Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley was thriving.
"Why are you worried about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? You should be more concerned about… Consti-Patient—! The pain of constipation torments the nation!"
After returning home, John made a trip to Diagon Alley.
He had to admit—the Weasley twins weren't just creative; they were downright fearless.
Old wizards passing by the joke shop couldn't help but mutter to their grandsons, "Look at those boys—they'll be murdered in their sleep one day."
To joke about Voldemort like that—Fred and George Weasley were the first to ever dare it.
Ever since the news of Voldemort's return had spread, many who had lived through that dark era were filled with anxiety.
Even though the Ministry of Magic had arrested nearly everyone involved, they still couldn't rest easy—muttering constantly that Voldemort would come back to kill them all.
But most others weren't nearly as tense.
Mothers warned their children not to stay out too late, yet that didn't stop them from chatting with other witches about which brand of robes was the most comfortable.
Meanwhile, sales of Defense Against the Dark Arts products had skyrocketed.
That alone showed how well Silverhand Johnny's products were selling—half a month's sales now matched what he used to make in an entire month.
Although Voldemort had vanished from sight, Aurors and Hit Wizards could still be seen stationed all over Diagon Alley.
Thanks to the Ministry of Magic's current surplus of funding, manpower had also increased.
Since taking office, Barty Crouch Sr. had continuously expanded both the Auror Office and the Hit Wizard divisions, setting up multiple new outposts across Britain.
The surge of defensive-magic merchandise born from the collective sense of crisis forced Barty to establish an entirely new department just to inspect and filter out shoddy products.
As a result, many Ministry employees were promoted—including Arthur Weasley, who successfully advanced to Head of the "Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects." He now had ten subordinates under him—much better than before.
The Silverhand Style Renovation Company had also taken the opportunity to refurbish the dilapidated Ministry building, turning the project into a convenient advertisement for itself.
Despite all the Ministry's new policies and safety measures, daily life in the wizarding world went on unaffected.
Anyone with a bit of sense knew that Voldemort, isolated and weakened, couldn't cause large-scale harm in such a short time.
More importantly, he wasn't targeting ordinary wizards personally.
His true enemies were the Ministry of Magic, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Constellation Society.
...
John stepped into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—it was buzzing with life.
He saw the red-haired twins darting about, barely touching the ground, their prank products flying off the shelves.
One of the most popular was the "Daydream Charm," which let customers enjoy an elaborate daydream of their own making.
John had been standing there for barely two and a half minutes when he saw several teenage boys and girls blushing as they went up to pay.
George spotted him right away. He'd already heard about John's identity from his younger siblings.
"Fred, our boss has arrived," he announced dramatically, pretending to sprint over.
He bumped into a few young witches and wizards along the way, sending them stumbling before stopping in front of John, looking up at him with mock devotion. "Shall I lick your boots, my noble lord?"
He was as unserious as ever, making it hard not to laugh.
John couldn't help but smile helplessly. "Cut it out, George."
"Actually, I'm Fred," George said with a grin—clearly joking.
He ushered John inside, showing no hint of resentment over the Ministry incident.
On the contrary, once they'd learned that John was actually Johnny Silverhand, everything made sense—why their startup had been chosen over so many other competing investors.
After all, the other companies that had received similar offers were still struggling to pass investment evaluations, while the twins already had a shop in one of the best locations in Diagon Alley.
Fred soon joined them, grumbling, "Quit slacking, George. I'm exhausted."
Dealing with a crowd of overly curious young witches and wizards had left him frazzled.
"We should hire a few Hogwarts students," he muttered. "They'd be cheaper labor, too."
Fred shook John's hand, cleared his throat, and said in an overly serious tone, "Hello, my dear sir. May I kiss the hem of your robe?"
"Unfortunately, I'm not wearing one," John replied with a shrug. His eyes drifted to the Daydream Charm display, and he couldn't help but sigh. "Your minds are like treasure chests—you're never short of new ideas."
"Care to try one?" George teased.
"No thanks." John shook his head, then added, "I'm just glad you don't hold any prejudice against me."
"Why would we?" Fred asked, puzzled. "You funded us, and you've never done anything harmful."
John turned to George, who nodded in agreement.
"I didn't give you money as a favor," John said, picking up a candy shaped like the Dark Mark. "I invested because your ideas were good enough to deserve it."
The twins grinned—no one disliked a genuine compliment.
George scolded a young wizard trying to sneak the Dark Mark candy into his pocket, then looked back at John. "So, can we know the purpose of your visit today?"
He smirked. "Don't tell me you just came to admire two geniuses at work?"
"I'd like to borrow some of your brilliant ideas," John admitted with a nod. "To use in the alchemy workshop for creating defensive tools."
"But…" George hesitated. "We've already joined the Order of the Phoenix."
What he wanted to say was—is it really okay to let us collaborate with you?
After all, the conflict between the Constellation Society and the Order of the Phoenix had ended barely a month ago.
Not only George, but Fred was thinking the same thing.
John smiled. "These are meant for the public. If you're interested, you can always buy them from Johnny Silverhand Specialty Shop. I don't mind selling a few more."
It wasn't classified material, so he didn't care much.
Besides, he doubted the Order of the Phoenix would ever tamper with something like that.
John extended an invitation to the Weasley twins.
He had always believed the two of them had great potential for alchemy.
"What do you think, Fred?"
"Exactly what you're thinking, George."
The twins exchanged smiles—they agreed.
John promised to give them access privileges to the alchemy workshop.
Fred handed him a bag of chestnuts roasted with a miniature fire-drake model. "Try these."
"Oh, right," Fred added cautiously, "Hermione's written you quite a few letters. That silly girl even wanted to go to your house to apologize. Could you please.."
"No need."
John popped a chestnut into his mouth, his expression calm and unreadable.
"She made the choice her heart told her was right, and I respect that."
John slipped the bag of chestnuts into his pouch and walked toward the door.
Fred opened his mouth as if to say something but stayed silent, simply watching John leave.
"Is he angry?" George asked.
"Look at Percy," Fred sighed. "He hasn't spoken to Dad in half a month. Honestly, I've never seen him like this."
"Yeah. Even when we turned his badge into a giant head, he didn't act like this," George muttered, his tone tinged with regret.
Percy Weasley, the third Weasley brother, worked at the Ministry just like his father—yet the two hadn't exchanged a single word.
Mr. Weasley could never have imagined that his own son would one day raise his wand against Dumbledore. Nor could he have imagined that the Constellation Society, which he'd once dismissed as a joke, would be the reason the Death Eaters were wiped out.
The tangled emotions that followed left him unsure how to face Percy.
Several times, he had gone to his son's office door, only to lose the courage to knock.
Thankfully, Barty Crouch Sr.'s promotion kept him busy enough not to dwell on it.
"Hey, George," Fred said suddenly, "you know… if you ever died, I think I'd go insane trying to save you."
George fell silent.
"Maybe," Fred continued quietly, "that's exactly how John feels too."
...
Privet Drive.
Wick Manor.
After spending some time abroad, there was still no place more comfortable than home.
No sooner had Watson returned than he was buried under a mountain of work—he planned to establish a nationwide chain of hotels, starting with the first one in London.
As the emperor of London's underworld, he had countless matters to handle—chief among them were dealing with investors and settling disputes among rival gangs.
The path to legitimacy would still take a great deal of effort.
John headed down to the basement.
The house had been reinforced with layers of enchantments.
The basement itself served as the magical core of the home.
John embedded a red gemstone into the hilt of the Silver Wick Sword.
A Philosopher's Stone.
After reaching Level 7 in Alchemy, he couldn't yet craft one casually, but he no longer faced any insurmountable bottlenecks either.
With the help of Ravenclaw's diadem, he successfully refined a new Philosopher's Stone.
The Philosopher's Stone was now embedded within the Silver Wick Sword.
Just as he was about to forge a third one, John suddenly felt a strange instinct.
Three is the limit.
Something told him that creating too many Philosopher's Stones would invite disaster.
So he abandoned the idea of crafting a third.
Down in the basement, he blinked his right eye.
His vision was blurry—something that had persisted ever since he left the spring.
Basil and Riddle fluttered onto the cabinet as John tried switching to his draconic eyes.
Once he did, his right eye's vision returned to normal.
"So it doesn't work in my normal state…"
He pondered for a moment. Perhaps it had something to do with his True Name.
When he stepped out of the basement, he found an unexpected visitor waiting for him.
Dudley.
________
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