The Leaky Cauldron was still the same kind of place that made people frown as soon as they stepped in.
When John entered, the bar fell silent for a brief moment—then came the hushed whispers.
He ignored them completely, walking straight to the back alley and stepping into Diagon Alley.
Watson couldn't make it this time—no doubt he'd be disappointed.
"What books do you need?"
Inside Flourish and Blotts, it had been a while since John's last visit.
Last year, he'd chosen to have his textbooks delivered by mail.
He glanced at the cage containing that vicious, half-mad book that looked like a rabid dog, then at the shop clerk's lifeless expression.
"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,Advanced Potion-Making…....."
He listed a string of titles, and slowly, the clerk's eyes began to regain some light.
Clearly, not having to touch those damned biting books was reason enough for joy.
Mrs. Wick, too, noticed the shelf of snapping books and said, "The one at home is always chasing Tom's tail around."
"That sounds fun," John replied, picturing the scene. He could already imagine Tom not being frightened in the least—in fact, she'd probably enjoy it.
After finishing up at Flourish and Blotts, they still had a few more items to buy.
John stuffed Swinging My Greatsword at Hogwarts by Lockhart into the small handbag—no doubt his father, Watson, would have been disappointed if they'd come all this way without picking up the wizarding bestseller.
Next, they stopped by the ice cream shop. To Mrs. Wick's taste, the flavors here were far too rich.
Perhaps it was because of the wizarding constitution—these sweets were so sugary that any normal person would've woken up the next day with a full set of cavities.
Mrs. Wick was more interested in the clothing shops. She was quite the skilled seamstress herself.
Along the street, several notices were posted—mostly warnings about danger and wanted posters that actually moved.
Despite Voldemort's return, Diagon Alley's business hadn't suffered much. John saw several young witches and wizards on their way to Ollivanders, accompanied by their parents.
One girl held a paper bag of fire-roasted dragon chestnuts she'd just bought from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the rich aroma making a chubby boy nearby practically drool.
A few street vendors had quietly set up stalls, selling all kinds of so-called protective charms.
Most of them were useless trinkets, the very sort of thing the Ministry's new department had made it a priority to crack down on.
To those peddlers, Mrs. Wick must have looked like the perfect mark—a kind, gullible Muggle woman.
John sneered inwardly.
Did they really think Mrs. Wick was as naive as Watson?
A wizard with an absurdly large nose approached them enthusiastically, waving a charm and claiming it could block ninety percent of all dark curses.
Mrs. Wick didn't even look at him—her gaze slid past as though she'd just seen something filthy.
The large-nosed wizard was left awkwardly standing there, before quickly turning to pitch his charms to a nearby family instead.
Unfortunately for him, his luck was poor—because that family happened to include a certain Ministry department head in charge of cracking down on such scams.
Oh.. The Weasleys.
John glanced their way but said nothing, continuing on with Mrs. Wick toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
These monopoly businesses really did make money hand over fist. John stepped inside.
He'd grown quite a bit again—nearly a full inch taller every year.
When Madam Malkin saw him, her eyes lit up immediately.
This tall, well-built boy wasn't just another student—he was the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin.
As she took his measurements, she couldn't resist asking if he'd be interested in modeling for her shop.
As the owner of the Silverhand Collection, one of Madam Malkin's biggest competitors, John politely declined.
Madam Malkin looked a little disappointed, but Mrs. Wick beamed with pride. Her son was clearly quite famous in the wizarding world.
The Wicks had always known John was exceptional, but they hadn't realized just how far his talents reached.
She'd thought he might simply be top of his year—but it seemed that was only scratching the surface.
Madam Malkin circled John with her measuring tape, jotting down each of his new measurements carefully.
The door opened just then.
John glanced to the side, but since he was facing right—and his right eye wasn't in the best condition—all he saw was a blur.
A clothing rack stood between them, so the newcomer didn't notice him at first either.
Still, from that unmistakable flash of fiery red hair, John already guessed who it was.
...
Hermione didn't immediately see Madam Malkin and was about to call out when, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of someone standing behind the rack.
Her expression shifted at once. Ron noticed something was off and was about to ask when a loud, arrogant voice sounded from outside.
"Do you know who I am?"
The familiar tone made both Harry and Ron turn toward the entrance.
The door burst open, and in strode Draco Malfoy with his mother, Narcissa, right behind him.
"Call me 'sir' if you want to be polite. If not, I'll bury you myself," Draco sneered, spouting lines he'd clearly picked up from somewhere unsavory.
A shadow of gloom crossed Narcissa's features as they entered Madam Malkin's. Her gaze swept subtly around the shop.
The moment Draco stepped inside and spotted the trio, his expression sharpened instantly.
"Well, look who it is," he said mockingly. "Our grand 'Savior' himself—Harry Potter."
Harry's face darkened, but Draco went on as if he hadn't noticed.
"What's next? Gonna have the big guy stand guard for you? You really think you're the chosen one, don't you?"
Draco threw his arms wide, dramatically exaggerating his tone.
"Oh no, Voldemort! Dumbledore, save me!"
He acted out the scene with mock terror, his face twisted in feigned panic, making Harry's fists clench with the urge to hit him.
"Malfoy, shut up!" Ron roared, stepping forward.
Draco glanced at him and sneered. "What's this? The Savior's little lapdog coming to defend his master?"
A smirk tugged at his lips as he spread his arms, mocking. "To deal with you, I don't even need a wand."
Honestly—seeing him like that—John felt his own fists itch. (╬▔皿▔)
If Draco ever got beaten up outside, no one would find it surprising.
"Come on then! Who's afraid of who?" Ron's face turned red, whether from being called a lackey or from sheer anger at being looked down on.
"Draco," Narcissa said sharply, frowning at her son.
Draco's smirk faded. He gave a short, disdainful snort. "You're lucky. I'm not in the mood to dirty my robes today."
Ron was breathing heavily through his nose like an angry bull.
Harry, too, was ready to punch Draco—or maybe just wash his mouth out with his wand.
"Hermione, what's wrong?"
Just as Harry was about to draw his wand, he sensed something was off.
There was no sound from Hermione's side.
He turned and saw her standing still, hesitant, almost afraid to step forward.
It wasn't Draco who had scared her—that much he was sure of—so it had to be something else.
"Oh, John? Ah—good afternoon, ma'am."
As if he hadn't just been mouthing off seconds ago, Draco immediately straightened when he noticed John and Mrs. Wick.
In an instant, the arrogant brat turned into a perfect gentleman.
"Mrs. Wick," Draco said politely, bowing slightly, "I'm Draco Malfoy, a friend of John's."
The sight was so surreal that Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
It was more shocking than the idea of Snape washing his hair.
"Draco, I've heard John mention you," Mrs. Wick said warmly. "He spoke of you as a very ..spirited young man."
Draco puffed up with pride, standing tall at the praise.
John, meanwhile, noticed Narcissa watching him. He turned his head slightly to meet her gaze.
After a brief moment, he looked back at Draco, his brow furrowing.
Madam Malkin finished taking his measurements, and just as she stepped away, John suddenly walked over to Draco.
Before Draco could react, John reached out and adjusted the boy's collar, saying calmly, "Draco, you should pay more attention to your appearance."
Draco instinctively touched his collar, looking puzzled, while John continued, "I still need to stop by the cauldron shop."
With that, he said his goodbyes to Draco.
As he reached the door, he caught sight of Hermione watching him—she seemed about to approach but stopped herself.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. John gave her a small nod, said nothing, and walked out.
Hermione's expression dimmed; a wave of disappointment washed over her. Even the fitting that followed couldn't lift her spirits.
Outside stood a large, familiar figure—Hagrid.
When John stepped out and saw him, he smiled.
"John! You're here too?" Hagrid said in delight. "You've no idea how worried I was after what happened last time."
"I'm sorry, Hagrid," John replied. "I should've told you sooner."
Hagrid swept him into a crushing hug, the same bone-cracking embrace as always.
When he finally set John down, Hagrid noticed Mrs. Wick and spoke a little awkwardly, "You must be Mrs. Wick. I'm Rubeus Hagrid—John's friend."
"And one of Hogwarts' professors," John added, patting Hagrid's broad stomach. "Hagrid's classes might not always be the best—but they're definitely the most exciting."
Hagrid scratched his head in embarrassment at the introduction.
Mrs. Wick greeted him politely—she still remembered the towering man they'd met during her very first visit to Diagon Alley.
She hadn't expected John to have become friends with him.
Hagrid and John chatted for a while, mostly about Grawp.
Grawp had learned to say a few more words now, and that alone made Hagrid immensely proud.
After saying their goodbyes, John and Mrs. Wick visited a few more supply shops.
…
Draco stepped out of Madam Malkin's shop.
"This way leads to Knockturn Alley?" he asked, walking ahead carelessly.
The narrow lane was deserted, lined with cramped, tightly shuttered windows that seemed to block out all light.
He didn't notice the change in his mother Narcissa's expression.
After a few steps, he stopped abruptly.
"Bellatrix?" Draco's face paled as he saw the woman with scarred, burned skin standing before them.
"Mother—go ahead without me."
Draco drew his wand, his voice calm and steady. "I can handle her. Go find Father—or John."
He was no longer the same Draco Malfoy as before. His gaze stayed sharp and alert, fixed on Bellatrix.
Bellatrix approached step by step, her expression twisted and deranged.
"Draco… little Dracokins… come give your dear aunt a hug."
The words made Draco's stomach churn. His tone turned cutting as he snapped back, "Have you seen yourself lately? You're disgusting."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Bellatrix, furious, struck first.
In the narrow alleyway, two wands flared to life at once.
Crackling arcs of electricity danced through the air.
Draco had been training under Barty Jr. for some time now—his dueling skills had improved quickly.
Even facing Bellatrix, he wasn't immediately forced back.
"Cruci—"
"Expelliarmus!"
A third voice.
He didn't even have time to figure out who it was.
"Huh—?"
Draco's wand flew from his hand before he could react, and Bellatrix's next spell sent him crashing to the ground.
A small emerald-green serpent slithered across the cold stone floor, winding its way toward the unconscious Draco. Its crimson tongue flicked out repeatedly, brushing against his cheek.
Behind him, Narcissa's hand trembled as she held her wand. She raised her head, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.
Her voice shook with both fury and grief. "Do you believe me now?"
Bellatrix let out a shrill, grating laugh.
Narcissa shut her eyes in pain, her other hand clenched tightly.
Inside her palm, hidden from sight, was a silver ring—one she carried for the sole purpose of killing her sister.
"Of course, Cissy," Bellatrix crooned. "My dearest little sister."
In the dim, narrow alleyway, Draco lay unconscious on the ground.
And behind the sealed windows and doors, John watched silently—without lifting his wand.
________
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