The sun sank lower and lower.
Daphne wished it could just stop there, but unfortunately, she wasn't a god and couldn't defy the laws of nature.
"I don't want to be here," John said weakly.
Daphne brought over a wheelchair—and to her surprise, she was able to lift John with ease.
Too light... how..?
She couldn't imagine what kind of suffering it would take to turn the John she knew into this.
Pushing the wheelchair through the castle, she was followed by a large crowd of students.
Almost no one could believe that the vibrant young man from just days ago had ended up like this in the blink of an eye.
All four members of the Constellation Society who were still at school were there.
Neville Longbottom.
Draco Malfoy.
Cedric Diggory.
Daphne Greengrass.
They stood by the Black Lake, gathered around John.
How many times had sweat been shed here? How many times had they fallen here?
Strength above all.
Once, a Muggle-born wizard had stepped into the pure-blood–dominated Slytherin House, using his glory to open the hearts of those proud and unruly boys and girls.
They were Slytherins—glory should witness their brilliance alongside them.
They were like grains of sand, each with the potential to shine, forged into glass by a student named John Wick, and hung upon the great tree called Hogwarts, becoming its most dazzling ornament.
They were proud—because they were Slytherin.
They were cunning—because they were Slytherin.
They admired strength—because they were Slytherin.
They were glorious—because they were Slytherin.
To pursue glory, to defend glory, to witness glory—we… are glory itself.
Everyone stood in silence, like a black wall encircling the star that was about to fade, as if they could catch him before he fell.
The sun sank lower, grief thickening in the air above Hogwarts.
The last ray of sunlight vanished beyond the far shore of the Black Lake.
John's eyelids felt unbearably heavy. The poison was rampaging through his body, and he could no longer even bleed black.
He murmured, "It's so cold."
Hearing this, Malfoy quickly took off his own robe, ready to drape it over John.
But as he lowered the robe, he saw the body that no longer drew breath.
H.. huh..?
His heart gave a violent jolt. Numbly, he laid the robe over John anyway.
The others noticed too.
Daphne couldn't hold back her tears.
They surrounded John, like a ring of stars protecting their center.
The brightest star.
Had fallen.
The sound of weeping broke out, spreading like sparks catching on dry grass.
Hogwarts reached the peak of its grief.
The professors stood in collective silence. Professor Flitwick took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears in his eyes.
Professor Sprout murmured, "Oh, heavens," under her breath.
Professor McGonagall clutched the doorframe for support.
For a moment, Snape's eyes were devoid of their usual glint.
The examiners all sighed in regret, and the invigilator was consumed with guilt.
If he had agreed sooner… would things have turned out differently?
He felt he no longer had the face to remain in his position.
He had extinguished that brilliant star.
He was a sinner.
"Take him back," Professor McGonagall said.
Snape replied, "He asked for the Constellation Society to handle his funeral."
"Just like…"
He didn't finish the sentence—everyone knew who he meant.
That boy who had always been by John's side.
The bond within the Society was something truly beautiful.
But fortune had never favored them.
It wasn't just that star that had fallen—those who had followed him had fallen as well.
It was something that left people sighing in regret.
Perhaps, many years from now, they might encounter other outstanding students—
But to ever meet someone as dazzling as John Wick again… that was destined to be impossible.
...
The Constellation Society carried John's body back.
Malfoy still couldn't believe it—that someone as full of life as John could simply die like this.
"Who was it?"
Malfoy growled like a wolf that had lost its master, searching for the one who had poisoned him.
Cedric kept his eyes on John. He refused to believe John had died without any kind of preparation.
Neville, who should have been the most sensitive among them, was instead the calmest.
But they knew—it was only because Neville hadn't yet processed what had happened.
Among them, Neville had been the first to meet John.
From that very train ride, they had formed a friendship—
One so deep it was no less than any other bond.
If John had been in Gryffindor, then he, John, and Hermione would have been the closest of friends.
Daphne steadied her emotions and walked to the round table, to the seat that had belonged to John.
It was as if even the Constellation Society had sensed the fall of its master—today, the dome above was dim and lifeless.
Falling starlight gathered into an envelope, clearly prepared long ago, and it landed upon the round table.
"Daphne, pick it up," Cedric said, looking at her.
Malfoy also turned his gaze toward her.
Neville gave a nod.
Daphne opened the letter.
"If you're reading this, it means I can no longer move. It also means the final opportunity is before us—a gamble, one forged from my life itself.
So from this point on, I ask every member of the Constellation Society to carry out what follows.
Percy and Fleur are already in position. The Constellation Society's fireplace can take you directly to the Ministry of Magic.
Daphne, I need you to conduct my funeral—under the eyes of everyone, and I mean everyone. Only then will certain people be convinced.
Neville, Draco—bring your weapons. Cedric, take my wand. Use the fireplace to go to the Ministry of Magic.
Kim will guide you through everything."
"And one last thing—Daphne, remember our promise."
It was a plan, carefully laying out what was to happen next.
When Daphne finished reading, all eyes turned toward her.
Malfoy stared down at his own hands, while Neville began to emerge from his grief.
"This is John's plan," Cedric said in a low voice. "It's our duty to see it through."
As his words fell, the round table opened automatically, revealing the armory hidden beneath.
They stepped inside, and all the cabinets swung open.
Weapons of every kind lay before them—but most striking were the four sets of clothing floating at the front.
Each was already tailored perfectly to its intended wearer.
The moment the garments touched them, they dressed themselves onto their bodies.
Weapons also flew toward them, each to its chosen owner.
Malfoy received an emerald ring along with a protective talisman.
Neville watched as the Sword of Marvolo floated straight to him.
Before Cedric, a long box descended. When he opened it, John's wand lay within.
All was ready. The three of them stopped before the fireplace.
They looked back toward the round table, emotions surging in their eyes, but in the end, they stepped into the flames.
Everyone was gone now—only Daphne and John remained.
Daphne gently stroked John's thin cheek. His body was cold, without a trace of warmth.
Her mind drifted back to the day she found him collapsed.
John had promised her—he wouldn't let anything happen to himself.
She whispered, "If you lied to me, I'll never forgive you for the rest of my life."
Carrying John, she held his funeral under the watchful eyes of every teacher and student.
White candles were lit across the Great Hall, each student holding one in their hands.
Grief hung heavy over Hogwarts.
Those who had once called John their guardian.
Those who had once seen him as a figure to follow.
Those who had loved him.
Without exception, they lit their candles, their flames trembling under the starlight.
They stepped up to John, placing white flowers upon him.
One after another, the blossoms piled up, slowly covering his thin, gaunt body.
Only his face remained exposed—cold, lifeless, its skin marred by dark, branching veins.
It wasn't just the students; even the professors stepped forward to lay their flowers.
Perhaps it was a mercy that Trelawney wasn't here.
Otherwise, who could say how deep her grief would run—she had seen John as her successor.
Snape placed his flower down. At last, he could no longer deny it—he had lost a student.
A truly exceptional student.
His own folly would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Self-reproach would follow him into his dreams.
When it came time for the third-years to lay their flowers, Pansy's ex-boyfriend caught sight of that lifeless face.
He fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward in a flicker of elation.
He had done it.
He was more "mature" than the others—while the rest of the students had been blindly swept up in their fevered admiration for John Wick, he had already been preparing for this day.
As someone who had always been overlooked, he knew he needed extreme measures if he wanted to secure greater benefits.
When Voldemort set his sights on poisoning John, he saw it—an open road to glory stretching straight to the heavens.
If he succeeded, the rewards in the future would be immense.
The greater the risk, the greater the reward.
Though he didn't understand why the Dark Lord himself would go to the trouble of poisoning a mere student, he still carried it out.
For a half-blood orphan like him, this was the only way to be noticed—truly noticed.
He didn't dwell on why John's closest friends weren't there; grief that deep often left people unwilling to face the truth.
Once he confirmed John was dead, his thoughts turned to how he might deliver the news to master Voldemort.
In the candlelight, John's body was bathed in a warm, golden hue.
Everyone was watching. John Wick's death…
Was it truly the end?
From somewhere no one could hear, a faint sound began to stir.
[Ding…]
...
Some people die.. but... not completely...
________
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