C6: Sorting and Fighting
What followed was Dumbledore's welcome speech, delivered with that mix of warmth and whimsy that made him both formidable and approachable. "The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
John nearly snorted. Why not just put a glowing sign over it saying "adventure here"? Way to bait the Gryffindors, Headmaster.
Then came the Sorting Ceremony. The first to be called was the nervous-looking Hannah Abbott, who walked up to the stool with faltering steps. The Sorting Hat didn't take long. "Hufflepuff!" it declared, prompting loud applause from the table adorned in yellow and black.
Hermione, already sorted into Gryffindor, looked toward John with hopeful eyes. No one wanted to be separated from the friends they'd just made.
"Wick, John!" called Professor McGonagall crisply.
John stepped forward calmly, his posture straight. His jet-black hair gleamed under the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, and his face—delicate yet solemn caused quite the stir among the whispering first-years, particularly the girls seated along the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. His Hogwarts robes sat perfectly on his tall frame, making him look older than eleven.
As he approached the Sorting Hat, John noticed the animated spider weaving threads across its brim and nearly recoiled. Seriously? Has no one cleaned this thing in a hundred years? he thought, wrinkling his nose.
The moment the Hat touched his head, it growled in his mind, "Rude boy! Just as insolent as a Slytherin!"
John winced. Wait, you can hear my thoughts? Is this—Legilimency?
"Legilimency? Clever, but no. I've been imbued with the wisdom of Hogwarts' founders. I read minds differently."
The Hat seemed genuinely torn. "Oh, what a mix... Courage and curiosity, ambition and cunning, compassion and loyalty. You're bold and proud. Very Slytherin traits."
Wait a second, John protested internally. You skipped intelligence. Are you saying I'm stupid?
"No, but you're not a Ravenclaw. You're meant for challenge. You hunger for greatness. You'd do well in Slytherin."
John felt cold sweat forming. I'm Muggle-born. You're trying to send me into the snake pit? They hate people like me!
"Slytherin needs shaking up. Your honor could do just that," said the Hat cryptically.
John scowled inwardly. You're punishing me for insulting your hygiene, aren't you?
But it was too late.
"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat bellowed.
"What?" John muttered aloud, stunned. He could already feel the shocked stares. I'm a walking target now.
With no choice, he stepped down and walked toward the Slytherin table, every step heavier than the last. Hermione and Neville glanced at him, their faces full of worry. So much for sticking together.
The only open seat was beside Draco Malfoy, who looked pleased at John's elegant demeanor.
"Draco Malfoy, pure-blood of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," he said haughtily, offering his hand.
John shook it coolly. "John Wick."
Malfoy was intrigued. Finally, someone who knows how to behave, he thought. "Are you pure-blood or half-blood?"
John raised an eyebrow. "Neither."
Malfoy blinked. "Wait… so you're a—mudblood?"
The word fell like a stone in the Hall.
A second later, Malfoy's jaw met John's fist.
Crabbe lunged and got a tray to the face. Goyle reached forward and found his hand pinned to the table by a fork.
The Hall erupted into chaos. Professor McGonagall stormed in, wand raised. "Mr. Wick!" she thundered.
Malfoy, dazed, was carried to the Hospital Wing. It was his first night at Hogwarts.
---
Thursday arrived.
"Oh, the drama of life," John sighed theatrically, wiping James Potter's nameplate in the Trophy Room with all the flair of a maître d' cleaning wine glasses.
Filch glowered at him. "First years brawling in the Hall... disgraceful!"
The only reason John wasn't expelled was Dumbledore's intervention and the fact that Malfoy had used the slur first.
Still, McGonagall sentenced him to two months of polishing trophies.
Mrs. Norris, Filch's skeletal Maine Coon, paced nearby. John offered her a nod. "I'll bring you tuna tomorrow. Let's see if we can fatten you up."
She blinked in vague approval.
John had become infamous. Within days, his nickname around the school was the Boogeyman—a mix of fear and awe. Not even the older Slytherins picked on him.
He didn't mind the isolation. In fact, it helped. After the fight, he unlocked the system's 'Night Demon' mission chain, rewarding him for 100 hours of stealthy nighttime exploration.
---
Back in the Slytherin dormitory, John's single room was his sanctuary.
It was granted more as a precaution than a privilege, Snape didn't want further fights.
John appreciated it. It allowed him to raise his magical pets.
Tom, a sprightly three-month-old black mutt, bounced around excitedly, while Basil, his snowy owl with piercing golden eyes, observed him from her perch.
Whenever Tom misbehaved, Basil would beat him with her wings until he calmed down then do it again for good measure.
John's evening routine began with training. Push-ups, squats, planks, and more. It wasn't just for strength, it fueled his magic.
> [Magic Accumulation Method: Strengthen your body. Improve magical absorption through physical training.]
"Wasn't I supposed to be a magic apprentice?" he grumbled mid-crunch. "Why does this feel like I'm turning into a berserker?"
His muscles, already visible before Hogwarts, now rippled with definition.
He stared at the mirror. Is it even legal for a first-year to have abs?
Yet, it was his discipline, born of his past life that set him apart.
He ended the night with a cold shower, the sound of splashing water mingling with Tom's playful growls and Basil's rustling feathers.
The world of magic was strange, beautiful, and perilous.
And John Wick had just begun to leave his mark on it.
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