My surrounding change I appeared in my room again. I have been in the training space for more than 30 years which means it's been a month.
I sighed as slept on my bed as it's night time when I appeared here. During those years of training, I train and fought many strong opponents. I have completed all my template cards. I raced with Dom and I fought with The Legendary 'O' generation and the Tora Oni. I have duels with Miyamoto. I completed many mission simulation with 100% success rate. I even learned magical stuffs from Voldemort, Merlin, Snape and many more legendary wizards and witches. The Training space provided me a wand during the training but now I can easily cast any spells without chanting or wand. I even learned how to cook from many renowned world class chefs.
The next Morning I woke up as the sun rays fall through the windows of my cottage.
Now I am going to live my life the way I want.
I choose to be an assassin like John Wick so I can earn some good amount of money before Hogwarts start. Due to John Wick template I knows how to enter the underground world and be a assassin and leave the world without a trace.
TIME SKIP,
10TH July 1991,
I sat on my table as I counted the money I got from my last hunt.
Now I have total 4 million American Dollar. Soon I am going to leave for Hogwarts and now I am currently waiting for my Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Suddenly I heard a knock on my window. I saw a owl with a letter in it's leg.
I opened my window and let him in and I offered it some water and cookies I have.
" Sorry, I don't have any owl treats, this is all I can offer. And Thank you for delivering the letter. Please wait a moment for my response."
The owl hooted in approval as it start to enjoy the cookie.
I sat on my table and opened the letter.
To:
Dear Mr. Bonds
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books
and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY.
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other equipment:
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl or a cat or a toad.
Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed thier own broomstick
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions
I sighed as I wrote my letter to them and gave it to the owl.
" Please deliver my message and have a safe Journey."
I saw as the owl flew away to the horizon. Soon one of the professor is going to come here to take me to Diagon alley for my school shopping.
Now I wait.
14TH JULY 1991,
The wind whistled through the moors of Yorksdale, dragging flecks of ash into the sky from the edge of a chimney where a small trail of smoke curled upward like a serpent.
A solitary cottage stood on the outskirts, humble and crooked, leaning slightly as though tired of standing against the test of time. A sagging wooden sign by the gate read, No Trespassers.
Not that anyone came here. No one had in years.
Jon Bonds sat on the cottage's lone step, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, arms resting on his knees.
He was eleven, or at least his body was. His mind, however, belonged to someone far older, someone molded by another world. He wasn't supposed to be here—not in this place, not in this life.
Yet here he was, reborn as an orphan in a world of magic, monsters, and murderers.
And he'd become one himself.
The cigarette's tip flared orange as he inhaled, the ember catching briefly against the wind before dimming again.
He didn't smoke for pleasure; it was habit, a vestige of a past life where vices were his only comfort.
That's when she arrived.
With a soft pop, the world shimmered, and then the air around the front gate twisted.
An older woman stepped into view, wearing emerald-green robes and a sharply squared hat.
Her lips were thin, her eyes sharp, and her whole aura practically screamed strict. Professor Minerva McGonagall.
She adjusted her glasses, took in the mossy fence, the cluttered yard, and then—her eyes landed on the boy. Smoking.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me!" she called out, marching through the squeaky gate without waiting for permission.
"Young man, what do you think you're doing?"
Jon glanced at her, exhaled a plume of smoke, and raised one eyebrow.
"Breathing, last I checked."
Jon glanced at her, exhaled a plume of smoke, and raised one eyebrow.
"Breathing, last I checked."
"That's not what I meant." She stopped two feet from him, hands now on her hips.
"Cigarettes? At your age? Where are your parents?"
He scoffed. "Dead. Probably. Or they ran. Doesn't matter."
McGonagall blinked, caught slightly off guard.
"I—well, I was informed a child lived here. I assumed you had guardians."
Jon tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the step.
"Assumptions. Dangerous, aren't they?"
She ignored the sarcasm, straightening her back.
"Smoking at eleven is not only inappropriate, it's illegal in the Muggle world."
He gave her a flat look.
"And you're here to give me a legal lecture, or are you here to play my guardian?"
Her mouth tightened. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Ah. That explains the hat."
He flicked the stub of his cigarette into a tin bucket nearby, letting the faint hiss of its extinguishment punctuate the moment.
McGonagall's nostrils flared. "You're Jon Bonds, are you not?"
"Unfortunately."
"You received your letter."
"Yeah. Thought it was a joke."
"And yet, you respond it."
Jon's expression didn't change. "Didn't have anything better to do."
Her eyes drifted to the cigarette. "And the cigarette?"
He smiled—just barely. "Like I said. Didn't have anything better to do."
She bristled. "I am here to escort you to Diagon Alley. We need to acquire your school supplies. Wands don't buy themselves, Mr. Bonds."
He tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
"You don't get to march up to my house, insult my habits, assume my life, and then act like I'm supposed to follow you like a lost puppy. I don't know you."
"And I don't know you," she replied, voice clipped.
"But I do know that Hogwarts accepted you. That means something. That should mean something."
Jon's eyes darkened—not with childish defiance, but with something colder.
"Acceptance? Is that what you call a surprise letter dropped into a life that already went to hell?"
McGonagall faltered again. This child was different.
Not simply rebellious or misbehaved—but hardened.
The air around him held a weight that no eleven-year-old should bear.
Still, she adjusted her robes, composed herself, and said firmly,
"Magic may not erase your past, Mr. Bonds. But it can shape your future. If you'll allow it."
"I think you misunderstood something Professor, I don't want any magic or other bullshit to shape my future."
"I will shape my future with my own hands and own terms."
There was a long pause.
Then Jon smirked faintly. "Now then, Professor. Let's go see this wizard Walmart of yours."