142: Vehicle Killer and Password

Hermione was a smart girl, which is why she understood the seriousness of the situation and decided to inform Professor McGonagall.

But being misunderstood felt really unpleasant.

Because of this, her two friends were angry with her.

She ran out, initially heading for the library, but as she walked, she spotted Crookshanks.

Crookshanks was trotting along with his little wiggling butt, and behind him was Tom, ears drooping, its short legs working hard to keep up.

Watching the bond between the two little creatures made Hermione feel envious. She no longer felt like going to the library and decided to follow them instead.

Despite their short legs, the two little ones ran surprisingly fast.

Hermione, panting, chased them all the way to the Quidditch pitch.

She spotted John there, frowning at a gift box wrapped tightly in paper.

Hermione, without suspicion, walked over curiously and asked, "John, what are you doing here?"

John wasn't a Quidditch player, so his presence puzzled her.

During the Christmas break, the Quidditch pitch was rarely this quiet.

In the empty stadium, John was staring at his newly purchased item, looking troubled.

Hearing her voice, he turned his head and an idea suddenly popped into his mind.

John waved excitedly, "Hermione, you're just in time! Help me test something."

Hermione was stunned for a moment, and then she saw John tearing the wrapping off the gift box. A brand-new Firebolt appeared in front of her.

She was completely dumbfounded but certain she wasn't seeing things.

This Firebolt was identical, even down to the packaging, to the one Harry had received that morning.

The broomstick gleamed, with its golden registration number, and its sleek tail made from fine birch twigs looked absolutely stunning.

It was practically a work of art.

John lifted it effortlessly with one hand. The Firebolt trembled slightly in his grasp, and once he let go, it hovered in midair, at the perfect height for someone to hop on.

"A Firebolt? Where did you get this?" Hermione was shocked. She worried that, like Harry, John had no idea who sent him such a gift.

"Eh?" John froze at her question, looking puzzled. "Of course, I bought it."

Bought it?

Did she really think someone had just sent it to him?

His expression turned a bit strange. Looking at the Firebolt, he winced slightly—it was outrageously expensive.

It had cost him a whopping 5,000 Galleons, which made John… well, let's say it made his heart ache quite a bit.

Even though his family was wealthy, John had to maintain relationships, exchange gifts, and take care of the usual social obligations each month.

Alchemy was also a massive expense, and then there were books to buy and salaries to pay.

Apart from all these expenses, John only had a few thousand Galleons left to spend each day.

"That's just my daily income."

He had ordered the Firebolt before Christmas, thinking he could have some fun with it. But then his hand got injured.

Now, it seemed like the perfect time to test the speed of his Meteor Shoes.

Buying a flying broom was like buying a sports car in the Muggle world. Even if you didn't plan on using it, you'd still buy one just to admire it.

He figured it also had some collectible value—perhaps he could gift it to a Quidditch player someday and use it to win them over.

This was a Firebolt, after all. If he gave it to Wood, John reckoned the guy would probably let him ride on his head for a month.

But after purchasing it, John was faced with another problem.

With his right hand injured, controlling the Firebolt would be difficult. And if he fell off, that wouldn't be any fun.

His heart aching from the cost, John handed the Firebolt to Hermione. Seeing her confused expression, he said, "Could you help me fly a lap and check the speed? My hand's injured."

Hermione was stunned again.

John was so rich that he had actually bought a Firebolt.

She didn't know the exact price, but she knew it couldn't be cheap—otherwise, Harry wouldn't have just stood there staring at it through the glass.

Something this expensive, and John, someone from a Muggle-born family, could afford it?

She couldn't tell if the world had gone mad or if she had.

John saw Hermione's many expressions and thought she was too scared to fly.

Thinking it over, it made sense. The Firebolt was known as the fastest flying broom, and not everyone could handle it.

"Should I get Heinrich? But I don't think I've ever seen him use a broom."

John frowned in thought, weighing his options. Either he could go ask Harry, or he could drag Malfoy over here.

"If it's just one lap, I can do it!"

Hermione responded, snapping back to reality. She nervously looked at John and asked, "Which hand did you injure?"

John raised his right hand, which was trembling as if he had Parkinson's.

With a wry smile, he said, "I had a little mishap while researching magic. It won't get better for a while, but it's no big deal."

Even though he sounded relaxed, Hermione couldn't help but worry.

Finally, John reassured her that he'd be fully healed in no more than two months, and she sighed in relief.

Feeling awkward as she mounted the Firebolt, Hermione was filled with tension.

Saying she wasn't nervous would've been a lie—her flying skills were nowhere near Harry's level.

If John wasn't standing there watching, she probably would've chickened out.

At the same time, a strange thought popped into her head. If Harry and Ron knew she was using the Firebolt, what would their reactions be?

They'd definitely be jumping with envy!

Closing her eyes and pushing off with her feet, Hermione decided to go for it.

The Firebolt shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

Swoosh!

"Ah—!"

Hermione screamed as the speed blurred her vision.

A doorway appeared in front of her, and she screamed louder, yanking the broom upward just in time.

"AHHHHHhhhhhh...."

The Firebolt shot into the air.

John saw that she couldn't control it and, with a burst of wind beneath his feet, dashed a few steps forward before leaping into the air.

Wings sprouted from the sides of his shoes.

Hermione was flying ahead, and John was chasing from behind.

While pursuing, John quickly calculated the speed—150 miles per hour in 10 seconds. As expected of the world's fastest broom.

The wings on the sides of his shoes grew larger, flapping quickly, and John increased his speed, closing in on the Firebolt.

The distance between them shrank. John noticed the Quidditch goalposts ahead of Hermione and, without hesitation, cast a Shattering Charm to obliterate them.

In the blink of an eye, the goalposts shattered into pieces, disintegrating before any debris could fall. Instead, the splinters flew straight into Hermione's face.

Luckily, it was only tiny fragments—if she had crashed into the goalposts at that speed, she'd have been ready for cremation on the spot.

"Accelerate!"

John sped up again.

The patterns on his shoes began to glow, and his speed surged, leaving a contrail behind him as he overtook Hermione.

John reached out and grabbed the back of Hermione's collar, shouting, "Let go!"

Hermione clung to the Firebolt like a sloth, making John roll his eyes in frustration.

He had no choice but to pull harder and shout louder, "Hermione, let go!"

Hermione finally heard him and, seeing John beside her, didn't even question why he was there. Trusting him completely, she let go without hesitation. The Firebolt shot out from beneath her, and Hermione was left dangling by her collar in John's grip, like a kitten being carried by the scruff.

Once the Firebolt lost its rider, it didn't fly far before starting to fall. John raised his trembling right hand.

As magic flowed through his hand, it shook even more violently, causing him to grunt in pain.

Using the Summoning Charm, he caught the falling Firebolt and gently guided it to the ground.

John then slowly lowered Hermione as well. The wings on his meteor shoes seemed exhausted, lazily flapping as they descended.

Once her feet touched the ground, Hermione's legs were weak, but she managed not to collapse. Feeling guilty, she said, "I'm sorry, John, I thought..."

"It's fine, as long as you're okay," John replied, wiping sweat from his forehead.

He swore never to let Hermione near a Firebolt again; she was practically a vehicle destroyer.

At least he had gotten some useful data from the test—his meteor shoes, in acceleration mode, could keep pace with the Firebolt.

There was also a hyper-acceleration mode that John hadn't dared to use. That mode consumed too much power, draining a fifth of a magic crystal in one go.

The magic crystal installed in John's meteor shoes could only handle about five uses.

After this incident, Hermione's previously gloomy mood had significantly improved.

But then, after a delayed realization, she suddenly screamed. John rubbed his ear, confused by her sudden outburst.

"Firebolt!"

Hermione dashed toward where the Firebolt had fallen.

She had already upset Harry and Ron by letting Professor McGonagall take his Firebolt for inspection. If John's Firebolt had gotten damaged, she couldn't even imagine how angry he would be.

Worried, she ran to the spot where the Firebolt lay. The broom, which Harry had been so obsessed with, was lying there peacefully. There wasn't even a scratch on it—still as pristine as if it were brand new, which, of course, it was.

As she calmed down, Hermione began to realize something wasn't right. How had John managed to fly right beside her? And why was the Firebolt completely undamaged?

She glanced at John, who was holding Crookshanks by the hind legs, preventing the cat from wandering off.

Seeing this, Hermione decided to push her questions aside.

She thought to herself that John had always been quite mysterious, and she shouldn't interfere too much.

Then, thinking about how Ron didn't like Crookshanks and how she was busy with Buckbeak's case, she asked, "John, could you help take care of Crookshanks for a while?"

Take care of Crookshanks?

"Of course!"

John lifted Crookshanks, just as he had done with Hermione earlier.

He scratched Crookshanks' belly and chuckled, "Of course I can."

Hearing this, Hermione was delighted, but she remembered that Crookshanks didn't like leaving the Gryffindor common room, so she added, "I'll write down the Gryffindor password for you."

John's smile widened—free access to pet a cat! That was like winning the jackpot.

Hermione handed him the password.

Taking care of Crookshanks wasn't a big deal—it just meant taking him out for walks and bringing him back. Crookshanks would still sleep in the Gryffindor common room.

When Hermione returned, she found Ron still fuming.

Harry, however, had mostly cooled off.

"Hi, hermione, I'm sorr—Pfft~ What.." When he saw Hermione come back, he followed her and asked, "Ehm.. Hermione, what happened to your hair?"

After flying around the Quidditch pitch, Hermione's already bushy hair had been swept back, giving her the look of a full-blown explosion.

Realizing what Harry was talking about, she rushed to her dormitory and looked at herself in the mirror.

At once, she remembered John trying to hold back his laughter earlier. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she looked like an angry lion.

"John Wick! You could have told me!"

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