C4: The Minister of Magic and the Juggernaut
September 1st.
The Wick family accompanied their son to King's Cross Station.
Watson was dressed in a pressed gray suit and polished leather Oxfords, tightly gripping the Hogwarts acceptance letter and staring at the platform number as though sheer focus might make sense of it.
"Platform nine and three-quarters?" he read aloud, baffled.
Watson had lived in England long enough to know every major terminal, yet he had never once heard of such a platform at King's Cross.
The family loitered awkwardly between Platforms 9 and 10, trailing their son like tourists, occasionally glancing at the train timetables or station maps in vain.
John glanced at his father, who was still muttering over the platform numbers. He didn't bother correcting him or pretending to be confused after all, he'd volunteered to accompany John purely out of curiosity. A Muggle who had heard of wizards and Hogwarts could hardly resist the pull of the magical world.
John, who knew the movie scenes by heart, casually walked over to the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 and placed a hand on the stone column between them. It was the third pillar from the left, the one Mrs. Weasley had pointed out to Harry in the original timeline.
Turning back, he waved briefly to Watson. Then, without hesitation, he ran straight at the column and vanished.
…
With his luggage trunk and owl cage jostling in his hands, John emerged on Platform 9¾, the scarlet Hogwarts Express billowing steam in front of him.
Distracted by the train's whistle and the bustle of young witches and wizards, he didn't notice the girl walking towards him until they collided.
"Oops."
Their luggage smashed together with a loud thud.
Years of combat training kept John upright, his posture unshaken like a mountain. The other party, unfortunately, had no such core strength and was knocked off balance. Books spilled out of her open bag and scattered across the floor.
Strength vs. Magic, Round One.
Strength wins.
"Are you okay?" John crouched instinctively to help the girl, who had landed bottom-first on the platform, robes bunched awkwardly at the knees.
As he handed back Hogwarts: A History, his eyes caught her face—wild brown curls, sharp eyes, and… two front teeth that could've starred in a dental horror film.
"You've got really big front teeth," he blurted honestly.
Hermione Jean Granger, daughter of two dentists, flushed beet red. The very insecurity she'd tried to hide beneath her robe's collar had been spotted in five seconds by a total stranger who also plowed into her.
She'd meant to say, "It's fine," but her expression clouded immediately.
John, unaware that he had just run into one-third of the Golden Trio, was still stuck on the difference between movie-Hermione and reality-Hermione. Emma Watson had been a glamorized version. This was... authentic.
He remembered plot points vividly, thanks to Sorcerer's Stone being everywhere in his past life but specific faces were hazier.
As Hermione gathered her things with visible irritation, John stacked the rest of her books with theatrical politeness and handed them over. He even smiled.
"Thanks," Hermione muttered, snatched her books, and wheeled her trolley briskly away.
John scratched his head, watching her retreat.
"Must be shy," he sighed, running a hand through his hair like a tragic heartthrob. "My bloody charm."
…
On the train.
John boarded early. Most compartments were still empty, and he claimed a window seat, stretching his legs across from it. Outside, the platform still swirled with first-years and hurried parents.
In canon, he thought, this is when Ron meets Harry. Shame, I kind of wanted to see that happen live.
A knock came at the compartment door.
"Excuse me, can I sit here?"
It was a round-faced boy with freckles and an anxious look, glancing between John and the corridor behind him.
John smiled and gestured to the opposite bench. "Please sit down."
The boy relaxed slightly and hauled his toad cage inside before closing the door.
The newcomer took in John's stylish brown wool sweater, confident posture, and the wand he idly twirled between his fingers. It wasn't a threat, but it exuded a casual sharpness, like a gunslinger cleaning his weapon.
The boy shrank instinctively closer to the window.
"Gugu."
A wet slap sounded. The toad had leapt out of his box.
"Leif!" the boy squeaked and lunged for it, barely catching the toad in his trembling hands.
John stared—not in annoyance, but in recognition.
A toad… there was a kid in Hogwarts with a toad, right?
His memory clicked into place.
Only a few students from the series stood out apart from the trio, and one of them was the forgetful boy with a lion's heart.
John extended a hand. "John Wick."
"N-Neville Longbottom," the boy stammered.
John's eyes lit up internally.
Neville Longbottom.
The one who stood up to his friends. The one who beheaded Nagini. The quiet hero. Some fans even claimed he was the real Chosen One—prophecy and all.
John believed in the dual-savior theory. Without Neville destroying the final Horcrux, Harry would have been helpless. And without Harry's sacrifice, Neville wouldn't have had the chance.
Each boy bore a piece of the burden. Alone, they would have failed. Together, they tipped the war.
When John didn't immediately reply, Neville squirmed, wondering if he'd somehow offended him. After all, in pure-blood circles, the Longbottom name didn't carry much clout anymore, certainly not compared to Malfoy or even Weasley.
Then came another voice, firm and unmistakably confident.
"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."
Bushy hair. Slightly buck teeth. Determined voice.
Hermione Granger entered, holding her head high like someone already giving her first TED Talk.
Neville perked up. "He's right here," he said quickly, pointing to John and then sheepishly to himself.
Hermione gave Neville a nod before her eyes landed on the other occupant.
She blinked.
It was him. The guy who made the comment about her teeth.
Her cheerful expression soured faster than a spoiled pumpkin pasty.
Neville, noticing the shift, panicked slightly. Had he said something rude?
Awkward silence.
Then Hermione broke it by sticking out her hand toward Neville. "Hermione Granger," she said in her practiced, clipped voice.
"Neville Longbottom," he mumbled, glancing at John nervously.
John finally clued in and straightened. "John Wick."
Hermione's brows lifted slightly.
So that's his name. The impolite brute from earlier.
She frowned but didn't say more.
Despite the rocky start, Hermione couldn't help her curiosity when Neville mentioned that his parents were both wizards.
"Oh! So, you must've learned magic at home?" she asked quickly. "Can you do any spells? I've tried a few. They haven't worked yet, but I've memorized all our textbooks."
Neville flushed and shook his head.
Hermione kept going, her words firing like a machine gun.
John leaned back, grinning. She hadn't changed a bit.
Miss Know-It-All was on full throttle.
He interrupted gently. "Magic talent varies. I'm from a Muggle family too, but I got in."
Hermione's eyes softened.
The tension eased. Hermione and John began trading notes on the magical world, peppering Neville with questions. Despite himself, Neville warmed up.
Eventually, a new crisis arose: Leif had disappeared again.
Hermione immediately offered to help, standing and brushing imaginary lint from her sleeves.
"We'll check the other compartments," she declared. "Want to come?"
John, peeling the wrapper off a chocolate frog, shook his head. "I'll stay and hold the fort. Wouldn't want someone else nicking our compartment."
Hermione nodded approvingly. "Smart."
With that, she and Neville set off to search for the runaway toad.
John took a bite of the frog's head and glanced out the window again.
The real story was just beginning.
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