor. John couldn’t help but roll his eyes—he knew this was basically an open invitation for curious Gryffindors to investigate.

Then came the Sorting Ceremony, starting with the ever-predictable Hannah Abbott, who was sorted into Hufflepuff. When it was finally John’s turn, Hermione had already been placed in Gryffindor, eagerly watching him. No one wanted to be separated from their friends, after all.

“John Wick,” Professor McGonagall called out, her voice echoing through the hall. As John made his way to the front, his sleek black hair and flawless appearance, combined with his perfectly tailored wizard robe, caught the attention of many. In contrast to their Eastern counterparts, young Western girls tended to mature earlier, and whispers spread through the hall, accompanied by blushing cheeks as they discussed the striking boy before them.

Approaching the Sorting Hat, John’s attention was momentarily diverted by a spider crawling along its brim, making him flinch in disgust. He knew wizards could be unkempt, but this was a bit much. How did McGonagall handle this without feeling revolted?

The hat was placed on his head, and immediately, a grumpy voice filled his mind. “What a rude little wizard you are, as arrogant as any Slytherin!”

John cringed. He hadn’t realized the hat could read his thoughts. Intrigued, he asked, “Is this Legilimency?”

“Legilimency? Quite a knowledgeable young wizard, aren’t you? But no, this is something far more sophisticated,” the hat replied, almost smugly. Being the creation of Gryffindor himself, the Sorting Hat operated on an even higher level than Legilimency.

The hat seemed to be musing to itself, torn between options. “Such a difficult choice… You have courage and a thirst for exploration, yet you also show diligence, compassion, and ambition—traits that align well with Slytherin.”

John froze. Wait, ambition? Slytherin? He hadn’t expected that. Did this mean he lacked wisdom? Was the hat subtly calling him dumb? And how had he somehow aligned with Slytherin? He wasn’t even a pureblood! Slytherins were all about blood purity, the opposite of everything John stood for.

As for ambition, John felt misunderstood. He just wanted to become the next Dumbledore-level wizard, was that too much to ask? Everyone had dreams of becoming a hero, right? He just wanted to rule a school—was that really considered ambitious?

“Slander! This is pure slander!” he thought indignantly.

No matter how much he ruminated on his thoughts, the Sorting Hat hesitated for a moment before finally calling out loud and clear, “Slytherin!”

“What?” John was left dumbfounded. Me, a Muggle-born, and you send me to Slytherin? Everyone knew Slytherin was obsessed with blood purity; he wasn’t even half-blood—more like a “Mudblood,” as they would say. Being sorted there was practically a guarantee that he’d be bullied.

“Don’t worry, young wizard. Your honor will earn Slytherin’s respect,” the hat replied nonchalantly.

“I suspect you’re just getting back at me for saying bad things about you,” John retorted skeptically.

The Sorting Hat’s decisions were absolute; even Dumbledore couldn’t change that. With no choice left, he trudged toward the Slytherin table, his steps heavy with reluctance.

From the Gryffindor table, two worried gazes followed him—Hermione and Neville were genuinely concerned for their friend.

“Ah… life isn’t easy,” John thought gloomily.

As luck would have it, the only available seat at the Slytherin table was next to Draco Malfoy. As John sat down, Malfoy, impressed by his looks and polite demeanor, assumed he was just another pureblood. In Malfoy’s mind, purebloods were supposed to be refined and noble; he couldn’t fathom that John might come from a Muggle background.

Being a Malfoy, Draco had no intention of blending in with the mundane. The more allies he could gather, the better for his standing. So, puffing out his chest proudly, he extended his hand and introduced himself, “Draco Malfoy, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood Malfoys.”

With his head held high and his nose slightly tilted in the air, he resembled a peacock desperate to show off its feathers. John took a moment to glance at him before politely shaking his hand and replying coolly, “John Wick.”

Malfoy appreciated John’s sense of decorum, unlike that Harry Potter. Although John wasn’t from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Draco felt inclined to treat this considerate classmate well.

“So, are you pureblood or half-blood?” Malfoy asked, his pride unabated.

John raised an eyebrow at Malfoy’s pretentiousness. “Neither.”

Malfoy’s expression faltered. Neither? That meant he was entirely Muggle-born.

“You’re a Mudblood,” he blurted out instinctively, the word hanging in the air like a bad omen.

In the next moment, a jarring blow struck Malfoy’s jaw, and the scene around him began to swirl. The screams of Crabbe and Goyle pierced his ears, followed by chaos erupting in the Great Hall and Professor McGonagall’s furious reprimands.

Thus, Draco Malfoy spent his first night at Hogwarts in the hospital wing.

On the first Thursday of the new term, John sighed, “Ah, life, always so full of twists and turns.”

“Ah, life, so fleeting, rushing like autumn,” he mused, as he elegantly polished a trophy inscribed with James Potter’s name. The sight was almost theatrical, as if he were a servant handling a pristine handkerchief.

Argus Filch, supervising from a distance, turned his head away in exasperation. Given that John had fought the governor’s son on the first day of school, it was remarkable he was still allowed to clean trophies at all. Not to mention that he had shoved a fork into Goyle’s hand and forcefully introduced his face to the table. Although Malfoy had started the insults, John’s retaliation was decidedly extreme.

As a result, Slytherin’s points had been severely docked on the first day of term, and Snape’s expression was dark enough to rain. If Dumbledore hadn’t intervened, John might have been expelled already. Instead, his punishment was to clean the trophy room for two months.

Thus, by the time the term had barely begun, John had made quite the name for himself throughout Hogwarts. He was certainly the most notable student of this cohort.

Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, licked her paw in a lazy manner. Although this Maine Coon was large, she was astonishingly thin. John waved at her as he completed his work for the day.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Norris! I’ll bring you some cat food tomorrow; you’re looking a bit skinny,” he said, before making a hasty exit from the trophy room to avoid Filch’s wrath.

Upon entering the Slytherin common room, the chatter among the other young wizards ceased immediately. The students regarded him with fear, still in awe of his brutal display on the first day, with some even whispering about him being the “Boogeyman.” His sharp hair and fierce reputation had earned him such a nickname, similar in meaning to a ghost, underscoring their fear of him.

John shrugged off the fear he instilled in others; there had been a purpose behind his actions. As a wizard from a Muggle family, he had to assert himself to avoid being bullied by Slytherin’s more privileged students. Clearly, he had succeeded in establishing his reputation. The downside was that he had no friends in Slytherin, but there were benefits as well. He had unlocked a series of quests titled “Nightmare,” where completing one hundred hours of nighttime wandering would reward him with the “Nightmare” enhancement.

…

Back in his room, John felt quite satisfied with his single-occupancy accommodations. Given the concerns that he might clash with others again, he appreciated having his own space, which also made it easier to train his dog.

Tom, now three months old, was in his energetic phase, bouncing around the room and occasionally teasing the snow owl, Basil. This often resulted in Basil retaliating with a swift wing swipe, and after a few moments of compliance, Tom would continue to provoke him again.

Once he returned, John’s first order of business was to start exercising. This routine was not only a part of his daily discipline but also a method to build his magical affinity.

[Strength Training: Improve adaptability to magic through physical training, absorbing magical energy during workouts.]

“Where’s the promised magical apprenticeship? I feel like I’m turning into a berserker,” John chuckled as he inspected his noticeably developed muscles. Was it typical for a first-year to sport an eight-pack? Who relied on physical exercise to build magical energy? But that was how he had developed over the years, and it had become a habit.

After showering and wrapping up his day, he reflected on the peculiar journey he had embarked upon at Hogwarts.