Hogwarts’ John Wick 293: Playing With The Zouwu And Hagrid’s Whereabouts

293: Playing With The Zouwu And Hagrid’s Whereabouts

Forbidden Forest.

Swoosh!

A huge furball dropped from the sky and landed heavily into a pit.

The area around the pit was smooth, worn down by who knows how many such impacts.

The massive Zouwu ca crashing down from above, clutching the furball in its paws as it bounded up to John, clearly wanting to play.

John used a Summoning Charm to grab the furball and tossed it far into the distance.

The mane on the Zouwu's neck lit up, and its body disappeared into a spatial tunnel, reappearing at the furball's landing point to catch it.

Back and forth they went like this, with the Zouwu growing more and more excited.

John rubbed his sore arm and said helplessly, "That's enough for today."

"Purr—rr~"

The Zouwu purred and nudged its head close to John.

John patted its big head, signaling he was about to leave.

"Stop bothering the Thestrals so much. They don't even dare co near here anymore."

Thestrals lived in the Forbidden Forest too—mostly used during the school term, but otherwise road freely.

The Zouwu loved scaring them; so would get so spooked they'd attack, and that's when the Zouwu would take off running.

Such a masochistic personality—it was exactly like a giant cat.

Since Hagrid was temporarily away, John had to return and take up the task of taking care of the Zouwu.

Though, truth be told, even letting it roam freely wouldn't be a problem; the Zouwu could very well fend for itself.

But a creature this big, if left unchecked, could easily stir up trouble for the other inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest.

"Don't go near the centaurs—their tempers are awful."

Patiently warning the Zouwu, John used a bit of ntal magic to soothe its unease about parting.

Basil stood atop a tree, and down below, Tom was trying all sorts of ways to climb up.

One bird, one dog—they'd been stuck in this stalemate for two hours.

Finally annoyed beyond endurance, Basil lifted a wing and knocked down a wild fruit, smacking it square on Tom's head.

Tom got even angrier, barking furiously as she tried to scramble up the tree.

Her paws scratched at the bark, leaving gouges and shredded wood in her wake.

"All right, ti to go."

With a whistle, John called back the two troublemakers locked in their standoff.

Basil fluttered down to perch on John's shoulder, while Tom circled him excitedly.

The Zouwu looked back at John with every step it took, unwilling to leave. John waved at it with a smile.

Just then, a young Thestral trotted up to John, its pupil-less eyes staring straight at him.

John stepped forward to inspect it and, noticing a feather beginning to grow, exclaid in surprise, "It's rare to see a Thestral feather at your age."

He patted the young Thestral on the head, then had Basil fly to Hagrid's hut to fetch so at.

The bloody raw at was placed in front of the Thestral—this was the price for the feather.

It was an unspoken agreent between John and the Thestrals.

Taking the at with it, the young Thestral returned to its herd.

...

Today was Care of Magical Creatures class.

Standing in for Hagrid, Professor Grubbly-Plank brought along a group of Bowtruckles.

These were magical creatures skilled at unlocking things, and on the black market, they were extrely valuable and hard to co by.

"Hogwarts is like a treasure trove—always full of unexpected surprises."

A twig-like little creature stood in John's palm, as if playing the role of a real stick.

Harry, however, wasn't in a good mood. He was desperate to learn where Hagrid had gone.

While the others were picking out food for their Bowtruckles, Harry asked Professor Grubbly-Plank—but was t with a firm response: "I don't know."

That made Harry a little angry—once again, he was being kept in the dark.

As Malfoy walked past him, there was a cold glint in his eyes.

Harry glared back defiantly. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look—they both knew they had to keep Harry from doing anything reckless.

They quickly stepped in to block the intense stare-down. Hermione tried to reason with him, "If sothing happened to Hagrid, Dumbledore would definitely know."

"Ow!" Harry yelped. He'd been gripping the Bowtruckle too hard, and it retaliated with a sharp scratch.

Hermione's words did nothing to improve his mood. He still had detention—with that annoying pink toad.

The greenhouse doors to Herbology class swung open.

Fourth-year students began filing out.

Luna and Ginny ca out together—they had class at the sa ti today.

A farting sound ca from Luna's pocket, and a Crumple-Horned Snorkack popped out… of John's pocket.

His hand happened to be inside his pocket at that mont, and he suddenly felt a weight.

Grabbing hold of the creature, John pulled it out. Malfoy instantly beca alert.

Weighing the Snorkack in his hand, John squinted and said, "You've gotten heavier. And a bit bigger, too."

The Crumple-Horned Snorkack was about to dive back into John's small bag, but upon hearing that comnt, it let out a loud moo in protest.

John figured it probably had sothing to do with the amount of magical energy it had absorbed. He mused thoughtfully, "Maybe I should give you sothing else to eat."

You don't grow just by eating fruit, after all—and John wanted to see whether the Snorkack could evolve.

He pulled a dragon fruit from his bag and had the creature balance it on its horn. With another fart sound, the Snorkack vanished.

Rembering the armor he'd taken from Lestrange, John ntioned it briefly to Malfoy and the others, then headed to Hagrid's hut.

Nothing had really changed since he'd last been there. Hagrid hadn't even bothered to fix the broken windowpane.

John pulled the massive suit of armor from his bag and gave a wave of his wand.

The towering pieces of armor assembled themselves neatly and stood on a rack.

After setting everything up, he left a letter for Hagrid.

Otherwise, Hagrid might think so giant troll had stayed in his hut and left behind a full suit of armor.

Well… technically it was armor John had modified.

Noticing so remnants in the fireplace, John narrowed his eyes.

What remained was a corner of parchnt—apparently part of a letter that hadn't fully burned.

He reached out, and the last surviving scrap of the parchnt floated gently into his palm.

Hmm..

John held the corner of parchnt between his fingers, deep in thought.

...

Harry had been given detention for talking back to the Inquisitor.

There was nothing even Professor McGonagall could do about it.

The Ministry of Magic had clearly decided to step in and "reform" things. The other professors weren't in a position to argue.

In truth, it might not be such a bad thing—just as Professor Flitwick had said.

After all, even soone like Trelawney, who was more of a fraud than a real teacher, had been hired by Dumbledore.

Granted, Trelawney did have the Inner Eye, but the conditions under which it was triggered were a complete mystery. Most of the ti, she just relied on psychological tricks in her lessons.

Only soone like John, who actually had talent in that area, could learn anything from her. The rest of the students were left completely confused.

Couldn't Dumbledore have just kept her at Hogwarts without making her a professor?

Did she have to teach?

Perhaps Dumbledore wasn't cut out to be a headmaster—many of his decisions showed little consideration for the students' future.

Now that Umbridge had been installed as a counterbalance to Dumbledore, she held considerable authority at Hogwarts.

She could assign detentions, enforce writing punishnts, deduct points, and more.

So Harry's detention—while unfair—was, technically speaking, perfectly legitimate.

Professor McGonagall, even as Deputy Headmistress, couldn't do anything to change it.

What she didn't expect, however, was that Umbridge's detention wasn't as simple as it seed.

Five o'clock arrived.

Harry stepped into Umbridge's office.

Since she wasn't an official professor, a new office had to be arranged for her.

Thankfully, there were plenty of spare rooms at Hogwarts.

As Harry entered, he saw dozens of decorative plates featuring cats of various colors.

Each cat wore a different colored bow.

Harry felt a wave of nausea.

He had hoped Umbridge would let him attend Friday's tryouts for the Quidditch goalkeeper position, but she had flatly refused.

Because Harry would be spending the whole week in detention.

Umbridge said in a sugary voice, "You're going to write a few lines for , Mr. Potter. Oh no, not with your quill."

She stopped him just as he was about to pull out his own quill, and instead handed him a long, thin, black quill with an especially sharp tip.

"I want you to write: I must not tell lies," she said softly.

Harry asked, "How many tis?"

No matter how many, as long as he could still make the Quidditch tryouts.

"Keep writing until the words are etched into your heart," Umbridge said in her sickly sweet voice, her expression unreadable. "Begin."

Harry had thought detention might involve sothing harsher—turns out, it was just copying lines.

He asked for ink, but Umbridge told him he wouldn't need any.

In the magical world, anything was possible. So Harry didn't question it further.

He picked up the quill and started to write. Bright red ink, like blood, appeared on the parchnt.

The mont he finished the first line, Harry hissed in pain.

A matching line had appeared on the back of his hand, as if carved in with a blade, crimson and vivid.

The words faded quickly, but the sting lingered. Harry looked up at Umbridge. And saw that toad-like face, twisted in a revolting smile.

"Keep writing," she said.

__________

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