Chapter 6: Harry's Arrival to America: The recruitment of Bryan Mills and John Wick. Iosef having temper Tantrum
As Harry lands at LAX as the first step of coming to America. As he look at at Hedwig and Fawkes as he orders an Uber from his new iPhone. He says to them they going to their new home, Dobby and Kreacher have prepared everything over there as he climb in the back of the Mercedes Benz.
The driver nods understandingly, merging smoothly onto the busy Los Angeles highway as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
"Fresh starts are good, very good," the driver says, his eyes meeting Harry's in the rearview mirror. "America is a land of fresh starts."
Harry smiles, grateful for the sentiment. As they speed along the highway, he takes a moment to look at Hedwig and Fawkes, their cages securely set beside him. Both creatures seem calm, perhaps even excited, and it reinforces Harry's feeling that he's made the right choice.
His phone buzzes with a message. It's from Dobby, confirming that everything is ready at the new estate in Beverly Hills. Harry feels a thrill of anticipation. A new home, a new life, and, most importantly, a new path forged by his own choices.
"We're almost there, sir," the driver announces as they exit the freeway, entering the labyrinth of palm-lined streets that define Beverly Hills. Harry's eyes widen at the sight of the mansions that line the way, each one more opulent than the last.
Finally, the car slows before a particularly grand estate, its wrought-iron gates swinging open as if welcoming Harry to his new life. The Uber comes to a halt, and Harry takes a deep breath before stepping out, Hedwig and Fawkes in tow.
"Thank you," Harry says to the driver, handing over a generous tip.
"No problem, sir. Good luck with your fresh start," the driver replies, his eyes twinkling in a way that makes Harry think of Dumbledore—only this time, without the complicated history and mixed feelings.
Harry watches as the car pulls away, then turns to face his new home. Dobby and Kreacher are waiting at the door, both beaming with pride and excitement. Harry walks up the path, a sense of freedom and anticipation bubbling within him.
He's Harry Potter, but he's also just Harry. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.
As he crosses the threshold, Harry knows he's stepping into a future of limitless possibilities, a future he's chosen for himself. And somehow, that makes all the difference.
As Harry walks through the gates of his new estate, eyes widening as he takes in the expansive property before him. The main house looms large, an architectural masterpiece of modern design fused with traditional elements that make it both grand and welcoming. Dobby and Kreacher greet him at the front door, their eyes shining with pride and excitement.
"Welcome home, Master Harry!" Dobby exclaims, bouncing on his toes.
Harry steps inside and is immediately struck by the tasteful decor, the luxurious but not ostentatious furnishings, and the general air of comfort and peace. Kreacher leads him through the house, showing him the vast kitchen, fully equipped and perfect for anything from a simple breakfast to a grand dinner party.
The gym catches Harry's attention next, a state-of-the-art facility that promises rigorous workouts and a way to hone his physical skills. It seems designed with every possible need in mind, from weightlifting to magical dueling practice.
Kreacher opens the door to the library and study area, and Harry feels his breath catch. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are filled with an impressive array of magical and non-magical texts, a cozy reading nook beckoning from one corner.
"Would Master Harry like to see the guesthouses and garden next?" Kreacher asks.
Harry nods, still somewhat in awe. The guesthouses are just as impeccably designed as the main house, offering comfort and privacy for any visitors Harry might have. The garden is a verdant oasis, with flowers, herbs, and trees that Harry suspects have both magical and non-magical properties.
Finally, Kreacher takes Harry to the dojo, a place that holds a sense of calm and focused energy. It's perfect for not just martial arts but also magical training, another space where Harry can hone his skills without interference.
"Everything is wonderful," Harry finally manages to say, finding himself uncharacteristically lost for words. "Thank you, Dobby, Kreacher. I couldn't have hoped for a better home."
Dobby's eyes fill with happy tears, while Kreacher looks on with a proud, satisfied expression.
"You deserve it, Master Harry," Kreacher says softly. "A place where you can be free."
As Harry looks around at his new home, a sense of peace fills him. This is his sanctuary, his stronghold. And for the first time in his life, he feels like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
The very next day Harry sits at a booth in the diner, his eyes scanning the door every so often. Just as he's about to check his watch, the door swings open and in walks a tall man with a stern but not unfriendly face. It's Bryan Mills.
"Mr. Mills, I presume?" Harry extends his hand as Bryan takes a seat opposite him.
"That's me," Bryan says, shaking Harry's hand firmly. "I understand you're looking for some specialized help."
They order coffee and get straight down to business. Harry outlines his situation, careful to gauge Bryan's reactions as he explains his unique circumstances—being a wizard, having powerful enemies, and needing to train in both magical and non-magical combat.
"I've looked into your background, and you're exceptionally qualified. But you should know that this is not a typical bodyguard gig. There will be magic, dangerous foes, and maybe even dragons," Harry says, watching for any sign of hesitation.
"Dragons, you say? Well, that's new," Bryan replies, a faint smile on his lips. "But the principles remain the same: assess threats, prepare for contingencies, and neutralize risks. I've read up on you as well, Mr. Potter. You're a man who values his privacy and freedom, which makes me believe you're someone worth protecting."
Harry nods, pleased. "That's correct. You'll also be training me in hand-to-hand combat and tactical skills. While I have my magic, there are times when other skills are necessary."
"You've found your man," Bryan replies after listening carefully. "I have a set of very particular skills that make me a nightmare for people who would try to harm you. I can also teach you these skills so that you can stand on your own if need be."
Harry can't help but smile; Bryan Mills seems like just the man for the job. "That sounds like what I'm looking for," he says. "There's just one more thing. I've got another lead on someone else I'm considering hiring. Goes by the code name Baba Yaga. Know anything about him?"
Bryan looks a little surprised but then gives a slight smile. "If you're talking about who I think you are, then you'd have a security team most people couldn't even dream of. Baba Yaga is a myth, a ghost in the world of covert operations. If you can get him, do it."
Harry smiles. "Great. Then it sounds like we've got ourselves a deal."
Bryan extends his hand across the table. "Deal. And for what it's worth, my daughter Kimmy lives nearby. This job is perfect for me too."
They shake on it, sealing the arrangement. As Bryan leaves the diner, Harry can't help but feel that he's just made a very good decision. Between Bryan Mills and the enigmatic Baba Yaga, anyone who tries to threaten him is in for a rude awakening.
As he steps out of the diner, Harry's phone buzzes. It's a text message from Dobby: "Everything is prepared for Mr. Mills' arrival, Master Harry."
"Thank you, Dobby," Harry texts back. For the first time in a long time, he feels not just powerful but also secure. It's a new chapter in his life, and he's ready for whatever comes his way.
Later that evening in New York, John Wick, though startled, is a man who has seen much in his life, including things that most people would find unbelievable. He studies Harry for a moment, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Harry teleported to his residence with a business proposal.
"If you can pull off what you're saying, moving my belongings and keeping my home and Daisy safe, then we've got a deal," John finally says, obviously intrigued but still cautious. "But how did you even find me? And why me?"
Harry gives a wry smile. "I've got my resources. And you have a reputation that precedes you, Mr. Wick. As for the 'why,' let's just say that in my world, the threats I face aren't the kind that can be handled with a wand alone. I need to learn from the best, and your name kept coming up."
John nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Alright. What's the plan then?"
Harry explains that his house-elves are already in the process of moving John's belongings to a guesthouse on his estate in Beverly Hills. He also details the vast facilities available for training, from specialized rooms for close-quarters combat to larger, more open spaces for a variety of combat scenarios. "And don't worry about your previous life coming back to haunt you; my estate is protected by some of the strongest magical wards known."
John Wick looks down at Daisy, who is wagging her tail as if she understands that something significant is happening. "Well, looks like we're going on an adventure, girl," he says softly to the pup.
Looking back up at Harry, he extends his hand. "Deal, Mr. Potter. When do we start?"
Harry grins. "Immediately. Hold on tight, both of you."
With a flick of his wand, Harry, John Wick, and Daisy disappear, reappearing moments later in one of the opulent guesthouses on Harry's Beverly Hills estate. Dobby is there to greet them, bowing low.
"Welcome, Mr. Wick and Daisy," says the elf cheerfully. "Your belongings are all here, and your rooms are prepared."
John Wick looks around, taking it all in. "Impressive," he admits. "Alright, Harry, you've got yourself a teacher. Let's make sure you learn everything you need to protect yourself and those you care about."
Harry nods, looking equally determined. "And you've got yourself a safe place to call home, John. It's a new beginning for both of us."
"Welcome to your new home," Harry says. "Training starts tomorrow. Tonight, get some rest. You've earned it."
As Harry leaves the guesthouse, John looks around, taking it all in. Finally, he turns to Daisy.
"It looks like we're not in New York anymore," he says, scratching the beagle's head.
Daisy barks as if in agreement, and John can't help but feel a sense of hope for the future. It's a feeling he hasn't had in a long time, and it's one he's not going to let go of easily.
An hour later…. Iosef Tarasov and his thugs burst through the door, finding John Wick's home completely empty. Confused, they look around, bewildered by the vacant space.
"I thought you said this guy was loaded," one of the thugs mutters to Iosef. "Where's all the stuff?"
Iosef, equally puzzled, pulls out his phone to call his father. Before he can dial, a text message buzzes in from Viggo Tarasov.
"What the hell are you doing, Iosef? Call me immediately," the text reads, and even through the screen, the urgency and anger in Viggo's tone are palpable.
Iosef takes a moment to ponder, his youthful arrogance conflicting with the warning in his father's message. "Fine, let's go. But I want to know what's going on here."
As they retreat, they're all unaware of just how narrowly they've dodged a bullet—or rather, a lot of bullets. The house is empty because Harry Potter gave John Wick the heads-up, a warning that may very well have saved Iosef's life. Whether he realizes the magnitude of that luck, however, remains to be seen.
A furious Viggo Tarasov, a feared figure in the criminal underworld, sits at his desk reading a note that had arrived, most unusually, by owl. His eyes narrow as he finishes reading.
Iosef, his son, stands across the desk, visibly confused and nervous. "Papa, what is this nonsense? I planned everything perfectly—"
"You planned to rob a fuckin nobody?!" Viggo slams his fists on the desk. "You don't even know who you were dealing with, do you? That fuckin 'nobody' is John Wick, and you are lucky beyond belief that you didn't walk into that house."
Iosef blinks, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation. "John Wick? I don't understand—"
Viggo cuts him off, his voice icy cold. "John Wick is not just anybody; he's Baba Yaga—the Boogeyman, the man you send to kill the fuckin Boogeyman. If you'd crossed paths with him, you would be dead before you could blink."
"But the house was empty, the car was gone—"
"And do you think that was a mere coincidence?!" Viggo is seething now, his eyes filled with a fire that makes even his hardened son take a step back. "That note," he points to the parchment still lying on his desk, "says someone warned him, moved his things out of his house before you and your gang could get there. Someone with enough power to send a message by a magical creature."
Iosef looks down, finally grasping the gravity of his blunder. His father's rage is a palpable force in the room.
"You've exposed us, you fuckin fool. We don't just have the police or rival gangs to worry about now. We've attracted the attention of the magical world, people who can do things you can't even imagine."
Silence hangs heavy in the room. Viggo leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"I suggest you disappear for a while, Iosef. Leave the city. And pray that John Wick, or whoever is protecting him, doesn't decide you're worth the trouble of hunting down."
Iosef nods, finally understanding that he's stirred a hornet's nest, one that could endanger not just him but his entire family. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, his steps heavy with the weight of his newfound understanding.
Viggo's phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the heavy silence that has settled in the room. He picks it up, reading the message that just arrived from an unknown number. As he reads, his eyebrows lift, a mixture of relief and curiosity crossing his face.
The message reads:
"Don't worry about your son; he didn't know any better, and it's better that Baba Yaga stays retired in the meantime. A war is coming. There will come a time when I'll request the High Table's alliance, but that is not today. Signed, Lord Hadrian James Black Peverell Potter. P.S: Count yourself lucky, sir. You would have been dead too if your son had opened Pandora's box. Continue your life and forget this incident."
Viggo sets the phone down, contemplating the words he just read. This "Lord Potter" not only knew about the criminal underworld and the High Table but also seemed powerful enough to protect John Wick and to deliver a direct message like this.
A sense of unease settles over Viggo. If what the message implies is true, then he's dealing with forces much more powerful and mysterious than he's ever encountered. The message is a clear warning—stay out of matters you don't understand, and don't provoke forces you can't contend with.
Slowly, Viggo picks up his phone and deletes the message, as if erasing it could also erase the complexity it added to his life. But as he sits back in his chair, he knows forgetting won't be so easy. He's been given a glimpse into a world much larger and more perilous than he'd ever imagined. And while the immediate threat to his family may have been averted, the message makes one thing clear:
A storm is coming, one that could engulf not just the criminal underworld but realms beyond it. And when it does, no amount of firepower will be enough to protect him.
Winston Scott, impeccably dressed as always, sits behind his desk at the Continental, the sanctuary for those in the criminal underworld. The phone on his desk vibrates, drawing his attention. He picks it up and reads the text.
"Wick is safe, and I need his skills for my own training for my war against Voldemort and Dumbledore. You can visit anytime you want, sir. He speaks very highly of you."
A small, enigmatic smile graces Winston's lips. Very few things catch him off-guard, but this message has certainly piqued his interest. Not only does it suggest that John Wick, the Baba Yaga, has become involved in matters Winston could only describe as 'arcane,' but also that whoever has contacted him knows about Voldemort and Dumbledore—names that Winston recognizes from whispers in the darker, more mysterious circles of his network.
As he puts the phone down, Winston muses on the complex tapestry that seems to be unfolding. John Wick had always been a wild card, a force of nature. If someone like him was being enlisted for a war against equally enigmatic figures, then the stakes were higher than he'd first imagined.
As for the individual who'd sent the message—Lord Hadrian James Black Peverell Potter, according to the text—Winston can't help but be curious. Anyone who can 'retire' John Wick and openly challenge men like Dumbledore and Voldemort is someone worth knowing. And should Winston ever find himself entangled in these mystical conflicts, it would certainly not hurt to have such an ally.
For now, Winston decides to reply with a text, as brief and as formal as the ones he is known for.
"Your message is received, and the information is noted. Best wishes in your endeavors. -Winston"
As he presses send, Winston leans back in his chair, his mind racing with the possibilities. The world was changing, and new players were entering the game—players whose powers transcended guns and knives. Yes, a storm was coming, and Winston had the feeling that when it finally arrived, not even the sanctuary of the Continental would remain untouched.
