A unicorn?
John pictured a white horse with a spiral horn growing from its forehead.
Unicorns were synonymous with purity, and they were also a protected species.
Hearing the anguished cries, Hagrid ran toward them. For someone so big, he could certainly move.
The physique John had built through training seemed pitifully weak beside that natural advantage.
Accustomed to running through the forested hills, Hagrid arrived without so much as flushed cheeks or heavy breathing. John had to sprint flat out just to keep up.
They found the unicorn beside a pool in the forest.
The beautiful unicorn was crying out in pain. A horrific wound marred her body, silver-white blood like mercury flowing steadily from it.
"Approach carefully."
Hagrid issued a wary warning, tightening his grip on his crossbow. At the first sign of trouble, he would not hesitate to finish the culprit with a bolt.
The two cautiously approached the unicorn. Once Hagrid saw the state she was in, he could hardly bear to look.
"Oh, no."
He knelt down, hoping to treat the Unicorn, but its injuries were too severe.
"No one would hurt a unicorn, except madmen who don't care whether they live or die."
Hagrid's heart was heavy. A wound like this was beyond saving.
John's heart sank too. Unicorns were creatures of purity; even the creatures in the Forbidden Forest would not attack them.
One person came to mind: Quirrell.
His nightly departures from Hogwarts were deeply suspicious. Now that a unicorn had been attacked, it was hard to believe he had nothing to do with it.
"John, let's bury her."
The two stayed with the unicorn through her final moments.
The unicorn slowly faded, until at last the light left her eyes and she collapsed.
They buried the unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid remained miserable all the way back.
John understood. Hagrid loved fantastic beasts, and watching a unicorn die before his eyes was bound to hurt.
"Hagrid, try not to dwell on it. We need to keep our spirits up."
Inside Hagrid's Hut, John got to try the Rock Cakes.
One nearly finished him off, but after John's comforting words, Hagrid gradually began to feel a little better.
"That definitely wasn't an ordinary incident. We have to stop it from happening again." John knew there would be a second attack and warned Hagrid in advance.
Hagrid rallied. "You're right, John. We've got to protect those little sweethearts."
Little sweethearts?
John felt that only Hagrid would call the things in the Forbidden Forest that.
After finishing their patrol, John fed Fang some dog food.
Rather than return straight to the common room, he headed to the Fifth Floor library.
Making his way to the Restricted Section with practiced ease, John found a spell for Occlumency.
The danger felt closer than ever now, making Occlumency an urgent priority.
He went to the Room of Requirement to practice. After a night of attempts, he finally managed to raise it to level 1 with Top Student mode activated.
The day of the Quidditch match arrived.
John came to the Great Hall and ate some toast. Nearby, Hermione was coaxing Harry like an older sister.
"I don't want to eat anything."
Harry shook his head, rejecting Hermione's kindness. He was so nervous that even his calves were trembling.
The feeling was awful. More than falling off his Flying Broomstick, he feared losing the match in front of everyone.
"Don't be nervous, Harry. Just do your best."
John took a sip of water and smiled at Harry. "It would be worse if you caught up with the Golden Snitch but didn't have the strength to grab it. Getting hit by a Bludger would be worse still. You'd have to spend some time in the Hospital Wing."
Harry thought that made sense and reluctantly took a couple of bites of bread.
He certainly did not want Madam Pomfrey fussing in his ear.
Seamus Finnigan, Hogwarts' young demolition prodigy, asked John curiously, "Are you coming to watch the match too, John? Come see us give Slytherin a thrashing."
"Uh... I'm in Slytherin."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
Seamus hastily tried to explain, and John assured him he understood.
For some reason, Gryffindor students always instinctively treated John as one of their own.
Malfoy approached with his two lackeys in tow. Seeing the Gryffindors and that loathsome Potter, he gave a cold snort.
"Wick, I'll take you to the Quidditch Pitch. You probably don't know where it is." He sounded as though he were bestowing a great favor.
John figured he was going to cheer for Slytherin anyway, so he might as well go with them.
After they left, Ron snapped out of his stupor, his mouth hanging open. "Did I see that right? Malfoy actually invited John?"
Harry looked much the same. "I'd love to say you imagined it, but I saw it too."
Seamus went straight for a conspiracy theory, declaring with absolute conviction, "John must have used a Confundus Charm on Malfoy."
Hermione thought her fellow young lions were overreacting. Wrinkling her nose, she said, "John's been doing really well. He's already earned nearly two hundred points for Slytherin."
Doing really well?
The young Gryffindor lions exchanged looks. He had beaten up Malfoy right at the start of term. Did that count as doing really well?
They were bewildered.
Quidditch truly deserved its reputation as the wizarding world's most popular sport. Despite the enormous size of the Quidditch Pitch, John could barely squeeze his way into the stands.
"See? Only I could find seats this good."
Malfoy showed off as though John had not just hauled him back from nearly falling down the stairs.
Goyle and Crabbe cleared a path ahead, securing them an excellent spot.
The stands were split into two distinct camps: Gryffindor red on one side and Slytherin green on the other.
Before the teams had even begun playing, the spectators nearly broke into a fight.
With a blast from flying instructor Madam Hooch's silver whistle, the Quidditch match officially began.
The commentator was Gryffindor's Lee Jordan, with die-hard Quidditch fan Professor McGonagall beside him.
Whenever Gryffindor scored, he was so delighted he nearly leaped to his feet. When Slytherin scored, he merely offered a couple of lukewarm remarks.
John could not help grumbling about it. Apparently, nobody saw anything wrong with such blatant favoritism.
After the first goal, John spotted Hagrid squeezing through the sea of red opposite him.
Apparently, even wizards could hardly resist Quidditch's allure. Beside Hagrid, Ron and Hermione looked like a pair of dolls.
The match was intense, mostly because of all the fouls.
John had already heard spectators shout "Foul!" at least five or six times.
Unfortunately, Quidditch was not football. There were no red cards.
Suddenly, John saw Harry's Flying Broomstick bucking wildly up and down, as though it had drunk some dodgy liquor.
He instinctively glanced at Malfoy, who was gleefully watching his archrival Potter suffer.
"Right, Malfoy doesn't have the ability to do that," John muttered, too quietly for Malfoy to make out.
After John watched for a while, Harry's broom finally returned to normal.
Meanwhile, John saw his Head of House's robes catch fire. As Snape got up, he swung an elbow straight into Quirrell's face behind him.
"That must have hurt."
To think his Head of House had some fighting skills. That elbow had nearly knocked Quirrell unconscious.
John certainly saw the back of Quirrell's head slam hard against the seat behind him. It took him at least several minutes to recover.
With his broom back under control, Harry spotted the Golden Snitch. He chased it at full speed, diving toward the ground before crashing onto it.
Everyone saw him cover his mouth with his hand and spit out the Golden Snitch.
Lee Jordan immediately announced that Harry had caught the Golden Snitch, bringing the match to an end.
Gryffindor won, 170-60.
John felt a pang of regret. "We're missing a really good Seeker."
Between Harry's superb flying skills and the Blessing of his pricey Nimbus 2000, Slytherin's Seeker might as well have been a block of wood.
Malfoy nodded in wholehearted agreement. Then, realizing he had somehow become so friendly with John Wick, he promptly left.
At the same time, a seed took root in Malfoy's heart: he had to become Slytherin's Seeker and utterly crush Potter.
John found the Flying Broomstick's loss of control deeply suspicious.
As for whether his own Head of House had done it, John could only say that Snape was unquestionably innocent.
After all, lovelorn Snape might hurt anyone else, but never Lily's child. John even suspected that if Harry had been a girl, Snape would have switched careers to raising her himself.
This was a man who had dared to betray Voldemort for the woman he secretly loved.
"Forget that big dog. Forget what it's guarding. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel..."
"Aha, so there's someone named Nicolas Flamel involved too, is there?"
Hagrid's angry, frustrated voice rang out, followed by Harry's probing question as he seized on a discovery.
Having come over after the match, John stood at the door, wondering whether he should go in now.
He glanced at the dog food he had brought. He could wait, but the greedy Fang probably could not.
He could already hear Fang drooling.
He had no idea how that big dog had ended up accepting Tom as his boss just for food.
He knocked and opened the door, finding Hagrid looking furious and frustrated with himself.
The Golden Trio were inside too.
And, of course, there were Rock Cakes on the table.
Hopefully, Hermione's dentist father could fix their teeth.
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