Inside Compartment C.
Aside from John and his group, several other students were also present.
John already understood Professor Slughorn's particular interests.
The students invited to these gatherings either had notable reputations or came from distinguished families.
Malfoy's eyes immediately locked onto Harry, his expression slightly dazed.
To their surprise, Ginny was there as well.
Besides them, there were others—like Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in the same year as John, and Cormac McLaggen, whose uncle was a high-ranking official at the Ministry of Magic, similar to Mr. Pierce.
When John entered, Slughorn turned around with some difficulty in the limited space of the compartment.
The others, however, reacted first.
"John, Daphne, Draco," Neville greeted them warmly.
"Jo—Own." Blaise tried to stand up too quickly and accidentally bumped his knee against the table.
Cormac hesitated for a moment, then stood and gave John a polite nod.
"John, it's wonderful to see you—truly wonderful!" Slughorn said eagerly, gesturing for them to come closer. "And these must be Miss Greengrass and Mr. Malfoy, yes? I've saved seats for all of you."
Slughorn gestured toward the seats by the door, and John was just about to sit there when—
"No, no, John, over here," Slughorn said enthusiastically, pulling him to sit beside him.
John obliged, giving the professor that courtesy.
"All right, you all know each other, don't you?" Slughorn began.
Before anyone else could speak, Blaise, John's self-proclaimed admirer, jumped in. "John is the best at Hogwarts! You have no idea how amazing he is!"
Slughorn's smile widened, clearly amused. He nodded and teased, "I know more than you think. One of my former students, Damocles Alex Belby—the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion—is a good friend of John's."
"Damocles Belby told me that John Wick is the most talented student Hogwarts has seen in a hundred years."
Slughorn didn't hold back his praise, going on and on about John's brilliance.
"Ah, this is delightful," Slughorn said at last, clearly satisfied, as though complimenting John alone had brightened his day. "I brought my own lunch, you know. The food on the trolley always tastes too much like hay and wand polish."
"A poor old man's stomach can't handle such things anymore."
Muttering to himself, he turned to Malfoy. "Some quail, Malfoy?"
Malfoy accepted what looked like half a frozen quail.
"Your father was once my student," Slughorn said fondly. "I even visited his museum once—truly a remarkable achievement, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course. My father enjoys making his own humble contributions to the wizarding world," Malfoy replied, lifting his chin proudly.
Once Malfoy began talking about his family, he could easily have gone on for three days and nights.
But Slughorn didn't neglect the other students—after all, they were all part of his future "collection."
He soon turned to Neville and spoke for a while about the Longbottoms, which genuinely surprised him.
"I mean no offense, but what happened with your parents is truly astonishing. I'd even call it a miracle. An old friend of mine at St. Mungo's once said their recovery was impossible."
As a Potions Master, Slughorn was deeply curious about the Longbottoms' recovery.
He then chatted with Daphne about Mr. Greengrass's recent dealings with the Ministry. The Greengrass family business had grown considerably over the past year.
Finally, he turned his attention to Harry—the main event.
He began asking about the battle at the Ministry.
Harry was visibly uncomfortable as he spoke.
After all, at least six people in the room had been there that night—four of whom had been his enemies.
Still, since he also knew a few details John didn't, Harry didn't feel completely uneasy while recounting it.
However, when the subject of the prophecy came up, Harry instinctively glanced at Malfoy.
Malfoy noticed and responded with a provocative smirk.
That provoked Harry's anger—after all, it had been Malfoy who smashed the prophecy that day.
Retelling the incident was pure torment for Harry, forcing him to recall how powerless he had been, completely overwhelmed.
Fortunately, Ginny was there, and her quick thinking helped ease the awkwardness.
The gathering eventually ended with Slughorn sharing endless anecdotes about the outstanding wizards he had once taught—many of whom had been members of his old "Slug Club."
It wasn't until the crimson evening light filled the sky that Slughorn finally realized the time.
As Headmaster, he couldn't let the students disembark without their school robes on.
The group gradually dispersed, and Slughorn cheerfully saw them off one by one.
Just as he turned around, he noticed that John was still standing where he was.
"John?" Slughorn asked with a pleasant smile—he didn't mind some private conversation with him. "Is there something else?"
"Professor Slughorn, there are a few things I'd like to ask you about."
Those words made Slughorn suddenly think of a certain letter—one that had frightened him enough not to reply. His smile stiffened slightly.
"If it's about the Restricted Section..." he began cautiously.
"It's somewhat related," John said evenly, noticing the man's unease. "But it's not the same matter."
That made Slughorn exhale in relief. He then asked what John's question was.
"You should know the reason I was awarded the Order of Merlin," John said calmly, resting his fist under his chin. "I've been conducting research on the Bloodline Curse."
As long as it wasn't about Horcruxes, Slughorn was always willing to guide his students.
All the more so when the student in question was the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin.
...
Slughorn was an odd man. You could call him snobbish, as he always showed special favor to talented and remarkable students.
Toward those who weren't as outstanding, his attitude wasn't harsh—but it was indifferent.
John didn't see that as a flaw.
After all, privilege was often the greatest motivation for hard work. If everyone were truly equal, then the meaning of effort itself would become blurred.
Leaving Compartment C, John spotted Malfoy.
"Why are you waiting here?" John asked.
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Daphne thought she should talk to Astoria first."
"Why aren't you calling her Asto or Tori anymore?" John asked as he walked past, and Malfoy naturally followed beside him.
"Ahem," Malfoy coughed twice, looking guilty as he said, "That's just a nickname. We're just… close friends, that's all."
John said nothing more and continued toward the next carriage.
He saw Blaise Zabini gossiping about something.
When Blaise spotted John, he exclaimed excitedly, "John, you won't believe what that girl just did!"
"She used a perfect Bat-Bogey Hex and sent Zacharias Smith flying!" Blaise said, almost jumping with excitement. "I love that girl—I'm going to chase her!"
Malfoy looked at him like he'd gone mad. "Merlin's beard, you like her? A Gryffindor?"
Perhaps because of John's influence, Blaise—once a firm believer in pure-blood ideals—had changed his views. Now, he admired strong women.
And Ginny Weasley fit that description perfectly—strong, confident, and undeniably beautiful.
The other girls who met that standard were far beyond Blaise's reach.
Blaise might have blushed, though his dark complexion made it impossible to tell. He stammered, "John, do you think I have a chance?"
"Pursuing someone you like isn't shameful," John said with a small laugh. "Just keep your composure, Blaise."
Encouraged by the approval, Blaise made up his mind.
Malfoy leaned closer to John and whispered, "I swear Percy's going to kill him. We all know how protective he is of his sister."
Even during his Christmas feud with the family, Percy had never forgotten to send gifts to his mother and sister.
John shrugged. "A little heartbreak will do him some good."
He glanced at the door behind them, which paused briefly before closing, and said with a faint smile, "We should head back."
Pansy was leaning against a boy who looked rather sullen.
Malfoy let out a sigh of relief and said loudly, "Thank Merlin, at least she've finally found someone normal. Theodore Nott's one of our own, after all."
John gave Malfoy a speechless look. Clearly, all those beatings he'd taken in life hadn't been for nothing.
Couldn't he lower his voice just once?
Childhood friends—either they fall in love or they drive each other mad.
It was obvious that Malfoy and Pansy belonged to the latter category.
The moment Pansy heard his words, the sweet girl instantly turned into a furious tigress.
By the time they returned to the compartment, Malfoy was rubbing the corner of his bruised mouth, muttering stubbornly, "I just don't hit women."
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