Hogwarts’ John Wick 251: Tearing off the Mask of Hypocrisy

251: Tearing off the Mask of Hypocrisy

Dumbledore's Office.

The door swung open seemingly on its own.

Silver instrunts exhaled wisps of smoke, and the Sorting Hat appeared to be asleep.

Fawkes, newly reborn in flas, lifted his head and looked around but saw no one.

By the desk, a drawer was pulled open.

Just as the Ti-Turner was about to be taken, a voice rang out.

"John."

An old voice, carrying an undeniable authority.

Dumbledore.

He had returned.

Dumbledore, fresh from the hospital wing, looked toward that spot, weariness flashing behind the half-moon spectacles.

"John, you cannot do this," he sighed. "Death cannot be undone. Even if you obtain the Ti-Turner, you won't be able to change what has happened."

The movent beside the desk stopped.

Then, a figure appeared out of thin air.

This ti, John wasn't wearing a mask.

He simply stood there, silently eting Dumbledore's gaze.

"You knew I would co?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore stepped inside, looking at John with a complicated expression. "An obsessive pursuit will only lead you astray."

John remained silent for a long mont, his hand tightening around his wand beneath his sleeve.

"Let it go, John."

Dumbledore moved closer, speaking gently. "Every form of magic cos at a cost."

He hoped John would turn back before it was too late, before he crossed a line that would stain his soul forever.

But John simply said, "I rember you once told I was most ...like a Slytherin."

He stared at Dumbledore's aged face—then suddenly laughed.

"Don't you think that's ridiculous?"

"I used to trust you so much. I wanted to study under your protection, to learn properly."

John's laughter was sharp, grating, making Dumbledore gradually fall into silence.

"But you—" John's voice turned cold. "You never trusted . Never!"

The final words were shouted.

His eyes were icy, as if he were looking at a stranger.

"Mundungus—he's your man, isn't he?"

John sneered coldly. "When did you first start suspecting that Johnny Silverhand was ?"

"The bar," Dumbledore said, his expression complicated. "The Hog's Head—it's run by my brother."

"I see."

John suddenly understood. No wonder Dumbledore had seed suspicious of him ever since his third year.

So that's why.

Of course—Johnny Silverhand, a well-known figure, appearing in Hogsade and having secret etings would.. sigh.

With Dumbledore's intelligence, it wasn't surprising that he'd put the pieces together.

"Oh, Dumbledore, Dumbledore." John's face was full of mockery. "Since you never trusted , don't pretend to care and try to control ."

"You want to create a savior, manipulate others—fine, do as you please.

But don't expect to be so obedient dog, sitting and waiting for your orders."

John showed no rcy.

Once, he wouldn't have dared to speak this way.

But today, his state of mind was terrifying.

Beneath his calm exterior, madness lurked.

Dumbledore explained, "John, I have never thought that way."

"Ahaha.. Yes, you did. Don't lie to yourself, Dumbledore. You know exactly why you withheld the Ti-Turner."

John rcilessly tore apart the thin veil that had held their relationship together. Suppressing his disgust, he continued, "In my first year, when I was threatened by Quirrell, you knew sothing—but you chose to test instead.

You should have trusted , but you didn't. Instead, you chose surveillance, sending Mundungus to watch because you saw my pursuit of magic.

You were afraid I would co into contact with forbidden knowledge, so you denied the Ti-Turner that should have been mine. You never trusted . In your eyes, Slytherins were never to be trusted.

Moody oppressed Slytherin students—can you honestly say you didn't know? Yet you let him do it because you wanted to see suffer under it.

You saw as soone else—another failure under your guidance.

You feared . You feared I would beco soone else. Soone far more terrifying."

Tearing off the mask of hypocrisy, John remained eerily calm.

"John." Dumbledore's eyes widened at his words.

"Not everything is within your control, Dumbledore," John said, his expression composed. "Like Voldemort. Like ."

"You keep preaching about your justice, your passivity—but what has it led to?

Go play your Savior's ga by yourself from now on. I want no part of it."

John was tired.

As he walked past the desk, he looked at the now discomposed old man and said flatly, "I won't beco the Dark Lord. And I won't beco what you expect to be, either."

"Perhaps one day, you too will grip your wand as you are now."

His words jolted Dumbledore awake.

Dumbledore looked down at his own hand—without realizing it, he had already tightened his grip on his wand.

What frightened Dumbledore even more was the dark thoughts that had montarily surfaced in his mind toward his student.

Loosening his grip, Dumbledore sighed. "John, I am truly sorry—for what you have been through, and for your friend."

"Heh.. There's no ..need to apologize," John said softly with a self-deprecating chuckle. "You've simply made understand—this world is a ga for the strong."

With that, he turned and left the Headmaster's office.

Whether this had been Dumbledore's manipulation or not no longer mattered. He had lost a friend—a loyal friend.

As he passed by the Sword of Gryffindor, the blade trembled slightly, as if reluctant to let him go.

John glanced at the sword that should have rightfully been his. But there was no longing in his gaze anymore—only an icy coldness.

He walked out of the Headmaster's office, still without the Ti-Turner.

But he knew that whatever had transpired here would never be spoken of.

Dumbledore would not reveal it—John understood him.

You could call Dumbledore a wise old man, but one thing about him would never change—he had a rcy he should not have.

No matter who it was.

Even if that person was once Tom Riddle.

At John's age, Voldemort had already dabbled in far more Dark Magic and killed innocents than John ever had.

Dumbledore should have known that.

But unfortunately, his misguided compassion led him to believe that Hogwarts students could change for the better.

And this was the result—Voldemort had used his ti at Hogwarts to recruit followers and spread his ideology.

The seeds of the Death Eaters had first sprouted within Hogwarts itself.

In John's eyes, the rise of the Dark Lord was, in part, tied to Dumbledore's passive approach.

But none of that mattered anymore.

...

Midnight.

Hogwarts was bustling.

Barty Crouch Sr. had not left, nor had Alia Bones.

They all remained gathered at the hospital wing, waiting for an answer.

An answer that would shape the future of the Ministry of Magic—and the entire wizarding world.

...

John stepped into the Constellation Society with heavy footsteps.

Standing at the doorway, he closed his eyes.

He could already imagine it—the people waiting inside.

They, too, were waiting for news. A piece of news they refused to believe, one they could only accept if they heard it from John himself.

"Fuu..."

He reopened his eyes.

John pushed the door open.

The mont it swung wide, five pairs of eyes locked onto him.

Daphne Greengrass.

Fleur Delacour.

Draco Malfoy.

Neville Longbottom.

Percy Weasley.

They waited in silence for John to speak.

John walked to his usual spot but didn't sit down.

Instead, he placed a badge on the table—scarred with the marks of fire.

In that mont, the answer was already clear in everyone's hearts.

A muffled sob broke the silence.

It was Malfoy. He clenched his teeth, refusing to make a sound, but his reddened eyes brimd with tears that he could no longer hold back.

And he wasn't the only one.

Neville was the sa.

Daphne and Fleur's eyes turned red with unshed tears.

Percy, the oldest among them, barely managed to keep his emotions in check.

"John, we.. we need to know everything."

His voice was hoarse, heavy with sorrow.

John nodded silently and began to recount everything he knew.

From the cave where the Horcrux was hidden to the dangers inside, then to the mont when they captured Peter Pettigrew.

Voldemort had returned. Heinrich, in order to protect Cedric, had perished alongside the right-hand man of Voldemort.

There were more details—ones that only Cedric could tell them.

With everything laid bare, the Constellation Society fell into silence.

That na made it hard for them to breathe.

The Dark Lord—the one who had nearly conquered the entire British wizarding world.

His power was as terrifying as Dumbledore's.

A sense of helplessness settled over them.

Then, Malfoy's fist slamd onto the table, shattering the silence.

He growled, "We have to take revenge!"

Neville nodded.

Daphne and Fleur did not back down.

Percy said in a grave voice, "We need to stay calm. It's the Dark Lord we are talking about—"

"Heinrich is dead! Dead! Dead! He's Dead!" Malfoy roared. "He died because of that man—"

His expression twisted in struggle before he finally gritted his teeth and shouted, "He died at Voldemort's hands!"

Maybe once, Malfoy had admired Voldemort, having grown up surrounded by his influence.

But now, he had only one impression of the Dark Lord—an enemy.

A group of students talking about taking revenge against the Dark Lord—it sounded utterly laughable.

John spoke calmly, "We will have our revenge—when you're strong enough."

He swept his gaze over everyone and said steadily, "So grow stronger, until we have the power to stand against those who rule over us."

Get stronger!

That belief took root in their hearts, planting the seed of vengeance.

A seed that would drive them forward, pushing them to grow stronger without pause.

Percy looked at John, trying to read sothing from his expression.

John remained composed, but Percy knew...

The wizarding world was on the brink of a storm.

_________

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