Hogwarts and Stark Industries

Chapter 1: Hogwarts and Stark Industries

London, clear Little Whinging, Surrey, 6 Privet Drive.

On a perch specially designed for owls to rest, a black-and-white owl stood staring down.

Their owner, John Wick, was facing a big problem.

Their owner, John Wick, faced a big problem.

On the television, a sudden incident at a racing event held in Monaco was being broadcast.

A man wielding electric whips with both hands and a bulb-like device installed on his chest broke onto the racetrack.

With a single lash of his whip, this reckless fellow nearly caused a certain billionaire and playboy driving a car to meet his demise on the spot.

Fortunately, the opponent took out a briefcase, transformed into Iron Man, and successfully resolved the crisis.

The television was turned off, and John fell into deep contemplation.

This unremarkable piece of news revealed two pieces of information.

First, there was a Stark in this world, but he was not a hair salon stylist.

Second, that person named Tony Stark had many prefixes, one of which was Iron Man.

Even though quite some time had already passed since he came to this world.

"I am Iron Man!"

This single sentence completely transformed a billionaire playboy and super genius who graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

Even after a long time, it still left people with enough memories to recall it upon seeing it.

"So... you're telling me that things here are actually even more abnormal?"

John Wick, a former laborer from a certain Blue Planet in his past life, was born into a British family in 1980 in this life, with a Slavic mother and a British father.

In a place where the peak period of good looks was generally short-lived in the West, he successfully retained his looks up to the present.

And as for the person in that mirror, if you told someone he was almost thirty years old, people would only think you were joking.

With black hair and reddish-brown eyes, he favored vest suits paired with gold pocket watch chains, a silver ring and an emerald ring on his right hand, exuding a sense of mystery.

The handsome visage brought by his British and Russian heritage made him look like a student who ought to be going to university.

He had once studied at Hogwarts, manufactured the Philosopher's Stone, defeated the Dark Lord, and become the new generation of Wizard King.

Currently, he was the son of a wealthy British businessman on vacation.

Yet now you are telling me...

There was a man named Tony Stark in this world?

John felt he needed to calm down.

Although he already stood at the pinnacle of the magical world, facing a future where non-humans would emerge endlessly, he still felt somewhat melancholy.

If he remembered correctly, there seemed to be beings here who called themselves a race of gods.

John was numb.

Dealing with a Grim Reaper in the magical world was already troublesome enough, and now there were other gods.

Even at some point in the future, a Purple Potato would appear, carrying out public welfare activities to reduce carbon emissions, and finally eliminate half of the population of the entire universe with a snap of his fingers.

Thinking of his own lifespan, which could rival that of the big guy under the Black Lake, the more he looked at it, the more it resembled a candle flickering in the wind.

And there was a key matter.

How many years had already passed since coming to this world.

Those plot events were fragmented and discontinuous, and basically not much was remembered.

After all, who would repeatedly study past memories after spending their years studying at Hogwarts from the age of eleven.

As for why he only discovered this now?

He could only say that the very first television set in the magical world was spearheaded by him.

The only good news was probably that his development time over the past twenty-odd years had not been wasted.

His strength was his best guarantee.

He just didn't know whether his magic could withstand The Snap of the Purple Potato.

Expelliarmus ought to be able to dismantle the Infinity Gauntlet, right?

Thinking of this, he glanced at the empty, lifeless house.

A year ago, his parents and younger sister had moved to the United States because of work.

Thinking of his family, John stroked his chin and thought deeply, "I remember dad seemed to have invested in a weapon supplier called Hammer Industries."

He always felt this name sounded somewhat familiar.

It seemed they sold munitions, and the Stark family was into munitions-wasn't this Hammer Industries his competitor?

Mail was piled up at home.

In this era where the internet was beginning to flourish, there were still many people who liked to use physical letters compared to emails.

Take, for instance, John's uncle's family who held territory in Russia.

He took that yellowed letter out of the mailbox.

"Ding-dong."

Just as he was about to tear it open to take a look, the doorbell of the house, which hadn't had any visitors for a year, rang.

John opened the door in puzzlement; with his family all absent, who could be here?

Putting down the envelope, he went to open the door.

The moment his fingers touched the doorknob, he stopped.

In his acute magical perception, someone extraordinary had arrived outside.

An ordinary person's combat power was at level 0-1, while the one outside was at least level 3.

Amidst his musings, the doorbell kept ringing, accompanied by a very anxious voice carrying a hint of crying.

"Is anyone there? Please, open the door."

It was a woman.

A helpless voice with a Slavic accent, like a cat that had fallen into the water, aroused pity and made one eager to open the door immediately.

At that moment, the harsh sound of tires scraping against the ground rang out outside, along with some unfriendly shouting.

"You think you can run?"

A man's voice sounded.

Immediately after, the woman outside let out a startled cry.

"Slap!"

A crisp palm strike, in all probability landing on the woman's face.

The woman was still trying to get the homeowner to open the door to save her.

"No, don't, I don't want to go back."

The wretched woman used both hands and feet, resisting the robust man.

A single door separated heaven and hell.

The sleeping beagle was startled awake and got up instantly, its drool almost dripping onto the blanket.

The white owl looked at it with disdain.

John knew the other party was heading straight for him, yet he still opened the door.

It wasn't out of overflowing kindness, but rather because having someone die right outside would be quite troublesome to deal with.

The sound of the door opening drew attention.

Two scum who were clearly gangsters yet insisted on wearing suits and ties were bullying a beautiful red-haired woman.

The woman possessed the fair skin of a Slavic person, wore an office lady outfit, and a patch of snow-white was revealed through the torn buttons, looking pitiful.

"Get lost, kid, you'd better close that door."

The man with a Mexican accent pointed at John with a fierce and menacing look, issuing a command.

Looking at these two full-HP thugs whose health bars were already like candles in the wind.

John looked into the woman's pleading eyes and couldn't help but marvel at her acting skills.

Pity, at Hogwarts, there was a magic known as Legilimency.

This exquisite acting, falling into John's eyes, carried a heavy sense of incongruity.

It was like two little rabbits dancing in front of a lioness.

Yet the routine that needed to be gone through still had to be followed.

John brewed his own acting performance.

He raised a finger and pointed at the house opposite, speaking in a casual tone: "There is a heavyweight boxer in the house across the street who goes out to exercise at four o'clock every morning.

If you want to keep your teeth and jaw intact before retirement, you'd better leave right now."

His words left the two arrogant fellows stunned.

As pimps who could only strut and show off in front of women, they were clearly somewhat at a loss in the face of such a threat.

Coincidentally, the boxer who had finished training outside happened to walk past.

Compared to him, the two of them looked like mere thin poles.

Evaluating the gap between himself and the other party, the pimp dropped a harsh parting threat, "You just wait!"

Fearing they would go and taste a professional boxer's fists, they hurriedly ran to the car, started the engine, and left.

The script for a hero saving a damsel is complete, the woman inwardly muttered to herself.

Next, she needed to make contact with this person who might be related to the incident of Stark being attacked.

Pondering up to this point.

"Thank you so much, you saved me." The woman repeatedly expressed her gratitude; she staggered to her feet, her whole body exuding a sense of resilience.

She said with lingering fear, "I was kidnapped by them. They are pimps who wanted to make me serve men."

Clearly, no matter where it was, this was still a business.

Listening to this, John seemed deeply moved, while a trace of cunning satisfaction flashed in the woman's eyes.

The next second.

John took out his wallet, pulled out some green bills from it, and handed them to the woman with sympathy, "You're so pitiful, then you should hurry home."

The woman: "?" This development wasn't right.