London's recent bout of extre weather had drawn quite a bit of attention.
In the end, the governnt stepped forward to issue a statent, reassuring citizens to put their minds at ease.
Life in London returned to its usual routine.
At the airport.
The Wick family waited in the departure lounge. In this day and age, anyone flying had to have a bit of money to spare.
Watson glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pulled sothing out of his pocket.
John looked over—and was stunned to see that his dad had brought along a Golden Snitch.
What was even more surprising was how quick his dad's reflexes were.
He let go of the Snitch.
The mont it fluttered up, his dad snatched it right back out of the air.
Over and over again, his father kept at it, showing off to John with all the pomp of a peacock displaying its feathers.
"See? After a year of practice, I can catch it now."
They couldn't exactly bring broomsticks on the plane, but sneaking sothing like this through still gave a certain thrill.
John couldn't help clapping at his dad's sharp reflexes. And then…
"Can I see it?"
"Of course."
Watson, completely unsuspecting, handed the Golden Snitch over without hesitation.
John promptly slipped it into his satchel.
Eh..?
Watson froze, his expression stiff. He hadn't expected that after finally getting the chance to show off, he'd lose so thoroughly.
He still had a trace of smugness on his face that hadn't had ti to fade, making the defeat sting even more.
All the light drained out of him.
John felt eyes on him. He turned his head to see a little boy, no more than six years old, staring at the Snitch.
The boy tugged at his mother's sleeve, trying to make her see the flying ball.
His mother only replied, "Oh, my dear, you look more like a ball yourself."
…
When it was ti to board, nothing unusual happened.
Sitting on the plane, John was struck by a strange feeling.
"I've flown so many tis, but sohow sitting on a plane still feels unnatural."
If he wanted, he could Apparate straight there.
After the plane had been in the air for a while, John heard a commotion.
His gaze shifted to his father's hand, which was sneaking into his satchel.
The two locked eyes in silence. John's expression stayed calm as he turned his attention toward Mrs. Wick.
Between mother and son, there was an unspoken understanding. Watson was dragged back to his seat by the ear.
"There's a fight breaking out over there."
Once his father was gone, John listened carefully to the noises.
Their family was in first class, where there were only a handful of passengers.
But economy class was different—crowded and chaotic, disputes were normal.
Yet the racket didn't sound like an ordinary argunt.
Before long, the quarrel escalated.
Screams and furious shouts rang out one after another.
A man with a gun burst into first class, pointing it at a flight attendant. "Nobody move!" he shouted.
John's expression cleared. "So it's a hijacking."
No wonder there'd been such an uproar.
Hijacking? Well, that's nothing to worry about.
After securing the flight attendant, another man rushed in, flustered and panicked.
"What do we do now?" Unlike the first, he was anything but calm.
The first hijacker, however, was steady. "We've already planted bombs on this plane. If you don't want to die, you'd better cooperate."
John raised his brows in surprise. Bombs too? So this had been planned well in advance.
As he was thinking it over, he caught sight of his father sneaking around, clearly intending to ambush the hijackers with a one-against-two takedown.
The second hijacker, jittery and scanning the cabin, spotted Watson's movent. His nerves snapped, and he shouted, "Don't move!"
Watson froze.
He'd been mid-crawl, and now he was stuck in an awkward pose—unable to move forward, unable to back out.
The second hijacker's shout drew the first one's attention too.
John sighed helplessly. His father really must have been a Gryffindor at heart.
Why did he feel the need to get involved in everything?
Now John would have to clean up the ss.
He tapped his finger lightly against the window.
A ripple of invisible magic spread outward, mapping the entire situation inside the plane back to him.
Aside from the two hijackers in the cabin, there was a third one outside keeping watch.
The flight was carrying quite a few Russian passengers—so of them were even cursing loudly in Russian.
One of the hijackers leveled his gun at Watson, ready to make an example out of him.
Sigh..
John picked up the pencil tucked between the pages of his book.
His steps made no sound at all. The mont the hijacker's lips curled into a cruel smile, the pencil moved.
The hijacker jerked, as if sothing had ..bitten into him.
...
The plane landed safely.
The hijackers, however, didn't fare so well.
Police cars arrived—and Watson was taken away.
He now had to explain why a pencil was lodged in the hijacker's eye.
The bombs, as it turned out, were fake. Those three idiots had probably watched too many movies and thought they could blackmail the governnt like that.
John waved at his father, wishing him luck in explaining his "heroic" deed in a foreign country where he didn't speak the language.
Mrs. Wick set foot on her holand again, looking far happier than before.
Even Watson being taken away didn't dampen her spirits.
An old Santana pulled up at the airport entrance. Out stepped her uncle, Seriozha.
"My dear sister, and my beloved Yadani!"
Seriozha embraced his sister and John warmly.
He clapped John hard on the shoulder and bood, "Look at our Yadani—you've grown into a man!"
Not once during the whole reunion did Seriozha ask about his good brother-in-law, Watson.
Watson from sowhere: So love really does fade, huh?
They piled into the Santana, and Seriozha drove them toward the Jovonovich estate.
Yes—estate.
The Jovonovich family had once been true lords, and the village they were heading to lay within their domain.
After leaving the airport, the road carried them straight into the village.
The Santana rolled to a stop.
Mrs. Wick stepped out and gazed at the buildings with a face full of nostalgia.
In the village, the largest building was the church, followed by the Jovonovich family ho.
John looked up and spotted two crows perched atop a tree.
"Those are the old man's pets," Seriozha said, noticing John's gaze. "Do you rember? You once used those crows for target practice."
John was stunned. Those crows were still alive? He had been a child back then—nearly ten years had passed.
The crows spotted John, let out a harsh caw, and took to the air.
John stepped into the Jovonovich house and ca face to face with his grandfather.
The old man looked to be in his seventies or eighties, his chin covered by a thick, white beard like a tuft of wool.
"Father." Mrs. Wick shed her usual elegant deanor and hurried over, nestling against the old man's side.
He smiled warmly, patting her arm with a gentle hand as he sighed, "Look at you, my daughter. The head wolf of the Jovonovich clan has finally returned to her holand."
Then he turned his gaze to John, his eyes alight with emotion.
"Yadani, my child." His face broke into a broad smile as he opened his arms. "Let your grandfather have a good look at you."
John wasn't a kid anymore, but he still felt a little awkward.
John stepped forward, and his grandfather pulled him into a firm embrace. "You look like you've endured plenty of hardship, but you've truly transford from a boy into a man."
"Grandfather," John said softly.
His grandfather's arms were strong, steady.
"The Jovonovich fear no hardship. Are you ready, Yadani?"
In his grandfather's eyes, John saw sothing deeper.
It was a question—was he prepared to accept his bloodline?
"Once you accept it, there's no turning back. Alexei told you already have the strength to bear the history of the Jovonovich."
Though aged, his grandfather carried himself like a snow wolf, brimming with authority.
John thought for a mont before nodding. "If possible, I want to know."
He wanted to uncover the truth about that vial and what the Jovonovich bloodline truly ant.
His grandfather looked pleased and welcod both mother and son inside.
John saw his two aunts again—they were just as before, still fond of calling him Little Yadani.
The Jovonovich held a feast to welco the Wick family's return.
Halfway through, Watson finally arrived, dragging a heavy suitcase and stepping out of a police car.
Mm, it was Andrei who opened the door.
Then Seriozha dragged Watson off to drink two bottles of vodka with him.
By the ti night fell, Watson was already sprawled on the bed, not moving an inch.
Out in the courtyard, two crows perched on a tree.
Two shadows swooped down—one black, one white—John's owls landed on the opposite branch, locking eyes with the crows in a tense stare-off.
Tom bounded out, circling the tree with her tail wagging.
anwhile, John was taken away by his uncles.
Their destination was the place that held the history of the Jovonovich.
All the secrets would be revealed there.
________
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