"Who's there!"
By the time Voldemort noticed, it was already too late.
Without hesitation, John slashed his sword at the hand holding the Philosopher's Stone.
The severed arm flew through the air, shedding little blood as it rapidly shriveled.
"Come out!"
Voldemort waved his wand with his remaining hand, sending a streak of green light toward John.
Prepared for it, John rolled sideways to dodge, then lunged forward.
The greatsword in his hand whirled like a windmill, severing Voldemort's other hand.
Drawing his wand, John launched his final attack.
He aimed at Voldemort's chest, and a dazzling white light shot from his wand.
"Reducto!"
Voldemort's frail body shattered in an instant, and John dropped onto his backside.
"Good thing he's even weaker now than he was in the Forbidden Forest."
John's sequence of attacks had looked effortlessly stylish, but it had actually taken an enormous mental toll.
Especially when he dodged the green light-that was when he realized he had made a mistake.
If Voldemort's body had been in slightly better condition, or if he hadn't let his guard down because he thought victory was assured, that attack would have been enough to send John to his grave.
Fortunately, John's many days of training had allowed him to dodge instinctively.
After sitting for a while, John looked toward Harry, who was still struggling.
Although Voldemort was dead, his magic remained.
John walked over and picked up the Philosopher's Stone.
From Harry's perspective, Voldemort had seemed to be fighting a ghost. Both his arms had been severed in an instant, and then his body had exploded.
While Harry was still reeling in confusion, he saw the Philosopher's Stone float into the air.
"Is that you, Professor Dumbledore?"
Harry gazed hopefully toward the Philosopher's Stone. John was about to speak when the dead Voldemort gathered into a cloud of black smoke, formed a hideous face, and flew toward Harry.
"Stop!"
Without thinking, John hurled his weapon at the black smoke, hoping to stop it.
But the smoke had no solid form. The flying sword passed through it, and the smoke passed through Harry.
Screams rang in Harry's ears again. His mind went blank, and then he lost consciousness.
By the time John reached him, the black smoke had dispersed. He called Harry's name several times, but there was no response.
"He's not dead, is he?"
Looking at Harry in alarm and uncertainty, John slapped the Chosen One's face several times. When he still got no response, he took out a large assortment of potions, preparing to try them on him one by one.
"I think Harry Potter has merely suffered a severe fright."
A rich, elderly voice sounded. John looked up to see Dumbledore standing there.
He looked as though he had just hurried back from outside.
"John Wick, I think you can lift your Disillusionment Charm now."
Only after the reminder did John remember that he was still invisible.
He lifted the charm, revealing himself, and scratched his head awkwardly. "Professor Dumbledore."
Dumbledore's eyes held approval. "It seems you chose the right path and did not allow power to blind you to your true self."
Understanding flashed in John's eyes. Sure enough, the old man knew he had been studying with Quirrell.
Apparently, everything had been under Dumbledore's control. Perhaps he had never even left the school, and John's intervention had been unnecessary.
"It's all thanks to the school's excellent teaching," he said respectfully.
What John didn't know was that Dumbledore had indeed rushed back.
He had only recently learned that someone had entered the chamber containing the Philosopher's Stone. If John hadn't arrived in time, Voldemort would probably have succeeded.
Dumbledore picked Harry up, and with a wave of his hand, the sea of flames dispersed.
"Let's take Harry to the Hospital Wing. Poor Harry-I wonder whether he'll recover in time for the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw."
John nodded. Just as they were leaving, he blinked. He seemed to still be holding the Philosopher's Stone.
Glancing at Dumbledore, who seemed not to have noticed, John hesitated before speaking. "Professor, what should we do with the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore stopped and smiled. "I'm very glad that you're an honest boy. Do you remember our agreement? I don't think my old friend Nicolas Flamel would mind a certain little wizard borrowing his Philosopher's Stone for a while."
Nicolas Flamel!
John stopped in astonishment, looking as stunned as a Niffler that had lost its money.
June 9.
Three days had passed since the incident, but John still hadn't settled down.
"Mix the dragon blood with wetland soil, then use a silver file to scrape some powder from the horn..."
The bright red stone lay on the table while John worked with dragon blood and other materials to craft amulets.
Under his careful carving, a badge depicting stars surrounding a wand gradually took shape.
John took out a pen made from a snowy owl feather fitted with a silver nib.
He inscribed runes onto the surface.
"The final step."
Wiping away his sweat, John placed the badges into the cauldron to soak.
He dropped the Philosopher's Stone in and stirred for a while. The water in the cauldron turned red, then black.
Finally, the water became clear, and John retrieved the badges and the Philosopher's Stone.
The badge seemed to hold a swirling galaxy. He pinned it to his chest. It contained three spells that could withstand three attacks, along with six empty slots for adding more spells later. The badges could also sense one another.
He had made nine in total, and John put the other eight away.
Turning toward a cauldron larger than the others, John lifted its lid a crack. The silver inside was almost completely molten.
He added dragon blood and the remaining unicorn horn in succession, then closed the lid and waited for everything to melt completely.
He poured the molten silver into a prepared mold, accompanied by a constant sizzling.
Once it had cooled completely, John broke open the mold, revealing a silver longsword.
He put the cooled sword back into the cauldron, along with the Philosopher's Stone.
John nervously watched the changes that occurred inside the cauldron from time to time.
"I sold everything I could just to scrape together this little bit of mithril. Please don't fail."
Under his intensely anxious gaze, the changes inside the cauldron stopped.
Full of anticipation, he opened the cauldron, only for his expression to freeze at the sight inside.
"It failed."
The sword inside the cauldron had turned gold. This was the Philosopher's Stone's transmutation effect.
But John didn't want to turn it into gold. He wanted to improve the sword's quality.
Disappointment showed on his face, and John sighed. "Even with the Philosopher's Stone, forging something on the level of the Sword of Gryffindor is still too difficult."
Taking out the golden sword, John figured he could at least sell it for some money.
He checked the time. It was already time for the end-of-year feast.
John had no choice but to put everything away. He tucked the Philosopher's Stone into his pocket and left the Room of Requirement.
The day was particularly lively.
In the Great Hall, Harry had returned from the Hospital Wing, though he was somewhat downcast after learning that they had lost the match against Ravenclaw because of his absence.
Slytherin's green and silver decorations adorned the Great Hall. They had already won the House Cup seven years running.
John sat at the Slytherin table, glanced at Malfoy's smug expression, then noted that Gryffindor trailed Slytherin by a full 160 points.
If not for Malfoy, there really was no telling who would have won.
Dumbledore gave his speech at the front. When he mentioned Slytherin's first-place finish, Slytherin erupted in thunderous cheers and stamping feet. John joined in too.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly. Just when everyone thought he was about to announce the winner, he changed course. "However, a few recent events must also be taken into account."
The Great Hall fell silent. The Slytherins sensed that something was wrong, and Malfoy's smile faded.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I have a few final points to award. Let me see. Ah, yes..."
"First, Mr. Ron Weasley. He won the finest game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years. For this, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
"Second, Miss Hermione Granger. She calmly applied logical reasoning in the face of fire. I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
"Third, Harry Potter. He demonstrated fearless resolve and extraordinary courage. For this, I award Gryffindor House another sixty points!"
A turnaround.
An earth-shattering turnaround!
Gryffindor, which had been trailing, suddenly drew level with Slytherin. The Golden Trio's achievements sent deafening cheers ringing through Hogwarts.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence and smiled. "There are many kinds of courage."
"It takes extraordinary bravery to face our enemies, but it also takes great courage to stand our ground before our friends."
"Therefore, I award Mr. Neville Longbottom ten points!"
An eruption-a complete eruption!
Slytherin shouted that it was rigged, while the other houses celebrated as though they meant to bring Hogwarts crashing down.
Malfoy was already banging his goblet on the table in protest, and every Slytherin wore a dark expression.
Gryffindor had taken first place. Apart from Slytherin, everyone seemed satisfied with the result.
John couldn't resist muttering, "Gryffindor. Of course they'd get more points."
So we're just handing out points now?
Everything seemed about to be settled. Seeing his Head of House's stiff smile, John shook his head in sympathy.
"Quiet, everyone, please."
Dumbledore spoke again, but rather than announcing the result, he looked toward John.
"Finally, Mr. John Wick..."
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