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Адреса змісту:https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13893841/153/A-Magical-
Journey
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Гарри Поттер
Волшебное путешествие
Автор:
FictionOnlyReader
Следуйте за Куинном Уэстом в его волшебном путешествии,
который попадает в мир Гарри Поттера, но является ли мир, в
который он попал, таким же, как тот, о котором он когда-то читал?
Сможет ли он найти свой путь в этом новом мире? Сможет ли он
когда-нибудь почувствовать себя здесь своим? Какую возможность
предоставит ему магия этого мира? Прочтите, чтобы узнать...
[Реинкарнация] [SI OC] [Поздний роман]
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153. Chapter 153: West Siblings
Roam Hogwarts
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
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All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
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[The chapter is edited by my Editor: Alan_Loo/AlanL]
The West siblings were walking through the Hogwarts corridors. Quinn
showed Lia all his favorite spots.
"From what I've heard from others, they'll usually spend time in a
conference room," commented Lia, "and not roaming the halls. Not that
I'm complaining; this is a good tour. I always wanted to see where
grandfather, Ms. Rosey, Uncle Elliot and you studied."
"You already know how the meetings go?"
"70% of the people you met were our subsidiaries," said Lia, "I asked
them how it went. I've to say the deals you gave them could've been
more profitable to us. Those guys accepted anything you threw at them. I
wonder how the deals would've gone if they didn't know your name."
"Don't say that," chuckled Quinn, "Gary drove a hard bargain. He didn't
go easy at all. For a second, I thought he was going to reject my proposal.
Imagine how awkward it would've been for both of us, knowing that I
made the Lunar developer."
"He was the only one who followed the instructions properly," she said.
"But yes, if he had rejected you, that would've been pretty awkward."
"Well, can't say that I didn't take advantage of that," smiled Quinn,
"Originally, I was only going to use the 50% of funds from our business,
but the plans were coming short with absolutely zero funding, so I had to
up that percentage by 20%."
"I should've just come myself for all of them."
"Are you trying to make me fail?"
"Not really, just wanted to have some fun," chuckled Lia.
"Yeah, that doesn't sound fun to me at all," said Quinn, deadpanning.
The two were making their way towards Quinn's A.I.D. office and had
just made a turn… when they came across a familiar pair of girls. Lia
recognized them immediately and greeted them before Quinn or the girls
could say anything,
"I remember you two. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, right?"
The bubbly brunette and the usually stoic blonde stilled in their spots,
stunned to see an unexpected face in front of them. It took them both a
second to recognize Lia, but with Quinn standing beside her, the two girls
soon realized who the young woman was.
"You're... Quinn's sister, Lia, if I remember correctly," started Tracey,
"Yeah! I remember now, we met at King's Cross."
"You remember me, aren't you nice," smiled Lia. The both smiled back.
"What are you doing here?" asked Daphne, eyeing Quinn.
"Quinn invited me," answered Lia, "I have some business with him.
Currently, he is breaking the rules by giving me a tour of the castle. Well,
he has always been a naughty child." She sighed at the end, as if she had
given up hope.
"And what about it?! I didn't hear you complaining," rebuked Quinn.
"If we get questioned, I'm not the one getting into trouble: you're the one
who brought me here; I'm just tagging along," said Lia grinning at her
brother, adamant about embarrassing him in front of his friends.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Lia looked at the Slytherin girls. She had something to ask.
"It's good that I came across you two. You two seem to know him—" she
ruffled Quinn's hair just to get her hand swatted away "—he doesn't tell
us about school much at home. How does he act here? I hope he doesn't
remain cooped up in that office all day."
"There is one thing most here at Hogwarts know," said Daphne. There
was a factoid that most students knew, "If you want to find Quinn West,
then he will either be at his office or at the Great Hall. If he isn't at one of
these places, then you can forget about seeing him at all." She gave
Quinn an observant glance as she continued, "No one knows where he
goes, but even the Weasley twins —and they know the castle very well—
know where he disappears to."
"I heard that! I heard that from Marcus! What's with this school-wide
betting pool to see if the Weasley twins are able to find where I go!" said
Quinn, annoyed, "Do you know how annoying it's to get tailed for an
entire month! And those guys became increasingly shameless by the end
of the month; they straight out tried to tag along me. No attempt to even
hide themselves from me."
Listening to Quinn's mini-rant with his arms crossed made Lia and Tracey
giggle and even made Daphne crack a smile.
"Oh! I've something interesting," said Tracey, clapping her hands once.
"What is it?" prompted Lia excitedly.
"There have been rumors, or should I say, definite news, that the French
champion has taken a liking to Quinn," revealed Tracey. She coyly
snickered behind her hand.
Daphne nodded. The memory of Quinn laughing with Fleur at the
Ravenclaw entrance came to mind.
"The French champion?" asked Lia, a hum in her tone, "From what I've
heard, isn't she a Veela?" She glanced at Quinn, "You say that she likes
him... hmm. Did you do something?"
"... What? I didn't do anything," said Quinn defending himself against...
"Wait! I shouldn't be explaining myself. Ms. Delacour and I simply got
along well and became friends quickly."
"... Ms. Delacour," repeated Tracey, "hmm... it seems the news was a little
exaggerated."
Daphne, too, agreed with a nod, noticing that he still said her last name.
It seemed that the Veela hadn't ensnared Quinn yet.
"Huh? What do you mean?" asked Quinn, confused.
"It's nothing," replied Lia, once again ruffling her brother's hair, "don't
worry your pretty little head about it."
He swatted her hand once again. "My head is not little... I guess it's
pretty; I will give you that."
Eventually, the West siblings went on their way without the Slytherin
Duo to continue their journey towards Quinn's A.I.D. office. As they
walked away, Lia turned her head to gaze at Daphne's back. She turned
back to the front and a smile bloomed on her face. Quinn, walking by her
side, looked at his sister, who had started to hum a happy tune.
"What's with you?" he asked.
"Hmm? Oh nothing~," she replied.
The sibling duo reached the grand staircase. The moving staircase
surprised Lia as she craned her neck up to look at the stairs upon stairs
connecting seven above-the-ground floors of Hogwarts.
"You navigate this every day?" asked Lia, "Also, is the movements
random?"
"Every student and faculty member at Hogwarts navigate these stairs
every day," answered Quinn, "the movement of the stairs might seem
random, but they are far from it. The staircases are charmed to detect the
pattern of students' movements throughout the day. With the students
following timetables, by the end of the first week, the pattern changes
such that students will find the stairs just at the right place at the right
time."
"Come on, let's go," said Quinn, stepping onto a flight of stairs, pulling Lia
along with him. "W-Wait, wait," exclaimed Lia, grabbing onto Quinn and
the railing just in time for the staircase to start moving.
"What floor is your office on?" asked Lia. Being it her first time, she
wasn't thrilled about being on the continuously moving grand staircase.
"Fifth floor," he answered.
"Ugh!"
After two floors of Lia's complaints, she quickly got used to the moving
stairs, and soon she acted as if she had been a part of Hogwarts for years.
She looked around the stairs with curiosity. Then, she spotted a familiar
face.
"Quinn, isn't that Eddie?" she asked, pointing at a staircase that set itself
at a floor.
Quinn turned his head to see Eddie pulling along a Ravenclaw with
Eddie's arm around his shoulders. "... Yeah."
"We should go greet him," said Lia and at once started to move up the
staircase.
"Wait, we can go meet him later!" said Quinn trying to stop Lia, but
unfortunately, Lia was already running upstairs, and their staircase was
moving to the same stop that Eddie had gotten off at.
He clicked his tongue when Lia stepped onto the floor. He knew what
would happen, and it could be seen utterly opposite to what it was
without context. Skipping steps while climbing the stairs, Quinn ran after
his sister to ensure she didn't misunderstand.
Lia turned around the corner and saw Eddie standing face to face with
another student. She was about to call out to him, but the words stuck in
her throat when she was pulled back.
"What are you doing?!" asked Lia, frowning at her brother.
Quinn placed a finger on his lips and shushed her, "Stay quiet. Eddie is
going to do something serious."
Lia felt confused at the vague sentence and was about to ask for an
explanation when she heard a dull thud. She turned to look around the
corner and saw Eddie grabbing the other student's collar, twisting it up
while the student was pushed against a wall, looking uncomfortable.
She blinked in surprise at the sudden turn of events and glanced at
Quinn, but he looked at the scene as if it was something commonplace.
Straining her ears, she picked up their conversation as Eddie spoke,
"... do that again, and you will regret it," said the Irish man, "You and I
live in the same dormitory, so if I catch you the next time, I'll come to
your room at night while you're sleeping…"
She saw the threatened student gulp in apprehension.
"... you won't like me very much when you wake up the next day,"
continued Eddie, "so take this as the last warning, If I hear those words
out of your mouth again, it won't be a happy experience... Quinn is very
particular about this, so believe me when I say he will tag along next
time. Dipshit."
Eddie pulled the guy forward before pushing him back into the wall once
again. He grabbed his broom, which he had brought along, and stepped
over a big window ledge, jumping out with his broom underneath him,
flying away from the scene.
"What?" uttered Lia, but Quinn pulled her away, and soon they were back
on a moving staircase. Lia focused on Quinn and asked, "What was that?
Why did Eddie say that next time you'll tag along? What was he doing?"
"You remember Luna?" sighed Quinn.
Lia nodded.
"Well, Luna is a unique person. Eccentric and quirky are the closest
adjectives I can think of to describe her. She is a charming person when
you get to know her, but her first impression isn't great; most of the time,
she comes out as weird," he sighed before his eye twitched in annoyance,
"Just because she doesn't say anything, some idiots try to have fun
bullying her. Eddie Marcus and I have repeatedly told people not to call
her that, but we scraped the request and turned to warnings when things
didn't improve. If they mistreat her, we will sometimes return the favor
by making them not so comfortable."
Lia stared at her brother. He rarely showed actual displeasure in others'
presence, preferring to smile and laugh.
"... I would like to meet Luna once more. She has become something akin
to a little sister to you, it seems," she said and continued with a Cheshire
grin, "I would like to meet my new little sister as soon as possible."
"She isn't—!" but he stopped thinking it through. His relationship with
Luna had indeed grown to be like a brother-sister relation.
"I guess you can say that," he sighed before glancing at her, "you can
meet Luna right now. She's in the office."
"Oh, my, isn't that lucky," she smiled.
"Don't coddle her."
"I won't."
"Really?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Finally, the siblings reached the AID office, and seeing the door, Lia read
the plaque out loud, "773H? What does that mean?"
"It's not a secret, but I can't tell you," he smiled, "anyone who wants the
answer will have to find it on their own."
Lia stared at the plaque and memorized the alpha-numerical wanting to
solve it later.
Quinn turned the doorknob and opened the door to his office, entering
inside while keeping the door open for Lia. "Enter the place where
problems get solved, and questions get answered."
Lia stepped inside, and the office interior greeted her. Even just with a
single look, she could tell that this was designed and built by Quinn.
Everything inside the office exuded her brother's craftsmanship. Glancing
at the top, she could see MLE attached to the ceiling. She realized that
she stood in the birthplace of Quinn's inventions.
"You copied grandfather's desk," she commented, tracing a finger over the
table, "same wood, color, and even the design is similar."
"I always liked the table," he smiled, "when I got enough funds to get a
new one, I bought the same wood and materials to build my own, though
I did add my own touch and flair to it."
"You said that Luna was inside, but I can't see her here," asked Lia.
Quinn pointed at the red door in the glass wall. "Luna! please come out;
we have a guest."
"What's inside there?"
"My workshop."
The red door opened up slowly, and from inside stepped out barefoot.
With her hair weirdly curly today, Luna looked at Quinn with a half
dreamy-half sleepy look in her eyes.
"Guest?" she asked.
Quinn jutted his chin towards the size. Luna turned her eyes towards Lia
and tilted her head. She hadn't seen the young woman in Hogwarts, and
this confused her, but then, slowly, recognition dawned on her.
"Sister," she said, stepping towards Lia, "You're Quinn's sister, Lia."
"I am," replied Lia before asking, "why is your hair like this?"
"Because of Quinn," replied Luna.
When Lia looked at Quinn, he raised his hands: "Again, I didn't do
anything." He turned to Luna and asked, "What did I do?"
"The potion to grow hair without using Pechimin didn't work, and it
poofed in my face," she played with her hair, "I tried it three more times,
but it still didn't work, and with each time, my hair got more like this."
He nodded and walked near her. Taking out her fake wand, Quinn
performed magic to fix her hair, turning her hair back to normal.
"What did you use instead of Pechimin?" he asked.
"Livèche de Chagrin," replied Luna
"That isn't going to work." Lia chimed in. "Livèche de Chagrin is too
volatile. It won't work with human hair. Try using Bechiraway instead;
it's much more gentle and has the advantage of being a great blending
agent."
Quinn smiled and lightly clapped. His sister was right on point. If Luna
asked him for the answer, he would've given the same solution and
reason.
Luna stood still for a moment before silently walking back the workshop
to go brew another batch of potion.
"What happened?" asked Lia.
Quinn cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know if
it's my fault, but ever since I started teaching her, whenever she gets an
answer to the problems I give her, she drops everything and starts
working on them. At times, she walks away mid-eating just so that she
could try out a charm."
Lia looked at Quinn and pointed out something. "Why are you smiling?"
"Oh, it's nothing," he laughed, "her behavior at these moments makes me
really proud... Wit beyond measure, the man's greatest treasure. Though
Luna did get in trouble trying to get out of a Potions class because she
thought she had the answer."
"We should probably leave," he continued, "I don't want to disturb her
while she is concentrating."
"Already? But we just got here," whined Lia.
"How about we go meet Madame Maxime. I'm sure she would be
surprised to meet you."
"Oh! That's a good idea! Let's go!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The half-giant, Olympe Maxime, was sitting in one of the Hogwarts
lawns. The Beauxbatons carriage was parked behind her. She picked up a
very large teacup from the garden table beside her and took a sip while
reading a French newspaper through thin-rimmed glasses sitting on the
bridge of her nose.
Today was a rare free day for her. With the first task getting
progressively closer, she had been swamped with work, so having a day
without a full schedule felt great. She decided not to do anything and
simply relax outside and catch up on what was going on in her
homeland.
She allowed her students to roam the castle without her escorting them.
All of her students, without fail, took the chance and ran away to explore
the castle. After living on Hogwarts grounds, Maxime had decided that
the school was safe enough for her students.
"The Ministry is adding unnecessary steps to their hiring process," she
sighed, "Can't they see that if they keep doing this, it will get difficult for
them to hire good candidates."
"Isn't that great? This way, I will be able to get more people into my
business."
Maxime looked up from her newspaper to look at the person who
commented, and her eyes widened comically.
"Lia?!" said the half-giantess, standing up from her chair.
"Good morning, Professor," smiled her student, "you look like you're
enjoying your Saturday."
"What are you doing here, child?"
"I had some business with my brother," said Lia, and Maxime looked at
the boy standing two steps behind his sister.
"Business?"
"Yes, I'm here regarding the quidditch tournament."
"Ah, yes," nodded Maxime, recalling her talk with Dumbledore, "I didn't
expect you two to come here. Isn't it just a simple school tournament?"
"Oh, no," chuckled Lia, "He has overdone it. The tournament is going to
be something special."
Just when the student and teacher were catching up, they heard a voice
call out.
"Headmistress?"
Lia and Maxime turned their heads to see a silver blonde standing there
looking at them.
"Oh!" smiled Maxime and beckoned the girl forward, "Fleur, come here,
you know Lia West. She has dropped by. Lia, this is our champion, Fleur
Delacour."
Lia West and Fleur Delacour met eyes, and Quinn, standing at a distance,
sneezed lightly.
"Am I getting a cold?"
.
Quinn West - MC - Something is off... I just can't tell what it is.
Lia West - Big sis - This place sure is big...
Tracey Davis - Rumour enthusiast - Wait, wait, wait, let's analyse this.
Daphne Greengrass - ... - *Nod* *Nod* *Nod*
Luna Lovegood - Student of Magic - The researcher inside her is growing.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio/Synopsis!
154. Chapter 154: Big Sister Lia
WEST
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
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Link in the Bio/Profile.
[The chapter is edited by my Editor: Alan_Loo/AlanL]
"Ah, Fleur, dear. You remember Lia West, right" called Maxime,
beckoning the champion Veela towards her.
"Yes, headmistress," nodded Fleur. Looking at Lia, who she had only seen
twice or thrice from a distance so closely made the Veela, for once, a
little conscious of herself.
It wasn't beauty that made Fleur uncomfortable; she was a Veela, only
other Veelas and those from the Succubus race could match her in terms
of beauty. No, Fleur felt that, except for physical beauty, Lia West was
someone superior to her. Her position, way of dressing, and even
presence, seemed to be lacking in front of her. Even her latest
accomplishment as a Triwizard champion seemed pale in the face of Lia
West.
"Congratulations on making it a champion, Fleur," said Lia in French. She
didn't have her brother's habit of addressing others by their last name. "I
heard you've already become friends with my baby brother."
Fleur had been so focused on Lia that she overlooked Quinn, who was
standing at a distance, looking at the serene lake.
"Yes, Quinn has been most helpful," said Fleur, "recently, he has been
taking time to show us around the castle."
"What? So it wasn't special. I feel hurt, brother mine."
"Oh, stop it," sighed Quinn. He was used to this. This sister of his was
adamant about quipping jokes whenever she saw an opening.
"Fleur, back me up, would you?" said Lia. "At my home, all have attended
Hogwarts. I alone went to Beauxbatons, and whenever I try to say that
our school is better, they all shut me down, saying that Hogwarts is
better. Don't you think that ours is better?"
"Beauxbatons is better, no doubt about it," replied Fleur instantly.
"Of course, that was never even a question," added Maxime.
The three ladies looked at Quinn, daring him to say anything against
their school. Quinn read the room and didn't reply, though inside he did
think, 'We have the Room of Requirements, Absolute Zero, a Sin vault, a
Kraken, Water vault, Forbidden Forest. . .' he realized that only
one(possibly two) of those things were safe, '. . . whatever it's better.'
"Yeah, take that," smirked Lia, asserting her newly found dominance.
He just gave her an eye roll.
Lia and Maxime decided to catch up, and as they talked, Fleur walked
beside Quinn.
"Good morning, Ms. Delacour," greeted Quinn, "May I ask why are you
here alone with your schoolmates exploring the castle?"
"It's nothing," she replied, and Quinn noticed the quick and short reply.
"Apologies if I'm wrong, but I did feel some tension between you and the
rest of the group when we went on their castle tours."
The French champion stayed silent for a brief moment before speaking
up, "I can't control my allure; it sometimes gets in the way."
"Are you sure? It didn't seem like that when we first met," commented
Quinn giving her a side glance.
The girl didn't look abashed at all. "Letting it out isn't difficult. Letting
out our Allure is the easiest thing for a Veela. It's keeping the Allure
hidden and restrained that gives me trouble." She sighed before
continuing, "Veelas my age already have the allure completely under
control, but I just can't seem to get it under control."
The fact that the boy beside her could shrug of her Allure on full force
made her comfortable enough to talk about her problem. She had tried to
tell this problem to other people, but all of them just treated it like an
excuse or turn into a blubbering fool.
"Hmm, what does your mother say?"
"She tells me that I should practice," she sighed, "it has been getting
better, but I still have a long way to go."
Fleur glanced at Quinn, and seeing that the other two were still talking,
she asked a question that Quinn had evaded every time she had brought
it up.
"Why can you ignore my Allure so well? Do you have someone you like
so much that it doesn't affect you?"
There were two ways non-magical ways by which one could ignore the
effects of Allure. The first was to have an iron will to brute force shake
away the impact of Allure. The second was to be wholeheartedly in love
with someone so that the Allure never attracted them.
"Love? I don't think so," said Quinn nonchalantly, "I just can, so I do.
Nothing more, nothing less."
Will and Love were to non-magical ways. Magical methods like
occlumency were also effective against Allure. Quinn had used a mix of
will and assimilation to become indifferent to Allure.
"Nothing much. . . most people wouldn't term it as nothing much," said
Fleur.
Quinn shrugged in response. He couldn't say that he had done some crazy
stuff to get to this point.
"I wonder if you would be able to shrug off my mother and grandmother's
Allure. Their Allure is much more potent than mine, especially my
grandmothers'," wondered Fleur aloud.
"Yes, I have read about that. The older a Veela gets, the more potent their
Allure gets," said Quinn, "Your grandmother's Allure must be quite strong
for her hair to be able to be used in your wand. I would love to sit down
with her to ask some questions."
"Hmm, if you ever come to France, I will see if I can set up a meeting
with her. She usually doesn't meet with people outside of the coven."
"Heh," a chuckle escaped Quinn, "same with my grandfather. He also
doesn't meet people out of a select group of people."
As the two students talked, Lia and Maxime were gazing at them.
"Your brother is quite different from you," commented Maxime.
"How so?" asked Lia.
"He's a little cold."
"That doesn't sound right," said Lia quirking her brow, "my brother's
entire thing here in Hogwarts is networking and communication."
"Not like that; he networks just fine," replied the headmistress, "there is
something about you that makes people warm up to you instantly. Unlike
you, your brother keeps people at a distance. Do you know he didn't give
his family name when meeting me?"
"My brother is wiser than me when I was his age," claimed Lia, "My
identity was revealed pretty quickly while I was in school; you remember
it, right?"
"I do," nodded Maxime, "you were swamped for an entire year before it
somewhat died down."
"Yeah, I was an idiot in those days," she sighed, "my brother, on the other
hand, has somehow made sure that people don't know about our family.
He has hidden that behind his AID service. People don't see beyond it.
Ugh, I should've done something like that. Simply playing quidditch
would've done the job."
"From the looks of it, he is going to join the business when he graduates."
"Oh no," chuckled Lia, "my brother is more interested in magic.
Grandfather and all of us in the family already know about it. The
higher-ups in the business know that they won't be seeing Quinn West as
much as they see me."
"A child of West not going into business? That's rare, isn't it?"
"Money, Wisdom, Magic," stated Lia, the three qualities of the West
house, "the Wests along the ages have leaned towards the first two
qualities, Quinn leans towards magic and wisdom. He takes money as if
it's something fun and game."
Lia stared at her brother, talking to Fleur, and asked, "Fleur Delacour,
what can you tell me about her?"
Maxime glanced at her former student and smiled, "Asking for your
brother? Worried that he will be charmed by a Veela?"
"While I'm confident in my brother's occlumency, there is nothing wrong
about keeping tabs," shrugged the big sister, "He is still a kid. I'm just
worried that he will be taken by her looks and let her guard down."
"It's fine; she isn't like that," assured Maxime, "she can't control her Allure
well. That makes it difficult for her to make friends. None of those few
friends made it in the delegation. There are some friendlies, but they are
acquaintances at best."
"Hmm, that's sad," but there wasn't a matching expression on Lia's face. A
sad story wasn't enough to let down her worries. "Well, whatever, he will
probably be fine, but if something does happen, I can always give them a
visit. Delacour, was it?"
Lia dove into her mindscape and searched for some information on the
last name. "Hmm, oh my, Bureau de la Justice Magique with a
background in Bureau des Aurors. That's impressive. Her father is Pierre
Delacour, correct?"
". . . Yes," sighed Maxime. She was slightly amazed Lia had that level of
information filed in her mind.
"Great, I can work with that," nodded Lia, making a mental note to find
more information about the man.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn and Lia felt behind the Beauxbatons camp and had made their way
into the quidditch stadium. They sat in an upper deck of the stands,
overlooking the green pitch untouched from flyers skidding and crashing
down during a game.
In the silence of just the two of them being there, Li asked, "So this is
going to be the construction site?"
"Yeah, the stands are too small for my likings. I need you to make it
bigger," answered Quinn.
"How many people are you planning to invite to the games?"
"Let's see. . . at least six times the current capacity," answered Quinn, "I
think that's just the right amount of people who will come down to
Hogwarts. Of course, I added a healthy amount of error margin."
"Hmm, I see, I see," said Lia humming, "well, reconstruction isn't going to
be difficult. Given a week or two, I can turn it to your likings."
"I don't want a complete remodel," spoke Quinn in explanation, "I want
this stadium to return to this state after my tournament closes by the end
of this year."
"Really, why?" asked Lia. "Isn't having a bigger stadium better for the
school?"
"If we planned to invite people to the school, then it would've been
better," answered Quinn with a shake of his head, "but Hogwarts
quidditch house cup is for the students and no one else. Occasionally,
parents show up, but other than that, the audience is just students. I don't
want to blow up the seating capacity just to be stuck with a stadium that
looks empty at every game. It's not good for morale."
"Ah, the makes sense."
"So, make temporary adjustments that can stand for the entire year and
yet can be easily removed," then he continued with a juicy piece of
information, "the third task is going to be a magical maze. As such, this
stadium is going to be broken down to make space for the said maze. My
tournament is set to end before the third and final task with ample time
to grow the maze."
"A magical maze, you say. . . well, it's not going to be a problem to build
the stadium," she said.
"I've already sent you the design briefs. I'm not an architect, so you can
make the necessary adjustments, but I want the stadium to look
something close to my image. The banners and all will be designed to
maximize the real estate I will have in the new stadium."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything," said Lia, "you just need to make
sure that our construction firm gets enough exposure in terms of
advertisement."
"That will be taken care of, no problem."
"Good, let's shake on it," she said, and the siblings exchanged a
handshake to seal the deal.
"Now that we're done, I wanted to ask," said Lia, "why are you doing all
of this? Professor Maxime told me that the justification you gave for
starting this tournament was international relations, but do tell me the
real reason behind all of this."
"Who says there is another motive except for international relations,"
grinned Quinn, "we of all know how vital international relations are.
Almost all of our business abroad is built on positive interaction with the
ministries and local people."
"Okay, and?" said Lia, not buying it.
". . . I wanted to do something different this year," answered Quinn, "the
regular AID work had gotten repetitive, same people with same problems
year after year, all year long. So when the headmaster announced the Tri-
wizard tournament and with it the cancellation of the quidditch cup, I
decided to work on it. At first, it wasn't going to be this big, but it had
reached this stage by the time I pitched it to my professor. Other than
that, Eddie had been training very hard for the quidditch season this
year, so I had to do something that won't waste his year. I'm sure if this
wasn't happening, he would've dropped quidditch and moved onto doing
something else without getting a closure of sorts about what he had
trained for an entire year."
"Aren't you a nice friend," said Lia poking Quinn's cheek with a cheeky
smile, "just don't overwork yourself, okay?"
"Yes, mum," replied Quinn rolling his eyes.
"Don't take that tone with me, young man," returned Lia, playing on with
it.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
After a couple of hours in Hogwarts, it was time for Lia to leave the
premises. Both she and Quinn were busy people with their own
commitments and needed to get on with their day.
As they moved towards the castle entrance, Quinn heard a voice call out
to him,
"Mr. West."
The pair of siblings paused and turned their heads to look towards the
source of the voice to see the headmaster of Hogwarts school of
witchcraft and wizardry.
He was tall, thin, and old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard,
which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He wore long robes, a
purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His
blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles
sitting on his nose.
"Headmaster," greeted Quinn.
Dumbledore walked to them with a smile on his face. "I heard that your
sister was coming by today, so I had to take this chance to meet the
family of the smartest student in the castle. I went to the assigned room,
but it seemed you didn't use it today."
"The smartest student; Headmaster, you flatter me," said Quinn
continuing the conversation while inside thinking what Dumbledore
meant.
"You must be Lia West," said Dumbledore observing the elder child of the
Wests.
"Yes, and you're Albus Dumbledore," said Lia, engaging in conversation
with the widely famous man. "I've heard a lot about you, Headmaster
Dumbledore."
"All good, I hope," smiled Dumbledore beneath his beard.
"Indeed, your reputation precedes you," said Lia putting on a smile. She
knew the most famous man in all of magical Britain, along with magical
communities all around Europe.
While Lia hadn't been given the talk about being vigilant of Albus
Dumbledore as Quinn had gotten, but Lia knew an anomaly when she
saw one. For a person of his position, Albus Dumbledore had too much of
a positive image. Except for the occasional scathing article from Rita
Skeeter, Dumbledore was as clean as a whistle. Even the businesses
owned by Wests weren't as clean as Dumbledore.
"Were you leaving?" asked Dumbledore, seeing that they were towards
the gate.
"Yes, I came here to see the construction site for the quidditch
tournament," replied Lia, "from the looks of it, it's going to be an exciting
year at Hogwarts; first Tri-wizard and now this. A lot of eyes on the
school."
Dumbledore glanced at Quinn, who stood beside his sister with a small
smile on his face, the same smile that he had seen in his office, "With
how things are proceeding, it's going to be bigger than I expected."
"The moment you read out Harry Potter's name as champion, the
attention that the Tri-wizard tournament gained rose to another level,
headmaster," commented Quinn.
"That's an understatement, Mr. West," sighed Dumbledore. Then he
smiled as he spoke towards Quinn, "I was surprised by your initiative,
Mr. West. In all my years at Hogwarts, I haven't seen a student initiative
of this magnitude. This is going to be the first of its kind."
"You can't take quidditch out of Hogwarts," laughed Quinn, "I just made
things more interesting. This year's theme is international relations, after
all."
Dumbledore nodded. "I was skeptical at first, but when you started to
send me those detailed progress documents, I couldn't say anything,
could I?"
"The need to report the progress arose when Professor McGonagall
started to look anxious every time we met. I had to do something to ease
her worries."
"Mr. West, if you pull this off, you'll get a unanimous vote Special Award
for Service from the Board of Governors," said Dumbledore smiling.
"Isn't that great, Quinn," beamed Lia, happy for the recognition of her
brother's hard work.
"It is," nodded Quinn humbly.
Three people had gotten the reward in the history of Hogwarts. Tom
Riddle for his alleged capture of the student (Hagrid) who had opened
the Chamber of Secrets. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley for defeating Tom
Riddle and the Serpent of Slytherin in the Chamber of Secrets; the
information about Tom Riddle was omitted from the record.
Dumbledore faced Lia and asked, "Would you be coming to the games,
Ms. West?"
"If I'm free, I would definitely be here," answered Lia with a smile, "it's
my baby brother's big project, after all."
Quinn just smiled in response.
"What about your grandfather?" asked Dumbledore, getting to the point,
"Will he come? I would love to meet him. I haven't met him in a long
time and would like to catch up."
"I can't comment on his behalf," answered Lia, "if he's free, our
grandfather will definitely come to every game. Unfortunately, he has
been busy lately," George was busy working on Quinn's latest products,
"though I will relay your desire to meet him to grandfather."
"That would be much appreciated."
"It was nice talking to you, headmaster Dumbledore, but I must take my
leave," said Lia ending the conversation.
"Of course, of course," said Dumbledore and then spoke to Quinn, "Mr.
West, please escort your sister out."
"Yes, of course," said Quinn, and the Wests exited the castle, leaving
behind Dumbledore alone.
When they reached the boundary, Lia asked. "Why do you think he wants
to meet grandfather?"
"Probably about some political agenda; looking for his support," replied
Quinn, "tell grandfather, he will decide if he wants to meet Dumbledore.
Though if he does come to the games, I'm sure Dumbledore will corner
him for a talk."
"Well, I'm sure grandfather will handle himself," shrugged Lia.
"No doubt, no doubt."
. . .
As Quinn returned to the castle, he thought about going to the Room of
Requirements to get in a workout. When he entered the castle, he was
surprised and came to a stop.
"Headmaster?"
Dumbledore turned his gaze away from the ceiling to Quinn, and with a
twinkle in his eyes, he spoke.
"Walk with me, Mr. West."
.
.
Quinn West - MC - Aren't we meeting too many people today?
Lia West - Elder sister - She still has that protectiveness for Quinn.
Fleur Delacour - Poor control over Allure - Wants Quinn to meet her
grandmother.
Olympe Maxime - Headmistress - Beauxbatons is better.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Spotted two Wests in the wild.
.
.
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155. Chapter 155: As I Thought
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"Walk with me, Mr. West."
Quinn's mind sharpened when he heard the headmaster. His paranoia
regarding Albus Dumbledore was screaming at him that this wasn't a
simple social headmaster-student walk through the halls.
"Of course, headmaster," said Quinn. Using an excuse to avoid the talk
wasn't going to work, and he himself was curious about what
Dumbledore wanted to talk about.
Quinn fell into step beside Dumbledore, and both started to stroll through
the hallways.
"Mr. West, you recall the Age line that I cast around the goblet of fire to
keep the younger students out?" asked Dumbledore.
"I do; a fascinating ward. Fitting for putting down restrictions," replied
Quinn and glanced sideways towards the caster. "though it failed to keep
Mr. Potter out of the tournament."
"A most unfortunate event," sighed Dumbledore, "Mr. Potter is way too
young and inexperienced to be entering the Tri-wizard tournament." He
then looked at Quinn and asked, "From your words, it seems that you
don't think that Mr. Potter entered his name in the goblet."
"Just as you said, headmaster, Mr. Potter is inexperienced — in magic —
to find out a way to bypass the Age line placed by someone of your
level," stated Quinn, "I doubt any student, not of age, would have been
able to break your Age line."
"Ho," smiled Dumbledore, "you think so? By chance, did you garner a
close look at the ward?"
Quinn held back the impulse to stare up at Dumbledore. "I observed it
from a distance. There were too many people at the boundary for me to
observe it closely in comfort."
"Is that so," hummed the headmaster, "I'm sure you could have managed
something. You command a substantial amount of respect from your
peers in Hogwarts."
Dumbledore was well aware of Quinn's unique position in Hogwarts. It
was different than any other student he had seen. Be it himself in his
Hogwarts; he was well known and respected, but that only went a tad bit
above what you could gain as the head boy; he wasn't as well connected
as Quinn (a fifth-year) was.
'He even leaves behind Tom in the quantity of connections,' thought
Dumbledore. 'No. . . not just quantity, he has better quality connections
than Tom; unlike Tom, he is well connected to all houses and social
groups.'
"I could have," accepted Quinn with a nod, "but I didn't see the point. If I
ever want to see that Age line again, I can simply approach you with the
request; after all, you're the headmaster and technically a professor of
Hogwarts."
"That's true," beamed Dumbledore, "I see that as the last time, you still
don't consider me a teaching faculty of Hogwarts. . ." Students of
Hogwarts addressed Dumbledore as a professor, but not Quinn; he
consistently used headmaster. "Maybe I should pick up the fifth year
transfiguration class for Ravenclaw students from Professor McGonagall
so that you will call me professor."
Quinn laughed before replying, "I would prefer that you start next year,
headmaster. I would rather have you restart the Introduction to Alchemy
class in the sixth year and Alchemy Essentials for seventh-year students.
No use teaching something that Professor McGonagall can teach second
to none."
"If you can gather enough students, I will restart it again, Mr. West," said
Dumbledore, "I can't restart the class if there aren't sufficient interested
students, and unfortunately, you alone don't fill that quota."
"I tried to recruit and convince the more clever minds in Ravenclaw to
learn Alchemy, but unfortunately, Alchemy isn't popular among
students," sighed Quinn, "such a waste, isn't it? With you here, it's a
golden opportunity to learn."
"Planning for the next two years already, Mr. West? It's only the start of
your fifth year."
"Hogwarts is a seven-year program, headmaster," responded Quinn, "for
me, it's not 'only' the start of the fifth year but 'already' the fifth year with
only two years left. I need to make most of my remaining time here."
He still had major projects like duplication of books in Room of
Requirments and the unsolved vaults remaining and only a little under
three school years to complete.
"Only two years, you say," nodded Dumbledore, "have you thought about
doing an apprenticeship, Mr. West? At Hogwarts perchance."
Quinn looked up at the taller man and questioned, "Apprenticeship at
Hogwarts? Wasn't that program closed ages ago? I'm sure it was closed by
the time my grandfather entered Hogwarts."
"You're correct," affirmed Dumbledore, "It was closed a couple decades
before your grandfather entered Hogwarts; I think it was around the
same time I graduated Hogwarts." His blue eyes gazed at Quinn as he
offered. "If you truly desire to stay at Hogwarts, I can offer you an
Alchemy apprenticeship under me. . . well, I can offer you an
apprenticeship under me in any subject other than Magioology and
Divination."
Quinn chuckled at the not-so-subtle brag from the aged and diverse
magical. "I appreciate the offer, headmaster, but may I ask what
prompted this?"
"A teacher's desire, Mr. West," answered Dumbledore. "You're a gifted
student of magic. Any teacher worth his salt wouldn't miss a chance to
take someone like you under their wing. Actually, I'm surprised that the
Head of Houses hasn't tried to offer you apprenticeships; we semi-joked
about this matter in many of our faculty meetings."
Dumbledore then laughed in addition, "Poppy would always look proud
of herself when that topic comes. You're essentially doing half an
apprenticeship under her."
The mention of his favorite faculty brought a smile to Quinn's face. He
had been making steady yet swift progress in his healing studies.
"I appreciate the offer, headmaster," said Quinn smiling, "but if I do
commit to an apprenticeship, my first one is already set in stone."
"Oh? That piques my curiosity. Who is the master you have chosen, Mr.
West?"
With a grin on his face and an impish delight in his eyes, Quinn revealed,
"Alan D. Baddeley."
Dumbledore almost faltered a step when he heard the name. It took an
errant moment of silence before he spoke up. ". . . Alan D. Baddeley. . .
Mr. West, are you talking about the mind magic specialist, Alan D.
Baddeley and not someone else?"
"As expected, headmaster, you know of Mr. Alan. Yes, I am talking about
the same Alan D. Baddeley."
Dumbledore, of course, knew about Alan. How couldn't he? The name
was at the apex of mind magic. Alan D. Baddeley to mind magic was
what Nicholas Flamel was to Alchemy. Both were considered legends in
their respective fields. After a point in a magicals' study of magic, most
people tend to focus on one branch of magic. There were exceptions like
Dumbledore and Voldemort, but most people stuck to one and some
complementaries. But people like Alan D. Baddeley, who took one field of
magic to the extreme, were mythically rare.
"Mr. West. . . how do you know Mr. Baddeley?"
"Hmm? Ah, he taught me everything I know," replied Quinn and tapped a
finger against his temple, and Dumbledore immediately understood that
Quinn was talking about mind magic.
"He offered me an apprenticeship when our time together came to an
end," spoke Quinn fondly, "If and when I do start an apprenticeship, it
will be a mind magic specialization and under Mr. Alan. . . but maybe
after that, I will take your offer of an Alchemy apprenticeship,
headmaster. I'm not one to waste an opportunity that fell in my lap."
". . . Ah! I see. Yes, yes," replied Dumbledore, still a little surprised by the
sudden nugget of information thrown at him. He looked at Quinn,
specifically his head, and one thing was cemented in his mind; Quinn
West's mental defenses and faculties were solid. The child in front of him
had been able to get an apprenticeship from Alan D. Baddeley; there was
no doubt about the quality of Quinn's occlumency.
"Speaking of mind magic, it seems that we have diverted from the topic I
wanted to speak with you," said Dumbledore filling the new revelations
in his mind, "so before I forget, I want to continue our discussion."
"You were talking about the Age line," supplied Quinn.
"Yes, the Age line," repeated Dumbledore and intently gazed at Quinn,
"Mr. West, would you like to guess how Mr. Potter's name was entered
into the goblet?"
Quinn gathered his thoughts for a few seconds. "Well, from what I know
about the Age line and the goblet of fire, the real submitter was clearly
someone of age and used magic to confude the goblet of fire — while a
powerful magical artifact, it still has some weak spots, and this one was
its. Continuing onwards, the perpetrator clearly knew what they were
doing. They used another school name so that Harry Potter would
become a champion because, let's be honest, right now, I will take Cedric
Diggory over Harry Potter any time of the day."
"Mr. West," interrupted Dumbledore, "how do you know about Mr.
Potter's name slip being added under a fourth school? That wasn't made
public."
"I've my sources, headmaster. I'm Quinn West, and a certain group of
people really love me," replied Quinn.
"I see, well I can imagine that," said Dumbledore, not bothered. "Mr.
West, it looks like you're well-read on the goblet of fire; you've done your
research."
"Well, you can say that. . ." Even though it didn't sound like it, Quinn had
trailed at the end. The subtle gaze from Dumbledore wasn't looking good
to Quinn.
"Mr. West, you see, I had to remove the Age line when the goblet of fire
was removed from the Great hall," said Dumbledore, and Quinn knew
where this was going, "and to my absolute surprise, I came across another
ward line concentric to my Age line. I, of course, investigated the
unknown ward, and to my surprise, it was an ingenious design to destroy
objects with specific names on. To my estimate, it could destroy a thick
piece of leather or a thin slab of brittle stone when triggered."
Quinn showed absolutely no change in his expression.
'It's okay. I'm fine. Dumbledore has no proof. I made sure to add fail-
safes.' While he assured himself, another part of himself was berating
himself for not moving more quickly to remove his prevention ward.
He went one level ahead and put on a confused expression on his face.
"That's indeed surprising, headmaster."
"Yes, but the surprise doesn't end here," continued Dumbledore, "the
surprise was the names that were tied to the wards. The names that the
ward was supposed to target."
'It's okay. It's okay. It will be fine.' Dumbledore was a master of his craft.
While the situation was shocking, Dumbledore decoding his ward to the
level where he could get names while frustrating wasn't surprising.
"I found multitudes of names," said Dumbledore. "Names of students from
the very first year to the very top at the seventh year. I found dozens and
dozens of names tied to the ward."
From his bright blue robes, Dumbledore retrieved a roll of parchment and
handed it to Quinn.
"I'm hoping to find the one who drew the ward, and you're the best
person I know who would be able to help me with this small problem.
Give your position in the school and the sheer amount of interaction you
have with your fellow students; I was wondering if you could look at
these names and tell me if you can see a pattern in them."
Quinn wordlessly nodded and unrolled the parchment. Inside it was a list
of names of Hogwarts students arranged by both house and year.
He gave it a read-over before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, headmaster,
but I can't see a pattern in this list of names. These really look to me as a
random list of names."
This was Quinn's fail-safe. While planning about drawing the ward,
Quinn had thought about the scenario if someone discovered the ward
and reach the level that Dumbledore had reached.
He knew that the culprit would be too obvious if he just stuck with his
and his friends' names. Given that he was by far the most knowledgeable
and adept at magic, he would be the prime suspect. To prevent that,
Quinn planned a contingency; he added random names from all over
Hogwarts to the ward so that anyone of those people's name slips would
be destroyed.
He knew that there were overwhelming chances that some of those
people would try to enter their names inside, so he made sure to build in
a discreet method of destruction. As long as the goblet of fire wasn't
confuded, only the ink of the names would be discreetly burned just
before the goblet's fire engulfed the slip. That along the goblet's innate
defenses would be enough to bar the listed people from entering. Only
when the goblet was full-on confuded into complete activation mode did
Quinn unleash the ward's entire lightning and incinerating force, as that
was the time where no chance of error could be allowed.
"Is that so. . ." sighed the headmaster.
"Headmaster, can I keep this? While I can't see anything right now, I may
be able to discern something if I give it more time," offered Quinn as a
good student.
"Of course, Mr. West. You can keep the parchment," said Dumbledore, "If
you do find something, please contact me. I truly want to meet the
person who drew the ward. It's quite an amazing application of runes,
ward theory, and esoteric charms."
"I will try my best," said Quinn. Of course, he was going to do anything
but that.
"Thank you would be of great help."
"Now, headmaster, by your leave, I would like to part here."
"Of course, of course. I'm sure you're busy."
With Dumbledore's permission, Quinn slightly bowed his head and left
with the parchment roll in his hand.
As he walked away, he let out a sigh of relief. This was again one of those
situations where his reveal might not harm or put him at a disadvantage
in any way, but Quinn still wished to remain anonymous.
'Still, I didn't expect him to offer me an apprenticeship,' thought Quinn, 'I
wonder if he really wants to teach me or is it just because of my
background — or maybe it's both.'
He looked back at Dumbledore and saw the headmaster with his back
turned back to him. 'Maybe I will take him up on that offer.'
. . .
But Quinn West didn't know that he had missed something that, if he had
seen, would have been of utmost importance to him.
Albus Dumbledore, with his posterior, turned to Quinn, took out a
miniature glass vial from his robes — holding it in between his index
finger and thumb, Dumbledore stared at the contents.
Inside the glass vial rested a tiny mound of pinkish-red chalk dust, which
glowed, and as Quinn walked away from Dumbledore, the glow of the
chalkdust weakened until Quinn had gone out of sight and the chalkdust
had stopped glowing.
"As I thought."
The smile on Dumbledore's face was a sight to behold.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The day of the first task was moving closing closer, and it had already
been ten days since Quinn had started teaching his three temporary
students, with one of them being the fourth champion.
"Why are we doing this?!"
Quinn looked up from a list of accounting statements towards the three
people (Harry, Ivy, and Hermione) who currently had strained
expressions on their faces.
"It's a simple exercise to build that spell's strength," answered Quinn, "it's
a little straining, but Harry doesn't have time, and we need to speed
things up."
He gazed at Hermione, who had asked the question, and continued, "It
turns out that you two tagging along was the right decision."
Currently, the three Gryffindors were locked in deadlock, standing in a
triangular position. They had a heavy metal ball in between them, which
had three handles. The metal ball was floating in the air, with a red-
orange cord of light wrapped around each handle.
The cord of lights was from one of Quinn's all-time favorite spells: Carpe
Retractum. All three were pulling on the metal ball, struggling to keep it
in the air while trying their best to pull the metal ball towards them.
"So you're just going to sit there doing nothing?!" asked Ivy, groaning
against her brother and best friend.
"I'm not doing nothing," replied Quinn flipping a page of the ledger, "I'm
a busy person who turns out to be an innovative teacher. If you tried to
struggle against me, it would've been trying to pull a building, and that's
not fun, is it?"
"And you think this is fun?!" said Harry, his voice straining. "Let me tell
you! This isn't fun!"
"Never said it was supposed to be fun . . . for you," spoke Quinn, "it
wouldn't have been fun for me."
"Are you sure this is going to help me?" asked Harry.
"Yeah," responded Quinn, "the egg will be much lighter than this, so if
you can work with this, you would have an easy time that. Believe me,
you will thank me for that ease when you have a dragon on your tail.
How about this — you're welcome, you can thank me later."
The three struggled with each other. Harry Potter was the most magically
strong of the three, but his efficiency and casting skill were the least.
Hermione Granger was the weakest of the trio magically, but her
efficiency and casting were the greatest, keeping her in the fighting. Ivy
Potter was the balanced one of the trio; she was magically stronger than
Hermione while more skilled than Harry, as such she was able to keep
herself in the running.
"Yeah, keep it up~," said Quinn, "You're doing great!"
" " "You aren't even looking!" " "
Quinn simply chuckled in response.
He looked at the clear blue sky and smiled.
The first task of the Tri-wizard tournament was on the horizon.
.
Quinn West - MC - I got away~.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - No, you didn't.
Golden Trio - Sub-group of Golden Squad - "Ugh!"
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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156. Chapter 156: Seven Rings of
Beginning
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[The chapter is edited by my dear friend and Editor: Alan_Loo/
AlanL]
"Hermione," Harry whispered when he had sped into the greenhouse
three minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout as he
passed her. "Hermione— was he serious?"
"It's Quinn West; I'm pretty sure he wasn't having you on. Not with the
first take so close," she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over
the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning.
"But the task is tomorrow after lunch," he said.
"Quinn said that if you use the spells correctly, you'll be fine," whispered
Hermione. She didn't look at Harry— maybe it was because she was
concentrating on the plant in front of her or wasn't confident in her
words.
Yesterday morning, Quinn had called them outside the Great Hall and
announced that Harry's training was over and that he had already taught
him everything he needed to survive a dragon.
. . .
"Don't be stupid, and you'll be fine. Relax till the first task, rest, and make sure
you're in tip-top condition." This was Quinn's last statement to the group before
he up and left without any prior indication.
After that, they didn't talk to him even once— or, to be specific, Quinn didn't
speak to him. They saw him briefly at the Great Hall, but that was it.
. . .
"If you're nervous, we can always practice," said a voice.
Harry craned his head to see Ivy, his sister, standing behind Hermione,
with a weirdly subdued plant in her hand.
And so they practiced. The trio didn't have lunch. They headed for a free
classroom, where Harry tried with all his might to make various objects
fly across the room toward him. Quinn had taught him a short assortment
of spells that he could use against the dragon at his own discretion.
"Concentrate, Harry, concentrate..."
"What d'you think I'm trying to do?" said Harry, snapping. "A great big
dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason... Okay, try
again..."
He wanted to skip Divination to keep practicing, but Hermione and Ivy
point-blank refused to skive off Arithmancy, and there was no point in
staying without them. He, therefore, endured over an hour of Professor
Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of
Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in
July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.
"Well, that's good," said Harry loudly, his temper getting the better of
him, "just as long as it's not drawn-out. I don't want to suffer." Ron looked
for a moment as though he would laugh; he certainly caught Harry's eye
for the first time in days, but Harry was still feeling too resentful toward
Ron to care. He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects
toward him under the table with his wand.
After Divination, he forced down some dinner, then returned to the
empty classroom with the girls, using the Invisibility Cloak to avoid the
teachers. They kept practicing until past midnight. They would have
stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that Harry
wanted things thrown at him, he started chucking chairs across the room.
They left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch and went back to the
Gryffindor common room, which was now mercifully empty.
Harry stood near the fireplace at two o'clock in the morning, surrounded
by heaps of objects: books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of
Gobstones, and Neville's toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Harry felt
that he had gotten used to all the spells taught to him.
"That's better, Harry, that's loads better," Ivy said, looking exhausted but
very pleased.
"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage spells," Harry
said, throwing a rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again,
"threaten me with a dragon. Right..." He raised his wand once more.
"Accio Dictionary!"
The heavy book soared out of Hermione's hand, flew across the room,
and Harry caught it.
"Harry, I really think you're ready!" said Hermione delightedly.
"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry said.
Harry had been focusing so hard on learning the spells that evening that
some of his blind panic had left him. It returned in full measure,
however, on the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was
one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday,
giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure—
though, of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there.
Harry felt oddly separated from everyone around him, whether they
wished him good luck or they hissed "We'll have a box of tissues ready,
Potter" as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he
wondered whether he mightn't just lose his head when they tried to lead
him out to his dragon and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time
was behaving more peculiarly than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so
in a moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of
Magic, and the next, walking into lunch... and then (where had the
morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?), Professor McGonagall
was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were
watching.
"Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... You
have to get ready for your first task."
"Okay," said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a
clatter.
"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered. "You'll be fine!"
"Thank you, Hermione," smiled Harry in return.
'Hmm?' Ivy looked at her brother and best friend. It was a little strange to
see two people who quarreled almost every day, acting so cordially
towards each other. Looking at them individually and together, she felt
that something had changed.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Harry left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem
herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she
walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November
afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep a cool head… We've got wizards
standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main
thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any worse of you...
Are you all right?"
"Yes," Harry heard himself say. "Yes, I'm fine."
She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around
the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees
behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a
tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons
from view.
"You're to go in here with the other champions," said Professor
McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, "and wait for your turn,
Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there… he'll be telling you the— the
procedure… Good luck."
"Thanks," said Harry, in a flat, distant voice. She left him at the entrance
of the tent. Harry went inside.
Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn't
look nearly as composed as usual but rather pale and clammy. Viktor
Krum looked even surlier than expected, which Harry supposed was his
way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When Harry
entered, Cedric gave him a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the
muscles in his face working somewhat hard, as though they had forgotten
how to smile.
"Harry! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at him. "Come in,
come in, make yourself at home!"
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure,
standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old
Wasp robes again.
"Well, now we're all here— time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly.
"When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you
this bag" —he held up a small sack of purple silk and showed it to them
— "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are
about to face! There are different —er— varieties, you see. And I have to
tell you something else too… ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden
egg!"
Harry stared at the golden egg, and except blinking, not a single part of
his body moved.
'Aah— So this is what he meant by the egg!' thought Harry. Now that he
thought about it, Quinn had been weirdly insistent about the term 'egg.'
Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once to show that he
understood Bagman's words and then started pacing around the tent
again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted
at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their
mouths; that was certainly how Harry felt. But they, at least, had
volunteered for this...
And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be
heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking...
Harry felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different
species. And then —it seemed like about a second later to Harry—
Bagman opened the neck of the purple silk sack.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.
She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model
of a dragon— a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck.
And Harry knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but
rather a determined resignation, that he had been right: Madame Maxime
had told her what was coming.
The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball.
It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back
down and stared at the ground. Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out
came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around
its neck. Knowing what was left, Harry put his hand into the silk bag,
pulled out the Hungarian Horntail and the number four. It stretched its
wings as he looked down at it and bared its little fangs.
"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon
you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take
on the dragons, do you see? Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the
enclosure when you hear a whistle—"
The loud cheer from the hundreds outside made Bagman flinch. The
champions were inside, so what had got the audience so excited.
Everyone inside saw a wisp of flame enter their tent through the open
flap, which surprised everyone even more. All looked at each other
wondering if someone knew what was happening. But none knew what
was going on outside.
"D-Did they let out the dragons," asked Cedric.
Bagman shook his head. "... No, the dragons should be still inside."
"Then what is it?" questioned Krum.
"I don't know," muttered Bagman and had just taken a step towards the
tent flap when they heard a voice resound throughout the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen and interesting miscellanea— beloved friends and
tolerated acquaintances," the voice paused, "Welcome... to the Triwizard
Tournament!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
A couple minutes before the audience went wild, Eddie Carmichael
sighed as he looked to his right.
"Do you really have to do this," he asked, "can't you like — be normal."
"You don't like it? I thought you would be stoked."
"No, you nutter!" blurted Eddie, "this is absolutely rubbish!"
"Don't say that," smiled Eddie's companion, his best friend, the grinning
Quinn West, "didn't you like it when I showed it to you yesterday? You
even praised me."
"I did no such thing!"
Eddie sighed and recalled the events of yesterday.
. . .
After the dinner feast, Eddie strolled through the Hogwarts ground with a
toothpick sticking off his mouth. It was a calm night, with a clear sky, no
signs of any incoming rain. The weather was truly great for the area
around Hogwarts.
"Why in the world would that bloke call me here after supper," muttered
Eddie. While he enjoyed the good weather, he wasn't the type to go out
for a night stroll.
He finally stopped at the decided spot, standing just below the
Astronomy tower.
.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now, they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
.
Eddie sang Hogwarts school song as he waited for Quinn to arrive, while
still wondering why he was called here.
Then he heard Quinn's voice from behind: "Hey Eddie, you're on time."
He turned to the left, but there was no one there, same with his right.
A chilly wind brushed the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his
spine. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin, and suddenly he felt that his
surroundings were a little too quiet.
The toothpick which had been lying peacefully in Eddie's mouth suddenly
felt the assault from his teeth.
"Quinn?!" called out Eddie, "This isn't bloody funny! Come out and stop
this dodgy shit! Come out, or else I'm leaving!"
"All right, all right, no need to have your knickers in a twist," once again,
Eddie heard Quinn's voice from all around, "Look up."
Eddie craned his neck to look up, and his eyes widened as a startling
sight reflected in his dark irises.
Words suitable to the situation escaped the mouth of the Irish
descendant.
"Bloody hell!"
. . .
Quinn grinned as he, too, recalled the incident from last night. "That
bloody hell wasn't a praise?"
"Of course not, you git," said Eddie and then sighed, "I will ask once
again, are you sure about this? You know you can just stroll down there,
and everything will be just as dandy."
"Let me tell you something, Eddie; if possible, this is one of the things
that I will take every single time," said Quinn with a beaming smile.
"All right, don't say that I didn't warn you."
"I won't. Now, you know what you've to do, right?"
"Yes, yes," nodded Eddie and removed one of his hands from the
Cleansweep Eleven broom under him and held onto the shaft of Quinn's
Nimbus 2001. The two flew above the stadium built for the first task,
hovering at a height where the stadium was nothing but a bowl and the
people in it were tiny ants.
"All right, see you on the other side, mate," smiled Quinn and slipped
down from his broom, falling towards the ground.
Eddie held the now lifeless broom in his hand and spoke as he watched
Quinn descend in a starfish position.
"WOohoO" He heard Quinn yell out.
"Shit, he is going to die, isn't he?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In the Durmstrang camp of the stadium, Kari Haugen tapped her feet
impatiently— patience had never been her strong suit. She looked around
her surroundings, seeing the crowd of Hogwarts students chattering
away. Kari looked to the opposite side and saw the Beauxbatons' students
enjoying the festivity. Even her own schoolmates looked excited; she was
the same, but...
"What's taking so long?" she grumbled, "I want this to start, whatever this
is."
Katie heard a sudden dip in the chatter before it went back— louder than
before. She was about to look around to find out when she felt her friend
shake her shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked.
Kari's friend pointed her finger up to the sky, and Kari followed. Her eyes
widened when she saw the clear blue sky and found the reason for all the
chatter.
"What's that?"
. . .
Ivy Potter and Hermoine Granger sitting in the stands, too, looked up like
everyone else and saw a large violet smoke ring growing outwards,
expanding to greater size.
"Morning skyworks?" spoke Hermione.
Another smoke ring appeared below the violet ring; this time, it was
indigo-colored.
"The Ministry is really going all out on this," commented Ivy as a third
blue smoke ring graced the sky.
The girls looked at a fourth green smoke ring that appeared below the
blue circle.
. . .
"It's a rainbow!" commented Luna, pointing at the sky, "Violet, indigo,
blue, and green... and the next one will be yellow—" and just as she said
it, a yellow ring appeared — "See I was right!"
"You're right," nodded Marcus as he ate a piece of fried chicken, "It really
is a rainbow."
He looked at the empty seat beside him that he had reserved by placing
another bucket of fried chicken. "Where is Eddie? He's late."
"Maybe he found a crumple-horned snorkack," guessed Luna.
"... I doubt that."
They didn't know that Eddie was currently watching the smokeworks
from a unique position, semi-enjoying and semi-worrying the experience.
"Do you want chicken?"
"Yes, please."
. . .
Tracey Davis clapped her hand as an orange plume of angry smoke
puffed in the sky and expanded into an orange ring.
"This is quite the show," she said to the Greengrass sisters sitting beside
her.
"It is. It's in the colours of the rainbow," smiled Astoria, who held a small
flag with 'Cedric Diggory' written on it, waving it around, making it
shimmer in yellow and black. She turned to her elder sister, "What do
you think, Daphne?"
Daphne Greengrass watched as the seventh red ring completed the
rainbow spectrum. There was a barrage of claps and applause as
everyone guessed the VIBGYOR rings, but the sharp-eyed Daphne
furrowed her eyes.
"... Is that —" Daphne took a moment to gather what she saw before
speaking, "— a person?"
Tracey and Astoria, feeling confused, looked back at the seven smoke
rings, and their eyes widened to the limit as they caught sight of a person
appearing out of the seven-ring tunnel.
"Holy shit, look, someone is falling through the sky!" A Slytherin behind
the Slytherin trio yelled, earning everyone's attention. All spectators,
without fail, watched as a body sped down through the sky.
. . .
Albus Dumbledore, who had just removed his eyes from the totally
unexpected colorful display in the sky to talk with Olympe Maxime in the
judging panel asking about the skyworks and if she was the one who
ordered it was rudely taken out of the conversation by a rough tug on his
robes.
"Albus!" said the offender in shock and called the headmaster by his
given name.
"What is it, Minerva?" he asked, frowning.
"Look!" she exclaimed and pointed her finger towards the smoke rings.
Dumbledore followed his deputies' finger and saw the same thing as
everybody— a person falling through the sky.
For a split fraction of a second, Dumbledore took in the situation before a
spark of urgency and energy flashed in his eyes as he hastily got up from
his chair. The person was falling at speeds much higher than Harry had
done during the Dementor game, so he whipped out the Death stick to
focus his magic.
Alas... it was already too late as the figure was already too close to the
ground for Dumbledore to do anything.
There was a collective sucking in of breath, averted eyes, many gulps in
anticipation of a splat to the ground.
But— just before the body hit the ground, a harsh blue light zapped out
of the figure towards the ground, momentarily causing everyone to avert
their eyes.
There was no sound of the body hitting the ground, and instead, a cover
of dust covered the rocky terrain of the arena.
There was complete silence in the arena. Not a single person had a mind
to talk to someone else as they were entirely committed to looking past
the thick dust cover.
Suddenly there was a sudden flash of fire, causing everyone to pull back
with gasps filling every corner of the stadium. The fire seemed to
consume everything in its path as the dust was incinerated into
nothingness, leaving a clearly visible arena in view.
Everyone saw a person standing right in the smack dab middle of the
arena, dressed in red and white robes. The figure looked up, and
everyone in the stadium recognized Quinn West.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and interesting miscellanea— beloved friends and
tolerated acquaintances," he said and took a pause as a big smile
appeared on his face, "Welcome... to the Triwizard Tournament— first
task: Dancing with Dragons."
.
Quinn West - MC - Arresto Momentum — "Perfect!"
Eddie Carmichael - Broom Collector - "Ooooh shiiiiit!"
FictionOnlyReader - Author - "My dear friend, I wish you the best of luck.
Hope you return soon. AMJ is incomplete without you."
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio/Synopsis!
157. Chapter 157: Dogs and
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"Ladies, gentlemen, and interesting miscellanea — beloved friends and
tolerated acquaintance," he said and took a pause as a big smile appeared
on his face, "Welcome . . . to the Tri-wizard Tournament — first task:
Dancing with Dragons."
The second he finished, the students in the stands shattered the stunning
silence, and if there was a roof over the stadium, the cheers of awes and
excitement would've blown it off. The seven smoke rings, falling from the
sky without dying, the fiery entry was already broke every expectation
they had set for today.
'Holy shit, that is a lot of eyes,' thought Quinn as he turned on his feet to
look at the entire stadium, roaming his eyes over all the excited and
exhilarated people sitting in the stands. This was the first time he had
this many eyes on him.
'Potato heads and nudes, was it?' considered Quinn before scrapping the
idea; it wasn't his style.
"Most of you might know me from the AID services in Hogwarts —
diligently helping people since 1991," announced Quinn, his amplified
voice reaching far and wide. "But those who don't know me, I will
introduce myself to you all: I'm Quinn West, a fifth-year student at
Hogwarts — and today, on the exciting event of the Tri-wizard
tournament's first, I will be your host for the festivities — and let me
assure you something, the things we will see today will be all but boring
or dull. They will be as colorful as the smokeworks in the sky."
From the corner of his eyes, Quinn noticed someone, and that cued him
to continue speaking.
"Mr. Ludovic 'Ludo' Bagman," said Quinn pointing at Bagman entering the
judge's box, "celebrated Quidditch athlete and the currently the decorated
Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I would like
everyone to give him a big round of applause."
Quinn's words were heeded to the full without any prompting as the
waves upon clapping serenaded the recently debt-free Ludo Bagman. The
man had thought about silently entering the judge's box and sit himself
down without arousing any attention, much less suspicion. The sudden
spotlight made him freeze at the sheer suddenness, and he could only
wave his hand with a stiff smile on his face.
"Mr. Bagman was supposed to be your host today," announced Quinn
growing the audiences' anticipation, "but then he graciously handed the
role to me, a student. So, here I'm standing in front of you all, about to
kick this event off."
He deliberately kept out the part where he had paid Bagman's debt and
kept the goblins from coming after Bagman's head, and Quinn didn't
know Bagman enough to give some credit.
The three headmasters/headmistress, Barty Crouch Sr., and the Hogwarts
teachers looked at Bagman, wondering why he would pass on his hosting
job to a student with varying feelings and judgmental thoughts.
Quinn was about to continue when a loud voice from the stands spoke
before him. "Did you say dragons?!"
He turned towards the direction of the voice and beamed in answer, "Yes,
Astoria, I did say dragons." Her question and Quinn's answer gathered
many eyes on the young Astoria Greengrass, who flushed a faint red at
the sudden attention.
"The theme of the Tri-wizard tournament's first task is Dancing with
Dragons," continued Quinn, "our four brave champions will be going
head-to-head with the mighty dragons in showdowns of their life."
He raised his fake wand over his head, and a shimmering golden light
projected out of the wand tip. In the air above him, golden light began to
twist, turn, bend and shift into the shape of an ornate egg with beautiful
runic patterns etched on the surface.
"This the goal of our champions," all eyes gathered over the gently
rotating egg, "a golden egg."
The holographic golden egg shimmered once before it began shrinking
down and, at the same time, descend down. By the time it reached the
ground, the giant magical hologram had shrunk down to the size of an
ostrich egg.
"But this golden egg is no ordinary. . . er, golden egg," said Quinn getting
him a round of chuckles. A graceful wave of his fake wand made
standard dragon eggs around the golden egg, and now all rested inside a
nest, "this golden egg will be placed in the nest of a mother dragon."
"All dragons that you'll see today are mother dragons who have laid eggs
are currently in the incubation period." He pointed at the golden egg,
"Four such golden eggs were secretly placed among the mothers' nests so
that the mothers would treat it as their own egg. And with time through
the great work of the dragon handlers from the Romanian Dragon
Sanctuary, the golden egg is now treated as a real one."
Then Quinn raised his arms wide, and his fake wand tip flashed a brief
red.
What followed was a monstrosity with dark, rough scales, ridges along its
back, and a tail tipped with an arrow-shaped spike faze out of the stony
ground beneath Quinn's feet. The holographic figure flapped its wild
wings and flew up into the sky.
"Dance with the Dragons," repeated Quinn as he moved away from the
egg hologram. He stared at his illusion replication of a Hebridean Black
dragon that circled the sky above the stadium.
"Four different breeds of dragons, one for each champion," grinned
Quinn, but none were looking at him. All eyes were fixed on the black
dragon flying in the sky.
The dragon turned its brilliant purple eyes towards the nest of eggs, and
immediately, with a mighty flap of its wings, it descended towards the
ground at neck-breaking speeds, but just before it reached the base, it
stopped itself with an all-powerful flap before letting go and landing on
the stony ground with a loud thump.
The realistic dragon hologram crawled towards the egg nest with agility,
not suiting a creature of its size, but not one person doubted that this
wasn't its actual speed.
"The mother dragon will protect its unborn children," notified Quinn, and
as he did that, the Hebridean Black raised its head towards Quinn, and
the purple reptilian eyes glowed maliciously.
There were gasps and shouts of warning when they saw the dragon open
its maw — inside, they saw a burning blue — what followed was a
forceful jet of violet flames hurled towards Quinn. In an instant, amidst
screams and cries, Quinn was engulfed in the roaring flames as the
dragon mercilessly breathed fire.
The flaming jet lasted for a solid five seconds before it stopped, and many
expected to see a burnt body of Quinn West, but as the fire cleared, he
stood there unfazed.
They turned their eyes away from Quinn towards the dragon just to see
its body gradually disappearing into golden floating glitter along with the
egg nest. Those who had stood up sat down with a thump — the illusion
had been so real that they, in the moment, had forgotten that the dragon
wasn't real and just a magical fabrication.
"Dragons can breathe fire, have great physical strength, and have a hide
that is resistant to magic," listed Quinn as he moved back to the centre,
"today, our champions will face these creatures akin to the gladiators of
the yore."
He once again roamed his eyes over the stadium and declared,
"Let the games begin!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn climbed into the judging panel and greeted everyone there with a
smile.
"Mr. West, I wasn't expecting another surprise from you today," said
Dumbledore with his patent smile on his face.
"Mr. Bagman was generous enough to bestow such an important task on
to me, so when he offered, I accepted," spoke Quinn, glancing at Bagman,
who just smiled. "It was an excellent opportunity to see if I can make a
career in the announcer business. I have got a pretty good handle on
Quidditch commentary, and this seemed to be perfect for trying out some
diversification."
Flitwick and a few Hogwarts laughed, and even McGonagall had a smile
on her face from Quinn's words.
"It does seem to be an exciting career line, Mr. West," chuckled
Dumbledore, "if every show and event was like this, I'm sure you would
be booked all year long."
"That's the dream, headmaster," grinned Quinn.
"Mr. West, if you would start," asked Barty Sr. from his chair.
"Of course, of course, let's get the festivities started," nodded Quinn and
raised his fake wand; its tip glowed blue, and that was the signal as a
dragon handler came into the arena with an egg nest levitating behind
him. He placed it in the centre and nodded to Quinn before nodding
towards a gate in the arena guarded by a barred-iron gate.
The moment the handler exited, the gate was pulled up, and from inside,
came charging out a Swedish Short-Snout; the magical beast wildly
whipped her head searching for her eggs to notice the nest nearby. Jets of
blue flames issued out of her nostrils as she half-jumped, half-flew to her
eggs, cradling them under her protection.
"The Swedish Short-Snout is an attractive silvery-blue dragon whose skin
is sought after for the manufacture of protective gloves and shields. The
flame that issues from its nostrils is a brilliant blue and can reduce timber
and bone to ash in a matter of seconds. The Short-Snout has fewer human
killings to its name than most dragons, though as it prefers to live in wild
and uninhabited mountainous areas, this is not much to its credit."
Quinn announced to the spectators before taking out a whistle from his
pocket to blow in it, for it to emit a shrill sound.
A few seconds later, a green-looking Cedric Diggory entered the stony
arena. The first champion was sweating, and even before, he had
somewhat of a labored breath from the stressful thoughts.
"Give it up for the Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory," said Quinn, "let's
see how our first champion struggles against the Swedish Short-Snout."
. . .
In the arena, Cedric took out his wand and held it ready for defense. He
didn't know which of his movements could trigger the giant creature in
front of him.
He looked around the arena and spotted loose rocks lying across the field.
'Three. . . seven. . . fifteen,' Cedric continued to count, 'this many will be
enough. . . at least I hope they are enough.'
Cedric then finally looked over at the dragon, and for a time that seemed
to be an eternity and a single second, he took every feature of the dragon
in. When he found that he was going to face a dragon, Cedric wasn't
thrilled about it, and even though Cedric was glad to obtain the
information in advance, there wasn't much he could do about it.
Through many sleepless nights, Cedric was able to come out with one
strategy.
'I need to distract it.'
Cedric took in a deep breath to calm himself, but his composure went
back into nervousness when he saw the Short-Snout's blue flames.
'I can do it, I can do it.' Cedric repeated in his mind before raising his
wand and pointing it towards a rock distant from him. A faint cream
spell-light zapped towards the rock, and with a crunching noise, the
stone transformed into a bullmastiff dog.
The transfigured dog ran towards the dragon, barking loudly as it picked
up speed. The dragon's eyes locked onto the dog, and immediately, it got
up and swiftly place itself between the nest and sprinting dog. Its maw
with razer sharp canines opened up for a jet of blazing hot blue flames to
assault the dog, blazing it into a pile of a burning pile of rocks.
"Yes, it worked," muttered Cedric, clenching his fist at his success as the
dragon sat down in the new spot — leaving the eggs uncovered.
With his newfound confidence, Cedric shot two more transfiguration
spells towards free rocks for another two bullmastiffs to run towards the
dragon, approaching it from the left, which made the dragon move
another few steps away from the eggs.
From there on out, Cedric sent out dogs to make the dragon move in his
preferred direction and then wait for a minute so that she would get
comfortable in her new position.
'Okay, this is enough,' decided Cedric, and three jets of magic
transformed rocks into dogs.
The moment the dragon moved to eliminate the dogs, Cedric rushed
towards the nest. Mid-sprint, he shot transfiguration spells towards the
dragon's right to keep it busy using quantity. The decision turned out to
be correct as just one touch from the flames turned the dogs back into
burning stone.
Cedric slid beside the nest and picked the golden egg up. The second he
made contact with the egg, six dragon handlers entered the arena. The
task was to retrieve the egg, so the second the champions touched the
egg, the task was deemed successful.
Cedric saw the dragon handles enter the arena and the sight, along with
the fact that he had the golden egg in his hands, made him relax — that
was a mistake.
He was playing by the rules, dragon handling was moving by the rules,
the judges would give scored according to the rules . . . but the dragon
wasn't playing by the rules. The moment the mother got rid of all the
dogs, she looked towards her eggs to see a human clutching one of them
outside her nest.
Red took over as she flapped her wings and took flight towards Cedric;
she aimed to cover the distance in one wing-aided leap.
"Back away, kid!" yelled a dragon handler, and three out of the six of the
zapped curses towards the blue dragon, causing her to falter mid-flight.
However, the mother dragon was adamant about getting back her egg, so
she leaped forward, pushing with her legs. The other three dragon
handles were ready and shot spells towards the dragon, and she faltered
once again, stumbling to the ground. Five out of the six dragon handlers
swung their wands, and thick iron chains flew into the arena and started
to wrap around the dragon.
Cedric, who had turned away to run, stopped when the dragon handlers
subdued the dragon, and the sixth free handler walked to him to ensure
his safety and status, and Cedric turned back to look at the chained
dragon.
That was a mistake.
While the Short-Snout was bound in chains, her magic was still hers. She
called upon it; the fire started to build up her throat as she held it in. She
opened her jaw and shot a blue fireball towards Cedric.
Cedric and the sixth dragon handler watched as a rolling ball of fire
singed towards the pair. The experienced dragon handler instinctively
cast a shield from years of experience. He immediately started to back
away from the fireball's path because he knew his protection wasn't
powerful enough to handle the flames and could only buy him some
time.
Cedric wasn't privy to that dragon handler experience, and while the
shield covered him, it was only partially.
"AaaaAh," he screamed as tongues of blue flame scorched his body.
Cedric dropped the egg due to the pain of one part of his body being
burnt by dragon flames, charred by the intense heat.
The mother dragon wanted to shoot another fireball, but the dragon
handlers weren't going to let that happen as the chain roped around her
maw, chaining it shut, and the built-up fire could only escape her nostril.
The dragon handler who had cast a shield didn't bat an eye when he saw
Cedric screaming in pain from being burned and swiftly conjured a
stretcher, put Cedric on it, and levitated him away out of the arena.
. . .
After the arena was cleared, Quinn once again spoke up, "Now that was a
great display of transfiguration and patience. Diggory used diversionary
tactics to lead the dragon away, and he was entirely successful in his
venture, though he let his guard down a bit too quickly."
While concerned about Cedric, not a single person in the stadium looked
worried and bothered by what had transpired. The magical kind had a
different perception of what could be classified as a grave injury. A burn
like Cedric's, while fatal to a non-magical, was nothing in the magical
society.
"Oh boy, that burn covered a lot of ground," commented Quinn, "he will
be seeing a lot of skin peel tomorrow. No need to be worried as our
residential medi-healer, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, will have him good as
new by the end of the day."
He turned towards the panel and asked, "Judges, your scores for Mr.
Diggory's performance."
The four judged used their wands to write in the air: "Okay, the
combined scores comes to a total of thirty-one. Let's see how the coming
three perform to see how Mr. Diggory places."
. . .
"Now, what do we have here," Quinn's joyful voice reached the ears of all
as they looked into the arena, "A Common Welsh Green, another native
to Britain Isles. Green scales, thick hindlegs, thin forelegs; slow on their
feet, quick on their wings. Common Welsh Green is famous for being a
relatively subdued breed and prefers to prey mainly on sheep and other
small mammals and avoid human contact altogether. Though they
stumble out to muggles quite often, and our Ministry spends a lot of
money to keep the damage under wraps."
Standing over a new nest of eggs, the Common Welsh green released a
melodious roar to scare away everyone from her and her nest of eggs.
Quinn blew the whistle, and within seconds, Fleur Delacour walked into
the clearing, "Ms. Delacour looks like she is ready to subdue the dragon;
isn't this the perfect representation of beauty and the beast, though I
doubt the beauty will be falling in love with the beast."
. . .
Like Cedric, who had come before her, Fleur observed the mother dragon
before making any move. She wasn't as anxious and worried as she had
been inside the tent. Watching the lying dragon made her seem like a
harmless creature, but the fact that the dragon could rip her apart in
seconds was every present in the back of Fleur's mind.
She glanced up at the judge's panel and saw her headmistress smiling
towards her.
'I can do it,' she thought, 'I just have to do as I practiced.'
She raised her wand and pointed it at the dragon. Letting out her
nervousness through an exhale and in sync with that exhale, a faint wisp
emitted from her wand, and like sand flowing through the wind, the pink
wisps traveled to the dragon, entering the mother's body through her
nostrils.
. . .
Back in the stands, Quinn analyzed the situation and gave the spectators
his valuable commentary.
"Let's talk about Ms. Delacour's tactic for dealing with the dragon," he
started, "from what I can see, the magic that our only female champion is
casting is a bewitched sleep spell — an interesting choice, to say the
least."
"Bewitched sleep is an enchanted slumber of sorts. It is used to refer to a
condition wherein the target's body and mind are brought into a state in
which their nervous system remains relatively inactive, their eyes closed,
the postural muscles relaxed, and consciousness practically suspended by
magical means. So-called because of how reminiscent it is to the natural
sleep that typically recurs for several hours every night, there are several
ways in which this condition could be induced in people; such as by
simple Sleeping Charms, which simply places those subjected to it into a
magically induced slumber that will eventually wear off, a more
advanced spell, putting the target into such a deep sleep as to render
them in a state akin to suspended animation.
As they listened to Quinn, the spectators watched Fleur circled the area
with careful steps; she still had her wand pointed at the dragon with the
bewitching pink magic flowing into the dragon.
"Dragons parts are used to craft wands as such it's difficult to affect
dragons with such a variety of magic that Ms. Delacour is constantly
casting the spell to make sure to put the dragon to sleep."
Eventually, everyone saw the spell take effect.
"Ah, it seems that Ms. Delacour has successfully put her dragon to sleep,"
announced Quinn, "I have to say that I'm feeling impressed by Ms.
Delacour's approach; putting the dragon to sleep, how simple and yet so
effective."
. . .
Down at the stony arena, Fleur immediately took off with a run towards
the egg nest. She covered the distance quickly and only slowed at the
ending stretch as she was too close to the dragon.
"Now, where is the egg?" she mumbled and trekked the rocky terrain
around the slumbering dragon. "Ah, there it is!" she exclaimed on finding
the nest egg just beside the dragon's face.
She leaped down from a height and briskly walked towards the nest, but
just as she strolled past the dragon's face, abruptly, a puff of fire
threatened Fleur, who barely was able to pull up a shield charm. In that
second, Fleur went from feeling oh so close to success to outright terrified
— she was too close to the dragon.
The smoke cleared and what Fleur and the rest saw was a still asleep
dragon.
". . . I-It's snoring fire," muttered Fleur in disbelief. Her beating heart
settled down with a sense of relief.
She decided not to waste any time and soundlessly rushed to the nest and
picked up the golden egg, and with that cue, dragon handlers entered the
area, signifying Fleur's successful completion of the trial.
Two out of four chapters were done, two remained.
.
Quinn West - MC - After magic and business, he would've done hosting.
Cedric Diggory - Status: Severely burned - Approach: Distraction with
Transfiguration.
Fleur Delacour - Status: No injuries (elevated heartbeat) - Approach:
Advance sleeping spell.
.
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158. Chapter 158: Blinding and
Ropes
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"An excellent performance by the Fleur Delacour," said Quinn, "the
skillful use of bewitchment sleeping charm on an unsuspecting dragon
was a smart decision."
Quinn turned to face Dumbledore and posed him a question, "Headmaster
Dumbledore, as someone who is credited to researched and found twelve
uses of dragon blood, you must be knowledgeable about dragon
physiology. So my question to you is — how much of Ms. Delacour's
undetection by the dragon can be attributed to the Common Welsh
Green's magic detection capability and how much to her personal casting
skills?"
Albus Dumbledore was ready to answer a question as part of the judging
panel — a generic question, but he didn't expect Quinn to go deep and
connect his work to a champion's performance.
"An interesting question — no, a splendid question," started Dumbledore
with a smile, "the answer to your question is that Ms. Delacour's
undetected performance depended on both her skill and the Common
Welsh Green's weak senses. . . As you spoke earlier, dragons have a
magic-resistant hide, and so does this breed, but the Common Welsh's
hide has a peculiarity that makes its senses dull. Ms. Delacour was
cautious about her output and only applied enough of the spell that she
went undetected by the Common Welsh Green. According to my
estimate, if Ms. Delacour had gone around ten to twenty percent over her
output, she would've alerted the dragon that there was something wrong
with her body."
"I see," the audience heard Quinn's voice loud and clear, "thank you for
that insightful answer. You heard it, audience members, next time you
come face-to-face with a Common Welsh Green — it might seem
impossible to hold back in the face of a dragon, but do remember to be
light-handed on magic."
Barty Crouch Sr. leaned near Bagman and whispered: "Never thought I
would say this to you, Bagman, but good job on passing the hosting
duties to a student. He's doing a better job than I imagined you would've
done."
Bagman could do nothing but nod stiffly. It was all part of the offer he
had been given in return for his debt being paid off by Quinn West. He
was told by Quinn not to answer any question regarding why he had
given Quinn the job.
In Quinn's words: "Sometimes, silence is better than poorly constructed
lies. People fill in the unspoken with their own imagination and don't
bother asking questions."
And Bagman was going to follow that to a T — Bagman had done his
research and knew what kind of trouble he could get into if he didn't
hold up the end of the deal he made with the West child.
. . .
"It's time for us to introduce you to the third dragon of the day,"
announced Quinn, "this dragon will be defending against the Bulgarian
Quidditch star Victor Krum from Durmstrang."
Quinn had visited the dragon handlers and had sorted out his calling
cues. They knew when to let in the dragons so that their entrance would
match Quinn's hosting.
As planned, the dragon gate opened and came barreling from inside a
scarlet and smooth scaled with a fringe of golden spikes around its snub-
snouted face and extremely protuberant eyes. The last two dragons were
worried, but they remained cautious and restrained about their
surroundings — The Chinese Fireball, though? She was as aggressive as a
shaken-up can of soda.
The dragon ran around the arena until she spotted her eggs resting inside
a nest in the middle of the arena, and the smaller dragon spread her
wings and screeched a shrill scream before closing the distance in an
instant, seating herself over the egg. She breathed a deep red large
mushroom-shaped flame up in the air as a warning sign, threatening
anyone who dared to approach her or her children.
"The Chinese Fireball, also known as the Liondragon, is a dragon native
to China. It was a brilliant red and gold dragon, named for the rounded
balls of flame that shot from its nostrils," Quinn's voice gave the audience
some detail about the beast they saw, "The Fireball is aggressive but,
unlike other dragons, it was more tolerant of its own kind. It will
sometimes consent to share its territory with up to two other dragons.
They were also said to be very fast and clever, at least for a dragon."
The whistle flew to Quinn's lips, and the entry cue for the champion was
sounded.
Within half a minute, Victor Krum walked into the rocky arena. The
champion who had been grumpy and grouchy ever since his arrival to
Hogwarts was now seen alert and ready. His face had a thin sheen of
sweat, but it didn't look like anxious sweating.
"It seems Krum has been warming up to face his opponent," noted Quinn,
"Is he treating the task as one of his quidditch games; if so, then that's an
excellent way to calm his nerves. Let's see how much this helps him."
. . .
It turned out that Quinn was correct, as Krum had gotten so stressed
when he heard Cedric had been burned by the dragon that he decided to
treat this as one of his games and did a quick warmup to calm down.
He stared at the hyperactive dragon. She was turning her head all around
the stands to look at all the hundreds of people.
His heart skipped a beat when the Fireball locked eyes with him. The
dragon fumed two mushroom-shaped flame clouds from her nostrils, and
in return, he clutched his wand tighter in his hand. The human and
dragon stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving an inch with
only the Fireball swishing its tail back and forth.
Maybe it was minutes or mere seconds, but the one to break the
staredown was Krum, who whipped his wand above his hand and pushed
the gas pedal on his magic. A red zap of spell lighting coursed from his
wands towards the dragon. The mother Fireball dragon snorted two
mushroom-shaped clouds from her nostrils before opening her jaw wide
and shooting out red flames to counter the spell.
The spell and magical flames met in between, and there was a mini-
explosion as a result. With it, the aggression had begun.
Krum didn't stop and ripped another spell towards the dragon, which was
countered by another burst of fire. The result wasn't an explosion but a
gush of black smoke spreading at an alarming rate.
The Fireball stood on her hind feet in alert caution. Her draconian brain
telling her to be on alert. She stepped forward, keeping her eggs behind
her.
Suddenly a spell came charging from her right, parting the smoke. From
within the hole in smoke, one could see Krum with his wand raised, but
the next second, he was gone. The dragon raised its wing to receive the
spell, and the magic collided with the magic-resistant hide. The result
was a puff of hot smother, but the dragon came out without a scratch.
"For the first time today, we see the power of dragonhide," Quinn's voice
was heard throughout the stadium. "This power is the reason that even
though the hide loses a chunk of its resistance when stripped of the
carcass, the leather is still used to create under-armors for Hit Wizard and
Aurors."
Krum ran around the rocky terrain, jumping from one boulder to another,
trying to keep himself moving while keeping the dragon into the smoke.
'I just need one shot,' thought Krum, 'one spell would be enough to get to
the egg.'
Just when his line of thought ended, Krum came to a screeching halt as
his eyes caught a red from within the hazy smoke. His eyes widened in
an instant as he understood what was coming.
"Shit!"
Without giving it a second thought, Krum jumped down from the boulder
and slid down behind a tall piece of stone for cover. The second he
squatted on the ground, deep red flames assaulted Krum's cover. He
looked up and could see tongues of flames reaching out from the edges.
The second the flames stopped, Krum rolled over in an effort to get up.
He was about to get up when his eyes caught a shift in the stone cover
and looking up, he saw the Fireball's head peeking from above.
Krum sucked in a deep breath when he saw the jaw unhinge, and inside
he saw red light at the end. He was about to face a dragon breath from
point-blank range. In the life-and-death situation, Krum raised his wand
and shoot the first spell that popped into his mind.
A murky yellow spell shot out of his wand, and with the Fireball's jaw
opened, the magic entered the dragon's mouth. The dragon snapped her
jaw close and screamed in pain from the effects of the spell.
. . .
Quinn stood near the ledge in the judge's box and watched Krum and the
dragon with bright eyes.
"Ah, that was a spell that lacerates flesh," announced Quinn, "a dark curse
— as expected from a Durmstrang student — a student of the dark arts."
Everyone in the judge's box momentarily removed their eyes from the
arena and glanced at Quinn. They found it rare for a student of Hogwarts
to not talk about dark arts with fear or disgust. Albus Dumbledore, the
poster boy of anti-dark magic, had all but erased all traces of dark magic
from the Hogwarts ground.
Dumbledore looked at Quinn's back and thought back to their first
meeting. Quinn had told him that as long it was magic, he was interested.
'He identified the spell quite quickly,' thought Dumbledore, and well, his
thoughts went in a very particular direction involving three very specific
people. Two people with who he could find parallels with Quinn. . . and
a young himself.
. . .
Krum stared at the Chinese Fireball, and amidst the screams, he thought,
'This is the chance.' He clumsily waved his wand, and a good enough
invisible spell hit the dragon in the eyes.
The dragon pulled her head back and used her wingtips to cover her
eyes.
"Ah, another one, the Conjunctivitis Curse," said the announcer's voice," a
curse that irritated the target's eyes, forcing them to swell shut. Dragons
were notably susceptible to this curse because while their hide made
them resistant to most spells, their eyes remained vulnerable. Another
pro-tip for you people: while every other part of a dragon's body is
durable as hell, their eyes are more squishy than ours. So poke 'em there
because it hurts a lot."
According to his plans, Krum had only planned to temporarily impair the
dragon's eyesight so that he could get to the egg and complete the task.
But now, not only had impaired vision, but he had also launched a spell
that caused injury to the dragon.
He knew this was the moment. Krum stood up and rushed to the middle
of the arena with his eyes set on the golden prize.
The Chinese Fireball finally had enough; her mouth hurt, and she
couldn't open her eyes; her babies were unprotected. She let her instincts
take over and moved her head towards the direction of the nest; she
could smell her own scent on the eggs.
A deep red illuminated her throat as she opened her jaw.
Krum was within spitting distance of the nest when he felt the hair on the
back of his neck stand up. He turned back and saw a vivid jet of fire
coming towards him. His eyes widened; he looked ahead and dove for
the egg. His hands caught the egg as he rolled over to his back, and with
a body roll, he was back onto his feet.
But his work wasn't over yet. He saw a dragon handler entering the
arena, and the man pointed at the two large rocks, and Krum didn't need
to be told twice. He sprinted and once again dove ahead, this time into
the crevice between the two rocks.
"Aargh!" screamed Krum as a back was singed just before he could get to
safety. He fell to the ground, but his hands clutched the egg as if it was
the snitch in the World Cup finals.
Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had
finished.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Harry stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of
marshmallows. He waited. And then Harry heard the whistle blow. He
walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a
crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a
gap in the enclosure fence.
He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored
dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him
from stands that had been magicked there since he'd last stood on this
spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure,
crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil,
yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her
spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground.
The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but Harry didn't know or
care whether friendly or not. It was time to do what he had to do . . . to
focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only
chance. . .
His mind went back to the two weeks he spent listening to Quinn, who he
had just seen in the judge's box.
He raised his wand.
"Accio Golden Egg," he shouted. The egg didn't move at all. "Well, worth
the try."
The Horntail covered the area around the eggs pretty well; as such, he
couldn't use the transfiguration trick to Accio the eggs to him. . . and the
grappling tactic. . . and the push-up tactic. . .
'Hell! Every tactic he taught me is useless with the Horntail in the way.' If
Quinn had heard Harry's thoughts, he would've used every tactic he had
taught Harry before staring him down for a solid minute.
He made his decision.
"Accio Firebolt!" he shouted.
In the judge's box, Quinn sighed and cut the Sonorus just so that he could
mutter, "Idiot."
Harry waited, every fiber of him hoping, praying. . . . If it hadn't worked .
. . if it wasn't coming . . . He seemed to be looking at everything around
him through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat
haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him
swim strangely. . . .
And then he heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and
saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods,
soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside him,
waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise. . . .
Quinn was shouting something . . . but Harry's ears were not working
correctly anymore . . . listening wasn't necessary. . . .
He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. And a
second, later, something miraculous happened. . . .
As he soared upward, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd's
faces became mere flesh-colored pinpricks below, and the Horntail
shrank to the size of a dog, he realized that he had left not only the
ground behind, but also his fear. . . . Harry was back where he belonged.
. . .
This was just another quidditch match, that was all . . . just another
quidditch match and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team. .
. .
He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming
against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon's
front legs. He dived. The Horntail's head followed him; he knew what it
was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had
been released precisely where he would have been having he not swerved
away.
"Well, at least he can fly," sighed Quinn.
Harry tried a couple more times to draw out the Horntail and dodged the
dragon's breath as many times as he attempted. But the Horntail didn't
seem to want to take off; she was too protective of her eggs. Though she
writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those
fearsome yellow eyes on Harry, she was afraid to move too far from
them.
"It seems that, unlike the other mother dragons, this one has taken an
entirely different approach; a defensive approach," spoke Quinn, his
sonorous back on.
Harry knew he had to take the risk. He started to fly low, sticking to the
walls of the arena. Slowly the speed of state-of-the-art Firebolt increased;
soon, the Horntail was having trouble keeping up with Harry, and he
knew it was the right moment.
He made a hard turn, and with a booming speed of his Firebolt, he
instantly closed the distance between him and the dragon. But the second
he was close to the dragon, the Horntail swiped her head toward Harry
and already had a fire working in her throat.
But the Gryffindor Seeker was ready; he pulled up and flew up hard on a
sharp angle, just missing the fire. But despite the danger, Harry had a big
smile on his face. His wand was in his hand, and from it extended an
orange-red cord of light on whose other end hung a shining golden egg.
"Carpe Retracturm. . ." said the student, and outside the arena, the
teacher finished, ". . . for the win."
Harry Potter had grabbed the golden egg, without injury and overall that
he had done it faster than any other candidate.
'Well, that wasn't half bad,' thought Quinn in the box and shrugged, 'Well,
I trained him; he should at least get this level of results.'
.
Quinn West - MC - "I will take partial credit."
Victor Krum - Status: Crisp - Approach: Conjunctivitis Curse.
Harry Potter - Status: Uninjured and feeling good - Approach: Carpe
Retractum.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
159. Chapter 159: Results, The
Book, Its Back
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Quinn walked down from the judge's box to the rocky arena. The stage
was abuzz with discussions about the performance, and no one was
paying attention to the fact that Quinn stood in the center. He looked
around, waiting to see if they would notice him and pay attention.
"Doesn't look like it," his voice drowning among the chatter of hundreds.
So he raised his fake wand to get some attention.
The people in the stands flinched when they heard a loud explosion. All
eyes immediately went to the center of the field, where they saw a
smiling Quinn twirling his wand.
"Good, now that I've everybody's attention, let's get started," they heard
him speak, "We saw four stellar performances from our four brilliant,
brave, bright, and boisterous champions." He pointed at the judge's box,
"Our esteemed judges have given their opinion and scores to the
champions' performance, and now I'm going to announce their positions
relative to each other."
The rowdy crowd finally calmed down enough to listen to Quinn.
"In the first position we have," he paused before continuing, "the
Beauxabatons' champions, FLEUR DELACOUR!" Quinn raised his wand
and shot out fireworks in the shape of the Beauxbatons insignia, which
turned into Fleur's face before disappearing.
"She completed the task the fastest and with the most skill out of all
champions. The judges combined those factors and decided to place Ms.
Delacour in the first place."
The Beauxbaton students were the first to jump in the air, cheering for
their champion and school. But soon, they were drowned by the
overwhelming hurrahs and roars of so many Hogwarts boys that even
Quinn jerked back and looked at them with a startling surprise.
". . . O-Oh, it seems that Ms. Delacour has able to amass some fan
following in her short time at Hogwarts," said Quinn, "From the looks of
it, she's well on her way to becoming the people's winning favorite."
The boys roared louder at his words.
Quinn waited for them to calm down, but the boys continued to shout,
and it went a little too long that Quinn had to shoot another louder
explosion to forcefully calm them down — but the little f**kers didn't
stop.
"Ah, screw it," he muttered and aimed his fake wand straight at a part of
the stands with the just boys and shot out a moderate explosive spell
towards them.
The rowdy students saw the spell hurled towards them, and in an instant,
the shouts turned to screams as they ducked and covered their heads to
save themselves. But it wasn't needed as Quinn's spell collided with an
invisible dome placed there to protect the audience.
"Ahem," said Quinn as the dome stopped rippling, "now that I've your
attention, we can move on to the next champion in line."
The boys stared at Quinn's carefree as if he just hadn't hurled a spell at
them.
"The runner-up for the first task is," said Quinn and imagined a drum roll
in his mind, "one of the Hogwarts champion, HARRY POTTER!" The
Hogwarts insignia followed by Hary's face traced in fireworks.
Hogwarts as a whole, especially Gryffindor students, cheered loud for
their house champions captain while the other houses also showed
varying levels of enthusiasm and excitement. All-in-all it was a good
show of support for the discredit champion and a start for things to start
fresh.
"The last one on the podium was close," stated Quinn as he turned to look
at everyone, "both of our remaining champions were brave in their
approach, but their plans were a bit too reckless as such — both got
burned as they played with fire."
A few chuckles around the stadium told him that some found his joke
funny, and others didn't.
"After much deliberation, the judges have decided that. . ." another round
of drum rolls sounded in his mind, ". . . coming in the third place is the
Durmstrang champions, VICTOR KRUM!" The insignia of Durmstrang
showed its glory, with the stern mug of Krum following shortly after.
There was a rough chant from the Durmstrang students and a few shouts
from girls taken by Krum's stern and mind-your-own-business charm.
"Finally, we have our very own the very charming Hogwarts champion,
CEDRIC DIGGORY!" shouted Quinn with another round of fireworks.
"No matter what their rank, our champions showed great ability and
valor," continued Quinn. "Dragons are creatures of magic much stronger
than us humans and even the fire-blessed Veelas; to outmatch a mother
dragon and steal an egg from them is no easy feat. So the next time you
meet them, give them the praise they deserve and applaud them for the
heart and spirit they showed today — for they're champions!"
The response was. . . glorious.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Haaa~," breathed out Quinn as he sat himself on the barstool behind his
desk. It was the evening after the first task, and Quinn had just got free;
professors, head of schools, ministry employees, and students had praised
him for his hosting, especially his entrance that jazzed the entire event
up.
"Madam Pomfrey really needs to get loose," he groaned, "no reason to
smack me on the back of my head." The Matron wasn't happy about
Quinn's little stunt at the start of the task.
He glanced at the full-body red robes with white highlights. "Maybe, I
should have gone blue or maybe even black. . . well, not black, it
would've been. . . tragic if someone died."
"It went well," spoke Quinn to himself, "but was it worth to pay of
Bagman's debt?"
Quinn wanted to be close to the action of the Tri-wizard tournament, and
the sure-fire way to stay close constantly was to become a part of the
tournament. Being a champion was struck off right from the get-go;
except a champion, there wasn't much a student could do, so Quinn
decided to take someone else's job from him.
Ludo Bagman was the designated host, so Quinn exploited the debt and
took the job from him. It was the first time ever Quinn had dug into his
royalty account to take out a minuscule amount of money from his
earning made from his invention; other than this, Quinn never had to dip
into that account as his student account at Gringotts was enough for his
annual expenses.
If there were any questions regarding Bagman's sudden hosting
assignment to Quinn, they were erased after his performance.
"I would be close by in every event from now on," he said, "I do wonder if
this was the correct decision — I gave up anonymity in return for access."
If Quinn had been any other student in the stands, he could've worked
with certain invisibility; one didn't know what to look for when they
didn't know it wasn't coming. But with being a host, Quinn would be near
the scene and would have a much easier time working magic if needed.
"Well, with that level of access, I can get by without anyone knowing,"
shrugged Quinn.
He studied the ancient, black leather-bound book on his desk. He took
out fresh sheets of paper and a black-inked fountain pen. Straightening
his back, he opened it gently and started carefully reading the contents,
making detailed observational notes about the contents.
After an entire noisy day of announcing and speaking to so many people,
Quinn enjoyed the quiet and peace and was just getting into the rhythm,
but it seemed that some people had other plans as the office door opened
and four people walked, all had a skip in their step and a clap in their
hands as they seemed in a pretty celebratory mood.
He looked up and saw the golden squad — all four members entered his
office. Harry was in the lead with the golden egg resting in his hands;
following him were Ivy and Hermione, and they were swaying to the beat
of Ron clapping his hands behind him.
"All of you look happy," commented Quinn, closing the book and setting
the papers aside, "Mr. Weasley, welcome to my office; this is your first
time here."
"Err, right," replied Ron, something about Quinn made him stop clapping.
"Harry, I'm a tad bit disappointed that you didn't try Parseltongue against
the dragon. I really wanted to see if the dragon would've reacted to the
snake speak."
"With all the people looking at me? Yeah, right. I would've been branded
Voldemort's next coming in tomorrow's newspapers," scoffed Harry.
"A little price to pay for the betterment of magic," shrugged Quinn. "I'm
surprised that all of you are here," Quinn said as he waved his fake wand
to set four chairs for his guests, "I assumed all of you would be busy with
the celebrations inside with your fellow Gryffindors. What makes you all
come here leaving all that behind?"
"We wanted to show you the egg," answered Harry; he sat down and set
the golden egg on the desk.
"You helped Harry out a lot; it's only natural that we let you have a look
at the prize," chimed in Hermione.
"We thought you would like to get your hands on the egg; you're the type
to get all excited about magic," commented Ivy.
"Well, you got that right," said Quinn, picking up the golden egg,
weighing it in his gloved hands, "Oh my, this is heavy,"
At first glance, the surface of the ostrich-sized golden egg looked like it
was an ornate egg etched with beautiful and intricate patterns, but to
anyone who had extensive runic knowledge, the designs became runes.
As Quinn rotated the egg, the initially small smile widened till Quinn
seemed amply happy. The answer to the riddle inside the egg was clearly
inscribed in the runes etched on the surface. If one could read the runes,
they would know what hid inside.
"Why are you smiling?" asked the redhead Potter.
Quinn held the egg in his left with palm up. "Did you open the egg up?"
"Yes, I did. In front of the entire Gryffindor house," answered Harry.
"Be honest with me, was coming here with to show me this egg wasn't so
a show of appreciation, was it?"
The four Gryffindors glanced at each other. Seeing that reaction made
Quinn silently let out a single chuckle.
"It's a show of appreciation," answered Ivy, shrugging, "but stuff can be
two things."
"I can respect that," he answered.
Ivy Potter stared at Quinn and then garnered a guess, "You already know
what the egg is, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," he nodded, "but unfortunately for you all, I won't be sharing
my finding with you fine Gryffindors."
"Eh? But why?" asked Ron, dumbfounded. The Weasley couldn't
understand why someone from Hogwarts (sans Slytherin) wouldn't tell a
Hogwarts champion about the egg.
"Well, I can't give it away; it wouldn't be fun that way," grinned Quinn.
He put the egg back down on the table. "Find the clue on your own. As
far as I know, the champions don't have an unfair advantage for the
second task, so you won't get any from me."
"How about a hint? You do know what happens when we open it, don't
you?"
"I know what will happen if I open it right here right now."
"Sounded like a banshee. . . . Maybe you've got to get past one of those
next, Harry!" said Ron. He could swear that his ears were still ringing
from the time Harry had opened the egg in the common room.
"It was someone being tortured!" sighed Harry. "I'm going to have to fight
the Cruciatus Curse!"
"Don't be daft, Harry, that's illegal," chided Hermione. "They wouldn't use
the Cruciatus Curse on the champions.
"I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing . . . maybe you've got to
attack him while he's in the shower, Harry," said Ron, giving another
guess getting a chuckle from Quinn.
Quinn noticed that Ivy was intently staring at him. "Ivy, is there
something on my face?"
"Will it be an unfair advantage if we paid you?" asked Ivy with a sly smile
on her face. "What's the word again? If I remember correctly, as you said,
it was. . . resourceful. Yes, we are simply being resourceful here."
The grin didn't leave Quinn's face as he nodded appreciatively. The girl in
front of him had heard him carefully during their time-travel
shenanigans. This was the second time she had brought something up
from that time.
"Good, that's really good," praised Quinn, "How about this — if you can't
find it out halfway through, I will give you an answer."
"There is a catch, isn't there?" asked Hermione.
Quinn turned to Hermione with a 'what-is-happening-here' smiling
expression. "You guys are getting smarter. I knew it; people get smarter
when they spend time with me."
Ron leaned forward, genuinely interested in what Quinn had just said.
"Yes, there is a catch," continued Quinn, "The price on that halfway mark
is too expensive — and to be bluntly honest, even if you combined all of
your allowances, you wouldn't be able to afford it."
He raised a finger to cut them from speaking.
"As the time goes on, I'll decrease the price. If you come to me the day
before the task, it will be practically free. It's up to you how much you're
willing to shell out for the answer. The later it is, the cheaper it will be."
He didn't tell them that even with the solution to hearing the riddle, they
would've to decode the riddle and then find a way to execute during the
day of the second day.
While it seemed like a good thing for the golden squad to approach him
for his services, Quinn didn't want over-reliance from the golden squad.
He wanted them to come to him but at the same time maintain a certain
distance. Being too close to them was something Quinn was doubtful
about; to him, it seemed an unnecessary hassle. But at the same time, he
realized that his wish was too much of an ideal.
With Quinn and Ivy going back and forth with smiles on their faces,
Hermione's mind wandered off to other things in the office. Her attention
was particularly attracted by the ancient tome on Quinn's desk.
"Book?" she voiced, reading the rune etched onto the cover. "What kind
of a book title is that?"
Quinn stopped conversing about chocolate with Ron and turned to
Hermione. He placed a gentle hand on the tome and smiled, "Don't you
think it's a fitting title? It shows what the book actually is — a book."
"That thing looks it's about to die," commented Harry about the condition
of the book. "What's it about?"
"Ah yes, it's an old lady, this one," said Quinn, "I brought it from Aarhus,
Denmark. A real bargain, if I say so myself." He didn't pay a single knut
for it.
"From your trip?" said Ivy recalling the day Quinn had visited her house.
Quinn nodded.
"Is it written in Danish?" asked the second biggest bookworm in the
room.
"No, Ms. Granger," responded the biggest bookworm, "this baby is
transcribed in pure Younger Futhark runes; quite a fascinating read."
"What is it about?" Once again, the question came.
Quinn contemplated if he should tell them before shrugging. No harm in
telling them the briefest of information.
"It's about winds."
The Viking magic of wind and air.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The very next day, when the castle was animatedly discussing the first
task and thought that nothing else could peak it. They came across
something that first confused them, led them to feel surprised, and finally
left them shocked.
Inside the house common rooms, the Hogwarts student saw a very
peculiar notice on the house bulletin board.
. . .
Inside the Gryffindor common room, Harry came running down the dorm
stairs.
"Ron, let's go, or we are going to get late," he said, patting Ron's shoulder.
On the other hand, Ron didn't move his eyes toward Harry and raised his
hands to find Harry, just to find his face, which he ended up lightly
slapping all over.
"Pu! W-What the hell are you doing?!" said Harry smacking the offending
hand away.
"Look."
"What?" asked Harry annoyed before he looked at the bulletin board, and
within seconds, he went from annoyed to still — very still.
"Holy—!"
. . .
Draco Malfoy started his day by climbing down the dorm stairs and get a
fresh look at the Slytherin common room.
"It will be a good day," he smiled. Looking at the standard room put him
at ease as this place was his to rule.
He was about to turn back to his room when he noticed Crabbe and
Goyle standing in front of the bulletin board.
"Are they. . . reading?" Draco asked himself, "can they even. . . read?"
His two goon-cum-friends weren't the most intelligent kind, and seeing
them in front of the bulletin board first thing in the morning wasn't
something he was used to.
"Crabbe, Goyle, what are you lads doing?"
It seemed that Draco's words fell on deaf ears as the two surprisingly
similar-looking boys kept on looking at the bulletin board.
"Are you two having problems with reading?" asked Draco, snickering.
"Want me to help? Tell me, I'll read it for you."
He meant it as a joke, so when Crabbe raised his hands to point, Draco
was stunned silent for a second. Draco turned his eyes to the board, and
stuck on it was a colorful, long roll of parchment, sticking out like a sore
thumb inside the somber common room.
Draco's mouth opened and closes a couple of times as he read the
contents. After failing to formulate words, a short phrase came out the
Malfoy heir.
"Bloody hell! This is. . ."
. . .
Eddie Carmichael plopped himself down in a chair inside the Ravenclaw
common room. Just like others, he, too, was excited about the first task
that took place yesterday. The fact that they got to see dragons so up
close was amazing that people didn't get to witness regularly. But he was
also a little miffed with what had followed the task. . .
"Diggory this, Diggory that," said Eddie clicking his tongue, "Potter is so
great; Krum is so cool. Even the Veela is taking girls away from me. . . I
know I should've tried harder getting into the tournament. I could've
done the same thing as Potter; that was easy."
As he grumbled about the popularity and attention the champions were
getting, Eddie noticed Quinn enter the common room from outside and
head straight to the bulletin board.
"Quinn, let me hit you once," said Eddie getting up from his chair, "how
many girls did you get praised by yesterday. . . also, don't hit me back."
Quinn pasted a big poster right in the middle of the board with magic
while chuckling from Eddie's words. After confirming that the poster was
stuck snug against the panel, Quinn turned back, and as he passed Eddie,
he smiled and patted his shoulder.
"What? — Hey, where are you going?" asked Eddie, but Quinn had
already left.
"What's the deal with him?" said Eddie muttering as he turned to the
bulletin, and almost immediately, his jaw dropped as he read the words
and saw the moving pictures.
In true Eddie fashion, his feelings came out in words that couldn't have
been truer.
"F**king hell!"
Quidditch was coming back to Hogwarts.
.
Quinn West - MC - Getting posters inside common rooms is easy when
you've your people inside.
Ivy West - Smarter every day - She has begun to see.
Eddie Carmichael - Dropped Jaw - Mind blown.
.
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160. Chapter 160: Launch:
Captain Selection
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If one saw students of Hogwarts assembled together in the Great hall,
that usually meant that it was meal time and the children were ready to
fill their stomachs with food. But today — the students had assembled in
the hall, outside of meal timings and that too of their own volition.
Just today, big colorful posters were found stuck in four house common
rooms and Beauxbatons and Dumrstrang residences, telling them that
quidditch was returning to Hogwarts and that it was open to all —
Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang.
It read that if people wanted to know more, then at 6 O'Clock in the
evening they could come to the Great hall to learn more. Nowhere in the
poster was it stated that attendance was mandatory, but if one were to
count, ninety-seven percent of Hogwarts students were there with
Beauxbaton and Durmstrang present in full.
The chatter was intense with the students. No matter the corner of the
hall or social group, the topic of conversation was quidditch —
something that was publicly canceled by the headmaster, Albus
Dumbledore.
"I think Krum went to Dumbledore and got him to restart the
tournament," said a boy.
"Nu-uh," countered a girl, "I think it was Diggory; he might've asked for
the tournament to start again."
"I don't think it was either of them," chimed in another one, "I think
Harry Potter is behind this. The Boy-Who-Lived as the champion — his
word will carry some weight."
"How about a fourth option — the seeker alliance. Krum, Diggory, and
Potter — three seekers coming together to get quidditch back."
At a distance from the group of boys stood two girls dressed in green
trims.
"Didn't these guys see the logo?" said the blonde with cold blue eyes.
The brunette shrugged, "Well, it was in the corner; maybe they truly
didn't see it. The poster's contents itself were pretty eye-catching."
Daphne Greengrass didn't look satisfied with the reasoning. "Do you think
his sister came to school for this?"
"It does seem that way," replied Tracey.
Daphne looked around her, and she could hear the rumor about the
"seeker alliance" and how they were the reason behind the restart of the
quidditch tournament. As Daphne was looking around, her eyes caught a
figure at the door. Seeing that figure made a small smile bloomed on her
face.
Quinn entered the Great hall and paused just inside the threshold. He
took in the gathered crowd and nodded in satisfaction at the strength.
'First, need to set the scene,' he thought. From his robes came out his fake
wand, which he raised above his head and pointed it at the hundreds of
overhead floating candles. With a surge of magic, the candles turned
colors, and from plain yellow, the flames turned into red, blue, dark-blue,
yellow for four houses and mixed in equal quantities, were light-blue and
a dark-maroon for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, respectively.
The change in lighting attracted everyone's attention. Everyone in the
room craned their necks up to look above, and a soft wave of 'ooh' and
'aah' was heard through the students.
"Alright, looks like everybody who wants to be present is already here."
Everyone heard the same voice they heard yesterday.
They saw Quinn walked towards the front of the hall from the gate, and
as he walked, the crowd parted for Quinn, giving him the way to his
destination.
"Given that all of you're here, I assume you all saw the posters or at least
heard of it," spoke Quinn's voice amplified, "Exciting news, is it not? We
all get to see the new and thrilling Tri-wizard tournament along with the
familiar excitement of the quidditch tournament. A good year for us
hardworking students."
Quinn reached the head of the hall and climbed up the steps to the
elevated platform. He waved his fake wand out of thin air, and a set of
hiking marble squares appeared, which Quinn climbed the blocks till he
was at a height where he could see everyone in the hall.
"Well, rest assured, people," announced Quinn with a smile, "the news is
true. This year, Hogwarts, along with the Tri-wizard tournament, will be
hosting a Tri-school quidditch tournament."
Quinn paused, and the crowd cheer as quidditch was officially returning.
He let them cheer for a bit before gesturing them to quiet down. "Let me
be reiterate myself — while officially Hogwarts is hosting the
tournament, AID is the one who in charge of the tournament. Which
means *I* am in charge of the tournament. . . not a professor, not the
headmaster, not the seeker alliance, no one else but ME. So before we
start, everyone should get it in their minds that going behind my back to
any professor will not do any of you any good. This is an AID initiative;
as such, I make the rules. If any of you have problems, suggestions,
doubts, you come to me and not the professors; go to them, and I will
throw you out."
His eyes roamed on their entire crowd and asked them, "Understood?"
After three years of AID going into the fourth, along with the prefect title,
Quinn West was very well known in Hogwarts. Yesterday, he hosted the
first task, and now he was handling the quidditch tournament. All of that,
along with Quinn's reputation, made the Hogwarts students nod their
heads and speak their 'ayes.'
"Good," noted Quinn and then smiled, "With that, the serious stuff is over,
and it's time to get to the fun part, so cheer up, will you?"
"Let's get started with some details about the tournament," he continued,
"First of all, this tournament will have ten teams — each team will be a
mix of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang students. . . you can't
have more than three students from the same in each team. . ." there was
almost instantaneous opposition from the crowd, ". . . I told you guys that
I'm in charge, so I can't and won't change the team template. You guys
won't be seeing house teams this year, so buckle up to find new teams to
support."
"The ten participating teams will be playing in a double-elimination
tournament — essentially, for a team to be eliminated out of the
tournament, they would have to lose twice, meaning that every team
would have a second chance," explained Quinn. "If we add all the
matches up, that will be a total of eighteen games — nineteen if a team is
able to get to the finals undefeated; then they will get another chance
after losing the finals. . . highly competitive and extremely fun."
Someone in the crowd raised their hand.
"Yes, Ms. McLain?" asked Quinn to the girl in yellow trims.
"Who decides the teams? Is it you?" said the Hufflepuff girl.
"No," answered Quinn, "I chose the captains; the captains will build their
own teams. In total, seventy students will be participating in the
tournament."
"Who are the captain?" asked someone else.
"Now, now, don't be impatient, people," beamed Quinn, "I'll now
announce the captains."
He took out a scroll of parchment from his robes and rolled it open for
effect; there was nothing on the parchment excepting a single word,
'PROP.'
"The first captain is my fellow Ravenclaw, the suavely handsome prefect
with a mind of fox, give it up for the current Ravenclaw captain, ROGER
DAVIES," said Quinn and clapped, prompting everyone to clap as Roger
came sliding out of the crowd. He chest bumped a couple of Ravenclaw
quidditch blokes before dancing his way to the front. Roger climbed up
the short steps and dapped Quinn before standing to the side.
"The second captain is a brave lion, but I guess in the quidditch scene she
is more popularly known as a vixen of Gryffindor; I present to you, the
leader of Gryffindor quidditch team, ANGELINA JOHNSON." The dark-
skinned, athletic girl came jogging out of the crowd and high-fived every
Gryffindor in the way. The boys roared for her, and the Weasley twins
kneeled in her, and she passed in between them, ruffling their heads. She
and Quinn exchanged a nod and wink before she took her place beside
Roger.
"The third captain is someone I personally like a lot; he has the tongue of
the viper and is famous for his trash-talking in and out of the field. Let
me invite up ADRAIN PUCEY, the Slytherin captain, the snake who has
the skill to back it all up." There were some boos from Gryffindor's side,
but Adrain remained unfazed as he strolled out of the crowd and stuck
out his long tongue out to every Gryffindor and gestured his hands
towards his crotch, asking them to suck it. He and Quinn exchanged a
simple glance with each other before he stood beside Angelina, who
wanted to move away, but Adrain shamelessly stuck close to her.
"The fourth captain, as you might've guessed, is also a captain — the
Hufflepuff captain, to be precise. We all know who I'm talking about,"
grinned Quinn as everybody chanted the fourth captain's name, "One of
the newly minted seeker alliance, the champion of Hufflepuff and
Hogwarts, the school heartthrob, CEDRIC DIGGORY." Cedric appeared
out of the crowd with his hand up and head slightly leaned down with a
smile on his face. The champion didn't hurry and interacted with as many
as he could before he reached Quinn, who squatted down to shake his
hands. The fourth captain jogged and joined the selected ones by Adrian's
side.
"These were the four house captains who gained captain positions in the
tournament. Now let's move on to the next batch of captains," said Quinn
once again, unfurling the scroll.
"She is the epitome of what people think of when hearing the word
quidditch gal, one who fits in with both the guys and gals. Known in her
school to be a mean seeker, a highly scouted prospect with eyes of the
eagle and mind like a steel trap, I introduce to you the Durmstrang red
bullet, KARI HAUGEN!" Kari walked out of the crowd with confidence
and marched to the front with an attitude like she owned the entire
place. The knock of her heels only halted when she stopped beside Cedric
before giving Quinn a chin jut of recognition.
"Number six is a Frenchman, from Beauxbatons, where elegance is bred.
When you look at our next captain, one word pops up in your mind, and
that's a gentleman. But don't get deceived by his posh and polite looks; he
is known to send a buldger towards his opponents with the same smile on
his face; I welcome up here, as called by his schoolmates, the vicious
bastard, ALBERT ACY!" A boy that looked in his late teens stepped out of
the crowd, dressed in such impeccable fashion that he could even give
Quinn a competition. As described, he wore a polite smile on his face as
he head-bowed to the people multiple times before he could reach Quinn,
where both boys shook hands. He walked to beside Kari and tried to
initiate a conversation with her, but the Russian simply nodded to
anything and everything Albert threw at her.
"For number seven, we remain in France and choose another one from
Beauxbatons. He might be one of the most polite and good guys I've ever
met; he was so nice that I gave him a 50% discount for all AID services.
But when he is on the field, he defends the goals so well as a goalie that
the opposing chasers regularly think of rage-quitting the game. I take this
golden opportunity to call upon GAEL DUPONT!" A tall late-teen with
equally long limbs walked out of the Beauxbatons camp and waved his
hands to everyone. Gael climbed up the ascending blocks to hug Quinn
before joining his fellow captains. Everyone liked that.
"Now, number eight is someone I thought I wouldn't be able to get to
participate, but to my surprise, he was more than happy and enthusiastic
to participate. Once in a generational talent who has already represented
his country at the international level, give it up for another member of
the seeker alliance, VICTOR KRUM!" Victor Krum wasn't one to indulge
in fanfare. He simply walked to the front, looking straight ahead. He
nodded to Quinn and then just as silently walked to the captains' lines.
Despite that plane/boring nothing, Krum got the most applause from the
student crowd.
"Now, I wanted to involve you guys in the captain selection process, so I
decided that the final two captains will be selected in front of you guys,"
said Quinn, and once again, there were 'woohoo' calls.
He took out a shrunk-down glass globe from his robes before expanding
it into a glass bowl with a lot of slips inside, "The names here were
carefully curated by me from Hogwarts students. And to ensure there is
no cheating involved, a neutral party will be picking out the name. . .
And for that, I would like to call upon the very lovely, superbly talented,
and the person who trumped over the entire seeker alliance, make some
noise for the champion-in-lead, FLEUR DELACOUR!"
The light, without the influence of any external magic of any sort,
seemed to bend to put a spotlight on Fleur as she walked towards the
front while waving her hand like a Miss Universe candidate. It was like
she was destiny's favorite child, and the world itself was supporting her.
Gone was the powerful magical who had taken down a dragon; right
now, the Veela was all about glamor and beauty; she could make even
the top models feel conscious.
Quinn stepped down from his ascended marble blocks and released the
magic. He walked down the steps, and when Fleur reached the base, he
took her hands in his and escorted her up the stairs like a perfect
gentleman.
"Ms. Delacour —"
"Quinn, the way you address me makes us sound distant; please call me
Fleur," the Veela smiled so brightly that the people standing in front
clutched their chests.
". . . I see. I understand. . . Fleur."
Quinn and Fleur both had cast Sonorus on themselves to amplify their
voices. As such, everyone heard the sweet voice of Fleur and Quinn's
response. The boys in the crowd instantly glared at Quinn from all
directions, while the girls looked jealous of the creature named Fleur
Delacour.
"Ah, he switched," said a certain bubbly brunette wearing green trims.
There were a couple of people in the crowd who both knowingly and
unknowingly didn't like when Quinn switched from Ms. Delacour to
Fleur. One knew the reason, while the other seemed clueless about the
displeasure.
"So, Fleur," restarted Quinn, "What do you think of our eight captains? At
first glance, who is your favorite. Who do you think will be able to build
the best team — the team that will take home the cup."
Fleur glanced over at the captains. "I think Acy and Dupont will be able
to build the best teams here. Though if I had to choose one, I will give
Acy an edge on team building; Dupont might be better a goalie than Acy
is a Beater, but Acy has better leadership skills. . . so, yeah, I think Acy
would be able to make the best team."
"Giving Beauxbatons a definite and undisclosed edge, eh, Fleur," smiled
Quinn, "You didn't even give the others a chance."
"What can I say; I'm that type of girl," she said, making eye contact with
Quinn.
". . . I see, well, fortunately, the names in this bowl are all Hogwarts
students, and you won't be able to favor your school here," said Quinn
moving the glass bowl near Fleur, "please choose two names from the
bowl so that we could get our final two chapters."
Fleur gracefully inserted her dainty and fair hand into the glass bowl and
took out two randoms folded slips with her pretty fingers. She showed
both slips to the crowd and got cheers in return.
"Please open one of them and tell us who is the lucky number nine."
Fleur opened one of the slips and read the name out loud, "Alicia
Spinnet."
"Oh, now isn't this an exciting development," said Quinn and looked at
the crowd, spotting Alicia, "Ms. Spinnet is the part of Gryffindor Vixens
along with Ms. Johnson. I was sure that Ms. Johnson would ask her
teammate out to join her team, but if Ms. Spinnet becomes a captain, that
pairing wouldn't be possible. . . so Ms. Spinnet, what's your decision."
Alicia looked at Quinn and then at Angelina. She took a dozen seconds
before she spoke up, "I accept!"
"You do?" smiled Quinn. "May I know the reason behind that decision?"
"I get to play with Angelina every year, but this year, I get to play against
her — that sounds exciting," she smiled, "I can do something that
wouldn't be possible normally, so why not take this opportunity and see
where it goes and hopefully have some fun along the way."
Angelina sighed, but her expression showed that she had accepted the
reason.
"That's the spirit, Ms. Spinnet," beamed Quinn, "I love your reasoning.
This is what it's all about! Having fun! Come on up and join the
champions. Make some noise for ALICIA SPINNET, the ninth!"
There were cheers and applause for Alicia as she joined the captains and
entered the line in between to stand beside Angelina.
"Fleur, let's find out who's the next," said Quinn, "Who is the second
person blessed by your luck touch."
"Oh Quinn, you and your flattery," smiled Fleur.
The people in the crowd grumbled, seeing the two having fun while they
stood watching.
"Let's see. . . the tenth captain candidate is Lucian Bole."
Quinn turned to the crowd and saw that the crowd lost its energy when
the name was announced. . . Lucian Bole wasn't a well-liked person, to
say the least. He played dirty to the limit and was hated by both the
Hogwarts players and the viewers. He had been forced off the team by
Adrian because while Adrian was fine with rough, he wasn't on board
with dirty play.
"Mr. Bole," called out Quinn. He wasn't bothered by the reputation.
Lucian Bole knew how to play and was suited to lead a team. 'Also, a
dirty team always adds that dash of spice in the mix.'
"Do you accept the captain position, or would you like to sit out to
prepare for your NEWTs?" asked Quinn, seeing that Lucian was a
seventh-year student.
Lucian grinned evilly and stepped out of the Slytherin camp, "I'll
participate. . . it sounds fun." But unlike Alicia, his version didn't appeal
to no one except a select few.
"Excellent, come on up, people give it for LUCIAN BOLE, the tenth and
final captain!" But except the Slytherin house, who remained united
outside their common room walls, no one clapped.
"Well, now we're done with the captain selection, from tomorrow
onwards, the team selection will begin. I'll talk to the captains after this
regarding the team selection criteria, and you all will also be made aware
of the team template tomorrow via bulletin board all across Hogwarts."
Quinn grinned and raised his fake wands towards the ceiling.
Ten bright spots appeared in the sky, and next to each spot was the
image and name of the captain.
"The Tri-school quidditch has officially begun people, let's make it
something that hasn't been ever seen before."
The floating candles suddenly went out, leaving the room in the dark,
causing everyone to shout like children do when going through tunnels.
But the bustle got louder when the hologram of ten captains exploded
into colorful fireworks, illuminating the room in its brilliance.
Quinn's largest project had finally been launched.
.
Quinn West - MC - I decided the rules and on one else.
Seeker Alliance - Krum, Diggory, and Potter - First of all not real. Second,
what did we do?!
Fleur Delacour - Leading champion - Has moved to first name basis with
Quinn.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
161. Chapter 161: Independent
Contractors
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
a donation and get chapters earlier than usual as a bonus.
Link in the Bio/Profile
Two girls stood outside the AID office; both looked nervous about
stepping inside. Both had gone to grab the doorknob just to back off at
the last second.
"What do you think he called us for?" asked one girl.
"I don't know!" replied the other, sounding a little snippy, "If I knew why
he called us, I wouldn't be pulling my hair out here."
The first girl sighed and leaned against the wall. "That girl Luna. . . she
just handed us the letter and then skipped. She could've told us
something."
"Yes, even that letter was just an invitation," though it felt like summons,
"the reason wasn't given inside."
"Do you think we did something that he didn't like?"
"I-I hope not. You know what they say about the older students who got
called in by him. They —"
The second girl cut her off. "Yes, yes, I know what they say. You don't
have to repeat it. I prefer not to think about it."
"I-I think we should leave," suggested the first girl, "we can talk to Cedric;
he might be able to help us out."
". . . Yeah, that isn't a bad idea," nodded the second, "we should leave and
return with Cedric or just send Cedric to see what he wants to talk
about."
The girls reached a conclusion and nodded. They straightened themselves
up and were about to leave when the door opened and stood there
sighing was Quinn West.
"I've been waiting for you two to enter for ten minutes. How can you two
spend so much time out here doing nothing — I'm assuming you were
doing nothing. Step inside, I have a lot of work to do, and you aren't
doing me any favors standing outside."
Quinn turned and walking back inside the office.
The two girls looked at each other with expressions of worry. They were
just about to leave. They should've gone quicker, thought both of them.
With no choice remaining, they entered the office, closing it behind
them.
"First of all, you have no reason to be scared or anxious," started Quinn as
all three sat down, "You aren't here because you made a mistake or
anything — someday, I'm going to get the guys who're spreading
misinformation about me."
'You're the one who is doing it by calling older students left and right like
they mean nothing,' thought the first girl.
"I'm not that bad," said Quinn smiling at the first girl.
"Huh?" uttered the girl, confused. 'Did I speak that out loud,' she thought.
But no, she didn't say her thoughts out loud.
Quinn's smile grew a tad bit wider before he clapped his hands once.
"Now, we're already working a few minutes behind my schedule, so I
would like to move on immediately."
He gazed at the two girls, one brunette and the other a strawberry
blonde.
"Ms. Bones and Ms. Abbot," he addressed them, "I've actually called you
two here because I'm in need of assistance. I have a lot of things to do for
the quidditch tournament, and as such, there are some things that I
simply can't devote. Unfortunately for me, those unattended tasks can't
be ignored, so to combat my little problem, I've called upon both of you
to inquire if you would be willing to help me."
The Hufflepuff girls' first reaction was to exhale a sigh of relief. They
weren't called here because of something that displeased Quinn —
hearing that had lifted the stone off their chest.
"What are these tasks that you talk about?" asked Susan Bones, the
strawberry blonde and a fourth-year Hufflepuff.
On her side, Hannah Abbot, the brunette, a fellow fourth-year Hufflepuff,
raised the same question.
"The upcoming quidditch tournament is going to be held at a much larger
scale than our typical quidditch tournament. There will be a lot of fanfare
around the tournament — seeing that AID has decided to sell
tournament-exclusive merchandise to anyone who would like to buy
them."
"What kind of . . . merchandise, was it? What kind of merchandise?"
asked Hannah.
"Ah yes, I guess showing some samples would be clearer for everyone,"
said Quinn nodding in agreement. He pulled out two objects from his
pockets and placed them on his desk.
"These are?" muttered Susan picking up an object; Hannah did the same.
As Hannah stared and studied the object in her hands, she questioned, "Is
this Cedric?"
In her hands was a small figurine of Cedric Diggory, decked out in
Hufflepuff quidditch gear, flying on the broom, which wasn't connected
to the circular base and suspended in the air with magic. Similarly, Susan
held Victor Krum's quidditch action figure. This one wore Bulgarian
national quidditch team and rode a Firebolt, chasing a miniature golden
snitch.
Both action figures were enchanted with the animation charms. Cedric's
robes and hair fluttered as his broom moved above the circular base.
Similarly, Krum's figurine chased a tiny golden snitch, and when he
caught it, the figurine celebrated.
"There will be many more things like team-specific lapel badges, banners,
flags, hats, jumpers, and player cards when the final teams get decided,"
said Quinn listing things that he was planning to sell. "I'm planning to sell
all of these among other things at the games, and I need your help
regarding this — only if you're willing, that is."
"You don't want us to make these, do you?" asked Hannah.
Transfiguration wasn't her strong suit.
"Oh no," came the reply immediately. "Of course not. There will be too
many of each object for a student to complete with their timetables. I will
be making some of these things myself —," his efficiency-aspect
occlumency was coming along splendidly, enabling him to multitask
production tasks, "— the rest I've already outsourced to professional
businesses."
"Then?" asked Susan.
"I want you to be in charge of sales," said Quinn, "I don't have the time to
man the sales of these merchandises; as such, I want you two to take care
of it, and of course — I will provide you with appropriate compensation.
What do you say?"
Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot were well-established Hufflepuffs, and
the duo ran in many circles — social butterflies if one were to attach a
word to it. Quinn had judged them to be his first choice for his sales team
— well, he wanted to hire the girls who handled the sales for his
Lockhart merchandise, but they had already graduated.
"Let's say if we take the job," asked Susan Bones, the niece of Head of
DMLE Amelia Bones, "Do you think we will be able to handle it? I'm not
sure if Hannah and I are. . . prepared for this. We haven't sold anything
before."
"You don't have to worry about that," smiled Quinn, "there is a first time
for everything. And I don't want to brag, but I'm really good at sales,
terrific even. A crash course from me is all you need to get started. Also,
it's not like I'll be leaving you, leaving you alone without supervision —
no, I'll be there to help, but you two will be handling most of the stuff."
The best friends looked at each other and communicated with their
gesture skills which bordered on telepathy. Quinn watched them with a
smile, confident that they would accept.
"What is the compensation that you talked about?"
Quinn grinned. It was time for their first lesson. He was going to sell the
job to them.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Hiring a sales team wasn't enough. Quinn had more departments he
wanted help in, and it was high time he got to hire more people. So he
got to it and started with people close to him that he trusted.
"You know what, we haven't sat down like this and talked in such a long
time," he started with a smile, "what happened? It's like you two have
gotten so busy to make time for us."
Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis sat in front of his desk; both girls
sported deadpan expressions, not feeling Quinn's amusement.
"Would you like to reframe that sentence?" asked Daphne.
Quinn awkwardly chuckled. He knew that he had once again messed up
his work-life balance.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he spoke, "I got caught up in work, got busy, and
wasn't able to hang out."
"And?" asked Tracey, raising her chin slightly.
". . . you warned me that this would happen," muttered Quinn, looking at
them with his chin down and upturned eyes.
"Yes, we did, and what did you say?"
Quinn mumbled something that the girls missed.
"Pardon, I didn't catch that," said the blonde.
". . . that you were worrying about nothing it won't happen," replied the
boy, lightly pursing his lips.
"And here we are," said the bubbly brunette smugly.
Quinn twidled his thumb over his desk as the three sat in momentary
silence before Quinn spoke up.
"Well, you know the saying —"
But Daphne cut him off with, "We will help you."
"Eh?" uttered Quinn with a loss of words.
"You called us because you wanted help, did you not?" she asked.
"Yeah, I did, but how did you—"
Again he was cut, this time by Tracey, "Just like you, we have our
means."
Quinn's mind turned into a wide 'O' as he stared at the girls, moving his
eyes from one to the other.
It took him a couple of seconds before he realized what he was doing.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat and spoke in a voice a tad bit deeper than
usual, "well, that saves me time from convincing. Thank you, I really
need all the time I can get."
"Uh-huh, so what do you want us to help you with," grinned Tracey; the
brunette was back to her bubbly mode.
"Did you two see the construction going by the quidditch stadium?" asked
Quinn.
The girls nodded.
"Do you know why?" When they shook their heads, he continued, "This
year, the students wouldn't be the only ones to see the games. . . This
year! The quidditch tournament is open to the people outside. Anyone
with a ticket would be able to see the tournament. Of course, every
student will get a guaranteed seat, irrespective of attending or not. Only
the remaining seats will be sold to outsiders."
"I need someone to corroborate the tickets and seats," he then pointed,
"Tracey, I want you to help me that."
Tracey tilted her head in confusion. "I'm confused; what do I need to do?"
"Don't worry, it's a desk job. You just need to authorize tickets and mail
them to the buyers. Any ticket that isn't authorized by you will be
deemed fraudulent. The only maybe tough part will be that the job will
get repetitive, and you'll have to keep extensive records."
"I see. . . I still don't understand, but I'll do it."
"No worries about that. I'll give you a rundown of the entire process and
will be there with you every step of the way."
Tracey gave a thumbs-up, so Quinn moved on to Daphne.
"Daphne, you will be handling communications with the team," said
Quinn. "Any and all communication with the teams will go through you.
They won't come to me but to you. You'll answer their questions and
solve any problems they have. When you come along with a problem that
you can't solve, you'll come to me. You'll also keep me up to date with
what's happening with the teams; everything from recruitment to logo,
name, and jersey creation, you'll update me every day."
Daphne and Tracey both stared at Quinn. . . They were confused. One job
didn't involve interaction with other people, but the other was primarily
a communication-heavy duty. They were okay with the nature tasks, but.
. .
"Quinn. . . are you sure you don't want to switch our tasks," asked
Daphne, "Tracey will be better for this one. Are you sure you aren't
making a mistake?"
Tracey nodded; she also thought that Daphne would be better at the
ticket task. From what she understood, it was a task that required
attention to detail and precision; it was right up Daphne's alley.
Quinn tilted his head. "Why?"
His expression, more than his words, caused the girls to be at a loss of
words. There was something there that they couldn't put the finger on,
but it stopped them from giving an answer.
"I want Tracey at tickets and Daphne with the teams," he said in a neutral
tone, "Are you saying that you won't be able to do this? If so, we can stop
right here."
". . . No, we can handle it," said Daphne, "Tracey will handle tickets and I
the teams."
Quinn was enlisting them because he needed help. They weren't asking
him anything in return, so he decided to pay them in a new experience.
Tracey was an extrovert who could generally get along with anyone, so
Quinn chose to put her into a position where she would've to be
meticulous, something Tracey wasn't that good at. On the other hand,
while she didn't have problems with communication, Daphne liked to
remain in a small circle of friends, so Quinn put her into a position that
would actively have her talk to other people.
In that way, he hoped that both would be comfortable outside their own
comfort zone by the end of the year.
"Good to hear that," smiled Quinn.
"So, how are you going to pay us?" asked Tracey.
It seems Quinn was wrong; they were asking for something in return.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Never thought that we would be called here by you —"
"— and that too because you want our help."
" "Now, that's a surprise!" "
Quinn watched as another duo sat in his office. This duo, unlike others,
was in sync.
"It shouldn't be that much of a surprise," said Quinn, "In the years of our
correspondence, you guys know that I have come to . . . like you two."
The Weasley twins laughed. " "We too like you." "
"I'm glad to hear that," smiled Quinn.
"So, what do you need from us," asked George Weasley, and Fred Weasley
continued, "do tell because it really makes us wonder."
"The quidditch tournament, are you guys taking part?" asked Quinn.
" "We are." "
"Oh, have you guys decided on teams?"
"Yes, Gryffindor team is already divided —" "— we're going with
Angelina —" "— while Harry and Katie are playing with Alicia."
"Any progress with the non-Gryffindor part of the teams?" asked Quinn.
" "Not yet." "
"Alright, then. Let's get to why I've called you here," said Quinn, "I think
you both are going to enjoy with very much. It falls right up your alley."
The Wesley twins smiled. They have known Quinn for a while. Their
correspondence had reached a point that seventy percent of items on
Filch's list were made under the West-Weasley collaboration. The
Weasleys designed their items from scratch: design, constructions, spells,
and constructed prototypes. When they were satisfied with their
creations, they would pass it onto Quinn, who would give it a look over
and optimize to create the final item.
The Weasley got their items while Quinn got to use his magic knowledge,
and from time-to-time get inspiration.
" "Tell us." "
"Gambling."
A single word from Quinn made the twins lead forward. " "You've got our
attention" "
"Great. Every tournament has some sort of betting going on. Our regular
Hogwarts tournaments also have it going. Students from all years of all
houses. This year isn't going to be any different — no, it's going to be
different, the bets will be on a different level this time. There are more
teams, more games, more things to bet about and. . . a lot more money to
be made."
"That's true —" "— we thought about it too —" "— what're you thinking
about?"
"I want to keep all of the bettings under one umbrella — under my
umbrella," said Quinn, "centralize the entire thing, create a framework
that will eliminate the need of side betting."
"An ambitious project—" "— we didn't expect any less from you."
"But if I want to make this a reality, I will need promotion and
enforcement," he continued, "I can provide great odds to eliminate any
and all competition. But if we want to make it a regular operation that
runs throughout the tournament, I need people who will work the field."
Quinn pointed at the twins and smiled, "And who better than you two. So
I would like you two to work with me to set up the betting scene for the
quidditch tournament."
"Hmm. . . let's just say if we join you —" "— what will we get in return
—" "— because while this sounds mad exciting, it's also a lot of work."
"Hmm, as expected, I was right to choose you two," beamed Quinn, "I will
give you something that both of you are seeking. . . I will invest in the
joke shop you both are planning."
" ". . . How do you know 'bout that?!" "
Quinn gave them a silent look and gesticulated to them with a smile.
"Yeah, that was a redundant question to ask —" "— but are you serious
because this is serious for us."
"I'm serious; very serious. Work with me, and I will invest all the money
you'll ever need to set up the shop. The amount of capital I will give you
will depend on the performance you show me. Do good, and you'll have
enough resources to let those ideas of yours come to life."
"So what do you say," asked Quinn.
The twins didn't even look at each other as smiles split their faces.
" "We agree!" "
Quinn interlocked his fingers and nodded, "Merry cooperation, lads."
.
Quinn West - MC - Gathering independent contractors.
Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot - Independent Contracts (#1) & (#2) -
Sales.
Daphne Greengrass - Independent Contracts (#3) - HR.
Tracey Davis - Independent Contracts (#4) - Logistics.
Weasley Twins - Independent Contracts (#5) - Entrepreneurs.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
162. Chapter 162: Wonders of
Body Magic
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
a donation and get chapters earlier than usual as a bonus.
Link in the Bio/Profile
A shadow rushed between two Forbidden Forest trees, cruising through
the forest, zig-zagging among the trees. The figure seemed to know its
way around the woods as they sprinted through the woodlands without
losing much speed while twisting, turning, and jumping through any
obstacle that presented itself in the path.
"This! Feels! Great!"
Quinn didn't know his way around the Forbidden Forest woodland; sure,
somewhere in his mind, he had the layout of trees he had seen
memorized, but Quinn never accessed or immersed those memories; it
was inefficient for him to do so.
So how could he move through a densely packed forest with plenty of
short-range altitude obstacles? The answer was pure athleticism — an
elevated level of athleticism enabled by the use of body magic.
"These enhancements are mad!" he grinned as he spun to the side to
avoid a tree, and then without missing a beat, he kept running.
Quinn was a fifteen-year-old with an above-average base physique
granted to him by genetics. He exercised regularly without fail and took
care of his body; as such, Quinn was the most physically fit among his
weight class. His jogging speed was higher than others' sprinting speed.
And currently, that person was accessing ninety percent of his total
physical capability.
He kept running, running, and running. Quinn didn't stop, which was
unusual as he couldn't keep running for this long, even at his ninety
percent.
The answer was once again body magic.
There were two different ways a user could improve their body magic
skills.
First, they could increase their percentage accessible throughout the
board and enhance every category simultaneously. Quinn had employed
this method to get himself access to ninety percent of his physical
capabilities. But that was it — ninety percent was Quinn's limit; he
couldn't push it above ninety as his magic failed due to instability. He
didn't have the skill to bring his body above ninety percent.
He had reached a cap — a cap that restricted his progress, and Quinn
didn't like his progress to be hindered, so he set on looking for ways to
kickstart his progress so that he could continue to grow.
And from that came the second method.
Body magic was divided into five broad categories: Speed, Strength,
Endurance, Durability, and Reflexes.
For Quinn to reach ninety percent, he had to access ninety percent in all
five categories. He had done that and thus had reached his current limit,
and that's where the second method kicked in — if he couldn't pull all
five at the same time, how about tackling the five categories one at a
time. One was much easier than five. Quinn didn't have to corroborate
five different sets of magic and only work with one-fifth load — that was
something he could work with.
Thus he started working using the second method. According to the
instructions, he targeted one of five — Endurance: the ability to sustain
the prolonged physical effort.
The start was slow: the first step along the way was to push his natural
endurance above the ninety percent he had complete control over. The
last ten percent was a tricky block to cross; his human body showed
resistance against his wishes. The limit that could be achieved by pure
physical exercise was eighty percent, with the last twenty percent
reserved for life-and-death situations. Quinn had already encroached half
of that reserve, and his body wanted to keep the remaining for its
original purpose — for emergencies.
To perform any magic, the user needed to believe that what they were
doing worked — During his occlumency shields build, he had believed
that his hexagon design would be solid and stable. While understanding
took care of the actual functionality behind the magic, it was imagination
that took shape to that functionality.
So it was a slight problem when his physical instincts "believed" that the
last ten percent of his physical capabilities wasn't there at all, that there
wasn't anything to access, and Quinn was already working with hundred
percent. Talk about a wrench in his plans. It took Quinn a lot of time and
effort before he could override that physical instinct that limited him.
He did them all while channelling magic, trying different ways to mold
magic to gain desired effects by running, shovelling ground, boxing, and
whatnot. The result was access to one hundred percent of his stamina. He
could keep doing things longer, much longer than his non-magical-base
sixty percent.
Now, as Quinn ran, he passed the cautious acromantula infested area, the
troll clearing, and kept running. Soon he reached yet another clear area
— it was dark as the surroundings' canopy was so outreaching that they
covered the sky above the clearing.
"Finally," said Quinn, leaning forward as his hands on his thighs
supported his body. "Oh boy, didn't think maintaining a hundred and
twenty percent of stamina would require that much control."
No matter how hard Quinn trained, he couldn't keep running at speeds
closer to sprinting than jogging for a dozen minutes. To achieve that, he
needed to surpass the natural hundred percent limit and enter the realm
of magical augmentation.
"As expected," he mused, "I can only augment my stamina by thirty points
over the all-around ninety percent. Anything above that will collapse the
magic."
As the name suggested, body magic was magic and thus supernatural. It
allowed Quinn to go above hundred percent and enter levels not
achievable by his body. To achieve it, instead of his body, his magic
covered anything above a hundred.
Currently, he could only make his magic cover thirty points on his
muscular endurance and cardiovascular endurance (ability to transport
oxygen throughout the body).
"Yeah, this was the right decision," affirmed Quinn, standing up straight,
"Going with augmentation rather than hundred across the board. This
will be a better fit for me."
When Quinn reached the ninety percent block, he was presented with
two choices. The first was to get every individual stat to a hundred and
then learn to manage all five on a hundred percent before entering the
field on augmentation. The second choice was to get one stat to a
hundred and then learn to artificially (magically) augment and repeating
that with every stat before moving on to merging them to push his entire
physical above its full capabilities.
Both were equally apt, but Quinn went with the second as he thought if
he learned to augment, it would be easier to grasp how to merge and
manage all five when he learned it.
"Alright, then, let's move on," said Quinn, ending his body magic
thoughts, "now, where am I. . ."
He looked around, and there wasn't much to see except for a tree-free
area surrounded by many trees.
"Well, let's move on, I guess."
He took in a deep breath and checked how long his body could take
getting its endurance augmented; body magic had its limits — out of the
one hundred and twenty percent that he was pulling, a hundred was his
body's natural endurance, and the magic would stop if he went lower
than a certain point.
"Hmm. . . without a rest, I can go another fifteen minutes," he
formulated. "Let's go —"
Suddenly, Quinn felt someone was staring towards him. His attention to
his surroundings peaked, and he looked around to see what had triggered
his senses. His dark vision eyes peeled through the darkness.
"Found it," he whispered. It was very faint, but Quinn caught it among
the tall grass and bushes present on the base of trees.
He slid his hand from left to right for an arc of water to manifest in the
air. He snapped his fingers for the water arc to become razer thin and cut
through the air towards the one who was watching him. The razer sharp
water cut through the tall grass and bushes, but there was no one there.
"Hiding behind the tree, huh."
Magic concentrated in front of him as Quinn cast a potent piercing spell;
he was going to nail the offender by going through the tree. But just as
he was about to unleash the attack when he heard a growl behind him.
Immediately, Quinn raised his left hand behind him and initiated a spell
that could disintegrate flesh and bones on contact while holding the
piercing spell in his right.
He looked back, and his eyes weren't already diluted; they would've
diluted to their fullest as ten feet away from Quinn stood a wolf, and
Quinn could immediately tell that this wolf was of a magical species as
even while on four legs, the wolf's height came to his chest.
Quinn heard a rustle where he was about to shoot the piercing spell, and
he turned his head just enough to see another gigantic wolf walk out into
the clearing.
"Why do you invade our land?"
The second he heard the words, Quinn's eyes widened, and he
immediately cut the supply of magic to his spells and instead charged a
brand new spell and shot it towards the wolf closer to him.
The aurora blue spell hit the wolf right in the face, and Quinn watched in
anticipation to see the effects, but nothing came. The wolf, other than
being startled, stood there unaffected.
"Huh? why didn't it —"
Quinn didn't have time to finish his sentence as he heard a roar from the
second wolf behind him. He turned to see the enormous wolf charging
towards him with a snarl. The sight of the giant wolf was scary, and
Quinn didn't want the wolf anywhere near him.
He tapped his foot on the ground once, and his magic responded as metal
chains with cuffs shot out of the earth and snapped around the running
wolf's ankles. The wolf's speed was so high that it didn't get time to stop
in time, and the chains became taut, pulling all four of its legs, causing it
to slam onto the ground.
Quinn didn't have time to celebrate. He turned back and saw that the first
startled wolf had recovered and had just pushed the ground to charge
Quinn. He breathed out, and a large strip of earth between them froze
over. And from the layer of ice covering the ground, dozens of big gnarly
spikes shot out with crunching and crinkling noise.
The wolf didn't seem bothered as it continued to charge, and the moment
its front paws came one step within the iced region, the wolf planted its
feet before taking a might leap.
"Oh, shiiit!" uttered Quinn, his eyes wide as he saw the wolf's feral face
and sharp bite coming towards him.
He raised both of his to the front of him and cast. The air in front of his
hands seemed to thrum in power as a circular ring distorted in front of
Quinn.
「Viking's Charge」
It was a spell Quinn had learned from the Nordic book of Vikings he got
from Denmark. It took him a lot of time to translate Younger Furthak for
this spell into English to finally get the information on the spell's
working.
The circular air ring shot the wolf and pushed him back like the wolf's
frame did nothing. The wolf went flying back and yelped when it hit the
ground. With the force it was shot, the wolf rolled on the ground and
skid in an effort to stop himself, but the task was arduous as it took a lot
of effort to get back on its feet.
But once again, didn't have time to gain with this one as the second wolf
had freed itself from Quinn's chains and was already inbound for Quinn.
It ran straight at Quinn with a feral shine in her eyes.
"So fast!" commented Quinn. He pulled his hand back before fully
pushing the hand solid. And the magic seemed to be in sync as a thick
pillar of ground projectile along with a feral for growl.
It was an instant for the wolf; the pillar shot out of the ground and hit it
in the jaw. A painful yelp sounded out as the wolf rolled backward from
the force.
"Stop!" yelled Quinn, raising his hands towards each wolf, "Let's talk!"
The wolf, which had been blasted in the face with the Viking's Charge,
snarled at the hooded and masked human in front of him. "You attacked
first, human! Why stop now? I won't stop till I get your neck in my jaws!"
"I apologize; I was startled," said Quinn, his voice distorted. He wanted
the fight to stop because of his initial spell failure.
The wolf, who had been hit in the face with a pillar, finally got up, and
this spoke in a female voice, "Let's see what the human has to say."
The male wolf snarled indignantly before walking over to the female wolf
while keeping a vigilant eye on Quinn.
"What do you want, human?" asked the she-wolf.
Quinn stared at the two gigantic wolves, and he couldn't believe that they
were standing in front of him.
"You two aren't Animagus."
The first spell he had shot was an Animagus cancellation spell that would
revert a magical into their human form. Quinn knew that there were no
wolves in the forest because there weren't any records of a native wolf
species, so when he heard the wolf speak up, he thought that someone
had figured out how to speak while in their animal form.
"Animagus, what's that?" asked the male wolf cautiously.
But it turned out that the records weren't true or at least incomplete.
Quinn stared at the wolves, observing the two grey wolves with curious
eyes. "Do the two of you know your ancestry?"
The two wolves' body language immediately became defensive. The
vigilance in their eyes deepened.
Quinn noticed that, and behind his mask, he smiled, "So you do know. I
can't believe that I'm seeing your kind, especially here in the Forbidden
Forest. . . Tell me, are you direct-progenies or descendants?"
"Y-You —! Human, you know about our kind?" spoke the female wolf. In
their entire lives, they were told that their kinds were scarce in number.
"I've heard about you," replied Quinn, "answer my question, or you direct
progenies or descendants?"
The two wolves exchanged glanced at each other before the female wolf
answered, "Descendants."
"Fascinating!" voiced Quinn. "Is there any difference between you and the
direct progenies?"
"We don't know. . . there hasn't been a direct in our tribe since our first
ancestors. Other than them, we all have been descendants," answered the
he-wolf. "As for the difference, it's said that they were stronger, faster,
and tougher."
"Hmm, I see, I see."
The two wolves in front of were an extraordinary breed of wolves.
It was known that werewolves couldn't pass on their Lycanthropy to their
children. As such, the only way to continue the species was to bite others.
But there was one particular case in which werewolves could create
special progenies.
If two werewolves — one male and one female. If the two werewolves
were to conceive a child on a full moon night, that child when born
wasn't a human but a pure magical wolf. A wolf breed that was bigger
than any typical wolf species and held human-like intelligence and
speech.
But this wolf species was extremely rare. The two wolves in front of him
weren't children of werewolves, but children of the wolves born from
werewolves. Which, in turn, was also rare as the breed was so rare that
chances of seeing a direct male and direct female together were itself
sparingly rare.
"How many of you are there in the forest?"
The wolves didn't answer, but Quinn didn't miss the he-wolf's glance in a
particular direction. It told him that these two weren't alone and there
were more of them.
'I see; I'll come to observe them later,' he thought, planning to get some
observational data about this very rare species.
"Well then, wolves, point me in the direction of the cursed vault, and I'll
be on my way, away from your land."
"Cursed vault? What is that?" asked she-wolf. They didn't know that term.
". . . how about cursed mines? Have you heard of that?"
"Oh, you mean the Sunken Crypt?" said the she-wolf in recognition. "It's
that way. You'll know when you see it." She said, lifting her paw to point
in some direction.
"Thank you, I'll be on my way."
"Human, are you thinking of going inside the crypt?"
"Yes, I am. Have you two gone inside?"
"No, we haven't," replied the he-wolf before he glanced at the she-wolf,
who nodded back.
The two wolves gave Quinn a stare down before they left wordlessly,
leaving only Quinn behind.
"I'm inquisitive about their culture and civilization; I wonder how it
would be different and regular wolves," muttered Quinn before moving
on to the pointed direction.
"I'll know when I see it, huh, let's see what's all this about."
With that, Quinn had moved one step towards the fourth vault.
.
Quinn West - MC - STAMINAAA!
Forbidden Forest Wolves - Pure Werewolf's Progenies - Wolves ~ By
Selina Gomez.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
163. Chapter 163: Altar,
Beelzebub's Crawlers
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Meeting the Forbidden Forest wolves was an unexpected yet inviting
experience. He didn't think that he would chance upon an extremely rare
species, and now that Quinn knew about their existence, he had made a
note about observing them — he wasn't a big fan of magizoology and
"alive" creatures, but with a species so rare, Quinn wasn't going to let his
likes and dislikes color his judgment.
"The wolves pointed towards East," he recalled and used a point me
charm (east-direction version) to set himself a direction to trek in.
Quinn sighed as he jogged East; the scenery had returned to the
continuous gray dullness with the wolves gone. The bleakness was
starting to get on his nerves because of the sheer monotony. He
concentrated on the ground, running, jumping, sliding over overgrow
vines, exposed roots, and fallen tree trunks. Quinn's feet moved according
to his will, and the rhythm and sound of his steps against fallen, dry
leaves dulled the boredom.
But it seemed he was bored for nothing. He skipped over an old, fallen
trunk log, and as his feet off the ground, his vision caught something.
Rustle, rustle; he looked at the ground ahead of him and the small spread
of dry leaves parted, and from within, came launching out a bottle guard-
sized leech with a hole full of pointy for a mouth; its gross and slimy
wiggled in waves as it flew towards him.
Quinn's expression immediately turned into one of disgust and irritation.
He should have known better to jinx the peace, and now he had to face
these.
He took in a deep breath and exhaled a white mist straight onto the
leech, freezing it inside a thin sheet of ice. The momentum of leech
carried it over, and Quinn caught the ice-covered worm in his hand
before mercilessly turning it into a meat patty by crushing its entire body
inside the ice.
His feet finally touched the ground, and at that very moment, a gust of
wind pushed every leaf up and away, revealing an infestation of big
leeches lying on the ground.
'Bloody knew it!' he thought. "Blood-sucking bugbears."
As the name suggested, the leeches sucked blood, and Quinn hated them
with a passion. He had been bitten by them once; it was during his
surveillance over the forest trolls that one bit Quinn's arm, and within
five seconds, Quinn felt like he had lost most of the blood in his arm. The
leeches could suck in blood like a thirsty person in desert water. That day
itself, Quinn had found that the leeches worked with teamwork.
The moment Quinn's other foot planted itself on the ground, the still
leeches came to life, and at once, every one of them jumped up from the
floor towards Quinn. In retaliation and defense, Quinn pulled up the
same shield he had used against the acromantulas. The slugs met the
protection and immediately burned up.
But the semi-circular shield wasn't enough as some leeches started within
the boundary of the dome.
"Damn it!" cursed Quinn as two leeches bit through his Noir-gear onto his
feet.
He felt them sucking his blood, and unlike last time where he had tried to
pull them just to fail and had to blast them off his body, this time he
went another one. Freshly drawn blood maintained a magical connection
to the owner for a brief spell of time, and right now, Quinn could feel his
inside the leeches' body. He grinned cruelly, and immediately, his blood
inside the leeches' bodies bubbled and burned through their flesh like a
corrosive acid.
Simultaneously, both of the now-dead leeches fell down onto the ground.
Quinn then pulled down his shield and then blasted every bugbear he
laid on his eyes.
"Any more?" he asked to one in particular.
Quinn looked around and looked vigilant as an infestation of blood-
sucking bugbears meant there was a good source of blood for them, and
any source of blood inside the Forbidden Forest had a high chance of
being dangerous to him.
He silently jogged ahead, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. He
had dashed around twenty meters when he had to come to a skidding
stop.
"Haha," chuckled Quinn with a genuine smile on his face, "I forget that he
was supposed to be here."
In front of Quinn laid a Cerberus: a hound, a monstrous hound that took
so much space that it put elephants, Argog, and even the forest trolls to
shame when it came to size. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling,
mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in his direction; three
drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
"Fluffy, that's the name, right."
Fluffy, the Cerberus got up on its feet that sported sharp and long claws
on its paws. The six eyes remained fixed on Quinn as multiple guttural
growls harmonized together.
"Hoho, you look much more intimidating awake, bruv," smiled Quinn.
Fluffy's three heads barked and pounded its front paws on the dirt. The
ground shook, and the barks filled the space between the trees.
If it was someone else of this size, Quinn would have been worried, but
this was someone who Quinn knew how to handle.
Quinn built up magic into his throat before he started to whistle with a
fun smile on his face. If Fleur Delacour put a dragon to sleep, then Quinn
could put a Cerberus weak to music down to sleep with a whistle infused
with thick bewitchment sleep spell laced into the sound.
Fluffy looked confused, and all three heads shook left-to-right, flapping
their six ears. Fluffy stepped one step ahead, and in response, Quinn
moved one step back and to the right.
He continued to whistle for half a minute before Fluffy went down to his
feet, another ten seconds before he retreated into a dog sleeping posture,
and by the end of the minute, Fluffy was sleeping soundly.
"This might be the easiest thing I've done in these woods," whispered
Quinn. He didn't need to continue to whistle because of the infused,
bewitching sleep magic.
Quinn walked ahead and squatted near Fluffy's paw, and stared at the
black claws in interest. He shot cleaning spells on one nail before
touching it.
"Hmm, I wonder how tough this nail is," pondered Quinn before
shrugging and raising his arm to drop a chop charged with slicing spell
on it, putting a deep gash on it.
"Okay, this is tough enough," nodded Quinn before once again raising his
hand, and this time when he dropped a chop, the tip of the claw was
cleanly chopped off, "well, it will get tougher when I'm done with it.
Some alchemy will do the trick."
Quinn bagged the hardened keratin into his pockets before moving
further East but not before rubbing Fluffy's head.
"Sleep well, buddy. You'll be up in no time."
. . .
"The wolves messed with me, didn't they," spat Quinn, "it's been a half-
hour; where the hell is the vault?! Those mutts lied to me."
He stood deep in the Forbidden Forest with his hands on his waist,
looking around. He was so deep in that if Quinn couldn't recall his every
step, he might not have been able to get out of the dense and spanning
woods.
Quinn looked up and sighed because he couldn't see what time it was. He
took out the pocket watch he used with Noir — one of his designs, a
minimalist construct that didn't have any fancy functions and only a
printed dial with two clock-arms covering a solid and accurate
mechanism.
"It's getting late. I should —"
Quinn stared straight ahead at the ground, but he was focusing on his
peripheral vision.
"Not going to lie, but I feel embarrassed," said Quinn, slowly turning to
his left to see what he had caught. "How did I miss that? I've been
standing here for a solid half-minute."
Quinn walked forward and stopped after ten steps. He tilted his head and
stared in all directions to his front.
"A masterful work," he commented, "fascinating illusion work given the
amount of light in here. Ah, now I see, it's targetting my magic and not
sight."
Quinn clicked his tongue and scrunched his face. He didn't like that his
magic was manipulated to influence his sense. Of the many magics he
knew, Quinn considered his illusion magic to be one of the better ones.
Now seeing that he was fooled wasn't an irritating feeling.
"Is this how people feel when they are humbled?" he pondered aloud
while raising his hands. "Not a feeling I like, absolutely not a feeling I
enjoy."
He stabbed his hand forward, and it disappeared till his elbow joint.
"Definitely an illusion," he sighed, "wait. . . what am I doing playing with
it?!"
Quinn gathered his magic and proceeded to get free from the illusion.
Almost instantly, the illusion fell down for Quinn, and the sight inside
made him take a sharp breath.
The illusion was cast in a dome shape, and inside was another clearing.
A golden ray of light fell down from a hole in the canopy. A ray from
heaven dropping down to the desolate lands, illuminating it with hope.
On the ground, where the sunlight stuck, stood a square altar, bathing in
the spotlight from mother itself.
Even just this made Quinn think it was a beautiful sight, but the altar in
golden sunlight wasn't the only thing hidden under the illusion.
Around the raised altar, outside of the sunlight, in the darkness of the
dim woods, were signs of strong and vital life. One of the most charming
plants that Quinn had seen graced the land around the altar with its
stunning beauty.
They didn't have the gift of light bestowed upon them from the sun
above, so mother nature decided to give them their own light. White
flowers bloomed on the plants, and those flowers with white petals
glowed with soothing light, softly showing that not everything in the
Forbidden Forest was a shade of grey.
Quinn canceled the transfiguration on his eyes as he stepped inside to see
the scene like he was meant to see to it.
"Outside is white and gold," he repeated.
White was from the flowers, while the gold represented the golden light
irradiating the altar.
A perfect contrast of two opposites.
"I'm moved."
Quinn carefully walked forward, avoiding stepping on the glowing plants,
and made his way towards the altar. He stopped near the base of the
stairs that led up to the altar to check if there was something that would
discomfort him. . . but the area was clean. In the hidden clearing, there
was nothing other than him, the altar, and the plants.
"Good to know."
Quinn stepped on one of the four staircases — one on each side of the
square altar and started climbing. There weren't many steps in the stairs,
but the height of each step was tall enough that he couldn't see the top of
the altar till he had climbed halfway.
"Is that a hole?" noticed Quinn and hurried up the steps to reach the top,
where he saw a hole in the floor. From its looks, the hole was part of the
original design as it was perfectly round, and the tiling on the floor
complimented the gaping gap smack dab in the middle.
"What's with vaults and tunnels," said Quinn squatting down, "Sin vault
had one down to the antechamber, Aquatic vault going down to the front
cave, and now this one." He stared inside, and with the light from above,
he could see the base, and it wasn't that deep.
He stuck his hand inside and touched the walls of the tunnel going inside.
"Hmm, there are no engravings," observed Quinn, "that doesn't eliminate
the presence of some magic." He sent a beat of magic through his hand
into the walls, but nothing popped up on his radar.
"Good enough," saying that, Quinn snapped an end of Carpe Retractum's
cord of light onto the floor, and with the other end clutched in his hand,
Quinn rappelling down into the tunnel.
He wanted to start on a positive note, so — "Whoopee~!"
Squelch — The lower end of the tunnel was wet sloppy ground, and
Quinn's boots dug a couple of inches into the dirt.
"Eww," groaned Quinn, "This wasn't the start I was looking for. . . ugh."
He looked around and saw the entire floor was loose mud. Not a single
spot of solid ground to be seen.
Quinn took a step forward, but the wet mud turned into a transfigured
square of solid limestone just before his foot hit the ground, and with
every step he took forward, Quinn transfigured some earth into limestone
for him to walk on.
"Work smart, people, work smart," said Quinn chuckling at the end.
He lit up orbs of light for illumination, and finally, he could see inside
the vault: it was a long curving corridor of which Quinn couldn't see the
end. Looking above, Quinn could see roots peeking out from the top.
Quinn continued to walk forward, and soon he reached the end.
"Oh, it opened up." The narrow corridor opened up to a large room — if
it could be called that. The corridor's end was on a wall, but that opening
was nowhere near the floor nor the ceiling of the gigantic room. The
corridor end was right in the middle of the wall.
"Now, how do I get down there?" wondered Quinn aloud and peeked out.
On the other end of the room, he could see a passage on the opposite
wall, right beside the floor.
"Well, let's use my favorite way," he grinned and stepped a couple steps
back before sprinting forward and jumping from the edge and out of the
corridor. "I. Love. This!"
He joined his feet and spread his hands wide like certain hooded
individuals who followed a certain secret creed that liked to jump from
high spaces into carts of hay and never ever caught anyone's attention
while doing it.
Of course, Quinn didn't have those skills and lacked the haystack to land
in, but instead, he had magic in his corner, so when he reached the
ground, he shot out Arresto Momentum to cut all his momentum and
landed with utmost grace.
"And. . . that's how you do it."
Not wanting to waste any more time, Quinn jogged across the room
towards the passageway in the wall. And he had just reached mid-way
through the room when the ground beneath his feet broke apart and from
within came out a vine that wrapped around his foot.
Quinn stopped in his spot, faced his palm toward the vine creeping up his
leg, and immediately the vine incinerated into ashes.
"What the hell was that? It came out —"
For the second time in the same hour, Quinn couldn't complete his
sentence as the ground beneath him started to break. The same vine that
had clutched his feet began to come out the breaks.
Ten. . . thirty. . . fifty. . . soon there were around a hundred breaks in the
ground, and from every single one of them, dark moss green colored
whips of vines with thorns all over their curvature appeared and rose
above, increasing in length every second.
Quinn didn't have any words to describe his situation. He wasn't even
thinking of commenting on anything. He immediately started to back up
as the tips of vines turned towards him. The turning point of chaos was
sudden as abruptly, hundreds of vines zapped towards him, all homing
towards one target — Quinn.
Body magic coursed through his body faster than ever as he pulled all his
facilities to ninety percent with endurance (the only stat he could
augment) being augmented beyond his body's natural capabilities.
'Throw zig-zags in there, zig-zags, zig-zags,' repeated Quinn reminding
himself not to run in a straight line. A wise decision as vines behind him
stabbed places where he had been just a moment ago.
'Beelzebub's Crawlers,' he knew the identity of the vines from taking one
glance at them. Beelzebub's Crawlers were like Devil's Snare, but much
worse. They attempted to constrict or strangle anything in their
surrounding environment, but unlike the Devil's Snare, they didn't wait
for their prey to near them; instead, they actively sought out any game
that came remotely near them. Over that, they had thorns that would
inject venom into their prey's body before pulling them into their ground,
where the bodies would decompose, turning into nutrients for the plant.
Quinn hurriedly looked up at the passageway in the middle of the wall
that connected this room to the altar's entrance with a curved corridor.
Now a problem presented itself to him in the face of danger; unlike when
he jumped down from there, he couldn't go up at the same speed.
Quinn raised his hands, and suddenly, planks of earth protruded out of
the great wall like a staircase along a diagonal of the surface. As Quinn
jumped on the first one, it turned into limestone for durability, and with
that, he started to scale the wall by climbing stairs that he created for
himself.
"Oh no, you don't!" he yelled at a rough dozen vines that came stabbing
towards him. His magic thrummed, and a strong cutting curse lopped a
considerable chunk of the vines before they could even touch him.
But it wasn't enough; he continued to dodge, cut, and climb, but by the
time he was three-quarters way up, the vines had become too much for
Quinn to lop off in bunches.
"Okay, I will try that," he decided and stopped on a step. Magic ran
unrestricted in his body as gusts of winds started to circle around his
body, rings of strong visible hurricane-like winds began manifesting and
flowing around his body.
Beelzebub's Crawlers' primitive mind didn't seem to sense any danger.
They sensing their prey stop in one place saw an opportunity, and all at
once, the hundreds of vines jumped at Quinn.
「Viking's Axe」
Quinn opened his eyes, and with a flex of his muscles, the violent winds,
which had almost formed a dome around him, were unleashed in the
form of razor-sharp wind cutters on the vines. If one could describe a
plant massacre, then this was it. Shreds and scraps of vines fell down
onto the ground. The venom inside the vines leaked onto the earth, and
the soil sizzled from the sheer corrosiveness.
With the vines seriously damaged, Quinn didn't waste a beat and
continued to climb; soon, he was inside the curved corridor.
'Don't stop; you know what's about to happen,' popped in Quinn's mind,
and as if his thoughts were heard, the earth behind him started to shake
akin to a light earthquake.
"Come," he voiced and stopped at the end of the corridor, standing just
below the altar tunnel. "I will show you who's the boss here."
The best way to combat plants was to target them with one thing that
was so harmful to them that forests worldwide fell prey to it.
"I didn't use it above because of the risk, but I don't have a problem here,"
spat Quinn and raised his right towards the corridor.
The shaking on the ground stopped and a silence set inside the cave.
'Here they come.' Quinn could feel it.
Like a wave of water being released into a narrow place, vines over vines
of Beelzebub's Crawlers rushed into the corridor towards Quinn, filling it
completely.
"Flame on," grinned Quinn.
It was abrupt. Eruptions of fire sparked across the corridor; instantly, the
corridor covered with vines was now filled with yellowish-red flames,
with the Beelzebub's Crawlers burning within the angry fire.
Quinn squeezed his fist, and the screams of fire became stronger as
flames became stronger. He was planning to turn every vine that came
after him into dust. When he stopped, the earthen walls and ground were
scorched into complete blackness, and if there was light inside the
tunnel, he would see the black ashes of the previously vibrant vines filled
with vitality.
Deciding that it was enough for today, Quinn climbed out of the tunnel
and laid on the altar beside the hole with his arm covering his eyes.
He let out a long groan and whined before he cried out,
"I don't want to go through that every time I go inside!"
.
Quinn West - MC - "Oh, screw this, I'm out."
Fluffy - Cerberus - Woke up thinking which idiot cut his nails and what
level of stupidity was it to just cut one.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio/Profile!
164. Chapter 164: Babel, and
Opening Day
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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Angelina Johnson and Alicia Snippet sat in the AID office in front of the
big desk. They looked at each other and then behind the desk.
"So team names," they heard, "have you decided what you want to call
yourselves?"
"Y-Yes," replied Angelina, "The Remembralls. . . no one would be able to
forget us."
"For us, it's Sonic Brooms," said Alicia.
"Those are two good names," came a nod of approval, "much better than
what Cedric and Eddie chose, what kind of name is Trolling Bogeys,"
before looking to the left and saying, "please not the names down."
Both girls looked to their rights and saw Quinn standing on a barstool
next to the glass wall, noting their team names down on the notepad.
"Remembrealls with two L's, right?" asked Quinn.
". . . Yes," replied Angelina.
She then looked behind the desk where Luna Lovegood sat, looking at
them.
"What's the color scheme? I hope it isn't gold and red; that would be
unfortunate," she asked. "If you haven't decided, let's first decide the logo
before we reach the color scheme as coordinating colors then would be
much easier."
"O-Oh," replied Angelina, a sixth-year replied to Luna, a third-year.
Quinn glanced up from his notepad and looked at the two confused girls.
"Don't look at me; she's the one in control here; I'm just the note taker. I
suggest that you communicate with her well because she'll be the one
who'll be designing everything from your quidditch uniform design to
your logo before everything goes to production. Especially the logo
because it'll be literally everywhere, you really don't want to mess that up
— take my word for it, you won't be happy if you mess the logo up."
Luna glanced at Quinn and put her hand out. "Show me the notes;
what're you writing."
Quinn handed the notepad to Luna, who flipped through it before
looking at him, "I told you to write their team names, I didn't ask for brief
notes on conversion theory in organic transfiguration. . . you even made
diagrams." She looked up and bluntly said, "I will do it on my own. You
can leave if you want."
Quinn nodded with a sad expression, and when Luna looked down on the
notepad, trying to make some sense, he glanced at the Gryffindor girls
and winked.
"I will see you guys later," he said, "Luna, there's a list on the table with
the timings of other teams' arrival. Please wrap these two up before the
next duo arrives."
"Hmm," replied Luna.
Saying that, Quinn left the office with a smile on his face, hands in his
pocket. After a long time of being swamped with preparations for the
tournament, he finally had free time.
"Now, I know why people hire other people," he comfortably groaned
while stretching his hands up, "work becomes so easy with other people
doing it for me."
His new team had taken a lot of work off his shoulder. Now he only
needed to communicate with the vendors, and that was just written
communication. Every other thing was handed to the students he had
selected as unpaid (some paid) interns.
He hummed his way through the corridors, and before he knew it, Quinn
was standing in front of the Room of Requirements. He walked past the
tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and on the third time, a metal gate with
intricate and ornate metalwork appeared on the opposite wall.
"Oh my friend, it has been a while," it had been a week, "I've missed you."
Quinn's palms rested on the locked door, and on his touch like the vaults
in Gringotts, the metal design onset into a massive transformation of
shift, and before long, a click was heard indicating that the door was now
unlocked. He pushed the door open and stepped inside into a stark white
room.
As Quinn stepped through the threshold, he felt potent magic sweep him
— to be accurate, as Quinn stepped into the room, he entered a ward that
stripped every speck of dust and grim on his body and clothes. Quinn
wasn't strange to this feeling as he had one inside his workshop, but this
one was multiple times more robust than his.
"She overdid it — I think my skin hurts," he smiled, thinking about what
he assumed was Rowena Ravenclaw's work.
The room's walls, floor, and ceiling were all stark white, with no spot
disturbing the white. Quinn walked to the two brown wooden tables in
the room and stood in between the two, which stood side-by-side to each
other by length.
He glanced at the left long table, and on it sat ten identical table lamps
equidistant in a line. Every lamp had a one-foot rectangle strip of metal
sheet turned into an MLE light source. Below each lamp sat thick tomes,
each of them looking more ancient than the other. One such book beside
Quinn gently turned a page on its own before the lamp above flashed a
bright red light for a single second.
Seeing this, Quinn turned to his right to see the other long table, but on
this one sat ten modified designs of MagiFax. He walked behind the
table, and behind each MagiFax sat two stacks of papers, one blank and
the other printed. He watched as a blank sheet was sucked into the
machine, and a printed sheet came out — the contents were the same as
the tome beneath the lamp that Quinn had just seen.
Then he looked to the further right to see what at a glance looked like a
20x20-ish grid of paper stacks arranged neatly on the floor. One of the
printed stacks behind a modified MagiFax lifted off the table and gently
floated to the floor, landing on an empty spot, joining the grid of other
stacks.
「Project Babel」
The Library of Babel, written by Jorge Luis Borges, was a story about a
library that contained every book to be ever penned in the entire
universe. Quinn was a devout bibliophile, dreamed of owning such a
place, and was ambitious by nature. He set out to build something similar
to the Library of Babel — a library with every knowledge about magic
ever conceived and written down.
The aim was grand, and he had to start somewhere — he had already
begun when Lia gifted him his first set of magic books in French. Ever
since then, Quinn had coveted magic books: The books that his
grandfather George had brought him during their travels, the books he to
this date regularly ordered, tomes inside the vast Hogwarts library, and. .
. the ancient tomes that sat hidden inside the Room of Requirements.
The stark room in which he stood was a room that Quinn had requested
from the Room of Requirments: "A room that only I, Quinn West, could
enter with all books and tomes marked by Room of Requirements." His
wishes were answered by a room that only Quinn could open, and it
existed even when he wasn't present, just like the Room of Lost Things
existed when someone wasn't inside.
He looked ahead of the tables and saw the result of the second part of his
request. Bookshelves upon bookshelves upon lined up in the room, each
filled with esoteric and old knowledge: some that were considered vile
and dark, some that were looked at as "right" magic, some lost to the
world, some disproved, some that were then rare but now commonplace
knowledge — but all of them held some nugget of magical wisdom that
interested Quinn.
The books in here were so old that the Room of Requirements had added
automatically added a sterilization ward without Quinn asking for one,
and even if he wanted it gone, he couldn't remove it — the books came
tied with the warding magic.
Quinn had built this room and the setup at the start of the year. He knew
that it would take time to copy every book even when his copy system
worked round the clock, all day, every day.
"I just hope I cover most of it by the end of this year." The following year
was when the Room of Requirements was found, and Quinn had built
this plan taking in that possibility.
He didn't know the whole story, but Dobby, the Malfoy house-elf (now-
ex), worked as a Hogwarts employee. While Quinn hadn't talked to
Dobby, he knew from the house-elves that he did know that Dobby was
still a Boy-Who-Lived fanboy. If somehow, the Room of Requirements
was revealed to any other student, Quinn's access to it would be
restricted. Thus, this year, with everyone invested in the Tri-wizard and
interschool quidditch tournaments, Quinn decided to finish making
copies of every book branded by Room of Requirements.
"Let's get to work," he clapped and sat down at a big desk but not before
taking ten books from the bookshelves.
There were two types of books inside the Room of Requirements.
The first type: regular books with the same number of sheets as printed
pages — meaning that if there were a hundred pages worth of content in
a book, then there were a hundred sheets of parchments in the books.
The second type: charmed books that held lesser pages than the actual
content. An example of such books was all the books that Alan had given
Quinn; those books only had around thirty pages, but the content was
worth three hundred pages. The ink would shift to transform into
different pages.
While the copying setup could cover the first type but the second type,
that Quinn had to take care of on his own. He kicked back and started to
read the book page-by-page while multiple fountains opened up and
started to record everything that Quinn read.
He had long hours ahead of him.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"H-He really changed the stadium, didn't he," said Tracey as she sat
down.
Daphne, who sat down beside her, looked around the new quidditch
stadium and nodded, "With people actually sitting inside, you can
actually see the changes that had been made."
Both had been inside the stadium once before, but at that time,
everything was covered in scaffolding and covers, but now they saw the
true glory of the new stadium.
Today was the opening day of the quidditch tournament, and Hogwarts
students, along with outsiders, had already filled most of the stadium,
with only a few seats remaining that too were being quickly taken by
their incoming owners. The stadium had been re-constructed, the seating
capacity had been increased, and the stands had been raised into an
elevated setting instead of a previously comparatively flatter one. Even
the lowest seats were raised above for a better watching experience.
"Where is Astoria?" asked Tracey looking for her best friend's younger
sister.
"She's going to watch the game with her friends," replied Daphne.
"Is she still miffed about not getting selected in a team?"
"She got over that in two days," said Daphne shaking her head, "what did
she expect? She hadn't picked the broom more than a handful of times
ever since she got better; no way was she going to get selected."
The younger Astoria had tried to get into four different teams recruited
via tryouts but failed to get into any of them.
"She has been pretty active these days," commented Tracey, "it seems like
Quinn's treatment is working well."
"That it is." Daphne had told her best friend about her sister's condition. "I
need to remind Astoria that her next treatment date is coming. All of us
have been so busy that I almost forget about it."
Tracey was about to continue but saw the pitched and pointed, "Look,
Quinn came out."
Daphne, along with many others, looked towards the pitch to see Quinn
dressed in royal blue and gold robes.
. . .
"Welcome. . . all," said Quinn looking at the crowd greater than he had
addressed during the first task, "I'm Quinn West, and today, I welcome
you to Silver Moon Printing MagiTech presents Tri-school quidditch
league — TQL."
Along with the edge of the quidditch pitch and below the stands hung
multiple banners of varying sizes, all stark white at the moment. As
Quinn opened the tournament, every banner shifted — an ethereal design
of a blue night sky with a silver crescent hanging in the sky. If one would
look closely, both the sky and the moon designs were made from printed
paper with actual readable content on every inch of all banners present
in the stadium.
"It's my pleasure to kick off this event today in all your presence," smiled
Quinn while walking on the pitch, "I'm sure you'll are aware of the Tri-
wizard tournament currently being held at Hogwart; as such, we have the
exciting opportunity to host Baeuxbatons and Dumrstrang for the school
year — but because of that, we had to cancel the quidditch season to
make space for the Tri-wizard tournament. . ."
Boos were thrown from the entire Hogwarts crowd — no one had been
happy about that particular decision/announcement.
"See? That's what we at AID thought as well," grinned Quinn, "so we
decided to bring it back along with certain twists to make things
interesting after all, we've players from three schools."
There were cheers of approval, showing the joy and happiness towards
just the fact that quidditch had returned.
"Before we start, I would like to walk everyone through the new rules
that this league and tournament will be following for all its games,"
announced Quinn before placing the first rule in front of them,
"Every game played will have a total duration of two hours —" There was
a lot of murmur in the stands, "— unlike the standard rules which allow
games to go as long as the snitch isn't caught, we(I) decided that to
impose a time limit on the game; this way, the teams will have to think
about time which will give rise to all kinds of interesting scenarios."
Quinn didn't stop and continued because the second rule change was tied
to the first change.
"The second rule is for the seekers and golden snitch," announced Quinn,
"a standard golden snitch is worth a whopping hundred and fifty points
— an amount that could turn the tides of the game in an instant. . .
sounds exciting, right?"
Crowd aye-d in agreement about the rule change when a seeker locked
onto the snitch, the flying was definitely the most fun and exhilarating
with the seeker flying literally weaving in and out the game — with the
risk of getting hit by others.
"In this tournament, we've decided to change the worth of the golden
snitch from a hundred fifty to a lower fifty points. In return for
decreasing the snitch's value, we created another home role or provision
for the game: as I previously said, the game will end after two hours and
not when the snitch is caught; therefore, we've decided that every time a
snitch is caught, a minute later, another snitch is released for yet another
fifty point chance. That way, the seeker gets to play while staying a
considerable part of the game."
. . .
"Oh my, what a smart idea," said professor quidditch-nut, "the snitch
would be needed to be caught thrice for a seeker to get the same level of
control over the game; this will relieve a lot of pressure from the chasers,
beaters to increase the point game — maybe this is a good chance to see
a slower-paced game with more passing and teamwork. . . interesting,
truly interesting — I wonder if the teams have thought about chaser-
beater routes and beater-to-beater cross-team defensive options. . ."
In the professor's box, the professors stared at McGonagall as she droned
about the new possibilities that the rule brought in.
Aurora Sinistra, the Astrology professor, leaned towards Lily Potter's side
and whispered, "I bet that today she is going to speak more than she
speaks in her classes."
Her voice, as it turned out, wasn't as low she had planned, and many
professors (sans McGonagall, who was too involved) laughed and
snickered at the comment. Let's just say that even the professors who
weren't that interested in quidditch were going to have a good time.
. . .
"What do you think about this, James?" asked Sirius Black, pocking his
mate in the side, "seeker won't be the most popular position if these rules
were imposed everywhere." Which Sirius liked as he played as a Beater
who didn't get appropriate recognition, well he was okay with it as long
as he got to swing his bat and flung bludgers towards smug chasers.
"I don't like it," replied James, "do you know how hard it is to first spot a
snitch? Those things don't shine as much they should. Even if we do spot
them, it's only one out of three-four times when you're able to follow it —
catching the damn thing is another shitstorm. . . this doesn't make sense."
"I like it. Everything will depend on chasers, beaters, and goalies. You
guys can just have fun flying while we actually play."
"I can play chaser if I want."
Sirius scoffed, "Your stupid face would be the first I would've hit with a
bludger — it would've been supremely satisfying."
". . . We were on the same team."
"I know."
. . .
"Now, I'll not waste any more of your time and introduce the teams that
will be participating in the much anticipated open game sponsored by
WesternForge Constructions," shouted Quinn.
Smoke started to escape out of two tunnels opening to the pitch, and
from inside came the players on their brooms, shooting to the sky as
fireworks lit the stadium up.
"I present to you. . . Trolling Bogeys led by Cedric Diggory and
Treacherous Barons led by Victor Krum. . . The battle of champions is
afoot!"
.
Quinn West - MC - Glorified photocopier.
Luna Lovegood - Designer - Out!
Minerva McGonagall - Quidditch Nut - Omoshiroi!
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Phew, a couple of very busy days.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
165. Chapter 165: The Game and
The People
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Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
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Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum faced each other in the center of the
pitch, staring down at each other — not a word was spoken to each
other. The captains stared at each other without blinking — the stare
down went too long, but neither were willing to break the eye contact
first.
"Well, are you guys ready?"
The voice seemed to be the cue to break the eye contact; they removed
their eyes from each other and looked at the source of the voice —
standing there was Quinn West, dressed in his royal blue with gold trims,
smiling at them.
"Trolling Bogeys are ready," replied Cedric; the man looked abashed as he
said it.
"I've to ask, why that name," asked Quinn; he was aware of the name
from Daphne's regular reports, but not the reason behind it.
"Your dear friend," sighed Cedric, "Eddie decided that Trolling Bogeys
would be a good name for us. . . I got busy with the golden egg, and well,
missed the team name meeting."
"Oh, that checks out. . . don't worry, it's a good name, it's a villainous
name — those always do good with the crowd," said Quinn, assuring the
captain before jutting his chin towards Krum. "Look at Treacherous
Barons, now that's one badass name; whose suggestion was it?"
"I did," said Krum.
"Excellent choice," smiled Quinn. "Okay, let's move on and get the game
started; tell me the centre position — who're you going to start with?"
At the start of a quidditch game, the three balls (quaffle, bludger, and the
snitch) were released, and two players from each team would be right in
the centre to contest for the quaffle and bludger.
"We're sending a chaser and beater each," said Krum.
"Two beaters," replied Cedric.
"Noted, I'll relay it to Madam Hooch; get your teams ready for the throw-
off; we're starting in a couple of minutes."
. . .
"We're late."
"The game hasn't started; we're right on time."
The older gentleman sighed as he sat down in his seat in the stands, "It's
only correct to arrive sometime earlier for any event; arriving early
actually —"
"— Arriving early actually gives you time back in your day. You will
more than recoup the ten minutes you arrive early in the productivity
you gain by being able to catch up and prepare," finished the young
woman, completing the saying that she had heard oh so many times. "But
this is a quidditch game, grandfather, no use in arriving early when we
have reserved seats."
"It's about creating habits, young lady," said George West sitting in simple
yet elegant clothing, "only by practicing certain actions regularly would
you be able to make them second nature; arriving early is one of those
things that you need to want to do on your own."
Lia West didn't reply; she didn't have to — the grandfather-grandchild
pair knew that Lia was rarely late for anything; it was only an elder's
nature to repeat things to that important advice stuck in their young
one's mind.
"Oh, there he's, down on the field," pointed Lia.
George took out a pair of un-tinted sunglasses from his pocket. He wore
them before taking a look towards the field. From the glasses, he could
see what he would typically see, but after a single tap on the frames' side,
the image zoomed; as a result, he could see his grandson's face clearly
despite the distance between them.
Lia glanced at her grandfather and saw the sunglasses. "Oh, right, I forgot
Quinn sent those to us." Lia also took the pair of her own sunglasses and
zoomed-in her vision before looking at her baby brother.
"I can't believe he fit all those runes and charms inside such a thin frame,"
commented Lia, "the omniocculars on the market look bulky in
comparison to these."
"He's getting better," smiled proud granddaddy, "the pocket watch he sent
me last month was on another level than the one he sent me last year. It's
like he's a craftsman that is improving his craft, growing with every
piece."
"Hmm," voiced Lia before placing her hand on George's shoulder,
"grandfather, look there — right opposite to us centre row — that's Luna
Lovegood."
"Oh, where?. . .The dazed-looking blonde child; is that Luna Lovegood?"
"Yes, that's her."
"Hmm. . . why is she wearing a hat in the shape of a troll?"
. . .
The Wests had insisted that they were seated in nondescript seats,
choosing to sit among students to avoid meeting people from their social
circles so that they could watch the game in peace by not having to make
small talk with literally everyone who had heard of them as initially, they
were seated in the VIP section of the stadium booked for high-profile
personnel.
"That's the West child down there? He sure has grown."
Lucius Malfoy glanced at the portly little man with rumpled grey hair
sitting at his side. He wore a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, long black
traveling cloak, pointed purple boots, and lime green bowler hat. The
man was currently leaning forward, squinting his eyes towards the pitch
down below.
Lucius glanced towards the pitch, but unlike his companion, he didn't
lean and squint; instead, he took out a pair of Galilean binoculars (tiny
binoculars on a stick) to use them to look at the pitch.
"Yes, minister, that's Quinn West," replied Lucius, thought the fact that
the introduction had just been given a few minutes back went unsaid.
Cornelius Fudge leaned back into his seat and nodded. "I've seen that
child a few times at functions during the summer break but never got to
talk to him. I should talk to him today after the game; I hear that he
organized all of this on his own."
"That's a great idea. I'm sure that the child will be thrilled to meet the
minister," replied Lucius, though inside, he doubted that Quinn West
would even bat an eye on meeting Fudge.
"Good, good," said Fudge sounding happy.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field,
waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all
gathered around her.
She held out the golden snitch in front of everyone. "Regular rules for
snitch release — thirty seconds before the quaffle and bludgers." She
looked at both the seekers: Cedric and Krum, "When either of you catches
the snitch, the time will stop, and the positions will reset, and we will
once again start with a throw-off."
"Mount your brooms, please."
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms
rose up, high, high into the air.
"Ahem, the brooms have taken off; the game is about to start," Quinn's
voice sounded throughout the stadium, "the snitch is out — I repeat the
snitch is out. . . you can just see the player rearing to go."
Chaser was the most dangerous position in quidditch as not only they
had to keep note of the beaters who were always trying to hurl bludgers
at them, they also had to track opposing chasers as they were also
coming after them for quaffles and interceptions.
In the pitch's centre, the T. Baron's non-center chaser looked at the T.
Bogeys' chaser, and he was taken aback by what he saw.
'Eddie Carmichael, right. . . why is he looking at me like that?' He saw
Eddie stare towards them as if he owed Eddie some money, and to be
honest, it made him gulp — the look was intense.
Piiii, the whistle sounded startling T. Baron's chaser. The quaffle and
bludger were thrown straight, and the second they reached their peak
height, just before falling down, the players moved.
"The game is on! — Oh, what's this! T. Bogeys' beaters; aren't going for
the bludger or quaffle! — They are blocking the Baron's player from
getting to the balls — It worked! It worked! T. Bogeys' have the quaffle."
T. Bogeys's two beaters slammed right into the T. Barons' center members
(chaser and beater) and let the quaffle and bludgers drop down their
flight level. The non-center players moved like a swarm of bees towards
the chaser and beater, all trying to get a hand on them.
Eddie Carmichael, in his first play of his first official game, dropped
down on his broom and zapped towards the quaffle — his hand touched
the quaffle first, which he tucked under his arm — stiff-armed T. Bogeys'
chaser who tried to take the quaffle back and zoomed past the crowd
straight towards the goal hoops.
"Off he goes! Carmichael has the quaffle. What speed! Speed brought to
you by Nimbus cooperation and their Nimbus 2001 line — the official
broomstick of the league."
Eddie alone flew towards the hoops with his teammates holding back the
others. Eddie was already too far away by the time they got open — only
the goalie stood his path. No complex thoughts went through Eddie's
mind — he had the ball, and it had to go into the hoop, that's it.
The goalie saw Eddie come near him with the quaffle back in his hand,
but the second he was within throwing distance, Eddie abruptly pulled
straight up, confusing the goalie, and before he knew it, the quaffle went
zooming past him, deflecting off from the rim into the hoop.
"Score! Eddie Carmichael has scored the game's first goal and season,
with Trolling Bogeys taking the lead. What an exciting start to the game!"
And it seemed genuine as the people in the stands went crazy.
. . .
"My apologies for being late; I, for the life of myself, couldn't find a pair
of socks to wear."
The people in the VIP box looked at Albus Dumbledore as he entered
with a bright smile on his face, dressed in his colorful, eccentric robes,
looking jolly as ever. His bright eyes peeked from behind his half-moon
glasses, taking in everyone in the room before finally stepping inside the
box.
"What's the score?" he asked as he sat beside the other two heads of the
school.
"The game just started; fifty to seventy."
"Oh, Ogden, I didn't know you were coming. How long has it been since
you come out of your distillery," smiled Dumbledore towards the owner
of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.
". . . You just saw me in Wizengamot last week," said Ogden.
"Ah, yes! It fell off my mind; how forgetful of me," laughed Dumbledore
before once again looking around the VIP box, "speaking of. . . where is
George West, I was told he would be attending."
"George West is attending!" exclaimed the minister in his bowler hat,
looking around to see if he had missed the man.
"That's what I've been told," said Dumbledore, "but from the looks of it
—" the VIP box was already full, "— even if he was here, George West
wouldn't have sat here."
"Who told you that he'll be here?"
Dumbledore held back a sigh at the minister's question. Why wouldn't he,
the headmaster, be privy about the people coming to his school for a
highly organized event.
"You see the student right in front of us — sitting with the professors —
Quinn West, he's the organizer, he submitted the guest list."
The organizer, however, cleverly didn't share the seating plan with the
headmaster, just the names.
"Then where is he?"
"Hmm, I'm assuming that if he's attending, then he's among the students,"
guessed Dumbledore — nay, Dumbledore was sure that George West was
sitting in the stands.
'Not that I can blame him,' thought Dumbledore as he watched everyone
in the VIP box whip out their omniocculars, but they weren't looking at
the game but at the stands.
"Oh! It seems the seekers have spotted the snitch."
. . .
Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum zoomed across the pitch, both seekers
chasing after the ever-elusive golden snitch.
Seekers were generally the smallest and lightest players on a team and
needed both a sharp eye and the ability to fly one- or no-handed — but
today, both seekers didn't comply with the archetype.
Cedric Diggory was a tall fellow with a not-so-wiry frame. His body
caught too much drag from the wind, causing him to fly slower, just by a
fraction, but those fractions were what mattered when one was
competing with a fast seeker chasing a faster snitch. With his bulky and
stocky build, Victor Krum was the complete opposite of the seeker
archetype — too heavy for a seeker. He was already heavier for adult
seekers — there wasn't even a need to mention school level.
But for some reason, both of them were still the fastest players on the
field.
"Diggory and Krum are hot on the tail of the snitch — Diggory to the
front! — Krum is back in the lead! What an intense chase. What do we
see here — Krum anticipated the dip from the seeker and has clutched a
substantial lead! What's this?! Diggory is gaining speed — will he catch
up? — It's late! It's late! Krum has it! The snitch has been caught! T.
Baron's have caught the first snitch of the season!"
Fireworks shot on cue as T. Barons surrounded Krum as the team circled
the stadium, with snitch the held clutched high in Krum's grasp.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In the professors/commentators box, the head of houses sat in the front
row, just behind Quinn, who sat just behind the railings, to get a clear
view of the game.
"Minerva. . . did he really organize all of this?" asked Sprout looking at
the new stadium, the animated and colorful banners with the game going
in the centre of all of the numerous little things that impressed the
herbology mistress.
"He did," answered McGonagall distractedly as he craned her neck with
her favourite omniocculars set on her eyes. "Yes, dive, dive, dive, yeah!"
Sprout sighed at her colleague's antics — the quidditch nut was in no
condition to hold a conversation.
She decided to talk to the "Filius, are you proud —" she saw the half-
goblin snicker in amusement as he wrote something off a parchment, "—
what're you doing?"
Flitwick looked at Sprout with a toothy grin and showed her the
parchment, "I just won 20 galleons on who would reach a hundred points
first — I bet on Bogeys which had high odds because Mr. Krum is on
Barons, but heh, my hunch was good, now I'm in profit."
Suddenly Quinn turned towards them and gave Flitwick a thumbs up,
"Good decision, professor. Bogeys' chasers are on fire today; Do you have
something on them today?"
Flitwick slapped his thigh, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I didn't think
that Mr. Carmichael would be so good as a chaser — this is his first
game, and he had already scored third of Bogeys points. I was actually
counting on Mr. Diggory to pull the point total — a miss on my part."
"Haha, don't worry, professor, there are still many, many games
remaining you can —" laughed Quinn but suddenly looked back at the
field, "— CHASER CRASH Two chasers crashed down into the grass;
Carmichael from Bogeys and Bam from Barons — ah, Carmichael is
already up and flying! What endurance, I wonder who's his trainer!"
Sprout looked between Quinn and Flitwick in shock. "Y-You're betting!
Filius —"
"Loosen up, Pomona. Enjoy the game," grinned Flitwick, "Next time, I'll
take you with me; the Weasley twins have a great betting setup; they give
great odds — shell some of your galleons on things other than seeds and
plants."
Sprout sighed, her eyes going to the fourth head, who was intently
watching the game.
'No way. . . ' she thought. "Severus did you —"
"No."
"A-Ah, I see, of course, of course."
"Oh! Diggory has beaten the pro to the snitch! Bogeys have their first
snitch of the game! That puts them above the Barons with a great
margin! A great offensive team effort by the Trolling Bogeys! What a
game we're getting to see brought to you by Blishen's Fireworks."
Smoke works filled the sky as green and black colors of Trolling Bogeys
menacingly made their presence known.
Quinn once again turned back to the professors.
"Professor Snape, here you go," he threw a roll of parchment along with a
tiny vial towards Snape, who effortlessly caught it, "my personal recipe
for smoke sky-shots, what do you think about it?"
Snape stared at the vial with silver liquid for a moment before reading
the parchment.
". . . Good enough," was the short response before Snape opened the vial
and a small plume of green smoke rose to turn into a shape of a troll,
"Better."
Quinn grinned before once again turning back towards the game.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Marcus reached the T. Bogeys' locker to meet Eddie and jumped when he
heard a loud, frustrated shout.
"How the hell did he catch two snitches in the last twenty minutes! $#
%!"
Marcus saw Eddie angrily stuff his gear into his bag while throwing out
profanities which from his mouth sounded weirdly melodious.
"Krum was lucky; it popped up right in front of him — all he had to do
was reach out to it," said a beater. None of the house beater duos were
separated in the team recruitments, with the Hufflepuff duo coming to
Trolling Bogeys.
"I know! We f**cking played so well! Ah, that buzzcut of his pisses me
off!"
'That pisses him off?' thought Marcus, sometimes he couldn't understand
what went through his friend's head.
"We'll win the next game and every coming game," said Diggory, and his
tone lacked his usual happy style.
Marcus was about to enter the locker room when Luna, with a troll hat
on her head, walked past him and entered the locker room.
"You lost."
"I know! I was there!"
The opening day game ended with plenty of fanfare.
.
Quinn West - MC - Plugging sponsors whenever I can.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Suggest credits. Too many people in this
chapter.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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166. Chapter 166: Boys and Girls
— It's Time
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After closing the game by thanking everyone for attending, Quinn turned
to the professors while getting up from his seat. "This was fun, professors.
I hope you all enjoyed the game and the little changes we made to the
gameplay."
"It was a fantastic game, Mr. West," nodded McGonagall, looking as if she
had eaten a scrumptious meal, "now, I'm looking forward to the
upcoming games — it'll be a fun quidditch season."
"That's good," said Quinn smiling before clapping his hand once, "Now,
I'd take my leave; I've to meet some important people. . . I'll see you all at
the after-game party."
Then he exited.
There was nothing to do in the stadium, and they also had to make sure
students went back correctly, so the professors also rose from their seats,
but then Quinn peeked back in,
"Even though I said it, please don't come to the after-game party. People
will kill me if they know I invited you guys. Have your own party — I
can arrange for drinks and snacks; contact me if you need that."
He didn't wait for a reply and ducked back out, leaving for real this time.
Flitwick looked at his colleagues, raising his betting parchment, "I had a
decent game today. Do you all want to gather this evening? I'll pay — my
treat."
The professors looked at each other, contemplating the offer; they all had
a tough past few months with arrangements.
"Sure, why not."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
For the guests to arrive at the stadium, they had to go through the
grounds while walking a clearly marked path that went from the main
entrance straight to the stadium.
Near one of the stadium's exits stood George and Lia West, waiting for
Quinn to arrive — the family had decided that Quinn would escort the
two out after the game.
"I'm here, I'm here," said Quinn, jogging his way out of the stadium. "I
came here as fast I could."
"Yet, you're late, my child," said George, taking in the appearance of his
grandson.
"What do you mean?"
George didn't pull his hands from behind his back, although he subtly
nudged his chin towards Quinn's back.
Quinn turned halfway to see the minister with his peripherals, along with
various VIP guests walking right towards them.
"Ah, I'm indeed late," said Quinn turning back, "you don't think we would
be able to make a run for it without it looking like we're avoiding them."
"I'm too old for running," smiled George, "It doesn't matter; I came here
knowing well that I'll have to talk to some people. . ." he sighed as at the
sight of the incoming people, "I just hoped that they would be a little
smarter."
"Not all of them are that bad," commented Lia, matching the faces to the
information she had in her memory.
"Yes, but the one in the lead is as smart as a bait."
"Okay, they're here," said Quinn and acted like he never saw the
incoming people.
"Mr. West!" called out Fudge, sounding absolutely delighted.
"Minister," greeted George.
"Mr. West, I heard that you were attending though I was surprised not to
find you in the VIP box; may I ask why? Was there an error in seating
arrangement?" Fudge glanced at Quinn at the end.
George caught the look. "Minister, do you really think my own grandson
won't put me in the VIP box."
"No, I mean —"
"There was no mistake; I asked for to be seated where I sat."
Fudge spluttered in response, not knowing how to continue. Fortunately,
there was another person to continue.
"I'm sure there wasn't a mistake, Mr. West — Mr. Quinn West, that is — is
very competent. So, the question remains —why were you seated there?
I'm truly curious."
George looked at the jolly old man standing just behind Fudge. "If one
truly wants to enjoy a quidditch game, then the place to do it is in the
stands with others and not in a VIP box, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Ah, I see," smiled Dumbledore, "some say the secret behind enjoying a
quidditch game lies with the company."
"Wise words."
"That they are."
Quinn stared at the two men stare at each other.
'This is nice,' he thought; while Quinn always stepped carefully around
Dumbledore, his grandfather was different; George West didn't need to be
careful.
"How are you feeling about what your grandson has done here?"
"I'm proud of him; something of this level takes time and effort. He did a
great job with the organization of this event."
"So, it was expected?"
"Hmm, Quinn tends to succeed at everything he picks up. Given his
achievements, though an exceptional accomplishment, isn't something. . .
unexpected."
"What about him employing a lot of West-owned companies? Do you
think Mr. West would've been able to pull this off if he didn't have those
resources?"
"He just used the cards he had been dealt. Quinn utilizing, making
legitimate business transactions, with West-owned companies was him
simply being resourceful — a quality that I'm glad that he has picked up..
. . Now, if he would have succeeded if he didn't have those — yes, would
have; it would have required him to work faster and harder, but I'm sure
he would've reached this same exact result or who knows, even better."
"You think he could've done better than this? Surely not."
"Everything can be improved, headmaster. I'm sure, a couple years down
the line, when Quinn looks back at this time, he would think about how
he could've done things differently — I, to this day, think back. That's
how people grow."
"Isn't that true for all of us?"
"That it is."
After a quick back-and-forth, the two men once again fell into silence.
'What was that? They just talked about me,' thought Quinn, 'well, they're
my grandfather and headmaster.'
"Ah, Quinn did a great job organizing the game," praised Fudge when he
saw that Dumbledore and George had stopped talking and it was the
right time to gain attention.
"Thank you, minister. I'm glad you liked it," said Quinn, smiling humbly,
"I hope I'll see you all again next week and the week after that to see
more games."
"Yes, yes," said Fudge with a big smile before turning to George, "Mr.
West, I was hoping that I would get some of your time. . ."
"Minister, you're aware of how to schedule a meeting with me," replied
George, giving the man a look.
"A-Ah, yes, of course," sputtered Fudge.
George studied the short and portly man for a second before silently
sighing. "I've some free time next week, minister. I suggest that you make
the appointments for then."
"Thank you, Mr. West! Yes, I'll get to it as soon as possible."
The people stared at the smiling Fudge, and except the man himself, they
all knew that it was 'pity' that had got him a chance to talk with George.
"I would also like to talk to you, Mr. West," chimed in Dumbledore, "I've
some subjects that I would like to discuss with you."
"Send a letter to our main office, and they'll see if I have a free spot in my
schedule — MagiFax is the preferred mode of communication," replied
George; he, of course, how much free time he had and could give both
Fudge and Dumbledore a slot right here and then, but George wasn't sure
if he wanted to give his precious time to these two men.
'I'm sure Dumbledore would be fine, but Fudge,' sighed George in his
thoughts. To this date, he couldn't believe how Fudge had won the
election; it made him think if he could have changed the results by
endorsing other candidates.
"Ah yes, MagiFax, I've bought one for myself but haven't got to opening
it," said Dumbledore, "this will finally give me the motivation to set it up;
it will be a fun evening."
"Don't fiddle with it, headmaster," said Quinn, "if it breaks, repairing
charms will put it, but it won't work."
Both Lia and George gave Quinn a brief and discreet look. While Quinn
didn't notice the look, he did feel the urge to smack himself in the head.
His decision was to keep his name hidden as the inventor; not many
people knew about his involvement in the development (like Gary and
Ben). Right now, Quinn's words didn't give any inclination that he was
the creator, but it did open him up to a multitude of questions.
Fortunately, no one took the opportunity to ask the questions.
"I will keep that in mind, Mr. West," said Dumbledore.
"Now, ladies and gents, it was a pleasure to meet you all, but I will take
my leave now; I've some previous commitments that I need to take care
of," said George.
"Will you be visiting again?" asked Dumbledore.
"If the time permits, I will," replied George.
"I see; allow me to escort you to the main gate."
"That's not needed; Quinn is taking care of that."
No more words were exchanged as the Wests walked away, leaving the
others behind with their thoughts and chatter.
"That wasn't so bad," commented Quinn.
"Nothing bad could've happened with me talking to them. You worry too
much," replied George. "I just didn't want to waste time by making
meaningless small talk with no clear motive in mind."
"Are you going to meet Dumbledore?"
"Yes, I've decided to see what he wants. That man is persistent if nothing
else."
"Keep me informed."
The family of three talked about various things until they reached the
main entrance.
"So who will be coming next week?" asked Quinn.
"Uncle Elliot wants to visit," said Lia, "He wants to visit the castle if
possible."
"Hmm, okay, I'll see what I can do," said Quinn thinking about how to get
Elliot inside the castle, 'Professor McGonagall or Flitwick will be my best
bet, or should I act sick. . . no, I have to host. . . I'll think of something.'
He brushed his thoughts aside and addressed his family,
"I guess I will see you two on Christmas."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Listen to me, you two!" said Eddie standing on his bed, "As I expected,
my great mind was right to suffer for a year to play quidditch; just with
one game, my reputation is flying high with no signs of ever coming
down!"
"Yeah~. . . good for you," said Quinn, finally fixing MLE in their dorm
room while Marcus sat on his bed watching both his friends.
"My magnificent skills have charmed the ladies," declared Eddie, "I can
tell — I've entered the scene!"
"Yeah~. . . good for you."
Eddie gave Quinn a stink eye before continuing with the same
enthusiasm. "But this isn't the time to rest on my laurels — It's time to
strike the iron while it's hot."
"Yeah~. . . good for you."
"Sod off!" barked Eddie before once again continuing his speech, ". . .
ahem, as I was saying, I need to take this chance to score big, and the
perfect opportunity has presented itself to do that — The Yule Ball."
"Yeah~. . . good — Yule ball!" exclaimed Quinn, almost falling off the
stool he was standing on.
"Oh ho, it seems I have finally got your attention. Yes, the Yule ball! A
traditional part of the Tri-wizard tournament and an opportunity for us
to socialize if you know what I mean~. Perfect opportunity for me to
turn one date into two, which will turn into another one, and before you
know it, your mate would have already escaped singlehood."
"Yule ball!" repeated Quinn jumping down from the stool, "When was this
announced?"
"Today, in the last class," said Marcus, "it was after McGonagall called
you out of the class. Flitwick announced that the Yule ball will start at
eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall."
Quinn sat down on his bed, holding his face. He had been so busy that
the Yule ball had slipped his mind. Even today, he had been so busy,
after all the work, Quinn spent some quality time inside the Room of
Requirements, peacefully reading on some new charms, and while
reading, he lost track of time, missing the time for the dinner feast,
making him eat in the kitchen — he remembered the hostages but how
half of them were selected slipped his mind.
"Marcus, are you going to go to the ball?" asked Quinn, looking at his shy
friend; even Eddie looked interested and was about to offer his help to
find Marcus a date.
To their surprise, Marcus didn't seem to be flustered and simply nodded.
". . . Are you going to take a girl with you?" asked Eddie, knowing that
having a partner wasn't mandatory, at least for anyone who wasn't a
champion.
"Yes." Once again, Marcus seemed to be serene, as if he didn't have a
worry in the world.
"Have you asked her?"
"Not yet; I'll ask her tomorrow."
''Tomorrow?! So fast!' 'thought Quinn and Eddie at the same time.
Eddie jumped down from his bed and walked towards Marcus. "Who is
it? Who're you asking?"
Even Quinn walked near them and stood behind Eddie with his arms
crossed.
"You'll know," answered Marcus.
"Tell us now," they demanded.
"No, only after I ask her."
"Tell me, I have a Quinn behind me," said Eddie, treating Quinn as if he
was an interrogation device, and Quinn puffed up his chest, playing his
assigned role.
"He won't do anything to me; Quinn likes me more than you."
"That's true," said Quinn immediately.
"I'm standing right here!" exclaimed Eddie.
In the end, the two decided that it was easier to stalk Marcus than trying
to get the girl's name out of him as one of Quinn's very scarce legilimency
rules dictated that he wouldn't use legilimency against friends — they
weren't friends if he thought it was okay to use legilimency on them
(T&C apply.)
"Who're you going to take?" This time it was Quinn's turn to answer the
question.
Quinn looked at his friends as some faces flashed through his mind. "I
don't know yet. I'll have to see; if no one agrees, I'm going solo. One
Quinn West can trump one couple."
After saying that, Quinn went to brush his teeth so that he could go to
sleep.
"Yeah, right!" scoffed Eddie, "Like a girl will reject him; if he goes alone,
that means he's either gay, or he didn't want to take anyone with him."
". . . What if he is actually gay?" asked Marcus.
Eddie glanced towards Marcus and shrugged, "You said it: he likes you
more than he likes me."
". . ."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn had never known so many people to put their names down to stay
at Hogwarts for Christmas; he did, of course, because of hosting
responsibility and tournament organization; even if there would be no
games that week, Quinn needed to take care of practice schedules. This
year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be
staying, and they all seemed to Quinn to be obsessed with the coming
ball — or at least all the girls were, and it was amazing how many girls
Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; he had never been cognizant about it
before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with
laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what
they were going to wear on Christmas night. . .
"They seem to be staring at you. . . intently," Marcus said to Quinn as a
dozen or so girls walked past them, sniggering and staring at Quinn.
"I noticed," said Quinn, not bothered by it.
"Why do they have to move in packs? How're you supposed to get one on
their own to ask them?" said Eddie looking around. "Lasso them? — Wait,
should I fly down on my broom, pull a girl up, and ask her while flying in
the sky? How does that sound?"
"That's just kidna— maybe it will work; prince on a white pegasus of
sorts. Use it as your last option," suggested Quinn.
They reached the Great hall and made their way towards Ravenclaw.
"Hey, Luna," they greeted as they sat down — Luna, Quinn, and Eddie on
one side and Marcus on the other.
Luna scribbled on her sketchbook with various crayons laid on the table.
"Luna, you know the rule. This isn't allowed on the dinner table," said
Quinn.
"But the food isn't here yet."
"Okay, then keep it away when it arrives."
"Okay."
Marcus looked at his three friends: Eddie gazing around the Great hall,
surely trying to see who he should invite, Quinn arranging the crayons
scattered around the table, and Luna scribbling with her tongue sticking
out.
"Luna," called Marcus.
"Hmm?" came the reply.
"Will you come to the ball with me?" he asked.
Eddie snapped his head towards Marcus while Quinn's impressive crayon
pyramid scattered back on the table as he stared. Reflexively, big brother
instincts were triggered as under the table Eddie pointed his wand while
Quinn's hand flexed. But the two looked at each other, realizing what
they were doing, and retrieved their weapons while lightly clearing their
throats.
Luna looked up from her table and stared at Marcus for a good half-
minute.
"Okay."
"Alright, then," said Marcus with a bit of grin on his face and nodded
towards his two best friends.
Eddie looked like his world had toppled over at the ease with which
Marcus secured himself with a date while he was still thinking about who
to ask.
Quinn, on the other hand, clicked his tongue that he missed the
opportunity to ask Luna. She was also his first option — his safest option.
"Well played, Belby. . . well played."
"It certainly was!"
.
Quinn West - MC - High commodity that a lot of "people" have their eyes
on.
George West - Grandfather - Doesn't like dull people.
Marcus Belbly - Mad Lad - "He who strikes first wins."
Eddie Carmichael - Has finally achieved popular jock status - It's finally
game time, people!
Luna Lovegood - ( ^_^ ) - Ball? Sure.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - No, he isn't gay. So, don't start.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
167. Chapter 167: Rejections and
Rejection
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"I'm sorry. . . but I'd not be comfortable," said Quinn, "I hope you
understand; it's not you, it's me. I'm sure someone as pretty as you'll
absolutely be able to find someone much better than me."
A curly-haired fourth-year Hufflepuff girl to whom Quinn had only ever
spoken to in passing and thrice in his office for notes looked down
towards her feet and shakily nodded. Quinn held back from sighing as
she walked away without again gazing at him, looking rather hurt.
"She was quite good-looking," said Marcus fairly, after clearing a serving
of crisps.
"I don't know her; if I accepted, it would've turned awkward pretty
quickly," answered Quinn, sitting down.
"No, it wouldn't," countered Marcus, "you don't do awkward if it's not on
purpose."
". . .Yeah — you know me too well," sighed Quinn, who was he trying to
fool, "I wasn't one bit interested in taking her to the ball. The entire thing
reeked of a day full of chores for me."
"That's what — the eighth girl you rejected — what the hell are you
doing?!" grumbled Eddie chewing on a strip of bacon, "all the boys hate
and admire you at the same time. You don't know how annoying these
contradictory views are — I want to bash your pretty face but at the
same time want you to impart some wisdom to me."
"I don't have anything to offer. Just follow what Marcus did and go ask a
girl out."
"Yeah," nodded Marcus, pointing his fork at Eddie, "what's the worse that
can happen? She will say no; you lose nothing."
"She could say eww. . ."
Eddie and Marcus looked at Quinn, who ate a piece of roast chicken.
"Sorry, what did you say? I missed that."
"Me neither."
Quinn waved his hand and shook his head with a smile, "Oh, it's nothing,
don't worry about it. . . Marcus is right, Eddie. Pick a girl you want to
take to the ball and ask her out."
He hit Eddie on his arm, "Where did that year-long enthusiasm go? Bring
it back; unleash the legendary virgin power and show everyone what
you're made up of or whatever."
A pair of girls were passing behind the trio when Quinn spoke and broke
into giggles at his words. Eddie tried to merge his face into the table
while Marcus seemed unperturbed — he already had a date; Quinn
turned towards the girls and flashed them a smile. The blushes that the
girls that sported would've made a healer worry about their health.
"You reject eight girls, and then you do that; what're you doing," asked
Marcus seeing the short exchange.
"Well, there has been girl-talk circulating in the castle; I simply wanted to
check if it was true," said Quinn shrugging.
"The smile thing?" asked Eddie, the side of his face flush against the
wood.
"Yup~ I have the most charming smile in the entire school."
"Not surprising given that you constantly moderate your smile,"
commented Marcus.
"Thank you, it's a talent," Quinn gave Marcus a wink.
"But seriously, what're you going to do about your date," said Marcus, "it's
not like for you to leave things to the last date. Sixteen girls asked you
out, but you haven't tried once from your side."
"I can't decide who to ask out."
"Ha!" Eddie sat up straight and pointed at Quinn. "Unleash your virgin
power and whatnot and go get a girl. . . yeah, take that."
"Mate, what're you doing," said Quinn looking to his sides.
"Yeah, Eddie, you can't say things like that," added Marcus doing the
same as Quinn.
". . .What? He did it first." Eddie pointed at Quinn.
"That was different," scoffed Marcus.
"How?!"
"There is a time and place for everything, mate. It wasn't now," said
Quinn shaking his head.
Eddie stared at his two buddies with an expression of confusion and
disbelief.
"What?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Tap, tap, tap. . . Quinn's finger tapped away at the desk in his office,
staring at Recon laid on his desk. He stared at the map, and the map
stared back at him.
Suddenly he leaned in and spoke to Recon, "Daphne Greengrass."
The map obeyed its creator's orders, and the ink on cloth shifted to a blue
dot moving out of the Hogwarts library.
Quinn leaned back and stared at the map while tapping his foot away. He
watched as the dot moved across floors and climbed down the stairs.
"Ah, let's just do it," he said and got up from his barstool with Recon
packing itself into Quinn's pocket.
He fixed his clothes while walking towards the door. He opened the door
and froze in the spot.
"Quinn."
"Fleur, what're you doing here?"
The French Veela standing just outside the door spoke in French, "I've
something I wanted to talk about."
"Oh, please do tell; what's the problem? I'll try my best to help," said
Quinn continuing in French.
"Aren't you going to invite me inside?"
"Ah yes, of course, please come in, come in."
The two entered the office with the MLEs lighting the moment Fleur
entered.
"So tell me what seems to be the problem?" asked Quinn as both sat
down.
"Are you sure you're free? It seemed like you were going out," said Fleur,
"if you're busy, then we can do this when you're free."
Quinn shook his head, "It's okay. . . I'll take care of that later." It could
wait.
"Good as I need to get this problem solved as soon as possible," said
Fleur, "I'm not sure if I'd be able to solve it if I waited."
"Oh, what is it?"
"I would like you to be my date at the Yule Ball."
". . . Pardon?" The words escaped Quinn's mouth before his mind could
even process the words that were spoken.
"It's the tradition at Yule Ball that champions and their partners open the
ball; as such, it's compulsory for the champions to have partners."
"I'm aware of that, Fleur. But why me? It's only been a few days, and
you've already got multitudes of invitations. You can choose from one of
them."
"That can be said to you as well. You've rejected as many people as I
have."
"Surely you jest, Fleur. I'm sure you rejected far more than I did," smiled
Quinn.
"Let's not go that way; there will be no end if we start."
"If you say so, but the question remains, why me when you've so many
choices to choose from."
"I could ask the same, why did you reject so many?" asked Fleur crossing
her legs.
"I didn't want to go with someone I don't know."
"Then, it goes the same for me."
Quinn smiled and shook his finger. "Nuh-uh, one of Beauxbatons guys
asked you out, but you rejected him the same. . . Fleur, if you don't tell
me the real reason, I won't be able to help you."
Fleur sighed and leaned back into her seat with her arms fully resting on
the armrests. Fleur looked like she didn't want to share, but she had to if
she wanted to help.
"You already know it," she said.
"Yes, but I want you to say it," he insisted.
". . . Allure, my allure," she sighed, "none of the guys who invited me
could resist it. . . Roger Davies, for a moment, I thought he wasn't
affected, but it turned out he's just good at hiding it. I could tell from the
fleeting glances that stayed a little too long — released a little more, and
he was out."
"Hmm. . . how do usually Veela find their partners? It sounds
complicated."
"Allure is a part of us. If a Veela wants it, they can retract it completely.
When Veelas find someone who we like, we completely retract our
Allure. . . I can't do that — yet."
"I see," said Quinn followed by a silence in the room.
Fleur watched as Quinn stared at his desk. She couldn't tell the look in
his eyes, but as time went by, she started to feel anxious — a feeling new
to her in the current context.
"It's okay if you don't—"
"I accept."
The two people stared at each other, with Fleur watching Quinn with
slightly wide eyes.
"You accept? Are you sure?"
Quinn felt the weight of Recon in his pockets that were charmed to be
weightless. The thoughts of a blonde flashed through his mind, but he
put those aside. Fleur needed his help, and it was easy enough for him to
provide.
". . .Yes, I'm sure," he said before putting on a smile, "It'll be my honor to
be your date for the Yule Ball. It'll be a fun evening; I'm looking forward
to it."
"C'est parfait!" she beamed in exclamation.
"Indeed, it is."
Fleur looked satisfied, but she had to ask one last thing, "You do know
how to dance, right?"
"Know? I'm great at dancing."
"The day keeps getting better."
"I live to impress, Fleur. Live and love to impress."
It was decided — Quinn West and Fleur Delacour were attending the
Yule Ball together.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn and Fleur decided not to tell anyone about them going together as
each other's date till it was absolutely necessary. The only one privy to
the information was Olympe Maxime, as she had required Fleur to find a
date as soon as possible, and if she wasn't couldn't find a date, Maxime
would arrange one for her.
A couple of days passed once again, and Quinn's rejection continued to
increase, yet the number of girls inviting him to the ball didn't seem to
slow down at all. He still got through one or two rejections a day. The
girls seemed to have formed a mentality that there was no harm in trying
as if they get rejected, Quinn would refuse gently and utter politeness.
The great hall was no longer safe for him — especially lunches where
girls would usually ask him to meet them in private so that they could
invite him to the ball. It had become for him to be seen in public as a lot
of eyes were on him watching to find if he had found a date; his office
was the only "public" place that he could be at peace as no girl dared to
use his office to invite him out — Fleur Delacour, an outsider to
Hogwarts was an exception.
And while he was free from Yule Ball invitations inside his office, the
Yule Ball didn't leave him as the day the ball was introduced, most of his
requests were related to the ball. Guys after guys coming to the office for
help regarding dates — while it wasn't compulsory to get a date for the
ball, no guy wanted to go alone; all wanted a girl on their arm.
Knock, knock. . . there was a knock on the door as the door chime alerted
Quinn that someone had entered his office.
'I hope it isn't another one of the Yule Ball requests,' he sighed while
walking out of his workshop.
He saw a familiar client standing inside his office; she was looking
towards the workshop door since before he had walked out.
"Ivy, what can I do for you?" asked Quinn, sitting down on his barstool
while asking the girl twin to make herself comfortable. "Given that you're
here alone and not with together with your brother means that it isn't
about the Tri-wizard tournament. So, tell me. . . what has you in
trouble?"
"I can be here for the Tri-wizard tournament; you don't know that."
'She's testy today,' he noticed.
"You could be, but that seems unlikely given your brother's attitude
regarding this entire situation. . . he would be here if it's regarding the
tournament."
Ivy didn't speak immediately; moreover, she continued to stare at him.
While Quinn would've preferred if she didn't wordlessly stare at him, he
wasn't that bothered by it and stared back.
When Ivy finally spoke, she dropped a bomb on him.
"I want you to be my date at the Yule Ball."
'Why would she ask me out during business hours?' were his genuine first
thoughts, but his words asked a question: "Why?"
"What do you mean why? I want to go with you, so I'm asking."
Quinn silently stared at her, showing that he wasn't buying whatever she
was selling, and the stubborn girl tried to remain strong against the stare
but eventually faltered under the intense stone greys.
"All other boys are either pigs or gits," she all but whispered.
'Ah, I see. . .' he thought, having an inkling where this conversation was
going.
"They are either too creepy — honestly, why would I go with someone
who I haven't talked to even once, and yet they act like we have known
each other for ages, acting all chummy. . ugh, it sends jitters down my
back," she looked uncomfortable even thinking about it, "the others who
actually act civil and invite me properly just want to go with Ivy 'Potter'
and not me — just Ivy."
She looked a mix between livid and tired. Harry got attention as the Boy-
Who-Lived almost always, drawing the spotlight away from Ivy, who was
okay with it as she found the attention tiresome. But this time, she was in
as much spotlight as Harry, and it was getting on her nerves.
"Pick a friend and go with him," suggested Quinn shrugging.
"I can't. . . I don't want to go to the ball with Ron, my brother's best
friend. Neville has already found his date, and I don't think it's a good
idea to go with other Gryffindor boys. . . other than that, I don't know
many boys outside of Gryffindor."
"I can suggest one charming fellow—"
"I'm not going with Eddie Carmichael. . . Harry will blow his top if I do
that. Not something I want to deal with right now."
"Well, can't say that I didn't try," shrugged Quinn. "and why me, if I may
ask?"
"You're the perfect shield," said Ivy, seemingly happy with her statement,
"if you go with me, there won't be a single peep from absolutely anyone.
Seeing how much she likes you, even mum will be happy with my choice.
Dad and Harry like you enough that they won't act stupid — especially
dad, after the incident, he has a splendid view of you."
"I'm flattered," said Quinn with a smile which dimmed as he continued,
"but unfortunately, I would've to respectfully decline, Ivy."
"Eh, why?"
"I already have a date."
"You have?!" she exclaimed a bit too loudly. It wasn't an exclamation of
upset but of surprise.
"When?" asked Ivy.
"A couple of days."
"A couple of days?!"
". . . Now you're just repeating my words."
Ivy was genuinely shocked as one of the prime topics among the girls
across the school was about who the 'most eligible' boys were going with
to the Yule Ball, and Quinn was there right at the top hanging with the
champions and to hear that he already had a date when everyone was
still wondering who he was taking was startling news.
"Who're you taking," she asked.
Quinn stared at the redhead, and given their relationship, he didn't mind
telling who he was taking to the ball, and Ivy knew better than to leak
his secrets. So he replied,
"Fleur Delacour."
". . .You're taking the Veela?" asked Ivy and studied Quinn, looking for
something.
"I'm not under the influence of Allure if that's what you're wondering."
"O-Oh."
"So,. . . sorry about this, but I can't take you."
"It's okay. . . It seems I was a little too late."
". . .Yeah."
Ivy leaned into her chair and sighed while looking at the ceiling. She
wanted to get up and escape immediately but held back as that would
make things awkward.
"Would you've accepted if I came earlier?" she asked.
"To be honest, I don't know. . . I might or might not have accepted it. It
would've depended on that moment."
"What about if I asked you to be my date as part of a job?"
Ivy heard a laugh in response, followed by a happy-sounding Quinn
saying: "You're a smart girl, Ivy Potter. If you came to me leading with
that, your chances would've definitely increased."
His answer brought a bit of a smile to her face.
Shortly after, Ivy got up to leave, with Quinn walking her out. As she
exited, Ivy heard Quinn call out to her.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Save me a dance?"
". . . Sure," she answered.
In a way, she had confirmed that she would be attending the ball.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Ivy stood in the corridor, looking at the mood overhead while leaning on
a ledge, thinking about her meeting with Quinn.
"Ah, I got rejected."
Even though her reason behind asking Quinn was so that she could
escape the constant stream of boys bothering her. . .
"And I was looking forward to it," she sighed.
Quinn had worked with her, Harry, and Hermione for two weeks to
prepare Harry for the first task. Those two weeks were tough, not only
for Harry but for her and Hermoine as well. Quinn West was a taskmaster
when he needed to be. They learned more than they had learned in a
while, and that was saying something when you took Hermione Granger
and Ivy Potter into context.
But those same two weeks were fun as well. They had fun, and Quinn
had managed to turn what would've been tense times into generally
upbeat sessions.
Ivy thought if she had gone with Quinn, her evening would've been the
same fun.
"I knew Delacour was a possibility, but I was sure it would be—"
"What are you doing?"
Ivy turned to see a furrowed brow on the generally expressionless resting
face of the blonde girl, with who she was well familiar.
"Daphne."
The girl who Ivy had been thinking had appeared in front of her.
.
Quinn West - MC - Being famous is hard.
Fleur Delacour - Champion - Being a Veela is hard.
Ivy Potter - Potter Princess, Twin - Being a Potter is hard.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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The link is in the Bio!
168. Chapter 168: Two Girls &
Asking Her Out
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"What're you doing here?"
"Daphne."
Both girls studied each other with observant eyes, scrutinizing. And for
once, they didn't start bickering with each other from the first glance. Ivy
wasn't in the mood to start anything with Daphne. The blonde saw that
and thus retrieved the attack instinct they had around each other.
Daphne watched as Ivy stood with her arms folded over the ledge,
slightly leaning out as she gazed at the stars shining in the inky sky
overhead. It was different for her to see Ivy like this. . . at least it had
been a while. . .
"What happened to you?" asked Daphne.
Ivy breathed in before releasing an audible sigh. "I got rejected."
"Rejected? What do you mean?"
"Rejected as in I got turned down for a date at the Yule Ball."
Daphne's face faltered at Ivy's words. She blinked in surprise as her
mouth opened and closed a couple times before she finally could get
something out.
"You got turned down?" she said, and a taunt escaped her, "well, it's not
surprising that someone turned you down — not a lot of people can
handle that brutish brash nature of yours."
Daphne pursed her lips as soon as she said that — It was habit; it had
been a very long time since Ivy and she had a talk where they didn't go
after each other's throats. And now, even after her taunt, Ivy didn't show
as much as a twitch in return.
It finally dawned on Daphne that Ivy really was affected by the rejection.
"I'm curious; who turned you down?"
Ivy glanced at Daphne, and it was supposed to be a momentary glance
but seeing the look in her made Ivy pause her sight on Daphne. Ivy didn't
like to hide her emotions. As such, she never liked occlumency; the only
reason she practiced it was because she knew its importance and wanted
to beat Daphne at it. On the other hand, Daphne was a natural at it —
she wasn't a natural occlumence, but the protective mind art came easier
to Daphne than most.
They had started learning the art together and even had taken many
lessons together (their mothers were close friends). Not once since then
had Ivy ever beaten Daphne at a single occlumency activity/task/
competition.
But there was one thing in all those times that Ivy had learned about
Daphne — eyes were the window to the soul, and Daphne's eyes tend to
give her hidden emotions away.
'Ah, is that concern I see,' she thought, noticing the flash in Daphne's
eyes, 'it's been a while. . .'
After all, they weren't always like this.
Ivy looked away from Daphne and once again gazed at the stars. "It was
Quinn West."
The words made Daphne froze. "Q-Quinn. . . you asked Quinn?"
"Yeah," said Ivy, noticing the crack.
"Why? I mean. . ."
"Why not? He is handsome, well-mannered, fun to hang around, what's
not to like. And I like him enough for it to turn into a pretty great
evening. I thought if I could get to attend the ball with someone like him
— wouldn't that be the best?"
". . .But he rejected you."
"Yes, he did," she sighed, "Quinn said he already had a date."
"What?!"
Ivy turned toward Daphne, fully expecting the reaction; it was why she
had told her that.
"Yeah, Quinn already had a date for a couple of days, it seems."
"I-I see. . . who is it?"
Ivy contemplated for a bit — if she should tell her the answer.
"Fleur Delacour."
Daphne stilled. . . it was like looking at a picture — the muggle kind. She
was so still that for a moment, Ivy doubted if Daphne was breathing or
not.
'She *really* likes him, huh,' thought the redhead. There was no
expression on the blonde's face, but her eyes betrayed her chaotic
emotions.
Ivy turned her back to the ledge and continued to stare at Daphne. It
might have been a minute after which Daphne once again spoke.
"Who?"
"Hmm? What do you mean?"
"Who asked? Was it Quinn or that bi— or Delacour?"
Ivy held back a smile threatening to break on her face.
「 Hogwarts' Ice Queen」 — that's what they had started to call her. But
Ivy knew the truth — Ice Queen was far from accurate when it came to
Daphne Greengrass. Sure she was cold, but Ice wasn't the correct
representation for it.
'More like cooled of magma turning into rock. A layer of rock that hid the
blazen magma inside. . . that's more like it.'
There was no doubt that Daphne Greengrass was calm, cool(cold), and
collected. Brutally logical when needed, but that wasn't the complete her.
The other side was only known to people who knew Daphne from her
childhood days — people like Ivy Potter, Harry Potter, Tracey Davis,
Draco Malfoy, and a few others outside her family.
Those people knew and had seen the passionate emotions that run deep
within the surface, coursing like molten magma, only emerging when the
inherently steady Daphne was agitated — when her feelings swung to
extremes; that was when the other side showed.
"I don't know," said Ivy, "he told me that he was going to attend with
Fleur Delacour. He didn't mention who asked who out."
Daphne's dainty hands clutched into fists as her eyes narrowed. If she
knew this was going to happen, she would've gone asked Quinn out the
second the ball was announced. . . of course she didn't. Daphne thought
that she knew Quinn quite well — the fifth-year boy had many "casual
friends" and even more "acquaintance," but what he didn't have many
were "close friends" and "intimate friends."
If one were to ask to name Quinn West's intimate friends, then ninety-
nine out of hundred people would take three names: Eddie Carmichael,
Marcus Belby, and Luna Lovegood. These were three people with whom
Quinn held a commitment to the development of each other's characters,
the mutual responsibility of utmost faith and trust, and a connection that
ran soul deep in the non-magical sense. They were his closest confidants
and whom he had bonded with over his and their vulnerabilities to reach
the highest level of friendship.
As much as Daphne wanted to be at that level, she wasn't there. . . yet.
But she was sure that she was Quinn's close friend. Not only had they
both invested in each other personally, but also emotionally. Because of
the level of investment, close friends have shared more information. They
are aware and familiar with each other's family members and private life.
Also, they both know and help each other accomplish their life goals,
hence emphasizing emotional investment.
And Daphne was confident that she was the "closest" close friend Quinn
had. More importantly, she was one of the few girls in that category.
Luna Lovegood wasn't a threat — as close as the girl was to Quinn and
vice-versa, they were more of a brother-sister duo. 'And she is going with
Marcus Belby,' she thought.
Then there was her own best friend, Tracey Davies. Sometimes, Daphne
felt envious, jealous of Tracey. She and Quinn had clicked the moment
they had met. The two constantly joked around every time they met and
seemed to have the time of their lives. They went even as far as matching
their sentences with each other. The only thing that relieved Daphne was
that she had asked Tracey if she liked Quinn and Tracey refused.
Her own sister was annoyingly close to Quinn. Whenever Quinn was in
the vicinity, Astoria would run over towards him and glomp him as if he
was a treat. It annoyed Daphne to the limit, but Astoria continued to do
it, and Quinn allowed it. This year, Quinn had been so busy that he
hadn't talked to her for a month and only met her because he needed to
treat Astoria — which she was grateful for (don't judge.)
Finally, there was the new girl Fleur Delacour. Ah, how much she hated
the French hussy. She just swept in like it was nothing, all giggly with
Quinn, who seemed to be lapping it up. It took her such a long time for
Quinn to use her first name. But she(Fleur) with her 'please call me Fleur'
made him say it in months!
But Daphne was sure that if Quinn was going to ask a girl out, then it
would be her. Especially after Quinn had asked for her help to
communicate with the quidditch team — every day, she would arrive at
the AID office to give her daily report, and after that, both would walk to
the Great hall for dinner, talking about everything and anything.
They were having fun these days. So when the ball was introduced, she
patiently waited. She was raised to think that the boy was supposed to
ask the girl out and not the other way around. Her confidence increased
with every girl Quinn rejected.
But here she was hearing from Ivy Potter of all people that Quinn already
had a date — a date with Fleur Delacour. If she knew this would happen,
she would've trashed what she had been taught and asked Quinn instead
of waiting for it to happen the other way round.
Ivy continued to watch Daphne. She could only imagine what was going
in her head — well, she could. . . she had seen it too many times.
"You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"
Daphne's eyes snapped towards Ivy. "What do you mean by that?"
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
"No, I don't. . . why don't you explain it to me so I can understand."
"Oh-okay, you know how you used to do those stupid things when we
were little," scoffed Ivy.
"I don't know what you're talking about," denied Daphne.
"Yeah, you keep saying that, but that isn't going to make things any less
true."
Daphne simply shrugged in response, deciding to end this conversation.
'Ah, she calmed down; that was fast,' thought Ivy, and it was a sign that
the conversation was over.
Ivy walked pushed herself away from the ledge, ready to leave. As she
walked past Daphne, Ivy stopped.
Daphne glanced to her side at Ivy, waiting for her to say something, but
the redhead gave her a fleeting glance before walking away while
humming a tune.
'She's annoying,' thought Daphne and started her way towards the
Slytherin common room. She had to talk to Tracey about this; Tracey
would know what to do with this.
As Daphne reached the corridor just beyond the common room entrance,
she heard.
"Daphne?"
The girl turned, and her eyes flashed with recognition.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
On the whole, Harry had to admit that even with the slightly
intimidating prospect of opening the ball before him, life had definitely
improved since he had got through the first task. He wasn't attracting
nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which he
suspected had a lot to do with his performance; the people who wore
'Support the Champions' lapel badges finally had smiles on their faces
when they looked at him.
If he had to complain, it would be about Rita Skeeter's articles and Draco
Malfoy's whispers subtly supporting them in the Hogwarts rumor mill.
Malfoy might not show his displeasure outwards in public, but that didn't
stop him from continuing in the back, where it wasn't visible to
Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
The last week had become increasingly boisterous as it progressed.
Rumors about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though Harry didn't
believe half of them — for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight
hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. However, it
seemed to be a fact that he had booked the Weird Sisters — something
everyone who had grown up listening to the WWN (Wizarding Wireless
Network) felt wildly excited about having the famous musical group at
the ball.
Some of the teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to
teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he
allowed them to play games in his lesson on Wednesday and spent most
of it talking to Harry about the perfect Carpe Retractum Charm Harry
had used during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.
Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect
Professor Binns, for example, from plowing on through his notes on
goblin rebellions — as Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of
continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn't
going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and
vicious goblin riots sound as dull as Percy's cauldron-bottom report.
Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last
second of their classes too (McGonagall would let her hair down on and
before the quidditch game day), and Snape, of course, would no sooner
let them play games in class than adopt Harry. Staring nastily around at
them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on poison
antidotes during the last lesson of the term.
"Evil, he is," Ron said bitterly in the Gryffindor common room, "springing
a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load
of studying"
"Mmm . . . you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?" said
Hermione, looking at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was
busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack — a much
more exciting pastime than with non-magical cards because of the chance
that the whole thing would blow up at any second.
"It's almost Christmas, Hermione," said Ivy lazily; he was rereading
Historical Witches Throughout The Ages for the tenth time in an
armchair near the fire.
"No, it's not; there's still ten days remaining."
". . . That's almost Christmas, Hermione."
Hermione sighed before looking at Harry severely. "I'd have thought
you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to
learn your antidotes!"
"Like what?" asked the fourth champion.
"The egg!"
"Come on, Hermione, he's got till February the twenty-fourth," said Ron,
setting the cards.
"But it might take weeks to work it out! You're going to look a real idiot
if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don't!"
"Leave him alone; he's earned a bit of a break."
And the arguing between the two opposites begun.
Harry, who was doing nothing, stared at them — well, he stared at
Hermione for the most part. He had been part of such arguments with
Hermione an n-number of times. In the past, he always thought of them
to be oh-so annoying, having to answer about any "fun" he had.
'Ah, the fun, huh,' thought Harry, 'those things aren't that fun now, are
they?'
The day his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, all those little fun
things were thrown out of his mind and life — he didn't have time for
goofing around. And with that went away his and Hermione's bickering.
Then he saw it.
The constant taunts and gibes weren't out of spite but out of concern.
That concern showed in earnest when he was struggling with a sudden
crisis.
Suddenly, her voice — gentle, not irritating; her words — soothing, not
cutting; her gaze — worried, not mocking. It was a brand new Hermione,
a Hermione he liked.
"Hermione," he said. Harry Potter wasn't one to be shy.
The girl got in a gibe before looking at Harry. "Yes, what is it?"
"Will you go to the Ball with me?"
The group went silent, and the common room became attentive.
Everyone watched in a complete hush as Harry gazed at Hermione, who
stared back at him with a stunned and surprised face.
Ivy, who had been laying down in an armchair, her feet dangling off the
sides, instantly sat up while Ron's hand holding cards stilled mid-air as he
stared at his two friends.
"Are you serious? This isn't a prank," asked the smartest-witch-of-her-age.
"Yes, I'm not serious, and this isn't a prank," answered the Boy-Who-
Lived.
"Why me?"
"You know me," said 'Harry,' "and I like to think I know you too. . . I
would like to take you, who I know, with me to the Ball."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Is that not enough?'
"N-no, it's enough."
"So are you. . . ?"
"Yes."
The room was about to erupt, but Harry spoke up, delaying it a bit.
"I would like you to be a bit more. . . articulate," he smiled, leaning
forward.
"Don't push it, Potter."
'I'm a Potter too,' thought a redhead, but she stayed quiet.
"Please, I insist," asked Harry, using one word he had picked up from an
old man who loved socks.
The brunette with wavy hair pushed one side behind her ear. "Okay, if
you want it that much. . . I accept your offer; I'll go with you to the Ball.
It's a date."
"It's a date."
Now the crowd erupted — cheers and hoots, the complete package.
Everyone surrounded the champion and his date — festivity ensured.
Ronald Weasley looked to his side; he still didn't have a date.
"So. . . Ivy, should we go together?"
The reply came quick. "No, thank you, Ron. I'll be fine."
"Oh, come on!"
Quinn West - MC - "Uhm. . . hey, I guess. See you next time."
Ivy Potter - Rival #1 - Got rejected. Now feels a little better.
Daphne Greengrass - Rival #2 - Missed her chance. Isn't feeling good.
Harry Potter - Protagonist (A/N: Pfft!) - Well, I got a date for the party.
How about you guys? Yes, I'm asking you.
Hermione Granger - Still a champion's date - Oh boy, she's going in the
lake again.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio/Synopsis!
169. Chapter 169: Awkwardness
& Suits
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"Are you still mad? Are you going to complain to him? Will you try to. .
.you know. . . ?"
Sitting in her chair, Daphne Greengrass sighed. She glanced to her side,
and sitting in another chair, swinging her feet, was Astoria Greengrass
staring at her with curious eyes.
"I'm not going to do anything of any sort. We're here for your treatment
— there isn't any place to bring that up, and I'm sure Quinn would
appreciate us talking about those things in his office; he's very particular
about it."
"But, you want to, right? If you had the option, you'd ask him."
Daphne didn't grace that question with an answer. What was she
supposed to say? That Quinn should ditch the French hussy and take her
to the ball — that wasn't going to happen. Knowing Quinn, he wasn't
going to back out of his commitment and. . . .
'I don't have that option anymore,' she thought.
Astoria continued to gaze at her sister. The still-secret news of Quinn
going to the Yule Ball came as a surprise to her. Astoria, much like her
sister, thought that Quinn would ask Daphne out to the ball — she was
the best option after all.
'Can't say I didn't enjoy seeing her fret for hours to Tracey.'
As much as Astoria loved her sister, the one thing she didn't like was
Daphne's habit of keeping emotions away from her face.
'She is so pretty; it's an absolute pity for it to be set in stone.'
Daphne had been good at occlumency from the very start, getting praise
from everyone — Daphne's occlumency teacher had wildly applauded her
when she was able to keep emotions off her face so well. Maybe it was
because of the constant praises that Daphne kept few feelings on her face
to this day.
So Astoria felt joyous whenever someone could rile Daphne enough for
her to break her occlumency. That was the reason why she would always
bother Daphne in one way or another — anything from making her sigh
to smile.
'Then came Quinn,' reminisced Astoria, 'suddenly she became more
expressive. Now she talks more, smiles more. . . she even laughs.'
It had started with Daphne only changing around Quinn, but little by
little. . . Astoria smiled brightly. 'She is returning to the Daphne of
before.'
"Why're you smiling so much?"
"No reason," said Astoria grinning even more.
"Oh, smiling, are we? Let me on the joke."
The sisters turned their heads to see Quinn exit through the red door in
the glass wall.
"So, Astoria, ready for this month's dose of oh-so-spooky dark magic?"
The younger Greengrass bowed her head. "Y-Yes, Dark Lord W-West."
"Good, good, I can feel the fear. . . I like it," said Quinn in a low, deep,
and spooky voice. The smiling expression on his face, though, didn't
match his tone.
The two looked at each other and broke out laughing. No matter how
many times Quinn treated Astoria, it was a little tension-raising for the
girl to have blood magic run through her body — maybe it would get
better with more time, but that time wasn't now.
So to ease her worries, Quinn would always make the ambiance as
carefree as possible for Astoria to feel safe.
"Before we get started, let's go over the usual, shall we?" asked Quinn
pulling his trusty barstool beside Astoria.
"Certainly."
"Okay, how are you feeling right now?"
"Fit as a unicorn."
"Excellent, unicorns don't get sick. How about any anomalies during the
month?"
"Nothing I can remember of. . . . Ah wait, I have one!"
Daphne looked alarmed at Astoria's sudden revelation.
"Oh, please tell," asked Quinn.
"Throughout the month, I felt a little too. . . happy!"
Quinn chuckled in response, but Daphne wasn't amused.
"Astoria! This is serious! You can't joke—"
"Oh, it's fine. The healer isn't angry; you shouldn't be as well."
Daphne looked towards Quinn, who shrugged with a smile — he honestly
didn't have a problem with it.
"Okay, Astoria, jokes aside, any problems throughout the month?" asked
Quinn.
"No, I don't recall having any problems."
"That's great."
After taking Astoria's account of her own health, Quinn started to check
on Astoria's health. One of the principles of diagnostics that Poppy had
taught him was that patients aren't an accurate source of patient
condition as several of them lied or weren't cognizant of their own state.
It was a healer's role to find and search for a more complete diagnostic of
their patient.
"Alright, everything indeed looks good. I can't sense anything odd except,
well, you know — the blood curse."
"That's good, I guess."
"Yeah, now let's not waste any more time and get you good for another
month."
The same routine of blood magic was repeated in which Quinn used his
own magic to repress the blood malediction in Astoria's body. The results
were, as usual, the amount of blood magic that he could use would keep
the curse down for a month.
"Okay, it's done. You'll be good for another month. How do you feel?"
Astoria exhaled deeply as Quinn's hands left her; she looked at her hands
and clenched them; just like after every treatment, she felt a boost of
energy as if she could go on forever.
"Yeah, I can feel it," she said, "it's done; it's like every time."
"Excellent. Now, how're you doing, Astoria? What's going in your life,"
asked Quinn as he got up with the barstool in hand behind his desk.
Astoria tapped her chin with her finger in wonderment. The gears in the
brain of the extrovert Greengrass turned as a naughty glitter flashed in
her eyes.
"I'm a little sad, I guess."
"Sad, why?" asked Quinn, furrowing his brows, "any problem I can solve.
Tell me, I'll have it clear in a jiffy."
"No, it's nothing like that," her puppy-dog eye were fatal, "I'm just sad
that no one invited me to the Yule Ball. . . now I'll have to go back home
at Christmas."
Daphne twitched, and her eyes widened as she realized what her dear
sister was trying to do. 'She's trying to bring the topic up!'
Quinn, who was expecting an everyday problem, also froze for a split
second. His eyes subconsciously moved towards Daphne, and to both of
their surprise, both of their eyes met. Both immediately averted their
eyes away.
"O-Oh, that's unfortunate."
Astoria was delighted that just a single sentence from her was splendidly
doing its job.
"Yes, it is. . . Wait! — Quinn, you should take me. Please!"
Quinn kept his eyes on Astoria, trying his best not to look at the other
sister whose gaze he could feel on him. And he as did that, he noticed the
subtle odd expression on Astoria's face — an expression he was well
familiar with.
'Wait a minute,' the realization dawned on him, 'she knows! Astoria
knows. . . that would mean. . .'
He finally ended up looking to the side and saw Daphne staring at him.
'Ah. . .'
Daphne knew about it — she at least knew that he had a date. He hoped
that of all people, she would be the last one to know. But now that he
thought that the cat was out of the bag, he decided to come clean and
finally start disclosing from his end.
"Sorry, Astoria, but I already have a date for the Ball."
"Eh, you do?" Astoria looked between Quinn and Daphne, subtly implying
a question if they were going together.
"Yes, I have a date," said Quinn, ignoring the subtlety that was hitting
him soundly in the face.
"Who is it?!"
". . . Fleur Delacour."
"The French champion? You're taking the Veela to the Ball — hmm, I
surely thought you'd be taking Daphne. Don't you think so too, Daphne?"
"Don't talk nonsense, Astoria," said Daphne, half-glaring at her sister.
Astoria just stuck her tongue out in cute defiance.
Daphne couldn't do anything but sigh. However, now that the matter was
blown up and out in the open, she turned to stare at Quinn. No words
were exchanged, but both knew what the gaze meant.
"She asked, I accepted," said Quinn.
"Delacour asked? Like Ivy Potter asked?" inquired Daphne.
"Ah, you know about that, huh. Tell me one thing when did you hear this
from Ivy?"
"The day she got rejected," answered Daphne. At the same time, she
notices how Quinn addressed Ivy, 'she sneaked in without me knowing.'
"That was quick." Quinn wasn't bothered by it. Any information he was
willing to give out was information he was okay being spread.
"What about you, Daphne? Will you be attending the ball or going back
home with Astoria?"
"I'll be attending."
"Oh? Who's the lucky guy?" asked Quinn, leaning forward.
Daphne opened her mouth to answer the question but then paused. She
gazed at Quinn and changed her answer.
"It's a secret."
Quinn's eyes widened a fraction at the answer. "A secret?" He looked at
Astoria, who seemed as clueless as him
"No need to look at her. She doesn't know. No one knows."
"Okay, then tell me this. Is it someone I know?"
Daphne sat on the question for a moment before nodding, "Yes, you do
know of him."
"Do I know him?" questioned Astoria.
"No, you don't."
"Now that's interesting," said Quinn holding his chin, "someone I know,
but Astoria doesn't. It must be someone older than Astoria."
"That's too many people."
"I won't lie by saying that I'm not curious, but I'll wait," said Quinn,
leaning back. "Also, Daphne?"
"Yes?"
"May I have a dance at the Ball?"
Astoria turned to her sister, staring at Quinn, and thought, 'What's she
waiting for?'
"Yes, you may."
Quinn nodded and returned a smile to Daphne's tiny smile that graced
her lips.
"I also want to dance!" exclaimed Astoria interjecting.
"Grow up first," was the sister's prompt response.
. . .
The Greengrass sisters left the AID office after chatting a bit with Quinn,
who had to end their chat as he had previous commitments, and Daphne
too had to meet with the teams who had a game the coming day.
"You should've asked him," commented Astoria.
"It isn't proper for a girl to ask a boy. It's the other way around."
"Fleur Delacour, Ivy, and a dozen other girls did it. One of them got
through."
"If Quinn wanted to go with me, he would've asked."
"I can't deny that. But I'm just saying. . . the Veela clearly wanted
something, and she took it."
"Astoria—"
"I bet if you had asked, he would have said yes."
". . ."
Daphne had no answer to that. She knew what Astoria meant by — 'the
Veela clearly wanted something, and she took it.' Their father had always
said,
"If you want something, then the world won't hand it over to you — no,
the world will try its level best to keep you away from it — so if you ever
have a genuine desire for anything at all, it is your vocation to go and get
it. . . because if you don't, someone else will."
As the Greengrass heir, she never truly had to work hard to obtain
something; as such, she never connected with her father's words.
This was the first time she could understand what he meant.
Unfortunately, the understanding came a bit too late.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"U-Uhm, is this really fine?" asked Eddie in a nervous tone not usual on
the confident, outspoken, and loud boy.
Quinn looked at himself in the mirror, turning to look at his sides and
back. "Yes, it's fine. The question is if you're comfortable."
"I-I guess. This isn't something I'm used to," said Eddie.
"Raise your hands wide, lad."
Eddie immediately raised his hands as he felt measuring tapes wrap
around him as a pot-bellied middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth
walked around him.
"Hmm, you two have good frames on you two lads: broad shoulders, thin
waists, long legs, shorter torso. . . a bit difficult to stitch, but nothing I
can't manage."
Quinn checked himself in the mirror while adjusting the fitting jacket full
of stitches and threads.
"I'm looking forward to having the complete suit, Mr. Taylor. This will be
my first bespoke three-piece suit. As much as I adore my two-piece suit
collection — three-piece suits are a class apart. Plus, I get to show off one
of my pocket watch chain going throw the vest."
"You're grandfather loves his three-piece suits, little West. He has them
stitched four times a year — I know an addict when I see one."
Quinn laughed, relating to Mr. Taylor's description of his grandfather.
Mr. Taylor was the tailor George, Quinn, and Elliot used for their suits
(Lia had her own personal tailor).
The thing about Mr. Taylor was that he had no filter whatsoever —
anything that popped in his mind came out of his mouth. This quality of
his, along with the fact that stitched killer suits, was the reason that
George West hadn't used another tailor in thirty years; he loved the fact
that Mr. Taylor didn't act reserve in front of him like so many others did.
"Then get ready to get another addict as your client, Mr. Taylor, because
I'll be coming to you for all my suit, shirt, and pant needs — also, do you
do belts?"
"I'm okay with that, more money to me. I sell belts, ties, suspenders,
anything you formal you want, you'll get it," said Taylor as his eyes
studied his charms working on Eddie's fitting jacket, "how does it feel,
lad? Any tightness while moving."
Eddie twisted his upper body to get a good feel of the jacket.
"It isn't as flexible as my quidditch uniform, but it's comfortable, no
doubt."
"Don't worry, when I'm done with it, you would be able to wrestle in it."
With the Yule Ball coming around, every boy and girl attending the Ball
was getting their formal party wear prepared. Quinn and his friends were
no different; they all were attending the Ball and needed formal wear for
the occasion.
Being very particular about her dress, Luna had pulled Marcus along with
her to coordinate their clothes so they would match. Poor Marcus had
been stressed as his standard black-and-white dress robes weren't going
to match Luna's eccentric ideas, so he asked Quinn to change the color of
his clothes to match Luna's preferences.
Quinn offered to have new dress robes stitched for Marcus to match
Luna, but Marcus wanted to wear what he got from home, so Quinn
agreed to cast the most potent color change charm he could cast.
Eddie accepted Quinn's offer, so both boys had new formal wear stitched
for them.
Quinn didn't want to wear dress robes; he found them tedious. He
decided to go with a classy three-piece suit — it didn't matter if it was
the magical or non-magical world, suits were in style everywhere.
Eddie went along with whatever Quinn was wearing, so it was decided
that both would wear three-piece suits — bowtie for Eddie and necktie
for Quinn.
"Are you sure she will like this?" asked Eddie sounding a bit worried.
"Eddie, while clothes are powerful weapons but to wield their true power
— to look your best, you need to feel your best; you've to believe that
you look good."
"But I don't if I will look good in this."
"Bah! Everyone looks good with my babies on. Take a bath and cut your
hair and you'll be no less than a dashing prince," shouted Mr. Taylor
while writing down adjustments and measurements.
"I still don't get it, you know? How in the world did you get Tracey to
agree to go with you to the Ball?" asked Quinn.
He was shocked when he was looking for Tracey for the progress of ticket
mailing and pulled out Recon to locate her. To his surprise, he saw her
with Eddie in a classroom.
His curiosity peaked. At first, he thought they were planning a prank
against him and decided to spy on them to be ready for their action. But
to his surprise, they were practicing dancing in the classroom.
"It all started when Tracey wanted to know why you didn't ask Daphne to
the ball — thanks for telling me, by the way; it felt real good knowing
about your date from someone else."
"No hard feelings, man. It was a mutual decision."
"Yet you had no problem telling Ivy Potter."
"What did you expected me to do? I had just rejected a girl I know
personally; I had to give her something."
"Yeah, whatever. So we got talking, and Marcus' advice popped in my
head. . . so I asked her."
"And she accepted."
"She did," grinned Eddie.
'It's like he's floating on clouds,' smiled Quinn in thought.
"So, you like her?"
"Yeah, she's nice and smart. . . and pretty," said Eddie.
'Oh ho, look at him all shy.'
Eddie Carmichael was a guy who didn't get bashful easily. He charged
out towards every situation with a face thick as an elephant's skin. Seeing
him grinning like a buffoon and getting lost in thought was a unique look
on him.
"You're smitten."
"Am not!"
"You so are. But you better not hurt Tracey — she's a dear friend."
"And I'm your best friend."
"Yes, and that's why Tracey will know exactly who to come, so she could
spite you. Given that she doesn't do it herself."
"What if I'm the one who gets hurt?"
"Then, I'll stand behind you and spite her. It goes both ways — gender
equality holds strong."
"Good, that's good. I'll take that."
Mr. Taylor puffed out a smoke ring and blurted, "If you ladies are done
with your chat. It's time for me to take your pant measurements."
"Of course, Mr. Taylor," said Quinn, removing his fitting jacket.
Eddie leaned towards Quinn and whispered,
"He's not going to poke down there, is he?"
Quinn turned to Eddie and laughed out loud.
". . .T-That doesn't give me the answer — Quinn? Quinn?!"
.
Quinn West - MC - Suits are dope!
Daphne Greengrass - Feelings are complex - The entire situation is very
complicated.
Astoria Greengrass - Little Cherub - Smart people can be dumb.
Eddie Carmichael - Smitten - I! Have! A! Date!
Mr. Taylor - Tailor - I do hats as well — if anyone's wondering.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
170. Chapter 170: Christmas Day
and Gifts
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Patreón.
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The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the
visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show
the castle at its best this Christmas.
When the decorations went up, Quinn noticed that they were the most
stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been
attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve
Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from
luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of
armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed
them. It was quite something to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sung by
an empty helmet that only knew half the words.
Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the
armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with
lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.
Soon, the term ended, and with it ended his busy schedule managing the
quidditch tournament — he was free till the school term started again. As
such, he was looking forward to spending his time leading up to
Christmas enjoying himself as thoroughly as possible, along with
everyone else.
Ravenclaw Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it
seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were so much
rowdier than usual.
Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale
blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a giant, chilly, frosted pumpkin
next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the
Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with
frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves
with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur
seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.
"It's too heavy, all this Hogwarts food," said the girl while sitting along
with Quinn's group, her voice reaching everywhere in the Great hall, "I
will not fit into my dress robes!"
"You're a Veela, Fleur. You're not going to gain weight so easily — your
body won't allow it."
Eddie agreed with Quinn. "Yeah, that's why it's hard for Veelas to play
positions other than seekers and goalies. They can't gain weight easily;
that includes muscle mass as such they usually play beaters and chasers."
When everyone looked at Eddie, he shrugged,
"I read it in a book I picked up for light reading."
Sometimes people forgot that Eddie was a Ravenclaw — he was a
certified nerd despite jock status.
Fleur's little complaint wasn't registered as well as it did in Quinn group;
for example, by the Gryffindor table, Hermione snapped.
"Oooh, there's a tragedy. She really thinks a lot of herself, that one,
doesn't she?"
Ivy and other girls like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brow nodded
feverously. None like the audacity of a Veela complaining about gaining
weight — it was as if a fish deep under the ocean to an aquarium fish
complaining about having less space to swim.
"Oye, Potter!" said Draco, behind them, "You're not telling me the rumors
are true — you asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?"
Harry and Ron looked at Draco, instinctively turning their attention away
from the food towards, but Hemione beat them to it and waved to
somebody over Malfoy's shoulder,
"Hello, Professor Moody!"
Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for
Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.
"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" said Hermione scathingly
before inaudibly sighing as her hands went to her teeth
She gazed at Harry, who had joined Ron in laughing at the embarrassed
Draco at the Slytherin and then at the Ravenclaw table.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"You want me to shrink your teeth."
Quinn sat across Hermione Granger, repeating her request back to her for
confirmation.
"Yes, I would like you to shrink them."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Alright, let's do it."
Hemione stilled for a second; she was expecting a little more something. .
. . anything.
"Just like that? No questions pertaining to why?"
Quinn shrugged his shoulders and lightly shook his head.
"Not really."
"Nothing?"
"Ms. Granger, unlike you're previous interactions with me, this request of
me shrinking your teeth will have no possible negative consequences for
me — null, nil, nada, zilch. . . . I have your consent, and that's all I need
to get started. . . . If you're talking about the reason behind this particular
request, I won't ask if you don't want to tell."
"O-Oh, okay. Thank you for that."
"Should we get started then?"
"Yes, please."
Quinn got up from his barstool and walked to the client-side, sitting on
the chair beside Hermione.
"Please show me your teeth and don't lock your jaw together; keep them
a little apart. Yes, excellent."
Quinn retrieved his fake wand to shrink the two front buck teeth down
using a healing-grade transmutation-based spell.
"Teeth are one of the parts in a body that can easily be transmuted;
enamel is an inorganic material, beneath it are Dentin and pulp, which
might be organic materials, but are the type that can be easily
transmuted — the very few areas of living tissue in the body which can
be transmuted without immense risks involved."
Hermione Granger, of course, had a lot to speak about the topic but
couldn't as her teeth were being operated on.
The witch started to talk the second Quinn was done and removed his
hand from Hermione's chin. "With all the living matter inside a human
body, it gets increasingly difficult to permanently change — especially
with nerves running through everything."
"Precisely," nodded Quinn.
He conjured a hand mirror for Hermione to see the end result.
The girl studied her modified dentures and nodded with satisfaction with
their new size.
"Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to
let me shrink my teeth for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my
braces. You know, they're dentists. They just don't think teeth and magic
should go together."
"It's natural for them to think like that," said Quinn going back to the
barstool behind his desk, "they're in the profession as orthodontists —
they had to study for years to start practicing their craft. Waving a wand
to fix everything with magic — something they don't understand, might
not sound convincing to them. . . . For example, I have learned to play
the violin and piano for years — playing them with magic doesn't sound
good to me."
Sitting down, he asked Hermione. "Anything else you wanted to get done
today?"
"No, that's it for today. . . . So I heard you're going with Fleur Delacour."
"That I'm,' replied Quinn taking out a billing pad, "ah, do you want a
receipt?"
"How much are you charging?"
"Just spare me some silver-sickles; this wasn't hard, you could've gone to
Madam Pomfrey, and she would've done it for you free of charge."
"Then you don't have to give me a bill."
Hermione pulled her bookbag up from the floor and started to look for
her coin purse.
As she did that, Quinn continued with conversation, "It seems we both
will be going as champions date."
"Hmm? Ah yes!" said Hermione pulling out a pouch with a jingle of coins
inside. "Any idea who is going with Krum and Cedric?"
"Cho Chang is going with Cedric; they're dating. I'm not sure about Krum;
there is no news about him."
"Is that so. . . . so, you rejected Ivy."
Hermione slid the silver-sickles across the table.
Quinn glanced up from the table, looking at the girl before he pulled the
coins towards him.
"I did. Are you angry about that?"
"Not really. I expected Ivy to get rejected. But I thought it would be
Daphne Greengrass."
"Yeah. . . that's the official party line."
"You're going to dance with Ivy, though."
"Only if it doesn't make things awkward with her date. I don't want to
ruin her evening. I also want to dance with you so, save me a dance.
Speaking of that, who's she going with?"
"No one yet."
"No one?" said Quinn raising his brow.
"You rejected her," said Hermione and shrugged, "she couldn't recover."
"Hahaha, you're joking, right? . . . Right?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Christmas day had finally arrived. Quinn woke up to white covering the
entire castle and grounds. It was a beautiful sight — a sight to behold.
"A white Christmas," smiled Quinn, looking out of his window.
He started his day with his usual morning workout; Eddie had paused his
morning workouts to work with his teammates who had a different
routine; as such, his mornings were spent exercising in silence.
After a breaking sweat in the wintery, snowy cold, Quinn returned to the
common room. The second he opened the door, he was greeted by an
unusual scene — the usual thin crowd of early birds who had bathed and
come down to the common room was replaced by the entire Ravenclaw
crowd dressed in their sleepwear, ripping through gift wraps off their
Christmas presents and exchanging gifts with each other.
"Everyone woke up early today."
He weaved his way through the crowd of jolly festivity up the stairs to
his dorm room.
"Merry Christmas, lads; how're you jolly doing today."
His two roommates talking with each other looked up and greeted him
with broad grins,
""Merry Christmas!" "
Eddie picked up a wrapped-up cube box and threw it towards Quinn,
who had to catch it with both hands because of its size.
"What's this?" smiled Quinn.
He tapped his fingers against the box, and all strips of tapes came off.
The light and casual use of wandless magic had already become
commonplace in Quinn's dorm room. He had started to show very light
wandless capabilities following his meeting with Dumbledore after the
rescue of Harry Potter from Novellus Accionites abductors — Quinn
wanted to make sure that the people close to him knew that he could use
rudimentary levels of magic without a wand, bringing them to the same
level as Dumbledore.
Quinn opened Eddie's gift box, and inside it was a sturdy wooden mug
tankard.
"Whenever we go to Hogsmeade, you always have Madam Rosemary fill a
conjured mug. So here you go, use that next time."
"Thank you, Eddie, this is great!"
Next was Marcus, who, unlike Eddie, didn't throw his gift at Quinn and
properly handed him a smaller box.
"It isn't much, but I hope you'll like it."
Quinn unwrapped the gift wrap, and immediately shiny metal peeked
out. He looked at Marcus, who urged him to continue. Quinn complied
and fully unwrapped the paper.
". . . Is that?" said Quinn.
In his hands rested a stainless steel cuboidal case with beautiful
engraving inlaid into it. On the broader faces of the case was engraved a
monogram of 'QW' — the same monogram that Quinn printed on his
personal contact cards.
"Rub your finger along the side face of the case," said Marcus.
Quinn gently swiped his finger across the side face, and like a camera's
shutter opening up, the broad face opened, revealing a deck of cards
inside. The back design was minimalistic, with only a black background
and a thin golden border.
It was a card deck holder.
"You can swap the deck inside to one of your choice."
Quinn hummed as he started to play with the case and the deck inside.
Pulling the cards out, putting them back inside, switching things up —
soon the case and the deck had become part of one whole inside his
hands.
"Oh yeah, this just screams class." He was satisfied with both his gifts.
"Now it's my time to give you both your gifts. . . Unlike you guys, I
haven't made unique gifts for you."
Quinn took out his fake wand and summoned the gifts to him. His study
table drawer opened, and two objects flew towards him, which he caught
before presenting them to his best friends.
Marcus was the first one to recognize the gift. "Aren't these your
expandable pocket?"
"Yup, I made one each for both of you. No need to stuff your pant pockets
to the point they bulge. Keep all of your odd stuff inside them, plus you'll
not feel their weight as I've charmed them to be weightless — so you can
go nuts with the stuff you want to put inside as long as you know how to
pull them out — I would suggest summoning charm for easy retrieval if
the pockets get overcrowded."
"They don't have limits?" asked Eddie.
"Of course, they do. Infinite space inside a pocket isn't possible. There'll
always be a limit to space expansion. This also has a limit; explore it at
your own discretion."
"Nice, I'll fit my broom in there."
Quinn wasn't done yet. He had another gift for them— a somewhat
serious gift. Two small packages flew through the hair towards him, and
with heavy hands, he handed them to Eddie and Marcus.
"Is this. . . a lighter?" asked Marcus.
He held a silver Zippo lighter with a complicated yet subtle design etched
into the silver surface — those designs weren't for show, but for magical
purposes, as everything etched on the cover was a rune.
Eddie flicked the Zippo lighter and spun the wheel to light it up.
"Oh yeah, this is cool."
He closed it with a click before flicking it open again.
"Uh-huh, this is very cool."
Quinn smiled at their positive reaction. "I'm glad you liked it, but I didn't
give this to you because it's cool. . . . the lighter has another use."
"Oh, what is it?" asked Marcus.
Quinn took Marcus's lighter and flicked it open; he pointed at a non-
descript witch below the lighter wheel.
"Now, I hope you never get to use this," he started, "but if you guys ever
get attacked or get trapped in a situation that you need some extra. . .
push of sorts — flip this switch, close the lid and throw it towards the
target."
Marcus gulped before asking nervously, "What does it do?"
"It would be better if you don't know — you won't use it if you know."
"Does it explode?" asked Eddie.
"No, nothing like that. It won't explode. But make sure you're at least
twenty feet away from the place you're throwing it."
". . . Seriously, what does it do?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn, Eddie, and Marcus met up with Luna in the common room, and
they went down to breakfast together. Quinn gave the same gifts to Luna
while getting a painting in return. They spent most of the morning in
Ravenclaw Tower, where everyone enjoyed their presents, then returned
to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, including at least a hundred
turkeys and Christmas puddings and enormous piles of Cribbage's
Wizarding Crackers.
They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was
untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and
Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Luna chose to watch
the three-way snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o'clock, said
she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.
"What, you need three hours?" said Quinn, looking at her incredulously
and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown
by Quinn, hit him hard on the side of the head.
"Oof!"
"Haha, got you~."
There was no Christmas tea today, as the ball included a feast, so at
seven o'clock, when it had become hard to aim correctly, the trio
abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room.
Quinn, Eddie, and Marcus changed into their formal wear-up in
their dormitory, Eddie and Marcus looking very self-conscious. On the
other hand, Quinn looked like he was in his element, feeling out his suit
and threading a pocket watch chain through his vest with a smile on his
face.
"Are you boys ready?" asked Quinn looking at his best friends.
Quinn himself wore a light grey three-piece suit with a faint blue shirt
and a royal blue tie around his neck. Eddie's suit was of a deep and dark
royal blue color with checks over a black shirt and bowtie; unlike Quinn,
Eddie had a folded handkerchief sticking out from his breast pocket.
Marcus seemed happy with his clothes. He had gotten lucky with the
color scheme required to match Luna with a bright yellow robe and pants
over a black shirt and white bowtie. He had pulled his hair slick back and
set them Rudder fish's gel, giving him a clean put-together look.
"You chaps clean up well," smiled Quinn, "come on, before we go down,
let's take a photo."
He set out a prototype camera under development half as small as any
current model in the magical world — with full intentions to reduce the
size to the non-magical world's DSLR cameras.
The three boys lined up with Marcus in the middle and the suit boys
standing at his sides, facing the camera fixed upon a tripod stand.
"Three. . . two. . . one. . . smile with glee."
With the MLE flash built into the camera prototype shining light on
them, a memory was captured forever — an image that all boys would
cherish for years to come.
"Now, let's go meet the ladies."
.
Quinn West - MC - Feeling good, Looking good.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yule - Vault - Second Task.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
171. Chapter 171: Yule Ball: The
Start
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The Ravenclaw common room looked strange, full of people wearing
different colors instead of the usual mass of black. School robes could
only be customized so much; as such, party robes and dresses showed
each student's unique charm.
Terry Boot looked Eddie from top-down and spoke in an unconvinced
tone, "I still can't work out how you got one of the best-looking girls in
the year."
Eddie put his hands into the pant pockets and answered suavely, "Animal
magnetism."
Marcus, who was talking to Michael Corner, turned and scoffed, "More
like a bashful request."
Marcus felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see his lovely date
standing behind him. Luna Lovegood looked very pretty indeed, in robes
of shocking yellow, with her blonde plait braided with white flowers,
white ribbons wrapped prettily around her hands, and silver satin gloves
gracing her hands. She was glowing.
"You look pretty."
"Thank you. You are looking pretty as well."
Marcus reached into his robes and pulled out a wrist corsage with three
white roses and numerous faux-pearls. "This is for you. I thought it would
look good with your dress."
Luna presented her wrist. Marcus understood it immediately and gently
clipped it around her wrist.
The girl looked at her wrist for seconds, raised it near her face to take in
the scent of roses preserved with a special potion to keep the freshness
and enhance the fragrance. She looked up at Marcus with a smile in her
dreamy eyes.
"Thank you, it's beautiful."
"I think it's you who makes it look even more beautiful."
By the side, Eddie, Terry, and Michael stared at the scene between the
two.
Eddie clicked his tongue and commented, "Normally, he doesn't speak
much but now look, he's spouting flowers out of his mouth."
"Did you bring something like that?" asked Terry.
Michael shook his head, "He's making us look bad."
Marcus and Luna joined the boys, with Luna asking, "I don't see Quinn,
where's he?"
Eddie pointed towards a corner of the common room. Everyone looked
towards the corner to see Quinn surrounded by a horde of Ravenclaw
girls, all giggling while Quinn smiled all the way while talking with
them.
"What's he doing there?" inquired Luna.
"Don't know; they were suddenly all over him," replied Eddie shrugging.
Eventually, the crowd of giggling girls dissipated, with Quinn waving
them all off while making his towards them.
"Luna! Now, don't you look pretty," said Quinn with a beaming smile on
his face. He looked at the guys and nodded, "Looking good, fellas, ready
to party hard?"
"Do you have an after-party planned?" asked Michael.
Quinn shook his head, "No, I was a bit too busy to organize an after-
party, but I can get you inside the Weasley twin's after-party; you'll just
have to pay a reasonable token entry fee."
"Why don't we know about this party? How do you know that?"
"It's a very exclusive thing; they don't want just anyone to come in, but if
you take my name, they'll let you in. It will be even better if you guys
take your dates with you; a better gender ratio always helps."
Quinn's name held weight in the Weasley twins' world. He had a long
history of cooperation with them, plus he was their future angel investor
for their business.
"We should get going," said Quinn, checking his pocket watch, looking
pretty happy about using it.
The entrance hall was packed with students, too, all milling around
waiting for eight o'clock when the doors to the Great Hall would be
thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different
Houses were edging through the crowd, trying to find one another.
Tracey arrived the same time they did and called out to Eddie when in
earshot. The slightly nervous boy turned to be stunned out of his mind as
Tracey Davis, his date, walked towards him in a dress of royal blue and
turquoise; she had tied her hair in a messy bun with an ornate glass hair
stick.
"Hi," she said.
"H-Hi," that was all Eddie could get out.
Quinn leaned to mutter into Marcus' ear, "It's so entertaining to see him
like this. He's usually all attack; I knew he'd be weak to attacks."
"I don't think Tracey has done anything, though I see what attack you're
talking about."
"I know, imagine if she did go on attack," cackled Quinn, "if Tracey
wanted, she could have him wrapped around her finger by the end of the
day."
A group of Slytherins came up the steps from the dungeons. Malfoy was
in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar,
which made him look like a vicar in Quinn's opinion. Pansy Parkinson, in
very frilly robes of pale pink, was clutching Malfoy's arm. Crabbe and
Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders,
and neither of them, Quinn wasn't surprised to see, had managed to find
a partner.
Next came the group of Gryffindors with Harry Potter and his date in the
lead.
"Holy moly! Is that Hermione Granger," gawked Eddie as he saw the
pretty girl dressed in periwinkle robes.
"You can say that again," said Tracey in agreement, "it's like she's another
person. What happened to her? What kind of magic is that."
"Meh, spoke Quinn, "it's a simple work of change of clothes and hairdo
with some glamor charms accentuating everything. Hermione Granger
was always pretty; she simply needed a little makeover to show that.
Even without all of what we're seeing and some minute changes, she
would attract eyes."
The Ravenclaw group looked at Quinn with varying gazes and
expressions.
Quinn stared back at them. "What? You know me, look at me, I like to
dress well. I know that kind of stuff."
"What about her then?" asked Terry Boot, his eyes stuck one person in the
Gryffindor group.
Walking just behind her brother and best friend was Ivy Potter. The
Potter princess was dressed in a flowing red dress long enough to float
just above the ground. Her usually straight hair was lightly styled into
waves, flowing down her back and brilliant green earrings matching her
eyes.
Everything from her dress, hair, looks, the way she held herself looked
like a fire goddess.
"Yeah, I see it now. Why so many people asked her out," spoke Michael
Corner.
"She's very pretty," spoke Luna; it was also the first thing ever she had
said to Ivy Potter when she delivered Quinn's letter to Hermione Granger.
While everyone was looking at Ivy Potter, Eddie was looking somewhere
else; redheads weren't his types. But what he was seeing was totally in his
range. He raised his hands and reached around to find Quinn's shoulder
and then face.
"What are you doing, man?!" asked Quinn, swatting the offending hand
away.
"Look what you missed."
"What?"
Quinn looked to where Eddie was looking and stilled as his eyes caught
what Eddie was seeing.
The oak front doors were opened. Outside, he saw an area of lawn right
in castle's front had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy
lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the
rosebushes that had been conjured there and fluttering over the statues of
what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.
Everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with
Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by
his date in shimmering midnight black robes.
"You're totally missing out, mate; a Veela as a date better be worth it."
It was Daphne. Be it her blonde hair, blue eyes, or her black dress,
everything was what you would call perfect, in tune with each other,
creating a sort of harmony that would be absolutely stunning if put into
words.
A lot of girls gazed at Daphne in unflattering disbelief. When the doors to
the Great Hall opened, Krum's fan club stalked past, throwing Daphne
looks of most profound loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she
walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn't seem to be able to find an
insult to throw at her.
Tracey turned her gaze to Quinn and stared at his face. "Yeah, this is
what I imagined. He is making the exact expression I thought he would
make. Well, he's missing the dropped jaw."
"Oh yeah, no, he did just fine," Eddie spoke up, "it was a fair trade— yup,
he left a diamond mine, in return, he got a platinum lode."
Once again, the crowd in the entrance hall buzzed with activity.
It was as if an angel had descended down on Hogwarts.
The Beauxbatons students were all very handsome and beautiful, but she
stood on another level even among those people.
Fleur Delacour's every step seemed to light up the Hall. She was dressed
in a simple silver-gray satin dress; despite that, if asked, anyone in the
school, they would, with high certainty, crown Fleur as the prettiest girl
in the school today — by dressing in such a simple dress, it was as if
Fleur was saying that she didn't have to dress up, she could do it —
effortlessly.
"Alright, people, time for me to go join my date," said Quinn with magic
fixing his clothes, "I'll see you inside in a bit; until then, I hope you enjoy
your evening."
"Look at him," smirked Eddie, "rearing to go to his date; he's a dawg."
Though suddenly, he felt an arm loop around his. He looked to his side
and saw Tracey looking up at him with upturned eyes.
"Should we head inside?"
Eddie's smirk drained, and he could only wordlessly nod — right now, he
would agree to anything Tracey would ask of him.
Quinn walked towards Fleur, who stood in the middle of the Hall as if
she owned all of it.
"I guess complimenting you on your appearance would be redundant,
wouldn't it?"
Fleur looked at Quinn, and for a while, she didn't say anything and
simply observed Quinn. In turn, he stood there, letting her get a good
look at him.
"Redundant, hmm, I wouldn't say that. Most special, especially I, like to
hear compliments — especially from my date."
Quinn nodded with a bit of a smile, "That's true. Well then, Fleur — you
looked unconditionally, utterly, unquestionably gorgeous."
"Thank you for the compliments," a smile bloomed on her face, "you
haven't done a bad job yourself. I like you didn't go with the tailcoat like
so many others; I like the suit." She pointed at the lower part of the vest.
"And the pocket watch, an effect I like very much."
"You just said everything I would have wanted in a compliment today,"
he said before taking out a long velvet box from his robes, "and for that
excellent compliment, I have a gift for you."
"Oh my, I like gifts."
Quinn opened the box with a silent snap and showed the platinum
necklace with a violet teardrop-shaped jewel floating near the chain
instead of hanging from it. He gently picked up the necklace from the
box.
"May I?"
"Yes, you may," said Fleur turning her back to Quinn — showing to him
that her dress was a backless one.
Quinn unclipped the thin chain and elegantly draped it around her neck.
"What is this gem? It's glowing faintly."
"That Fleur. . . is an alchemic crystalline material — or a crystal to be
simple."
It was a similar type of alchemic crystal found in the Aquatic vault —
Quinn had modified it to be clearer and have less glow, making it
suitable for it to be molded into a jewel.
Fleur didn't know the rarity of the crystal around her neck, but she did
know that it was beautiful.
"Thank you, Quinn, it's beautiful."
"I think it's you who makes it look even more beautiful," he said,
speaking a line he had suggested to his shy friend.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. West."
"But, I'm already there, Ms. Delacour."
Then Professor McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"
Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and
had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat,
told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went
inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of
the students had sat down.
Fleur and Quinn were stationed at the front of the line with other
champions behind them. With some time still left, Quinn decided to
break the tension hanging between the eight people (champions and their
dates).
"How're you guys doing? I must say all of you're looking remarkable
today," he looked at all of them and shrugged, "but I'd have to say, I can
see a lot of stiffness and nervousness."
Everyone shifted on their feet, shifting their eyes off of Quinn for a
moment, looking at each other.
"There's no need to be nervous. The Yule Ball, in essence, is a party — a
party held so that we can enjoy ourselves and have the time of our lives."
"But we've to open the dance," said Hermione, her features painted with a
tinge of worry. "What if we screw up?"
"I'll not, that's for sure," said Fleur looking confident.
"Me neither," added Daphne; she looked as calm as she always did, as if
today was just another day at school.
Quinn stared between the two girls and nodded before focusing back on
Hermione, "You're looking at it all wrong, you know?"
"How so?" she asked.
"A good amount people in there can't dance formally at Balls — over that,
there's are good chances those can dance aren't going with those who
can't. . . pretty sure that a lot of the people inside will only come to the
dance floor only when the Weird Sisters play something funky."
Out of the eight people here, everyone knew how to dance — enough to
not embarrass them in front of everyone. But the prospect of dancing in
front of everyone with all eyes fixed on them was a prospect not many
were excited about.
"So, in conclusion, relax and calm down," concluded Quinn, "some say
potato head and birthday suits help, but if that isn't your deal, I can
always help with a bit of magic — it'll take just a little, but it'll get you
through the dance. . . Any takers?"
There were none.
Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the
champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and follow her.
"It's showtime." Quinn looked at Fleur. "Ready to impress?"
"Always," she said, taking his arm.
The champions entered, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as
they walked in and started walking up toward a large round table at the
top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.
The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with
hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black
ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, about a hundred smaller,
lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.
Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table,
but Karkaroff wore an expression of deep dissatisfaction as he watched
Krum and Daphne draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright
purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of
the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform
of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them
politely. But Mr. Crouch, Quinn noticed, was not there. The fifth seat at
the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.
When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew
out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry took
the hint and sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-
blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that Quinn thought
it ought to be fined.
Quinn asked Fleur to walk ahead and stopped behind Percy. "Mr.
Weasley, I have to say, you're looking good. How come Mr. Crouch isn't
in attendance today?"
"I'm afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn't well, not well at all. Hasn't been right
since the World Cup. Hardly surprising — overwork. He's not as young as
he was — though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great
as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry,
and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the sudden
death of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called — well,
as I say, he's getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he's found a
definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the
tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with — that
revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around — no, poor man, he's having a
well-earned, quiet Christmas."
"Then why are you here?" asked Harry.
"I've been promoted," from his tone, he might have been announcing his
election as supreme ruler of the universe. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal
assistant, and I'm here representing him."
"I see; I hope he gets well soon," said Quinn, "it was night talking to you,
Mr. Weasley, now I have to return to my date." He shook hands with
Percy, who really looked like he was enjoying himself.
Quinn walked towards his seat; it was only a few steps away, but he froze
just as he saw where Fleur had seated herself.
Of the pairs, Harry & Hermione and Cedric & Cho were sitting on the
edges with Krum & Daphne and Quinn & Fleur in between the two pairs.
The thing that made Quinn uncomfortable was that all the girls sat on the
right, with the boys sitting on their left.
"Hey," he said, sitting down beside Fleur.
Then looked to his side and greeted, "Hey, Daphne."
The Yule Ball had started.
.
Quinn West - MC - Thinking if he should spike the punch.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yeah, right! That's what he is thinking,
sure, buddy.
Marcus Belby - Calm boi - Preparation is the key to success.
Luna Lovegood - Dreamy girl - Hoping to see lots of Fairies today.
Eddie Carmichael - Suited-up - Animal magnetism! . . . A-Ah yes, Uhm, s-
sure. Whatever you say.
Tracey Davis - Dressed-up - She has the legendary move, Upturned eyes
in her arsenal.
Fleur Delacour - Beauxbatons Champion - Dressed-up Veela, 'nuff said.'''
Daphne Greengrass- Trained heiress - Perfect.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bioi!
172. Chapter 172: Yule Ball:
Dancing Begins
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Sitting in between Fleur and Daphne was a bit awkward for Quinn, but
he also had skin thick as an elephant — he soon got used to it.
As it was already eight o'clock, the ball started with a feast. Quinn looked
at the plates and cutlery set in front of him. There was no food as yet on
the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each
of them.
Quinn picked up his menu, read it carefully, then said very clearly to his
plate, "Pork chops!"
And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed
their orders with their plates too. Quinn glanced up at Hermione to see
how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining —
surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? But it seemed
that his talk had made a change as Hermione didn't seem to be bothered
by it. She was deep in talks with Harry and hardly seemed to notice what
she was eating.
He looked to the other side and saw Daphne conversing with Krum. It
surprised him immensely — all the times he had seen Krum, he had
never seen the man talk so much, very enthusiastically at that.
"Well, we have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am
thinking," he was telling Hermione. "We have just four floors, and the
fires are lit only for magical purposes. But we have grounds larger even
than these — though, in winter, we have very little daylight, so we are
not enjoying them. But in summer we are flying every day, over the lakes
and the mountains —"
"Now, now, Viktor!" said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn't reach his cold
eyes, "don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend
will know exactly where to find us!"
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Igor, all this secrecy . . . one
would almost think you didn't want visitors."
"Well, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to
their fullest extent, "we are all protective of our private domains, are we
not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been
entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our
school's secrets and right to protect them?"
"Oh, I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor,"
said Dumbledore amicably. "Only this morning, for instance, I took a
wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a
beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a
really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back
to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But
I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in
the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the
seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."
Quinn smiled into his bite of pork chop — he was really relieved he
could smile at the mysterious bathroom. It wasn't the Room of
Requirements, but it had similarities; it would appear when one really
wanted to go to a bathroom, but there wasn't one nearby. He had
stumbled upon it so many times that it wasn't even funny.
Given that Krum had shared something about Durmstrang, Fleur decided
to continue the topic.
"This is nothing," she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling
walls of the Great Hall. "At the Palace of Beauxbatons, we have ice
sculptures all around the dining chamber at Christmas. They don't melt,
of course . . . they are like huge statues of diamond, glittering around the
place. And the food is simply superb. And we have choirs of wood
nymphs, too serenade us as we eat. We have none of this ugly armor in
the halls, and if a poltergeist ever entered into Beauxbatons, he would be
expelled like that." She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.
'I can create ice that doesn't melt,' thought Quinn.
Seeing that Fleur crapped on Hogwarts and praised Beauxbatons, the
Hogwarts students on the table started to defend Hogwarts. A heated
battle of words began on the table.
'Well, Hogwarts has me, isn't that enough,' mused Quinn in silence, 'hmm,
since when did I become so narcissistic? But it's the truth, isn't it? Hmm,
isn't that again narcissism. Wait a minute, which comes first? Truth or
narcissism. . . did I fall upon something profound.'
"What about you, Quinn? What do you think," said Daphne from his left
with a slight glare in her eyes — glare directed toward not at him, but his
date towards his right.
Quinn felt an arm snake around his right arm. He looked and saw Fleur
oh so close to him. "Yes, Quinn. What do you think?"
". . . Uhm," Quinn gulped for a few different reasons; he could feel
something very soft pressed against his arm and a pleasant scent tickle
his nose.
He tightly smiled before taking a deep breath to steady himself and
started to think — indeed, what was about Hogwarts that interested him
the most. He had been here more than four years — in those four years,
what had called out to him the most.
"Just as Headmaster Dumbledore said — even he doesn't know all of
Hogwarts — meaning there are so many places to explore so many things
to discover. People say that the 'unknown' is scary, but I find the
'unknown' inviting. . . . Hogwarts is filled with so many of those
unknowns. To me, the castle, these grounds are a treasure trove waiting
for someone to dive in and find all of its jewels and gems."
He rested his chin on the back of his hand and smiled, "That. . . . gives
me goosebumps just thinking about it."
Daphne, Harry, Hermione, Cedric, and Cho all looked at Quinn — this
peer of theirs was famous for many things, but, before being the best of
his best, before AID, before everything else, Quinn West was recognized
for his penchant for being out after curfew at night and that he couldn't
be found for hours at a time during the day.
"That sounds like you, Mr. West. You've certainly have been an avid
explorer," chuckled Dumbledore from his behind his half-moon glasses,
"do you know, Mr. West even found a secret passageway leading to
outside the school grounds?"
"Please, Headmaster, I would like if you don't bring my dark past to light
— to be caught sneaking out of the school, how embarrassing."
His reply made Dumbledore laugh. The old Headmaster understood what
Quinn actually meant.
When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked
the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables
zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he
conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of
drums, several guitars, a flute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon
it.
The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic
applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that
had been artfully ripped and torn.
"Let's go. It's time for us to open the dance," Quinn heard Fleur's word
whispered into his ear.
The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Quinn walked onto
the brightly lit dance floor, and the next moment, he had Fleur's hands in
his with the other on her back.
Everything in the world ceased to exist as Quinn directed all of his
attention to his very beautiful partner, who also seemed to be looking
just at him. Then they started to dance to the tune of the music, and the
thoughts about a crowd watching them escaped their minds.
"You dance well," praised Fleur.
"You're an easy partner to lead," replied Quinn in counter-praise.
"I like that you're giving me credit, but Quinn, you don't have to do it
every time; sometimes it's better to simply accept the praise."
"Then thank you for the praise, Fleur. I'm a good dancer."
"Much better."
The pair continued to talk, and other people had also entered the dance
floor — they, along with other champion pairs, were no longer the centre
of attention, but Quinn and Fleur didn't care about them and simply
continued dancing, enjoying each other's proximity.
. . .
While Quinn and Fleur weren't paying much attention to others, they
were definitely paying attention to them.
Fleur's hold on her Allure had subconsciously weakened a level. Gentle
waves of Veela Allure drifted from her, spreading towards the
surroundings. In certain circumstances, a Veela's Allure just didn't make
herself attractive — right now, as everybody watched, Fleur Delacour
and Quinn West looked like a pair chosen by heaven. The pair looked so
attractive that the people outside the dance floor only had eyes for them.
.
"They look so good together."
.
"Are they together?"
"Wouldn't that be fitting? They seem like the perfect couple."
.
"Only if I could get someone like Quinn."
"If I would've asked Fleur out, it would've been there."
"Dream on, pal."
"I could say the same to you."
. . .
Quinn heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with a sense of
satisfaction. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall
once more, and Quinn smiled at Fleur.
"The song is over, Fleur."
"Yes, and?"
"Your grips still on, you know?"
Fleur didn't let Quinn go from their dance stance, standing close to him,
gazing up at him with a smile. "Do you not like it?"
"There is nothing to not like here, Fleur, but as I told you before, I've
some prior commitments to fulfil."
"Dancing with other girls even though you have me — that isn't
flattering, my dear date."
"Oh, please. We both know you, too, have to go and mingle around."
"That's true," she sighed, "let's hope some of them could handle me."
The two separated and looked around the dance floor and the hall to find
their respective objectives.
"I think we should start with the other champions?" suggested Quinn.
Fleur gazed around as she lightly hummed, "I see Harry Potter and his
date. Should we go to them? Yes, Harry Potter would do; he can
withstand a good amount."
"Alright, let's start with them; I did ask Hermione for a dance."
. . .
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger danced together, revolving slowly
with gently steering around the floor; the two looked at peace with a
tinge of embarrassment flushing their cheeks. The two had been facing
many waves and sniggers while dancing alone with other champions.
"You weren't lying when you said you know how to dance," said
Hermione.
"Glad you finally believe me," grinned Harry, "Dad had always been
insistent that Ivy and I should know how to dance; mum was all for it.
Though I've only danced with Ivy for the most."
Then the pair heard a cheerful voice call out, "Harry, my boy."
Both looked to see Quinn walking towards them with a jolly look on his
face. "You two look utterly dashing."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "Thank you. You too as well,"
said Harry.
"Thank you, Harry. Now I would like to ask your very lovely date to a
dance,' said Quinn, then turning to Hermione, "May I have a dance, my
fair lady."
"Huh, what?" said Harry, confused.
Quinn glanced back at Harry and reached out his hand. "Here, take this."
Harry instinctively raised his hand to receive and found a familiar
wrapped chocolate cube in his palm. "Chocolate?"
"You know what? Give that back," smiled Quinn and took back the cube,
then pointed with chin towards Harry's back, "you're about to get
something much sweeter."
Harry turned and saw Fleur Delacour standing behind with a charming
smile on her face, "Good evening Harry, you clean up well."
The boy turned back just to see Quinn leading his equally surprised date
away with his hand on her back.
"Don't worry, you'll get her back after a dance," he heard Fleur say, "until
then, let's have some fun."
"Huh?"
. . .
"Ms. Granger, I must admit, even though I think Fleur is unquestionably
eye-catching, but you're the one who made the most impact today," said
Quinn dancing with a still reeling Hermione, "I mean look at you — you
look spectacular tonight."
Hermione looked the taller Quinn; he wasn't as tall as Ron, but taller
than Harry. Both Ron and Harry had lean physiques, but with Quinn's
much wider arms holding her, she couldn't help but compare — Quinn
West definitely worked out.
'What am I thinking?!' Hermione lowered her face to hide the blush on
her cheeks; her face was betraying her embarrassing thoughts.
"T-Thank you."
"Any progress on the golden egg?"
Hermione sighed, hearing the question, "He's taking it slow. I don't think
he has even been to the library to research on the golden egg. . . . What
about Fleur Delacour, how much progress has she made?"
"Ms. Granger, why do you assume that I know how's Fleur doing on her
egg?"
"Are you not her date?"
"While that might be true, I only get to talk to Fleur during meals. Other
time, I'm busy with the tournament and my usual commitments."
"About that. . . . I have to ask, what are those commitments? I believe it's
just not me who's curious about it. Everyone in the school wants to
know."
"Oh, you know, this and that. But mostly, it's learning magic."
"How are you so good at magic? You're only one year above me," asked
the girl who had fallen in love with magic.
Quinn observed the girl in his arms and thought about his answer. "It's
not a fair comparison, Mr. Granger. I'm from a magical household, who
have been surrounded by magic ever since I can remember. . . . Tell me,
do you have a computer at home, Ms. Granger."
Hermione tilted her head in confusion, "Yes, we do. My mum uses it for
work. Why do you ask?"
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Yes, mum taught me how to use it since I was five. I like it; it's fun."
"Then between you, who had been using it since childhood, and me, who
uses it a couple times during summer break, who do you think can work
a computer better?"
"I suppose me. I'd be better than you."
"And I've no doubt about it," agreed Quinn; he knew how to use a
computer from his memories, but he was grossly out of touch with the
machine, "just like that, it's natural for me to be better at magic that
you're. I've been in contact with it for a time much longer than you have
been."
"But so have Ivy, Harry, and Ron."
"Not many children learn magic before schooling. It's a hassle for parents
to manage magic-enabled children. Only a few learn things like potions
and. . . . has Ivy started you on occlumency?"
"Eh? Ah, yes, she did. It's a fascinating form of magic."
"It is," he could feel her in-progress occlumency shields, "my family
allowed to me study magic without restraints. I could study magic as
much I wanted, and unlike many children, I liked to read. . . you can
understand that, don't you?"
". . . .yes, I can," nodded Hermione, she knew precisely what Quinn
meant, "you mean, you had a wand?"
"Oh no, my family wasn't that permitting. I just studied."
Hermione nodded and shook her mind of the thought about how children
could be very mean and changed the subject, "What did you use a
computer for?"
". . . .for games."
"Of course, you're a boy."
"That I am, and don't pretend you didn't play as well," beamed Quinn,
"speaking of games, did you have the chance to open my Christmas
present?"
"Ah, yes! I saw it, the wooden box?" she talked excitedly, "what is it? I
wasn't able to open it. I know it can be opened — is it a trick box? It's a
trick box, isn't it? Is there something in the box, or is the box itself a gift?
No! — Don't tell me! I want to see it on my own."
Quinn chuckled as he twirled Hermione, "Alright then, I'll leave it to you.
A sense of reward is a strong motivator."
". . . .It's not a jump scare, right?"
A peal of free laughter escaped Quinn without restraint.
.
- (Scene Break) -
.
Ivy Potter had been watching her friends the entire time she had been at
the Yule Ball. Sitting near the side, watching them dance and having fun,
while she sat without a date.
'I know I rejected a lot, but that doesn't mean I don't want to dance,' she
thought while sighing.
She took a sip of the punch she had fetched herself and watched the
people without a thought in her mind. As she did that, she saw a Quinn
walk towards her in a grey suit and a smile on her face.
"Ivy Potter. . . . I'm here for my promised dance."
The Potter twin stared up at Quinn, and she to admit, he looked quite
fetching.
"I don't know if I should be flattered or worried about your appraising
gaze, Ivy," smiled Quinn, "well, I'm trying to look good, so I will take that
glint of approval in your eyes as a compliment."
Ivy sighed and placed a hand into Quinn's as she got up. "You're lucky
you're looking good right now."
"Thank you," smiled Quinn as he led the redhead to the dance floor, "you
look gorgeous as well."
"Of course, I do."
". . . .hmm, she was right; people should accept compliments."
"What are you talking about?"
"Hmm, oh nothing, just something I learned."
.
Quinn West - MC - Dance baby, dance~.
Fleur Delacour - Veela - Allue is a mysterious magic.
Hermione Granger - Transformed Beauty - Got a puzzle box from Quinn.
Ivy Potter - Wants To Dance - Sees what she sees, can't be helped.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - To be continued. . .
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
173. Chapter 173: Yule Ball: Red,
Fun, Kiss
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Patreón.
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The song was a slow one, where the pair would slowly sway — the
couples would usually stare into each other's eyes, hold each close,
feeling as intimate as one could while dancing in silence.
Many pairs on the dance were doing just that, but not Quinn West and
Ivy Potter; they were looking into each other's eyes, but unlike others,
they weren't silent.
"I heard from Hermione that you weren't able to get yourself a date," said
Quinn, "not a surprise, given that I was your first choice — your
requirements were too high."
"Oh, don't flatter yourself," she sniggered amusingly, "and since when did
you start calling Hermione by her given name?"
"Just before when I was dancing with her. . . . she's a fascinating one,
that girl — did you know that she has a terrific natural memory, better
than mine. Thank magic for occlumency." 'And a history of bullying
before coming to Hogwarts,' but that went unsaid.
"She's sharp as a tack, alright," there was a layer of pride in her voice.
"So, Daphne with Krum, huh," continued Ivy.
Quinn looked across the dance floor to see Daphne and Krum sitting on a
sidelined table. The pair seemed to be conversing with Krum speaking
while Daphne listened with occasional nods and inserts of her own.
"Yes, it was a surprise," replied Quinn, "I wonder how those two got
started talking — from what I know, those two aren't the talking types."
"I heard that they met in the library, and their friendship began from
there."
"Ah, the library. Yes, now I recall — Krum uses Madam Pince's
authoritarian rule over the library to escape from his developing fan club
of fantasizing fangirls and obsessed fanboys. I've to say, Krum might not
be the smartest tool in the shed, but he makes it up with street smarts —
he picked up the situation in the library pretty quickly."
"Then, you made Daphne the coordinator of the teams; that probably got
them talking."
"You know about that?"
"I talk to every member of the Gryffindor quidditch team on a regular
basis; I know Daphne's in contact with every single one of them."
"That makes sense," he nodded before studying the girl in his arms.
Ivy noticed Quinn's gaze. She waited for him to say something or look
away, but he didn't. "What is it? Why're you looking at me like that?"
"I've known Daphne for three years going four and you for two years and
some — of course, our relationship has been an on-and-off one, but I can
say I know you pretty well. . . . but in all that time, I still don't know both
of your stories, what's the deal between you and Daphne."
Ivy's eyes flashed with multiple emotions, with her face falling into a
smileless one. Quinn felt the slight tension in her body and immediately
knew that she had become uncomfortable.
"You don't have to answer that," he said, "sorry if I brought up
uncomfortable memories."
"No, it's fine, it's not uncomfortable per se," she sighed, "we used to be
friends, you know — best friends."
"Best friends. . . . it doesn't look like that, at least currently, it doesn't."
"Daphne and I have known each other since before I can remember. Our
mothers are good friends. . . ."
Quinn nodded as he recollected the interactions between Lily Potter and
Sophie Greengrass last year at King's Crossing. They looked and acted like
close friends.
". . . . so ever since we were kids, our mothers visited each other; as such,
Daphne, Harry, and I have spent countless days playing with each other
at each other's houses — she was my first friend outside of Harry." Ivy
chuckled reminiscently before continuing.
"What changed?"
Quinn glanced at his right arm as he felt Ivy's grip tighten. He looked
back at Ivy, but she didn't seem to notice her actions and continued her
tightened grip.
'Hmm, it's nice; it's like a massage,' he thought. "Hey, little lady, if you
want to play the squeeze game, please pick it up with someone on your
level."
"Huh, what?" Ivy's subconscious grip loosened.
Quinn gazed back at his hand before sighing. "You were about to say
something about how you and Daphne fell out."
"She is a jealous stone-faced prick who can't handle if attention is taken
off from her," and the rant started, "our mothers enjoyed playing teachers
— well, my mum is a professor now, but that's not the point. We used to
learn everything together — my mum used to teach things that didn't
require magic while Aunty Sophie used to teach us about the traditions
and cultural tidbits of the wizarding world."
That made sense. Sophie Greengrass would be a much better person to
teach the subjects like etiquette.
"Did you learn how to dance from Mrs. Greengrass?"
"Hmm? Yeah, she was the one to teach Harry, Daphne, Tracey, and me to
dance. We took lessons together."
". . . . lucky ducks," muttered Quinn.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, nothing, please carry on."
"She would always try to show me up. Whatever I tried, she would pick it
up and try to be better than me. I once tried to take up baking because I
wanted to eat cookies and asked Daphne if she wanted to do it together,
but she declined — then when I started to bake and when I finally got a
good batch out, the very next week, Aunty Sophie told that Daphne was
'suddenly' very interested in backing and after that, she came home with
cookies."
Ivy peered right into Quinn's eyes and stated, "and you might not believe
this, but she smiled that day — that smug and arrogant smile. Then it
started; every time I did anything new, she would do it too, and even
after she became statue-face, her eyes would always have that same
look."
Ivy glanced up from Ivy towards Daphne, and if he was being honest, he
couldn't see it. The Daphne he knew was a straight arrow — this sounded
more like Astoria to him.
"Sounds tough," he said. It might not have been a big deal — a children's
squabble rarely was.
"You don't believe me, do you?" asked Ivy.
"It's not that — but for me to truly understand a story, I need to know the
full story."
". . . . You want to know her side?"
"Yes, but not just Daphne. I want to see what Harry and Astoria think,
though I doubt Astoria would remember any of it. Plus, I would like to
see what your mother—," and then he sighed in bliss, "—and Mrs.
Greengrass, I think."
Ivy looked at Quinn as if he was being weird. If only she could listen to
his thoughts, she would know how accurate her thoughts were.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Believe it or not, but this is the dance I was looking to most this
evening," said Quinn with a broad smile on his face.
"Oh please, you've already danced with half a dozen girls already," the
girl smiled, "to how many of them have you said the same line — I
always thought you were somewhat of a playboy."
"No, my dear, Tracey," smiled Quinn, earnestness flashing, "dancing with
girls was pleasant and enjoyable, but I know dancing with you will be
mighty fun; I just know it"
Tracey glanced towards the Weird Sisters, and they had taken a pause
from traditional ball music and had switched to the much more
comfortable and contemporary ball music.
"See, even the music agrees with me; they just put their best track of the
night," grinned Quinn.
Tracey giggled as she scooted near Quinn as more and more people
joined the dance floor. With time becoming comfortable about joining
the dance floor — to dance with their dates.
"So, how is your evening going with Eddie?" asked Quinn, "Also, where is
he?"
"His feet got tired from dancing, so we took a break. Last I saw him, Luna
was pulling him and Marcus into a strange three-people dance," she
smiled, "Eddie is doing just fine. He's much more mellow than I thought
he would be when we first met."
Quinn laughed, recalling Daphne and Tracey's first official meeting with
Eddie and Marcus. "He was going through the 'I-don't-care' phase and
acted like he wasn't interested in talking to you girls, and Marcus was so
shy that he didn't speak more than a handful of words. . . . yeah, that's a
fun day to remember."
"Yes, do you remember Daphne and Marcus sitting side-by-side, not
saying a word to each other — both for different reasons, of course.
Daphne said that she almost forgot that Marcus was sitting beside her."
"Really? Marcus remembers it quite differently. He quite liked sitting in
silence beside Daphne — said he enjoyed the company."
"What were we doing at that time?"
"If I remember correctly, you and Eddie were challenging me at a game
of concentration each, two games at simultaneously — and I was solidly
beating both of you."
"Huh, is that so? I can't seem to remember," said Tracey, smiling coyly.
"Of course, you don't," chuckled Quinn.
The two fell into silence as the song went through a calm and slow yet
deep buildup. Tracey watched Quinn as he seemed to enjoy the music,
slowly leading her with him. He was cute, charming, funny and always
knew what to say — a very attractive boy. . . .
'Don't go there, Tracey,' she thought, 'Daphne likes him, so you can't.'
She always had a little crush on Quinn — maybe ever since she met him.
He was always fun, always upbeat, perpetually doing something new and
exciting. It would always make her and the people close to him wonder
about what he would do next.
'Oh, Daphne, why did you have to choose such a cute one,' thought
Tracey, 'well, I'll let this one go, so you better not let him go.'
"Well, it's time for us to part, my dear Tracey," she heard Quinn speak.
"Hmm, why?"
"Your date has returned."
Tracey separated from Quinn and turned back to see Eddie standing a
little distance with two goblets in his hand. She turned back to see Quinn
walking while waving his hand.
"Hey," Eddie said, walking near her before presenting a goblet to her,
"this is for you."
Tracey took the goblet and felt the cold metal snug comfortably around
her palm. "Thank you, but why?"
"I saw you dancing with Quinn, and you haven't sat down once since the
feast; I assumed that you would be parched — please drink. You should
stay hydrated. . . . you don't want to faint from dehydration, believe me,
not fun."
Tracey gazed down at the pinkish liquid in her cup before looking back
up at Eddie, who watched her, waiting for her to drink. 'Alright, Tracey,
this one is cute as well.'
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"I'm back."
Fleur was talking with one of the Durmstrang girls when she heard the
voice of her date and turned to face him. "So, you finally remember me."
"Oh, don't be like that. I returned after every dance; it's not my fault that
you weren't available," said Quinn smiling with his hands behind his
back, "but it seems you're available now; may I have a dance, my lovely
lady?"
"Don't you get tired? You have been dancing for a long while now," she
said, getting a shrug from Quinn, "I don't want to dance anymore, but I
do want to do something?"
"Sure, we can do that if you don't want to dance. What do you want to
do?"
Fleur nudged towards the Great hall entrance pointing across the
entrance hall at the oak main doors. "Let's go outside. Let's go for a walk."
Pretending they wanted more drinks, Quinn and Fleur left the Great hall,
edged around the dance floor, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The
front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden
winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they
found themselves surrounded by bushes, winding, ornamental paths, and
giant stone statues.
They could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here
and there, people were sitting on carved benches. He and Fleur set off
along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes, and except the
soft chirps, not a sound disturbed the pair.
They had reached a giant stone reindeer, over which they could see the
sparkling jets of a tall fountain and near it a stone bench. They decided to
sit down and watch the water in the moonlight.
Both of them didn't speak a word to each other for a while before Fleur
broke the silence. "This is not a good place to sit, is it?"
"Not, it is not," he replied.
They could hear sounds of giggling, ruffling from the rosebushes around
them. A lot of couples were getting busy on the lovely night of Christmas.
Quinn pulled out his fake wand and cast a silencing ward along with
another one.
"What did you cast?" asked Fleur.
Quinn placed his fake wand back into his suit. "I cast two wards. One is a
sound isolation ward — it keeps dulls sounds; it works both ways, inside
and out. The second one is a static invisibility ward." There was a smile
in his voice as he finished.
Fleur gave him a look asking to explain why he sounded so happy.
"The static invisibility ward is one of the first wards I ever learned," he
explained, "the day I first used it, I sneaked into my grandfather's cellar
and sat down, waiting for him. I wasn't familiar with the usage of this
ward back then, so I didn't account for the change in lighting — my
grandfather thought I was an intruder and shot me with a charged
stunning spell, which, as I now recall, hit me right in the chest."
"You lie," she said, interest filling her voice.
"No, it happened seriously. I was knocked out for a few minutes and
woke up to see my grandfather with a drink in his hand — not going to
lie, he was very cool at that moment."
Quinn noticed a gaze on him and saw Fleur gazing at him intently with
her blue eyes. The dulled night sounds set the perfect atmosphere, and
both knew what was coming.
It wasn't clear who closed the distance, but a few moments later, they
were kissing. They shared a short and chaste kiss before Quinn ended it.
"What is it?" asked Fleur, though she did have an inkling.
Quinn didn't divert her eyes from Fleur and held it. "I like you a lot Fleur.
You're stunning and attractive; believe me, even without your Allure,
you're truly a very captivating girl. But I don't think I like you that way."
Fleur slowly pulled back and spoke, "Quinn, it doesn't have to mean
anything. It could be just two people fooling around, just having some
fun. I find you attractive as well, but don't get me wrong, I'm not trying
to start something here — it won't be sensible to start something here, I'll
be leaving Hogwarts by the end of this year, but you would still have two
years of schooling at Hogwarts left. That. . . . doesn't work for me."
"Yeah, that's logical and a smart decision on your part," said Quinn
turning his eyes to the moon hanging above, "but you see, I can't fool
around, maybe in the future, but not right now." He glanced back at her
and continued, "That was my first kiss, you know."
Fleur blinked in surprise. "W-What? You're joking, right?" She couldn't
believe that someone like Quinn hadn't had his first kiss till now — she
had hers way before Quinn's age.
"Nope, all true," he said, leaning into the bench, "that's the reason why I
don't want to fool around even though you're the one who's proposing it.
. . . I have no problems with people fooling around, it's their choice, and
as long it's consensual I'm a hundred percent fine with it."
"But, I don't want my first ever 'relationship', if we can this that, to be a
casual fling, not even if it's for a couple of minutes here alone at a bench.
Maybe I'm overreacting to this, but these are my current thoughts and
feelings," Quinn smiled as he finished, "and I can't do anything about
them."
Fleur also leaned back into the stone bench and sighed, "That's not how I
thought today was going to end."
"Thank you, I strive to surprise people," smiled Quinn and loosened his
tie a little.
"Really, that was your first kiss?" Fleur couldn't help but ask.
"A hundred percent true."
"But how?"
"Well, I've been a little too busy to explore that part of my life yet."
"Are you sure you just didn't get chances?"
"Oh, please," snorted Quinn, "look at me. I'm a prime piece that everyone
wants to get their hands on, and now I can say that my first kiss was with
a Veela. . . . so, how was it?"
"What?"
"You know. . . the kiss. How did I do?"
"Hmm. . . . it was okay," she said and got up.
"Okay? It was okay?" he watched as Fleur stepped outside of the ward
line, "Ms. Delacour, I have a long record of being exemplary at my first
attempts at anything I do."
He got up as Fleur started to walk away.
"Fleur? Fleur! Ms. Delacour! Please clarify what you mean by okay."
The Veela's melodious laughs sounded as Quinn's calls sounded in the
night.
.
Quinn West - MC - Yeah, this isn't going to work. . . I'm not OK with that
"okay."
Ivy Potter - Potter Princess - Troubled friendship.
Tracey Davis - Bubbly beauty - On the look out for cute boys.
Fleur Delacour - Veela - What can I say, it was "okay."
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yeah. . . so that's how it went.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
174. Chapter 174: Yuletide End,
Possibility
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Patreón.
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Quinn walked to the Great hall alone without Fleur. The Veela was tired
from the hectic party and decided to retire for the night. Quinn wanted to
escort her back to the Beauxbatons carriages, but they came across
Headmistress Maxime — a very angry Olympe Maxime.
She swept through corridors like an angry hippogriff, and when she saw
them, Maxime sent Quinn away, stating that she'd take Fleur from there
onwards. Neither Quinn nor Fleur wanted to argue with the angry half-
giantess, so they obliged and separated, with Quinn returning to Great
hall.
"Why am I returning," he sighed, "I should've retired for the night.
Today's sleep is going to be a good and deep one." He was a right type of
tired — the type where he would slip into sleep the second he hit the bed
top.
He entered the snow-white Christmas-decorated hall. The vibe of the ball
had changed since he exited; in the middle of the hall, on the dance floor,
a few couples slow danced to the relaxed and romantic music of the
Weird Sisters while others sat in groups, chatting with each other,
laughing and mingling with each other — making cherished memories of
a wonderful night.
He saw Eddie & Tracey and Marcus & Luna still dancing, so he sat down
at the table waiting for them to end so that he could return with them to
the Ravenclaw common room.
Quinn stared down at the floor, saw sparkling confetti spread across the
floor, and decided to pass some time. His learning from the Nordic Viking
book he got from Denmark popped into his mind, and he called upon a
bit of his magic. He blew softly towards the floor, and with magic wind
magic backing up his breath, the confetti on an entire section of floor in
front of him floated away, gliding across the floor.
"Quinn." The call of his name broke him out of his little pass-time. Quinn
turned to come to face with a pair of striking crystal blue eyes. "Daphne, I
didn't see you there. How are you? Enjoying yourself at the ball?"
Daphne stared at Quinn while giving a glance towards the now confetti-
free floor. ". . . .I am," she said before looking around, "where is
Delacour?"
"Fleur was tired, so she decided to retire for the night," said Quinn, "what
about you? What're you doing alone here? Where is Krum?"
Daphne ran an errant hand through her silky straight blonde looks. "His
friends came and took him away. I think they had firewhiskey with
them." Which meant that they probably went to a secluded area to sneak
some drinks.
"You didn't join them?"
"I don't drink, and it was only boys."
"There's always a first time for everything, though I would suggest that
you go with something lighter than firewhiskey — I saw a label once, and
oh boy, the spirit content scared me a little."
"No, thank you," denied Daphne firmly, "I don't want to go drinking right
now. . . . you sound like you've got experience with drinking."
Quinn ruffled the back of his head and sighed with a chuckle mixed in.
"No, I haven't drunk any liquor — technically, I haven't." He had ingested
quite a lot of questionable stuff that he brewed while experimenting with
potions; some of them had alcoholic content. "I don't like the feeling of
being drunk — everything is a little too loose, a bit too light — that's a
little uncomfortable to me."
He gazed at Daphne and asked, "Is Krum returning?"
"I don't know, he didn't have to reply. . . . with his friends, pulling —
dragging him along."
"I see, well then," he got up and offered his hand to Daphne, "may I have
one last dance?"
Daphne quite readily took the offered hand and let Quinn lead her to the
dance floor, where the song was still slow, and the ambiance was
soothingly romantic.
"I'm glad that Krum went away, you know," said Quinn as they started to
dance.
Daphne's heart skipped a beat. ". . . .What do you mean?"
"Well, you and he were together all evening, so I didn't have the chance
to ask you to dance; it would've been a pity if I didn't get a chance to
dance with you. Not to mention how pretty you look today; it reminds
me of the time we first danced together."
Daphne reminisced about Quinn and her first dance at the Christmas ball
a few years back — at that time, the boy dancing with her was just an
annoying yet interesting boy.
She looked up and gazed at the smiling face of Quinn. "That was a
rememberable ball and dance."
"Of course, it was," she saw him grin, "I was there with you, and I'm
highly entertaining to hang around, ask anyone."
"Yes, you are," she agreed with a smile of her own.
Quinn's eyes widened a fraction at the smile on Daphne's face. He had
made her plenty of times; small smiles were what he was used to seeing
on Daphne's face — not broad, unrestrained smiles on the neutral-faced
Daphne. For a moment, it took his breath away — he couldn't take his
eyes off her and even slowed down a bit just to admire the sight in front
of him.
Daphne didn't notice Quinn's change and continued to gaze at him.
To anyone who was seeing them, the pair were looking into each other's
eyes with no care of what was happening around them.
And someone was indeed watching them. Victor Krum had finally been
able to evade his schoolmates and friends' attempts to get him to drink
with them and leave them behind to return to the hall back to his date.
Upon searching for Daphne, he found him dancing with another guy,
which he was okay with — a girl like Daphne was bound to have many
friends (his opinion). And the guy she was dancing with was also familiar
to him — Quinn West, the organizer of the quidditch tournament and the
person who had made his time at Hogwarts much more enjoyable; as
such, his impression of Quinn was a great one despite some unusual
things like having an office at school.
If that was it, he would have walked onto the dance floor and informed
Daphne that he was back and asked her one last dance before escorting
her back (it was getting late).
Krum liked Daphne a lot — she wasn't like others and didn't act
differently towards him because of his popularity and treated him like he
was just another guy. It was a desirable quality that a lot of people in
Krum's position sought after in their friends and close ones. That's why he
asked her out to be his date at the ball.
But as he now watched them, he noticed the smile on Daphne's face — he
had been acquainted with Daphne for a few months now but not once in
that time had she showed him such a beautiful smile. It made him not go
and watch them from the side.
He then saw Quinn lean down towards Daphne. 'Is he going to kiss her,'
he thought. But it didn't happen, and instead, Krum watched Quinn
whisper something into Daphne's ears. Daphne turned and saw him
(Krum) before glancing back at Quinn, who was walking backward while
giving her an exaggerated bow as he wished Daphne a Merry Yuletide.
Krum saw Daphne fix her dress before walking towards.
"Ah," escaped him.
The smile on her face was gone.
. . .
When the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight, everyone gave them
a last, loud round of applause and started to wend their way into the
entrance hall. Many people were expressing the wish that the ball could
have gone on longer, but Quinn was perfectly happy to be going to bed;
he had overdone it, and now the soles of his feet were hurting.
Out in the entrance hall, Quinn, Marcus, and Luna saw Eddie saying good
night to Tracey before she went back to the dungeons. She gave him a
sweet smile before walking away with Daphne in tow.
Eddie joined Quinn and others with a silly smile on his face. "Sorry for
the wait. Let's go."
"You should've walked her back to the Slytherin common room," said
Quinn.
Marcus nodded, "Yeah, you missed a chance."
Luna looked at Quinn and Marcus before giving repeated nods to Eddie.
"Eh?" Eddie looked back, but Tracey was already out of the entrance hall,
"should I go now? But Daphne's with her."
"It's too late; forget it," said Marcus, "look, Quinn just yawned in public;
that doesn't happen a lot. Come on, let's go; everybody is tired."
"Damn, you saw that, huh," said Quinn stretching his hands up before
wrapping his arm around Luna's shoulder, "how was your day today,
Luna?"
A tired Luna leaned against Quinn. "It was fun. Dancing is fun —
especially with more people."
"Yes, it is," smiled Quinn.
Christmas was over, and with it, the Yule Ball.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was
much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy
conversations. Hermione's hair were back to somewhere between bushy
and wavy again; she confessed to Harry that she had used liberal
amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, "but it's way too
much bother to do every day," she said matter-of-factly, scratching a
purring Crookshanks behind the ears.
It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the
first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling relatively flat
now that Christmas was over — everybody except Harry, that is, who
was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.
The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from
this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about working
out the clue inside the golden egg.
Therefore, he started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went
up to the dormitory, opened it, and listened intently, hoping that this
time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound
reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard
anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it
again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. He tried asking the
egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He
even threw the egg across the room — though he hadn't really expected
that to help.
And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons,
weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with
the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were
carrying that around with him too.
"Hey — Harry!" It was Cedric Diggory. Harry could see Cho waiting for
him in the entrance hall below.
"Yeah?" said Harry, internally comparing Cho to Hermione and
concluding that Hermione was better.
Cedric looked as though he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of
Ron, who shrugged, looking bad-tempered, and continued to climb the
stairs.
"Listen . . ." Cedric lowered his voice as Ron disappeared. "I owe you one
for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours
wail when you open it?"
As much as Harry's competitiveness wanted to beat Cedric, he couldn't
keep the news about dragons to himself and relayed it to the Hufflepuff
seeker as he didn't wish Cedric to die. Harry was sure if Hagrid hadn't
told him about the dragons, he would've died on the day of the first task.
"Yeah," said Harry; all his egg did was wail.
"Well . . . take a bath, okay?"
"What?"
"Take a bath, and — er — take the egg with you, and — er — just mull
things over in hot water. It'll help you think. . . . Trust me."
Harry stared at him.
"Tell you what," Cedric said, "use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth door to
the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor.
Password's 'ripe red apples.' Gotta go . . . see you around —"
He grinned at Harry again and hurried back down the stairs to Cho.
Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone. That had been bizarre
advice. Why would a bath help him to work out what the wailing egg
meant? Was Cedric pulling his leg? Was he trying to make Harry look
like a fool?
After thinking for a while, he decided to first take this strange advice to
Hermione and Ivy — his "think tank" would know what to do.
. . .
As Harry had no idea how long a bath he would need to work out the
secret of the golden egg, he decided to do it at night, when Harry would
be able to take as much time as he wanted. Seeing that Cedric had
suggested using the Prefects' bathroom, he took him on the offer.
"Um, I can do this on my own; you don't have to come with me," he said,
looking at his two companions.
"You've been too lax for so long," said his twin sister, Ivy, "we can't risk
you wasting more time."
"Uh-huh, we will find the egg's secret tonight," said Hermione in
agreement.
Ron had been deemed too loud for him to accompany to this late-night
excursion (and he was sleepy). They had been caught out of bed and out
of bounds by Filch, the caretaker in the middle of the night once before,
and had no desire to repeat the experience.
"B-But, it's the Boy-Prefect's bathroom," he sent a weak rebuke, "you two
are girls."
"Not a problem, it's after curfew," Ivy shot down him and raised an old
parchment, the fabled Marauder's Map, "and we already checked, there's
no one in the bath."
When they reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking
wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, Harry located the right door,
leaned close to it, and muttered the password, "red ripe apples," just as
Cedric had told him.
The door creaked open. The trio slipped inside and bolted the door
behind them.
His immediate reaction was that it would be worth becoming a prefect
just to be able to use this bathroom. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-
filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including
what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the
middle of the floor.
About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool's edges, each with
a differently colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving
board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of
fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and a single golden-framed painting
was on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a
rock, her lengthy hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.
"Who's there?!"
The sudden voice followed by a loud splash of water — it was as if
someone had dumped a lot of water from a height.
The trio turned to stone and stiffly turned towards the source of the
voice. But the trio couldn't see the person as it was January — the peak
of winter; due to that, the pool was filled with hot water; as a result, the
bathroom was filled with dense white mist, limiting their vision.
Then abruptly, the mist parted from over the pool, revealing the person.
Ivy's instantly recognized the person despite his hair went and down with
most of his torso covered in colorful foam and multi-colored bubbles of
varying sizes — some were even as big as footballs.
"Quinn!" she exclaimed.
In front of them, sitting near an edge of the pool, sat Quinn West,
submerged, staring at them as if they had just done something punishable
by law.
"What are you three doing here?" he asked, hiding a sigh behind his
words.
"What are *you* doing here?" asked Harry, calming his beating heart
down.
"We're on the fifth floor — the floor with the Ravenclaw common room
entrance and my office. This is the Prefects Bathroom," said Quinn before
pointing at himself, "I'm a Prefect—" he pointed at them, "—you three
aren't."
"But, it's after curfew," supplied Hermione.
"Yeah, so?"
The three realized who they were talking to — this guy didn't understand
the concept of curfew.
"Again, why are you here," asked Quinn, pushing them for an answer.
Quinn was surprised when he heard the echoing footsteps as, at that
time, he had around half the pool water suspended into the air.
"We're here to solve the egg," said Harry.
"Ah, so you finally found how the egg works, huh. Aren't you guys a little
too late, though?"
The three Gryffindors saw Quinn get up, and instantly, Hermione and Ivy
flushed a deep red. Quinn was topless with only a towel around his waist.
Harry didn't show any change as he had seen similar sights after every
intense quidditch game or practice.
"We don't know how it works," said Ivy, pushing the blush down. "we just
know that it has something to do with water."
"That's good enough, I guess," said Quinn, walking behind a changing
screen to get some clothes; his relaxation time was over, "what do you
think you need to do for the egg to start working?"
Harry, Ivy, and Hermione looked at each other and nodded. They
stripped out of their clothing down to their bathing suits. They stepped
into the pool. It was so deep that their feet barely touched the bottom.
Harry stretched out his arms, lifted the egg in his wet hands, and opened
it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom, echoing and
reverberating off the marble walls, but it sounded just as
incomprehensible as ever, if not more so with all the echoes. He snapped
it shut again, worried that the sound would attract Filch, wondering
whether that hadn't been Cedric's plan.
"Try put it into the water," suggested Hermione while swimming in the
pool.
"Oh!" The three heard Quinn's voice from behind the screen, and when he
didn't continue, they knew that Hermione had struck gold.
"Go on, then . . . open it under the water!" nudged Ivy.
Harry put the egg inside water and opened it with a wince in his eyes. . .
. this time, it didn't wail. They could hear gurgling sounds coming out of
the water with popping bubbles on the surface.
It took Harry a moment to realize, but the answer struck like a lightning
strike. "I need to put my head as well."
Harry took a great breath and slid under the surface — and now, sitting
on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, he heard a chorus of
eerie voices singing to him from the open egg in his hands:
.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour-long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour — the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone; it won't come back."
.
Harry let himself float back upward and broke the bubbly surface,
shaking his hair out of his eyes.
"So?" asked Ivy.
"Yeah . . . 'Come seek us where our voices sound . . .' and if I need
persuading . . . hang on, I need to listen again. . . ."
He sank back beneath the water, and this time, Hermione and Ivy joined
them. It took three more underwater renditions of the egg's song before
Harry had it memorized (Ivy and Hermione were done in two dips).
"I've got to go and look for people who can't use their voices above the
ground. . . ." he said slowly. "Er . . . who could that be."
"Slow, aren't you?" They looked up and saw Quinn — he had dressed up
and was now smiling down at them from outside the pool. "But well,
you're on the right path — a pity that you didn't come to me — a lost
opportunity for me, but oh well, I look forward to seeing you at the
second task."
Harry and Ivy furrowed his brows as, in the end, before he left, Quinn
gave a fleeting glance to Hermione — a glance that didn't seem a normal
glance.
"What was that?" asked Harry.
Ivy shook her head. "I don't know."
. . .
Outside the bath, Quinn stopped for a second as a thought struck his
mind. He stood on the spot for a while as his mind churned with a single
view.
"Wait, does it mean. . . that I could become a hostage? . . . No, right? . . ."
That thought plagued him all night.
.
Quinn West - MC - Is he clueless, or does he understand?
Daphne Greengrass - Hostage candidate - From what people say, her
smile is gorgeous.
Victor Krum - Champion - Ah, he understands that he was working
towards a dead end.
Golden Sub-Trio - A diverse group - Out on the night expedition.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
175. Chapter 175: Runic Marble,
BG Politics
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Standing near the edge of an opening in the wall, staring down at the
floor below, Quinn cracked his neck and stretched his body. He was back
into the fourth vault — The Underground Vault. Ready to give the
Beelzebub's Crawler field down below him yet another chance.
"For the brave and the bold, huh," he muttered, "yeah, not this time."
Saying that, Quinn mounted his broom and flew out of the tunnel. "This
isn't the Aquatic vault — I can fly all I want."
He had done his research on Beelzebub's Crawlers; they lived
underground, due to that, they could only detect prey through tectonic
vibrations in the ground; as such, if Quinn didn't touch the ground, he
would go undetected by the vines that could secrete flesh dissolving
liquids from their thorns.
Quinn flew straight to the wall opposite to him with the tunnel dug into
it. At Quinn's command, the broom flew close and hovered away from
the walls and the floor as he studied the tunnel. A ball of sharp white
light manifested in the air before it rushed across the tunnel, dividing
itself into more and more orbs of light that lined up near the top of the
tunnel, turning the dim pathway into a brightly lit one.
He gently lowered himself enough to see straight into the tunnel while
making absolutely sure that not a single part of his body touched the
ground — Beelzebub's Crawler had a peculiar trait which pushed the vine
species to merge, or connect, with every other vine in the vicinity, thus
creating a vast network of them.
This meant that if even a single vine came out of the ground to entrap
prey, the entire hive network would be aware of its actions. And if that
singular vine didn't return with "meal," then the more vines would
emerge to capture their "meal."
After peering into the now-lit tunnel, Quinn observed — nothing was
sticking out to him as unusual or, to be specific, there was nothing that
looked it would harm or hinder harm him his current task at hand. After
making decisions, Quinn flew into the tunnel with the magical orbs
shining much-needed light for him to see.
"How long does this tunnel go?" asked Quinn, looking around as he
cautiously made his way through the tunnel while memorizing every
scratch and cut on the rugged and dense stone walls — never knew what
could come in use afterward.
His question was promptly answered as he saw the light at the path's end,
making Quinn pick up some speed. He flew out of the tunnel, and with
him, the light inside also left, once again leaving the tunnel dark.
The tunnel had opened up to another wide area. Quinn flew up to get a
good look at the site, and the first thing that caught his eye was that a
gigantic portion of the "ceiling" had broken off and had collapsed down
below.
"Is that marble?" Quinn noticed white marble below all the collapsed
rubble. He could see it was a truly wide circular platform of marble
beneath all the pileup. He could also see some markings on the marble.
"Wait a minute. . ." He looked around and saw that there were no more
exits other than the one he had entered.
". . . Is this it?" he uttered, "this isn't the end, is it? It can't be, right? That
was too short. . . . only one obstacle."
Quinn realized that the vault could've been made before brooms became
popular and mainstream — the now a common household item the flying
brooms that allowed anyone to fly were not so commonplace as once
brooms were nothing but causes of "splinter-filled buttocks and bulging
piles."
If his assumption was correct, then Quinn's use of the broom might not
have been covered by the original creator.
Quinn stared at the ground and conjured a big boulder before dropping it
down to the ground. The boulder hit the ground with a large boom and
shook the vault room. He waited. . . but Beelzebub's Crawler didn't come
out — the vines couldn't differentiate between living and non-living.
"Is this really it? What was so difficult about this?" he exclaimed in
confusion. Somehow, he couldn't get closure with such a simple vault,
"but well, if I think it like that, then it makes sense. . . . it didn't need to
be tough."
His thinking had been isolated — he was thinking with just the
Underground Vault and in mind — he had missed the bigger picture.
"The Forbidden Forest was all the security one needed to hide something.
Dangerous, cut-off from the outside world, and filled with beings who
don't want anything to do with people outside of the forest."
There was no need to elaborate vault when the natural surroundings
already provided the reliable security one could ask. Bow-slinging
Centaurs, flesh-hungry Acromantulas, brutish Trolls, and many more
species that had the forest held in its vast biodiverse embrace.
Quinn descended down to the ground and dismounted off the broom, and
sighed as he stared at the rubble in front of him." I guess I'll work with
this now. . . . but, this is a lot of it."
He could see enough pileup that he could climb it and reach a good
height — a height high enough to be considered dangerous to jump down
from (without magic).
Magic thrummed inside his body as Quin closed his eyes and
concentrated on the rubble in front of him. He reached out to debris in
front of him and exerted a lift.
"O-Oh. . . this is heavy!" he groaned, his magic groaned, the wreck
groaned. Quinn had to raise his hands towards the collapse just so that
his mind could better concentrate the magic into lifting.
He opened the tap to his magic entirely and let it flow. His eyes opened,
and purple orbs glowed at the wreck. The rubble started to shake as
everything started to lift and began to fall to the sides.
"Just a little more!"
There was no need to struggle like this — Quinn could shave off all
debris bit-by-bit. But he didn't want to waste time — many hours spread
across multiple visits would be spent just to clean the mess from the
marble below. Every visit to the Forbidden Forest was essential and vital
to Quinn — he had to slot visits to the forest between quidditch
tournament preparation, Project Babel, other development projects, visits
to the library, practicing magic to keep his skill up-to-date, among other
things.
He was a bit too busy this year.
By the end, Quinn was sweat, heaving, and grabbing his knees as his
chest heaved up and down.
"This was clearly not the job for one person," said Quinn, standing up
straight.
But the result was worth it as Quinn could see the circular block of
marble sitting in the middle of the cave. Quinn walked towards it before
climbing up with a hop.
"Oh, these are runes, aren't they." Quinn could tell at one glance that the
deep engravings on the marble were a cluster and network of large-scale
runes.
There were many classes/groups on which runes could be classified —
language, the number of layers, materials, effects, and among those
categories, "size" classification was among the myriads of classifications.
The size classification was a scale-based category — it went from small-
scale runes to large-scale in front of Quinn, laid into the marble. To give
an example of the importance and use of size classification — a rune
inscribed on a small wooden chip would be significantly weaker than one
carved into a big piece of wood.
Quinn, himself, specialized in small-scaled runes as he liked to create
articles that were potable in nature and could be carried with him —
Recon was such an example.
Ironically, Quinn's most notable achievement — MagiFax, which, even
though employed small-scale rube inscription in its receivers, worked
primarily through large-scale runes.
MagiFax devices need a network to work, and that network was built
through transmitting hubs spread throughout the globe — those
transmitting hubs were large-scaled rune applications. On West-owned
properties throughout the world, unique buildings were constructed, and
inside those buildings, every (majority) usable surface was etched with
giant runes that connected every registered MagiFax device on the
planet.
Quinn walked on the marble, studying the runes, and after a while, he
declared, "Yeah, no idea what this does."
Right from the start, there were a few problems. First, the runes were
complex and needed to be mapped out before Quinn could even start
studying. Second, Quinn had to check if there were runes beneath the
surface as not all runes were required to be out on the surface. And,
third. . . .
"The ceiling collapse broke the marble," said Quinn clicking his tongue.
There were several cracks and crevices throughout the marble, essentially
making the runes structure useless.
"I need to get it fixed," said Quinn and touched one of those cracks, "I
can't use the Mending charm (Reparo) here, can I."
If it was an ordinary platform of marble, Quinn could've fixed all the
cracks and crevices with a single snap of his magic. But the marble held
so many runes that if he carelessly used the Mending charm to fix things,
it would break the subtle and meticulously placed connections.
Quinn sat down on the marble and sighed, "This is going to require a lot
of work, ugh. I don't even know what I'll get in the end."
He looked up at the ceiling blamingly. "Why did you have to fall down? If
you didn't, I would be having fun right now."
He sighed at his lousy luck before a thought struck his mind. "The Sunken
Crypt. . . . the wolves names the vault as such, didn't they? Does that
mean their territory is just above here? Huh, maybe I'm right. Nice. I will
check it out later."
Finally, after sitting in the dust, Quinn got up, dusted himself, took out a
small notepad and pen from his pockets, and got ready to note the runes
day.
"Hmm. . . . I predict that this is a way to communicate to the aliens, I call
it!" and with that, he got to work.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows
were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them
in Herbology.
Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this
weather, though as Marcus said, the fire-beetles would probably warm
them up nicely, either by chasing them or flamethrowing so forcefully
that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire. However, when the Ravenclaw trio
arrived at Hagrid's cabin, they found an elderly witch with closely
cropped gray hair and a prominent chin standing before his front door.
"Hurry up, now; the bell is about to ring," she barked at them as they
struggled toward her through the snow.
"Who're you?" said Eddie, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?"
"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your
temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."
"Where's Hagrid?" repeated someone loudly.
"He is indisposed," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.
Soft and unpleasant laughter reached the students' ears. They turned, and
the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked
gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-
Plank.
"This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off
around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering.
Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie followed her, looking back over their
shoulders at Hagrid's cabin.
All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?
"What's wrong with Hagrid?" Marcus said, hurrying to catch up with
Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"What do you reckon is wrong with him? You don't think one of those
skrewt that the fourth years are studying— ?" speculated Eddie.
Quinn glanced at his two friends and injected, "You two should get into
the habit of reading the newspaper. It's on the front page of the Daily
Prophet." He put a hand into his attached pockets, pulled out a
newspaper, and handed it to Marcus.
"You keep newspapers in your pocket?" said Eddie.
"I read a couple of them and can't read them all during the breakfast.
Daily Prophet always gets left out, so it tends to end up in my market."
Marcus unfolded the paper and read it, with Eddie looking over his
shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking
extremely shifty.
.
DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE
Albus Dumbledore, the eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial
staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In
September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the
notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark
Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of
Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who
makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however,
looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human
Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.
Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third
year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since a
job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his
mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post
of Care of Magical Creatures teacher over the heads of many better-
qualified candidates.
An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using
his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a
succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye,
Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many
admit to being "very frightening."
"I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad
bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We
all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."
Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation,
however. Last month, in conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter, he
admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts,"
highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. Of course,
the creation of new breeds of magical creatures is an activity usually
closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such
petty restrictions.
"I was just having some fun," he says before hastily changing the
subject.
As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed
evidence that Hagrid is not — as he has always pretended — a pure-
blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can
exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose
whereabouts are currently unknown.
Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of
extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The
handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his
reign of terror.
While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were
killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not
among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities
still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of
Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son
appears to have inherited her brutal nature.
In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close
friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from
power — thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-
Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware
of the unpleasant truth about his large friend — but Albus Dumbledore
indeed has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow
students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.
.
Marcus finished reading and looked up at Eddie, whose mouth was
hanging open. When Quinn saw that he asked, "You. . . didn't think he
was just a big guy, did you?"
"E-Eh, said Eddie, "ahem, of course not. I knew that yeah."
"Don't worry, people really think he just has big bones," said Quinn as he
got the paperback, "but you got to admit, Skeeter sure has excellent
writing skills. She expertly painted the specific picture that she wanted."
"That's what you get from this?" said Marcus, raising his brow.
"The article doesn't matter," shrugged Quinn, "Hagrid has been here since
he got expelled. Hagrid is around fifty, you know. He was here as the
gamekeeper when your parent studied at Hogwarts. They know Hagrid
personally; a lot of them know what Hagrid is really like, so this article
might be tough for a while, but support will shine through."
"But, how did she know?" asked Eddie.
Quinn shrugged, but he knew the answer. 'She probably was here on the
Yule Ball.' He hadn't checked Recon on that day, and even if he did,
Quinn wouldn't have checked for Skeeter — she wouldn't write about
him.
But he did have some circumstantial proof about Skeeters' presence.
'She might've listened to Hagrid and Olympe Maxime's conversation,'
thought Quinn, thinking about the angry headmistress on that day,
pulling Fleur with her. 'Skeeter must've listened to their conversation.'
'Though I did warn her about being careful about fluttering at Hogwarts,
it seems she didn't get the point,' thought Quinn and hummed as the new
professor proceeded to lead them towards today's subject.
"Oh! Unicorns! Nice," he exclaimed happily, and the somewhat
threatening thoughts were thrown at the back of his head.
.
Quinn West - MC - I have a need. . . need for_ ? Fill in the blank.
Hagrid - Half-giant - Suddenly, a topic of discussion.
Rita Skeeter - Reporter - She knows her craft.
.
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176. Chapter 176: Bagman,
Skeeter, Hostage
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There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January, and as most
Hogwarts students, Quinn was going out of the castle to the all-magical
village of Hogsmeade.
Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie left the castle together on Saturday and set off
through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the
Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto
the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very well-built
indeed and as tough as he looked because he climbed up onto the side of
the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived right into the lake.
"He's mad!" said Eddie, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into
the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing; it's January!"
"It's a lot colder where he comes from," said Marcus. "But still, going
swimming in mid-January is a bit too much."
"Eh, it's not that cold," shrugged Quinn. "It's quite pleasant, actually. If
you're sleepy, it'll wake you up — a dip in the winter is great for when
you're feeling lethargic."
The two looked at Quinn as if he had grown a third head, collectively
ignore his asinine advice.
Eddie turned to Marcus and replied to his last statement, "Yeah, but
there's still the giant squid," he didn't sound anxious — if anything, he
sounded hopeful. His team, Trolling Boogeys, after their first loss to
Krum's Treacherous Barons, hadn't lost a single game — in fact, they had
blown the competition away — going as far as to win by double score
margins.
Quinn roamed his eyes around the snowy Hogsmeade, and peculiarly he
caught a glance of a few goblins before they turned a corner. It wasn't
that goblins weren't allowed in Hogsmeade — just they were rare to be
seen in the village and preferred staying in the underground city that
they had built under and around Gringotts.
Marcus suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks to start off the
weekend, and that's what they did. The pub was as crowded as ever —
adults, students, residents, passerbys, everyone was enjoying the lively
ambiance of the merry bar.
At the bar, the lovely Madam Rosmerta turned away from her various
suitors to take orders from the three, "Welcome, boys. What can I get for
you today?"
"One large butterbeer," replied Eddie, placing the coins on the table.
"Same for me, please," said Marcus, getting the money from his pouch
wallet.
Madam Rosmerta counted the coins and nodded, "Alright, two large
butterbeers coming up," she turned to Quinn and asked, "what about
you?"
"One vanilla milkshake with a large scoop of butterscotch and shaved
chocolate on the top, please," said Quinn, reciting his order, "how much
would that be? I want a large serving as well."
Eddie, Marcus, and Rosmerta didn't show any reaction to Quinn's order
— his two friends were used to the variety of drinks that Quinn ordered
every time they came to Hogsmeade, and Quinn had left an impression
on Rosmerta because he had ever only ordered a butterbeer once and
after that time, Quinn's orders were always like his current one.
"Three sickles," she asked, which Quinn paid. As Madam Rosmerta
remembered Quinn, she also knew his habits, "Your mug." Quinn always
handed her a conjured mug to carry his drinks around with him.
Quinn smiled, and instead of conjuring a mug as she was expecting, he
took out a wooden tankard from his robes. "Please, make the drink in
this."
Rosmerta surprised hands received the tankard as her eyes switched
between Quinn and the tankard in her hands before she finally went to
fix up the drinks.
On the side, Eddie was grinning — the tankard was his Christmas gift to
Quinn, after all.
"Hey? Why didn't Luna come with us?" asked Eddie.
Quinn s stared around the bar and the people as he answered, "She is
spending time with her other friend."
"Eh? Who?"
Marcus answered as he arrived with his and Eddie's butterbeers. "You
don't know? She has been spending time with Astoria.'
"Astoria? Astoria Greengrass as in Daphne's sister?" said Eddie taking his
large butterbeer.
"Yeah, somehow, both of them are friends now."
As Marcus and Eddie were talking, Quinn was looking into the mirror
behind the bar and saw Ludo Bagman, reflected there, sitting in a
shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in
a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and looked
rather menacing.
It was indeed odd, Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three
Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and
therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He
was looking as if he was trying to convince the goblin of something.
'Ah, I get it now,' thought Quinn. He received his shake from Madam
Rosmerta before telling Eddie and Marcus, "I'll be back in a bit."
Then he walked towards the shady corners, towards Bagman.
"Gentlemen," greeted Quinn as he sat down with them like they were all
friends, and he was totally supposed to be there, "what a lovely day we
have today. The snow is particularly lovely and glowing today. Having a
cold drink like the one I'm having has a unique charm — you should try
it out."
"Q-Quinn," stuttered Bagman, and even in the cold, he started to sweat as
his heart began to beat faster, "w-what are you doing here?"
Quinn didn't reply immediately; instead, he stared into Bagman's eyes
and reached out inside. 'Ah, as I feared. He's an addict. No, he's worse;
he's an idiot.'
"Mr. Bagman, before you say anything else, I know what you're trying to
do here," sighed Quinn, "we talked about this when I generously decided
to provide you with some much-needed help. I warned you what would
happen if you tried to do exactly this."
"N-No, you've got all this wrong," sputtered Bagman, "I wasn't —"
A goblin cut Bagman off, "Who are you?"
Quinn glanced at the goblin, scooped up a spoonful of ice cream, and ate
it. "Quinn West."
The four goblins, dressed in heavy robes, twitched at the mention of his
names.
"West," one goblin replied with a guttural voice, "I remember, you're the
one who has a student vault with us. The only West coin we have in
Gringotts."
"Yes," smiled Quinn, continuing to drink and eat, "I'm also the one who
paid Mr. Bagman's debt, and I would suggest that you don't lend him
more money."
"That's between us and Ludo Bagman. You're not to interfere in our
business."
Quinn watched the toothy goblin, showing their sharp teeth, and
shrugged. "Okay. . . I will take a guess about what is happening here. Mr.
Bagman here is trying to convince you to lend him some money, which
you're hesitant to do because his past record with Gringotts isn't
particularly spotless. But Mr. Bagman assures you that he'll pay you back
on time."
Bagman wasn't even looking up right now. He had his eyes squeezed
close, his head bowed down.
"You see, the reason behind Mr. Bagman's confidence is that he plans to
put his money. . . once again into gambling. . . just like last time. This
time around, he was going to put his money into the very lucrative
quidditch tournament happening around right now."
Quinn's initial plan had been to keep the betting system inside Hogwarts
and for the Hogwarts student. The Weasley twins had other ideas —
around the third week, they started expanded to the people in the stands,
and when the fifth week rolled around, they came to Quinn and
suggested that they open up the betting to anyone who wanted to bet.
Their problem was that they didn't have the capital for the expansion. It
took a lot of cash and liquidity to match the bets and keep a betting
operational. Moreover, they didn't have the knowledge on how to work
something of that level.
Fortunately for them, Quinn was ambitious and liked the idea.
Furthermore, he had his head crammed with business knowledge from
George West, Elliot Dalton, and Lia West — liquified gems of wisdom and
had the money to back everything up.
"And I'm sure you fine gentlemen must know who run the Hogwarts
quidditch betting scene," he pointed at himself, "I do; as such, I decide
who gets to bet, and I have placed strict orders that Mr. Bagman is not to
be allowed to place any bets."
Quinn stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue
eyes." But it seems that he has employed another to do his bidding — I
thought of this happening, in fact, expected it, but sincerely hoped that
he won't go down that path."
"I-I. . . ."
Around that time, Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana
yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she
was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and
she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table
nearby. Then she noticed Ludo Bagman, a bunch of goblins, and Quinn
West sitting in a shady corner.
"Bozo? What's Bagman. . . what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow?
Showing them the sights . . . what nonsense . . . he was always a bad liar.
Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? And why is
Quinn West sitting with them? . . . Come on, let's go talk to them — a
friendly chat, you know?"
She, with her trusty photography, marched towards the corner and, with
a brilliant smile and shrill voice, spoke, "Bagman! What a surprise to see
you here."
"Go away, Ms. Skeeter, you're not required here," said Quinn without
looking at the reporter.
Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost
at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her
Quick- Quotes Quill, "Ah, Quinn, I didn't see you there—"
"Ms. Skeeter, why are you still here?" asked Quinn, finally glancing at the
woman.
Rita's eyes hardening as they fell on Quinn, "Quinn, seeing you with Ludo
Bagman is a surprise. . . . I know things about Ludo Bagman that would
make your hair curl. . . ." She tried to garner some favor.
If Ludo Bagman was scared before, he was more scared now. Rita Skeeter
was like a blood-smelling hound who wouldn't let go of a scoop if she
could smell one. And right now, she was trying to garner favor with
Quinn.
Quinn sighed once again, "Ms. Skeeter, can I talk to you for a second."
Rita made Bozo stay behind as she followed Quinn to another corner.
"Yes, Quinn? What is it? Do you want to know about Bagman because I
have a lot of things I can—"
"Ms. Skeeter," Quinn stopped her, "I knew about your little secret before I
even met you. Don't you think I would know Mr. Bagman's dirty little
secrets? I know what he did during the war, what he's doing now, and
what he's going to do in the future."
He took a pause before finally stating, "Ms. Skeeter, you don't have to do
this. All I desire from you is to not cross paths with me. If you can do
that, I'll not come in your path if you do that, and we both will go out
merry ways."
Quinn understood that if he wanted, he could use Rita Skeeter as a very
useful asset. But Quinn didn't want to deal with Rita Skeeter as he had
too much on his plate to keep tabs on what she was doing, and Rita
Skeeter was like a viper, and if he gave her a chance, she would bite him.
He was a hundred percent sure that if he asked Rita Skeeter to do
something, she would try to find something that would put Quinn at a
disadvantage.
"Do you understand me?"
Rita's quill hand went down, and she nodded silently.
"Good, then. I wish you a pleasant day."
He walked back to the goblin table, and as he sat down, he addressed
Bozo, the photographer, "You can go now. Ms. Skeeter is calling for you."
Bozo seemed confused as this wasn't how things usually went. His
partner(boss) would usually be smiling with the other party sweating. He
walked away feeling very perplexed.
"Now, where were we?" asked Quinn. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, if you
want to make a loss, then go ahead, be my guest, lend him money
because Mr. Bagman isn't going to be doing any quidditch betting — but
maybe this better; maybe he will use that money somewhere useful."
The goblins had heard enough. They looked at each other before getting
up and walking out of the bar. They didn't even look at Bagman before
leaving.
"Mr. Bagman, I don't care what you do after the tournament, but before
it, I don't want any problems from you. Even now, it won't cause me any
harm if I let you do whatever you want, but tell me, what was our deal?"
". . . .If I give you the hosting job and stay out of trouble till the
tournament, you'll pay off my debts," replied Bagman.
"Exactly," said Quinn, finally finishing his milkshake, "I'll let it go this
time, but next time around, I won't be so lenient. You may take this any
way you want to or can. . . ."
Quinn got up gave Bagman one last look before leaving. His job as the
host of the Tri-wizard tournament was directly tied to Ludo Bagman
being on the judging panel. If somehow, Bagman managed to get himself
booted, then Quinn's host duties might come into jeopardy, and he
would've to do extra work to keep that job.
As he walked back towards the bar, he saw the Weasley twins enter the
pub. "Fred, George, here!"
" "Yeah, what is it?" "
Quinn pointed at Bagman, sulking in the corner, and muttered, "Mr.
Bagman there was trying to place some bets. I've talked to them, but if he
does come to you, don't let him come to place some bets — not even if he
agrees to pay both of you back for the galleons he took from at the Worl
Cup."
"How did you. . . —" "—Never mind," the twins sighed, "Okay, we will
make sure that—" "—he doesn't place any bets with us."
"Good," nodded Quinn, satisfied, "also Bagman is using a couple students
to place his bets, so I'll be sending those names, so make sure they are
banned for a couple of games." He had gleaned off the information right
from the source.
" "Roger." "
When Quinn joined his friends back, Marcus asked, "What was that
about?"
"Oh, you know. Business as usual," Quinn replied before calling out to the
hostess, "Madam Rosmerta, one hot chocolate, please."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"So, will you do it?"
Quinn stared at the five adults in front of him and pretended to ponder
the question he just asked. "You're asking me if I would be fine being put
into an enchanted sleep and then spend a couple of hours inside the
freezing waters of the Great Lake in February."
Albus nodded as if it was a commonplace request, "Yes, that's about
right."
"Hmm, I see," nodded Quinn, "While I would love to volunteer for this
exciting opportunity, I've hosting responsibilities that I need to attend, so
I'm unfortunately not available."
In the headmaster's office, Quinn sat with the three heads of schools,
Flitwick and Barty Crouch Sr.
"Mr. West," started Crouch, "I assure you that you'll be absolutely safe.
Professor Dumbledore has communicated with the merpeople, and they
will make sure that you'll not be harmed down while you're sleeping."
Quinn, of course, wasn't worried about being harmed — certainly not
underwater. That was probably the safest place for him.
"I understand that Mr. Crouch, and I've full trust in the measures taken,
but I've things planned for the second task. Mr. Bagman and I've been in
regular contact, preparing just for this task."
"And what might those preparations be?" asked Maxime.
"That you'll see on the day itself," smiled Quinn before asking back, "is
there no else you can ask to be Fleur's hostage? Like one of your students,
someone close to her, maybe."
"Well. . . Fleur's younger sister just arrived as the second batch of
students from Beauxbatons. We can have her go under the lake. . . but I'm
a little hesitant about putting someone as young as her in the lake so
soon after she gets here."
Quinn groaned internally, not audibly, of course. It was true that
Gabrielle Delacour was dangerously young to be put under the lake, and
looking at it, he should volunteer for it. Fleur was his friend, and she
would definitely not like it when she found that her sister was put inside
the lake.
Especially not when the egg riddle states that they would lose those
hostages after an hour. Not a thing to be happy about.
'Ah, whatever. I should just do it. There's no harm done to me anyway,'
thought Quinn, 'I could probably break from the enchanted sleep if I try
hard enough. . . . it'll be a good opportunity to see how well I can do
against Dumbledore's magic. But, what would I do while tied up down
there, not that I can talk merespeak. . . . ah, I should speak up first.'
But before he could, Olympe spoke up, "Quinn, are you dating Fleur?"
Quinn, who was about to speak, closed his mouth at the sudden question
before opening it again, ". . . No, I'm not. . . why?"
"Alright, it's decided then. Little Gabrielle will go inside. I think having
her sister down there will be a greater motivation for Fleur, increasing
her chances to win."
"That's one way to think about, I guess," said Quinn. He was a little taken
aback by the reasoning, but he could see it working. If someone put Lia
under the lake, Quinn would literally tear the lake apart to get to her.
"This is over then?" said Karakoff, sounding bored mixed with a bit of
irritation, "everyone's hostages are decided. Three of them are already
put into sleep for tomorrow; we just need to get that little girl down
there."
"Oh? Who're the other three," asked Quinn.
Dumbledore answered Quinn, "Ms. Ivy Potter for her brother Harry
Potter; Ms. Cho Chang for Cedric Diggory; and finally, Ms. Daphne
Greengrass for Victor Krum."
Quinn's brow twitched at the mention of Daphne going into the lake. He
knew that she would be going inside, but still hearing it now bothered
him a little.
'Krum better come first in this round,' thought Quinn, 'and Ivy instead of
Hermione looks like I was wrong. Well, sister trumps date, I guess. And
Lily Potter must know about the real situation.'
"Great to know," he said, "I'll use that info while hosting."
He was going to put on a show tomorrow morning.
.
Quinn West - MC - Investor, Consultant, hostage candidate.
Ludo Bagman - Gambling Addict - Working under strict terms.
Rita Skeeter - Journalist - Sometimes being bold pays off, sometimes it
doesn't.
Goblins - Profit-seeking - The West name subconsciously makes them
snarl.
Weasley Twins - Betting Kings - Learning the ways to run an operation.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Day 1 of 4 of end-terms is over. 2 out of 8
subjects are done. Three days and six subjects more to go.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
177. Chapter 177: Second Task,
Drone
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The entrance hall contained a few last-minute stragglers, all leaving the
Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to
watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin
and Dennis Creevey flying as he leaped down the stone steps and out
onto the bright, chilly grounds.
As he pounded down the lawn, Harry saw the seats from the first task
dragon stadium in November were now ranged along the opposite bank,
rising in stands built over the water of the Great lake that was packed to
the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of
the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat-out around
the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another
gold-draped table at the water's edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were
beside the judges' table, watching Harry sprint toward them.
"I'm . . . here . . ." Harry panted, skidding to a halt in the mud and
accidentally splattering Fleur's robes.
"Where have you been, Mr. Potter?" said an authoritative, disapproving
voice. "The task's about to start!"
Harry looked around. McGonagall was looking at him disappointedly and
a little angrily.
"Now, now, Professor McGonagall," said Ludo Bagman, who was looking
intensely jolly to see Harry. "Let him catch his breath!"
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime didn't
look at all pleased to see him. . . . It was evident from the looks on their
faces that they had thought he wasn't going to turn up.
Harry bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath; he had a stitch
in his side that felt as though he had a knife between his ribs, but there
was no time to get rid of it; Ludo Bagman was now moving among the
champions, spacing them along the bank at intervals of ten feet. Harry
was on the very end of the line, next to Krum, who was wearing
swimming trunks and was holding his wand ready.
"All right, Harry?" Bagman whispered as he moved Harry a few feet
farther away from Krum. "Know what you're going to do?"
"Yeah," Harry panted, massaging his ribs. The preparations for the task
had caused him to be a little late — a little too late.
Bagman gave Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the
judges' table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the
World Cup, said, "Sonorus!" and his voice boomed out across the dark
water toward the stands.
"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task. I won't waste any
more of your time and pass it on to Quinn West for him to continue the
task."
The stands were built above the lake, supported by vertical beams
holding them above the surface; as such, there was a good amount of
space between the seating area and the lake. From that gap below, the
students saw Quinn coming out, and it set them lit in murmurs and
discussion.
Hermione and Ron were sitting with Lily Potter to support their friend's
mother because they knew that Ivy was under the lake and Harry was
about to go inside.
As Hermione watched Quinn enter their sight, she elbowed Ron in the
sides, hitting him in the ribs. ". . . Is he walking on water?"
Ron was so engrossed to see Quinn walk on water that he could only nod
his head. But Lily Potter did confirm Hermione's question. "Yes, dear.
Quinn is walking on water. . ."
Quinn walked a little distance on the water to the point where he didn't
have to feel uncomfortable craning his neck to look at everyone in the
stands.
"Be honest," he started looking at everyone with a smile, "you're thinking
how I'm doing this, aren't you?"
There were many "yeses" from the crowd, and Quinn could see a lot of
necks craning and students standing up to get a better look at him.
"Being honest myself, I'm pretty cool right now," he hopped on the water
a couple times, showing that there was no trick here and he was indeed
solidly standing on water.
It wasn't that difficult to walk on water — an intermediatory water spell
and anyone could replicate what Quinn was doing right now. The wow
factor was because no one did it and because "walking-on-water" was an
action tied closely to Jesus Christ, and religion was popular everywhere
— be it magical or non-magical. Look at Friar; he was a cleric monk
when he was alive, and even after his death, he was a devout practitioner
of his religion.
Quinn smiled at the nods he received from the crowd and was about to
continue when he felt a tremor beneath his feet. His smile cramped for a
second. He raised his right foot and tapped it on the water, sending
tremors back into the lake — hidden from everyone looking at him.
"Ahem, I'm sure since November, all of you must have heard at least one
or a couple theories about the second task — all kind of speculations and
conjectures in our beloved Hogwarts rumor mill, tingling curiosities up
and down the castles."
Another water tremor came back to him, and the Kraken, who was
looking to play (fight), replied back sulkily at Quinn's refusal water
tremors.
'Alright, not that's over with. . . .' He spread his arms wide and continued.
"Now, as we stand here, on the Great lake, all of you must have some
inkling about the task — at least that it's water-related," he glanced at the
champions standing at a separate platform, "the champions know what
they have to do and what is at stake here. The first task was all about
them, but this time around, it's not just themselves they have to worry
about — this time around, there are more things on the line."
All four champions displayed a different level of nervousness as they
stood staring at the lake — all four knew what Quinn was talking about.
"Before I move on, I would start the task and get our champions
working," said Quinn taking out a small white sphere with red veins all
around. He dropped the sphere into the water. "I'm sure they're eager to
get inside there and start their task. Before they actually go in, I can only
share a couple of things — they have precisely an hour to recover what
has been taken from them."
"But before they go, I would like you to introduce all of you and them to
what we're going to for the hour they're inside."
He closed his right eye and raised his fake wand to the sky. Once again,
like the first task, the light bent in the sky and a vast illusion of an
underwater scene.
"This is the live feed of what's happening inside the Great lake. There
won't be much to do for the hour the champions are underwater, so we
will be watching them from here."
Quinn still had his right eye closed, and that was because his right eye
was currently connected to the sphere he had dropped underwater — an
artificial eye that he had planned and researched since his second year
(Chapter 61) and had been actively building since this year (Chapter 140).
In 「 Project: Drone-Vision 」,
Quinn's right eye's vision was cut, and his optic nerves that connected his
eyes to the brain were magically getting optical signals from the artificial
eye. The artificial eye was covered with a protective coating of an air
bubble that kept it separated from the water.
He could literally see what the artificial eye was catching — it was a
little disorienting to see two completely different scenes. But he had
gotten used to it.
"Now, champions, on the count of three, the countdown starts, then. One
. . . two . . . three! Start!"
The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with
cheers and applause; without looking to see what the other champions
were doing, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled a vial of moss
green potion out of his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth, and waded out
into the lake. He had drunk a gillyweed potion that he and Hermione had
brewed together. Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two
large slits just below his ears, flapping in the cold air. . . . Quinn had
gills. Without pausing to think, he did the only thing that made sense —
he dove deep inside the lake — to get his twin out.
Victor Krum cracked his neck as he pulled out his wand and pointed it
towards his head. The action made Quinn furrow his brow a little; he
knew what was about to come — partial transfiguration around the head
area was a tricky thing, and Quinn wasn't sure if the pro-seeker was
adept enough to safely pull it off. Victor's head twisted into a shark head
with jagged teeth and beady eyes.
And just like the originals, Cedric and Fleur used bubblehead charms to
filter the air out of the water to provide them oxygen underwater before
they dove inside to rescue her girlfriend and little sister. It was a charm
that Quinn didn't use underwater, but when he had to deal with potions
that released toxic fumes during brewing.
'Ah, these guys have it so easy,' thought Quinn and exhaled a big sigh as
plenty of memories of being pushed around in the water, being lost in
darkness, being cut, among other things like being smacked around by
giant tentacles, flashed inside his mind.
Quinn shook his head and pulled himself out of the flashbacks, 'Yeah, so
easy. . . .'
"Now that the champions are inside let's see how they're doing." The
illusion overhead changed as the eye moved. They could only see ten feet
ahead so that as the eye sped through the water, new scenes seemed to
loom suddenly out of the oncoming darkness: forests of rippling, tangled
black weed, vast plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones.
First, they saw Cedric swimming freely, but the very next second, his
ankles were grabbed a grindylow, a tiny, horned water demon, poking
out of the weed, its long fingers clutched tightly around Cedric's leg, its
pointed fangs bared — Cedric stuck his hand quickly inside his robes and
fumbled for his wand. By the time he had grasped it, two more
grindylows had risen out of the weed, had seized handfuls of Cedric's
clothes, and were attempting to drag him down.
Sparkles shot from his wand, and the grindylows were pelted with what
seemed to be jets of hot water, for where it struck them, angry red
patches appeared on their green skin. Cedric pulled his ankle out of the
grindylow's grip and swam as fast as he could, occasionally sending more
jets of hot water over his shoulder at random; every now and then, he felt
one of the grindylows snatch at his foot again, and he kicked out, hard;
finally, he felt his foot connect with a horned skull, and looking back,
saw the dazed grindylow floating away, cross-eyed, while its fellows
shook their fists at Cedric and sank back into the weed.
"Grindlyows were a little blip, but it seems that Cedric is doing well —
let's move on to another champion." His commentary wasn't needed as
people were a little too engrossed in the visuals.
The eye moved, and soon they saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy
water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they carried spears and
chased what looked like the giant squid. A cluster of crude stone
dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all
sides. Here and there at the dark windows, everyone saw faces . . . faces
that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the
prefects' bathroom. . . .
The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their
eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes
of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry Potter as he swam
past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better,
their powerful, silverfish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their
hands.
Harry sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more
numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and he
even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople
were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, pointing at his
webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry
sped around a corner, and an extraordinary sight met his eyes.
A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that
lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of
merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward
them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue, a gigantic merperson
hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the
stone merperson.
Ivy was tied between Daphne and Cho. There was also a girl who looked
no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made everyone feel sure
that she was Fleur Delacour's sister, Gabrielle Delacour. All four of them
appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their
shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.
"Ah, Victor Krum is here," said Quinn as he, a half-shark half-man,
entered the illusion above.
Victor Krum sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to
lower their spears and charge at him, but they did nothing. The ropes of
weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong.
He looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were
carrying spears. He swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a
long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request
to borrow the spear.
The merman laughed and shook his head.
Victor roared fiercely (but only bubbles issued from his mouth), and he
tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it
back, still shaking his head and laughing.
Harry was watching the entire thing from the side while keeping an eye
on Ivy. He swirled around, staring about. Something sharp . . . anything .
. . Rocks were littering the lake bottom. He dived and snatched up a
particularly jagged one and returned to the statue. He began to hack at
the ropes binding Ivy, and after several minutes' hard work, they broke
apart. Ivy floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom,
drifting a little in the ebb of the water.
Harry looked around and saw that the shark-man swam straight to
Daphne and began snapping and biting at her ropes; the trouble was that
Krum's new teeth were positioned very awkwardly for grinding anything
smaller than a dolphin, and Harry was quite sure that if Krum wasn't
careful, he was going to rip Daphne in half.
He looked at Ivy before turning to Daphne — he knew that while his
sister and Daphne fought a lot, but once they had been very close —
close enough that if Ivy was awake right now, she would help Daphne
right now.
Darting forward, Harry struck Krum on the shoulder and held up the
jagged stone. Krum seized it and began to cut Daphne free. Within
seconds, he had done it; he grabbed Daphne around the waist, and
without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with her toward the
surface.
'Now what?' Harry thought. Fleur's Delacour sister looked a little too
young to be here, and she was looking a little green. But after thinking
for a while, he decided to leave — Fleur had done better than everyone
else in the first task, better than him, and she had used pure magic and
not other skills like flying like he had.
'She would be here soon,' he thought and took off.
And as Harry swam away, he saw Cedric swim past him towards the
merperson stone statue.
Cedric reached the statue, and now the merpeople were standing close to
Cho and Gabrielle. Cedric pulled his wand out. "Get out of my way!"
Only bubbles flew out of his bubblehead cover, but he had a distinct
impression that the mermen had understood him because they suddenly
stopped laughing. Their yellowish eyes were fixed upon Harry's wand,
and they looked cautious. They moved away, giving Cedric space, who
immediately shot a slicing hex at the thick bindings, freeing Cho.
"Alright, three hostages have been freed, with only one remaining. Let's
see how the fourth missing champion is doing. . . . now, we just have to
find where she is."
Quinn felt sonar tremors into the lake, and eventually, he got the
feedback. He had found her. The artificial eye immediately trod water,
and the scene everyone saw what was Fleur Delacour up to.
"Ah. . . so this is where she was."
Fleur Delacour was wrapped up in black weeds. They were tightly wound
around her arms, legs, and torso. The black weeds weren't attached to the
soil but were broken, and their other ends were held by multiple toothy
grindylows, who were pulling the weedy-ropes while Fleur struggled, but
the little demons' gang work was a little too strong for Fleur.
"It seems that Fleur has lost her wand," commented Quinn, and the
illusion zoomed into the wand sitting down at the lakebed.
Suddenly, Fleur directly looked at the "camera," and she mouthed out
words frantically. While others weren't able to understand the words,
Quinn could as he read her lips. She was begging for Quinn —
specifically, to rescue her sister and that there wasn't much time left.
Quinn, of course, knew that Gabrielle wasn't in any danger; she would be
pulled out at the end of the hour. But then he saw something that
concerned him a lot. Fleur's figure and face were slightly shifting.
'She is shifting into her Avian form.' Fleur was panicking.
From his talks with Fleur and his reading, Quinn knew that in their Avian
form, Veelas weren't able to control magic properly. . . if she fully
transformed, then there were solid chances that her bubblehead charms
would pop and then. . . .
"Ah, damn it."
.
Quinn West - MC - Human(Wizard/Magical) Projector/Drone.
Champions - 4 people - Doing their thing.
Hostages - 4 people - Doing nothing.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Inspired by Gaara's sandeye.
FictionOnlyReader - Author Update - Day 2 of 4 of end-terms is over. 4
out of 8 subjects are done. Half-way through. There won't be chapter
tomorrow as I need to prep. Actually, this was supposed to drop
tomorrow, but I completed the latest chapter early, so here you go.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
178. Chapter 178: Rescuing The
Damsel
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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Quinn closed both of his eyes, and now all he could see was the scene
transmitted by the artificial eye from Project: Drone Vision. In the
originals, Fleur had somewhat gone through the same thing, and in that
time, she had come out without any major mishaps.
While the situation had changed this time around — the three champions
had gotten to their hostages without much hassle or problems, but that
didn't mean Fleur would come out unharmed as well. He contemplated
his next move, and with the loud discussions from stands made him think
that he needed to make a discussion very soon.
He opened his left "unconnected" eye to see the judges' reactions and saw
that Dumbledore, Bagman, Karkaroff, and Crouch all were looking at his
overhead illusion, but other than the low varying level of worries, all
men looked otherwise unbothered — it was only Olympe Maxime who
looked genuinely anxious about her champion's condition.
Fleur's unheard words were still sounding loud in his years.
Then there were sudden gasps all across the stands as everyone saw
Fleur's bubblehead charm shrunk dangerously close to her face —
receding from below the neck level to just below the chin.
'Okay, I need to do something — or she's going to drown,' he thought,
feeling a little panicked himself, 'and it's going to happen in front of
everyone else — yup, yup, yup, I should do it right now.'
Immediately, the water beneath his feet, which was keeping him afloat
above, gave way, and he sank below without making a splash, leaving
behind just a hint of a circular wave from where he was standing.
On the judges' platform, Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore, "Where did he
go, Dumbledore? What are your students doing now?"
Dumbledore glanced at Karkaroff and shrugged with a hint of a smile on
his face, "I have no idea what he's doing. Mr. West. . . for the most part. .
. . likes to do things on his own, at his own pace, at his own discretion."
"You lie. First, you enter two champions, and now this!"
"He hasn't done anything yet, Igor," Dumbledore pointed up at the
illusion still running, "let's see what he does; I'm sure it will be
entertaining and isn't that what we are going here for?"
Dumbledore merrily laughed while Karkaroff frowned deeply.
Sitting by their side, Olympe's eyes were fixed with the illusion; she
tapped away at the armrest of her chair, with a pit sitting in the base of
her stomach. She had complete confidence in Fleur to handle herself, but
that was when Fleur had a wand in her hand — right now, she didn't
have one, which in itself was the worst nightmare for a witch.
"I see him. . . I can see Mr. West," said Barty Crouch Sr, as stern as ever.
He hadn't shown up at the Yule Ball or for work at the ministry because
of bad health, but he was back now — healthy as a bull.
Everyone saw Quinn in the illusion, swimming towards Fleur from her
backside as the artificial eye was positioned at Fleur's front.
Tracey sitting in the stands, nudged Astoria and whispered, "It's just like
the time when he came outside the common room windows."
Astoria nodded as she and everyone could see that Quinn's hands and feet
had gained webbing, and he had gill flaps on his neck and chest.
"Where did he ditch his clothes?" Tracey turned towards the speaker and
gazed at Eddie, who was sitting beside her watching the illusion with a
thoughtful look. In the illusion, Quinn was in nothing but a pair of
swimming trunks.
Dumbledore studied the illusion — specifically Quinn, and assessed the
gills and webbed feet and hands. "Those aren't from gillyweed like Mr.
Potters. . . . then, they are transfigurations, hmm. But why does he have
gills on his chest — wait a minute, are they directly connected? Oh my, if
that's the case, then that's some impressive work." Even from seeing just
an image fabricated from Quinn's memory, Dumbledore could tell
precisely what magic Quinn was using.
. . .
Quinn shot every grindylow, trapping Fleur with jets of stunning spell
directed through his fake wand. Not a single little snickering water
midget was able to escape or even had a chance to escape. He came to
the front and was immediately stunned. . .
'She's unconscious,' he saw that her bubblehead charm was still intact,
'but she isn't getting enough air through it.' he poked his fake wand into
her bubble and cast a much sturdier bubblehead charm, once again
resuming an ample supply of oxygen for Fleur.
Quinn grabbed her by the waist and looked up; he could send her back to
the shore right from here, but that would attract attention and with it
suspicion. His power stint last year, which led him to split the lake,
garnered a lot of attention. Students and professors alike had visited and
staked the lake for weeks to figure what had happened.
Dumbledore himself, at that time and when planning for the second task,
had extensively investigated the abnormality. Both times, he had
examined the lake for a month and talked with the merpeople. All he got
from his efforts was that the giant squid (Kraken) had been active a lot,
moving around, causing underwater waves, but other than that, even
they didn't know the cause of the bizarre incident.
Quinn knew all of this because he had chanced upon Dumbledore talking
to a merperson. That very day Quinn had gone and made sure that the
entrance to the Aquatic vault was hidden from sight so that if
Dumbledore ever did go close to the entrance, he would miss it.
Standing on the water was fine, but if he sent Fleur up from here, that
would be a massive giveaway and might turn him into a prime suspect.
Quinn swam up, pulling Fleur with him; he had to shoot a couple more
grindylows on the way, but otherwise, Quinn got Fleur out as soon as
possible.
Outside on the surface, everyone saw Quinn and Fleur pop out of the
water. They watched as Quinn set Fleur flat on the water surface as if it
was solid and himself used the lake surface to climb up before picking up
Fleur in his arms and walked towards the stands.
Poppy came running out on the platform from where the champions had
jumped as he got close to the stands. "Quinn, how's she, status?"
"She's fine, just fainted. Her bubblehead charm shrunk and couldn't
provide enough air to her," replied Quinn, "she'll be fine — just need to
get up on her own."
"Okay, pass her up," she needed to check for herself just to be safe and
sure.
Quinn clutched his fake wand and was about to wave it in the motion for
a body levitation charm but felt Fleur's arms tighten around her neck.
". . . .Quinn," he heard a soft and faint whisper. He glanced down and
saw Fleur looking at him with half-lidded eyes.
"Yes? I'm here."
". . . .Gabrielle."
"She's fine," he said, as unlike her, he knew that the hostages weren't in
any danger.
"Where. . . is she?"
". . . She's fine and safe."
Her eyes once again began closing, but before they fully closed, she spoke
on last time, "Bring her up, please."
Quinn sighed as his lie failed the deception check, ". . . . Yeah, I will get
her up."
"Hmm. . . ."
He sent her up to Poppy to get checked up and brought up back to
health. Now it was time to get Gabrielle back up. He turned around, and
before the judges could say anything, Quinn sunk back in, not giving
them a chance to stop them.
Quinn knew that Dumbledore would call up a merperson who would
then go back to get Gabrielle back up. . . . while that was fine, it would
take too much time — Fleur might be up and running, and if she saw her
sister still missing, she would panic; as such, he wanted to get Gabrielle
before Fleur woke up. . . . Because Quinn was sure that Fleur was barely
half-conscious in their conscious.
Quinn cut the connection to the artificial eye and, with it, erased the
illusion. He finally opened his right eye, and immediately, water around
started to move, and he zapped towards the merpeople village to retrieve
Gabrielle. He cut the water magic just before he was within sight and
swam normally towards the statue to which Gabrielle was tied.
He stepped on the lake bed and finally saw an asleep, floating Gabrielle.
He walked normally as if he wasn't in the water, and when a merperson
swam in his path, Quinn waved a hand, gesturing to move aside. But the
merperson didn't move and stared at Quinn sternly.
Maybe it was because Quinn was in a hurry or because he had so much
water around him, and it felt terrific as if power was filling him that he
waved his hand once again, and the merperson was swept away by an
underwater wave, leaving the path free which Quinn briskly walked to
reach Gabrielle.
He simply looked at the five merfolk standing nearby, and they didn't
dare approach him. He untied the little Veela, and just like his sister, he
took off with her, this time just faster, courtesy of water magic. The
merpeople could only stand and watch as Quinn left with the hostage
that they had to protect.
When he finally emerged, everyone screamed, cheered, and applauded as
if he was a champion. Quinn stared at them with a partially surprised
expression. Then his face changed from surprise to a bit of furrow in his
brow because he saw a wide awake Fleur wrapped in towels, staring at
him — no, staring at Gabrielle, who had woken up from her enchanted
sleep (coming out of the water was the trigger.)
He walked to the champion's platform and waved his fake wand, which
made the water under his rise up, pushing him up — he kept it pretty
wobbly just to be safe.
"Oh, Gabrielle." French flew out of Fleur's mouth as she received
Gabrielle from Quinn and hugged her confused sister.
"Come here, you," said Madam Pomfrey. She took Gabrielle from Fleur
and, under the watchful eye of Fleur, warmed up Gabrielle and checked
if the young girl was up.
A third-year Hufflepuff called out softly to Quinn and shyly handed him a
towel. Quinn smiled and received it with a smile — he didn't actually
need the towel, but he pretended to wipe his face as magic stipped water
of from his body. He handed the towel back with a thank you, making
the girl blush.
He looked down, and he was still in his swim shorts and then at the lake
where he had stripped himself of his cloth in the heat of the moment. He
shrugged and conjured a simple shirt around his body.
"Well done, Mr. West!" Dumbledore cried. "you brought Ms. Delacour just
in time, though going after Ms. Gabrielle was a little hasty — but, I
understand."
"Thank you, headmaster," smiled Quinn, "I was the closest; it was just
natural for me to help out."
He also noticed Karkaroff watching him. He was the only judge who had
not left the table, the sole judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief
that Fleur and Gabrielle had got back safely. Quinn smiled and nodded
towards Karkaroff with a short head bow.
Quinn looked back at Dumbledore just to find that the old headmaster
was missing. Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in
conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly
wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of
screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water;
clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally, he straightened up,
turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the
marks, I think."
The judges went into a huddle. Poppy had gone to rescue Ivy and Harry
from Lily's clutches; she led him over to Daphne and the others, gave
them a blanket and some Pepper up Potion. Quinn had been a little too
fast in his rescue.
As Poppy dealt with the champions and hostages, Quinn squatted at the
platform's edge and looked deeply at the lake while pointing his fake
wand. A dozen seconds later, his clothes came flying out, sloshing in
water, thoroughly soaking.
"He-eh," he smiled and insta-dried his clothes. Quinn stood up and turned
to see Fleur standing just behind him. "Woah! . . . . Hey, how're you
feeling?" he asked.
The Veela threw her arms around Quinn's neck and kissed him deeply
right on the lips. Quinn was so surprised that he froze for a second before
he remembered that. . . . kissing felt really good. So he leaned into it, and
subconsciously his hands went to her waist.
Everyone. . . . everyone who could see Fleur and Quinn stared at the
couple — which was a lot of people, including all on the platform
(judges, champions, hostages, Poppy, and Lily.)
Harry, Cedric, and Krum stared at the pair with their mouths open a little
(Cedric got a jab which closed his mouth). The judges held varying
expressions with Dumbledore smiling, "young people. . ." Poppy and Lily
looked a bit scandalized to see blatant kissing happening in front of
them.
Finally, Ivy and Daphne, who were soaking wet with towels around
them, stared at Quinn and Fleur. Almost immediately, Daphne's dislike of
Fleur deepened a few levels; she wanted to get up and separate the two
but knew she couldn't do it. Ivy stared at them, and her mind started to
play her interaction with Quinn after he saved Harry — his visit to their
house, her visits to the AID office, him training them, him rejecting her
and how that felt, and finally the dance she shared with him at the Yule
Ball. . . . Ivy decided that she didn't like what was happening in front of
her.
After a long and deep kiss, they separated, out of breath. Fleur's arms
now rested on Quinn's chest as he gazed down at her, his arms still on
her waist.
"Not going to lie, but this might be the best thing that happened to me
this week — maybe even this month," and he had found the main,
innermost chamber of the fourth vault this month.
Fleur nodded in total agreement, "It was at the top for me as well."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"So, I'm definitely much better than okay, aren't I?"
Fleur chuckled melodiously and nodded, "Yes, you're better than okay,"
she looked up and licked her lips, "much better than okay."
Quinn beamed, feeling really happy right now, and gazed at the girls in
his arms. He knew what he said about not wanting his first relationship
to not be a fling, but right now, Fleur looked a little too appealing — he
really wanted to kiss her again.
"Ahem." That fake cough broke Quinn out of his thoughts. He looked and
saw Ludo Bagman looking at them. Fleur and Quinn removed their hands
from each other, realizing that they had a lot of company.
"Mr. Bagman," said Quinn, "you can continue for today; please conclude
the second task."
Ludo nodded, knowing it wasn't a request even if there was a please in
there.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess
Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake and
we also saw everything from here, so we have therefore decided to award
marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. . . ."
"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-
Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal and
failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."
Applause from the stands.
"I deserved zero," said Fleur, throatily, shaking her magnificent head.
"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was third to
return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time
limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd;
Quinn saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We, therefore, award him
forty-one points."
"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was
nevertheless effective and was second to return with his hostage. We
award him forty-four points."
Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.
"Harry Potter used a gillyweed potion to great effect," Bagman continued.
"He returned first and well inside the time limit of an hour. He was the
fastest and worked with the most efficiency; as such, we award him a
total of forty-eight points."
Harry looked proud, and Lily was clapping very hard.
Quinn gave a glance to Bagman before stepping forward to take the last
announcement for himself, "The third and final task will take place at
dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of
what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your
support of the champions."
'It's over,' Quinn thought, sighing, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the
champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes. . . . but
then he felt arms wrap around his waist, and he looked down to see tiny
silver-blonde staring at him with her big blue eyes.
"Gabrielle, right?" asked Quinn, pulling a smile.
The girl nodded and spoke in a voice that Quinn thought was very lovely
and cute, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
The little girl continued to stare at Quinn for a few seconds before
running away. She had said her thank you, but she feared that Quinn
would get all yucky-icky-kissy face with her if she stayed. If Quinn knew
her thoughts, he would've experienced a very happy blow.
He looked at the lake and smiled. It was a good day. He didn't notice a
few sets of eyes observing him with varying looks.
.
Quinn West - MC - Kissing feels really good.
Fleur Delacour - Veela - She failed the task, but the kiss balanced it out.
Daphne Greengrass - Slytherin, Hostage - Doesn't like Fleur at all.
Ivy Potter - Gryffindor, Hostage - Things are in. . . flux.
Gabrielle Delacour - Little Veela - Kisses are yucky-icky.
.
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179. Chapter 179: Catching The
Eye
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As the year entered March, the weather became drier, but cruel winds
skinned peoples' hands and faces every time they went out onto the
grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being
blown off course, which was beneficial for MagiFax sales as they were
finally picking up speed in the domestic household market after
dominating the professional office market.
It was a Friday morning in the great hall during breakfast with the
Hogwarts population was abuzz with the morning energy, and for once, a
lot of students were surprisingly reading newspapers. The second task
had been an exciting event with the host walking on water, the flashy
overhead live footage of underwater, and the very visible public display
affection, which marked the end of the second task.
Every student in Hogwarts wanted to see what the papers wrote about
the unique experience; as such, the students who didn't even touch
newspapers if it didn't have a juicy story were gathered in groups,
sharing the newspapers arriving at the great hall by the waves of daily
owl raids.
At the Gryffindor table, the golden squad sat together, leaning over a
copy of today's Daily Prophet, reading the very first page that detailed
the second task through very thorough, in-depth articles and. . . .
photographs.
"It's not here," commented Ron, putting a spoonful of his breakfast in his
mouth, "how come of everything mentioned that's the only thing not
photographed — hell, this doesn't even mention the kiss in writing."
Parvati Patil sitting right next to them with her bosom buddy Lavendar
Brow. The chatty girls were hunched over an edition of Witch Weekly,
scouring through the magazine pages with hungry eyes.
"It's not here; it's not possible — how is it possible for Witch Weekly not
write about the kiss,' said Parvati passing the magazine to Lavendar, who
insisted on going through it again.
Ivy repeatedly stabbed her fork into her food, restraining herself from
breaking the plate as she heard everyone — everyone talking about the
second task — specifically, the end. . . .
"It's not that big of a deal," she said, her tone held a hidden whiplash,
"they wrote about the second task; that's what they're supposed to write. I
don't see a problem."
"You just don't get it," said Lavendar, resting her chin on her hand with a
misty look in her eyes, "it was so romantic, Quinn rescuing Fleur like
that, with everyone seeing. . ." she sighed a dreamy sigh.
"I agree with Ivy that the article should be about the tournament," said
Hermione, finishing reading the page.
Ivy nodded. She knew she could depend on her best friend.
"But, with how the Daily Prophet reports, it does seem strange that they
didn't mention the kiss," continued Hermoine, stunning Ivy. Hermione
pointed at the byline, "Look — it's written by Rita Skeeter; it seems
almost impossible for that vile woman to write something as sensible and
unembellished as this."
Even Ivy had to concede to the point about Rita Skeeter writing a good
article sounded like someone was trying to pull her leg. . . . strong
enough to pull her into the ground. The truth was that despite the "Veela"
champion kissing someone in public was a story worth for every writer in
this country to have a parade day, and for it not to be published. . . .
seemed odd.
Harry and Ivy exchanged looks; both knew that his/her twins were
thinking about the reason behind this and knew that they were thinking
the same thing. Not just them, all across the great hall, there were people
who had the same thought as them.
The children of prominent people; the likes of politicians, high-ranking
ministry officials, wealthy business owners, noble families — the
Hogwarts students who knew that they shared classrooms with a West.
They had guessed the reason; furthermore, they were convinced that
their reason was correct.
Ivy looked over to the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle
were standing in a huddle together with Pansy Parkinson's gang of
Slytherin girls — they too were looking over a newspaper. Beside them,
though, Daphne was rubbing her temple.
The newspapers might have not written about Quinn and Fleur, but they
did go ham on Daphne and Krum. The person who Victor Krum missed
the most — that was tabloid-worthy.
Ron ran his eyes over the great hall, stopping at the Ravenclaw table.
"Fleur is here. . . . but, I can't see Quinn," he turned to Harry and asked
with a grin, "Harry, mate. go ask your mate friend Eddie where is Quinn."
Harry's brow twitched as his eyes subconsciously found Eddie Carmichael
at the Ravenclaw. "Ron. . . . that little shi—," Harry held his tongue, ". . . .
Carmichael isn't my friend; WHY! would you even say that?"
"You looked pretty chummy with him at the last game."
"I was not!" snapped Harry before groaning. Harry considered Draco
Malfoy to be his nemesis, but he had to admit that Eddie Carmichael
came in a very close second.
Harry was part of Alicia Spinett's Sonic Brooms, and last to last week,
before the second task, they had a game against Trolling Boogeys. Sonic
Brooms went into the game undefeated with comfortable winning
margins in their every win — but they knew that despite the one loss,
Trolling Boogeys were a dangerous team, and if they didn't play well,
they (Sonic Brooms) could lose the game. . . . and they did lose the game.
Trolling Boogeys was an offensive team; they had Cedric Diggory as their
seeker who had been having a fantastic season — he was the number
three seeker after number one, Victor Krum, and number two, Harry
Potter — this already put Trolling Boogey's offense in the top fifty
percent of the ten teams.
Next came the beaters: the defensive position of the team. But in Trolling
Boogeys, the beaters weren't more focused on keeping the bludger away
from their seeker and chaser; instead, they primarily followed an
aggressive strategy of actively trying to knock the opposition players by
redirecting (hurling) the bludgers towards them. They were the prime
example of "Offense is the Best Defense."
Finally, there was the core offensive position — the chasers. And Trolling
Boogey's chaser squad was electrifying, to say the least — well, one
chaser was electrifying enough for three people.
Eddie Carmichael.
The most entertaining player to see in the entire tournament. Eddie
Carmichael was by far the best chaser in the thirty chasers playing in the
tournament, and he was beating them on leaderboard stats by such
margins that it wasn't even funny — be it be assists or points, Eddie
outclassed everyone.
Eddie Carmichael merchandise sales came third in the entire league —
only being beat by the pro who played for his country, Victor Krum, and
the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest seeker to ever play in a Hogwarts game,
Harry Potter — and both of them had the "champion" advantage.
Eddie was a silent player who didn't speak much during the game, a
tunnel focus vision towards victory as some of his teammates described
it.
But that was it.
He was only silent during the game — not so quiet before and especially
after the game.
After Trolling Boogerys' win against Sonic Brooms, Eddie had gone off. It
was like he was saving it up during the game that after the game, he had
trashed talk so much that Cedric had to transfigure Eddie's lips together
to prevent him from speaking. But before he could do that, Eddie had
talked in length, especially to Harry, that the seeker was sure that his
ears were bleeding.
"Hey, Quinn's here," said Ron, jutting his chin towards the door.
Quinn entered the great hall like it was another day; strolled towards the
Ravenclaw table, catching eyes as he passed through.
'What?' thought Quinn and looked around as his daily morning
Legilimency picked up surface thoughts from the few students around
him. 'Ah, good to see, I'm not in the news.' He had MagiFax-ed first thing
after the second task — it was a little (a lot) embarrassing to ask them to
scrub the potential news about him kissing in public. It was more
embarrassing to get just an "okay" in reply.
Quinn sat down at his desk, smiling at his friends.
"You're late," said Marcus, "where were you?"
"I dropped by the office; there is a potion slow-brewing around the clock
for two weeks now."
"You weren't having, maybe, a meeting, a tryst, a rendezvous, with the
very lovely Fleur Delacour," asked Eddie, a grin plastered over his face,
"and decided to send her first and come later by yourself to avoid
suspicion."
Quinn shook his head with a bit of his smile. "That's an interesting
theory, mate. Also, did you look those synonyms up?"
"Oh ho," chuckled Eddie, wiggling his brows, "he didn't refuse people."
"No, Eddie. . . . I didn't meet with Fleur."
Marcus leaned with a sparkle in his eyes and asked, "Are you dating?"
"Didn't we talk about this before," sighed Quinn, "no, I'm not dating her.
That was just you know. . . . a thank you." He had time to calm himself
down, and with it, the impulse to get handy with Fleur as well.
"Uh-huh, sure it was," smirked Eddie.
Quinn put down his knife and fork and looked at his dear friend. "How
are things going with a very charming Ms. Tracey Davis."
Eddie's ears turned red.
"Because from what I'm hearing, there had been some long walks by the
lake. . . . something you want to tell us, E.d.d.i.e."
"N-No, nothing. There's nothing. . . ."
Quinn picked his knife and fork back up with a smile, "I see. I see. If you
say so, then I'll believe you."
"Y-Yeah."
"Good," grinned Quinn, "oh man, this is good bacon."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
There was a knock on the dungeon door.
"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.
The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaroff came in. Everyone
watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his
finger around his goatee and looking agitated.
"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape.
He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying
that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a relatively
poor ventriloquist. Quinn kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.
"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff
interrupted him.
I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding
me.
"After the lesson," Snape snapped.
Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he'd poured out
enough armadillo bile, Quinn sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of
them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.
Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period.
He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of
class. Quinn wanted to see what they wanted to talk about, so he put his
hand into his pocket and took out his chip-listening device, and stuck it
near the two adults while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the
door.
"What's so urgent?" Quinn heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.
"This," said Karkaroff, and Quinn stood outside the dungeon classroom,
leaning against a wall so he could stay within range.
'Hmm, is he talking about the dark mark?' thought Quinn. It was clear
that Voldemort was back because Harry Potter was inside the Tri-wizard
tournament, and Barty Crouch Jr was still roaming in the Hogwarts halls.
"Well?" said Karkaroff. "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since
—"
"Put it away!" snarled Snape.
"But you must have noticed —" Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.
"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" spat Snape.
"No, we have to talk now! This is important!"
". . . don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."
"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice
sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's
been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously
concerned, I can't deny it —"
"Then flee," said Snape's voice curtly. "Flee — I will make your excuses. I,
however, am remaining at Hogwarts."
There was a pregnant pause before Quinn heard a swivel of heels. He
knew that the talk was over, so he cast an illusion over himself and stood
still.
Karkaroff came out of the classroom and then strode out of the dungeon.
He looked both worried and angry.
Quinn remained still until Snape left, and even after that, he stayed there.
Karkaroff's worries were reasonable as he was the one who snitched after
Voldemort's fall in return for immunity for his various crimes. If and
when Voldemort returned, there were fair chances that the Durmstrang
headmaster would be one of the first to go.
Quinn began thinking about what to do with Babymort, who would turn
back into Voldemort by the end of this school. A turning point in the
series of events that would change many things and a mark for even
more things to change.
"Harry Potter and Voldemort. . . . either must die at the hand of the other
for neither can live while the other survives," he whispered part of the
prophecy that he recalled. "If that's still the prophecy."
The truth was that he couldn't stop the conflict between the Dark faction
and the Light faction. Voldemort would never let go of the Potter or
anyone who had opposed him during his fall, and the Light faction would
never let Voldemort roam around even if the dark lord suddenly changed
his mind and became a saint — there was too much history in this
country for things to go any other way.
"The Light faction is stronger this time around; that will hopefully have
some changes in the situation."
He had no idea about the political situation in the original timeline, but
in this timeline where the Potters were alive, the Light faction was united
with Dumbledore and Potters as leading figures.
"Plus, they have Sirius Black, meaning that figuratively they have the
Blacks behind them," even though the once prestigious Black family now
amounted to just one Senior Auror, "but I guess Sirius Black can dip into
those family vaults of his when the times comes." The Black family might
have folded upon themselves, but that didn't the money disappeared into
nothingness — if Sirius Black didn't splurge and lose it all, then the vast
amount of coin still laid in the Gringotts vaults.
But that went the other way around as well — Dark faction had to pull
themselves together to fight the much stronger faction, and even though
they were at a disadvantage to this day, they were united enough to
stand against the opposing threat.
"I hope they will get ready with time," muttered Quinn as they were
going to need a lot of resources if they wanted to come out of this with
minimal damages.
"Third task, huh."
June 24 was going to be an important day. With that thought, Quinn
walked away. . . . before turning around and returning, "Yeah, I should
probably take the transmitter chip back; need to erase that evidence."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
There was a knock on the door, and with the affirmation from inside, the
door opened, and a figure entered the room.
"Ah, Wormtail, you have returned," said the shrill and squeaky voice.
Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, the most wanted man in the British
Isles, bowed his head in greeting, "Yes, my lord."
"You're a day late, Wormtail," said Babymort with his menacing deep
voidful eyes, "the second task ended yesterday. . . . so tell me, where
were you?"
Peter didn't feel anxious or scared in the face of the homunculus who
could still cast a Killing curse and various other powerful, painful,
malignant curses even in this diminished form, "I had to make sure that I
wasn't suspected, my lord. The disguise I chose required me to stay a day
outside to make sure no one felt that something was off."
"Hmm," the dull eyes observed Peter for a few moments before letting go.
"And? How was it? Has Barty being doing a good job guiding the Potter
boy? We need that child to do good."
"Harry Potter is doing just fine — he came first in this task; it puts him
first overall. He will start first in the last task."
"Good, good. How are the preparations at the preparations going at the
graveyard?"
"They're coming along — it's taking a while to gather the ingredients for
the ritual. . . . but there is no need to worry, we'll have all by the end of
April."
"Hmm. . . ."
"My lord. . . . there's one thing that might be problematic."
"What is it?"
"There was something during the second task that might become a real
problem."
"Out with it, Wormtail!"
"It might be better if you take a look at it on your own."
Babymort shifted in his bed and beckoned Wormtail closer. There was a
wand in his hand. "Show it to me, Wormtail. Show me the problem." Two
pairs of eyes met, and magic flowed; there was a sharp pain inside Peter's
head, but he gritted his teeth and endured.
"Hmm, I see. . . . I see. Illusion magic, fascinating, truly fascinating,"
commented Babymort, "who's this child? The child who cast this magic."
"Q-Quinn West. Fifth Y-Year."
Babymort stopped the strong legilimency and stared at Wormtail. "From
the West family? George West's family."
"Yes," groaned Peter rubbing his temple, "George West's grandson."
"Quinn. . . . West," hummed Babymort, replaying the scoured memory in
his mind, "interesting, get me more information about this Quinn West."
There was a toothless grin on his face.
.
Quinn West - MC - My name is West. . . Quinn West.
Voldemort - Babymort - One ugly baby. . . . one powerful ugly baby.
Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail - Information gathering.
FictionOnlyReader - Writing Addict - I know I shouldn't have posted
another one, but I just couldn't stop. . . .
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
180. Chapter 180: Rune Fix, Black
Meets West
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Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
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Link in the Bio/Profile
One of the best things about being in the innermost part of the
Underground vault was the peace — in fact, the entire Underground
vault was a delight to work in. Quinn didn't have to travel through
potentially life-threatening dangerous trials like those inside the Aquatic
vault to get to the innermost region. He didn't have to work with
something capable of wiping his life in less than a fraction of a second
like Absolute Zero (which Quinn still didn't know so much about).
Finally, nothing messed with his mind and emotions, and because of that,
he could work while being 100% of himself.
Here there was just him and one big-ass stratum of marble waiting for
Quinn to work on to repair it to its former glory — whatever it was.
Quinn still had to figure out what the runes etched into the marbles did,
but he was making progress.
Right now, Quinn sat above the marble platform with a plethora of
papers laid in front of him, spreading out and away from him as his eyes
roamed on every single page visible to him.
"Nine layers," commented Quinn to himself, "nine layers worth of runes
— every layer not just connected to its adjacent layer, but to all other
eight layers. What was the creator thinking while building this. . . . why
did he even need these many layers."
To put it to comparison, Quinn's Recon was a three-layer construct,
MagiFax was a five-layer construct, the containment and defensive
mechanism that kept Absolute Zero in check was a seven-layer
construction, and that was already a complicated structure. Plus, the
addition of layers wasn't linear; the addition of every subsequent layer
was a more significant addition than the preceding one. — to see a nine-
layered runic construct was something Quinn couldn't even begin
thinking what it would result in — the usage when it would complete.
"Well, at least, I have the complete plans with me," said Quinn while
looking at the papers — he had successfully figured out what the original
construct was before the roof collapsed and damaged the runes — right
now, Quinn was sure that he knew all of the runes and the connection
map to get the construct working.
"Time to get to work," he said, getting up as the papers formed a stack
and floated near him. "Now, where to start," he hummed. He turned
around on the spot to isolate a starting point, and as he did, the paper
stack shuffled — bringing the relevant page to the top of the stack.
"Alright, I will start there," he stared west, choosing to begin with his
favorite direction, "but first. . . ." Quinn closed his eyes and took a deep
breath. When he opened his eyes, his vision had changed. Now, to Quinn,
everything on the marble was divided into squares of one foot marked by
red lines.
"Casting illusion on myself," he muttered, blinking his eyes, but the red
grid remained, "I'm not sure if I should like this or not."
"Whatever, let's get to work."
Quinn sat down on the ground with his legs crossed. His focus was on
just one box in the massive grid. Quinn placed his right hand in the
middle on the marble stone with palm flat resting against the cold
surface.
"Let's see, what do I have to do here." Quinn read the page on the top of
the stack and read the detailed blueprints written on it.
The magic trickled from his core through his hands into the marble,
seeping into the stone.
"Transmutation."
There were runes engraved on the marble, but they had been worn down
with the passage of time and damaged from the fallen debris. Quinn's
magic fixed that — the rune engraving which looked like they had been
etched with a hammer and chisel, crafted by a grandmaster, renewed
their original charm and straightened out, smoothed down every surface
while the cracks filled up by shifting and merging the stone together.
Within a minute, the marble top had gone from ancient to something that
looked it had been freshly carved.
But Quinn didn't smile in admiration or stopped funneling his magic;
instead, he made his magic drip down deeper — as previously
mentioned, there were nine layers of runes, and the carving on the
surface was only layer-one — eight other layers etched inside the stone
remained to be fixed and cleaned up.
Ten minutes later, Quinn removed his hand and breathed out, "Alright,
one block done," he looked around and smacked his lips together, "over a
hundred more to go."
.
.
.
.
From then onwards, Quinn spent two hours every day for an entire
fortnight to complete the renovation of the carvings and another three
days to prime the marble by imbibing it in potions and solutions to get
the stone ready for conducting magic.
"To the worms below and birds above, thank all that this is finally ready,"
clapped Quinn, clenching his fist. He stood in the middle of an intricately
carved, beautiful, and, more importantly, clean rune structure.
"I should probably do one last check," he said, pushing his magic into the
magic while flipping through the paper stack, which was now a file, "uh-
huh — north, done. . . . south. . . . east. . . . west. . . . hmm, alright
checked and done."
"Now, let's what this actually does," smiled Quinn while humming.
He looked down, watching the spot he was standing — the middle of the
marble platform was rune free, at least on the surface. This was the spot
where he needed to input magic to start the magic.
"This one will need a lot to get this beauty up and running," he squatted
down and grinned, "let's see if I can fill its appetite."
While large-scale runes were more powerful, they needed a lot more juice
to get working. While Quinn had time-to-time reached the limit of the
magic, he could push out at once; he never had, not once, ever
encountered a single task that would exhaust his capacity — or even
come close to it.
It took dynamic plans that were constantly developed and updated
throughout the years of daily magic usage every single day so that Quinn
could exhaust his magic by the end of his day — by doing that, Quinn's
magic was abundant than ever, much larger than what ordinary magicals
could even imagine — Quinn had no doubt had more enormous reserves
than anyone in Hogwarts and the British Isles. . . . that included the
white-bearded, half-moon glasses old man with sparkling eyes and maybe
even the prime Dark Lord, who was currently stuck in a homunculus
body.
It was already a surprise that with his reserves, Quinn could exhaust his
magic every single day — if someone saw how and how much magic
Quinn used every day, they would classify him as a. . . . monster.
Quinn started to discharge in waves and waves of magic. Magic
comparable to rivers started ours into the marble and the runes. The
white marble patterned with black splash patterns began to glow in
rainbow lights.
"Oh, oh, it's working," smiled Quinn, but then the glow started to weaken,
"huh, it's not enough — need more?" It brought a deeper grin to Quinn's
face as he started to push more and more magic into the stone.
"It's getting stronger!" and with it, the light in Quinn's eyes flickered, and
soon, they were showing their purple glory.
Hroom. . . . a thrum spread from the marble into the ground reaching
every corner of the Underground vault.
Quinn stopped, stood up before running and jumping out from the
marble stratum, and then he watched the show. Rainbow lights grew so
strong that the orbs of light that Quinn cast for light disappeared within
the presence of the stronger light — he had to shield his eyes from the
light that was still bright even though his eyes were closed.
When the light finally subsided, Quinn opened his eyes and peeked
around to observe what had happened, but nothing stood out.
"Did something happened?"
He walked to the marble stratum and touched the stone to see if he could
diagnose the problem. "Ouch! Hot, tssss!" he pulled back his hand
because the stone was skin-searing hot.
Quinn looked at his hand, and he swore he could literally feel the heat
from his wound travel through his body. "Man, that was hot, shit!" he
cursed and healed his hand of the severe burn.
"What's the temperature on this?" when Quinn checked, the stone was at
room temperature, "huh, it cooled off so quickly? Hmm. . . . well there
were some runes in there that could be interpreted for cooling purposes."
"But what the hell, man," complained Quinn, "did I make a mistake
somewhere? That doesn't seem likely." He went over his notes, plans, and
memories, but nothing stood out to him.
"Does it mean that my plans are completely wrong?" he questioned his
entire research as he couldn't find anything that stood out.
Quinn couldn't believe that he had made an error, so he started to look
around and finally decided to collect samples — he collected a piece of
marble, the surrounding soil, and the underground plants that had grown
around the stratum.
"There must be some change; the tests will surely reveal something."
It was getting late, and Quinn decided to end for today. He pulled on his
Noir gear and exited the Forbidden Forest with the samples in tow. He
hid in an isolated and changed back into his Hogwarts uniform robes
before stepping into the castle.
"That was a good magical workout," if there was one thing that he was
satisfied with, then it was the magic exertion.
*Flutter* *Flutter*
Quinn turned around when he heard the flutter of a bird's wings, which
was strange as he hadn't seen a bird when he passed by.
"Hmm?" And as he had thought, there was no flying bird or even a stray
bird in sight. "Must've flown away. . . . Oh boy, I'm feeling famished — I
wonder what's for dinner."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It was quidditch Saturday, and another tournament game had gone by
successfully. Right now, Quinn stood by the stadium exit, seeing the
guests off.
"Mr. Zangba, the tenth time in the row; look forward to seeing you once
again, next week."
"Mrs. Van Pelt, how's your cat doing? Is she feeling any better?"
"Ah, Mr. Straus! I wasn't expecting you today; St. Mungos has been
keeping you busy these days, hasn't it?"
Tracey stood by Quinn's side and watched as he talked to anyone who
made eye contact with him — be it new or someone he already had
contact with; Quinn spoke with everyone as if they were his friends.
This was vital. Let's say while seeing a play, one enjoyed the beginning
and the middle parts immensely, but if that end — that climax doesn't
follow up after the amazing buildup, then people tend to be disappointed;
it taints their view of the other fabulous experience. . . . his tournament
games were exciting, full of ups-and-downs, there was sufficient buildup
and with riveting endings, no need to worry about the experience — but
if he did this, then everyone will remember this moment as the last
memory of their visit here and who doesn't like to be remembered.
'Then they will come the next week and week after that until the
tournament ends.'
Quinn had to do this because he had started the tournament with zero
cash. He had used all of the sponsorship resources in the setup. As such,
to keep the tournament running week-after-week, Quinn needed a high
attendance to keep bringing in the cash.
"Ah, Quinn! It has been a while. How have you been?"
Quinn turned to the voice and saw the entire Potter family with James
Potter in the lead. The Senior Auror looked satisfied and happy as he
greeted Quinn.
"I'm doing just fine, Mr. Potter. How about you? Did you enjoy the
game?"
"It was a delight," beamed James Potter. The few tournament games he
could attend were one of the few things he got to enjoy in his busy Auror
life — there were perks of being a Senior Auror; James could sneak out
once in a while, and as Quinn's format had a limited duration, it ensured
that he could return soon.
Quinn nodded with a smile before greeting the rest of the family,
"Professor, twins, good to see that all of you're still supporting the
tournament. . . . well, one of you plays in the tournament while the other
two actively participate in betting."
Lily blushed at the mention of her partaking in the school betting while
Ivy shrugged, she was turning her allowance into more spending money,
and she liked it.
Suddenly a face peeked from between James and Lily and spoke, "Ah, so
you're Quinn West, huh. You're the guy who kissed the Veela in front of
everybody. . . . nice!"
"Sirius!" rebuked Lily.
"Actually, she. . . . never mind, yes I'm Quinn West, and you're Sirius
Black, Senior Auror."
"In the flesh," smiled Sirius as he stepped forward to shake hands with
Quinn.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Black," said Quinn and shook hands with
Sirius.
Sirius looked Quinn up and down and nodded. "I like you, kid."
Quinn released Sirius' hand and nodded back. ". . . .Okay."
"So, tell me, kid. How did you bag the Veela? Do you have any tips?"
Sirius Black dressed like an aristocratic man, but his personality was so
roguish that it felt contradictory, but he could pull it together with
overflowing self-confidence.
"Sirius! Would you stop with that?!" exclaimed Lily; one would think that
after so many years, she would get used to it, but she wasn't.
But Sirius ignored her and continued to gaze at Quinn with a smile.
"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not dating Fleur," replied Quinn. No one
believed when he said that sentence.
". . . .Really?" said Sirius. He reached towards his back in a grabbing
before he found and shoulder and pulled Ivy to the front, "how about this
one right here? I think one is prettier than her mum, and her mum is
beautiful, you know," he pointed at Lily standing behind him, "you can
see it for yourself, see?"
The two redheads of the group started to shake. Without context, it
seemed they were embarrassed, but Quinn knew the context and stepped
back.
Ivy whipped out her wand and straight out attacked Sirius with a
stunning spell. But Sirius swatted away the spell with his suddenly out
wand with flowing effortlessness. Sirius stared at Ivy and shrugged, "Not
my first time, little lady. Not my first time."
A spell came from his back, but Sirius raised his wand, and it struck an
instantly conjured protego shield. He turned back while twirling his
wand and once again shrugged, this time at Lily.
"You're really predictable, you know. You will have to do much better if
you want to hit me. You should really know that I don't go making fun of
people without having the confidence to defend myself — and I'm an
Auror, so it comes with the craft."
Ivy made a face at Sirius with a slight blush on her face.
Sirius raised his hand and poked Ivy in her nose with a smile, "Boop," and
grinned happily.
Quinn watched Sirius Black and his first impression? He liked him.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Black. But now I'll take my leave."
"Oh, sure," smiled Sirius, "let's catch up the next time I come to see a
game."
"Of course."
Quinn saw of the Potter family and the Black tag-along, and as he turned
around to also leave, he saw a black crow perched just above the stadium
gate.
"Hmm, is that a crow or raven. . . . it's massive, so I guess a raven."
Then he walked away with the raven caw-ing in the background.
.
Quinn West - MC - I can't be wrong.
Sirius Black - Senior Auror - I like having fun.
Ivy Potter - Making money - Is still trying to attack a dog.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Day-4 of 4 of end-terms is over. . . . but, at
the end, during the last exam (subject 8) was cancelled mid-exam. . . . 1
hour into the paper (90 minute paper). The college goofed up by giving
us the exact same paper as last year (which we had from our seniors.) I
had a five-day break from college. . . . but now? Now, I'll have to wait in
tension about the reschedule.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
181. Chapter 181: Brief, Morning,
and Duel
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The AID office, while a calm environment, was a usually happening
place. Especially this year, with the room being the central hub for the
quidditch tournament — teams, stadium tickets, merchandise sales,
betting, and so many other things were being coordinated through the
AID office.
"I'm just the host," said Quinn to the four people in front of him, "I'm not
in charge of the management of organizing the Tri-wizard tournament. . .
. I've repeated this so many times throughout the year."
The four Tri-wizard champions — Fleur Delacour, Harry Potter, Cedric
Diggory, and Victor Krum, looked at each other before looking back at
Quinn, who was flipping through a very thick ledger.
"So why do they time and time again delegate other tasks to me," he
continued, "the final game is the next week, and I'm neck-deep in work,"
he looked up at them, "Cedric and Mr. Krum, congratulations on getting
to the finals."
Trolling Boogeys and Treacherous Barons had beat out the rest of the
teams and came out on top to compete in the finals. From the opening
game between these very same team to the finals — it was a complete
circle.
The numbers from the credit and debit sides matched up in Quinn's mind,
and with a signature as a seal of authentication, Quinn closed the
accounts book — the Weasley twins might be great at the betting
operations, but they didn't have the level of accounting and math skills to
make sure all the money was accounted for.
"Good, let's get started," he said and finally gave the four champions his
complete attention, "now, with the third task being less than a month
from now on, it's time for you guys to know about the details."
The four champions perked up and intently listened as this was going to
be the last task.
"The last task is going to be a maze crawl where you'll have to face many
different magical beasts and get to the other end where the first one will
find the Tri-wizard cup waiting for them. . . . the first to grab it, that is."
Quinn's eyes skirted towards Harry and Cedric for a split second before
he was back at looking at all four.
"What kind of magical beasts?" asked Fleur.
"That will not be revealed; you'll only find that out when you actually
encounter them," answered Quinn.
"Where will it be?" said Harry.
"The quidditch stadium is going to be replaced with the maze."
Cedric and Harry jerked back at the answer. "They are going to uproot
the stadium?" asked Cedric.
"Yes," affirmed Quinn, "that's why I made you guys play that one game
during the snowfall. . . . I have to conclude the quidditch tournament the
coming week as it takes time to dismantle the stadium and then. . . .
build the maze." He had to take a pause as he almost gave out the maze
was made from plants.
"Moving on, in the first two tasks, all of you were given points," he
continued, "those points came in play right now. The earned points will
be summed up and used to decide the order in which you four go inside
the maze; of course, there will be intervals between each entry."
The four champions glanced at each other — all four knew their own
point total and knew what the other three got, and from that, they were
able to calculate the order.
"Harry Potter goes first as his sum total comfortably puts him at the top.
The second entry is for Victor Krum," said Quinn and gazed at Fleur,
"your performance in the second task really hurt your sum total; as such,
you get the third place. Finally, Cedric Diggory goes last in the line."
"But don't feel disheartened," continued Quinn, "it's a maze with beasts
randomly placed across it. You never know what might one encounter —
Harry might encounter one beast after another while Diggory might have
smooth sailing to the end. While this task grants advantages and
disadvantages, with a little luck, it can be the equalizer that might level
the field."
Krum leaned back into his chair and opened his mouth for the first time,
"Is. . . . fighting allowed between champions?"
Quinn smiled in response, "Yes, it's allowed. As long as the spells aren't
lethal, you all will be allowed to engage each other in combat. Stunning
your competition will be the best outcome you can ask for."
"They made us face dragons, but now they keep our spells non-lethal?"
scoffed Fleur.
"What can I say," shrugged Quinn, "champion killing champion isn't good
for the radio program and next-day articles. That's why please make sure
all of you have a level of kiddy gloves on. Other than that, you can get as
creative and colorful as you can and want to be."
" " " "Is flying allowed?" " " "
At once, the four champions asked the same question.
"First of all, don't give your potential strategy away," said Quinn shaking
his head, "now, to answer your question, no, flying isn't allowed — the
maze becomes redundant otherwise."
The four seemed disappointed, and as much as three quidditch players on
brooms and a Veela in her avian form sounded fun, it wasn't going to
happen.
"Very well, if you haven't got any questions, please leave. . . . I have a lot
of work to do," said Quinn, waving them away — there was another
ledger open on his table.
The champions stood up; they didn't want to intrude as Quinn did really
look busy — all champions except one.
"Yes, Mr. Krum?"
"Could I have a word?"
"Of course, what is it?"
"Alone. . . . I don't want to be overheard."
Quinn looked at the three standing champions who were curious, but
under Quinn's gaze, they shuffled out, leaving Quinn and Krum alone.
"Now then, do say."
"I want to know," said Krum, glowering, "what is there between you and
Daphne."
Quinn, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much
more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.
"Nothing," he replied. But Krum was still glowering. "We're friends —
close friends. I have known Daphne for a while. . . . what makes you
think there's something going on between Daphne and me?"
"Daphne talks about you very often."
"Yeah, as I said, we're friends."
"You have never . . . you have not . . ."
"It's none of your business," said Quinn firmly, "if you want to know
more, then go ask Daphne instead of coming to me."
Krum didn't look satisfied with the answer and got up, giving Quinn a
lingering stare before leaving without saying another word. Quinn stared
at the door through which Krum exited for a while and sighed before
getting back to work.
"Yeah, right, he isn't good enough for her."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Hermione looked at her best friend with healthy energy in her body as
the clock struck six and a half in the morning. "Don't be like that. It's
good to wake up early in the morning once in a while."
Ivy turned her half-lidded eyes with a sleepy-irritated gaze towards
Hermoine. "There's nothing good about this. . . . not a single thing. There
is still time, you know? We're still relatively near the common room —
how about we go back and return to sleep. . . . Second sleeps are
supposed to be very good."
"Studies say that waking up early in the morning is good for your health,"
said Hermione, stating a fact, "even magic is affected by waking up in the
morning. If one wakes up early in the morning, the rate of magic
regeneration increases; though it takes a couple months to get that
benefit. . . . so how about it; should we make this a daily thing."
"Over my sleeping body, we will." The redhead wasn't a morning person.
The girls exited the castle and arrived in the green meadows of Hogwarts.
A cool morning breeze caressed their faces, paired with the not so bright
sun overhead and the lush greens below. . . .
"Hmm, it's not half bad," said Ivy.
"So, every day?"
"Still a no on that front."
The girls had no specific plans, so they started to walk in the green,
chatting about the upcoming day and the trivial things that came to their
minds.
". . . . so I had to charm Ron's things with a stinging spell so that if he got
up before doing his homework to play, he would be stung if he touched
any of his belongings." Hermione narrated the latest entry in the list of
methods to make Ron do his homework when she noticed Ivy had
stopped walking.
"What happened?" she asked.
When Ivy didn't reply, Hermione followed Ivy's line of sight.
"Is that Quinn?" asked Hermione, seeing the familiar figure, "what is he
doing?"
The fifth-year Ravenclaw boy was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and
black shorts with running shoes on his feet. And instead of exercising as
his attire portrayed, Quinn was standing still.
"He is," Hermione followed Quinn's line of sight and saw, "staring at a
crow?"
The girls watched as Quinn continued to stare unblinkingly at the crow,
which was resting on the ground, looking for food in the trimmed grass.
He didn't even notice them as they walked towards him.
"Quinn?" called out Ivy.
Quinn jolted out his staring trance, almost jumped out of his shoes when
he heard his name being called so close to him.
"Ivy, Hermione," he started, seeing the two Gryffindors, "what are you
two doing here," he put a hand in his pocket and took out a pocket watch
as he continued, "what's the time? Hmm? It's only fifteen to seven. Thank
god, I thought I was late."
"What were you doing staring at that crow?" asked Ivy.
Quinn glanced at the bird for a second before returning, "It's not a crow.
It's a raven. As for the reason — she's really black."
". . . .What?"
"The raven," he repeated, "it's really black, and I guess I kind of got lost
staring at her."
"Her?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah," said Quinn tilting his head, "can't you tell? That bird is clearly a
girl."
Ivy and Hermione studied the black raven, and they couldn't tell that the
bird was a female from any angle.
"Anyway, forget about the raven," said Quinn with his hands on his waist,
"what brings you two hear this early in the morning?"
"Oh, we decided to enjoy early mornings today, take a walk, and start the
day earlier than usual," said Hermione.
"Did you know that waking up early in the morning does wonder to the
rate of magic regeneration?" said Quinn sharing one of the reasons he got
up early every day.
Hermione turned to Ivy and gave her best friend a smug look. Ivy's face
twitched once before she decided to pretend to ignore the topic.
"What about you," asked Ivy, "why are you here so early in the morning?"
"This is a part of my daily routine. I wake up at six every day and start
my day with some exercise. It helps me shed the sleepiness and gets me
ready for the day."
Hermione nodded, "I see —"
Hermione watched as a figure came running out of the corner, sprinting
at full speed with long strides and arm swinging wildly at his sides. He
came blitzing towards them as he passed by; the three heard, "$#* ^%! —
QUINN! $#* ^%!"
"That was Eddie Carmichael. What's he doing?"
Quinn chuckled and peered at the sprinting Eddie, "You missed it, huh.
Wait about a minute, he will come back, and you will see."
"Missed what?" asked Ivy.
As Quinn said, after a minute, Eddie came back, but this time was lightly
jogging instead of running like a madman. Strangely, he didn't stop and
started to jog circles around them.
"The good Potter and Granger," he said calmly as if he hadn't run past
them hurling profanities, "what are you two doing here?"
Ivy nodded appreciatively at being called the good Potter even though
she knew it was because Eddie didn't get along with her brother.
"What are YOU doing?" asked Hermione as Eddie continued jogging
around them, but then she saw a golden glint following behind him. "Is
that a snitch?"
"Yeah, it's the shitty snitch," spat Eddie, sending a glare towards Quinn.
"What?" said Quinn, "you were the one who asked to help you gain the
edge against Krum. I'm just helping you."
Eddie clicked his tongue but didn't retort — he did ask for this.
"Why is the snitch following him?" asked Ivy.
"Ah, that's actually part of his new training," answered Quinn, feeling like
a new-age coach, "that's a standard snitch which I've modified to follow
instead of running away. As you can see, I've also cut most of its speed,
so Eddie can actually run away from it — you don't want to get caught
by that snitch."
"What happens if you get caught?"
"You get a very creepy zap which carries throughout your body," said
Eddie interjecting, "it doesn't hurt, but it's really unpleasant. . . . believe
me, it feels really irksome." His body shivered, feeling the phantom
feeling.
"As he said," continued Quinn, "it's just a basic carrot and stick policy—"
"There's no carrot!" yelled Eddie.
"— It gives him the motivation to keep running," said Quinn, "of course,
as he can't keep running, it slows down at specific intervals."
"I can do it without this behind my back!"
"Don't kid yourself. You don't like to run; this is the only way to get your
lazy arse running. Sometimes I'm worried if you'll be able to keep up
without me pushing you."
"Don't act like—" started Eddie, but then he heard a beeping sound and
immediately sprinted off to the distance with the snitch picking up speed.
Quinn turned to them and smiled as he offered, "Do you want to exercise
with me? I can guarantee it will be a productive experience."
Ivy and Hermione shared glances.
"No, thank you."
The raven behind them spread her wings and silently took flight, rising
above the blue sky and joining two other ravens in their flight as the
three flew in circles in the sky around the boy below on the ground.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn removed his outer Hogwarts robes, folding it before setting it to
the side on a barstool. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, "to
be honest, it's not a fair competition."
"Yes, I'm sure," answered Cedric, stretching his body, "about it being a
fair competition, we will see about that."
Quinn laughed and took out his fake wand, holding it in hand with a lazy
grip.
Given that the third task was so close, Cedric had booked a thirty-minute
slot in Quinn's schedule to have a mock duel with him to practice for the
third task.
"Alright then," smiled Quinn at the confidence, "tell me when you're
ready."
"I'm ready," replied Cedric, folding his sleeves with his wand in hand.
Both duelers took their stance, with Cedric holding his wand in front of
him with a severe expression while Quinn sported a relaxed expression
with his wand hanging by his side.
Quinn raised his left hand and showed a silver sickle pinched between his
finger. "I will toss this sickle, and the moment we hear the sound of it
hitting the ground will be the signal to start."
Cedric nodded, and the coin was tossed up. While it was in the air, the
two matched eyes, and Cedric saw a smile in Quinn's eyes. His peripheral
vision caught the silver glint of the sickle, and his eyes subconsciously
followed the coin. Clink, clink, clink. . . . the coin hit the ground, and
Cedric immediately charged magic while his eyes moved towards Quinn.
"Huh?" uttered Cedric. He saw a glowing wand tip pointed at him — in
the moment he had removed his eyes from Quinn, he(Quinn) had raised
his wand to him(Cedric.)
A spell zapped towards Cedric, and he had just enough time to pull up a
shield, "Shit!" The attack hit the protection and fizzled away. But Cedric's
worries weren't alone, as Quinn was already on the verge of casting his
second spell.
"You need to be quick," Quinn's voice hit Cedric's ears as he saw another
red zapping towards him, which slammed hard against his shield,
thoroughly damaging it, breaking its structural integrity.
Cedric pushed more magic into the shield, trying to make it stronger, but
then two spells once again assaulted the shield.
"You can't hide behind a shield," Cedric heard Quinn, "you have to go on
attack sometime; train to strike first."
Cedric step-shifted to his left and immediately shot a spell towards
Quinn, who swatted the spell away with a smile.
"Most of the time, it's a game of speed," said Quinn and started to walk
while continuing to swat and block Cedric's spell. "striking first always
helps. Hit them before they get a chance to hit you."
Cedric, who had been offense and was in the midst of casting for a
knockback hex on Quinn, abruptly had to cancel the spell when he saw a
knockback hex jolting towards him.
"Oof!" despite his best efforts, Cedric wasn't completely able to deflect the
spell and had to take a partial knockback hex to the arm, making it numb
immediately.
Just when Cedric thought that the current volley was over, he saw
another knockback hex appear, and this time, he felt a huge lung
emptying grunt as he felt a chain of glint in his eye.
"One spell isn't enough. To make sure your target is hit, cast two spells
and get ready for anything required for the solutions."
Cedric laid fat on the ground and saw Quinn walk into the edge of his
vision.
"How are you," asked Quinn.
"I got a bad start," said Cedric, "next time, I won't lose."
Quinn pulled Cedric up and laughed, "We will see about that."
And they did see. Till the end of the allotted time, Quinn disarmed,
knocked, stunned in twenty duels. And not once did Quinn come into
contact with any spell from Cedric.
As Quinn had said, the exchange wasn't fair.
.
Quinn West - MC - I'm busy!
Victor Krum - Champion - Or maybe he hasn't given up.
Eddie Carmichael - Ravenclaw Chaser - Being put through unorthodox
training.
Ivy Potter - Potter Twin - Not a morning person.
Hermione Granger - Knows facts about anything she does - She knows
her stuff.
Cedric Diggory - Champion - Got his ass-whooped. . . a lot.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Sleepy, yawn.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
182. Chapter 182: Finals, Life,
Crash
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Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . .
Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . .
The quidditch stadium was filled to the brim, and then some with
Hogwarts students and outsiders — the entire crowd was dressed in the
colors of red-&-pewter and black- the two groups of colors dominated the
stands, diving the stadium right into two associations.
Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . . the sounds of drums from the red-&-pewter
side as the supporters of Treacherous Barons roused up the stands with
huge drums strategically placed around their side with students sounding
them in perfect, rhythmic coordination.
Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . . countering the drums were loud boom from
large, shiny-black, smoking cannons, firing blanks at regular intervals for
the rilled-up, rowdy crowd sporting Trolling Boogey's black-&-green who
were waving black flags with neon-green trolls dancing on them.
Quinn watched the ambiance of the stands from the sky above and
outside of the stadium while sitting on a broom. Taking in things for one
last time before he had to go in and host his quidditch tournament one
last time. It had been a long few months since the start of the
tournament. Week after week, Quinn had come across a new problem
that he solved and, in doing so, enjoyed/hated the process of organizing
something of this scale.
"One last time," he sighed with a slight smile on his face, "ah, this time
went by too quickly — should've enjoyed it a bit more." Quinn shook his
head before breathing out — he was ready.
He steered his broom and entered the stadium, flying into the center of
everything. Quinn raised a hand, and the cannons stopped shooting
blanks, also the drums stopped beating.
"Welcome all," he said, his voice sounding far and wide, "welcome to the
finals of the best quidditch tournament the world had ever seen. Through
the journey past seventeen weeks, we have seen everything — blowouts,
last-minute stands, amazing goals, ever-amazing saves, crazy snitch races,
and so many exciting things that made me get up from my seat and
constantly be on edge. . . . I swear some of the games weren't good for
my health — I definitely lost a few years of my life since the start of the
tournament."
As he spoke, Quinn had a genuine smile on his face as he recalled all the
times he had gone beyond enjoying hosting and got swept by excitement
while watching amazing plays — sports tend to have that effect on
people, and Quinn was no different.
"Today is the last day I'll have the pleasure of hosting all of you people,"
he smiled, "the last day that we will get to experience a format of
quidditch which inspires excitement and thrill — focusing on providing
the maximum entertainment possible per every second of the game."
Slowly he descended down on the ground and took a deep breath, filling
his lungs to the limit.
"So! Let's make this one more special than ever! Raise those voices! Let
everyone hear that this is the place to be! Let them hear what they're
missing! Let's make some noise and get this party started!"
And oh boy, they did make some noise! They made a lot of noise.
Quinn raised his hands wide, and fireworks shot from the edges of the
stadium, and the student volunteers flew above the stadium in intricate
formations shooting smoke trails behind them.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The inside the Trolling Boogeys locker room was quiet, which was
strange for them.
The keeper looked to the center of the room before nudging Cedric, who
was checking doing a final check on his equipment. "Do you know what's
wrong with him? He's never this quiet — ever, especially before a game."
Cedric glanced to the room's center, where Eddie sat with his head down
and shook his head, "I don't know — we can always ask him, but it looks
like he's concentrating, so let him be."
Suddenly, Eddie stood up, and everyone twitched, thinking that he would
finally return start and return to give speeches aimed to inspire them, but
Eddie didn't speak up and started to perform the last check on his
equipment.
"There's definitely something different about him today."
Cedric studied the silent Eddie and smiled, "Yes, there's something
different about him today. . ." 'He's already in his game mode,' he
thought.
. . .
The ambiance in Treacherous Barons's locker was militant — matching
the leading style of the captain, Victor Krum.
"Our playstyle is opposite to that of Boogeys'," said Krum, addressing his
team, "unlike them, we're a defensive team with me trying to get the
snitches for our team for scores and the chaser squad working on
counters and interceptions."
It was a playstyle from the Bulgarian team that Krum had adjusted for
the current team. It heavily depended on the beaters hindering the
chasers and chasers constantly on the lookout for pass steals. More
importantly, Krum had to get multiple snitches for the team to win
because, unlike the pro-format, format-Quinn only gave fifty points per
snitch.
Krum looked at the beaters and instructed, "Focus on Eddie Carmichael.
You have to make sure he doesn't fly comfortably around the pitch; don't
give him any space to move. Allowing Eddie Carmichael freedom can and
will make things a little too tight to my liking."
The beaters nodded and glanced at each other. If Krum had said the same
thing to them at the start of the tournament, they would have raised their
hand in thumbs up and given a guarantee that Eddie wouldn't get the
chance to get in the rhythm, but right now, things had changed — Eddie
Carmichael was THE threat on Trolling Boogeys — he was a super scorer
who consistently matched what team seekers snitched together.
"I will take care of Cedric Diggory, so make sure everyone does their job.
If everyone does their job, we will definitely win."
"Yes!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn sat down in his commentator chair and beamed, feeling the similar
metal railing in front of him and the scoreboard that hung on the
opposite side of the stadium.
He glanced back and greeted his constant companions, accompanying
him every week during the games. "Oh, my, professors — all of you look
sharp today."
For the last day, the professors had decided to put on their freshest robes.
The tournament had grown so big that it had long since surpassed in
popularity of the Tri-wizard tournament. Outsiders could come to the
games on a weekly basis, which granted it greater visibility, and with a
well-established betting system in place, the popularity only increased
more.
"Well, I hope all of you have placed your bets; the money in play today
surpasses every other game by great margins," continued Quinn, "it's a
pity that I can't bet — it would've been fun to take part in the festivity."
The professors stared at Quinn as if he was joking. All the profit that the
"house" made went directly to Quinn as he was the "house." It was his
money that started the betting system, and every knut of the profit went
into Quinn's pocket. They could only imagine how much money Quinn
had made from the quidditch tournament.
If someone asked Quinn, he would pull on a fat smile and reply with, "A
lot of money," while patting his stomach as if have eaten a sumptuous
meal, "enough to fill so many bathtubs."
"Now, let's get started!" grinned Quinn with the sonorous took effect, "let
the finals begin — hold on to your seats, people, because things are going
to fly."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Yeah! Go, Eddie!" yelled Tracey. She was wearing a black-&-green jersey
with Eddie's name on the back and had put cute little greens strips on her
cheeks.
She looked and her side and urged, "Come on, Daphne. Wave that flag
with some enthusiasm. We have to support Eddie to the best of our
ability."
Daphne stared at the flag in her hand, "It's really heavy."
"Choose better excuses," pouted Tracey, "lighten it up with a spell and get
your hands moving," she then smirked, "or maybe it's because Krum is
playing and he was your date. . . . ufufu."
The words irked Daphne — Tracey knew that she liked Quinn, and yet
she was teasing her. But it worked as she lightened up her flag and
started to wave it gently.
'Hehe, I knew that would work,' chuckled Tracey in her mind. Daphne
had been very annoyed by people pairing her with Krum, and Tracey
knew to employ that to her advantage. "Yeah, let's make some noise!"
. . .
"You don't look happy at all," commented Ron looking at his best friend.
Harry had crossed his hands and grumbled, "I want to play. Cedric and
Krum are playing —"
"You missed Carmichael."
"Why would I care what he does," Harry clicked his tongue, "he can die in
a ditch for all I care."
"Don't be a sore loser; it's unsightly," said Ivy, wearing green-&-black
colors as Trolling Boogeys was a "Hogwarts" team.
"Like you get to talk," Harry quipped back, "I had seen enough of you
being a sore loser when we were little."
Ivy glared at her twin. It wasn't her fault that Daphne tried to do
whatever she did; her trying to one-up her was only normal. . . . Yeah, it
wasn't her fault, she thought.
"Okay, stop it," the sane voice of the group raised her voice to stop the
fighting. Hermione gave them all a look saying that she wasn't in the
mood to deal with a squabble, "let's just enjoy the game — it's the last
game of this year, we won't be able to see any more games after today."
Harry sighed and nodded, "Yeah, you're right."
"Of course, I am," said Hermione, "also enjoy the game because we're
going back to the library after this to study for the third task."
"Ugh," groaned Harry. He had been spending a lot of time in the library
ever since the task had been revealed.
Ivy nodded and added to Hermione, "Yes, after that, we'll be practicing
the spells. So be ready to get started right after Hermione is done with
you."
While Harry was okay with practicing spells, he was always mentally
tired after sessions with Hermione. He knew that the task was close, but
he really wanted some break.
He sighed and decided to follow their advice and relax with the game in
front of him. "If Carmichael doesn't score any points, then it would be
perfect."
"That's unlikely to happen."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The game was a heated one. Both teams went against each other with a
heated passion. And because one of the teams was a pro-defensive team,
the numbers on the scoreboard were low. But despite all that, the game
was a nail-bitter and throat-soaring affair as there was a constant back-
and-forth between the two teams.
"I must say," Quinn's voice blared, "the game between these two teams
might be perfect as the finals. . . . the tournament started with these two
teams, and now we have come full circle and ending with these two
teams. It's like a journey on display in front of us — I can see how the
teams have changed from week one — the progress they have made
through all the weeks, all the adjustments, improvements, and the built
synergy is one display in front of us."
"Ah, how about what we hear from someone who knows much more
about quidditch than me," said Quinn, before turning and pointing his
fake wand as it was a microphone, "professor McGonagall, what do you
think about the current game?"
McGonagall blinked for a couple of seconds before taking her own wand
to cast a Sonorous on herself,
"Ahem, I completely agree with your words here, Quinn. Quidditch is
indeed like a journey. I would even go as far as to say that it's akin to life
itself. A team is formed — it's a birth. Teams go through their ups and
downs just like a person in the form of wins and losses and learn from
those lessons like any other person would from their life experience.
Finally, today after this game, the teams would disband, which might be
compared to death. . . . of course, to a well-prepared mind, death is but
the next great adventure."
Quinn smiled at the quote at the end, and so did those who had heard it
from the original speaker himself.
"But maybe it's not akin to death. They will be taking precious memories
with them and carry them with them for a long-long time," she smiled,
"to me, it's one of the most beautiful things in life."
Quinn smiled in return and nodded, "Those were some beautiful and
insightful words, professor. Though as you said, comparing team
disbandment with death—"
He stopped when he saw the widening of eyes on the professors' faces as
an expression of shock and what he identified as horror spread on their
faces. Then he heard a collective gasp from the stands and restless
chatter.
Quinn turned back just in time to see a broom crash into the ground, and
the rider skid across the green pitch violently. The force was so harsh
that the green grass was pulled out on impact, with the brown dirt
beneath showing.
It wasn't a usual crash that happened time from time during games. This
was severe. . . . this was dangerous.
". . . . E-Eddie."
The professors all got up as this was a serious matter and were about to
take action when they heard the metal railing of the booth groan loudly.
As if it was being forced to bend.
"Quinn!" At the sound of his name, Quinn turned and saw Flitwick staring
at him with serious eyes. "Please, control yourself!"
Quinn frowned and realized that his magic had gotten out of his control.
He heard the groaning metal and turned to see the metal railing being
brutally bent out of shape.
He took a deep breath and got his magic back under his control, and
bowed his head to the professors, "My apologies. I lost my calm for a
moment, and my emotions triggered accidental magic."
Quinn looked at McGonagall and addressed her, "Professor McGonagall,
please take over the commentary. I have to go. . . ."
"Eh, Mr. West, I understand your worries, but you don't have to—"
"I can't do it right now, professor. . . . not right now. I will do a terrible
job if I'm to return to commentary, so please take over."
McGonagall stared at Quinn, but the boy had already turned away from
her and was staring at the field. "Alright, Mr. West," she said, "I will take
care of you. . . . so, you can go."
"Thank you, professor."
Then Quinn left.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn didn't mind pushing his all into body magic, pushing his speed to
the limit as he ran through Hogwarts and entered the hospital wing.
Right now, he couldn't give a rat's ass if someone saw him running at
speeds at the peak of human level.
"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled.
The response was prompt and stern, "Don't yell, this a hospital!"
"How is he?" asked Quinn as he made his way towards the sound.
". . . . Cracked skull, shattered shoulders, broken ribs, punctured organs. .
. . his knee caps and ankles busted from impact, he's injured all over. . .
and. . . he has lost a lot of blood."
He reached the bed and found that it was completely covered. "I want to
help."
"You stay out there," sounded Poppy, "I don't need your help. You can sit
there and wait. He'll be fine, I promise."
Quinn clenched his fists and obeyed — he stayed out but didn't move
from his spot.
"Eddie!"
Quinn turned to see a haggard Marcus at the entrance of the hospital
wing. He was wheezing and sweating all over. Even though his lungs
hurt, Marcus hurried towards Quinn and grabbed him by the shoulder.
"How is he?!"
"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine. She's treating him."
"He—"
"He'll be fine," assured Quinn to Marcus and himself.
"O-Okay," said Marcus and left Quinn's shoulders. Just like Quinn, he also
stood there.
Another set of footsteps sounded, and Luna ran into the hospital wing.
The girl with a usually perpetual dreamy expression looked scared as she
stared at Quinn and Marcus.
"E-Eddie," she spoke, her voice cracking, "E-Eddie."
Quinn patted Marcus and told him to sit down as he went to handle
Luna. He hugged the little girl and helped her calm down by speaking
words of assurance into her ears.
The next to arrive were Tracey and Daphne, and both looked extremely
worried — especially Tracey, who looked the most stressed anyone here
had seen the brunette.
The group waited silently waited with a thick tension and worry in the
room. No one made a sound or talked to each other as they waited for
Madam Pomfrey to come out.
And when the medi-witch did come out, all of them surrounded her.
"How is he?" asked Quinn, his voice bordering at shouting levels.
Poppy stared at the students in front of her and smiled, "He will be fine.
It will take him some time to wake up, but he will be up by tomorrow."
Quinn let out a breath of worry and squinted his eye as he felt the
distress leave his body.
"Thank you," he said and repeated, "thank you."
"Thank you," he said once again.
.
Quinn West - MC - "Thank you. . . ."
Eddie Carmichael - Injured - In a coma.
Poppy Pomfrey - Medi-witch - 'Having good friends is a blessing.'
.
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183. Chapter 183: Rewards,
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"Uhmnngh."
Eddie slowly opened his eyes, letting the dim light enter his eyes. His
heartbeat fastened when he couldn't see properly as everything was
blurred, but before the panic could set in, his vision cleared, and he could
see the white ceiling in his sight.
"Nmuhmnghumn," his throat was really parched, and he could feel it hurt
if he even gulped a little too hard.
"You're finally awake, huh, you little—," he heard with a sigh at the end.
Eddie slowly turned his head to the side to see Quinn sitting there with a
book in his hands. Eddie didn't say anything but took in the sight of his
best friend.
". . . . You look terrible," said Eddie in a voice too quiet for him.
The Quinn West, he knew, was meticulous in most of the things he did,
especially in the way he dressed. But right now, Eddie could see ever so
little out-of-place hair, a shirt that wasn't ironed, tie out of place, and
with half the shirt not tucked into the pants.
"You look like you lost control of a broom at high speed and crashed hard
into the ground," said Quinn.
Eddie weakly smiled and laughed just to fall into a coughing fit. . . . "Ah,
so that happened, huh. I do remember being clashing with the beaters
and then taking a bludger into the back. . . ."
"You lost control," said Quinn, snapping his book close, "you were too
aggressive — no, you were plain reckless. There's a reason why chasers
work in a three-man squad."
"Hmm," said Eddie, avoiding commenting on the subject, "how long was I
out?"
"It's been thirty hours since your crash."
"Did we win?"
Quinn silently stared at Eddie for a good few moments before sighing in
answer, "Barons won. They say it was a blowout."
"They?"
". . . . I wasn't at the game."
"Ah — you were here, huh. . . . It must be serious."
"It was and wasn't — you could've died on the spot, but because you held
on, Madam Pomfrey was able to patch you up. It was either all or
nothing."
Eddie laughed into another coughing fit, "Ah, it hurts. . . . of course, I
held on — my life is too precious for me to let go of it."
Quinn smiled just a bit, staring at Eddie. "You look like a mummy with
the bandages all over you."
"Hmm, I'm sure rocking this look. . . . also, I've been coughing here for a
while, why are you just sitting here, can you call Madam Pomfrey? My
throat is really hurting."
"You will be fine," said Quinn, "you slept with your mouth open." He took
waved his hand, and Eddie felt a soothing feeling in his throat. "I'll give
you a potion later; that will fix you up completely."
Eddie stared at Quinn's empty hand and smiled before going back to
staring at the ceiling. "When do I get out of here?"
"You'll be back to normal in three to four days. Madam Pomfrey will
discharge you out of here in a week."
Eddie groaned at the thought of staying in the hospital wing for a week
under the vigilant eye of prison warden Pomfrey.
"You should rest; you really look like shit," said Eddie, "I'll be fine and go
back to the dorm to get some sleep."
"I'll be fine—"
"You're too ugly for me to look at, so you should go."
Quinn faulted for a second at the blatant disrespect even though he had
just spent an entire day by the bedside.
"I will inform Madam Pomfrey; she'll perform a check-up," said Quinn
getting up with a sigh, "Marcus will be coming next to keep you
company."
"He doesn't have to do that."
"He doesn't have to, but he wants to, so don't complain and just lay there.
If we leave you alone, you'll get bored out of your mind and try to do
something stupid."
"Even I can behave, you know?!"
"Sure, you can."
With that, Quinn left, leaving Eddie alone for the first time since his
accident. Eddie sighed and stared intently at the ceiling, glared at the
ceiling, trying to hold it back, but he couldn't.
"Fuck, we lost. . . . and I wasn't even there. . . . fuck. . . lost."
Poppy entered the curtained-off bed and saw that her patient had red
eyes, trembling lower lip and chin as if holding something back.
"Are you crying?" she asked.
"No! You're crying!"
"What?" she uttered before moving closer while thinking if Eddie had hit
his head a little too hard.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Sorry to keep all of you waiting," said Quinn sitting down behind his
desk in the AID office. It was a few hours after he had left the hospital
wing, and he had freshened up and was back to his usual self.
He looked up at the six people in front of him and smiled, "To start this
off, I would like to thank all of you for all the hard work that you did for
the past few months. It was because of your constant efforts that our
quidditch tournament became as big of a thing as it did and proceeded as
smoothly it did."
Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Fred, and
Geroge Weasley sat in front of Quinn, the students Quinn had hired to
help him with the tournament.
"Ms. Bones and Ms. Abbot," said Quinn to the Hufflepuff group in the
room, "your efforts in maintaining the sales of merchandise were a great
help to the tournament. The sales were more than enough to cover all the
day-to-day costs needed to run the tournament. Your performance was
outstanding, and the fact that you handled everything on your own for
most of the time showed how capable you were. . . . please extend my
gratitude to the students working under you."
The two Hufflepuff girls smiled and nodded in appreciation. While the
work had been tough, they had a lot of fun after getting used to it — over
that, their popularity and status in Hogwarts had taken a jump.
"Now, Daphne and Tracey," said Quinn to the Slytherin group in the
room, "how do I even start. . . . if you two weren't part of this — I'm
pretty sure I would've been big, big trouble. The amount of work you
guys put in was tremendous. Daphne, you were in contact with ten teams
which were seventy people — the number of problems you solved for me
was life-saving. And, Tracey, your job was even tougher — the number of
unsavory letters you got really made me realize the number of shitty
people out there; thank you for handling everything so well."
Daphne gracefully nodded while Tracey beamed with pride. Both of their
jobs were pretty time-consuming, and now with hindsight, Quinn
would've contracted more people for the job the two Slytherin did alone.
"To thank you for all that time you devoted week after week, I would like
to thank you with a reward for your hard work," he said and levitated
four rectangle coupons of parchment into the hands of the girls.
"What is this?" asked Hannah.
"In your hands are all-you-can-buy coupons for Madam Touswade's at
Horizont Alley."
" " " "Madam Touswade!" " " " All four girls in the room exclaimed at the
same time. It was the premier store for woman's fashion in the country,
and having an all-you-can-buy coupon was
"Uh-huh," smiled Quinn, "you can avail any service from there, and they
will send the bill to me. You don't have to feel shy so go nuts if you feel
like it. The coupon is good till you another three years; as such, you don't
have to go right now and can use the coupon when you actually need it."
The girls stared at the ornately printed coupons in their hands with
amazement.
"Well, I hope you like it. If you don't, I can always switch it with a hefty
amount of coin for you to use."
"No, thank you," replied Susan while the other girls nodded.
Quinn looked at the Weasly twins and just smiled at the Gryffindor group
in the room. He wordlessly took out one stack of parchment and one of
paper before handing it to the twin brothers.
The brothers stared at Quinn, then at each other, before reading their
respective stacks. For a couple of pages, the twins nodded and continued
to read, and at a certain page, their eyes widened.
"A-Are you serious?" "I-Is this amount real?!"
"Oh, it's real," smiled Quinn, "I will invest that amount in your shop.
From what you have pitched to and I've calculated, the amount I'm
promising will keep your shot afloat for a year even if you don't sell a
single thing — everything from store rent to research and production can
and will be covered by the promised amount."
The twins dumbfoundedly stared at the paper. Not only was the amount
immense, but Quinn was only asking a very reasonable volume of share
of the shop in return.
"If you flip a few more pages. It also says that I will re-invest my part of
profits back into the shop for the first three years to support the growth,"
said Quinn and leaned ahead with his arms crossed over the table, "so
what do you two say? Is this enough of a reward for your services? Am I
to look forward to working with you two as part-owner of the future
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"
"Yeah—" "— Absolutely."
"Alright then, read the papers over a couple times and sign the one
drafted in parchments and bring it back to me; I'll sign it, and then it will
be one West and two Weasleys — three W-s with my W hidden behind
you two W-s."
" "O-Okay." "
Quinn pulled back and gazed at the four people and found that all were a
little too engrossed in their rewards, so he dismissed them so that they
could take it in.
As they left, Quinn called out to Tracey.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Eddie is awake," said Quinn, "you can go see him if you want."
Tracey's eyes widened. She nodded and wordlessly left the room with a
bit of hurry in her steps. Her destination had changed from the common
room to the hospital wing.
With everyone gone and Quinn left alone in the office, the smile that had
been present the entire time he talked to the six members drained away.
There was only one more thing left on the docket for today, it was the
most important thing, and he was going to take care of it today itself.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"That was a great party yesterday," said one of the Treacherous Baron's
beaters, "those Durmstrang sure know how to party."
"Uh-huh, the amount of firewhiskey they had was insane," said the other
beater.
The two beaters were Hogwarts students who were backup beaters for
Slytherin as the starting beaters from every Hogwarts house team went
with their house captains. As such, the other six teams had to do with
backup beaters and then some.
"It was worth it," said the first beater.
"It sure was," the other one agreed, "we sure made a lot of money."
They had a bet a lot of money that Treacherous Barons would win and
that Eddie Carmichael would score less than a certain total, and the two
had bet on a number that was not statistically probable given Eddie
Carmichael's performance — but their bet had come true in the form of
Eddie not playing for a large portion of the, and thus they had a made
money from outstanding odds.
They reached the dungeon stair as they were going upwards, and when
they looked up, they froze.
"I heard you made a lot of money."
The two Slytherin beaters immediately felt their throat dry up and body
heat up with cold sweat drip down their backs. Quinn West was sitting
on the steps, with his elbows resting on his knees, and was staring at
them with half-lidded eyes.
"Money is a great temptation," he said, "it incites greed, and believe me
when I say that I know what greed feels like," the hollow look in Quinn's
eyes scared the Slytherin beaters, "and I know what you felt when you
decided to give in to the greed. . . . it was so simple, wasn't it? One night
after supper, you were enjoying that stashed away firewhiskey and how
it's your last year and were talking about what to do after — how it
would be great to travel for a bit and only if you guys had the money."
The two started to tremble in their shoes as Quinn spoke in a flat tone.
Everyone knew that Quinn West and Eddie Carmichael were as close as
brothers, and right now, they were face-to-face with Quinn West.
"Then it struck like the Eureka! You were sitting on coin multiplying well,
so you decided to place bets on the final game — the game in which you
were playing and could. . . . manipulate it," they saw Quinn stand up and
climb down, "it's just that you went a little far in that manipulation —
you gave a little too much into greed and let it take control over it."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, m-mate."
"West, look, we don't have this."
"Yeah, mate. It was just an accident."
"The crash had nothing to do with us."
Quinn reached the last step, and a deep voice came from him, "I never
said that you did." His hands went up and grabbed their temples with a
loud snap; he gripped so hard that veins popped out from his arms.
"W-What are you—"
"S-Stop — Stop!"
They tried to protest, but before they could do anything more, their eyes
rolled up, and the two guys went soundless. Their bodies remained stiff,
and they remained standing, but their minds had been made to disable a
lot of its functionality — namely conscious thought.
Quinn stared at the two as his magic entered their bodies, "I'm going to
exact some revenge, okay?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn sat near the edge of the great lake, looking over the calm surface
of the water. Coincidentally, the spot he sat on was the same he had laid
injured from the Aquatic vault, trying to heal himself while dementors
descended above from above. He looked to the side at the trees where he
had seen his past self heal himself and cast a Patronus for protection.
Quinn had exacted revenge on the two beaters, as he stated.
Now, whenever they would hear or spoke the word quidditch, they
would violently hurl out their stomach contents and shit from behind
without warning. Quinn cursed them such that while they would be fine
till the end of this school year, but the second they graduated, the curse
would take hold of them.
"Good luck traveling or going out at all or talking to anyone," he said
with no regret. Of course, he had erased their memories of the incident,
erasing any evidence from him.
Quinn sighed and rubbed his temple. He originally wanted to inflict the
same injuries that Eddie suffered back on them by beating to an inch of
their life, but his self-control decided against it and just went something
that would haunt them for a very long time.
'Was my betting the reason. . . .' thought Quinn, before shaking that
thought off. He didn't want to go into the direction.
Flutter, Flutter. . . . a raven landed right now in front of him.
"A raven," said Quinn, "what's the deal with these ravens? I've been
seeing so many of them these days. Is there a season or something, I don't
know about?"
Flutter. . . . Quinn heard another flutter of wings and saw another raven
land to his side.
Then another one landed.
"Huh."
One after another, ravens started descending from the sky, landing on the
ground and the trees to his side. He looked up and saw a murder of
ravens flying above him.
Quinn hurriedly stood up, and even though he knew this was an
abnormal situation and something was off, he couldn't remove his eyes
from the sky. The murder of ravens that flew above his head was flying
in a circle — a ring — and from through the center of that raven ring,
Quinn could see the half-moon hanging in the sky.
A blood half-moon.
Beat, beat, beat. . . . Quinn's hand went over his chest, and he could feel
his heartbeat faster with no fault of his own.
'What?'
Quinn looked down at his hands, and he could feel the magic inside his
move. He wasn't doing anything, yet his magic moved on his.
'Something is coming.'
Quinn could feel it from within that something was changing in his body
and that he couldn't stop it. What happening to him wasn't the start — it
was already the end.
As Quinn was looking at his hands, his eyes caught the first raven that
had landed right in front of him. The human's stone-grey eyes met with
the raven's pitch black as the bird and human stared at each other.
Then it happened.
The ravens from all around him spread their wings and flew towards and
formed a dome of flying black around him, layers upon layers of birds of
death covered Quinn.
There was a sharp pulsating burst of white light from within the black
dome before it died down. When the ravens flew away, what remained
wasn't a human but a raven standing on the ground.
The raven was the biggest a raven could be, and if you looked closer, the
pitch-black feathers had a purple sheen to them under a certain light. The
last thing that made this raven different was the eyes — they weren't
black, but a deep stone-grey color.
The raven spread its wings, raised its claws, cawed loudly, and pecked
the ground before going still. Suddenly, the raven twisted and turned at
wild, unnatural angles, and not long after, a human was standing in its
place.
Quinn stared at his hands in shock, surprised, and a whole bunch of
emotions flashed on his face.
"Holy shit! Holy Shit! HOLY SHIT!"
Quinn West was an Animagus.
.
Quinn West - Anger Investor - Caw! Caw! Caw!
Eddie Carmichael - Mummified - I'm not crying! *Sniff*
George and Fred - Weasley twins - Just secured funding.
Four Girls - Hufflepuff and Slytherin - There's shopping in the future.
Slytherin Beaters - Cursed - Future seems tough for them.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - It was an internal Hogwarts conspiracy.
.
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184. Chapter 184: Ritual, Special,
Separate
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"This isn't a runic circle!" yelled Quinn, pointing at the marble stratum,
"this is a fuc—," his voice went high-pitched, "this is a ritual — a runic
ritual!"
What was a ritual? Ritual magic was an esoteric form of magic that
delved into the deep mysteries of arcana. The works included in ritual
magic were characterized by ceremony and numerous requisite
accessories to aid the practitioner. It can be seen as an extension of
ceremonial magic and synonymous with it in most cases. Popularized by
the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, it draws on such schools of
philosophical and occult thought as Hermetic Qabalah, Enochian magic,
Thelema, and the magic of various grimoires.
Ritual magic came in many forms — potions, alchemy, astrology,
sacrificial, and in this case, runic.
The practice of ritual magic often required tools made or explicitly
consecrated for that use, which were necessary for a particular ritual or
series of rituals. They were a symbolic representation of psychological
elements of the magical or of metaphysical concepts.
It just so happened the "tool" for this particular ritual was the entire
marble platform and the nine layers of rune etched into the stone — the
runes that Quinn had himself fixed with so much enthusiasm.
"Damn it!" he cursed. Quinn wanted to pound the marble into shatters
but didn't — it had taken a lot of time to fix it.
"Calm down, calm down," he breathed, reigning his anger, "it's okay, it's
fine. . . . it's just unlocked my animagus form. . . . it's all good."
But he groaned and squatted down, his head hanging down. If he knew
that this was a ritual, he would've never activated it — at most, he would
have fixed it and showed it to Friar, but other than that, Quinn would've
left it alone.
Rituals were a branch of magic that Quinn stayed away from — to be
specific, he hadn't studied ritual in any of its forms. . . . yet. Rituals were
magic of a permanent kind, which meant once you performed a ritual to
add a certain quality to the target, reversing the applied change became
extremely difficult.
This was a problem as ritual magic was highly complicated and required
a vast array of knowledge to perfect and gain practical competence — in
some ways, ritual magic was even more difficult than traditional
alchemy. Quinn knew better than anyone that he wasn't ready to perform
rituals as he severely lacked esoteric magic knowledge.
And the fact that the animagus ritual that he had just undergone was
targeted at himself — a living body, made it even worse as if a
permanent change applied to his body went wrong, Quinn would be
stuck with it until he found a way to reverse it. This was one thing that
Quinn refused to happen to him as he didn't want to compromise the
integrity of his body.
The trifecta — mind, body, and soul, were the essence of oneself, and
only when they were in balance was a magical able to pull and utilize
magic to its full extent. This applied even more to Quinn as he didn't use
a wand; as such, he didn't have an external focus to help things along if
his trifecta sprung out of balance.
"I can't have them go out of balance, not again."
Yes, Quinn had already experienced his trifecta going out of balance
once, and the result was him losing the entirety of his ability to focus and
mold magic. The Sin curse had struck through the soul and then thrown a
wrench into his mind, making the trifecta deviate from its original
balance.
"Ugh, alright, let's not think about it," he groaned before laying down and
doing a kip-up to get up, "let's enjoy all the time and effort this saved
me."
In the end, the truth was that being part of this ritual had saved quite a
bit of effort from his part.
It took skill, practice, and patience for magicals to become Animagi. The
process of becoming an animagus was long and arduous and had the
potential to backfire and cause the transformation to go horribly wrong.
Many magicals simply felt that their time might better be employed in
other ways, as the skill was of limited practical use unless one had a
great need of disguise or concealment.
Part of the process by which one became an animagus was holding a
mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month — a whole month of
having a leaf in his mouth while he spoke, drank, ate, and brushed his
teeth sound torturous to Quinn — he had tasted a mandrake leaf before,
it as far as from minty fresh as heaven was to hell.
The significance of that month was to prepare the leaf to be used in the
animagus potion, which required the brewer to recite an incantation
(Amato Animo Animato Animagus) daily at very precise times, which
were the only time of the day during which the brewer was allowed to
tend to the potion.
If done incorrectly, the process was extremely difficult and could result in
disaster (such as permanent half-human, half-animal mutations). A
magical had to keep a single mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire
month (from full moon to full moon). If the leaf was removed or
swallowed, the witch or wizard would have to start over again.
If, at the time of removing the leaf, which was the next visible full moon,
the sky was cloudy, then the progress was ruined, and the magical was
required to start over. At the next visible full moon, the wizard had to
spit the leaf in a vial within range of the moon's pure rays. To the moon-
struck vial, the wizard or witch must add one of their own hairs, a silver
teaspoon of dew that had not seen sunlight or been touched by human
feet for seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth. The
mixture had to then be put in a quiet, dark place and could not be in any
way disturbed.
Just this enough was so complicated that even many of those who were
determined to attain their animagus form gave up halfway through.
The next thing that had to happen was for the wizard to wait for a
lightning storm, whenever that might be. During this waiting period, the
magical would have to, at sunrise and sundown without fail, chant the
incantation Amato Animo Animato Animagus with the tip of their wand
placed over the heart. When, at last, there was a lightning storm, the
wizard had to move immediately to a large and secure place, recite the
incantation one final time before then drinking the potion.
"Rita Skeeter must really like her job to go through all that effort — total
respect," thought Quinn out loud, "so did the Marauders — friendship
goals right there."
Quinn, of course, had plans to become an animagus; he was going to start
the process during the summer break at home, where he would have the
freedom to portkey to a dessert to avoid clouds on the full moon night
and similarly go to a rainforest for lightning storms. Outside of school, he
could use magic to speak without having to attract eyes and repeated
questions.
He rubbed his hand and looked all excited, "Now, let's get to the good
part."
Quinn closed his eyes and felt the magic coursing through his body. He
pulled on it, molded it, and finally triggered it — it was sudden — Quinn
could feel his body change in real-time, being fashioned into another
form as magic broke it down and reformed it into a much smaller and
distinct shape.
He opened his eyes and saw the ground was really close to his eye level
— it was a feeling that he wasn't used to, and if he was being honest,
made him feel small — which he currently was. The feeling of not having
fingers was another thing that felt odd — it wasn't uncomfortable, just
odd.
'As I thought, the ritual did actually add things to the mix.' thought
Raven-Quinn.
An Animagus would still think as a human did when they were in their
animal form, seeing as Rita Skeeter could eavesdrop on others'
conversations when she was in the form of a beetle. However, an
Animagus' feelings were not as complex when they were in their animal
form. A Dementor's influence on an Animagus in its animal form was
weaker than on its human form. But right now, Quinn could feel the full
spectrum of his emotions; there were no changes from his base human
form.
'Nice,' he felt satisfied; Quinn didn't feel like dulling his emotions, "now,
let's get to the main act."
Quinn spread his wings with what he thought was a charming caw and
started to flap them.
"Caw, caw," what it meant was, 'Woah, this is uncanny.'
His heart pounded in his bird chest, but strangely he didn't feel scared —
on the contrary, it was thrilling. Raven-Quinn sloppily flapped his wing
and flew like a chick on his first flight.
'Oh, I'm getting it. I'm getting it.' Slowly but surely, Quinn got used to his
wings, his very light body, and got a handle to fly.
For ten mins, he flew above the marble before deciding that he was good
enough and flew out of the room towards the Beelzebub's Creepers mine,
and with complete confidence, he flew out of the lower tunnel, traveled
through the air, and flew into the upper tunnel without provoking any
vines. Soon, Quinn was out of the Underground vault and was flying
through the Forbidden Forest, doing the raven version of the obstacle
course, weaving through canopies and tree vines.
It felt amazing.
Maybe this is what Eddie feels when he's on a broom, thought Quinn.
Eddie always spoke of the freedom he felt while flying — it was as if he
was in another world. At this moment, Quinn finally understood why
humankind craved wings — why flying held such glamor in the minds of
the countless individual.
Quinn caw-ed loudly in excitement.
Then suddenly, he sensed something from his left, and his stone-grey
raven eyes saw a blob of white. He crookedly turned his bird body in the
air and was able to dodge it just in time. He landed on a branch and
vigilantly gazed around to see a small acromantula crawling down from a
tree and towards his tree.
'Uh-huh, shouldn't have done that. . . . but—'
He opened his beak, spread his wings, and caw-ed for gusts and blades of
wind to emit out to chop the acromantula's legs off.
Quinn could use magic in his animagus form.
It was how he could see in the Forbidden Forest.
While in animagus form, magicals couldn't use traditional magic, but the
ritual had granted him the ability to continue cast magic.
'Though it's a little difficult. I just need a little practice.'
Quinn stared down at the legless acromantula and retook flight, leaving
the Forbidden Forest and flying towards the castle.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense
again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would
occur a week before the end of term.
Cedric looked as they went together down the stone steps, out into the
cloudy night, "What do you reckon it's going to be? Fleur keeps going on
about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure."
"That wouldn't be too bad," said Harry, thinking that he would simply ask
Hagrid for a niffler to do the job for him.
They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned
through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.
"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.
The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though
somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and
crisscrossed in every direction.
"They're hedges!" said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.
"Hello, there!" called a cheery voice.
Quinn was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur.
Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges.
"Well, what do you think?" said Quinn happily as Harry and Cedric
climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them one
more week, and they'll be twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added,
grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry's and Cedric's
faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is
over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"
No one spoke for a moment. Then —
"So this is the maze," grunted Krum.
"That's right!" said Bagman. "A maze. Just like I said before in our
meeting. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup
will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it
will win. There will be obstacles; Hagrid is providing several creatures."
Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was
likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any
fun at all. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.
"No underground tunnels?" asked Fleur.
"No tunnels," replied Quinn. He looked at everyone waiting for questions.
"Very well . . . if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the
castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly. . . ."
They had none.
Krum went away like a lone wolf without saying a single word while
Cedric and Harry left after saying a good night.
Quinn glanced back and saw Fleur still standing there behind him.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she replied.
After their kiss at the second task, things hadn't proceeded any further;
instead of things getting heated, they had cooled down. While Quinn had
let himself be taken over by the heat of the moment, but after that, he
got himself back in control and went back to sticking to his initial
decision to not start anything with Fleur.
"You're chipper today," said Fleur as she started to walk.
"Yes," smiled Quinn and fell into step with Fleur, "I closed the last bit of
remaining work related to the tournament yesterday. Today was a free
day for me after a very long time." Furthermore, he now knew what the
marble runes did; as such, he wasn't in a hurry to study them. Moreover,
he had repaired the runes, so he knew the designs by memory and could
study them anytime he wanted.
"Ah, so that's why you didn't complain like you did last time."
Quinn chuckled and nodded, "Yes, unlike last time, I'm free now. So no
problem to take out half an hour for this."
"I see."
The two fell into silence for a few seconds before Quinn asked, "What are
your plans to do after this?"
"I'll probably go spend some time under the tutelage of grandmother,"
replied Fleur while gazing at the moon, "mother says that it's high time I
fully got my Allure under control."
"That sounds smart. What after that?"
"I don't know, haven't thought about it yet."
"Have you thought about, you know, joining one of the West firms? I'm
sure Lia would love to have a Tri-wizard champion join the ranks.
Moreover, it's easier for Beauxbatons' students to get in — the hiring
team wouldn't even blink if you apply."
"Maybe," said Fleur. West hired a lot of students from Beauxbatons — it
was up to a students' skill what level of job they bagged. "Or maybe, I'll
go work under my father — he spent the entire break last year trying to
persuade me to join him."
"Joining politics, huh. That might be a suitable occupation for you — no
offense, but a Veela has an edge with anything to with public
communication."
"None taken," she shrugged — it was true, "actually, my father wants me
to start from the Auror department like he did and then make my way up
from there."
"Oh! Aurors — the best of the best. A good path if you want it."
"It is, but I'm not sure if I want to do that. Being an Auror doesn't sound
appealing to me," said Fleur before turning the question to Quinn, "what
about you? What do you wanna do after Hogwarts?"
"I'm going to travel after Hogwarts — learn magic from all over the
world," replied Quinn.
"What about after that?"
"Absolutely no idea. I'll probably continue researching, but maybe I'll
give being an Auror a try or a professor or maybe continue traveling and
become a traveling author. . . . who knows what the future me would
want to do," said Quinn. He truly didn't know what he was going to do
except continue learning magic and keep inventing things.
"Travel, huh. That sounds fun."
"It is. You should give it a try. It really opens up the world view."
"Maybe I'll do that too."
The two eventually reached the Beuxbatons carriages and faced each
other.
They both knew what the other was thinking — Fleur found Quinn
attractive, and on some level, Quinn did too — he got along with Fleur,
and she was undoubtedly pretty. There was potential.
But. . .
"Good night, Fleur."
"Good night, Quinn."
. . .It wasn't to be.
Fleur Delacour wasn't interested in a long-term relationship.
Quinn West didn't feel anything beyond finding her physically attractive.
. . . and with the third task coming, the curtain was about to rise for a
shift in the winds over the British Wizarding World.
And he was going to spend two more years right in the middle of it.
.
Quinn West - MC - Should I transfigure another eye while in Animagus
form.
Fleur Delacour - Veela - She would do excellent in anything public
speaking.
.
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185. Chapter 185 Pre-Third Task
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The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense
again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would
occur a week before the end of term. The champions were practicing
hexes at every available moment, and with every moving day, their
confidence rose about the task. But as June the twenty-fourth drew
closer, they started to get nervous — they were not as bad as those they
had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was confident
that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the
task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or poorly
they did, the tournament would, at last, be over, which would be an
enormous relief.
Breakfast on the day of the third task was a boisterous affair at the house
tables on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing
the champions good-luck cards from well-wishers and screeching owls
carrying Daily Prophets with another story from Rita Skeeter attacking
Dumbledore and any decision he made.
Which made the Slytherin table chuckle and snicker while Gryffindor
would glare at them — saying that it was only two particular groups
fighting.
Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had
been sitting in the back of every exam class so far, looking up new hexes
for the third task. Right now, he was crouched over his seat, looking up
fresh charms for the third task.
Being the son of Auror had its perks, as in being master in the
Impediment Curse, a spell to slow down and obstruct attackers; the
Reductor Curse, which would enable him to blast solid objects out of his
way; and the Four-Point Spell, a valuable discovery of his that would
make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether
he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was especially
good with the Shield Charm; a temporary, invisible wall around himself
that deflected minor curses; Hermione, Ivy, and Ron had only been able
to shatter it with their coordinated attacks.
"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after
breakfast," said McGonagall.
"But the task's not till tonight!" said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled
eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time.
"I'm aware of that, Potter," she said. "The champions' families are invited
to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to
greet them."
She moved away. Harry gaped after her. "Oh my god. She almost
snatched my heart out of my chest."
Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. He saw Fleur
Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed
to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly
afterward. He got up and followed after them.
Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in
a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid
Bulgarian. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of
the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little
sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. Then he saw his mother
and father, Lily and James Potter, standing there, smiling towards him.
"Surprise!" James Potter said as he smiled broadly and walked over to
him. "Thought we'd come and watch you, Harry!" He enveloped Harry in
a big ol' hug.
"It's great being back here," continued James, looking around the
chamber (Violet, the Fat Lady's friend, winked at him from her frame).
"Haven't seen this place for so many years. Is that picture of the mad
knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"
James had attended the quidditch tournament a couple of times, but he
wasn't allowed to enter the castle just like everyone else. And unlike the
other professors' Lily Potter didn't have a personal chamber as her
accommodation as she went back to her house every evening to spend
time with him. When he had come last year, James had gone straight to
the hospital wing, then took the shortest path to the headmasters' office
and back again to the hospital wing before returning to headmasters'
office to floo out of Hogwarts.
"Oh yeah," said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year.
"And the Fat Lady?" asked James, "She was here in my time. She gave me
such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in
the morning —"
"What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?"
"Your mother and I had been for a nighttime stroll," grinned James,
sneakily winking to his wife, "I got caught by Apollyon Pringle — he was
the caretaker in those days." He looked at Harry and asked, "Fancy giving
us a tour, Harry?"
Before Harry could reply, Lily stepped forward, "Not me. I've classes to
teach, so you boys go ahead and remember to behave."
"Yeah, okay," grinned Harry, and they made their way back toward the
door into the Great Hall. As they passed Amos Diggory, the man looked
around.
"There you are, are you?" he said, looking Harry up and down. "Bet
you're feeling quite as full of yourself now, aren't you. But don't be so
proud, Cedric's will you beat you soundly."
"What?" said Harry.
"Ignore him," said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his
father. "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the
Triwizard Tournament — you know when she made out you were the
only Hogwarts champion."
"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?" said Amos Diggory, loudly,
"you'll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven't you?" He was
talking about the dueling club during the Lockhart year where Harry had
gotten a little cocky and challenged Cedric just to be beaten soundly.
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked behind to see his father
smiling broadly, "Oh ho, Amos, never knew you had such a tongue on
you."
Amos Diggory looked as though he would say something angry, but he
stopped when he saw James Potter. He gulped — James Potter was a
Senior Auror and a prominent member of the Wizengamot — not
something he could afford to offend. He felt his wife lay a hand on his
arm, and he took the chance to merely shrugged and turned away,
pretending that it was because of her that he was stopping.
Harry had a delightful morning walking over the sunny grounds with his
parents, showing his father the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang
ship. They even went to the kitchens to grab a snack to eat while going
around the castle.
They went back to Great Hall for lunch.
"Harry — Dad!" said Ivy looking stunned, as they joined the Gryffindor
table. "What're you doing here?"
"Come to watch Harry in the last task!" said James brightly. "I must say,
it makes a lovely change, not having to eat the ministry food for lunch.
How was your exam — no wait, don't tell me," he put on an inquisitive
look before smiling, "it went great, didn't it."
"You bet!" beamed Ivy, hugging her father.
James looked to the side and asked, "How about you, Ron?"
"Uhm," said Ron, "Couldn't remember all the goblin rebels' names, so I
invented a few. It's all right," he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty,"
they're all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it
wasn't hard."
James laughed loudly as he sat down on the table. He turned to the
Weasley children, who had also sat down opposite to them asked, "So,
twins, how are your plans for that business of yours going?"
"Good" "Very good." "Excellent." "Exceeding Expectation." "Outstanding."
"Really?" said James.
"Yeah, just very recently—" "— we got ourselves an investor."
"An investor, you say?" said James, "boys, are you sure this is legit?
Money matters can be complicated. Be careful who you trust."
"Thank you, but—" "you don't need to worry about us." "Our investor is
one reliable guy—" "— and we trust him with a lot, so no need to worry."
"Who is it?"
"Sorry, can't tell." "We're keeping this on the down-low." "Also, this
conversation never happened."
They turned to Ron and spoke.
""You listen, Ron?" We never spoke about this." "
"Huh, wha'?" Ron looked up, the corner of his mouth stained with sauce.
" "Nothing." "
James looked around and saw a familiar face. "Hello Hermione," he
greeted as the girl arrived with her head buried in a book.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," said Hermione, a little surprised to see James Potter
sitting between Ivy and Harry. She turned to Harry and asked, "Are you
ready for the task? Anything left you to want to learn or practice, we still
have a little, we can go to the room and do some last-minute revision."
Tired of walking in on Harry, Ivy, Hermione, and Ron all over the school,
Professor McGonagall had given them permission to use the empty
Transfiguration classroom when they were free.
"Yeah, if you want to, we can go over some things — I can help you out,"
said James, shooting a couple of detection spells at his food — he didn't
do this usually, but he could feel the eye of his mentor Alister "Constant
Vigilance" Moody digging into his back.
"I-I would like that," said Harry, sighing out of relief.
After lunch, they went to the empty classroom and practiced for a few
hours till they were satisfied, and after that, the group (Harry, Ivy,
Hermione, Ron, and James) went back to roaming Hogwarts.
"Hey, isn't that Quinn West," said James, pointing at Quinn walking by
while reading a thin stack of papers in his hands, "where's he going? That
part of the castle never had any classes; did they start classes there?"
"No," answered Ivy, "I don't think so. . . ."
"We should follow him," smiled James, "I made some good bets in the
tournament — I have to thank him." Without waiting for a response, he
walked ahead. Ivy tried to stop him, but James continued to walk, and
thus they had no choice but to follow him.
They turned the corner just to find that Quinn wasn't there anymore.
"Where did he go?" said James. He turned to Harry and asked, "Harry can
you give me the map?"
"Hmm? Sure," said Harry and handed the map to James — it had initially
been his after all.
Ivy and Hermione watched the map exchange hands, and it took them a
beat to comprehend the situation — a beat too late; their eyes widened,
but it was already too late as James had already activated it. All they
could do was stomp on Harry's feet and pinch him hard.
"Let's see. . . . where's the hidden passage," said James, and indeed there
was one in the corridor, "let's go, we'll use the same one." While a limited
number of passages went out of Hogwarts, around a hundred internal
passages connected different parts of Hogwarts.
They kicked a brick in the wall twice, which opened a hidden staircase
into the wall.
"This goes to the west corridor on the fifth floor," said James with his
wand tip lit, "what's there? I don't think there was anything in that part
of the castle."
"He has an office there," said Ron.
"An office? Why does he have an office?"
"It's a long story," said Ivy, "one for another time." She didn't want James
to know that the map had been tampered with.
"Wait a minute, I can't see Quinn's name on here."
And it was out.
James turned to the children. "Why can't I see Quinn's name on here?"
All dodged his eyes until they couldn't endure the gaze of the Senior
Auror.
"He removed his name from the map," said Ivy, relenting.
"He. . . He removed his name from the Marauders' Map?!"
". . . . Yeah."
"When?!"
"Two years ago."
"Two years ago!" James stared at them, "how?"
Ivy and Hermione didn't want to answer that, and fortunately for them,
they didn't have to.
"You guys should be quiet if you want to tail somebody," they heard and
turned to saw Quinn a couple of steps above them, staring down at them,
"especially in closed spaces like this — the sound really echos in here."
"You removed your name from the map?" asked James bluntly, raising
the charmed parchments.
"Yeah, I did," answered Quinn.
". . . . how and why?"
"How? It was easy enough, but I can't tell you because that would put my
name back on the map. Why? I don't want my name on there — I like my
privacy," answered Quinn, "I know it's your map and all, but I hope you
don't mind; if it's any consolation, it works the same — just think of it as
if I never existed. Simple, right?"
James stared at Quinn and then at the map in his hand.
". . . . I can respect that," shrugged James, "and if you're able to erase
your name in a way that Ivy and Hermione can't reverse it, you deserve
to be off the map."
"That's good to hear," said Quinn, "now, why are you guys tailing me?
There's no need to follow me; you can approach me directly."
"Ah, about that," said James, "I just wanted to congratulate you for the
tournament. You did an excellent job and an even outstanding job on the
betting."
"Oh, thank you," smiled Quinn.
"And you rejected to be my daughter's date."
Everyone in the staircase except James froze for a good second. Ivy
sighed deeply, hiding her embarrassment.
"Uhm."
James climbed up the steps and patted Quinn on the shoulder, "It's not a
bad thing. I would've been fine if you took her, but it was even better
when she went alone," he turned to Ron, "no offense Ron."
"Eh, ah, huh?" muttered the Weasley.
"Now, as much as I would continue this conversation," said Quinn, "I
have an event to prepare for, so I will take my leave," he looked at
James, "let's talk sometime later, Mr. Potter. I'll love to hear some of your
stories."
"Of course, don't let us keep you waiting."
When Quinn left, and the Gryffindor group got out of the staircase, James
turned to the group and said, "Look, I like that guy a lot, but he needs to
get pranked."
"I tried," said Harry, "but he's too sharp."
Ivy and Hermione nodded. Even though they didn't try to prank Quinn,
they knew how sharp the guy was.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The Gryffindor group whiled away the afternoon with a long walk
around the castle and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening
feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now.
Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, sitting next to
Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime
was concentrating on her plate, and Quinn thought her eyes looked red.
Hagrid kept glancing along with the table at her.
There were more courses than usual, but the champions, who were really
nervous now, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began
to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the
staff table, and silence fell.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes, I will be asking you to make your
way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the
Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. West down
to the stadium now."
The champions got up with the entire hall clapping for them. With Quinn
in the lead, They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now
completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way
around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the
entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.
Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited
voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into
their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were
starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and
Professor Flitwick walked into the stadium and approached Quinn and
the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their
hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.
"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," said Professor
McGonagall to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be
rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get
you, do you understand?"
The champions nodded.
"Well, before we get started," said Quinn, "I wish all of you the best of
luck. Face whatever challenges in there with bravery and intelligence,
and I hope that you guys put on a terrific show tonight," as he talked,
Quinn approached every champion, he shook their hands and patted
them firmly on their shoulder.
The champions looked at Quinn with half-appreciative and half-confused
looks, but Quinn now pointed his fake wand at his throat, muttered,
"Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard
Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you that the scores from
the previous tasks were tabulated, and this is how the current champions
stand — In the first place, Harry Potter of Hogwarts School!" The cheers
and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the
darkening sky. "In the second place, Victor Krum from Durmstrang
Institute," more applause, "followed by Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons
Academy!" A lot of male cheers. "And in the last place — Cedric Diggory
from Hogwarts School!"
"Now, the champions will go inside according to their ranks with a three-
minute interval between each champion," he continued, "now, let's not
waste any more time. So . . . on my whistle, Harry," Harry nodded, "three
— two — one —"
He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and hurried forward into
the maze. One by one, all champions went into the tunnel, and when
Cedric went into the labyrinth, Quinn looked at his hand and then at the
maze.
The clock had started.
.
Quinn West - MC - Tik-tok-tik-tok. Pat, pat, pat.
James Potter - Senior Auror - I'm a daddy. So, it's in my character.
Ron Weasley - Gryffindor - Feels like there's something wrong, but can't
tell. . . .
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
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186. Chapter 186: Third Task
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If the overhead projection that reflected the image of the artificial eye
from Project: Drone Vision was a spectacular sight in the early blue
evening sky, then its sight in the dark night sky was nothing less than
stunning. The bright lights contrasted so well with the inky black
background that every neck was craned up towards the sky.
"Dear viewers, the third task is a special one; unlike the first two tasks,
the third task has the aspect of champion aggression — meaning that the
champions have the opportunity to take each other out," said Quinn to all
his viewers, "now, you might be thinking, the second task had the same
opportunity; the champions could've attacked each other — but didn't
because they were working under a time constraint and the pressure of
losing their loved ones. . . trying to mess with your competition doesn't
really enter one's mind."
"But here, they don't have that proverbial sword hanging over their head;
the champions can work as freely as they want," he grinned, "that is if
they can find their way inside the maze. . . . because let me tell you,
mazes could be a real pain-in-the-butt."
And Quinn was right; the four champions were totally lost, and that too
in different directions of the maze.
The audience saw Harry Potter at a fork in the maze, trying to figure out
which split to take. He waved his lit wand tip in either direction, and
after what looked like a serious contemplation, he decided to go left.
The eye overhead turned into a different direction and zoomed in to
show Fleur Delacour walking on a straight path, covered with towering
hedges cast black shadows across the way; she was constantly looking
towards her back as if worried about a tail.
The illusion shifted and focused on Cedric, who was running through a
path full of odd silver mist floating above him. He was shooting spells left
and right. But the fog remained intact, not being fazed at all.
"About that silver mist," laughed Quinn, "it's completely harmless — does
nothing at all, absolutely nothing. But in a pressure situation like the
current one, it does wonders — ah the charms of the human mind."
Quinn moved the artificial eye to the next champion, where they saw
Krum walking slowly along a pathway with a golden mist overhead. He
seemed to take every step after thinking thrice.
"The gold mist, on the other hand, is a completely different monstrosity,"
announced Quinn, "right now, with every step Victor Krum takes, his
perception of direction changes — he could be feeling like the sky is
below him, or the world has shifted to his side," Quinn had once
subjected himself to the golden mist for fun — turned out, pretty not fun.
"The champions seem to be doing just fine right now, but I have to be
honest, I'm looking forward to a confrontation."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Two men sat in their chairs, looking up above at the illusion in the sky.
"Your speculation turned out to be correct," said one of the men.
"It was sort of obvious, don't you think?" replied the second.
The first man glanced at the second for a moment before speaking, "Are
you prepared for it? You understand that if you fail your task, this entire
thing is doomed."
"You don't have to be worried about me," said the second, "I'm prepared
for this — among our little group, I'm the one most capable for this one."
"And why's that," scoffed the first, "I've been here for months, I'm better
than you — I don't know why he chose you for this."
The second man rested his chin on the back of his hand and spoke with a
bored expression on his face, "I know Hogwarts more than you can ever
imagine — but you already know that, don't you? I'm the reason you're
still here. If I wasn't here, you would've been found by the Potter children
by now."
The first man grunted unpleasantly. "So, why are you still sitting here?
Shouldn't you be doing what you're supposed to do?"
"I'm already done. I had the entire evening to do so."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Don't worry, I'm leaving. Just needed to give it a little time."
The second man got up and fixed his cloth before putting on a weak
smile and turned to a person sitting a few seats from him, "Minister,
unfortunately, I'll have to leave — I'm feeling under the weather."
Cornelius Fudge turned his eyes away from the sky, "Oh, Crouch, your
sickness is acting up again? You've been like this for months. Have you
gone to the hospital to see what is it?"
"Barty Crouch Senior" smiled weekly and shook his head, "I should do
that, Minister. I've been putting it off because of the tournament."
"See that you do," said Fudge.
Barty Senior walked past the panel of judges when he was stopped by a
voice, "Bartemious, if you're feeling unwell, how about letting Poppy take
a look."
Barty turned towards Dumbledore and shook his head, "Thank you for
the offer, Dumbledore, but I would prefer to go home and take a rest
before going to the St. Mungos tomorrow morning."
"Ah, if that's what you would prefer," said Dumbledore, "I just hoped
you'd stay till the end."
Barty looked up at the illusion. "I would also like that, but I'm feeling
fragile. I think it would be better for me to just leave."
"I see, then I hope you feel better soon."
'Thank you."
Barty walked down from the judge's panel, and as he passed through the
general seating area, he caught a glance of James and Lily Potter, and
immediately he turned his face away.
He couldn't keep his expression from turning neutral or his eyes from
turning bloodshot. He feared that if he kept looking at them, he would
chop their heads off with severing charms, for he was Peter Pettigrew
and the sole motive of his life was to kill the Potters.
'Keep calm, Peter, keep calm. Your time will come soon.'
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In the maze, the champions made their way through the dark hedges —
all were trying to move north, where they knew the Tri-wizard cup
waited for them.
Cedric Diggory emerged at a point in the maze, where including the path
he entered through, eight paths lay in front of him, all going through
different directions. His first instinct was to head straight north and take
the path pointing north, but his feet halted — Cedric kenned that there
was no way the north-facing course headed north.
'Where should I go?' he thought; the only way to find out was to pick a
route and work it till he reached the dead-end. 'Let's go with that one,' he
decided on a path, but just as he stepped, Cedric heard a snap — his eyes
widened and immediately ducked and rolled on the ground as a spell
shot over his head, burning a hole into the maze hedge; the damage was
instantly recovered.
He looked behind and saw the offender. "Fleur, it's nice to meet you as
well," Cedric smiled as he got up with his wand pointed at her.
"If so, then you should've accepted my greeting," said Fleur.
"And let you have all the fun?"
The two stared at each other for a split second before their wands ripped
out spells directly at each other, meeting in the middle momentarily —
again and thrice, every time their spells met — canceling each other out.
"Looks like we're equally matched," said Cedric.
"I would disagree," smiled Fleur, "I haven't even started yet."
Just as they were about to go for another bout, they heard a rustle of the
leaves. They looked to sound to see a barrage of small rocks rocketing
towards them. The two champions pulled up shield charms for
protection; the rocks bounced off harmlessly against the transparent
barriers.
"Come out, Potter," yelled Cedric, pointing at one of the passageways, "I
know you're there, come out, or I will open fire," his wand started to
glow in a violent red.
Harry Potter walked out with a smile on his face, with his wand in front
of him, "The rocks gave it away, didn't they?"
"They did," said Cedric, "you used that one a bit too much during the
dueling club."
"How about we two Hogwarts boys team up and take out the enemy,"
suggested Harry nudging his wand towards Fleur, "I'm sure we can work
something out, but for now, it would make more sense to increase the
chances of Hogwarts winning."
Fleur became extra vigilant as she backed up a few steps and stared at
Cedric; her chances weren't good if Cedric and Harry teamed up.
Cedric contemplated for a second before glancing up, "You know, Quinn
is probably — definitely — watching us right now and with him, the
entire school. It wouldn't be chivalrous for us to gang up against a lady."
Harry shrugged in response, "And if Quinn was standing here, he would
scoff and laugh at you."
"That he would," laughed Cedric and then pointed his wand at Fleur,
"sorry Fleur, but it's nothing personal."
"I'm offended, nevertheless," said Fleur as she cautiously gazed at the two
wands pointed towards her, "you two boys really lack manners," she
sighed, "but a lady needs to look out for herself, so don't blame me. . . .
it's nothing personal."
She flicked her wand in a circular motion, and seven flaming orbs of
blue-red fire appeared around her. She shifted her head to push her hair
back and spoke, "Veelas can be vindictive when threatened."
Six out of the seven fireballs rapidly spin before splitting into two groups
of three and canon-bolted towards Harry and Cedric. The two boys
immediately pulled up their shields — the first fire orbs made their shield
reach their limit, the second began degrading their structural integrity,
and the third exploded, throwing them back into the ground.
She took a deep breath — the fire orbs were heavy magic for her. Every
Veela had an affinity for fire, and so did Fleur — while the full potential
was restricted when she wasn't in her avian-form, Fleur could still get
access to the firepower that came with her heritage, and as it turned out,
while she was dismal at controlling her Allure, she was exceptional at
accessing the fire aspect.
The flame orbs replenished back to seven as Fleur exhaled out. "Sorry,
boys, but it seems you will be retiring from the tournament," she said.
Cedric and Harry groaned while they stood up, but their eye widened as
they saw four rapidly spinning orbs of fire (two for each of them.)
Fleur was about to launch the fire orbs, but just a second before she
could do that, Fleur felt jolt travel through her body, like a raging wave
— the fire orbs extinguished, then her eyes rolled up before she collapsed
down onto the ground — behind her stood Victor Krum, staring down at
Fleur's unconscious body.
A loud beep sounded from a distance. Cedric and Harry, who had taken
the opportunity to get up along with Krum, looked in the direction; they
knew the meaning of the sound — it was signaling the elimination of a
champion from the tournament. They looked at the ground — it meant
Fleur Delacour was now out of the running.
"And here I was worried about teaming up," commented Cedric. He
glanced at Harry, "We're still a team, right?" Harry nodded, but his eyes
didn't leave Krum, who was watching them with an unblinking gaze, and
Harry couldn't say he enjoyed it.
Krum's dull eyes turned to Harry for a while before he went back to
Cedric and raised his wand, and launched a juiced-up Reducto straight at
the Hufflepuff champion. Cedric's eyes almost popped out at the intensity
of the spell, and he pulled up yet another shield charm for protection,
and on his side, Harry, as his temporary ally, transfigured the ground in
front of Cedric, raising a chunk of it up to add yet another layer of
obstruction.
"Uh-huh, buddy. Not so fast," said Harry, "you're not going to—." He
couldn't continue as Krum ripped a lightning bolt towards him, which
Harry barely dodged in time.
"Oh my god, that could've done a lot of damage!" yelled Harry.
"Alright, let's take this guy out," said Cedric, cracking his neck. The
Reductor was a powerful one, powerful enough to rip him into pieces.
A very real-looking eye watched them from above.
. . .
Near the spectator area, Quinn sighed as he watched the three champions
through the artificial eye.
'Krum is under the Imperius,' thought Quinn as he glanced at Moody/
Bartry Jr.
His open eye twitched when the artificial eye picked up, Krum knocking
out Cedric with a blow to the head — it was very violent. He sounded a
loud beep to announce Cedric's elimination as part of his duty.
"Well, only two champions are remaining," announced Quinn, "Harry
Potter and Victor Krum. Let's see who's going to come out on top. From
the looks of it, Victor Krum has a strong possibility to win — that was
one powerful Hammer hex."
'Now, let's change the result of this tournament,' thought Quinn as he
stared at the illusion — the artificial eye and the illusion were two
different entities — he could project anything he wanted — and that was
what he was going to do.
The illusion seamlessly turned from the live footage to a fabricated
version edited before being projected.
'Let's get the things going.'
And with that, he snapped his fingers.
. . .
Back with Krum and Harry, the two champions fought with spells being
fired at each other.
Harry swung his wand in a bowling-ball throwing motion, and as he
turned it in an arc, the ground beneath his wand bundled and bunched
up into a spiked ball of metal — it was a transfiguration spell taught to
him by his father, James Potter; a master in combat transfiguration.
Krum grunted and met the metal ball head-on with a charged dark spell.
The two attacks met, and the metal ball melted into a ball of molten
metal before turning into ash.
Harry growled, and silver spikes manifested around him. He was going to
take Krum out and get this entire thing over with. But before he could do
it, he saw Krum moving weirdly.
On Krum's side, he was looking at his clothes, which began to morph —
his arms were forced to move behind his back as his sleeves merged
together. He could barely keep his legs from staying still as his pant legs
were being pulled wide apart.
Harry didn't know what was happening, but he saw the chance and
directly shot a stunner to Krum's face, immediately knocking him out.
"Huh," he said and stared up at the sky just in time to hear the loud beep
spread through the sky, "now, that's what we are talking about."
Harry ran stared at the three unconscious champions before running into
one of the pathways.
"Holy shit! I'm going to win this one!"
He met nothing for ten minutes but kept running into dead ends. Twice
he took the same wrong turning. Finally, he found a new route and
started to jog along with it, his wand light waving, making his shadow
flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner
and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ten feet long, it looked
more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over
its back. Its thick armor glinted in the light from Harry's wand, which he
pointed at it. "Stupefy! Damn it! Why now?! I'm about to win."
The spell hit the skrewt's armor and rebounded; Harry ducked just in
time
but could smell burning hair; it had singed the top of his head. The
skrewt
issued a blast of fire from its end and flew forward toward him.
"Impedimenta!" Harry yelled. The spell hit the skrewt's armor again and
ricocheted off; Harry staggered back a few paces and fell over.
"IMPEDIMENTA!"
The skrewt was inches from him when it froze — he had managed to hit
it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Panting, Harry pushed himself away
from it and ran, hard, in the opposite direction — the Impediment Curse
was not permanent; the skrewt would be regaining the use of its legs at
any moment.
He took a left path and hit a dead end, a right, and hit another; forcing
himself to stop, heart hammering, he performed the Four-Point Spell
again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest.
Every so often, he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made
him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. He had to be
close now, he had to be. . . .
. . .
Quinn's artificial eye followed after Harry, and he was back to projecting
the live feed.
"Look at that! Harry Potter is on the final stretch! So exciting! People,
watch closely! This is the end of the Tri-wizard tournament," his voice
was full of excitement, but the expression was anything but.
He knew where Harry was heading. He glanced at Dumbledore; the
headmaster was watching the scene with a smile under his long beard.
'Yes, keep it watching.'
In the original timeline, no one knew what was happening in the maze,
so the judges had no idea about the progress, but Quinn had provided
them with the live progress with him here. Everyone would see Harry
being portkey-ed away, but when Harry doesn't arrive at the starting
point, doubts will arise, and Quinn was sure that Dumbledore would pick
on that.
'You better pull your weight, Dumbledore,' thought Quinn.
He didn't like the choice he had taken to let Harry go on to meet
Babymort, which would most definitely result in the revival of
Voldemort. . .
'But, it has to be done,' he thought, 'it's the only for sure way to make
sure that there's a chance.'
"Ah, he's on the final long pathway," announced Quinn, "just a little bit
more and Harry Potter would be cro—"
Everyone in the stands was watching the projection. The entire Hogwarts
student body was already cheering, but then suddenly, the projection
vanished into thin air. There was an immediate reaction of displeasure,
and they heard that the commentary had also gone silent.
Every single person looked at Quinn, and he was standing still, staring up
at the sky.
"Mr. West," called out Dumbledore, "what—"
His words were cut when Quinn leaned forward and collapsed on the
ground.
.
Quinn West - MC(Status: Unknown) - It was the only way to make sure. .
. .
Peter Pettigrew - Barty Crouch Senior - Calm down. I'll make do with
imagining the beheading.
Fleur Delacour - Spelled in the back - Fire-blessed Veela.
Cedric Diggory - Knocked out - Blunt force damage.
Victor Krum - Imperius-ed - But why was he Imperius-ed?
Harry Potter - Tri-wizard winner - Holy shit, I really won!
.
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187. Chapter 187: Revival,
Rebirth, Return
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Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he
fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his
head.
"Where is this?" he said.
He had left the Hogwarts grounds entirely; they had obviously traveled
miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains
surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark
and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible
beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their
left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the
hillside.
"Why didn't anyone tell me that the Cup was a Portkey?" he said, taking
his wand out — his instincts were telling him that things weren't as quiet
as they were. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being
watched.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, which made every inch of his skin
rise in surprise. He glanced down at his shoulder to see a hand with a
missing finger, then turned his head to find himself gazing at a new yet
familiar face, and the words that followed almost made his heart jump
out of his chest.
"Good evening, Harry," said the lean man, with strangely dead eyes, "we
are introduced yet, but I knew from a long time ago, and I'm sure you
have heard about me," the strange man flatly smiled, "my name is Peter
Pettigrew, and I was a friend of your father's."
"You—" Harry tried to speak, but then he felt a wave travel through every
fiber of his body, and everything hazed out of focus before all went
black.
Peter looked down at the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived. It was easier to
work when his captive was out, "He sure has grown up, and the
resemblance is striking. . . . a real pity," he sighed. Peter glanced towards
his back to stare into the darkness. It was time, and time was of the
essence.
Harry groggily opened his eye to find himself tied up on a hard, cold
stone with something stuffed into his mouth. He was tied up from neck to
ankles to what seemed to be a headstone. He tried to struggle against the
ropes but was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an
inch. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Peter
Pettigrew had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the
headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup.
Harry's wand was on the ground at the Cup's side. There was a bundle of
robes some distance beyond that, at the foot of a grave, and when he
looked closer, it seemed to be a baby or small-sized inside the bundle. It
seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and then, without
warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had
never felt in all his life; if he could scream freely, he would've shattered
glass; he could see nothing at all, and his head was about to split open.
Harry suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes .
. . he didn't want that bundle opened. . . .
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic
snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was
tied. Then he heard laborious breathing growing closer. It sounded as
though someone was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then
Peter came within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a
stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be
water — Harry could hear it slopping around — and it was larger than
any cauldron Harry had ever used, a great stone belly large enough for a
full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more
persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Peter was busying
himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were
crackling flames beneath it. The giant snake slithered away into the
darkness. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface
began not only to bubble but to send out fiery sparks as though it were
on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending
the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And
Harry heard the high, cold voice.
"Hurry!"
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have
been encrusted with diamonds.
"It is ready, Master."
"Now . . ." said the cold voice.
Peter pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside
they and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material
blocking his mouth.
It was as though Peter had flipped over a stone and revealed something
ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing
Peter had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except
that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and
scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and
feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and
snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them
around Peter's neck, and Peter lifted it. Harry expected a look of
revulsion on Peter's face, but as seen in the pale face in the firelight as he
carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron, was a look of
indifference. And then Peter lowered the creature into the cauldron; there
was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body
hit bottom with a soft thud.
'Yes, please let it drown!' Harry thought, his scar burning almost past
endurance, 'please . . . let it drown. . . .'
Peter was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his
wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched
as a delicate trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and
fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and
hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-
looking blue.
And now Peter pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his
cloak. He stared at the gleaming metal with the same dead eyes, but now
there seemed to be a strange madness reflecting them. His voice became
more assertive and filled with a mad passion.
"Flesh — of the servant — willingly given — you will — revive — your
master."
He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand without the
missing finger — the other hand with the missing finger was a reminder.
He gripped the dagger firmly, and without hesitation, he swung it down.
Harry realized what Peter was about to do a second before it happened
— he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but Harry could not block the
screaming laugh that pierced the night that went through Harry as
though he had been stabbed with the dagger too.
He heard something fall to the ground, heard Peter's frantic respiring,
then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron.
Harry couldn't stand to look . . . but the potion had turned a burning red;
the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids. . . .
When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Peter standing right in front of him
with the same dagger in hand.
"I see you have woken up, Harry," there was a thick sheen of sweat on
Peter's face, but he looked more alive than ever, "that's good — you'll get
to witness something truly great now," Peter raised the dagger, "the
revival of my master. The Dark Lord will walk the Earth once more."
Harry felt the knife-point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood
seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Peter, hissing in pain, reached
into his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut so that a dribble
of blood fell into it.
"Blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your
foe."
Peter walked back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it
inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Peter, his job
done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, staring at it with the fire
and light reflecting in his dark eyes.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all
directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness.
Nothing happened. . . .
'Let it have drowned,' Harry thought, 'let it have gone wrong. . . .'
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were
extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron
instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry so that he couldn't see
Peter or the Cup or anything but vapor hanging in the air.
'It's gone wrong,' he thought '. . . it's drowned . . . please . . . please let it
be dead.'
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of
terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly
from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Peter,
still cradling his mutilated arm, got on his feet up from the ground with a
black robe, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's
head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron and lifted his chin up at the
sky.
Harry watched as the clouds slowly drifted away, freeing the bright moon
from their cover. He saw as the pale yet luminous moonlight fell upon
the man's face and body, revealing the inhuman face which had its eyes
closed.
'Oh no, oh no, oh no,' thought Harry, 'no, this can't be happening.'
The man slowly opened his eyes and started chuckling, which eventually
barreled into full-blown maniacal laughter, shaking his thin frame.
"This is it!" he laughed, "I knew! This how is moonlight is supposed to
feel! The flesh of the homunculus was too weak! The light, the wind, the
heat, ah haha hahaha, this is how it's supposed to be! It's wonderful!"
The man turned his face, his eyes now gazing at Harry. . . . and Harry
stared back into the face that had haunted his dreams, no nightmares for
the past three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and
a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils . . .
"Harry Potter," he said.
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
The Dark Lord had returned.
Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body.
His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his
own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a
cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his
hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. Voldemort
slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket
and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too, and then he raised it and
pointed it at Peter, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the
headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there,
crumpled up, groaning and hissing. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes
upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.
Peter propped himself up with the support of the headstone and bowed
his head, "My Lord."
"That was for all those times you talked back, Wormtail," said Voldemort
while rotating his head to crack his neck.
"I apologies, master," said Peter; he wasn't bothered by it.
"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.
Peter extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"I would suggest against it, master," said Peter, "we don't know for sure if
the spell at Hogwarts worked. We might not have much time — with
Dumbledore there. . . ."
'Spell at Hogwarts?' thought Harry, 'what're they talking about?'
"Ah, the magic to deal with the West child," hummed Voldemort, "did
you cast it properly?"
"I did. I made sure it was in place and working."
"Then, there's no worry," replied Voldermort before looking at Harry.
"You must be wondering what we're talking about, Harry."
Harry couldn't speak because of the gag stuffed in his mouth.
"You see, the audience wasn't supposed to watch the third task. What
happened inside the maze was supposed to go unseen, and the only
indicators were the red sparks from the champions, and the winner
arriving with the Cup — other than that, the people at Hogwarts were
supposed to be blind to the events inside. . . ."
Voldemort twirled his wand in his bony-long white digits.
"I was supposed to take advantage of that situation by whisking you
away, and as no one knew what was happening, they would happily wait
for the winning champion's arrival," said Voldemort, and he seemed to
articulate his every word as if enjoying speaking, "but the West child,
Quinn West, threw a Finite into that plan months before today,"
Voldemort didn't look he was upset by it, "he came up with a way to
allow everybody to watch the second task and I was sure that Quinn West
would do the same at the third task — he hid it well, that smart child —
Wests have a tendency to be a pesky but smart bunch."
Voldemort's slitted eyes smiled in pleasure, "But I noticed how he did it.
It was simple yet an ingenious way to accomplish what he was trying to
do," the Dark Lord for once sounded impressed, "thank Wormtail for his
sharp eyes that I was able to catch it — an artificial eye, I noticed. How
creative! He connected that eye to himself and then simply projected
what he saw — just from that, I can say that the child understands magic
— a rare trait even among those of noble blood."
"I gave Wormtail a task that would get rid of that as we couldn't have
people see you disappear to not appear at the start," Voldemort started to
walk around the headstone, "it would have immediately alerted
Dumbledore and his faction that something was wrong and we couldn't
have them put a stop into my revival. . . . So, I taught Wormtail a spell—"
Voldemort noticed that Peter had become deadly pale — he had lost a lot
of blood. "Give me your hand, Wormtail. I can't stand the sight of that
disgusting stump of yours."
"Yes, Master," moaned Peter weakly.
Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak
of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake.
Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming
replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward
and fixed itself upon Peter's bleeding wrist. His breathing harsh and
ragged, Peter raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand,
now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a
dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then picked up a small twig
on the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My Lord," he whispered. "Master . . . it is beautiful . . ." Voldemort
noticed the absence of thankfulness in Peter's words, but he ignored it.
"So, where was I?" continued Voldemort to Harry, "ah yes, I gave
Wormtail the spell that would solve our problem and take care of the eye
in the sky," he laughed, "if the spell worked — which I'm sure it did —
little eagle Quinn would be in for a little surprise when he wakes up."
The Dark Lord glanced at Peter, who was still admiring his new silver
hand. "But Wormtail is right. An unconscious West might send Fudge and
the ministry into chaos, but it won't keep Dumbledore for long — the
pathetic old goat might notice something is wrong and as Wormtail said,
you never know with Dumbledore — he might just find us here."
With his bare feet, Voldemort walked near Harry and grinned a smile
which Harry could only describe as horrifying and sickening. "Seeing that
you're the Boy-Who-Lived, my supposed end and you're here, with no
better place to be, I will tell you my story before we return you to your
parents. . . ."
Harry frowned as his scar began burning. He thought that the pain was
messing with his hearing as he just heard something about Voldemort
letting him go.
"Wormtail here requested that we send you beheaded head to your
parents," smiled Voldermort, "from what I know, he has prepared a letter
which he wants to write in your blood and stuff it in your mouth so they
would know he was the one who did it," Harry started to felt disgust rise
up in his stomach as he witnessed Voldemort's famed cruelty.
"But before that, I will tell you that story as you're sort of a guest of
honor at my re-birth party, then I will duel with you to show just how
fortunate you were to live that day. I want there to be no mistake in
anybody's mind. You escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going
to prove my power by dueling you, here and now, in front of Wormtail,
when there is no Dumbledore to help you and no grandmother to die for
you. I will give you your chance. You will be allowed to fight, and you
will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. And then after all
that, finally, I will let Wormtail behead you — your corpse, of course."
Harry's ropes came undone within an instant, and he immediately fell
down on the graveyard grass face first.
"So, let's begin, shall we?" laughed Voldemort, "You stand, Harry Potter,
upon the remains of my late father. . . ."
. . .
It was ten minutes later that Harry Potter appeared back at Hogwarts
with the Tri-wizard Cup. He had come back to the edge of the maze. He
could see the stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in
them, the stars above.
He let go of the Cup but clutched his wand tighter.
Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.
"Harry! Harry!"
He opened his eyes. He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus
Dumbledore was crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of
people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground
beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps.
He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist while
Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.
"He's back," Harry all but shouted. "He's back. Voldemort is back!"
.
[
A/N: I wasn't sure if I should write this chapter, it's mostly the original scene.
But I wanted to show the differences in Peter Pettigrew and give you a clue
about what happened to Quinn in the last chapter.
Voldemort, also — I wanted to give him some new lines, given that in my
version, Death Eaters didn't arrive because of Peter's suggestion.
I always thought that his reaction to getting back his body was lackluster, so I
added some of that and took inspiration from a character (not from HP) who
went through similar circumstances — guess who.
I came to a decision that these changes were enough to devote a chapter to
this.
]
.
Quinn West- MC(Status: Unknown) - I don't like when I'm not in a
chapter of book that revolves around my life. Did you hear it?! I don't
like this!
Voldemort - Dark Lord - Babymort no more - Revived | Re-birthed.
Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail - As you can see, he didn't get to write that
letter.
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived-Once-Again - Shit, he's back! Shit! Shit! Oh
crap, things are turning black. . .
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
188. Chapter 188: Waking-Up,
Recap, Reveal
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
a donation and get chapters earlier than usual as a bonus.
Link in the Bio/Profile
"Oh, look! He's waking up," was the first thing Quinn heard when he
opened his eyes — but something felt wrong — it was as if something
was missing.
"Where?" he asked. Quinn tried to groggily sit up, but his attempts
brought a sharp pain in his head, causing him to hiss in pain.
"Don't get up," he heard his favorite faculty's voice.
"Madam Pomfrey. . . . where am I? What happened to me. . . ." Quinn
looked around with his out of focus vision, and he could recognize
hospital wings' curtains and Poppy sitting on a barstool by his bedside.
"You suddenly collapsed in the middle of the third task and wouldn't get
up."
"I collapsed?" said Quinn in slight disbelief, "that doesn't sound right—"
"Are you sure?" Poppy cut him off, "you have been pretty busy this year.
Even with all the things you had to do for the quidditch tournament this
year, you didn't skip our lessons, neither did you skip your classes;
furthermore, you took on the hosting — which would have been fine if
you didn't decide to go overboard with it."
". . . . but the quidditch tournament was over a couple weeks back, I had
time to rest," argued Quinn while sitting up despite the protest from
Poppy. His vision was still a little off — it was irritating him.
Moreover, Poppy didn't know his true magical capabilities — in no way
would the magic used while hosting put so much stress on him that he
would collapse and that too in front of him.
"Clearly, it wasn't enough, or you didn't actually rest in those past weeks,"
chided Poppy, "furthermore, you were using faulty magic," she sighed,
"Quinn, you should take more care while using self-created, untested
magic — it could be dangerous — no it was dangerous."
"What?" Quinn tilted his head. His head was finally clearing up, and his
mind was getting back on track, "my magic. . . . faulty? That's not
possible, Madam Pomfrey. My self-created magics aren't faulty; they
never were and won't be in the future."
"Then how do you explain that?" Poppy pointed towards Quinn's hand.
"Huh? What?" Quinn raised his hand to touch his face, and his eye
widened when his fingers found the rough texture, "why is my head
bandaged," he felt around to find that the upper right side of his face was
covered, "did I hit my head when I collapsed?"
Then it hit Quinn. Why his vision felt wrong. It wasn't his head that was
covered in gauze bandages — it was his right eye that was covered. He
looked at Poppy and asked,
"Madam Pomfrey. . . . what did you mean when you said how do I
explain that? What's wrong with me?"
Poppy sighed at the confusion on Quinn's covered face, "Quinn, whatever
magic you used, it faulted, and it burned through your eye. . . .
completely."
Quinn stared at the matron as if she was joking, but she wasn't.
"By the time I got to you, your eyeball was nothing more than goopy
sludge, resulting in severe damage to your optic nerves, which caused
you to pass out from the trauma."
". . . . I lost my eye!" exclaimed Quinn, almost clawing out his bandages.
"M-Madam Pomfrey, is—"
"You'll be fine. Fortunately, there wasn't any permanent damage — your
faulty magic didn't turn into a dark curse. You'll have your eye back in a
week, and by the end of the second, your vision will mature to normal."
"Two weeks, huh," sighed Quinn, "two weeks with one eye. Damn it! But,
Madam Pomfrey, I'm quite sure that I didn't make a mistake while
designing the magic. It took months to—"
"Quinn, I'm not aware of the details of the magic you used, but I do know
your eye melted due to a magic overload. From what I learned from my
time in the spell damage ward at St. Mungos is that spells mostly fail due
to the imbalance in the internal magic structure — your case is a classic
example of that."
Quinn wanted to continue his progress but held his tongue. He knew that
there was no use to continue. Quinn still believed that his magic was
airtight solid — the second task wasn't the first time he had used the
artificial eye; he had been using it for tests for much longer; not only
that, but Quinn had spent many hours using the eye to make himself used
to the dual vision and not once had the spell gone bad on him — he
seriously doubted that it was the magic's fault.
"Your family has been made aware of your condition this morning.
They've sent back that they will be here sometime after noon. You'll be
going with them instead of the Hogwarts Express," said Poppy as she
stood up.
"Noon, huh," groaned Quinn; he wasn't looking forward to that
conversation, "wait a minute, noon?! How long was I out? What time is
it?"
"It's nine. You slept through the night," said Poppy, "now, excuse me,
Quinn. I have some important appointments that I need to deal with."
She had to make sure that the Hogwart female students understood what
they needed to take (potion-wise) for regulation of their monthly cycle —
for the next couple of months, she wasn't going to be with them, and
Poppy preferred that they continued with the potion regime as it made
her job much more manageable when they returned.
"Ah, yes, thank you, Madam Pomfrey," nodded Quinn; while he wanted
to ask her what happened last night, he knew the matron was busy this
time of the year.
After she left, Quinn silently sat on his bed — he was at least sure that
Harry Potter was alive because if he was dead, Poppy would've said
something — the death of the Boy-Who-Lived would've been hard to
ignore.
"Let's just hope Voldemort is revived," whispered Quinn; his decision to
send Harry off was a success only if Voldemort was back in power. "I
need to find out what happened. But before that. . . ."
Quinn conjured in front of him and looked at his reflection — he looked
like a certain evil head of a super-secret organization of elemental-
controlling ninjas who kept one of his eyes hidden under bandages.
"This isn't my style," said Quinn and snapped his finger for the gauze to
come undone and fall into his lap. His nose scrunched up when he saw
the black-blue-red around his eye and the loose eyelid, "I hope two weeks
would pass soon enough."
Quinn glanced down at the white roll of gauze and concentrated his
magic for the bandage to shift and distort before it turned into a black-
triangular eyepatch (without string.) He picked it up and gently placed it
over his eye such that it would cover all the colored parts of his eye.
"Much, much better," smiled Quinn into the mirror. This way, not only
did he look good, but it also dulled the impact of the injury — something
he critically needed when his family came to take him home.
"Now, let's go and find out what happened."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn wasn't the only one in the hospital wing at the moment. In another
corner sat the Potter family with Dumbledore and Moody — once again
going over Harry's account of what had happened last night.
Cornelius Fudge had denied any of their pleas to declare that Voldemort
had come back to life. The minister had grabbed onto the Peter Pettigrew
part of the story and had ignored every aspect, declaring Harry a victim
of dark magic that had caused him to become confused. The official
ministry-approved news in the papers was that Peter Pettigrew had
abducted Harry Potter with intentions to kill him(100% true), but Harry
Potter was able to fight his captor off and return to Hogwarts.
Seeing that the first and most impactful release of information had told
an incorrect story, Dumbledore once again wanted to hear the details
now that Harry was calm and settled so that he could have a better grasp
of the situation.
"Voldemort's back, Harry, I believe you," said Dumbledore; he was never
really gone, "but how did he do it?"
Harry glanced at his feet on the bed and recalled what he had seen, "He
took bones from his father's grave and from Wormtail, and then from
me," he rubbed his forehead, "Wormtail recited it — bone of father,
unknowingly given, the flesh of servant willingly sacrificed, and blood
enemy taken forcibly — yeah, that's what he had said," Harry looked at
Dumbledore and gravely spoke, "he was able to touch me, professor."
Harry could only weakly smiled at his mother when he felt her squeeze in
hand in support. It meant that the protection granted by his
grandmother's sacrifice couldn't protect him anymore.
"How did he look, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.
"Flat and snakelike face, with gleaming red eyes," answered Harry; he
couldn't forget that face even if he wanted to, "tall and skeletally thin
with a grey pallor — he was barely human."
Ivy, who was also present, thought back to the photo of Tom Riddle she
had seen in an old record stored in the library. The Hogwarts Voldemort
was a charming person. If she didn't know the name of that face, she
would've never pegged him to be a Dark Lord.
"It seems that Voldemort has deviated further from the norm," sighed
Dumbledore, "anything else you can tell us, Harry."
". . . . there was a giant snake," told Harry, "it was really thick and long. It
didn't hiss, so I wasn't able to hear anything."
"That's good, Harry. Anything new information would help," smiled
Dumbledore before turning a bit serious, "can you tell me about the
golden phenomenon that you mentioned last night."
"I-I don't know what it was," started Harry, "but when I shot a Reducto
and Voldemort a Killing Curse. . . . I felt a vibration going through my
wand as though an electric charge were surging through it; my hand
seized up around it; I couldn't release my wand if I wanted to — and then
a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither blue nor green,
but bright, deep gold."
"Voldemort didn't know what it was because he and I were both raised
into the air — he was as shocked by it as I was — a thousand more
beams arced high over us, crisscrossing all around us until we were
enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light," Harry gulped,
"then I heard the song of a phoenix — it was telling me to not break the
connection, and I didn't. The beams of light changed as large beads of
light slid up and down the thread connecting our wands. Then a bead
touched my wand, my wand grew hotter, and almost vibrated my hand,
suddenly, I was somehow overpowering Voldemort before," he sucked a
deep breath, "then I saw grandpa and grandma."
James Potter's eyes widened as he leaned forward, "W-What do you
mean, Harry?"
"They came out of Voldemort's wand — they were like ghosts and helped
me — they said to hold on. Slowly more and more ghosts appeared by
my side, and the more ghosts appeared, the easier it got for me to fight
Voldemort. . . . But they couldn't hold. . . . and said that I needed to run
for the Cup when the connection ended. . . . when the connection
stopped, they surrounded Voldemort — and I did as they asked. . . . then
I was at Hogwarts."
James Potter had his head in his hands with Ivy rubbing his back. Just
hearing that his parents had once again helped his son had brought up
too much emotion — he felt useless; he was supposed to protect his
family and not his dead parents from beyond the grave.
"I'm not familiar with that magic," said Dumbledore, "but whatever it was
made you able to stand against Voldemort — I'll try to find what the
magic was."
"And the Death Eaters? They returned?" asked Moody.
Harry shook his head, "No, there was only Wormtail and no one else."
Harry glanced to his left to see a dark expression on his father's face at
the mention of Peter Pettigrew.
Moody seemed to be dissatisfied with the answer.
"Did you find Karkaroff?" asked Harry. Karkaroff was the Death Eater that
everyone suspected to be the one to put Harry's name into the goblet, but
the man had been missing since last night.
"Karkaroff?" said Moody with an odd laugh. "Karkaroff fled when he felt
the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He must've returned to the Dark Lord
when his job was done, but we'll find him," he stood up from his chair,
"I'll go to Little Hangleton to see if I can find anything at Tom Riddle
Senior's grave."
Harry momentarily nodded, but then a thought struck him. He looked up
at Moody, ". . . . I never told that Voldemort's father's name was Tom
Riddle Senior."
Dumbledore's eyes widened as he immediately picked up at the
discrepancy, "Alastor. . . . I as well never told you this information. How
did you know about it?"
Moody's magical eye rotated in its socket as a disturbing smile appeared
on his scarred face. Before anyone could do anything, Moody had
whipped out his wand and pointed it at Ivy, who suddenly felt a force
grab hold over her before she was lifted and flew into Moody's clutches
with her back to him.
Moody wrapped his arm around Ivy's neck and pointed his wand at her,
"Anyone makes any sudden moves, and I blow the girl's head."
Dumbledore slowly got up and asked in a sorrowful voice, "Alastor, why
are you doing this?"
Moody's magical eye was now fixed at the door. He uncharacteristically
cackled, "You old fool! I'm not Moody!"
"Then who're you?"
"Hmm. . . . I wonder if I should tell you," said not-Moody, "well, since
Master is alive, so there's no harm. . . . my name is Barty. Crouch.
Junior."
"You're supposed to be dead," said James Potter, his eyes fixed upon his
daughter.
"Yeah, yeah, and I'm also supposed to be Madeye. Things aren't as they
seem," said now-revealed-Barty before glancing at Harry, "tell me, Harry,
did Master mention me? Did he talk about his most faithful servant —
did he say that I, I alone remained faithful. . . . prepared to risk
everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all . . . you."
"So, you're the one who entered Harry's name into the Cup," said
Dumbledore calmly.
"Yes, I put Harry's name into the Cup. I also nudged Hagrid into showing
you the dragons. I was also the one who told Cedric to open the egg
underwater; I trusted that he would pass the information on to you.
Decent people are so easy to manipulate. . . . I even went ahead by
planting the herbology books in various places in the Gryffindor dorms so
that you could find everything in your dorm itself. . . . I also Imperius-ed
Victor Krum to take out the Veela and Diggory first before knocking you
out and bring you to the Cup. Still, you ended up defeating him. . . .
nevertheless, everything turned out well."
Barty(Moody) looked at them with a mocking grin, "Now, I would love to
tell you more about my work here, but I need to join my Master, so I
would like to take my leave," he shook Ivy, "I want safe passage out of
Hogwarts — if I see any obstruction, say goodbye to your lovely princess
here. . . . I'm sure the Dark Lord would be happy to hear that the last
thing I did was take out a Potter with me, but I'm sure you don't want
that."
"I will allow you to leave," said Dumbledore, "only keep the end of your
bargain and tell me what you did with the real Alastor."
Barty snickered, "I'm in a good mood, so I'll tell you. He's locked in my
office inside my suitcase. You'll find him there, relaxing."
But then Barty saw everyone stop moving; it was as if they were even
careful about breathing. When he looked closer, Barty noticed they were
looking behind him.
'What?' he thought as his magical eye moved behind. His magic eye
turned just in time to see a wand fly into a hand; his focus shifted to see
black hair, one stone-grey eye, and one black triangle, and before his
brain could process his vision, a blinding bright red overwhelmed his
vision.
Ivy felt the arm around her neck loosen up, and before she knew it, there
was a thump behind her. She carefully looked behind to see her captor's
body crumpled on the floor. When Ivy looked up, her eyes widened.
"Sorry, but I sort of eavesdropped," said the boy with the eyepatch, "but
you guys weren't really trying to be quiet. . . . you know this place being
the hospital wing and all."
Quinn West walked forward and kicked the fallen body once, twice, and
then thrice, "Alright, he's out cold, I have confirmed it," he then looked
up, "are you alright, Ivy? Did he hurt you?"
Ivy shook her head with a stunned expression. Her green eyes remained
fixed on his face, ". . . . What happened to your eye?" She saw Quinn
reach up to the cheek beneath the black eyepatch.
"It sort of melted away. Faulty magic, they saw, but the jury is still out on
that." Quinn noticed that Ivy was still staring at him. He waved his hand
in front of her, "Ivy, are you sure everything is alright?"
Ivy finally snapped out of her trance, bowed her head down away from
Quinn's gaze, and lightly nodded. Quinn stared at her for a few more
seconds before looking up at the others and said,
"So, can anyone catch me up with what happened? I sort of missed the
main part."
.
Quinn West - MC - One-eyed with a cool eyepatch.
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - Went through a duel of a lifetime.
James Potter - Senior Auror - Feeling useless.
Ivy Potter - Hostage once again - She kept staring. . . .
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Politics is complicated.
Alastar Moody - Barty Crouch Junior - Stunned and then kicked.
.
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189. Chapter 189: Reason, Invite,
Going Home
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"Mr. West, that was unnecessarily risky for you to attack like that," said
Dumbledore as he conjured ropes around Barty Crouch Jr. (still in
Moody-form).
"I know, Headmaster," said Quinn, "even if I didn't do it, you would have
taken care of Mr. Crouch here — you were only trying to get information
out of him. . . . But I had that element of surprise and speed at my side,
so I took it — no biggie."
Dumbledore nodded. It was easier to get information out of Barty Jr.
when he was feeling confident than when he was in captivity. 'Though, I
could have just used a little Legilimency to get what I want — well, I'll do
it moving forward.'
Quinn turned to Harry, "Harry, even though it was a rough night, I have
to say — congratulations on winning the Tri-wizard tournament."
". . . .Thank you," said Harry, and a smile made its way to his face;
everybody had been worried sick since he had returned and acted like he
was made out of fragile glass. It was nice to be congratulated and treated
as usual.
"I actually had a very amazing ceremony planned to crown the winning
champion — fireworks, music, the whole gig. It was going to be grand. . .
. a pity that we ended up having to cancel it."
"I agree; it truly was a damper on the festivities," said Dumbledore in
agreement.
The Potters stared at the two, a little confused by the calm disposition
displayed by Quinn and Dumbledore — they were acting as if the
canceled winner's celebration ceremony was the biggest displeasure of
yesterday night — and between two of them, one of them had lost an
eye, and other had to deal with consequences of a ruthless Dark Lord's
return.
The Potter family(sans Harry) and Dumbledore were thrown out of the
hospital wing by Poppy for making too much noise; she wanted to throw
out Quinn too but couldn't because he was under her observation.
Quinn didn't have anything to do to pass his time, so he sat down on
Harry's bed to make idle conversation with him. "So, Harry," he started,
"what's in your plans for the summers? Anything special planned after the
challenging months spent as a champion?"
"I honestly had no idea," said Harry, "I wasn't thinking about the future,
you know. I was a little too occupied by what was going in the moment
to think about the after," he took in a deep breath, "if I think about it
now, probably play a lot of quidditch. . . . but Voldemort is back, so I
don't think that's going to work."
"Is he really back?"
"Yeah, he is," told Harry, "saw him with my own eyes and felt it through
my own magic," he stared at Quinn, "do you. . . . believe me?"
"I do. I mean, I can't think of a reason you would want to lie about it. If
you wanted attention — you just won the Tri-wizard tournament;
combine it with your status as the Boy-Who-Lived, and that's got you
covered for a good while," said Quinn with a smile while thinking, 'plus, I
was the one who allowed your abduction.'
The decision to let Voldemort resurrect himself through Harry's blood
was one that Quinn had thought a lot about. It had taken him countless
sessions of deep thinking, weighing pros and cons, making sense of his
thoughts, and analyzing the risk involved.
Quinn's judgment hinged upon a single moment in the original timeline,
the one weaved by the Duchess of Magic herself. It was the moment
when Harry Potter surrendered himself to Voldemort and let himself be
killed — after repeated encounters with the Dark Lord where Harry
struggled with his life, he had decided to stop and let Voldemort kill him
because of the deal proposed by the Dark Lord himself in return for the
safety of all who rebelled and fought against him.
Voldemort had wasted no time and quickly cursed his prophesized doom
dead with the eerie green Killing Curse. The result was instant death, as
one would expect. But this great work of fiction was named Harry Potter,
and things were far from over — Harry arrived at a kind-off Limbo — a
strange between life and death.
The original Harry found himself in a pearly white, misty version of
King's Cross Railway Station. He also finds a grotesque being struggling
to survive nearby, and of course, all of this could be choked up to be
some kind of magic; after all, he lived in a magical world.
But then Dumbledore, who was a hundred percent dead, approaches him,
and Harry realizes that this was a place where he could interact with the
dead without the power of an artifact like the Ressurection Stone and
that he was truly dead — but. . . . this was Harry's perception of the
situation, his assumption based on things he experienced.
However, Quinn believed that it was the Ressurection Stone that Harry
had with him at his moment of death responsible for his presence at the
Limbo and his meeting with the dead Dumbledore.
After all, Harry Potter wasn't dead.
Voldemort, in his greed, his cruelty, had taken Harry's blood to resurrect
himself. The Dark Lord could have anyone who fits the description of his
enemy to supply the blood for the ritual, but he chose Harry Potter.
Why?
It was because of the blood protection cast by the original Lily Potter
through her sacrifice (which in Quinn's timeline was cast by Harry's
grandmother: Euphemia Potter). He believed that by taking in the blood
of the blessed Harry, he would also receive the protection, thus making
the protection redundant.
His thinking, according to Quinn, was correct. . . . but incomplete.
It wasn't Voldemort's fault — he didn't have the complete information.
Because the host soul couldn't detect the presence of the cut-off
Horcruxes, Voldemort didn't know that his actions of cutting his soul
several times had caused it to become unstable. What he didn't know was
the day that he went to kill baby Harry, but ended had failed, and when
Voldemort escaped, he left with much less than Voldemort thought he
had.
He, in the obvious trauma of losing his body, hadn't noticed that he had
left a portion of his soul behind — in the form of an unintended Horcrux
— the Horcrux in the form of the infamous scar defined the Boy-Who-
Lived.
Voldemort had tethered his life to Harry's life.
That was the sole reason why Quinn decided to let the event took place.
If Voldemort was to be taken down, Quinn either had to find a way to get
rid of the Horcrux in Harry's scar or kill Harry Potter. The latter was
something Quinn didn't want to do, and there was no information on how
to diffuse a living-Horcrux; at least, Quinn hadn't found one yet.
So, the problem had presented itself, and Quinn needed to do the logical
thing — which was to find a solution. So he began from the start and
chained all of his knowledge about the original timeline — it turned out
that the answer was on the most significant turning point of the magical
saga.
It was the day Voldemort regained his body and re-attained his full
power.
When Voldemort had taken Harry's blood, he had indeed found a way to
bypass the sacrifice's protection. . . . but, it turned out that "he" was the
only one who got that advantage.
If someone with perfect knowledge (or even incomplete knowledge like
Quinn) was to look back on the fateful day that the Dark Lord met the
soon-to-be Boy-Who-Lived, they would find that in the series of events,
Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse, followed by Euphemia Potter
countering it by the sacrificial protection, which then shielded Harry
from the Killing Curse by bouncing it back at Voldemort and maybe it
was because that the Killing Curse had reacted with sacrificial protection,
its nature had been slightly altered causing Voldemort to lose his body.
. . . . It was only after all that Voldemort's unstable soul fragment had
attached itself to Harry.
'Meaning that small soul fragment didn't get the protection of Euphemia's
sacrifice,' that was the conclusion that Quinn came to. Voldemort's main
soul, the host soul, had gotten protection because of Harry's blood, but
the Horcrux inside Harry was still as unprotected as it was from day one.
'Maybe that was why Voldemort's stronger soul, even if it was only a
fragment wasn't able to take over Harry's weaker soul — because the
protection prevented it from doing so — and because Voldemort's ritual
didn't affect the Horcrux, it still couldn't take over Harry.' And even
though Quinn classified this chain of thought as a 'maybe,' he was sure
that this was the case. . . . because wasn't his case a similar one and his
target didn't have any sort of protection.
The Horcrux might have been a part of Harry Potter since that day, but in
the end, it was still Voldemort. 'So, when Voldemort cast the Killing
Curse in the Forbidden Forest, the protection certainly worked and
protected Harry's soul, leaving the Killing Curse to strike the unprotected
Horcrux.'
That was the theory that Quinn came up with — Voldemort's action that
was supposed to eliminate his weakness was the reason that doomed.
As for the reason why Harry's soul reached the Limbo even though he
wasn't dead? Quinn thought that the answer was a mix of Killing Curse's
soul-ejecting effect and the thing in Harry's pocket when he died.
Quinn stared at Harry thinking, 'Sorry, man, but it seems you will once
again have to get hit by the Killing Curse from Voldemort — but don't
worry, Voldemort and I got you covered.'
"So, what have you planned for the summer?" asked Harry in return.
"Hmm, first, I'll have to go to a few people's houses to pacify their
worries," said Quinn with a wry smile — his friends were already on the
Hogwarts Express to their homes. "I'm not sure what I would do for the
rest of the summer; I don't have concrete plans. Like you, I too got a bit
too involved in what happened this year."
"Then how about you come to my and Ivy's birthday. We would love to
have you there," smiled Harry. Quinn had helped him this year, and he
had technically just saved Ivy from danger.
"Your and Ivy's birthday, huh," Quinn brows and nose scrunched up
slightly, "it's on the 31st of July, you know. . . . that's right in the middle
of the summer break. . . . I am usually very busy at that time," he sighed,
"Alright, you have so generously invited so I will come to the Potter
Twins' birthday bash."
"Nice," smiled Harry.
"What do you want for your gift?"
". . . . A quidditch team."
". . . . I like you, Potter, but not that much."
"Well, I tried. Get me anything man, I like a surprise."
"Alright, I'll see that you like my gift," said Quinn, "what about Ivy? What
would she like?"
"Hmm, maybe a book. Ivy might not be Hermione, but she likes her
books."
"That's my specialty. I'll get a good one," said Quinn in complete
confidence; when it came to books, he was the boss, plus — 'Project
Babel was a success,' he thought.
"Uhm, Quinn. . . ." called Harry.
"Yeah?" returned Quinn, then noticed the expression on Harry's face,
"what's wrong."
"It sort of slipped my mind but," Harry pointed at Quinn's eyepatch, "that
was caused by Voldemort — by Wormtail. . . . Peter Pettigrew, who got
the spell from Voldemort."
". . . . You're saying that the Dark Lord costed me my eye?"
Harry nodded.
"Are you sure, Harry? Are you absolutely sure?"
Harry was a little taken back by the serious tone from Quinn, "Y-Yeah,
I'm sure. He said so himself. Voldemort couldn't have me seen disappear,
so he had to stop your magic."
Then Harry saw Quinn's hand clench, which worried him, but just before
Harry could say something, Quinn raised his fist and shook it. . . . in
celebration.
"Yeah! I knew it!" exclaimed Quinn loudly, "I knew my magic wasn't
faulty! My magic can never be faulty," he then laughed, "take that,
Madam Pomfrey," the matron was, of course, not present.
"Huh?" uttered Harry, "What—"
But before he could continue, Quinn brought down his hands onto his
shoulders and gripped them tightly, "You can't tell this to anyone, Harry.
Not your family, not your friends, and especially to Headmaster
Dumbledore."
"Eh, why?"
"If my grandfather gets a whiff of this. Not only will he take me out of
Hogwarts and move me to another school out of the British Isles, but he
might also move against Voldemort as retaliation, and I don't want that
to happen," Quinn pulled his most severe tone.
"I-I get the first part, but why the second. . . ."
"I've read about the First British Wizarding War," sighed Quinn, "a lot of
people died, Harry. The Dark Lord's reign was full of blood and death for
those who opposed him. During that time, the Wests remained neutral —
my grandfather neither supported nor opposed the Dark Lord and even
went as far as to flee the country during the high point of the way," he
looked straight into Harry's eyes to get his point across, "my family is
powerful Quinn. They could hire ample security to ensure their safety,
but my grandfather or anyone in my family won't do that; they'll flee the
country if the Dark Lord gains control and establish his reign. . . . but if
they know that my injury was caused by the Dark Lord, my grandfather
will get involved. . . . he'll invest our family resource to enact revenge. I
don't want that. . . . I don't want my family to be involved in the war. . . .
you know what I'm talking about, don't you, Harry?"
Harry nodded. He would hate it if something happened to his family. Ivy
getting dragged into the Chamber of Secrets was one of the worst
experiences of his life; he wouldn't have that kind of experience for
anyone.
"I understand, mate," he assured Quinn, "I'll keep this a secret. I promise."
"Thank you, Harry," smiled Quinn — as Barty Crouch Junior had said, it
was easy to manipulate decent people.
The West family might not get involved, but he had every intention to get
involved.
. . .
After talking to Harry for a while, the Boy-Who-Lived expressed his
desire to get some sleep, he hadn't slept last night because of the stressful
experience, and it seemed that the talk with Quinn had somewhat helped
him calm his nerves.
Quinn excused himself before going into Poppy's personal library to see if
something interested him. He found a book related to his current eye
injury and started reading it to upskill his knowledge. He walked back
and forth across the hospital wings' floor with the healing book in hand.
"Quinn."
The call of his name made him turn around to see a well-suited man
standing with Poppy, who seemed to be acting strange.
'Is she blushing?' thought Quinn, but threw that thought out as it seemed
absurd. Instead, he focused on the man and smiled, "Uncle Elliot."
The perfect example of a gentleman removed his fedora as he gazed at
Quinn with his eyepatched eye. He had already got the gist of Quinn's
situation from the matron who had guided him in, but seeing Quinn with
his own eyes did put him to ease.
"Young master. . . .You should be careful about experimenting with
magic. You were lucky this time, getting out with only losing an eye, and
that already is too much in my book," sighed Elliot Dalton, walking near
Quinn to get a good look at him.
"Sorry to worry you," said Quinn, looking at the taller Elliot, "I'll be
careful moving forward."
"See that you do," Elliot moved Quinn's head by the chin, "how're you
feeling? Any discomfort?"
"Nothing except for the missing eye messing with spatial perception and
that I have a huge blind spot on one side," replied Quinn; he could only
imagine who this would affect his daily Muay Thai training.
"Hmm, I already have a medi-healer waiting for you at the manor."
"There's no need for a healer," said Quinn, "I can grow it back on my
own. It's—"
" "No!" "
Quinn backed up a step from the in-sync response from Poppy and Elliot.
"You'll get treated by a proper, trained, certified healer — not buts and
ifs," said Poppy in a no-nonsense tone, and Elliot nodded in support.
". . . . Okay," said Quinn, sounding defeated.
Quinn had already packed all of his things into his suitcase the day
before yesterday; thus, after picking up luggage, Elliot and Quinn
immediately left.
"So. . . . did you talk to grandfather?" asked Quinn as they walked
through the Hogwarts ground, heading out so that they could apparate
back to the West estate.
"He was in a meeting when I gave him the news," replied Elliot, "he'll
meet you tonight," he turned to Quinn, "we all realize that magic can
sometimes be dangerous, and injuries like this will come in future — but
do try to be more careful."
Quinn could nod in response. He couldn't tell that Voldemort was the
reason and not his magic. 'One day, I'll show the world. Mwahaha, ahem,
yeah,' he thought.
"What about Lia?" he asked.
"Get ready to get yelled at a lot."
"Ugh, shouldn't have done this entire thing — not worth it."
.
Quinn West - MC - Summer, huh. Well, need to book the 31st of July on
my calendar.
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - I'll keep a secret.
Albus Dumbledore - About to get real busy - I don't get paid enough for
this.
Poppy Pomfrey - First time meeting Elliot - Oh my, what a gentleman. . .
.
Elliot Dalton - Perfect Gentleman - Can absolutely rock a fedora.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the bio!
190. Chapter 190: Home & Dark
Reunion
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"The medi-healer's diagnoses said that if you follow his potion regime,
you'll have your eye back in ten days," said George West, staring at his
grandson's black eyepatch, "he also suggests that you rest for a couple of
weeks to help the recovery; which I completely agree with."
Quinn nodded while tapping his finger on the armrest of his chair. Ever
since he had returned from Hogwarts (which was yesterday), he had been
treated like he had come close to losing his life.
"I've no strenuous plans in the recent future," he replied, "though I'll need
to leave to go visit my friends — I already got anxious letters from them;
it looks like they won't be satisfied if I don't visit them."
"Hmm," paused George, contemplating, "you'll have strict time curfew
imposed on you. Cross them even once, and I'll have you grounded here
for the entire summer break."
Quinn held back a sigh and nodded, "I understand. I will abide by your
rules."
"Good," said George, "now tell me, what do you think about Dumbledore's
sudden announcement of the Dark Lord's return."
"What do you think?" answered Quinn with a question.
"I don't want to believe it, alas Dumbledore is anything but a daft fool
who would propagate such a severe thing if it was not a lie," said George,
"though I can't say the same about the boy. What do you think of the
Boy-Who-Lived — are his words trustworthy?"
"Harry Potter might not shy away from attention and fame, but I'm don't
think he will lie about something of this magnitude. Also, from the time I
spent with him in the hospital wing, I don't think he was lying."
"Did you. . . peek?"
"Ah, I could've done that, couldn't I?. . . but the missing eye had me off
my game there."
"And yet, you engaged a Death Eater," said George.
Quinn's one eye twitched, "I ambushed the Death Eater. He had his wand
aimed at Ivy Potter; if he didn't want to get taken out by Headmaster
Dumbledore or Auror Potter or both, he wouldn't have pointed his wand
at me — I was completely safe in that scenario."
George didn't look satisfied with Quinn's explanation, no matter how
much sense it made. ". . . . So it's safe to say that the Dark Lord has
returned?"
"It seems so."
George sighed. This news wasn't faring well — plus, it was terrible for
business. "I'll send out for definitive news of the Dark Lord's return. I'm
sure someone from the Dark Faction would be more than happy to pass
along the information."
Quinn nodded. There was always someone waiting to brag.
"Alright then, let's move on. How did your OWLs go?" asked George.
"Ah, the OWLs," said Quinn, "I almost forgot about them — they were
exhaustingly easy. . . . I was tempted to go sleep after an hour of writing.
Fortunately, practicals are a quick affair — it was quite simple to impress
the external examiners with some basic nonverbal casting. . . . All-in-all,
I'll pass with rainbow-colored Os with beyond hundred points."
"That's great to hear," nodded George, "what about Ms. Fleur Delacour,
are you two. . . ."
"You don't beat around the bush, do you," sighed Quinn, expecting a little
tact from his grandfather, but it seemed that a parent's curiosity was
strong with George West, "I'm not involved with Fleur. That was just a
one-time, brief. . . . thing."
"You can be honest with me, son. There's no need to be shy."
The grandson and grandfather stared at each other for a good few
seconds before Quinn graced George with an answer,
". . . . I am being honest with you, grandfather," Quinn enunciated every
syllable that rolled of his tongue, "I do not have any sort of intimate
relationship with Ms. Fleaur Delacour."
"I see. . . . if you say so."
". . ."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"35. . . 36. . . 37. . . 38. . ."
The sudden loss of vision in one caused multitudes of problems for
Quinn. Besides being blind on one side and having terrible spatial
perception, Quinn had to suffer through balance disorders, decreased
visual clarity, eyestrain, headaches because his other good eye was
stressing itself by compensating for its missing partner.
After just one Muay Thai training session, Quinn had come near to
throwing up because of nausea. By the end of that session, Quinn had
decided to suspend Muay Thai till he got his eye back and elected to only
do physical conditioning.
The lack of daily hitting, punching, and kicking the crap out of the heavy
bag bummed Quinn out, so he chose to take on a new challenge and thus
altered the way he performed conditioning — he started to do every
exercise much slower than his usual speed.
If it was a pushup, Quinn would do every single one very slowly, making
his muscles hold the weight for much longer — the same went for
pullups, squats, and any exercise he could introduce it into. Furthermore,
he tried out isometrics into his new routine because it didn't stress his
vision.
"O-Oh-ho, I have to make Eddie do this," panted Quinn mid a slow
pushup, "this feels exhilarating." The base physique of a body-magic user
mattered when it came to the elevation provided by magic, albeit only in
the basic versions of body magic — a fit body was required even at the
advanced levels, but it no longer affected the productivity of the magic.
Even without that initial reasoning, now Quinn had fallen in love with
martial arts and physical fitness. It made him feel good, and working
towards his ideal physique was a rewarding feeling.
And as Quinn got some work in, the door to the training hall busted open
with a bang.
"Quinn, I heard you lost an eye!" Lia West, freshly home from yet another
trip outside the country, announced herself with full vigor.
The older sister glanced down to see her shirtless baby brother doing a
pushup over a puddle of sweat beneath him with sweat dripping off his
body. She could see him from the side — the side which was blinded.
"Huh, Wah! Lia is that you?!" she heard, "damn it, that scared me! Ugh, I
can't see you properly."
Quinn got up and turned his entire body to the door to finally get a
complete look at his sister, who, for some reason, had her wand pointed
at him. "Why do—" before Quinn could ask her, Lia waved her wand, and
he found all the sweat vanished into a puff of vapor.
"Ah, thanks," he said before smiling, "hey, Lia. Welcome back, sis. How're
you doing? Brought me any gifts? Any exotic and exciting books. . . ." He
tried to talk his way out of getting scolded, only to trail off when he
couldn't pick a scolding on Lia's face.
"That eyepatch looks needlessly cool," said Lia.
"Thank you?" he said, judging the vibe, "you also look good. New
haircut?"
"No."
"It doesn't matter; you're glowing."
Lia stepped ahead, walked towards Quinn, and grabbed his face by the
cheeks. "How is the treatment going?"
"I've only been back one day, so nothing major," said Quinn with his
cheeks being kneaded, "the potion tastes bad, and the eye drop burns
when I put them in. . . . the empty eye socket."
"You've been busy — organizing quidditch tournaments, commentating,
hosting. . . . playing knight in shining armor and kissing Veelas."
Quinn fought down the intense cough that overcame him and settled to
loudly cleared his throat, "Why are all of you so interested in it? It was
only a one-time thing."
"Because it's interesting," replied Lia, now pinching Quinn's hurting
cheeks wide, "there's only so much that goes on here."
Quinn finally couldn't take it anymore and released his now red, hot
cheeks out from the torturous pincers. "You're not going to scold me?" he
asked directly.
"Not really," shrugged Lia, "people make mistakes. I made a lot of
mistakes, mostly small — I don't do big mistakes — during my starting
years, it took me a lot of time to get in the groove of things."
Quinn, for the umpteenth time, suppressed a groan. It bugged him a lot
that everyone thought that it was his mistake in magic that cost him his
eye.
". . . . I will take more care moving forward."
"Good, that's the correct attitude," smiled Lia, "now get some clothes;
we're going out to the non-magical world to have some fun."
Quinn grinned, "Wicked."
Not only he got to go out because George would let him go out if Lia was
accompanying him, but he also didn't have to listen to a long lecture.
"You're paying," she said.
"Glady," he was feeling generous today.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It was the night of the 26th of June, 1995, just two days after the night of
the third and final task of the Tri-wizard tournament. The night was
clear, with the valley of stars shining in the inky black.
And beneath that sky, standing in a wide clearing with no civilization in
sight, just the embrace of nature, stood Dark Lord Voldemort, staring up
at the sky with his dull, black, bottomless eyes.
"Wormtail, it's time to bring them all together," he said, removing his eye
from the sky and turned to the man who looked like a humanized version
of a thin-rat, "it's time for my friends to gather to greet me, congratulate
me. . . . and finally face me."
"Yes, My Lord," said Peter, stepping forward while pulling his robes'
sleeve past his elbow, revealing the vivid red tattoo — a skull with a
snake protruding from its mouth: the Dark Mark — the symbol that
struck fear into the hearts of all British magical society.
"It's clearly back," said Peter softly, "they will all have noticed it . . . and
now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . ."
"Yes, let's see how many will be brave enough to return when they feel
it?" he whispered, his black eyes suddenly turning orbs of gleaming red,
fixed upon the mark. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay
away?"
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Peter's arm, and
Peter let out a fresh hiss; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's
mark — the mark went from red to black.
With a look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up,
threw back his head, and stared around the clearing — it was peaceful
and beautiful. Voldemort laughed again. Up and down, he paced, looking
all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the
grass.
The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between trees, behind
the shades, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of
them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward . . .
slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes.
Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them.
Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward
Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes. "Master. . . . Master. . .
." he murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same, each of them approaching
Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes before backing away and
standing up, forming a silent circle. Yet they left gaps in the ring, as
though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to
expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there
was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had
shivered.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years . . .
thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it
were yesterday. . . . We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are
we?"
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.
"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air."
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it
longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt
appearances! — and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never
come to the aid of their Master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who left Voldemort's side
and joined the others in the ring.
"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed
me broken; they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my
enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. .
. ."
"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not
rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself
against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my
power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could
exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . . perhaps they
now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners,
of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore and his merry band —
what are they called, ah yes, Order of The Phoenix. . . . but I've heard
that they're called by a new name. . . . what was it? Wormtail, do you
know?"
"The Light Faction," replied Peter promptly.
At the mention of Albus Dumbledore and the Light Faction, the circle
members stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort
ignored them.
"It is a disappointment to me . . . I confess myself disappointed. . . ."
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle.
Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. "Master!"
he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand — "Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; the sound spread
throughout the surroundings. Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured
Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.
"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for
forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years . . . I
want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has
paid his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"
"I could only hope, Master," said Peter; his voice was stable and steady.
"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but because you wanted to seek
your personal revenge. . . . I should punish you, but as you already spent
all those years in Azkaban, you were already punished enough and as
traitorous as you are, you helped me . . . and Lord Voldemort rewards his
helpers. . . . Wormtail, I will help you seek your revenge — you would
drown in as much revenge as your greedy heart could ever desire."
Peter strode forward, knelt on his knees, and kissed the hem of
Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ."
Peter stood up and returned to his place; the other Death Eaters looked at
him envy and regret — only if they had. . . .
Voldemort now approached the man on Peter's right.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told
that you have not renounced the old ways, though, to the world, you
present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of
Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius. . . .
Your exploits at the Wizengamot were fun, I daresay . . . but might not
your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your
Master?
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice
swiftly from beneath the hood. "Had there been any sign from you, any
whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side
immediately; nothing could have prevented me —"
"Oh Lucius, you and your silver tongue," said Voldemort lazily, and
Lucius stopped talking abruptly, "if your tongue wasn't so useful to me, I
would've cut and made you eat it. . . . You have disappointed me. . . . I
expect more faithful service in the future."
"Of course, my Lord, of course. . . . You are merciful, thank you. . . ."
Voldemort moved on and stopped, staring at the space — large enough
for two people — that separated Malfoy and the next man.
"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are
entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather
than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will
be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us . . . they are
our natural allies . . . we will recall the banished giants . . . I shall have
all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom
all fear. . . ."
He walked on. He passed some of the Death Eaters in silence, but he
paused before others and spoke to them.
"Macnair . . . destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now,
Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair.
Lord Voldemort will provide. . . ."
"Thank you, Master . . . thank you," murmured Macnair.
"And here" — Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures —
"we have Crabbe . . . you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe?
And you, Goyle?"
They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.
"Yes, Master . . ."
"We will, Master. . . ."
"The same goes for you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a
stooped figure in Mr. Goyle's shadow.
"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —"
"That will do," said Voldemort.
He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his
blank, red eyes as though he could see people standing there.
"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service.
One, too cowardly to return . . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left
me forever . . . he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my
most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service — the
one that Dumbledore just sent to Azkaban."
There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail
stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask.
"Master, we crave to know . . . we beg you to tell us . . . how you have
achieved this . . . this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. . . ."
Voldemort laughed and started to narrate his journey from the day he fell
to two days before. And during his narration, the Death Eaters shivered
when their Master, again and again, showed them all the opportunities
they could've taken to save him and how close he had been to them for
the past few years.
He then looked back at the sky and spoke in but a whisper, "Harry Potter.
. . . that child, he once again escaped me through some strange magic. . .
. magic that I'm not aware of. That won't do, that won't do."
Voldemort turned in a circle to see all those gathered and declared,
"Gather my forces, Death Eaters. It's time for us to build towards our
previous glory. . . . no, this time we are going to surpass it and finally
rule this wretched country."
He raised his bone-like wand like a conductor of an opera and closed his
eyes. The beautiful and serene scenery reflected in his mind and then
with a smile. . . .
The Death Eaters, who were all smiling at their Master's promise, felt a
tremor beneath their feet. All looked down just in time to see cracks
begin appearing on the ground near them. They started to shake in their
boots as the cracks grew bigger and deeper, closing towards them.
"M-Master. . . ." said one of the Death Eater.
Voldemort didn't reply and raised his wand higher. The trees around
them began collapsing with the hundreds of meters of land all around
them began to overturn, crack, rise, sink — the scenic place within a few
seconds had turned into a different place.
The Death Eaters looked at the ground, which was the only location that
was unchanged.
All realized all recalled. . . . who their Master was.
Voldemort opened his eye to show glowing red orbs and cruelly grinned,
"Gentlemen. . . . let there be chaos."
He waved his wand down, and suddenly there were explosions. When the
explosions stopped, the Death Eaters looked around — gone was the
greenery and the beautiful nature — all there was left was destruction. . .
. unbridled devastation. . . . and as he had said. . . . Chaos.
The entire landscape had been changed.
.
Quinn West - MC - The only upside of the eyepatch is its coolness.
George West - Grandfather - Wants to know if his grandson is dating.
Lia West - Sister - She didn't scold. . . . what a unique situation.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - Powerhouse has returned.
Death Eaters - Dark Mark Bearers - It's time to return.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
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