On July 30, someone knocked on the Wicks' door.
When they opened it, a tall woman stood outside.
She wore deep green robes and square glasses on her unsmiling face.
One look was enough to recognize the Quidditch-loving deputy headmistress.
Minerva McGonagall, a professor at Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor.
McGonagall gave a polite nod, then addressed John, who had frozen in astonishment.
"Minerva McGonagall. John Wick, may I come in?"
Seeing a character from a book for the first time, John snapped out of his daze, broke into a brilliant smile, and invited Professor McGonagall inside.
Mr. and Mrs. Wick, who hadn't believed their son, were stunned too. They exchanged a glance, wondering whether their child had hired someone to play the part.
Still skeptical, the couple sat on the sofa, with Professor McGonagall seated opposite them.
John, the star of the occasion, instead became a servant fetching and serving tea.
Once they were seated, Watson spoke first. "You're the teacher from that Hogwarts place?"
Both his expression and his words made his skepticism perfectly clear.
McGonagall had met countless parents like him and took no offense. With considerable poise, she corrected his wording. "Hogwarts, yes. And to be precise, I am a professor."
The couple turned to John in unison, unable to stop themselves from wondering whether their son had actually been telling the truth.
John wore an innocent expression. He had told them it was real.
Watson wasn't so quick to trust someone. He shifted in his seat and leaned forward slightly, gesturing with both hands as he asked skeptically:
"So my son is a wizard? Do you peel the fingernails off dead people and nail black cats to people's doorposts?"
Such arrogant, distrustful remarks were hardly friendly. Even McGonagall frowned and replied sternly:
"Mr. Wick, only dark wizards remove dead people's fingernails. Hogwarts is a genuine school of magic."
"Sorry."
Watson realized he had gone too far, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe her just like that.
McGonagall knew accepting a wizard into a Muggle family wasn't easy, so she drew her wand and waved it.
The teacup Watson had lifted turned into a mouse and scurried up his sleeve, making him scream in fright.
It was John's first time seeing magic too-and highly advanced Transfiguration at that. He couldn't help feeling excited.
After that little episode, Watson completely believed what John had told him.
No matter how skilled a stage magician was, there was no way they could turn the cup in his hand into a mouse from across a coffee table.
After seeing McGonagall off that day, Watson became a fountain of questions.
"John, turn the cup into a mouse."
"John, make the broom sweep the floor by itself."
"John, can you fly on a broom?"
"John..."
Driven to distraction, John finally played his trump card and had Mrs. Wick chase Watson out of the room.
July 31.
John had to prepare for school as well.
"This should be the place."
Charing Cross Road.
The filthy little pub looked out of place between the large bookshop and record shop on either side.
Yet despite how conspicuous it was, the passersby completely ignored it.
A Muggle-Repelling Charm.
Anyone who had seen Harry Potter would recognize this place. It was where Harry's dream began, and the route into Diagon Alley.
This filthy little pub also had a memorable name: the Leaky Cauldron.
Before they entered, the beautiful Mrs. Wick voiced her concern. "John, you're still a child. You mustn't go into pubs."
John readily assured her that he certainly wouldn't.
Honestly, it was hard to grow fond of a place like this.
Inside the Leaky Cauldron, the stench of sweat mingled with sour beer to create a strange odor that made all three of them frown.
They had thought the outside was shabby enough, but the interior was even more alarming.
John actually wondered how these wizards could stand the smell, especially the fellow with a scarf wrapped around his head.
If the smell in here scored a hundred, that man contributed at least sixty.
The balding proprietor emerged from behind the bar, took one look at the family's clothes, and understood why they were there.
"Come along. Having you stand around here has already cost me a few Knuts."
The money-obsessed proprietor grumpily cleared a path past the bar, his words brimming with displeasure toward the three of them. Mrs. Wick thought wizards were terribly rude.
Led by the proprietor, the family reached the entrance to Diagon Alley.
The proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron demonstrated how to open it. "Three bricks up from the dustbin, then two across."
As he tapped the wall, the previously solid brickwork parted, revealing a street belonging to the magical world.
"So this is... magic."
John was awestruck. It was as though two worlds had appeared before his eyes.
Even years later, the memory would remain just as vivid.
"Sorry, coming through." A rough voice sounded behind them.
The enormous figure looked at least three meters tall.
He wore a gigantic moleskin overcoat that gave off a smell somewhere between wild animals and someone who hadn't bathed in far too long.
Beside the giant stood a little boy whose small frame suggested years of malnutrition.
His oversized clothes made him look even thinner. He wore round glasses, with beautiful green eyes behind the lenses.
When John spotted the lightning-shaped scar beneath the boy's hair, he immediately recognized him.
He had, after all, seen Harry Potter in his previous life. More than a decade might have passed, but it would have been strange not to recognize such a distinctive pair.
The Boy Who Lived.
"Hagrid and Harry."
John murmured their names, while his parents had already been struck speechless.
Turning a cup into a mouse was amazing enough, but Hagrid's clearly inhuman height still gave them quite a fright.
Watching the mismatched pair disappear into the distance, John brought his attention back to the task at hand.
Although he wanted to go and get acquainted with them, this clearly wasn't the right time.
He still had a great many things to buy, but first he needed to exchange some money at Gringotts.
Setting aside Gringotts' baffling exchange rate, that was.
The Wick family had a reasonably good income.
Watson Wick was a manager at a company, while Mrs. Wick ran a beauty salon.
They exchanged a total of two thousand pounds for four hundred Galleons.
Recalling the goblin's greedy, sly expression behind the counter, John couldn't shake the feeling that his family had been swindled.
Regardless, they now had the funds for their shopping trip.
John ignored Watson's muttering beside him about keeping some Galleons to show off to his friends.
The family wandered through Diagon Alley. When John spotted the Dragon Liver, his Chinese foodie instincts stirred, and he felt an urge to buy some and see how it tasted.
To Mr. and Mrs. Wick, however, it was merely a pile of bloody organs they wanted nowhere near.
Flourish and Blotts.
Watson couldn't keep his hands to himself and nearly had a finger bitten off by The Monster Book of Monsters.
John bought every book on his list, along with a few about the magical world. Among them, the thick volume of Hogwarts: A History made it difficult for him to tear his eyes away.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Madam Malkin was a short, plump witch with an infectious smile.
She was very pleased with John. The boy was a born model; every garment looked right on him.
After he left, Harry arrived and met the spoiled child Malfoy.
The Cauldron Shop.
John did his best to persuade Watson not to buy a fully automatic Self-Stirring Cauldron for his collection. It would leave their home in chaos.
Watson thought it might serve as a stewpot, however. The moment Mrs. Wick heard it was destined for her kitchen, she firmly vetoed the purchase, finally making Watson abandon the idea.
The apothecary.
As the family looked at the strange things floating in jars of liquid, Mrs. Wick was so frightened that she covered her precious son's eyes.
Watson looked sick, as though he wanted to vomit but couldn't. He felt as if the bacon he'd eaten for breakfast was wriggling in his stomach, trying to crawl out.
In the end, the family practically fled the apothecary.
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