The shop and Johnny

Two weeks later.

John received a package sent from America. The long parcel was securely enclosed in a wooden crate.

He eagerly grabbed a crowbar and pried it open. Once he had pulled out six nails, the crate opened.

Inside, packed in hay for cushioning, lay a Knight Sword decorated with mithril.

The blade gleamed like a mirror. Its semicircular guard had been cast from mithril mixed with steel powder, while the grip was oak. A rounded mithril pommel capped the end, with a circular recess left in it.

Forged using the three-piece method, the blade was straight and hard, yet resistant to breaking.

The more John looked at it, the more he loved it. He immediately picked it up and began swinging it.

The blade's center of gravity sat two finger-widths from the guard, making every swing smooth and fluid.

It could be wielded with either one hand or two. John had specifically asked for a longer grip so he could use it like a greatsword.

After going through a full routine, John stopped, thoroughly satisfied.

It was a shame he wasn't at Hogwarts, or he would have gone to the training grounds to test it out.

"The spaces left in the mithril are perfect for enchanting."

John immediately prepared to enchant it. He secured the blade and used an engraving tool to carve characters into the mithril guard.

Working away one tap at a time, he finally succeeded in laying the groundwork for a rune-based Fire-Making Spell.

Fehu was associated with cattle. It symbolized harvests, but also wild flames.

He took out his wand to complete the enchantment.

The instant it succeeded, John distinctly felt the sword change.

He activated the runes to cast the Fire-Making Spell. The characters glowed red, and the blade instantly ignited, becoming a flaming sword.

"A sword of iron and fire. I feel more like a witch hunter."

John figured that if he put on a suit of Viking Armor, he could make a guest appearance as a witch hunter.

He extinguished the flames, put the sword away, and slipped it into his little handbag.

Although the bag looked rather feminine, John wasn't picky when he had a useful item ready to hand.

"I should give it a name. Let's call it the Iron Wick Sword."

And so the Iron Wick Sword was born.

John went to the living room to write his replies. Since returning home, he had resumed correspondence with his friends.

Hermione had invited him to Diagon Alley the next day to buy their books for the coming school year. Her handwriting betrayed her excitement, with ink blots where she had accidentally pressed too hard.

"Is something big happening tomorrow?"

John thought back carefully. There wasn't anything particularly important happening tomorrow, so why was Hermione so excited?

As it happened, Harry and Ron were also going the next day. The Golden Trio really lived up to their status as the main characters, always perfectly in sync.

After replying to each of them, John wrote Hagrid a letter as well, hoping he could help find some materials from magical creatures.

Once he had finished everything, he switched his pen from his left hand to his right and wrote Mundungus Fletcher a letter in completely different handwriting, then gathered several items he had made.

"Apart from being a bit greedy, Mundungus Fletcher has been doing a pretty good job."

John had been having Mundungus Fletcher sell the magical items he made for practice. Aside from constantly complaining about the hard work and asking for a bigger commission, Mundungus Fletcher advertised them as the work of a master alchemist.

This doubled his sales, and John's assets doubled along with them.

The money he had accumulated from selling items during this period had already pushed his private savings past three thousand Galleons.

He couldn't compare with Harry, whose family wealth went back who knew how many generations, but he could still count himself as fairly well-off.

Still, even after saving so much, John burned through money quickly.

Hagrid's reply arrived soon afterward. Based on the list of materials John had sent him, he provided a rough price.

When John saw the figure, he couldn't help sucking in a sharp breath.

"Twelve hundred Galleons. Alchemy really does burn through money."

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost half the money he had just saved was about to disappear.

At that moment, he was deeply envious of Hagrid. Having the Forbidden Forest at his doorstep was practically like sitting on a mountain of treasure.

Hagrid had quoted the lowest possible price, too. He already had some of the materials and had taken them off the bill, figuring John didn't need to buy them.

If John had to buy everything, most of his funds would probably go into it.

"I'll withdraw the money from Gringotts tomorrow and buy my books while I'm there."

What a money pit.

John's head was now full of Galleons. Once he deducted the cost of alchemy, his actual profit wasn't all that impressive.

After he told his parents they were going to London, Watson happily opened the safe, preparing to bring home some strange and unusual purchases.

Seeing that his dad was about to exchange money with those money-grubbing goblins at Gringotts again, John immediately stopped him.

Under Watson's stunned gaze, he took out a handful of Galleons and let them clatter onto the table.

"Other kids cost money to send to school. You make money going there." Watson's eyes lit up.

That was his son for you, already capable of supporting his family at such a young age.

John merely smiled. "Exchange it with me. I'll give you a better rate."

In other words, he still had to pay.

Watson's smile froze. Keeping clear accounts between brothers was one thing, but why did John have to do it with his own father?

John knew that unless he put some kind of restriction on his dad, the man would probably bring home a mountain of random junk from Diagon Alley.

To keep Mrs. Wick's blood pressure from soaring, Johnny squeezed Watson's private savings.

John's school expenses had originally come out of the family budget. With this change, however, it became Watson's personal spending, so he could only tearfully dip into his own little stash.

The next day.

The family of three drove to the Leaky Cauldron. Compared with their previous visit, it didn't smell nearly as bad this time.

It was probably because Quirrell wasn't there. John made his way to the Leaky Cauldron's back entrance with practiced ease.

Once they entered Diagon Alley, John planned to visit Gringotts first and deposit his money.

He kept enough for his materials and textbooks, then deposited the rest at Gringotts.

This brought smiles to the goblins' ugly faces. Greedy and selfish as they were, he had to admit that Gringotts had an excellent security system.

After passing through an anti-theft waterfall, John secretly collected some of its water.

The water could wash away magical effects, and he intended to take it home and study whether he could reproduce it.

On leaving Gringotts, John ran into Malfoy.

Malfoy was following a man with the same pale, pointed face. The man looked like an older version of him, and John guessed he was Malfoy's father.

The two were heading toward Knockturn Alley.

His own dad had already taken his Galleons and gone off to splurge, dragging Mrs. Wick along with him.

John happened to be heading to Knockturn Alley himself. After casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he followed alongside the Malfoys.

Along the way, John heard Malfoy constantly muttering about Harry.

Even his father, Lucius Malfoy, grew impatient. "You've told me at least ten times already."

Mr. Malfoy glanced at his son and stopped him from going on.

"Young Malfoy really does have a deep and abiding love for Harry."

Marveling at the sight, John followed the pair to Borgin and Burkes, the antiques shop Mundungus Fletcher had once entered.

Rather than going inside, John turned and headed toward a building a short distance away.

Mundungus Fletcher had been living very comfortably lately. Apart from having to keep watch on a child, he no longer needed to go out stealing; he only had to wait for the daily mail.

For that reason, he had discarded his shabby suit and changed into a more respectable outfit.

"Good heavens, I look just like a businessman now."

As he preened in front of the mirror, Mundungus Fletcher noticed his front door opening out of the corner of his eye.

Startled, he drew his wand and demanded, "Who's there? Come out!"

"Mundungus Fletcher, you've grown bold enough to point your wand at me now."

The low, raspy voice chilled Mundungus Fletcher to the bone. He hastily dropped his wand and pressed his hands together, pleading humbly, "Sir Johnny, I meant no offense. I only thought a thief had broken in."

"Hmph."

Johnny Silverhand was the identity John used in front of Mundungus Fletcher.

He had never shown his real face. Finding somewhere to sit, he glanced around and said, "So this is the shop you acquired. Looks like you pocketed quite a bit of the money."

"No, no, Sir Johnny, you don't understand. This was the best place five hundred Galleons could get."

Mundungus Fletcher felt rather wronged. This time, he really hadn't lied to John.

He had gone to enormous lengths to secure the place. Although it was a little small, the location was excellent.

"All right. You'd better get this place fitted out soon, Mundungus Fletcher. Doing business is far more satisfying than stealing."

John was only giving Mundungus Fletcher a little warning. He knew selling a few items at a time wouldn't earn him serious money, so he had asked Mundungus Fletcher to acquire a storefront where he could open a Johnny Silverhand specialty shop.

Mundungus Fletcher was already getting used to a life without hiding and running. Naturally, he couldn't bear to lose such a comfortable existence.

He immediately promised that he would get the place ready.

Once he finished speaking, he waited for John's next instructions, but there was no response.

This Sir Johnny Silverhand was excellent in every other respect. He just had a habit of leaving without saying goodbye.