Hogwarts' John Wick

A scruffy, overweight, balding man returned home. The tense expression he had worn all day finally eased when he saw the tiny, rundown apartment.

Setting down his toolbox, he rummaged through the cabinet until he found a nearly empty bottle of tequila.

He twisted the cap off. Just as he was about to drink the last mouthful, a knock sounded at the door.

His nerves instantly tensed. He hurriedly grabbed the wand from the table.

"Who's there?"

Carefully inching toward the door, he called out cautiously, "Who's out there?!"

Silence. As if someone had simply knocked on the wrong door.

He swallowed hard and peeked through the peephole.

Pitch black.

Strange. Did it get dark this early today?

He squinted, trying to see more clearly.

Suddenly, he froze.

It wasn't darkness—it was the tip of a black wand.

Terror spread across his face. A spark of white light flickered at the wand's tip—Boom!

The door exploded.

The powerful blast sent the man flying backward. His wand tumbled to the floor, landing by the shattered doorway.

A heavy-soled leather boot crushed the fallen wand, snapping it in half.

The intruder was clad in a black trench coat, a cowboy hat pulled low over his face, and three bloody, severed fingers hanging from his chest.

This signature look belonged to Finger Man Oakes.

A notoriously ruthless dark wizard—he would sever a finger from his victims as a keepsake after killing them.

Three wizards had already fallen to him.

The man's courage shattered completely.

"Please… please spare me!"

Cold sweat soaked his back as he scrambled forward, crawling to Finger Man Oakes' feet, begging for his life.

"I swear, I'm not a Death Eater anymore!" he sobbed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Oakes sneered. He pulled a short knife from his belt and sliced open the man's left sleeve.

The Dark Mark was exposed.

Oakes flicked his trench coat aside, revealing the silver scythe emblem stitched inside. His lips curled mockingly.

"You know what this means."

"The… the Star Disciples?! You joined the Star Disciples?!" The man shrieked in terror.

A feverish glow appeared in Oakes' eyes as he murmured in intoxicated reverence, "Only under His Lordship did I finally understand what true power means."

The man collapsed entirely.

He had thought pleading might work, that if nothing else, he could offer up his wealth in exchange for his life.

But the Star Disciples didn't care about that.

They didn't care about anything.

They reveled in slaughter. They were merciless killing machines.

The man knew there was no escape. A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes—he was going to make a last-ditch effort.

He jerked his head up, ready to strike.

But before he could act, a wand was already pressed against his forehead.

Oakes' mocking gaze sent a chill down his spine.

"Shame you're not one of the elites on the list… but might as well deal with you while I'm at it."

Oakes pulled a parchment from his pocket, scanning a long list of names until he found the man's. Then, he read it aloud.

"Hope Cliff—guilty of using magic to harm and rape at least three Muggles, resulting in the confirmed death of one."

"Under the ruling of the Constellation Court, the Star Disciples have been authorized to carry out your execution."

Oakes spoke like an official executor.

After finishing his declaration, he smirked, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Sweet dreams~ Bombarda Maxima."

Hope's head exploded.

Flesh and blood splattered in every direction.

Some landed on Oakes, but he remained unfazed, calmly brushing it off.

With his short knife, he peeled away the intact Dark Mark from the man's left hand. Then, he severed a finger as a keepsake.

With a casual wave, he strolled out the door, adjusting his coat, never once looking back.

...

Blind Pig Pub.

This was a pub located at the junction between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley.

Because of its unique location, it had become a gathering place for all sorts—good, bad, and everything in between.

Whether it was smoke from cigarettes or steam from hot food, a hazy mist lingered under the pub's dim orange lights.

The gloomy establishment was packed with drunken patrons.

A red-nosed wizard downed a large mug of beer, glanced around, and leaned in like he had some juicy gossip to share.

"Hope Cliff is dead."

His face showed lingering fear as he spoke.

"You lot should've seen how gruesome it was."

"Cliff? Wasn't he the one running that plumbing business? How'd he end up dead all of a sudden?"

A lanky wizard at the same table was visibly shocked. After all, deaths weren't exactly common these days—not like in Voldemort's time.

Seeing that he had exclusive news, the red-nosed wizard immediately puffed up with pride and declared loudly:

"Bet you didn't know—Hope Cliff was a Death Eater!"

"Bloody hell, and here I thought he was just some honest bloke! My wife even hired him to fix our pipes last time!"

The wizard wearing a green hat to his left cursed.

"No wonder my pipes kept clogging every other day. My wife insisted on calling him specifically—turns out he was sabotaging us!"

This was clearly a wizard with a story.

The lanky wizard, annoyed at being interrupted, shot the green-hatted man a glare before eagerly asking,

"So how did he die? Did the Aurors catch him?"

"If the Aurors had found him, he'd have been lucky."

The red-nosed wizard glanced at his empty glass.

The lanky wizard understood immediately and signaled the bartender for a full refill.

The red-nosed wizard took a satisfied gulp of beer, slammed his mug onto the table, and his face darkened with fear.

"He was found by the Star Disciples. I live right next door to him—I heard everything clearly."

"Those Star Disciples are hunting down Death Eaters everywhere. They could show up anywhere at any time. Merlin's beard, if I were a Death Eater, I'd be scared to death by now—don't you think so, Benson?"

Noticing the wizard across from him had turned deathly pale, the red-nosed wizard frowned in concern.

"Hey, you alright? Want me to walk you home?"

"N-No, I'll head back myself."

Benson wobbled as he stood up, his legs shaking.

Just then, a man in a tailcoat suit was led into the bar by the owner of the Pub.

The suited man walked straight to the blackboard covered in bounty posters and pinned up a new one.

Their table was close enough to the board that the red-nosed wizard caught a glimpse of it.

He immediately yelled out in shock.

"Merlin's beard! Reporting a Death Eater gets you 200 Galleons, and killing one gets you 500? That's like free money!"

His outburst caught everyone's attention.

As they read what was written on the notice, the entire bar fell into stunned silence.

The green-hatted wizard muttered skeptically,

"That has to be fake. Who would actually do this? If they can't pay up, they'd be making fools of themselves."

But as his gaze lowered and landed on the silver scythe emblem at the bottom of the notice, he shut up instantly.

That was the mark of the Star Disciples.

The red-nosed wizard, still buzzing with excitement, grabbed Benson's sleeve.

Benson's face turned even paler.

The man in the tailcoat smiled, letting out a soft, gentlemanly chuckle.

"If any of you are willing to provide information and assist us, we would be most grateful—just like right now."

Right now?

The crowd was confused.

Still smiling, the man in the tailcoat turned his head.

The moment his gaze landed on Benson, who was still being held by the red-nosed wizard, Benson's scalp went numb.

Panic surged through him as he violently pried the red-nosed wizard's hand off and bolted for the door.

Strangely, the tailcoat man didn't move.

Just as Benson was about to reach the exit—

The man suddenly appeared at the doorway like a ghost.

A red beam of light shot from his wand—Benson collapsed.

The entire bar fell silent.

The red-nosed wizard was still standing there, hand frozen mid-air, as if his brain hadn't caught up yet.

The tailcoat man casually pulled out a pouch of 200 Galleons, placed it on the table, and smiled.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

The heavy clink of coins against the wooden table snapped everyone out of their stupor.

All eyes darted between the two identical men standing before them.

The skinny wizard's voice trembled.

"T-They're Star Disciples."

The red-nosed wizard followed his gaze.. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor with a thud.

Peeking from beneath the collars of the two men's coats—

A glint of silver.

A silver scythe.

They were the Ashbourne twins—members of the Star Disciples.

And at that moment. The same thing was happening all across the country.

Even in the most remote corners of the world, the Death Eaters were being hunted down.

Some were so terrified that they turned themselves in.

They preferred Azkaban over being targeted by these lunatics.

No one knew where the Star Disciples had come from.

All they knew was that these people were once notorious Dark Wizards—and they were merciless toward Death Eaters.

Especially those still loyal to Voldemort.

They were hiding for their lives.

Many had tried using the Dark Mark to summon their comrades—only to fall into carefully laid traps.

They suffered heavy losses.

The result?

Even when the Dark Mark lit up again, no one dared to respond.

And Voldemort was furious.

The Dark Lord himself was forced to hunt down his own Death Eaters.

It was humiliating.

But when he finally arrived at Macnair's home—Macnair was gone.

In his place?

A pile of freshly skinned human flesh!

Blackened Dark Marks carved from Death Eaters' corpses, carefully arranged into a message.

"Do you like my gift?"

Voldemort had never been so humiliated.

But he couldn't afford to expose his weakness.

He had to regroup.

With a single flick of his wand, he obliterated the entire building.

Then, he Disapparated—disappearing into the night.

The mysterious Star Disciples continued their relentless hunt for the Death Eaters.

...

John gently stroked the head of his black long-eared owl, Riddle, while listening to the latest battle reports.

Tommy arrived to inform him, "Old Barty had come to visit."

His intentions were crystal clear.

He was running for Minister of Magic.

John smirked.

"So Barty's finally starting his campaign, huh?"

He closed the book in his hands, flipping it absentmindedly before muttering—

"Send him a gift."

Then, almost to himself, he added—

"I told you, I always settle my accounts."

Dumbledore.

______

Support and read ahead at-

Patreon: Dragonel