John stepped into the Lestrange family vault and dismissed the goblin who had brought him there.
He didn't touch any of the treasure recklessly. Ancient families usually set up anti-theft measures, such as curses or enchantments.
Raising his right hand, a silver ring extended to cover his entire forearm.
John picked up a silver goblet and examined it for a moment.
"Hmm.. There's a curse on this. Just touching it would set it off."
Fortunately, John had the foresight to be cautious. His eyes turned into vertical pupils, allowing him to see the magical traces on the goblet.
"Fiendfyre Curse and a Duplication Curse."
After identifying the enchantments, he curled his index finger and tapped the goblet.
The magic on it deflated like a leaking balloon and completely dissipated.
Casually setting the exquisite silver goblet back down, he continued exploring the vault.
The ancient Lestrange family had collected a great number of treasures—they were like magpies, fond of anything shiny.
Gold chains, gold goblets, silver cups, crystals, pelts and horns from various magical creatures.
In here, Galleons were practically the least valuable item. John strolled through as if it were his own warehouse.
Standing before a shiny suit of armor made by goblins, John stroked his chin. "This size… looks like it was made for a troll. But if it's for Hagrid, I guess it could work too."
John's silver hand brushed over the armor, and the enchantments on it vanished.
He stuffed the armor into his small handbag, thinking it might make a good gift for Hagrid.
Just imagine it—Hagrid's size paired with this armor, and you'd have a mobile tank fortress on legs.
Taking down the fake Sword of Gryffindor, John dispelled its enchantments and examined it.
"Goblin craftsmanship, but the details fall a bit short. It lacks the true Sword of Gryffindor's unparalleled sharpness."
He flicked it with a finger. The ringing sound lacked the crisp clarity of the real sword—it had a dull undertone.
"Made of mithril, embedded with gemstones. If I sold it, it'd easily fetch over 5,000 Galleons."
Smiling slightly, John shoved the sword into his handbag. Might as well take it—waste not, want not.
Continuing through the vault, he found several other valuable magical artifacts.
These magical items had lasted for hundreds of years, clear signs they were the work of master alchemists.
Suddenly, John's gaze locked onto a golden cup.
This cup was smaller than the others and much more refined.
But that wasn't the point. The key detail was the mark John saw on it—
The emblem of Hufflepuff.
"Hufflepuff's artifact?"
With a thought, John took down the cup.
His silver hand stroked over it as he muttered to himself, "No enchantments on this?"
He examined it closely, trying to find something unusual about the cup.
At last, he discovered it.
His expression grew unusually serious and strange. "A Horcrux?"
Didn't expect a surprise bonus. John looked at the cup, a smile curling on his lips.
"Hufflepuff's Cup... Voldemort, your ambition really knew no bounds."
He recalled what he'd read in A History of Hogwarts—records of the four founders' heirlooms.
The Sword of Gryffindor, Slytherin's Locket, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and Hufflepuff's Cup.
Voldemort, ever arrogant, had used the founders' relics as Horcruxes.
Now that he thought about it, aside from Gryffindor's sword, the rest really were Horcruxes.
"Add in the Locket... the Diadem must be one too."
As he spoke to himself, a low hissing whisper sounded in his ears.
It was Parseltongue.
Voldemort's Horcrux was still trying to influence him.
John glanced at it, then casually stuffed Hufflepuff's Cup into his pocket.
Opening his small satchel, John began his looting spree.
Everything he could take, he stuffed in.
In the blink of an eye, half the vault was empty.
The other half? Either it wasn't worth the trouble or John simply couldn't be bothered to haul it out.
"I actually have an idea." Narrowing his eyes at the remaining treasure, a cold smile played on John's lips.
He summoned the goblin. The goblin froze for a moment at the sight of the half-empty vault.
He shrieked, "How did you take so much?!"
"What, I need your permission to take money from my own vault?"
John shot the goblin a cold glance, and a wave of pressure descended on him, making terror flash across the goblin's face.
No businessman liked goblins. They were far too greedy.
John had the goblin close the vault door, and they left.
As he walked out of Gringotts, John glanced back at the goblin and asked, "I almost forgot—what's your name?"
"Ragnok, Mr. Lestrange."
Ragnok watched the man who claimed to be a descendant of the Lestrange family walk away.
…
Once the makeup on his face was removed, John put on his silver mask.
He'd made quite the haul today. Since the Lestrange family was so generous, John didn't mind returning the favor.
"Get me the materials and start recruiting alchemists. The bar's not high—just need ones who can make explosives."
John smiled faintly. Hopefully, the Lestranges would enjoy the gift he was preparing.
Perhaps a vault full of explosive Galleons would bring them great joy.
Tommy knew John had his own plans and didn't pry further.
"Did George and Fred pick a location?"
Glancing at the report Tommy had brought, John saw that under Silverhand's angel investment division, the Weasley twins had already selected a spot to open their joke shop.
"Send someone to investigate. Those two may be full of tricks, but the fact they got scammed by Ludo still raises concerns."
Just thinking about how the twins got swindled during the Quidditch World Cup made John doubt their business sense.
He admired them, sure—but he wasn't running a charity.
Silverhand Angel Investment had its own dedicated evaluation team—people John had poached from other companies at great expense.
Combining factors like location and product popularity, the team would assess and rate each venture's potential.
After finishing with those matters, John casually asked, "Did Mundungus bring the money?"
Tommy shook his head. "Not yet. But all the wizards he's close with have already been tapped. I heard he's even considering stealing cauldrons."
"Heh~ Foolish man," John sneered. "Tomorrow's his deadline. If he can't come up with the money, we'll make him pay another way."
"We won't let him think he can escape. I'll find him no matter what."
John already knew Mundungus wouldn't be able to scrape it together. As a representative of Johnny Silverhand's specialty store, the guy had been riding high for too long.
He'd offended nearly everyone he could.
No one wanted to lend him money anymore, and even fewer were willing to cross Johnny Silverhand.
When John left the Johnny Silverhand shop, the sun was already starting to set.
He apparated home, a book on the Fidelius Charm in hand.
But as he approached his front door, he noticed a crowd had gathered.
They looked casual, but each of them had something bulky under their jackets.
Guns.
John stepped forward. A tall man tried to stop him, but another long-haired, pale-skinned man quickly intervened.
"Young Master Wick," the long-haired man said respectfully.
John asked, "And you are?"
"Young Master, we're Mr. Wick's subordinates," the man explained while signaling the others to tone it down a bit, as if afraid they'd scare John.
"Subordinates?" John thought of his father's current identity. Wasn't he always against bringing these people home?
Back inside the house.
John saw his father in the middle of explaining things to Mrs. Wick.
"What did you promise me? Are you seriously starting to see yourself as one of those underground bosses?"
"Just hear me out, dear. I didn't want to either, but that black-haired man might come looking for me again."
"That wizard? And just because of one person, you brought thirty armed men to surround the house?!"
"I didn't want to, but I was scared he'd hurt you… hurt John."
Standing quietly in the doorway, John listened to the whole exchange.
His eyes grew cold and sharp. So that's how it was—there was a wizard out there trying to harm his family.
"Who was it?" His voice was colder than ever.
The arguing couple froze. A flash of panic flickered in Mrs. Wick's eyes.
Watson stiffly turned his head toward his son.
John remained calm and asked, "Why would that wizard do such a thing? Where is he now?"
"John…" Watson tried to defuse the tension, maybe by cracking a joke.
"Tell me." A storm brewed in John's eyes.
Watson muttered, "I really don't feel like much of a father right now."
Faced with his son's questioning, he had no choice but to answer.
Hmm.. Grimmauld Place?
John finally pieced everything together and took a deep breath.
So Watson had only been targeted with a Memory Charm because he happened to witness a wizard in action.
And here John had been imagining some kind of blood feud or revenge.
"What's that wizard's name?" John recalled hearing a few hints in the story Watson the Car God... It seemed the man had been engaged in some kind of organized activity, and Watson had heard his name mentioned.
Watson thought for a moment and said, "I think the other wizard called him… Sirius Black?"
"?"
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