191. Chapter 191: Going Around,
A Letter
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Quinn stared to his front with one eye with a charming smile on his face.
He was dressed sharply and sat with his best posture — he was trying to
be the best he could be, and except the eyepatch, he was. . . . perfect.
"Quinn, dear, do you want more," said the lady sitting in front of him.
She had short brunette hair, wearing an apron over a long light blue midi
dress, and Quinn could see the resemblance she bore with her son.
"Yes, Mrs. Carmichael, I would love to have more," said Quinn, setting his
glass on the table for a jug to float over it, refilling it for another serving
of reddish-pink punch. "Thank you, it's delightful, Mrs. Carmichael,"
smiled Quinn, "especially this shortbread. . . . it's so good! No wonder
Eddie is always ranting about the food at school."
"He does, doesn't he," said Eleanor Carmichael, glancing at her son who
was sporting messy bed hair and sleep clothes, staring at the scene with
discomfort, "what would I do with you, Ed? You knew Quinn was visiting
today, and look at you — you didn't have the decency to wake up early
in the morning even when I woke you up," she gestured towards Quinn,
"Look at your friend; he's so well mannered and even brought gifts for us.
Grow up a little and learn from Quinn."
Eddie could only nod at his lovely mother's rant in fear of being hit with
her mighty ladle. But when he glanced at Quinn, he saw his best friend
grinning deeply into his glass. Eddie fought the urge to throw the platter
on the table at Quinn — the bastard was acting like he was the best-
behaved person in the world.
"How's your eye feeling dear," asked Mrs. Carmichael.
"It's growing properly, ma'am," said Quinn, "though it's a little itchy."
"This year wasn't good at all," she sighed, "first Ed got into that accident
playing quidditch, and then you lost your eye — and now, all the news
about You-Know-Who and how Dumbledore has been saying that he has
returned."
"Things had been quite chaotic these few days," said Quinn smiling while
picking himself a slice of cake, "I'm sure it will all settle down quite soon.
I'm just hoping that it doesn't get too hot this summer. You know how it
gets. . . ."
"Yes, it gets quite bothersome," Mrs. Carmichael agreed, "now dear, I
hope you're hungry and staying for lunch."
"Yes, of course, ma'am," smiled Quinn; he was always ready for food, "I
ate a lot of the food you sent to Hogwarts. I'm pretty sure that Marcus
and I ate half of anything you sent."
Mrs. Carmichael stood up and smiled, "It's good that you did. I sent it for
all you three boys. Now, let me set up the table, and we will be eating
soon."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael," said Quinn as the woman exited the room.
He turned to Eddie and smiled, "Your mum is nice. . . . and I have to say,
a great cook."
". . . . You know what's going to happen when you leave," said Eddie,
"she'll hound me for the entire day about Quinn this, Quinn that and then
bring you up time and time again to win arguments. . . . couldn't you
have reeled it in a little."
Quinn raised his hand and wiggled his index finger a little — Eddie
shivered a little when he felt his hair stand up before settling down; his
sleepwear got ironed, his shirt got tucked in, and the top button tied up.
He touched his head to see his bed hair was now combed.
"See, much better," said Quinn, "you could've done this before coming
down; you would've been fine."
"Unlike you, you wandless dipshit, I can't use magic without a wand and
can't unless I want a letter from ministry up my arse."
"Oh, I forgot about that," smiled Quinn, "it's not like you'll get a letter,
you know? The letter won't come if you do magic inside your house. . . .
the tracker will classify it as your parents doing the magic."
"Even so, I can't. My wand is in my luggage, and mum stashed it in the
attic."
"Always keep your wand with yourself with you, mate — you never know
when you need that zap of magic," said Quinn before switching to
something of more importance, "how's it looking? Does it look like your
parents will allow you to come to Hogwarts?"
"Hmm? Ah, that, huh. . . . well, as you saw mum, she doesn't think much
of it, but dad has been worried a little, but not to the level that they
won't allow me to go back to Hogwarts."
"That's good to hear," smiled Quinn, "Hogwarts wouldn't be the same
without you there cursing at me daily."
"You bet it won't, you little bitch."
"Hey, Woah, Hey. . . ."
"It's already out, can't take it back," said Eddie quickly, "what about you?"
"I'm definitely coming. No opposition from my side."
"Great."
Mrs. Carmichael entered back into the living room. "Come, you boys, the
table is set," she asked when she saw them smiling, "what are you talking
about?"
Quinn leaped onto his feet, "We were talking about the OWLs. . . . Eddie
was telling me—"
"Oh, OWLs! How did you do on your OWLs, Quinn," asked Mrs.
Carmichael.
"I think I did great," smiled Quinn, "though I'm a little worried that I
didn't get enough time to study with the quidditch tournament. . . "
Eddie watched as Quinn walked with his mother while giving him a
wink. Quinn had just made the aftermath that much worse.
"Motherfuc—"
"EDDIE CARMICHAEL!" yelled Mrs. Carmichael.
"Quinn kissed the French Veela champion in front of everyone!" blurted
Eddie for no reason.
Quinn turned to Eddie and threw his hands up with a 'what' expression
before turning to Mrs. Carmichael. "Eddie has gotten very close to his
Yule Ball date, Tracey Davis," he turned to Eddie and maliciously
grinned, "I have pictures."
The expression of pure curiosity that bloomed on his mother's face caused
Eddie to let out a soundless scream.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The British summer was at its peak with the sun throwing its death
beams of heat at the habitants, making their life quite miserable. The
non-magical media declared the summer of 1995 as the hottest summer,
breaking all records and setting new ones.
"Marcus. . . ." hummed Quinn, his voice flowing with pleasurable delight.
"Hmm?" came the reply.
"Why didn't you say that your house had a pool?" asked Quinn.
Currently, he was floating weightlessly on his back inside the pool in
Marcus's home's backyard. He had sunglasses with a blue tint on and was
dressed only in a conjured pair of swim trunks.
'I should ask Ms. Rosey to build a pool at home,' he thought, 'or maybe I
should do it on my own.'
"You never asked," replied Marcus in a similar state as Quinn.
"This is the life, my friend," said Quinn.
". . . . don't pee, okay," said Marcus, but where he didn't hear a reply,
"don't pee in the pool!"
"I won't, I won't, don't worry~."
"Quinn, which NEWT level classes are you going to take? Didn't you give
OWLs for all twelve subjects?"
"Yeah, I did," even though Quinn didn't study Muggle Studies and
Divination, he gave the OWLs for both of them — he wanted twelve Os
on his diploma, "I'm going to take all NEWT-level classes except
Divination, Muggle Studies, and maybe Care of Magical Creatures. . . . I
will study Care after Hogwarts as that will be more extensive, but I'm not
sure if I want to learn it in Hogwarts."
"But you're going to give NEWTS for all, correct?"
"Yeah, that goes without saying."
"What should I take?"
"Just take whatever subjects that interest you."
"Subjects that interest me. . . . I'm not big on Care, Divination, and
Herbology. . . , but brewing potions can be fun, so I can't discard
Herbology."
"Then take whatever you think you want to study, and then you can
decide in the seventh year if you can keep it up or not," said Quinn, "and
as long as you don't want to become something like an Auror or Healer,
you don't have to score Outstanding across the board, as long as you have
Exceeding Expectations, you'll be fine. . . . marks on your degree becomes
redundant after a few years."
Of course, as Marcus was Quinn's friend, Marcus would get admission to
any apprenticeship programs funded by the Wests or a job in the
business. Quinn left that unsaid as he didn't want Marcus to become lax
— he would tell Marcus this near the end of their seventh year, during
the career counselling period.
"Okay," said Marcus, "do you have any plans for next year. Anything
grand like the quidditch tournament?"
"No, oh no," replied Quinn, "the quidditch tournament was too much
work to be done in a year. I don't want to do that amount of work for a
while."
Then Quinn groaned. He put his hands on the surface of the water and
pushed himself up, pulling his body out of the water, and soon he was
standing on water. It was okay because Marcus and Quinn were alone at
Marcus's home as his parents were out shopping for the Belby family's
trip to Turkey.
"That won't get old no matter how many times I see it," commented
Marcus.
"You want to do it?"
Marcus stirred in the water, "I can do that?"
"Well, you can't do it on your own, but I can make it so you can stand on
water."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Quinn pointed at a place of water near Marcus for it to glow in an
aqua-blue color, "that lit-up spot is essentially solid, so use it to pull
yourself up."
Marcus was doubtful, but when he touched the aqua-blue, it really
seemed solid, and even when he put some weight, it didn't collapse or let
his arms slip into the water. He gingerly used the glowing platform to
pull himself out of the water.
"W-Woah," chuckled Marcus amid balancing himself on the water. But his
eyes widened in shock when the glow vanished, and he instinctively
closed his eye, but he didn't enter the water like he expected.
"That glow was just for marking purposes," snickered Quinn, "you can
walk anywhere inside the pool."
Marcus took hesitant and careful steps on the pool, checking twice for the
structural integrity. It took him a couple of minutes before he started
walking normally, but that was the extent Marcus was ready to test the
limits.
Quinn, on the other hand, was doing cartwheels, summersaults, backflips
on the pool. Which did nothing but provoke his balance disorder, and he
came close to puking all over the pool.
Pool time ended with Marcus rubbing Quinn's back as the two friends
kneeled on the pool's surface.
When it came time for Quinn to leave, Marcus asked him to wait for a
moment before he went running up to his room.
"What is it?" asked Quinn when Marcus came back.
"Here, this is for you," said Marcus, placing a small ring box in Quinn's
hand.
"Yes, yes, yes — a hundred times yes," grinned Quinn, "when's the
wedding?"
"Oh shut up," said Marcus, "open it; you'll be surprised with what's
inside."
Quinn followed Marcus' words and opened the velvet-covered box with a
smile — the smile which drained when he saw what was inside.
"This is. . . ."
Inside the box was a burnt, pitch-black sphere that was missing a lot of
its parts.
"After you collapsed, and the maze was cleared out the obstacles, I went
into the labyrinth to see if I could find the eye," shrugged Marcus, "I
thought you would like to have a look to see what went wrong with your
magic — luckily, I was able to find it."
Quinn stared at the charred artificial eye before gazing up at Marcus.
"You went out looking for this because of me?"
"Yeah," nodded Marcus, "I know how important magic is for you. So, I
went out. . . . it's not a big deal."
"No, no, no," said Quinn, "what do you mean, it's not a big deal? This is a
big deal, Marcus," he stepped close to Marcus and engulfed him into a
tight hug, "this is a huge deal for me that you did this."
Marcus couldn't do anything but hug Quinn back, and he had to admit it,
the hug felt good — it was nice to be thanked. . . .
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"What are you doing here?" asked Ron Weasley, seeing Quinn West
sitting in the middle of Burrow's dining room while the family was busy
packing up for a move.
"I don't know," said Quinn being honest, "I was going home after visiting
Luna when your two older twin brothers cornered me and dragged me
here."
The Weasley twins were like a typhoon and had crazy persuasion skills
that Quinn didn't know, but before he knew it, he was sitting in the
Burrow with a bowl of Raspberries in front of him. And
"I let my guard down," said Quinn, and he didn't mind it at all because all
he could think was that his investment was going to give him great
returns in the future.
". . . . and why is there paint on your face?" asked Ron because, with the
eyepatch, the drawn up beard, and scar lines, Quinn looked like a pirate,
and all he needed was a hat.
"I was visiting Luna," said Quinn as if it explained everything. He didn't
have time to remove it — he was going to remove it when he was a little
distance from Luna's house, but just when he got far enough, the twins
ambushed him.
"Are you guys doing a summer cleaning?" asked Quinn, looking at the
boxes everywhere.
"Y-Yeah, something like that," said Ron. He couldn't tell Quinn that they
were going to move a secret headquarter. . . . the thing was the Ron
didn't need to say anything; Quinn already knew his thoughts.
"Where are my brothers?" asked Ron.
"They went up to their rooms to get some stuff."
And on cue, the Weasley twins came down to the dining room with two
big boxes.
"Quinn, here take a look at this—" "—this is what we have come up with
for next year—" "—some of them are complete—" "while others are still
under development."
The twins dumped the boxes on the table for Quinn to see. Pirate-Quinn
stood up and, with his one eye, started to shuffle through the things
inside the box.
"Boxing telescope, Comb-a-Chameleon, Demon Box, Lucky Dip, Otters
Fizzy Orange Juice, Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow, Self-
propelling Custard Pies, Unlucky Dip, Wonderous Wands, Dragon Roasted
Nuts, Tiny Twister, Sticky Trainers, Mysterious Midnight Moon Madness,
Exploding Whizz Poppers, Silver Sparkling Snakes, Thor's Thunder
Cracker, Voodoo Fountain, Diabolic Dare Devils, Bang Bang Boggart
Banger, Saunders' Invisible Silk, Miraphorus Magic Set, Eduardo's
Unbreakable Eggs, Crush Blush, Flirting Fancies, Pygmy Puffs, Twilight
Moonbeams, Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher. . . . "
One by one, Quinn took out the items, saw what they did, got
descriptions from the twins, critiqued them, suggested improvements,
and asked them questions on the future of the incomplete products.
"I'm assuming your mother isn't home," asked Quinn seeing all this stuff
out in the open.
"Yeah, mum is out—" "—she went out just before you came—" "— that's
why we invited you in—" "— we have a little time before she comes
back."
The twins pointed at the family clock — the clock hand with Molly
written on it was pointing at the "Shopping" tab.
"Eh? What's happening?" asked Ron. All the different products didn't faze
him, but all the complex money and business talk that accompanied
confused the hell out of him.
" "Nothing; don't worry your little head about it." "It will hurt if you do
so."
"Huh?"
Quinn packed everything back and gave his final words, "The products
have value and will do well with a younger crowd — Hogwarts and
younger, which is fine for now as it's better to target a smaller niche at
the start, but I will suggest that you start thinking and planning for things
that cover an older demographic — it's good if you start thinking about
these things early."
Twins nodded. They weren't amateurs when it came to sales. They had
been doing it at an informal level for years; they just needed to convert
that knowledge earned through experience to a formal level — Quinn's
consultation provided them with a bridge to help them transition.
"We can't wait—" "—in just one more year."
" "We will have our own shop!" "
'And with it, a new stream of income for me,' thought Quinn, 'my first
step on a journey as an investor,' he glanced at the twins, 'hell, these two
even manage to bag defense contract in the future. . . . they just might
become the crown jewel in my portfolio.'
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
George West came down to the dining hall for supper in the evening to
see that other than Ms. Rosey and Elliot, his two grandchildren were
absent.
"Where are they?" he asked.
"Lia took a Portkey to France for a night out with her Beauxbatons
friends," informed Ms. Rosey. Because of the volume of Lia's travels, she
had learned to cast the Portkey spell for her travel needs. The young
woman had more experience creating Portkeys than those her own age,
who worked at Portkey departments in various Ministries.
"And what about Quinn? I made myself clear that he wasn't to remain
outside after supper time."
"Quinn's having dinner at the Greengrass household."
"The Greengrass, you say," hummed George, his hand went into his
pocket and came out an envelope, "I wanted to discuss something with
him. . . ."
"What is it?" asked Ms. Rosey, noticing the unusual expression on
George's face.
George slightly raised the letter and commented, "A letter came from the
Abate-s."
Elliot and Ms. Rosey went silent with surprise. It had been a while since
they had heard of that name.
". . . .What do they want?" asked Elliot.
"They want to meet him and are inviting him to visit," said George.
"And?" asked Ms. Rosey, asking for George's decision.
"You know I can't decide for Quinn, at least not for this. He'll decide if he
wants to go and meet them."
That day, the dinner at the West manor went in silence as the three
people ate in silence and thought.
.
Quinn West - MC - On a tour of friends' homes.
Eddie Carmichael - Profanity machine - That went down the other way
quick.
Eleanor Carmichael - Mother - Her ladle is mighty.
Marcus Belby - An Angel - Just what can one say about him.
George West - Grandfather - The Abate(s). . . .
FictionOnlyReader- Author - Next chapter we visit Greengrass and
another one (Guess who, Quinn said he would visit this person.)
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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192. Chapter 192: GGrassDinner,
Warning Visit
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"Now, tell me. . . . which of my hands hold the galleon."
Astoria Greengrass intently stared at the two closed fists in front of her,
her eyes moving back and forth between the two trying to figure out the
location of the hidden galleon.
"Your right is slightly raised, so I will say that it's in the left," she said.
Quinn smiled and opened his right hand, "Too bad, you're wrong," there
sat a golden galleon sitting in his right palm.
"Again?! I've lost ten times in a row," said Astoria, huffing, "how are you
doing this? You're using magic, aren't you?"
"Of course, I'm using magic, my dear Astoria," said Quinn with a smile,
"but not the magic that you and I know how to use — this is a different
type, and in the hands, just as charming.
"You just have to look closely and ask yourself the right questions," said
Quinn, gazing at the black-haired Greengrass, "when you eliminate all
other possibilities, the remaining answer, no matter how improbable, will
be the correct one."
Astoria narrowed her eyes, trying to deduce how Quinn did it, but — "I
can't tell. You're definitely using magic — the first kind."
"Do you want to how I did it?"
"Yes!"
Quinn opened his left hand, and there sat another galleon. Astoria gasped
while he laughed.
"Whichever hand you chose, I opened the other to show you the coin —
and with a little flair, I made sure your attention was off the hand you
chose."
"That's not fair! You cheated," said Astoria, complaining.
"I didn't, young one. We never set any rules — nowhere did we decide
that I couldn't use two coins."
"If you can use two coins, then I should get two chances to guess."
"Fair enough."
"See you denied. . . . wait, really?"
"Yeah, sure," shrugged Quinn, "you get two guesses every chance the next
time we play this."
"Next time?" then Astoria saw Quinn smirking and realized that the next
time wasn't going to come anytime soon. She exclaimed in frustration at
getting her hopes up and threw a sofa cushion at Quinn, who caught it
while laughing.
"You two are making too much of a ruckus."
The two turned to see Daphne enter the lounge, dressed in a white high-
collared sleeved blouse and below the knee-length black skirt. She sat
down beside Astoria and greeted Quinn,
"Apologies for keeping you waiting," she said while pushing a strand of
her blonde hair behind her ear, "I was preoccupied with some lessons."
"It's fine. Astoria is excellent company," said Quinn, and as he couldn't
wink, he settled for a smile.
Daphne stared at Quinn's face for a good few seconds before asking,
"How's your eye faring?" her eyes still fixed on the red eyepatch, which
matched with his shirt and complimented well with his black pants.
"It's coming along just fine. It'll be back in a week," said Quinn before
picking up his glass of elderflower cordial, "this is delightful; where can I
buy this? I would love to have some of this at home."
"We grow them at home," said Astoria, jumping into the conversation,
"it's Daphne's favorite, so mum makes sure to grow it whenever it's the
season."
"Oh? Is it now. That's good to know," Quinn looked at Daphne, "as
expected, Daphne, you have excellent taste."
". . . .Thank you," said Daphne giving her beaming sister a brief glance.
"So, are you guys also going to the Potter twins' birthday party?" asked
Quinn.
"I'm going!" said Astoria, raising her hand high.
Daphne nodded with a sigh. It was a given with how close their mothers
were to each other. Every year, at least, Daphne and Astoria would go to
the Potters on the 31st of July, and vice-versa, the Potter twins would
attend Daphne's birthday.
'Wait,' thought Daphne and asked, "what do you mean by 'also'?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm invited this year."
". . . . Which one of the twins invited you?" asked Daphne.
"Harry did; why?" asked Quinn.
"I know~! I know~!" said Astoria, before Daphne could, "every year,
invitations to birthday celebration go out, but things get interesting as
the invitations aren't addressed by Ivy and Harry Potter together — any
invitation can only have one name — either Harry or Ivy."
Daphne sneakily sighed in relief. It wasn't the reason why she had asked.
"Oh, why is that?" asked Quinn, sounding interested.
"It's because of the competition."
"Competition?"
Daphne took over from there and continued, "Every year at the Potters'
birthday, they hold a competition between the twins — the invitations
are a way to gather teams for said competition. . . . taking your case, as
Harry invited you, your invitation will have Harry's name on it, and
during the evening, you'll be on team Harry."
"That. . . . sounds really interesting," said Quinn, "what kind of
competition are we talking about here?"
"It changes every year," said the blonde, "we have put on plays, done
fishing competition, trivia contests, and so many other things."
It turned out that the Potter twin didn't celebrate their birthday at home,
but at different destinations, because their house was in a mixed
neighborhood and there wasn't enough place to host all the guests.
Moreover, unlike the usual parties, it was a whole day event.
"Oh ho. Now, I'm looking forward to attending the birthday," said Quinn,
"then, what about you guys? Whose team are you two on?"
"I'm on Harry's," said Astoria.
"Ivy's," said Daphne.
"Then it looks like Astoria, and I will be winning this time," said Quinn,
high-fiving Astoria.
Then there was a pop, and a spotty green house-elf wearing a tan
pillowcase appeared in the lounge. The house-elf stared at the three with
his big, watery eyes,
"Food is ready. Master be calling," he said.
"We will be there, Barley," said Daphne in acknowledgment, and the
house-elf popped away. She turned to Quinn, "let's go; mother and father
must be waiting."
Quinn nodded and stood up at once, "Let's. We can't keep Mrs.," he
caught a glare forming and quickly improvised, "and Mr. Greengrass
waiting."
"Let's hurry. I'm hungry!" said Astoria and ran ahead.
"Don't run!" Daphne called out as she stood up, "she's going to get herself
hurt," she sighed.
"Well, we can't do anything about that," said Quinn, falling into step
beside Daphne, "her energy levels will remain high for the rest of the
day," he had just treated Astoria, "she'll be back to being her usual
relatively-manageable self tomorrow."
. . .
"So, Quinn. . . . bad luck, eh?" said Jacob Greengrass, "an excellent year
throughout, but it ended up with a hiccup — quite a serious hiccup."
"I wouldn't say a big hiccup," smiled Quinn, "temporarily losing an eye
isn't that serious. I have been through worse."
"Oh, like what?"
"Like dunking himself into freeze potion," said Daphne, "freezing his
entire body to the point that he had to stay inside in the hospital wing for
ten days."
"What she said," said Quinn.
"Tracey told me that Quinn was bald during that time," said Astoria,
chiming in.
"That I was."
"But as dear said, it was quite an eventful year for you, wasn't it, Quinn,"
spoke Sophie Greengrass, "whenever I was with my friends, I think I
heard your name more than I heard the champions'. When we heard that
a student organized the tournament, everyone was impressed, and the
result just deepened the amazement."
"True," said Jacob, "I think I even heard that because the tournament was
so successful, many in the quidditch world are talking about adopting the
Quinn-format as a new format."
"Thank you, but I would like to correct you on one thing," said Quinn, "it
wasn't me alone who made the tournament as successful as it was," he
gazed at Daphne, "Daphne and my helpers aided me every step of the
way to make things possible; as such, I can't take all the credit."
"How humble," smiled Sophie.
"I would actually like to thank you for including Daphne in the
tournament," said Jacob, "it was a good experience to have, which I'm
glad that Daphne and Tracey both got to be a part of."
"I only chose those I thought were capable — Daphne is one of the most
capable people I know, so selecting her was a no-brainer."
The girl in question felt her cheeks flush, which she tried to push down.
But not before her mother caught a glance of it and a knowing smile
made onto her face.
That evening, Quinn went on to say many things that made Daphne flush
a lot while Sophie almost had a permanent knowing smile on her face as
she observed her daughter from the side.
"So, Quinn, what do you think about the Dark Lord?" asked Jacob
suddenly out of nowhere when they were having dessert.
"Jacob!" exclaimed Sophie at her husband's abrupt inquiry. Daphne and
Astoria, too, looked a little uncomfortable.
"It's fine, Mrs. Greengrass," said Quinn, putting down his ice cream bowl
and spoon. "The Dark Lord, hmm. . . ."
The Greengrass family all turned to Quinn with varying levels of surprise.
"Magically talented," said Quinn, "the dark lord is a generational talent
when it comes to magic," he noticed the looks his hosts were giving him
and shrugged, "just because he went down the path he took doesn't mean
he isn't great — and you of all should know my views on magic.
"I would say the Dark Lord was charismatic with a great talent for
manipulation," he continued, "otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to
gather so many followers." Tom Riddle had been as charming as Quinn
when he was Hogwarts — the only one to suspect him was Dumbledore.
"To be able to manage egotistical people from noble houses, even the
infamously stubborn Blacks, and bring them under one banner; that takes
some effective leadership." Even now, Tom's style of leadership had
changed from the original charismatic rule of the Hogwarts gang to the
tyrannical and completely ruthless - though no less highly effective -
command of his Death Eaters demonstrated throughout both the First
Wizarding War.
"He must be an excellent teacher, given how his inner circle Death Eaters
were able to contend with highly trained Aurors," Quinn's attack on the
Death Eaters at the World Cup hadn't been an accurate representation of
Death Eater's skill as he had ambushed them and all of them were piss
drunk and neither were they personally trained by the Voldemort
himself.
Of course, there were things that Quinn left unsaid — like Salesman skills
that Riddle demonstrated at Borgin and Burke's when he was in his late
teens. The indomitable willpower that helped him survive more than a
decade inside the Albanian forests as well as for several months on the
back of Quirrell's head as well as in the old Riddle House for an equally
lengthy-time period, showing that aside from his determination, he had
remarkable endurance and tolerance.
"The Dark Lord is terrible, but that doesn't take away from the fact that
he's great," said Quinn shrugging, "his fault was that he took down the
wrong path — if he had just been more like me, then he would have been
terrific and great."
The Greengrass family just stared at Quinn as he finished his thoughts. At
most, they were expecting to be a slightly different version of the oh so
terrible Dark Lord.
"I must say, Mrs. Greengrass, this ice cream — better than Florean
Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Garrick Ollivander worked in the back workshop of his narrow and
shabby shop when he heard his shop's tinkling bell, which rang when
someone entered the shop. He stood up and walked outside to greet the
new customer — it was near the time when he got eleven years old
getting their first wands.
But when he arrived at the front, he saw the back of a person who looked
older than an eleven-year-old. Ollivander silently opened the partition in
the counter to step outside for his standard surprise greeting, but just
when he had taken a single step, the customer spoke,
"I appreciate you keeping things fun, Mr. Ollivander. But, I think you
should just do it with the eleven-year-olds. . . . doing that with everyone
will wear the novelty off. Leave a one-time solid impression that will stay
with the kids for the rest of their lives."
The customer turned, and Ollivander recognized the person at once.
"Quinn West," he said and then addressed the most obvious detail, "you
have lost your eye?"
"Just for a short time."
"I see. . . . if I remember correctly, you did say you'll visit me in the
summer. Are you here for some maintenance on your wand?"
"I don't think my wand will need maintenance, Mr. Ollivander. . . . mine
is as good as the day I received it from you," his wand was still encased
in a block of wood, inside a heavily warded room inside his suitcase.
"Then, what do I owe this pleasure to?"
"Do you follow the news, Mr. Ollivander?"
"I try to, but my works keeps me busy."
"Then have you heard about what Dumbledore has been saying?" asked
Quinn.
"About You-Know-Who's return? Yes, I have read about it."
"Has Dumbledore visited you?"
"No, he hasn't," said Ollivander, sounding confused, "what's going on, Mr.
West?"
'It seems either Dumbledore either hasn't figured it out yet, or he has
been too busy,' thought Quinn.
In the original timeline, Ollivander had shared this piece of information
about Harry's wand being a brother wand to Voldemort's with
Dumbledore as Harry didn't have a guardian, but because this time
around, Harry did have guardians, and because Potter parents didn't the
information want the information out, Dumbledore wasn't privy to it.
"Priori Incantatem," said Quinn.
Ollivander's eyes gazed into Quinn's, and it was almost as though an
invisible beam of understanding shot between them.
"The Reverse Spell effect?" said Ollivander, his mind turning in thought.
"Exactly," said Quinn. "Harry Potter's and the Dark Lord's wand share
cores, don't they? Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the
same phoenix."
"How do you know that?" said the wandmaker, and as he asked this, his
thoughts clicked, "wait. . . . are you saying that Dumbledore's telling the
truth. . . . and Harry Potter met with You-Know-Who?"
"They met; they dueled; their wands connected. . . . you know what
happens when a wand meets its brother."
"They will not work properly against each other," said Ollivander. "If,
however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle . . . a very
rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to
regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first . . .
and then those which preceded it. . . ."
He looked interrogatively at Quinn, and Quinn nodded.
"The wand to be overwhelmed was Voldemort's, and the spell he cast was
Killing curse," he said.
The fact that Voldemort was overwhelmed by Harry Potter would have
been unlikely, but given the circumstances — Voldemort had been just
recently revived — it wasn't farfetched to think that his magic was in a
period of instability.
". . . . An echo," said Ollivander, "I am guessing that apparitions appeared.
. . . and retained known forms. . . . less recent victims of You-Know-Who's
wand. . . ." he added, "The last murders the wand performed. In reverse
order."
"The Dark Lord will want answers, Mr. Ollivander," said Quinn, "and who
better to ask than the wandmaker who crafted his and Harry Potter's
wands — the two wands in question."
"What are you saying?" asked Ollivander, a gulp preceding his words.
"The Dark Lord will come, Mr. Ollivander. And from what I had heard
from about him, he isn't a person who will invite you for tea so that you
could give him lessons about wandlore," Quinn moved a step closer to the
old man, "no, he will torture you no matter how quick you give him the
answer. He might even, you know. . . . if your answer displeases him."
Ollivander gulped harder. His eyes trembled a touch.
"I suggest that you make preparations for your safety, Mr. Ollivander. Or
you might — you will be — in serious danger."
"B-But, I can't!" exclaimed the usually serene man, "so many new children
will require wands. I can't just leave and take that away from them."
Quinn sighed. The man in front of him didn't have a personal life at all —
a work-a-holic at its worst. But he understood — wand crafting was
Ollivander's life. If you take that away, there was nothing left. To some, a
life without meaning was as good as death.
"He won't come now," said Quinn, "the Dark Lord isn't in a position of
power to show himself. He will brew chaos from the shadows, bidding in
silence for the time when his arrangements are compounded into
completion — you have until before the start of the next summer. For
now, you can keep working. . . . but don't get comfortable, Mr.
Ollivander."
"W-What do you suggest I do?"
"Get in contact with Dumbledore and others in the Light Faction —
separately and together. Tell them what you know and, in return, ask for
shelter. Dumbledore will want Hogwarts to be a point of normalcy, and
for that to happen, new students must get their wands — he will provide
you with protection."
If Quinn didn't want his family to get involved, he would have offered the
West resources, but that was out of the picture. And Quinn, while he had
his more than plenty personal riches, he didn't have much influence and
resources outside of Hogwarts.
"Yes, yes, that sounds right. I will do that," nodded Ollivander, sitting
down on a barstool.
"Of course, it goes without saying, but you must not talk about our little
chat with anyone — anyone at all, not even Dumbledore himself."
"Eh, why so?"
"This was me being generous and a Good Samaritan," smiled Quinn, "but
there's a limit to what I'm willing to do in the name of good deeds. If the
Dark Lord comes to know that I'm the reason behind the setback, he will
not be happy — and I would prefer if he's feeling jolly — it will do the
world a lot of good."
The truth was that Quinn wanted to buy some time. If Ollivander was to
remain hidden and away from Voldemort's reach, then Voldemort's
discovery behind the twin cores would be delayed even if it's a little. That
little time would extend Voldemort's passive 'waiting-in-the-shadows'
stance.
The extra time that everyone could have some use of.
"I s-see. I'll keep this a secret."
"Excellent," said Quinn with a big smile, "then, I'll take my leave, Mr.
Ollivander, "I can only be outside for so much with this ol' thing," he
pointed at his deep yellow eyepatch.
Ollivander got up on his old knees and shook hands with Quinn, thanking
him profusely for his warnings and advice. After Quinn stepped out of the
shop, he looked back and snapped his fingers with a smile.
Inside, Ollinvader got up to return back to work when he heard a ton of
footsteps to see dozens of people — big and small — enter the shop with
more people waiting outside.
"Oh my," he smiled, "welcome all of you, please form a line. . . ."
[
A/N:
Water magic doesn't mean that he gets an all-in-one healing magic. It would
help, sure, if Quinn used it.
*He still needs to learn all the healing knowledge* to actually use water
magic for healing.
Quinn knew blood magic, and that's why he was able to apply water magic in
treating Astoria.
He wanted to use healing magic, but Quinn has a medi-healer (hired by his
family) treating his eye. His family thinks that his eye injury was due to faulty
magic, now how do you think they would feel if Quinn decides to put his own
input when his eye was taken out by a faulty eye magic.
As for him taking potions and calling it *Archaic*? A majority of the healing
magic is potion based — there is no way to eliminate potion. Even the Elixir of
Life extracted from the Philosopher's Stone is a potion. There was a cauldron
full of potion present in Voldemort's revival. Healing in Harry Potter isn't like
Wolverine's and Deadpool's, please keep that in mind. This isn't a Retcon.
]
.
Quinn West - MC - Pioneering eyepatch fashion.
Astoria Greengrass - Hyperactive - Primary subject for muggle-magic
demonstration.
Daphne Greengrass - Likes Elderflower - Her cheeks match Quinn's
eyepatch.
Jacob Greengrass - Papa Greengrass - Asked the question.
Sophie Greengrass - Mama Greengrass - Excellent Ice cream.
Garrick Ollivander - Wandmaker - Loves his job a little too much.
.
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!
193. Chapter 193: QWASPP Again,
Vacation Time
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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It was that time of the year once again.
The time where granddaughter and grandfather would take a day out of
their busy schedules and make sure that they wouldn't have any
commitments on one day of summer.
Today was the day for Quinn West's Annual Summer Product Pitch
Meeting, or as Quinn had so graciously abbreviated as QWASPP.
Every year, this pitching would start the West business in the process of
releasing the most significant product release of every year — infusing
new blood into the business, and ever since Quinn had started doing it,
the business has been thriving in diversity.
"Do you have any idea what he'll be showing today," asked Lia, glancing
at her grandfather, "anything you noticed in the weeks he has been
here?"
Lia traveled a lot, which she had cut down by a level since last year, but
even then, she was rarely at the West estate anymore — the young
woman had moved out from the home nest, finally, having brought home
of her own. Of course, Lia's first home wasn't a rental, nor was it a small
apartment; rather, it was a gorgeous villa — suiting for someone with
Lia's salary.
"I asked both Elliot, Rosey, and even Polly; none of them noticed Quinn
doing out of the ordinary," said George. Of course, Quinn's ordinary was
anything but mundane — but they had gotten used to it.
Suddenly the pair heard a flutter of wings and saw a big black raven fly
into the room through the window they hadn't noticed was open.
Lia lazily took her wand out to shoo the bird away but froze when the
bird expanded into an entire human being — her brother human being.
"That was a nice flight," smiled Quinn, gazing at Lia and George with his
both good stone-grey eyes, "I've deduced that one flight a day does
wonder for perception. It's like taking a walk, but if the walk had taken a
potion and there is no path to follow."
"Y-You're an Animagus!" exclaimed Lia, pointing at him.
Quinn gestured down with his hand, which magically and gently lowered
her hand that held her wand. "That I am. It's a new thing — still getting
to the entire turning into a bird ability," he said while fixing his clothes.
"When did you attain this ability?" asked George calmly.
"During Hogwarts," said Quinn.
George and Lia knew what Animagus stood for, but neither actually knew
how one became an Animagus — the specifics weren't taught in school
even if Animagus was introduced as a branch of transfiguration.
"You do know that Animagus needs to be registered," said Lia.
"I do know that," Quinn sat down on the barstool prepared for him, "but
that takes most of the use out of being Animagus — they observe you and
take down all identifiable features for the public records. With there
being only a handful of Animagi, it becomes very easy to memorize the
details for every one of them — believe me, I have all of them filed in my
head."
"So you don't plan to register yourself?" asked George.
"No, I don't."
"I see; then we won't bring it up. Keep going on your flights; just make
sure you're not seen — I don't want to deal with all the things that would
happen if you get found out."
"Not going to happen, that. Being a secret Animagus is too much of an
important asset for me to let someone find it out."
"Let's have it then; what do you have for us today?" asked George.
Quinn rubbed his hands, "I've something different for you today," he
reached into his deep pockets and retrieved a thick leader-bound
hardback tome and placing it on the table between them with a heavy
thump.
"You see, the quidditch tournament wasn't a spur of the moment thing
that I thought up in in a day — not it was an initiative that I started
working on before I went back to Hogwarts," said Quinn, "as such; I knew
from the very start that I was going to be busy this year, which meant
that it would be difficult for me to hold a QWASPP this year because I
work on my inventions during the school year and the chances of me
coming up with something new weren't looking great. . . . It turns out
that I was right, and I wasn't able to come up with anything to show at
this meeting at all."
"Quinn, you do realize that you initiate these meetings," stated Lia, "we
only free a day up when you say that you have something to show."
"I, of course, know that and am aware that I called you here, so of course,
I have something to present today," he tapped his finger on the book.
"You see, this past school year, I did start quite a few new projects, but I
wasn't able to complete none of them. . . . the tournament, as expected,
took a lot of my time.
"But, then an opportunity presented itself from the adversity," he tapped
the tome once again, "with all the news of the return of the Dark Lord's
return that Dumbledore and the Light faction had been spreading, even
with the ministry denying it at every step, has been getting to the masses.
So, there I was, sitting on my bed with my one good eye to give it a rest
when it struck me — what do the people desire?"
"What is it?" asked Lia when Quinn took a pause.
"Safety," answered Quinn, "with all the Dark Lord's return talk going on,
people desire safety or a sense of safety. The need for it is at an all-time
high since the war. . . . Now that I had identified the need, it was time to
see if I could provide, if I could satisfy with that need."
Quinn lightly thumped his open palm on the tome and slid it towards Lia
and George.
"I found that I could satisfy those needs. That tome is my pitch for this
year."
George pulled the tome towards him to read it. He flipped a couple of
pages, then skipped tens of pages at a time before pushing the book to
Lia.
"I can't make sense of any of that," he said.
"Uh-huh, me neither," declared Lia as well.
"No worries, you don't need to," he pointed at the tome, "that book is a
manual for protective wards for homes and buildings — a guide so
comprehensive, intensive, exhaustive that even I was surprised that I
could come up with it in mere two weeks."
"Quinn, you should know—" spoke George.
"I'm aware that we tried to get into the warding business, but the goblins
beat us so bad that we had to shut down to cut our already extensive
losses. Gringotts already had a monopoly on the warding business, so
much so that any aspiring ward-enchanter or at least a protective ward
enchanter," which was the opposite of curse/ward-breaker, "wanted to
land a job at Gringotts for the hold they had and the scope they
provided."
"When we tried to change that monopoly into a duopoly, it turned into a
massive-massive failure — one of our greatest failures, if I may so say,"
finished Quinn with a smile.
"Yes, Quinn, we know that; please move one," urged George; it was a sore
point for him.
"With the problem in front of me and the solution in mind, I began
thinking why our first attempt failed. What did the goblins have that we
didn't have? Were they doing something right, or were we doing
something wrong. . . . the conclusion that I came up with was that
goblin's warding service was so much better than ours that our products
didn't have any upside and thus didn't inspire any confidence."
"And this," Lia pointed at the book, "can do that?"
"Absolutely," he said, "the thing about runes is that anyone can carve
runes — even a non-magical can do that given they won't be able to
activate. Anyone with good enough carving, drawing, painting, etching
skills can draw warding or any rune-based magic, but what makes runes
difficult is to make sense of said runes — it takes practice, study, hard
work to learn the language of runes to actually make rune cluster
designs.
"Goblins had the brains and expertise to design such effective ward
designs that it takes massive effort to break them. The only ones capable
of breaking them are either highly knowledgable individuals or those
who have worked for Gringotts in the past," he pointed up towards the
roof. "The proof of their capabilities is that even we use goblin-crafted
wards at the West estate. We failed because even we ourselves didn't trust
our product — that's a no-go for me. The things that I make must be
better than anything on the market, and even if they aren't, at least
should be customized to my needs — in short, they should have some
additional value point."
Quinn leaned forward with a toothy grin.
"I decided to challenge them at their own game. . . . I created brand new
ward schemes. So few people are able to crack goblin-wards because they
add their own rune language into their wards — which even their human
employees aren't knowledgable about. So, I did the same thing; I made
something difficult to crack."
Before Lia and George could say anything, Quinn placed a palm on his
chest and continued.
"I am in a position of being knowledgable about magics from multiple
cultures, and with that knowledge came knowledge about numerous rune
languages. And because I studied and practiced, I know how to combine
them. . . . do you know how difficult it is to break a rune cluster with not
three, not four, but five different nomenclatures of rune combined
together."
They shook their head at the question.
"The possibility of one person to know that specific combination of rune
languages is already small, and even if they bring multiple people
together, it still takes time to communicate and coordinate their findings
together to actually breaking together," said Quinn.
Lia looked between Quinn and the book, "Which means that this is
capable of matching goblin-wards?"
"Yes, they are at least as strong as them, if not stronger."
"What about breaking them? Where do they stand in comparison?"
"To be honest, they're comparatively easier to crack if the conditions as
mentioned earlier are fulfilled — which are difficult to fulfill. Goblin
wards are much cleaner because they have been developing for centuries,
while I gave them much less time. All-in-all, in real-life conditions, mine
and goblin-wards will be equally hard to crack."
"Who can enchant them?"
"That's a plus point; it doesn't take a genius to enchant my wards; mine
don't use complicated, advanced runes, which require months upon
months of training."
George had heard everything and now had a single question, "Why would
people want to use ours instead of goblin because from what I hear, both
are equally capable; ours don't have any major significance."
Quinn smiled as he answered, "Ours will be much cheaper," he pointed at
the book, "as I said, mine doesn't complex runes, that means they are
easier to carve, which lowers the cost of hiring enchanters who take big
bucks and the materials required are also much cheaper. . . . also, goblins
are working in a monopoly, they can decide the price, but if we get in,
we can introduce competitive prices, and attract people towards us."
"Hmm, you have a written proposal," asked George.
"Yes," said Quinn, pushing a file towards George, who slid it to Lia, but
she didn't pick it up to read.
The grandson-grandfather looked at Lia to see her eyes closed.
Lia opened her eyes and immediately started what she found, "Goblins
have their high price which has made not many people buy their
services, only. They only work for business and wealthy families who can
afford and want to ward on their houses," she pointed at the title of the
book, "this says home in the title, I'm assuming you already knew about
the state of the warding market."
"Yup, not many people have warded their houses because of the prices.
two-fifths of that book is just home wards."
"Good," she said, picking up the tome and the file, and got up from her
chair, "I will put these to the test and see how they fare — if they pass
the quality standards, I'll start working on the launch."
Then under the eyes of Quinn and George, Lia left the room without
saying another word, her eyes already reading the file.
". . . . It seems that she'll be taking the lead on that," said George at being
left behind. Though he knew the real reason behind Lia's abrupt exit.
"I'll also take my leave," said Quinn, standing up, "I'm working on special
wards just for our home — I'm hoping that these will be stronger than the
goblin ones or the ones Lia took with her."
"Sit down," said George, "I have something to talk you about."
Quinn observed his grandfather and noticed the sober expression on his
face. "What is it?" he asked.
George retrieved an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to him.
Quinn observed the letter; it was addressed to George, but seeing that he
had given it to him, Quinn took out the letter and began reading it.
"Abate," spoke Quinn, noting the name in the letter. "Abate is my
mother's maiden name."
Quinn and Lia's mother, Aria West (nee. Abate), was of Italian descent.
His parents had died when Quinn was a year old in an accident; as such,
Quinn didn't remember them from the memories, and he himself had
never asked about his parents from anyone in his family. [1]
From what Lia had told him, Aria was a sweet, kind, soft-spoken lady.
She had met Adam West, Quinn and Lia's father, during his stay in Italy,
and from what Lia had mentioned to him, it was a sort of love-at-first-
sight deal. They had a very short dating period before they tied the knot,
and with Lia's description of their parent's relation, they had a happy
marriage.
But that was the extent what Quinn knew of his biological parents.
"The Abate family is calling me to. . . . Rome," Quinn frowned, "we have
been to Rome when we went on the world tour; why didn't I meet them
that time?"
"Your mother's family is heavily patriarchal. They don't give their women
much power. When your parents came to me and your grandmother with
the news of them being engaged, I did some digging; the Abate family
have a heavy history of using their daughters in political marriages —
they weren't happy when your mother ran away from home to marry
your Adam, more so when Aria refused to provide them access to our
resources — it turns, that Aria didn't like her family very much."
"They also sort-off offended Lia, when she visited them with your parents
and then again after she went there alone after their death," sighed
George. "She didn't want you to meet them. When we were in Rome, I
complied with her wish and kept you away from the Abate."
"And now?" asked Quinn.
"Given that you're no longer a kid, it's right for you to decide if you want
to meet them — Lia, of course, still doesn't like the idea. . . . that's why
she left so abruptly."
"What about you?"
"I don't really have an opinion," shrugged George, "I'm not delusional to
believe that this is an attempt to mend family tied. They're probably
thinking that now that you're getting older, they will try to build a
relationship with you and develop with years so that when you're old
enough, you'll provide them with our resources."
"Ah, I see. . . . so what do you think? Should I accept?"
"There's no harm in going to visit them. You can have them butter you up
for a couple of weeks before returning."
Quinn hummed and began giving it a thought. Should he go or not.
"I can use a break," he said, "it will be nice to spend some time in Italy.
Alright, let's go meet my mother's family and spend a vacation on their
dime."
"If that's what you," smile George, "then I'll make preparation."
.
[
A/N:
Edit: Aria West is Italian and not French as might have mentioned before.
I got myself confused.
So, Quinn is half-Italian, quarter-French, quarter-British.
]
.
Quinn West - MC - Italy, here I come.
Lia West - Elder child - Doesn't like her mother's side of the family.
George West - Grandfather - Another reason he doesn't like goblins.
Aria West - Late mother - Ran away to marry.
Adam West - Later father - I'm a West, not a Wayne.
.
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!
194. Chapter 194: Italy, I'm here!
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The shopping area located in London, England, consisted of Diagon Alley
— a play on diagonally, Horizont Alley — a play on horizontally,
Knockturn Alley — a play on the word nocturnally, and finally, there was
Vertic Alley — a play on the term. Vertically had to do with every
building in the alley having multiple floors above and below the ground.
Within Vertic Alley stood a long-time restaurant, the Cirkus, proudly
serving the magical population of the British Isles for over a hundred
years. The restaurant was divided into three levels — the base level,
three floors just above the ground open to any and everyone who would
want to dine delicious food; the bottom level, three floors providing to
the shady members who required privacy; and the top level, three levels
catering to the needs to rich and wealthy with more personalized
services.
On the top level, two men sat facing each other in a private booth.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. West," said Dumbledore,
sporting his trademark long white beard and hair and half-moon glasses.
George wordlessly nodded as he mixed a spoonful of red crystal sugar
into his tea. After getting so many letters, both via owls and MagiFax, he
decided to grant Dumbledore a meeting.
"What is it that you want, Dumbledore," he asked.
"I wanted to talk about getting your help and support," said Dumbledore,
"now that Voldemort has returned, your support could be essential to
stop his rise—."
"That is assuming that the Dark Lord has returned. You and your faction
have been actively spouting about his return. . . . constantly. It was fine
for a while, but now, it is just plain annoying."
"You know it as well as I do that the Dark Lord has returned."
George hummed, "There has been some chatter."
"Then you know if he is to return, we are on a path to another war."
"I am aware of that possibility. You-Know-Who will start his conquest
once, and if I know anything about him, he'll be more aggressive this
time around, more brutal, more ruthless, more cunning. . . ."
"That's why I'm asking for your help. If you would support our cause,
then it would be of help to keep Voldemort away from taking over."
"When you say your cause, what do you exactly mean by it."
Dumbledore paused for a moment at the question from George. His mind
went through the reason behind it. ". . . . In Wizengamot and the Order of
Phoenix."
"The Light faction and your little vigilante group," said George
translating, "you know very well that the rare times I participate in
Wizengamot, I tend to align myself with the interest of the Grey faction,
and your little personal army while had been a crucial player in the war,
isn't very efficient — I would be much more inclined to fund Amelia
Bones and her Auror's office than you."
"West, I insist that we portray a united front against Voldemort and his
Death Eater," said Dumbledore. "With your help, we could pull the Grey
faction to our side, ensuring that Voldemort won't be able to pull new
blood from the Grey collective."
"Tell me, Dumbledore. What was my stance in the last war?"
"You remained neutral — The West family didn't support Voldemort, but
neither did they do anything to oppose him."
"And, then."
"Then you took your family and fled the country just before the war
reached its peak."
"Exactly. I don't want to get involved in this war, Dumbledore," said the
West patriarch, but before Dumbledore could interject, George continued,
"how about this, Dumbledore, if you discard the non-lethal policy your
vigilante group follows, and employee lethal or even semi-lethal spells
against Death Eaters, then I will provide resources to your little group."
It was a well-known fact that while Barty Crouch Senior (who was now
missing and many thought him to be dead) in his tenure as the Head of
DMLE had managed to get his Aurors and Hit Wizards a license to kill,
torture, and control by allowing them to use lethal and Unforgivable
against Death Eaters.
Death Eaters, of course, didn't follow any law and were unrestrained in
the use of any and all spells they could perform. They used Unforgivables
in all recorded and unrecorded confrontations without fail and piled up
most kills out of all parties involved.
Then there was Dumbledore's Order of Phoenix. They only employed
non-lethal means and handed anyone they caught to the Auror's office for
further judgment. The Order had Aurors in their ranks, and while they
were on duty, they were given their choice of following the new policy,
but when working for the Order, they were strictly off any lethal.
"I can't agree to that," said Dumbledore firmly.
"Then there's nothing to talk about," shrugged George.
"West, you must understand—"
"No! I'm not going to fund an outfit that won't use lethal spells against
opponents who will kill them without a single thought. I refuse to help an
organization whose members are on a sure-fire path to their deaths,"
George stared firmly at Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore, I don't give a single knut of thought about blood purity,
but the war was fought on it, and do you know how many noble families
were extinguished in the war. So many of those now dead families or
with only a few members left were from your faction. It was because of
your choices that led them to their death."
George reeled back and picked up his teacup once again, "If I'm to risk
my family by taking a side, then it better be a side that is actually trying
to make a difference."
Dumbledore remained silent. As George had so firmly stated, the Order of
Phoenix was a vigilante group — they didn't have the official authority to
use lethal force against Death Eaters, at least not when they were trying
to 'hunt' said Death Eaters.
"I can't. . . ." he said.
"Then any talk of me helping you with my resources is out of the
question."
"Voldemort will come for Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, trying to pull on
an emotional slant.
"I'm sure you will be able enough to protect Hogwarts, Dumbledore. I've
complete confidence in your ability to defend our shared alma mater
from the big bad Dark Lord." While George had fond memories of
Hogwarts, he wasn't that attached to it.
"Even when your grandson is inside?"
George sighed as he set down his teacup, "Why did you have to bring
Quinn up?"
"Your grandson is an anomaly. He's what one would see as far away from
your average student — but if there's one thing I do know about him is
that he loves Hogwarts."
"So what?"
"If you ask him to leave Hogwarts, knowing that Voldemort might strike
in the next two years, will he leave?"
George stared into his steaming tea. Both he and Dumbledore knew the
answer to that question.
"You know Quinn won't leave," Dumbledore answered for George.
"What do you want, Dumbledore. We both know that you won't let my
men inside the castle grounds, and in case Voldemort does strike, I can't
do anything from the outside."
"That's alright," said Dumbledore, "I don't want your men for protection
— I'm more than capable of that. What I'm worried about are the
children. When Voldemort moves, he will go after the children outside
Hogwarts; as such, I want to keep the children inside the castle — I'm
sure most parents would agree with it. But for that to happen, I would
need money to keep the school running — I'm asking you that if such a
time comes, you will help me keep Hogwarts a safe-hold for the
children."
"You realize how this conversation just went from you stating Hogwarts
will be a target to saying that you want to make that target into a
safehold," said George before sighing, "if that's all you want, I can provide
it. If you can protect Hogwarts, then I'll keep the school running when
the times get hard."
George knew the real reason why Quinn wouldn't leave Hogwarts if he
asked him to — it wasn't the castle that Quinn loved, but the people
inside Hogwarts. As long as his friends are inside Hogwarts, Quinn won't
leave them alone.
'That doesn't mean I can't try to make his friends leave Hogwarts during
the time of dangers,' thought George, and he wasn't a West if he didn't
give it a try.
"Speaking of, how is Quinn doing?" asked Dumbledore. "Has he
recovered?"
"His eyes back to normal. In fact," George looked at his pocket watch
gifted to him by Quinn, "his Portkey must have left just a minute ago."
"Oh my, where?"
"Rome, Italy."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn opened his eyes to find himself in an empty street. Landmarked by
red, orange, yellow stone buildings.
"So, this is Rome, huh," he said.
This street of Rome reminded him so much of Oxford, their narrowness,
and the tallness of the stone buildings. They sprung up long before the
invention of the car and will be here long after the non-magicals were
done away with such things.
He looked at a faraway corner of the street and found what he assumed
to be a gelateria shaped like a fancy chocolate box. A line of locals and
tourists alike stream from the open window, the newest customers
walking away with every color of ice cream on the fanciest of waffle
cones.
The scene was enough to draw a smile from his lips; it was so right out of
some children's book, the hues so perfect. The ground is made up of deep
grey bricks, and the buildings are the warm tones of sandstone. Against
it, the gelateria is pinks, blues, greens - almost bringing to mind a nursery
for a baby.
"I will be eating so much gelato," he smiled.
"I'm sure you will."
Quinn turned to the deep voice and saw a man dressed in a white shirt
and black pants leaning against a brownstone door.
"Mr. Aksel Thorn," a smile bloomed on Quinn's face, "so you will be
acting as my chauffeur once again."
The man standing in front of him was his chauffeur at his time in
Denmark. He was the part-owner of the private security contractor, The
Limax Group — a firm owned by the Wests.
"My job description this time is as your bodyguard."
"It's the same thing," chuckled Quinn. "The adventures of Askel Thorn and
Balbh East are going to rock the restaurants of Italy."
"If that's what you wish to do, then I'll accompany you, though I would
prefer you keep it to a minimum. Your antics last time made my job
much harder."
"You're still so serious. I told you to loosen up, didn't I?"
"I don't think I'll be able to relax while on duty with you."
Quinn smiled before asking, "The Abates; my mother's family. What do
you know about them, Mr. Thorn?"
"A very old family — one older than the Wests," started Aksel as the two
started walking, "they have been residing in Rome ever since the
inception of the Roman empire, and despite the ups-and-downs of this
region, they have remained a constant. You can say that they are one of
the oldest organizations in this country."
"Oh? That sounds interesting."
"You're aware of your parents' story, correct?"
Quinn nodded.
"Then you must know that Abate didn't like their relationship much. It
was because while Wests are highly, highly influential, they are a
comparatively young family — and in their eyes. . . . upstarts."
"Upstarts. . . . us?" said Quinn in disbelief.
"To a family which has survived the rise and fall of nations, change of
political boundaries, major restructure of cultures, West does seem like
upstarts." The family had been around much before the Secrecy Laws
were founded and implemented; the Abates had been involved in various
historical events through the ages.
"That. . . . is one way to see it, but Wests are much bigger than Abates."
"It's all about prestige and history for people like them," said Aksel.
"Sounds boring," shrugged Quinn.
The two went through a series of cobblestone alleys, staying away from
the crowds until they came to a stop in front of a door that was sloppily
slathered with white paint, causing drip lines and uneven clumps; there
was even paint on the golden doorknob.
Quinn looked at the building in cold cream tan from top to down. "This is
the building?"
"No, it's not," said Aksel as he took out an ornate skeleton key — a type
of key that was meant to open multiple locks rather than one.
"Then shouldn't we apparating?"
Aksel looked around before inserting it into the keyhole. He glanced at
Quinn and faintly smiled, "The Wests might be more influential than the
Abates but. . ." he turned the key and starting from the doorknob, a royal
red rippled out taking the place of the white, and the design on the door
shimmered in beautiful gold, ". . . in Italy, there's nothing bigger than
Abate."
Quinn watched as Aksel opened the door, and instead of finding the
inside of the building, what he saw was a marvelous work of Italian
Renaissance architecture in the form of a stunning manor at a distance.
The grounds around the mansion were covered in beautifully and
meticulously maintained gardens and greens.
Aksel retrieved the key, gestured for Quinn to step inside and outside of
the door before following after him and closing the door behind him, and
with the click, the red was sucked back into the doorknob, leaving the
sloppily painted white door.
"What was that?" asked Quinn, looking back at yet another white door, a
part of a small stone flat-roofed storeroom on the ground.
"Being residents of this country for so long, the Abates have created an
extensive personal network of these doors that are connected with each
other." He raised the golden key, "these special keys are the triggers for
the magic to activate — without them, the doors are just as ordinary as
any other. If I was to make a comparison, it would be similar to a
personal floo network just for the Abates and their associates."
"Without all the dust and gyration and flames," added Quinn.
Aksel nodded.
"Where are we?"
"Palazzo Abate," answered Aksel.
"Abate palace," said Quinn in translation.
"It's the Abate ancestral home. They have been living here since the early
fourteenth century. Generations upon generation Abate have maintained
this palace."
"Yeah, I can see that the building is in excellent condition, though it's not
a tough deed with magic."
"Ready to meet them?" asked Aksel.
"Yeah, let's meet with the people disliked by Lia."
Aksel glanced at Quinn and realized that the meeting wouldn't be the
familial connection that one would expect.
. . .
As Quinn and Aksel started to walk towards the mansion, people were
waiting for them; a party of five men — three middle-aged and two
young men. Of course, appearances were never an accurate indicator of
age when it came to non-magicals. Out of them, one middle-aged and one
young man were standing at the front — the older man was dressed in
luxurious and exuberant clothing while the young man was dressed in
unadorned yet high-grade clothing while the other three men were
dressed in uniforms.
One of the uniformed middle-aged men stepped forward and whispered
something into the ear of the young man.
The luxuriously dressed man glanced to his side, "What is it?"
"Thorn has arrived with Quinn West. They are about to reach us," said
the simply-dressed young man.
"Are you sure this is going to work," said the middle-aged man, his voice
tinged with nervousness.
"I'm very sure," said the handsome young man, a confident smile on his
face, "I've planned for everything. By the end of the boy's vacation, we
will have the key to everything we would ever need."
"Can you at least tell me what you're planning?! Anything would do,
anything to give me peace of mind."
"You know, how I operate. The less you know, the better."
The middle-aged man sighed in anxious resignation. "If this pays off, it
will be absolutely big. . . . but if we fail—"
"I don't fail," the young man cut the sentence.
"Let's hope you don't this time as well."
It was about then when they saw Quinn and Thorn enter their sight. For
the first time ever, they set their eyes on Quinn West, who was actively
looking at the gardens around, occasionally stopping to admire things
closely.
"Look at him," said the young man with a smile, "so carefree, so innocent.
. . ."
Seeing Quinn West in front of him did put the middle-aged at ease. It
might not be that hard, he thought.
But when Quinn and Thorn entered their earshot, the young man's eyes
widened, but there were no other changes in his expression.
"Hurry, face me and start talking to me," he said, ordering, "laugh some
and then immediately leave!"
"Eh, why?" asked the middle-aged man in confusion.
The young man stared at Quinn West with a straight expression. His
previous impression of Quinn West had outright drained.
"West can use Legilimency," said the young man.
The middle-aged man froze for a second and then hurriedly obeyed the
instructions. He turned towards the young man, talked as if telling a joke.
Both laughed before the middle-aged man bowed and left.
The young man severely stared at the middle-aged man because of the
piss poor performance. But it was fine; it was enough for now.
Aksel and Quinn finally reached the young man.
Aksel turned towards the young man and started, "I present to you Quinn
West," then he turned to Quinn and introduced, "this is Dolion Abate, the
youngest son of the current patriarch."
"You can call me Dolion," said the young man in English.
Quinn noticed something and commented, "Your accent, that sounds
American."
The young man's smile widened, "I completed my studies in Salem."
"Ah, that's why. Well then, you can call me Quinn," said Quinn. "Dolion,
was it? If I'm right, that's Greek. . . . and it means deceitful."
The young man laughed, "What can I say? My father liked how it
sounded. . . . and Quinn, that's Irish. . . . isn't that a girl's name."
"It's a unisex name," smiled Quinn.
The teenager and young man then laughed together.
.
Quinn West - MC - Looking forward to saying "Mamma Mia" a lot.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Got his funding.
George West - Head of Wests - I will help, but. . . .
Aksel Thorn - Limax Group - Bodyguard, once again.
Dolion Abate - Abate family - Youngest son.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - It took me time, but this was a fun chapter
to write.
.
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!
195. Chapter 195: Meeting The
Abates
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
Quinn sat in an elaborately decorated lounge inside Palazzo Abate,
sipping on a delightful strawberry cream soda. He was sitting across
Dolion Abate, who had a slight smile on his face the entire time.
"So, Dolion," started Quinn, "I don't know much about the Abates other
than that my mother was from the family. I was quite impressed by the
door system through which I arrived at the estate Dolion Abate — Mr.
Thorn tells me that Abates have it spread throughout the country."
"It's one of our family's greatest accomplishments," said Dolion, "it took
time, decades to slowly and carefully build the gates into the very
essence of Italy — till this date, our family makes sure that the Abate
gateway is properly maintained and when needed, new doors are added."
Dolion paused for a second before continuing, "You know that Aria was
my sister, right."
Quinn nodded. "When I heard that you were the patriarch's son, I clued
things together. My mother was the oldest daughter; as such, your older
sister. . . . that makes you my uncle."
"That's right, but you don't have to call me that," said Dolion; a faraway
look appeared in his eye, "she was my favorite sibling, you know. Aria
was the only one who played with me when I was little and was the only
sibling to write to me when I was at Salem."
"She sounds like a sweetheart."
"She was an angel, the best of our family," said Dolion, nodding, "you
never knew her, did you? If I'm correct, you were. . ."
"I was barely one."
"I'm sorry to bring that up. It must be painful for you. . . ."
Quinn lightly shook his head, "It's alright. I don't remember my parents."
He then again sipped on his beverage and began looking at the symmetry
in the interior.
Dolion gazed at Quinn. He didn't like his dear late sister's son that much
— not since he had found that he could use Legilimency.
Legilimens — they were scarce even in the world of mind magic
practitioners. For every hundred Occlumens, there was one Legilimens.
Even among those who were able to enter the world of Legilimency, only
a very few were able to get past browsing an unprotected non-magical
mind.
Dolion knew that Quinn West would undoubtedly be trained in
Occlumency as his sister, Lia was, and as was every child of old families.
But never would he have thought that Quinn would be a Legilimens and.
. . .
'He has trained in it,' he thought. The sense he had got was strong — it
was too strong for it to belong to an untrained Legilimens. 'This could be
a problem,' he thought.
"How's your family doing?" asked Dolion.
"They're quite alright, all of them. Though I would say they work a bit
too much — they need to find a good work-life balance."
"The Wests have been thriving, which means that their hard work is
paying off."
"What can I say; the business is in good hands." Quinn set down the
empty glass down and gazed at Aksel sitting in the far corner of the
lounge before speaking to Dolion, "Are we waiting for someone? If not, I
would like to move on with the day — Rome is a beautiful city, and I
would like to see what it has to offer."
Dolion felt pride about Quinn being so excited about seeing his
hometown but didn't know how to think about Quinn wanting to leave
Palazzo Abate so soon after his arrival. But before he could say
something, the door to the lounge opened, and an old man dressed in
traditional robes entered. He had a cane in his hand, but other than that,
he looked healthy for an old man.
"Buon Giorno(Good morning)," said the old man to particularly no one as
if it was a habit.
'He must be really old. He's clearly much older than grandfather,' thought
Quinn.
Dolion stood up and greeted the old man back.
Quinn wondered if he should get up too. When he looked to the other
side, he saw that even Aksel had stood up. He looked back towards the
old man and Dolion to see that the old man was staring right towards
him.
'I guess I should get up,' he thought. He stood up and walked towards the
old man. "You must be Brio Abate," said Quinn.
"I'm your grandfather," said the old man — Brio Abate.
"Technically. . . biologically." This man was his late mother's father and
the head/patriarch of the Abater family.
"You're my grandson."
"As I said, biologic—"
The old Brio suddenly grabbed Quinn by the back of his nape and
performed with a zealous double cheek kiss. Quinn's instincts almost
made him snap the man's hands, but his reason reminded him of Brio's
identity and age.
"You're my grandson," said Brio matter-of-factly.
"Okay, if you say so."
Brio looked Quinn up and down, taking him in, "You've grown quite a
lot. The last time I saw you were but an infant." It was before Quinn's
parent's death. "You have grown up to become quite a fine boy. I have
heard about you. . . . your work, last year at your school, was mighty
impressive."
"It was, wasn't it?" smiled Quinn, but all he could think was when Brio
would remove is his hands from the back of his nape.
"You're still wet behind your ear and already doing so well. The future of
Wests is bright," said Brio, finally letting Quinn go.
"My sister is the future of the Wests," said Quinn, "I'm just having fun at
school."
"Rubbish."
"If rubbish means superb, excellent, outstanding, then sure, it's rubbish."
"A girl can't handle an empire as big as that of Wests."
"Lia can; she can handle it better than my grandfather. . . . better than my
father ever did. . . . and most definitely better than me."
The young and old stared at each other. Neither was willing to back
down from their beliefs.
"I do not agree with you, boy. But I like you — family is more valuable
than anything else," said Brio.
"I also disagree with you; I've no opinion of you yet; but, I do agree that
family is important," replied Quinn.
Dolion decided to interject into the conversation and spoke, "Quinn said
he wants to go around Rome to see the sights and the people. . . ."
"Of course, the boy can go where ever he wants," laughed Brio, "but not
before we have lunch together. everyone wants to meet him."
"Alright, let's have lunch," smiled Quinn.
As they were about to exit the lounge, Quinn felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to see Aksel, who leaned in close and whispered, "We will go
out after five in the evening."
"We don't have to wait that long," said Quinn, "we can wrap the lunch up
quick and go for the rest of the day."
Aksel stared at Quinn for a second before speaking up, "You obviously
don't know much about Italian meals."
"What?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It turned out that when a large number of Italians gathered, especially if
it was a family gathering, the meal went on for long, for a very long time.
"You were wrong," whispered Quinn into Aksel's ear.
The bodyguard leaned in and whispered back, "What do you mean?"
"As things are going, we're not going to leave here by five."
"They are just excited to meet you."
"That's an understatement," said Quinn looking at the sheer amount of
people sharing the long dining table with him.
Suddenly a heavily Italian-accented English called out to him. Quinn
turned to see a beautifully dressed middle-aged lady with a very homely
feel standing beside him with a plate.
"Quinn dear, you should eat more. Here have some more," she said,
replacing his empty plate with another one. On it was another serving of
the main course — Agnello A Scottadito, which was grilled lamb ribs in
English.
"Don't mind if I do," smiled Quinn and dug in. Only the people close to
him knew how much Quinn ate — his appetite was unusually large for
someone of his size. His daily magic usage made it so that he needed to
eat a lot to replenish the energy he had spent.
The lady was happy with Quinn digging into the food. But then she
gasped and giggled when a pair of hands circled around her waist.
"The boy appreciates good food," said the man to whom the hands
belonged; his voice contained boisterous laughter. He was a tall man with
a portly belly; his brown hair were swept slick back. He wore a printed
shirt, with the top few buttons open, clearly displaying his hairy chest.
The man was Cesare Abate, the oldest son of Brio Abate, and the homely
lady was Bianca Abate, Cesare's wife.
Brio Abate and his wife Francesca had five children — three boys and
two girls. This family line was the main family with Cesare set up to
inherit the patriarch position after Brio abdicated his seat. Besides Brio's
sons' and their family, a few other non-mainline Abates lived in the
Palazzo Abate.
And Quinn had to say despite his initial intention of not being
cooperative with the family, he found most of the Abate family charming
and jolly people. If he ignored the family's clear patriarchal structure, the
Abate family was just one big joint family.
"So Quinn, what are you planning to do with your time here?" asked
Cesare.
"First of all, I'm going to the Colosseum, St. Peter's Basilica, Castel
Sant'Angelo, Ponte Sant'Angelo, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and other
sites," said Quinn stating his plans. "And, I'm planning to see if the Greek
and Roman divinity were simply figments of imaginations, or if they
were real magicals turned legends, or perhaps if they by off-chance were
real divinity."
"Ah, I have heard about your liking to magic," said Cesare before he
wiggled his brows, "how about we do some more fun things, what do you
say— Ouch!" he turned back to see Bianca standing there with her wand
in hand glaring at him.
"Ease it, woman!" She had just shot well placed a pinching hex at him.
Biana humphed before walking away.
"So, where were we?" said Cesare turning back to Quinn. "Ah yes, how
about we make you a man today?"
"As much fun as you make it sound, I would like to refuse," said Quinn.
"Oh, come on, it will be fun!"
"Cesare, stop trying to persuade Quinn to join you in your dalliances," a
firm and deep voice with a heavy tone of displeasure.
Quinn turned to see a tall man, and unlike Cesare, he was dressed
impeccably in wizard robes. He could, though, see the strong
resemblance the man had with Dolion and Cesare. He was leaner than
the fat Cesare but bulkier than the wire-thin Dolion.
The man was Brio Abate's second son, Matteo Abate.
He turned to Quinn and spoke, "Your enthusiasm with magic is
admirable, Quinn. Not many people with our gift truly appreciate it."
"Thank you," said Quinn. "I take that you're also in a field of magic?"
"Not at all. I don't have the talent for magical excellence. My calling is
something else."
"Well, I welcome your appreciation for the thing that so many take for
granted," said Quinn.
The thing about magicals was that not many actually wanted to research
magic. It was a power that the majority of the magical population on
Earth didn't really take as seriously as Quinn did. It was a natural part of
their lives that they made it more accessible, and as long their magic was
able to perform those daily tasks, not many people wished to improve
upon it.
Such was human nature; they didn't have the desire to go beyond as long
as they were comfortable. That's why many who went beyond in magic
than the others had one common trait — they wanted to improve in their
chosen craft/profession and thus utilized the gift of magic to accomplish
that.
For example, George and Lia. They weren't that much interested in
magic, but they were interested in business. So even though they weren't
interested in magic, they used it to improve their business handling
abilities. Both of them improved their Occlumency (efficiency-aspect) to
help them retain memories and think quicker. Similarly, people in all
sorts of occupations used magic to be at the top of their field.
That day, the lunch extended for a couple of hours, and Quinn was
hounded by any Abate he came across. It seemed they were very
interested in Aria's boy and how he turned out. Quinn had scanned the
minds of those with weaker Occlumency, and most of them were very
disappointed that the child of the runaway girl (Aria) had turned out so
well.
'I wonder what Ari. . . mother was like when she was here?' he thought.
Quinn leaned towards Aksel and spoke, "We will start the tour tomorrow,
Mr. Thorn."
"Hmm. . . . may I ask why?" asked Aksel
"I have found something else I want to do today."
"What will that be? I need to make sure I have prepared for it."
"Don't worry, I won't be leaving Palazzo Abate. You don't need to prepare
for everything. Rest for the day; we'll be busy tomorrow onwards."
Quinn knew exactly who he was going to approach who could answer his
questions.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In the evening, Quinn knocked on the door of a terrace in the late
evening. The large terrace was decorated with beautiful plants — they
were in pots, a lot of them sat on the floor, and there were many which
floated off the ground all around the terrace.
"Come in," said a voice.
Quinn entered the balcony, and to the right, he saw a mini roofed patio
with a single swing bench on which sat an old lady with knitting needles
and wool in hand.
She turned her head, and surprise crossed her face when she recognized
him. "Quinn, what are you doing there? Come here," she said.
Quinn nodded with a smile and made his way to the roofed patio.
"Grandmother," he said. Unlike Brio, Quinn was comfortable calling her
that without prompting.
Francesca Abate, the wife of Brio Abate and the mother of Aria West,
thus Quinn's grandmother.
"Don't be shy; sit with me," said Francesca smiling.
Quinn complied and sat down on the bench, which was attached to a
swing. He glanced at the knitting needles in her hand and pointed,
"Magic can make your work much easier, you know. I can charm the
needles to work on their own, and you will have a beautiful jumper by
this time tomorrow."
"I know that silly boy," she smiled as she stared at the knitting needles,
"but at this age, there is little one can do to pass the time."
When Francesca turned to face Quinn, she found him staring at her.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Your face," he said, "I mean, your wrinkles."
"Boy, you should never point a woman's wrinkle. It's rude. You will never
get a wife this way."
Quinn chuckled, "I know that. What I mean is that your wrinkles are
pretty. When you smile, your wrinkles accentuate your smile. It's very
beautiful."
"It looks I was wrong. You will be able to find a wife just fine."
"It's a little too early for me to get a wife."
This time it was Quinn who found himself being stared at by Francesca.
The old lady was gazing at Quinn with an unblinking gaze, and there was
a distinct look in her eyes.
"I have seen your father and grandfather," she started, "the color of your
eyes is a West family trait, but the shape of your eyes, that I think comes
from your other grandmother because while your father had the same
shape, your grandfather lacks it." She touched the top of his head, "Black
hair is a shared trait between both Wests and Abate, but I know that your
came from Aria. . . your hair is much blacker than the West's black. . .
not only that I can see Aria in your face. . ."
Francesca stopped speaking and sighed heavily. Her hands went to her
eyes as she wiped away some unshed tears.
"Sorry for showing such a pitiful sight," she smiled sadly. "It is just that
Aria never came to visit except the two times she came to show you, and
your sister after both of you were born. . . . and I couldn't go. . . ."
Quinn realized what Francesca meant. His parents had run away to get
married, performed their wedding rites, and registered themselves as a
married couple in private, without telling their families. Aria had run
away while Adam wasn't on talking terms with George. Neither family
was involved in their wedding.
And from what he had learned from Ms. Rosey, Adam and Aria had only
visited the Abates four times since their marriage. Both were married for
some sixteen years, and in all that time, Francesca had only met her
eldest daughter four times. For magicals who could travel across the
world with Portkeys in a short time and especially Wests and Abates who
could essentially afford as many Portkeys they needed. . . . four visits in
sixteen years was abysmally low.
"Look at me bringing skeletons of past out of the ground," said Francesca
putting up a smile. "I know why you are here. You want to know about
your mother, don't you?"
Quinn nodded. He wanted to know about the woman who Lia and
everyone spoke so fondly about.
"Well, Aria was a charming girl, not like you with your glib tongue." Her
words made Quinn smile; he had left an impression at lunch. "Your
mother was a sweet girl who couldn't hurt a fly. When your bastard of a
father," she held back no spite in her words, "took my darling daughter
away, I was so scared that I couldn't sleep for days. I swore I almost
blasted his head off when I saw him. . . ."
For the rest of the evening, the pair talked about the life of Quinn's
mother from the very words of her own mother.
.
Quinn West - MC - First day was a little hectic.
Brio Abate - Father - A very direct man.
Francesca Abate - Mother - Misses her daughter very much.
Dolion Abate - Third son - Studied in Salem.
Matteo Abate - Second son - The serious one.
Cesare Abate - First Son - A man who likes to have a certain kind of fun.
Aksel Thorn - Bodyguard - Turned in early today.
.
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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!
196. Chapter 196: Empyrean,
Following Dreams
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Dolion and the luxuriously dressed middle-aged man sat in a room in a
remote corner of Palazzo Abate. Nursing a glass of wine each in hand.
"Quinn West is more of a problem than I thought," said Dolion in Italian.
"Why?" asked his companion.
"When I first laid my eyes on him, it was evident that he was a practiced
Legilimens, but the time he spent with the family made it clear that my
initial impression of him was terribly lacking."
"I wasn't there. You'll have to see elaborate."
"He spent the entire meal reading minds of people who talked to him. He
spread his senses to all those with the weaker minds — those who could
scan without getting detected."
"Did he. . ."
"No, he didn't attempt to read mine and few others. . . . and in doing so
has revealed the limits of what he can do without being detected."
"Will I be able to. . . ?"
"No, you don't meet the requirements."
"A pity," sighed the middle-aged man, but internally he was relieved. He
didn't need to interact with the target, which he preferred as Dolion
refused to tell him much. "Can you enter his mind?" he asked.
"I can," said Dolion with confidence, "but not without him knowing that
I'm doing it. His Occlumency, if I detected correctly, is around the same
level as his Legilimency. There are good chances that he will get a whiff
of me if I try to get inside."
"He's that good?"
"No, not really. I have seen better," scoffed Dolion, then turned a bit
severe, "but his detection is unusually perceptive. It's complicated. . . I
would have a way to pass through it if I spent enough time with him."
"What's your next move?" he asked.
Dolion swirled the glass in hand and sighed deeply. "The next move, the
next move. . . . I'll have to think about to proceed. I need something to
ease the process along. I have thought of a few options; the question is
which one to employ."
"Then you should hurry. Quinn West isn't here for long."
Dolion hummed in thought before his eyes lit up. "I know what will help
me how to get through his mind."
"Really, how?"
"He's a tourist." The smile on Dolion's face indicated he had a plan.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"I must say, it's quite exciting to be standing right in the middle of so
much history," said Quinn as he stood upon the Roman bridge, Ponte
Sant'Angelo crafted from travertine marble, arching over the lifeline of
Ancient Rome, the river Tiber.
His eyes were gazing upon the magnificence of towering Castel
Sant'Angelo — a mausoleum for the Roman Emperor Hadrian and his
family. The sight of the tomb with the angel statues standing on either
side was a scenic sight to behold.
"I'm not that much of a history buff, but this is just great," he said without
turning back to Aksel Thorn, the bodyguard standing just behind him,
"I'm at the place where Latin turned into a magical force of nature and
became what is it today, empowering so many magical cultures
throughout the world."
Ancient Rome wasn't only important to non-magical history; it also held
importance in the magical history with so much cultural antiquity that it
made Quinn fill with excitement and enthusiasm for exploration.
The legend of the early establishment of Rome started with the legend of
two twin brothers, Romulus and Remus. It was an ongoing debate among
non-magical historians whether the twins' myth was an original part of
Roman myth or later development, but the non-magical records provided
a more apparent record of their existence.
Romulus and Remus were, without doubt, a pair of magicals who came
from a long and rich line of magicals, being the descendants of the Trojan
Aeneas and sons of the god Mars and princess Rhea Silvia. Aeneas was
from the illustrious Troy clan and a descendant of Aphrodite, while Mars
was, according to the historical records, just like Aphrodite, was a
magical-turned-divinity.
But in the genealogy of the founding twins, Quinn was most fascinated by
Rhea Silvia, the pitful princess who was raped by Mars. She was a vestal
virgin, a priestess of magical-turned-divinity Vesta. The thing that
interested Quinn was the magical significance of being a Vestal, as they
were regarded as fundamental to the continuance and security of Rome.
As the name suggested, Vestals were virgins, which Quinn was sure had
to do with the sacred fire they collectively cultivated. Looking through
the records, he was able to form a conjecture that the sacred fire was
some sort of lost magic of the ritual branch, with the virginity of the
priestesses being an essential aspect of it.
'There must have been some benefits to Romulus and Remus when the
virginity tied up in a ritual was broken by Mars,' thought Quinn in
tangential hypothesis.
It was a practice that, in most parts of the magical world, had become a
thing of the past, but in ancient times, magical parents (usually mothers)
would undergo treatments of various forms of magic to promote the
chances of the baby being magical with a strong talent for magic. And
while Rhea Silvia never went through such things because of her Vow of
Chastity, her role as part of a state-wide ritual might have had similar
effects.
"Mr. Thorn, did you know that Romulus and Remes' uncle had ordered
the twins to be drowned after he usurped power from their grandfather.
But the twins were secretly spared and drifted in the Tiber river in a
basket where they were later discovered by a she-wolf who nursed the
twins back to health. . . . Interestingly, I know someone named Remus,
who also has an affinity for wolves."
"An interesting story Quinn," said the man, not sounding interested at all.
Quinn smiled but didn't point it out. Instead, he wondered about the she-
wolf mentioned in the legends.
'Could she be the same species of wolf that I saw in the Forbidden Forest,'
he thought about the wolves who were descendants of two werewolves
conceiving on a full-moon night. It was a theory Quinn had no way of
proving, but he liked it very much.
"Quiz time, Mr. Thorn," said Quinn with a beaming smile. "When
Romulus and Remus founded their city, how do you think they decided
which twin was going to be king? If you answer correctly, you'll get
chocolate."
". . . . I don't know," said the voice lacking any enthusiasm.
"The records say the topic of king quickly became a matter of debate. . . .
the debate that Romulus won by killing Remus. I must say, a move I
wasn't expecting to see in a debate. Then Romulus went ahead to form
the small city of Rome, which would eventually turn into the dominating
empire of unparalleled power." In those days, there were no Secrecy
Laws; as such, the magicals roamed in the open.
And while he enjoyed the story of the creation of Rome, he wasn't
interested in Romulus and Remus. Throughout history, conflict has been
a great motivator of growth and innovation — to improve in the harsh
times, the human mind had shown itself and had come up with pretty
fascinating stuff. On the other side of the coin, the times of peace and
prosperity promoted elegance and intricacy.
"This country has a rich history, Mr. Thorn. They have seen glorious ups
and disastrous downs. Let's see what that history can do for me," he said
before turning to Aksel, "where's our guide?"
"This is Italy," was all Aksel said.
Quinn blinked a couple of times before it hit him, "Ah, Chronemics — the
study of the use of time and the way that time is perceived and valued by
individuals and cultures. Yes, I came across it during one of the short
uneventful stints with the study of the larger subject — interestingly,
chronemics means much more in the magical world than it does in the
non-magical."
Italy was a Polychronic culture. Polychronic cultures have a less formal
perception of time and are not ruled by specific calendars and schedules.
Meaning in Italy, if the time to meet was decided to be at eleven, it
wasn't strange to see the person arrive half an hour late.
"You guys are early." Quinn and Aksel turned to see the speaker. And
speaking of the devil, it was their guide.
"Dolion, thank you for taking the time to show us around," said Quinn
smiling, "I'm excited to know more about your homeland and am looking
forward to using the Abate gateways. They are quite fascinating."
Dolion smiled as he fished out a blood-red skeletal key. It was different
from the gold key that Aksel had with him. From what Quinn could
speculate, the blood-red key was some sort of master-key only available
to Abate family members, while the gold key was a guest key of types.
"Let's go then," smiled Dolion.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Dolion leaned against a pillar with bookshelves on both sides, watching
Quinn running his finger through the spines of the rows upon rows of
Latin magical books. They had already been through three different book
stores in Rome, and from what Dolion knew, Quinn had plans to visit
tons of bookstores all around the country.
He looked to the other side to see Aksel Thorn keeping an eye on
everyone passing by. Dolion pushed himself on the pillar and walked
towards the bodyguard.
"Is he really like this?" he asked, jutting his chin to Quinn.
Thorn watched a guy pass through before finally answering, "As you
already know, I guided him through Denmark. In all that time, he went
through any book shop I could take him to and others he somehow found
on his own. . . . I will suggest that you be ready to translate for him;
Quinn will make you talk to any person he finds interesting, and those he
founds interesting can be a strange bunch."
Dolion looked back at Quinn to find that he had taken out a strange book
with a protruding screaming face sticking out of the cover. The look on
Quinn's book was of extreme fascination.
"So, he's bookish, studious."
"He's clever, cunning, quick. . . skilled," said Aksel in reply.
Dolion continued to stare at Quinn. Various thoughts went through his
mind; he turned to Aksel and said, "Tell me more about him," he said.
. . .
Quinn made his way through the book store, his eyes reading the rich
collections of Latin works. The Roman empire was the distributor of Latin
through a wide area of European content, and after that, the British
spread the magical language once again through the aggressive
colonialism of the various colonies worldwide.
He had only browsed through some of the books here, but he already
knew the works here were one of the most exquisitely written pieces of
Latin he had seen in a while.
As he was perusing the titles on the spines of books, he found one that
made him stop in his tracks. It was a non-suspecting brown tan book
without any unique features, but its title interested him.
「The Theory Behind The Magic Of Constructs」
"Constructs?" he murmured as he picked it out of the row, "constructs,
constructs, constructs." He opened the book and began reading.
As the book described them, magical constructs were tangible
manifestations created through molding magic and turning it into a
unique malleable material that could take on a wide variety of physical
properties — in fact, the author went as far as to say that with enough
expertise and knowledge about magic and physical matter, the user could
give the material any physical property the desired.
The usage of the unique magical material was quite simple; it could be
shaped into all sorts of forms — tools, objects, weapons, and other items.
The name that the book provided to the material was:
「Empyrean」
Quinn snapped the book close with a nonchalant expression. "I can
conjure any object I like; there's no need for a modifiable material." He
placed the book back into its place and began walking in search of
something else that caught his eyes.
But not two steps later, his feet halted. Quinn stood in his place for a
good half-minute before he turned back and gazed at the book. The
previously ordinary book was now the center of his attention. Quinn
walked towards the book, once again took it out, and stared at the cover
for a good while.
His eyes went up at the row from which he had taken the book out, and
contrary to his expectations, the book in his hand was the only one on its
topic. He checked every other book in the row. . . shelf. . . section, but he
couldn't find a single mention of magical constructs or Empyrean.
"Dolion!" he called out.
The third son who was engaged in conversation with Aksel looked
towards Quinn to see his nephew beckoning him.
"Yeah, what is it?" asked Dolion, reaching Quinn.
Quinn handed him the book and spoke, "Ask the manager or owner of
this place to tell me where I can find more books on this topic."
Quinn, Dolion, and Aksel made way to the manager, where Dolion asked
him Quinn's question and acted as the translator. The manager looked at
the book before going in deep in thought. She asked them to follow her,
and they went to various spots in the store, but they went empty-handed.
"The manager says that this must be the only book she has on magical
constructs," said Dolion in translation.
"What about Empyrean; does she have anything on that?" said Quinn.
Dolion communicated. The manager turned to Quinn and shook her
head.
"She says that she doesn't recognize the word," said Dolion.
Quinn looked down at the book in his hand before raising it to the
manager, "Tell her I want to buy this."
A few minutes later, Quinn came out of the book store with 「The Theory
Behind The Magic Of Constructs」 in his hands. His eyes were still on the
book, and there was a feeling in his heart.
'This is it,' he thought, 'this is what I'm going to take home with me.'
Quinn didn't know why but the book in his hand called out to him. He
had barely read a paragraph of the introduction, but despite that, he was
sure that this was the discovery, the highlight of the trip.
"I have to find more of this," he murmured before turning to his two
companions. "Gentlemen, we are going to be busy from now. It's time to
go on a country-wide bookstore-crawl."
Aksel and Dolion looked at each other, and Aksel shrugged. The
bodyguard turned to Quinn and took out a roll of parchment, "I have a
list of prominent book stores," he had already prepared.
"Excellent work, Mr. Thorn. Let's get something to eat, then we will get to
work."
Aksel once again nodded and told Quinn about the restaurant he had
reservations at while Dolion stared at the duo.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
A week passed, and despite his efforts to find books on magical
constructs or Empyrean, Quinn could only find a couple of books after
scrying Rome and the neighboring few cities. It was that either the topic
was about to become a 'lost magic' or wasn't explored enough to gain
enough attention from practitioners and authors.
"Another disappointing day," sighed Quinn as he walked through the
corridors of Palazzo Abate. He stared out a window, and the bright moon
hung, giving the stars its company, putting their collective shine in the
canvas that was the night sky. His eyes absentmindedly roamed, and he
had to say that the palace was absolutely massive — it was at least thrice
the size of West manor in terms of square footage and was thrice as long
in height.
He made his way through the memorized corridor and arrived at the
place he had been visiting since the very first day. He arrived at a door
that opened up to a terrace and stepped outside.
"Grandmother, I'm here," he said.
He turned, expecting to see Francesca, the sweet old lady with a mouth
that could make even the most open people blush, sitting on the bench
swing but was surprised to find that his maternal grandmother had
company.
"Why are you standing there boy, come sit," said Francesca.
Quinn walked toward the covered mini-patio with his eyes fixed on the
girl his age sitting beside Francesca. "You are Sara, right?" he knew the
girl; she was Matteo Abate, the second son's daughter.
Sara Abate nodded. She was tall, had a brunette, long curly hair, which
was different from the usual Abate black.
Quinn took out his wand and conjured a barstool to sit in front of
Francesca and Sara.
"The girl wants to ask you some questions," said Francesca.
"Sure, I will answer anything I can," said Quinn in reply.
Sara remained silent for a while before she finally speaking up, "I want to
become a teacher. . . ."
Quinn waited for her to continue, but Sara didn't and instead glanced
towards Francesca, who didn't say anything. Quinn gazed at Sara thought
for a minute before looking at Francesca, who nodded this time.
"You want to become a teacher, but Abate women don't work. That's it,
right?" said Quinn.
Sara was surprised but nodded.
In the week Quinn had been here, he had noticed that all the women he
had come across were housewives. As Quinn had been told, the Abates
was a patriarchal family where the men worked, and the woman took
care of the home. It would have been fine if that's what the woman
wanted, but that wasn't the case, as seen in Sara's situation.
"She wanted to talk to someone her own age," said Francesca.
"And you don't have a problem with this?" asked Quinn.
"I don't," said the old grandmother, "I never had a problem with how
things were, but the times have changed. If Sara wants to work, then she
should be able to," then she smiles bitterly, "but I can't help her."
"I see," nodded Quinn before gazing at Sara, "are you serious about it?"
"Yes," said Sara firmly.
"Have you talked to your parents? Do they approve?"
"No, they don't."
"Alright then, that's that. You have to understand that you don't require
your parents' approval. To begin with, the success of your goal is not
contingent on your parents' approval. Unless your parents are cutting you
off, like throwing you out of the house or cutting off your allowance. . . ."
"I have money saved!" said Sara.
"Fantastic," smiled Quinn. "Then the next step is all talk is pointless if
there are no results. You have already tried talking, but your parents
don't listen, it's time to devote yourself to your goal. Let your results
speak for themselves. With each discouragement, use it as ammunition to
spur yourself to achieve more results. You want your parents to trust you,
so show them why you deserve their trust by bringing your plans to live.
"It's clear that you will have to move out, which would mean that your
parents won't know the merits of your choice unless you show them. For
example, when you get your first salary, show it to them — they will
understand that the ball's in your court, and there is no need to worry
about you."
Sara scoffed, "They don't care about me."
"I won't comment on that. I don't know what your parents think. It
doesn't matter if they care about you or not. You can't control that," said
Quinn. "The ultimate step to showing the merit of your path is when you
indicate that you are still alive, day after day, despite doing what they
thought would be immensely dangerous. Or better still, thrive in it. Being
happy every day. Being in charge of your life and being clear on your
goals and plans. Achieving financial success. Being recognized for your
work. Making positive change. Showing that you are a wise adult who
can now do well in her life without any intervention."
.
Quinn West - MC - Still hasn't got the chance to say, Mamma Mia!
Dolion Abate - Third son - He has some plans.
Aksel Thorn - Bodyguard - He's prepared this time.
Sara Abate - Has aspirations - Got an inspirational talk from Quinn.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I just wanted to write the last section.
.
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!
197. Chapter 197: Conspiracies
Afoot
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It was another pleasant day at Plazzo Abate with Quinn just finishing his
morning workout and on course to return to his room to freshen up to
officially start his day. As Quinn turned to the corridor to his room, he
stopped when he heard something from his back. He turned to see Brio
and Aksel talking with each other.
His head tilted as he watched the pair talk with each other. Deciding to
see what they were talking about, Quinn walked towards them and
greeted the two adults with a smile,
"Good morning, Mr. Thorn. . . grandfather," he said.
It turned out that Brio Abate had no qualms about arguing with Quinn
every time he had tried to call the man anything other than grandfather.
After two weeks of almost daily arguments, Quinn had decided that it
was a lesser pain to call the man by what he wanted.
"So what are you two talking about so early in the morning," asked
Quinn.
"Thorn was just telling me how you have been liking it here. I hear that
you are barely home. It seems like you have been having fun," said Brio.
"Is that so. . . . it has been a busy time. But the beautiful country,
fantastic people, and the amazing food help a lot. Time passes quickly in
such a beautiful place."
"You should take it easy. Sightseeing is nice and all, but you should spend
some time at home; get to know more of the family."
"Hmm," Quinn thought about the offer and glanced at Thorn before
nodding, "alright, I will spend the day inside. Take it easy for a day or
two."
"Good, good. It's important to rest," said Brio before leaving.
Quinn turned to Aksel and spoke, "It's decided, I will take the day off
today. You can take easy for today."
"What are you going to do?" asked Aksel.
"Spend some more time with grandmother, maybe get started with
knitting a scarf of my own hand; play some chess with Sara; most
probably give one of the books a good read."
Aksel stared for a good while before saying, "I will tag along; can't take
the risk."
"Ah, the lack of trust hurt, Mr. Thorn. And here I thought all the fun time
we spent together would have created an unbreakable bond of faith and
confidence between the two of us."
"That doesn't sound right at all."
"Well, I'm disappointed by that; maybe we will develop that bond
someday, but for today, I hope you'll enjoy my company."
Aksel was on his way to get some breakfast, so he left to get something to
eat while Quinn would take a shower and get himself ready for the day.
As Aksel walked away, Quinn stared at him with some thoughts about
the conversation. He wanted to go outside and weighed the possibility of
fooling Aksel to go on a solo day trip across Rome.
"Hmm, let's just stay inside. I can't take the risk of facing my
grandfather's wrath after the Tri-wizard incident. It's better to lay low
this time around. . . . I can always come back on my own."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It was sometime after noon; Quinn sat in his room with the door being
locked shut and the windows curtained off. The room was properly lit
with the portable MLEs that he carried around with him.
In his hand sat 「The Theory Behind The Magic Of Constructs」. His eyes
scanned through the pages with complete attentiveness, gleaming
through black letters printed on the parchment to get the nuggets of
knowledge.
"Alright, let's see if my understanding is correct," said Quinn, putting the
book aside on the king-sized bed and standing up to walk to the clear
space in the front.
He flexed the fingers in both of his hands. He shook his left hand for a
reddish-yellow cord of light appeared out of his palm. It was the cord
from one of Quinn's all-time favorite spells: Carpe Retractum. Next, he
shook his right hand, and glowing red material rippled out his palm like
a liquid flowing out a tap, and instead of liquid polling on the ground, it
retained the form of a rope and coiled on the floor.
"So this is Empyrean, huh," muttered Quinn as he stared at the
incandescent red color of Empyrean.
He then raised both his hands to observe both Carpe Retractum and
Empyrean. While both spells were in the form of cords/ropes, Quinn
could tell how different they were. He whipped the ropes and threw the
other ends into the wall, making them stuck to the wall.
"This is fascinating."
The fingers of his red hand twitched; the red Empyrean rippled, and the
rope fell from his hand and polled down on the floor like a puddle of
water.
"Empyrean. . . . the material that could take on any number of physical
properties," said Quinn, his stone-grey eye reflecting the red glow.
"Fascinating, extremely fascinating. I can replicate Carpe Retractum
down to the exact detail, and I can turn it into a puddle of liquid the very
next second. . . what versatility!"
He dispelled Carpe Retractum and focused on Empyrean. He stood up
from beside the puddle of water and raised his hands for the liquid
Empyrean to lift off the ground, and under Quinn's molding, it formed a
shoddy cube.
"I still need a lot of practice; this is piss poor," he muttered, looking at the
cube, which looked like it was about to break down. If another user of
Empyrean heard Quinn, they would manifest a bat made from Empyrean
and hit him until he was crying for help. The audacity to call his
performance poor when people couldn't produce Empyrean for the first
couple of days.
Quinn continued to stare at the Empyrean as the material trembled into
various shapes under his command; he looked back at the book sitting on
the bed and smiled.
"We are going to have much fun, a lot of fun," he then started laughing.
The sphere made from Empyrean started to jiggle more and more with
Quinn's laughter and suddenly exploded straight into his face, and it
seemed that Empyrean had taken the physical properties of paint as
Quinn's front side was covered in glowing red.
"But before that, I have a lot of work to do."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The largest magical market of Italy was hidden in the heart of Florence,
the birthplace of the Renaissance, and has been called the Athens of the
Middle Ages and capital of the Tuscany region. The market was famously
known as the Pisand Row and was the Italian equivalent of British
Diagon Alley and its adjoining market lanes.
Situated inside Pisand Row was a store called Rigenerare. A quaint little
shop with a front shop much smaller than the back area of the shop, the
place where the magic happened. It was an apothecary specializing in
medical potions and was a famous potion shop, providing its services to
many magical hospitals.
"Mario! Amity needs ten crates of Fire seed potion! And they needed it
yesterday!" yelled a gaunt man in Italian with sunken cheeks and pale
skin that looked like it hadn't seen daylight for days.
"W-We don't have that prepared!" yelled another voice sounding anxious.
The owner of the voice peeked out from a corner to show a man with a
sweaty face.
Nereo Polo, the gaunt man, was the manager of the Rigenerare and the
apothecary's head potion brewer, while the other man was Mario
Spagnolo, one of the other potion brewers of the store.
"Then get your ass up to a cauldron and start brewing because if I don't
lay my beautiful eyes on a crate full of glowing orange, you better forget
the weekend off you were begging for!"
Mario sputtered at the threat and ran to get the batch of potions working
with tears in his eyes. He was looking at another all-nighter.
A stunning olive beauty peeked from the outside and yelled at the men
working inside, "Shut your damned mouths! It's leaking outside, and
customers can hear it! I'm not going to lose my commission because you
men can't behave like civilized people!"
Even though Rigenerare mainly tended to hospitals, they had a healthy
amount of individual customers, and the olive beauty Antea was a front
desk seller.
"Alright, alright, we will be quiet," said Nereo Polo.
"You better be," said Antea and then stacked off back outside.
Nereo Polo grumbled in a low voice after Antea was out of earshot, "Only
if that woman wasn't good at what she did." He turned to the potion
brewers under and yelled just enough so it wouldn't get out of the back
workshop, "Move your hands, keep those cauldrons hot! I don't want to
see a cauldron off fire if it isn't being scrubbed."
"Nereo!" Antea came back in.
"What is it, woman?! I didn't yell!"
"Abate is here," she said.
Nereo got up from his chair at once, "Dolion is here, but he isn't supposed
—"
"Yes, I'm here, Nereo," said Dolion in Italian, "can't I just be here to visit a
friend."
"You can be, but. . . ."
Dolion stepped forward, and two more people(one teenager, the other
adult) entered the back room. Nereo being in charge of the brewing back
room didn't like unknown people entering his domain. "Who are they?"
he asked.
Nereo saw Dolion gesturing him to look at the teenager; Nereo was
confused but studied the teenager closely. At first, he wasn't sure what he
was looking at, but a moment later, he noticed the stone-grey eyes that
stared back at him.
"A-A West!" exclaimed Nereo.
"He said West," said Quinn, looking at Dolion.
"He did," said Dolion before nodding to Nereo
Nereo cleared his throat, quickly wiped his hand with a rag before
stepping forward to say in accented English, "My name is Nereo Polo.
You are. . . ."
"I'm Quinn West," said Quinn introducing himself, "and you, Mr. Polo are
the manager of Rigenerare, an apothecary owned by my family, but you
already know that." He watched Nereo for a brief second, his eyes
twitching for a brief second, before looking at the workshop. "I have seen
Rigenerare's records; the apothecary has seen good growth in the past
three years."
"Thank you," said Nereo with a proud smile.
"But," there was always a but, "we haven't received any records from
Rigenerare for the last half-year. I'm here to know why?"
". . . .The machine broke."
"The machine?"
"The machine that sends letters."
"You mean the MagiFax. It's broken for half a year?"
"Yes."
Quinn gazed at Nereo, "Make up a better excuse."
"I'm not making an excuse; it's really broke. . . . I just didn't get it fixed."
"And why is that?"
"I don't understand how it works," said Nereo.
The creator of MagiFax paused for a bit. "You can call a technician to
explain how it works. They will explain how it works." When Nereo
didn't say anything, Quinn continued, "I'll sign you up for a session," this
wasn't the first case of people refusing to leave owl-mail, "now, show me
where's the unit."
Nereo led them to a small room, and Rigenerare's MagiFax was stashed
into a corner. "Alright, let's get it out from here," said Quinn and wheeled
out the MagiFax from the room into a more spacious area.
Dolion leaned towards Aksel and whispered, "What's he doing?"
Aksel shrugged, "I don't know."
Quinn observed the MagiFax for a bit before speaking, "What did you
do?"
"Nothing," said Nereo, but when Quinn continued to stare, he said, "I
kicked it. . . . many times."
"No wonder it broke," said Quinn as he took out his fake wand.
He waved it once in a diagonal, and everyone's eyes in the room widened
as the one-meter tall machine came apart with every single part of the
machine floating in the air. Quinn stepped into the sphere of floating
MagiFax pieces and started studying.
"Found it," he said, pointing to a layer of broken rune plates that
connected the machine to the networks that allowed MagiFaxes to send
and receive messages. He waved his fake wand, and the set of rune plates
glowed as Quinn applied transmutations to fix the crack and get the
runes flowing.
He stepped out of the sphere of floating parts and waved his fake wand
once again for the machine to put itself back together.
"Usually, you would need a MagiFax technician with proper
authorization to connect the unit back to the network-slash-sever, but
fortunately for you," he pointed at himself, "I'm a West and thus have the
proper authorization to connect any unit," which was partially a lie
because while Lia and George would have the proper authorization, they
wouldn't know how to do it.
As Quinn connected the MagiFax to the network, Aksel whispered to
Dolion, "Told you he is skilled."
"It's done," said Quinn, "I'll book you for up for a session on how to work
the MagiFax, so make sure you pay attention, but for now, send the
records to Palazzo Abate and the WMF-id to which you send the records,
I'll send them in."
"O-Okay," said Nereo.
"Good, don't kick the unit again, and don't be stubborn; learn how to use
MagiFax; it will do you a lot of good," said Quinn before turning to Aksel.
"Let's get out of here; I want to go to the library you mentioned; let's see
if they have a book that I can make a duplicate of."
Aksel nodded and followed after Quinn while he exited the store under
the eyes of Rigenerare's employees.
"Dolion," said Nereo.
Dolion didn't say anything and just shook his head which caused Nereo to
sigh in relief.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It was late in the night; Dolion and his middle-aged companion sat
opposite each other on a long table.
"It's ready," said Dolion.
"You really have it?" asked the middle-aged man.
Dolion placed the object in question on the table. "This is it. This is what
I'm going to use to open the way up for me."
"Are you sure it will work?"
"You can try some and see if it works or not."
"N-No, i-it's fine." If it worked, the man definitely didn't want to try it.
"Your choice," smiled Dolion.
"If it works as you say it does, then we need to move soon. I'm running
out of excuses as for why I'm not at home for the past couple of weeks."
"I'll move in a couple more days. I'm still thinking about how to make
sure that West doesn't feel anything is off."
"Any ideas?"
"Yes, I have narrowed it down to two choices. Both of them will be
effective against West; it's just a matter of which one is safer."
Then Dolion went silent as he stared at the table.
Before the marriage of Adam West and his sister Aria, the Wests and
Abates only had a professional relationship regarding West businesses in
Italy. It was only after the runaway marriage that their interaction
evolved.
At first, the Abates had remained proud and stubborn about collaborating
with Wests. The elders weren't happy that Aria had defied the family; to
retaliate, they even tried to make business difficult for Wests in Italy, but
Wests already had decent establishments in Italy before the marriage, and
with the resources they had, they were able to hold on, even if barely —
because as everyone knew, in Italy, there was nothing bigger than Abate.
It was only after they realized that the Wests could be better serve as
allies than enemies, so they decided to use the fact they had a daughter
married to the heir of Wests to their advantage — the Abates were no
stranger to this method; they had been employing political marriages for
centuries — but things didn't go their way as Aria refused to push their
cause.
The sweet little girl who would listen to every instruction since childhood
had risen to become Madam West. . . . the Abates had no control over her
and in turn the Wests. Adam West did work some cooperation with the
Abates to help his in-laws save some face, but it was only a token gesture
and nowhere the level that Abates were planning.
Then came another opportunity to tap into the West resources in the
form of Lia West wanting to connect with her mother's family.
'They pissed on that opportunity with their worthless traditions,' thought
Dolion. He knew very well that his family didn't believe that women
were capable of responsibilities outside the house and offended an
ambitious Lia West the very day she stepped into Palazzo Abate.
Dolion, who had spent a lot of his formative years in America, didn't
align with his family's views — at least not anymore; for him, anyone
with a good head over their shoulders could do whatever they desired. It
had physically pained him to see the opportunity known as Lia slip past,
wasted.
But it seemed that the Abate family's luck hadn't run dry, and they were
given yet another opportunity. Arai had given to a son, a son who had
finally grown up, and because of the patriarchal nature, this time it was
the Abates who sent the invitation to the Wests to let them get to know
Quinn West.
Dolion had been so excited that he got to planning. He wasn't going to let
his family ruin things this time.
'I'm going to get a vein into the Wests. . . . no matter what it takes,' he
had thought.
And he was going to keep what he earned to himself. His moronic family
wouldn't get anything. . . . they would only waste it away.
"I have decided," said Dolion to his companion, "I'm going to move, and
by the end of this week, we will have everything we could ever desire."
His name was Dolion, and there was no one better than him when it
came to deceit.
.
Quinn West - MC - Learning a new spell and doing some family work.
Dolion Abate - Third Son - Deceit runs in his veins.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I wanted this arc to last a little longer, but I
think the next chapter is going to be the climax — I think, we never
know. . .
.
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!
198. Chapter 198: Got you! Or did
you?
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
"I'm bored of playing chess," said Sara Abate, the only person his age that
Quinn had been able to make friends with during his stay at the Palazzo
Abate.
"We can always do something else," said Quinn as he moved his bishop
across the board, "and from the look of it, we will be needing something
else to do. . . . checkmate."
"Great, then let's do something else."
Quinn looked up at the girl, "Did you lose on purpose?"
"No, of course not, said the girl, packing up the chess set, "so what should
we do?"
He looked at her with a suspecting gaze. "We can go see the Volcano of
Stromboli on the Aeolian Islands and wait to see the explosions. . . . if
we're lucky, we could see some big ones."
"Can we go up to the top?"
". . . . I don't think so, that's not safe, I'm guessing."
"Then no, let's think of something else," she said. The initially shy girl
had opened up to Quinn with time.
"Okay, how about we go to a beach?" he suggested, "I'm sure we can find
a secluded one and spend a fun day by the seaside."
"I'm not really in the mood to go outside," said Sara.
"You're the host, you know; you should be telling me what we should be
doing. . . . can I interest you in some magic, though?" he asked, pulling
out a deck of cards to perform a riffle shuffle while they were in his
hands.
"Magic? You mean card tricks; what can you do?"
"A whole bunch of things," Quinn held the red deck with his left-hand
fingers and waved the left in front of it for the deck to change to blue.
"I can do that," said Sara.
"Not without magic. . . . I need to come up with a term to differentiate
the two types."
"You do that while I get us something to drink," said Sara and got up
from her chair. She exited the balcony where they sat, went to the first
door she could find, took out a silver key, and inserted it into the keyhole
before turning it for the door to turn a royal blue. Sara opened it, and the
door was now connected to her own room. She went in and took out two
bottles each of Limonata and Arinchatta and prepared two Cornetti con
Panna for them.
She turned to go back but stopped before she could even take a single
step.
"Uncle!" she exclaimed; her heart was trying to leap out of her chest,
"what you doing. . . . " her voice trailed off as her eyes went glossy, dull,
and out of focus.
"Don't worry, Sara," said the wire-thin man, "this will only take a few
minutes," he gently took the glass bottles from her hands, "you won't
even remember it."
"Okay. . . ." said Sara, her voice not louder than a murmur.
The third son smiled as he made Sara sit down before looking at the
bottle in his hands. "Quinn West, we're going to have a lot of fun for a
long, long time."
. . .
"I'm back."
Quinn's eyes left the layoff cards on the table and looked at Sara. He saw
the bottles and the two croissants that Sara had with her and grew
hungry.
"I brought some refreshments," said Sara and set down the tray before
passing a bottle to Quinn, who touched the cap for it to pop off with
loud. . . . pop.
"Bubbles, nice," smiled Quinn and drank the cold soda, "hmm, I can taste
lemon," he smacked his lips, "and something else." He took another swig
and tried to find what else he was tasting.
Sara smiled and picked up a bottle for herself, "That's the fun part; it's a
surprise."
"Whatever it is, it tastes good," said Quinn looking at the label.
"I will tell you when you finish it. . . . till then keep guessing."
Quinn went on to show Sara his magic tricks while enjoying his
beverage. There were a lot of oohs and aahs from Sara as he proudly
displayed the wonders of sleight of hand. But as he did that, Quinn
started to feel a little dizzy, a bit lethargic, and a lot slower, but . . .
When things finally cleared up back to normal, he wasn't on the terrace
with Sara; instead, he was in an empty room lit up with candles placed
around the room. He looked down to see that his hands, legs, and torso
were thoroughly tied up.
"He's waking up."
Quinn looked up towards the source of the voice and saw a man he had
only seen once before, and beside him stood Dolion, who was staring at
him.
"Dolion. . . . were am I?" asked Quinn.
"How are you feeling, Quinn?" asked Dolion in return and stared into
Quinn's eyes.
"I feel slow. . . and my head feels heavy. . . . now — it's gone. . . . Dolion
— what's happening?"
Dolion's eyes shined when Quinn told him about the heaviness
disappearing. It meant that Quinn wasn't able to detect him inside his
head. 'I can work without worry now,' he thought.
"There's nothing to worry about, Quinn," said Dolion smiling. "You're just
feeling that way because I have given you a magic-dampening potion. . . .
it cuts your connection to your magic. . . . once upon a time it was given
to prisoners." He had given Quinn a unique blend of magic-dampening
potions that not only did its original function but also put the target into
a hazy state.
"That — sounds — interesting. . . . . why did — they — stop?"
"It is interesting," smiled Dolion, "you don't need to worry about why they
stopped."
A strong wind made the windows shake and shudder, making Dolion's
middle-aged companion quake in surprise. He turned to Dolion and
asked, "Are you sure the bodyguard isn't going to find out?"
"Aksel doesn't stay by his side while he's with mother or Sara. As long as
Aksel is concerned, Quinn is currently with Sara. He won't be interfering
with this, and even if he does decide to check on him, we will be done by
the time he finds him," a smirk made its way to Dolion's face, "when he
questions Quinn, the kid will say whatever we want him to, and Aksel
will believe it because of Quinn's actions in Denmark."
Dolion then turned to his companion and sighed, "You're speaking too
much. Why did I ever think that it was okay to get you involved? You
have been absolutely useless," he smiled, "I know why. . . . you're my
puppet after all."
"What are you saying?" asked the middle-aged man.
Dolion raised his wands, and as the tip glowed with a dirty yellow, the
middle-aged man's eyes went blank, all expression drained, and the man
seemed to have become something like a. . . . puppet.
Dolion turned to Quinn, who was swirling his head as if not being able to
support it. "Quinn," he called.
"Yes?" said Quinn, looking at Doloin with out-of-focus eyes.
"Do you know this person?" Dolion pointed to the puppet-like man.
"No."
"You should get to know him; he's my puppet. Well, he's my first cousin,
Antonio Abate. . . . And soon you're going to become his 'brother' so it's
essential that you two get along," he smiled and then chuckled, "I don't
think it will be a problem with getting along. I can just make you two get
along."
He turned to Antonio Abate and spoke, "Go out and keep a lookout to see
if there is someone who comes looking. Inform me if you see someone."
Antonio mechanically nodded and turned to walk towards the door.
"Now, where were we," Dolion turned back to Quinn, "it's time to get you
—," his words died in his mouth, the sight in front of him made his heart
skip a beat. . . . the chair was empty.
'Where. . . . where is he?!'
"It's fascinating, you know?"
Dolion turned hastily towards the voice and saw Quinn with his hands
behind his back standing in front of a still Antonio, staring at the man.
"Antonio Abate, you said was this man's name?" said Quinn, snapping his
fingers in the face of Antonio, "this man has become an automaton. . . .
and you say that you did this to this man," he turned to face Dolion, "if I
didn't know a thing or two about you, Dolion, I wouldn't have believed it.
. . . even now, I'm having a little difficulty believing that you are the
cause of 'dead' Antonio's current status."
"How?" asked Dolion and slowly walked behind the chair Quinn was
previously sitting on.
"What do you mean. . . . how?"
"You know what," said Dolion, his hand slowly creeping towards his
sides.
"Magic-dampening potion," said Quinn, who was now waving his hand in
front of Antonio, "a terrible, terrible potion. . . . as you stated it weakens
connection to magic," Quinn tilted his neck towards Dolion with a
blooming smile, "and as it so happens I have taken magic-dampening
potion in the past."
"Huh. . . . what?"
Quinn didn't reply and simply raised his hand towards Dolion, and a bolt
of white spell-lightning of fill body-bind zapped towards Dolion, who had
been trying to sneak his wand out, had his hand on his wand, so he
whipped it out and slashed it to swat the spell away and was successful in
doing so. . . . or so he thought, Dolion felt a paralysis crawl through his
fingertips, traveled up his arm, and before he knew it, his right upper
body was completely paralyzed.
Dolion could only watch as another white spell-light zapped him as his
wand lay in his paralyzed right hand.
Quinn then manipulated Dolion's body and strapped him to the chair he
was previously bound to before releasing him of the temporary paralysis
but not before taking Dolion's wand from him.
"You fascinate me, Dolion," said Quinn and then paused for a brief
moment, wound his arm up and. . . . PAA! . . . he slapped Antonio hard
on his face, sending ripples through the chubby cheeks before falling
down to the ground. . . . knocking him out — Quinn might have inserted
a tiny boost of body magic to his slap.
Quinn stared at Antonio for a bit. Then pulled a chair, dragged it in front
of Dolion, and sat down. "So, where were we? Ah yes, I was telling you
how fascinating I found you. . . . you see, I have a problem," Quinn licked
his lip, "I'm a serial mind reader. . . . I read a lot of people's minds while
talking to them."
"A lot?" scoffed Dolion, "you read almost everyone's mind at the first
lunch."
"So, I was right," smiled Quinn, "you're a Legilimens. I had a hunch from
the first time I met you. . . . I had felt a little something, but I had
chalked it up to me imagining things. . . . at least for a couple of days."
"Now, while there were a couple of people in the Abate family who I
couldn't mind-peek with sneaky Soft-Legilimency."
When a Legilemens tried to break into a mind without the target knowing
it was known as a Soft-Legilimency, but when they didn't care about
being known, it was known as Hard-Legilimency, and the final form was
disregard all care and go all out, even if it caused severe pain and
damage to the target, it was known as Brute-Force-Legilimency.
"And while my Soft-Legilimency skills weren't limited to what I was
using, I couldn't go past beyond them." Quinn smiled bitterly, "As I
mentioned before, I'm a serial mind reader. . . . and it's a problem. I tend
to feel uncomfortable when I can't read the mind of an unknown person. .
. . I'm sure you know the feeling."
Dolion didn't respond even though he knew precisely what Quinn was
talking about. It was a common problem among Legilimens across the
globe.
"To make sure my condition doesn't worsen, I have self-imposed some
rules upon myself to keep myself from slipping."
"How noble of you," said Dolion sarcastically.
Quinn ignored the jab and continued, "I would describe my current
situation as a state of being — meaning that I'm not having trouble
maintaining proper decorum with others' minds, it's under my control
and not the other way around — my mind problem doesn't hinder my
daily life," his eyes flashed with a somber glint, "but I don't want it to
turn into a constant state of struggle where I'm having difficulty stopping
myself from breaking into people's mind left and right. . . ." He sighed,
"that's where the rules come in — don't use Legilimency on friends and
families; if the person isn't suspicious on the first scan, don't scan them
again; never even think about going above Soft-Legilimency unless there's
a solid reason; and a few others that keep my bad habit in check. . . ."
Quinn had once thought that he wouldn't get into this problem like Alan
did, but here he was, but at least he was following a strict regime to help
himself and the people around him. And like Alan, who liked to use his
teaching job to keep his cravings in check, Quinn used his daily Hogwarts
breakfast Soft-Legilimency sweep as a way as a treat.
It was important for Quinn to restrain himself because if a day came
where he stopped doing so, then that would be the day when Quinn
would lose the ability to trust in anyone and, in turn, lose all his
important relationships and the ability to make new ones. . . . Alan had
said so himself when Quinn had written to his teacher and Quinn agreed
with the assessment.
"Coming back to the matter at hand; among the other rules, there's a rule
regarding Soft-Legilimency, which is — only emotions and surface
thoughts. . . no memories. . . . as such, I restrict myself from diving into
memories which is why I never viewed any of the Abate family
members," then Quinn raised his finger, "but then I found something
strange. . . ."
Dolion was trying to get free, but the bindings were too firm, so he
couldn't do anything but listen, and it wasn't like he was uninterested.
". . . . Aksel Thorn was the problem," said Quinn making Dolion frown,
"What do you mean?" asked Diloin in confusion. Aksel wasn't part of the
plan.
"I spent some time with Mr. Thorn in Denmark, and even though it was a
brief stay, I had gotten a gist of what he was like. . . . so imagine my
surprise when the fellow who was a man of few words in his own country
where he spoke his mother tongue, was so chipper with various members
of the Abate family. . . . In our travel across the country, you and he
talked a lot when I was busy, and I know for a fact that he told you about
me being skilled at magic; Mr. Thorn even told you about how quick I
learned apparition. . . so I off-handedly sneaked some answers out him
indirectly through conversations."
It turned out that the Abate family was a regular client for Abates, which
was why Aksel was comfortable with Abates as they were a regular and
well-playing client. He was comfortable enough to discuss Quinn's
whereabouts with Brio Abate.
"But that turned out to be Mr. Thorn just networking with a client, and
this wasn't enough for me to be suspicious that something like this,"
Quinn pointed between them, "would happen, but the thing that did
convince me that there was something wrong was you Dolion, you were
the final piece."
"Me?" asked Dolion. He had been acting perfectly since Quinn's arrival.
"Yes, you, Dolion," smiled Quinn. "Even without the Legilimency, I was
able to understand the dynamics of the current Abate family. . . . the
family is essentially in control of four men — Brio and his three sons,
Cesare, Matteo, and you."
Brio Abate, while he was the patriarch of the family, the old man had
already withdrawn himself from the responsibilities and had passed them
onto his sons — he was only a figurehead, someone maintaining his
position as a placholder.
The first son, Cesare, was a philanderer who cheated on his wife with a
new woman every week and had no interest in running the family. All he
did was have fun on the money got as his position as the first son, in
short, a complete wastrel.
The second son, Matteo, was serious, by the books man and the direct
opposite of his older brother. As he said to Quinn, Matteo's calling wasn't
magic but running the family, which he did in place of Cesare — but it
turned out that Matteo wasn't good at leading or managing. He had been
struggling hard just to make sure that the business didn't lose money,
much less thinking about turning out a profit. This didn't seem to be a
problem for the current Abate family with their deep coffers, but it was a
severe problem in the long term — that's how old money ran out for
many multi-generational families.
"And you, my friend, the third son, are a lazy person," said Quinn with a
shrug to a glare forming in his captive's eyes, "Dolion, you live a lavish
lifestyle, and time-to-time indulge in the same pass time as your eldest
brother, but you aren't attached to someone, so it's fine, and you are
nowhere near Cesare, that's a positive. . . . You also don't have any
interest in running the family, and even though you are in charge of two
shops, they are doing just well enough to turn a barely sufficient profit. .
. . you're sloth incarnated."
Quinn stared at the tied-up Dolion and sighed with a smile, "It's obvious
why you wanted to make me a 'puppet' as you said it," he pointed at
Antonio's leg, which was the only thing visible from their spot, "if you
turned me into a puppet-like Antonio, you would have access to all the
money would ever need."
"It seems you already know everything," said Dolion with a sigh, "how
about we forget about everything that happened here. I'm sure you don't
want strife between our families; it won't do any good to either side."
Dolion was thinking. If Quinn removed his bindings, he would have a
chance once again, and he could try once more when Quinn was flush
with victory and guard down.
"That is true; I don't want bad blood between our families," said Quinn,
but Dolion had got one thing wrong, "but I don't know everything. . . . I
still have some questions that I will have you answer."
"There's nothing else, Quinn, just let me go, and I promise to forget to
never do something like this again," said Dolion, putting on his best
smile.
Quinn stared at Dolion's futile attempts to get free before shaking his
head. "Just answer me a question, Dolion. . . . how did you protect Nereo
Polo's brain."
". . . . What do you mean? I don't understand."
"You asked me how I was alright now even after drinking the magic-
dampening potion. The answer is quite simple. . . . the dose wasn't strong
enough," Quinn saw a look of unconvinced on Dolion's face, "I'm
assuming that you made Nereo brew the potion, and he did a great job
making the potion for someone my age, but you see, I'm not your average
sixteen year old," his eyes flashed purple for a split second, "a regular
dose of magic-dampening potion which would completely cut the
connection with magic couldn't do anything to me. . . . I have too much
magic inside me, and as absurd may it sound, it would take a
concentrated dosage for it to work on me. . . . though I had to say, I
didn't see the modified potion coming, and I was lucky that all it did was
make me dizzy for a bit and nothing else."
Before Dolion could rebuke, Quinn continued, "At Rigenerare, I tried to
read Nereo Polo's thoughts because I thought he was embezzling money
and was the reason he hadn't sent us any records, but to my surprise, Mr.
Polo's mind was an iron fortress, I couldn't even sense his emotions,"
Quinn's eyes flashed with cold curiosity, "Dolion I know you did
something. It isn't possible for a second person to protect another's mind.
. . . but you somehow did it. . . . tell me how you did it."
Dolion's jaw set in place as he stared at Quinn with an expressionless
blank face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Quinn stared at Dolion's face, which showed clear signs of Occlumency,
and sighed. Quinn stood up from his spot and moved closer to Dolion.
Under Dolion's solid gaze, Quinn took out a small vial.
"What's that?" asked Dolion plainly.
"This is. . . .Veritaserum, Dolion," said Quinn, and if Dolion wasn't using
Occlumency, his eyes would've popped out, "I'm going to have to use this
to loosen your tongue a little bit."
Quinn wanted to know how Dolion did it, and he was going to get his
answers.
"You are going to tell me how you protected Nereo's mind and how you
turned Antonio into what he is because that's not Imperious," he grabbed
Dolion by the hair and the man suddenly felt a force opening his mouth.
He could only struggle in vain as drop after drop of Veritaserum hit his
tongue.
"Let's get started," said Quinn with a cold smile.
.
Quinn West - MC - Of course, I knew.
Dolion Abate - Mastermind - Struck with Uno-Reverse.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - It turns out the next chapter is going to be
the last of this arc.
.
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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 synopsis!
199. Chapter 199: The Italian
Climax
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Veritaserum. . . . a potent truth serum so powerful that just mere three
drops would have a person spill their innermost secrets for everyone to
hear. The potion effectively forced the drinker to answer any questions
put to them truthfully. . . .
"Though there are methods of resistance," said Quinn as he saw Dolion,
who had his eyes squeezed shut and looked like he was going through a
massive struggle, "one can either take an antidote to the potion — but it
isn't a vaccine, and thus one will require to take it in a general vicinity of
ingestion of Veritaserum. . . . and from the looks of it, you weren't aware
that you'll be taking Veritaserum today."
"No — Yes! I took an antidote," said Dolion through gritted teeth — he
was trying to resist the Veritaserum.
"The second method to resist Veritaserum is through Occlumency," said
Quinn with a beaming smile, "which you're doing now and from the looks
of it, you're having fun. . . . I want to give you more, but unfortunately, I
do care about your mental health and don't want to overload your brain
with Veritaserum.
"But, I can't have you resist the Veritaserum," said Quinn sitting back
down on his chair, "I have to say, Dolion, I'm pleased with how the
events folded — I had this vial of Veritaserum for a very long time with
no meaningful way to use it inside Hogwarts. . . . to be able to finally use
it is as exciting as it gets for me. . . . And now with your resistance, I'm
going to get a chance to use Hard-Legilimency to loosen you up which I
rarely get to use."
Dolion felt his eyelids being pulled to stay open and felt eyeballs jam up
to look at the front, where stone-grey eyes were waiting for him. And
then he clearly felt a mind probe slam against his shields.
'Heavy!' thought Dolion, experiencing the force of Quinn's Legilimency.
"It always feels pretty good to use Hard-Legilimency. . . . without hiding,
with so little restriction and sneaking around," said Quinn, his eyes
locked with Dolion and magic flowing.
"Oh, an all-diamond cover," said Quinn looking at Dolion's Occlumency
shields — in front of him was a spread of sparkling polished diamond.
In his time as Legilimens, Quinn had seen many Occlumency shields, and
he had come to see a pattern — a heavy majority of people had their
Occlumency shields in the form of brick walls or steel structures. And
while the imaging of the shield layer didn't matter much as the actual
strength came from a person's confidence in their shields and hard work,
but when people saw bricks being broken or steel being bent with magic,
subconsciously, people's faith in their shields would fail. Quinn's
hexagonal graphene-based shields weren't actually seen in the natural
world, which ensured that his confidence wouldn't fall from seeing his
shield material in the real world.
"Diamond is a strong material, a good choice to choose it as a shielding
material," said Quinn smiling, which didn't give Dolion any comfort,
"your shield is an arrangement of carbon, and mine is an arrangement of
carbon. . . . of course, mine is stronger."
Dolion then felt like a hammer had been unleashed on his diamond
shield. He could imagine his shields thrumming as the force traveled
everywhere.
"This is so much more fun than sneaking around," laughed Quinn. "Tell
me, Dolion, how did you protect Nereo's mind!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! . . . continuous blows of Legilimency were making it
challenging for Dolion to keep a hold on his tongue.
"I — am — a — nat — NO!" Dolion took control just in time and defied
the Veritaserum running through his body.
Quinn sighed in disappointment, "It seems playtime is over. . . . I'm going
to shatter your shield in one swoop. . . . don't say I didn't warn you."
He charged up his Legilimency and speared into the diamond.
Immediately, cracks appeared on the sparkling surfaces, spreading
quickly as Quinn drilled down deeper.
"Alright, just one more second," said Quinn as he could feel the end
coming soon.
Shatter!. . . . the diamond layer broke down into million little pieces
making Quinn smile, but then his eye narrowed as he felt a sharp mental
attack appear out of nowhere.
Occlumency and Legilimency were two sides of the same coin. And just
so it happened, when a Legilimens tried to break into a mind, they
extended their mind, leaving it open, leaving it vulnerable to the target. .
. . and if that target so happened to be a Legilimens, they had a chance to
retaliate.
Dolion Abate was a Legilimens, and if he was going to be attacked, he
wasn't going down without a fight. He sent out a sharp mental attack,
aiming to cause Quinn a lot of pain.
Dolion saw Quinn close his eyes, then a frown appeared between his
brows, and finally heard a groan escape his throat. He also felt Quinn's
Legilimency attack retreat, making him release a sigh of relief.
"Ha, take tha—"
"That almost hurt!"
Dolion's word died in his throat as he saw Quinn open his eyes with a
sigh.
"That's why it is such a pain breaking into Legilimens' mind," said Quinn
cracking his neck, "they always, without fail, try to retaliate," then he
grinned, "and in doing so, leave their mind open."
Dolion's eyes widened when he realized what he had done. By attacking,
he had extended his mind and allowed Quinn to exploit that opening.
"You're a decent Legilimens, Dolion," said Quinn, the corner of his lip
raising up, "but — I — am — better. . . . much, much better."
Dolion's world went white as Quinn bombarded his entire mindscape
with a mind-numbing detonation of Legilimency probe.
"Now, let's get started. . . . tell me your name."
"Dolion Abate."
"What's your underwear color?"
"White."
"Tighty whities. . . . well, how were you able to protect Nereo's mind
from me?"
"Through Legilimency."
"Please elaborate."
"I'm a natural Legilimens. . . ."
Quinn paused for a bit. This was important information; a natural talent
was a humongous gift. Dolion being a natural Legilimens, explained how
he was able to fool Quinn. To a natural, their magical talent was the
same as breathing.
For example, a Metamorphmdagus was a natural talent in transfiguration,
making Nymphadora Tonks a natural. Quinn personally knew another
natural — he knew a person with two natural talents; an absolute
monster of mind magic, his teacher, Alan D. Baddeley, the man with
natural talent in Legilimency and Occlumency.
Dolion continued, ". . . . I have developed the ability to intercept and
block Legilimency probes. I stopped your soft-probe from reaching Nereo,
and that's why you didn't feel a thing. . . . if you go back now, you will be
able to read him."
"Why did Nereo help you with the potion?"
"He had been using Rigenerare's money to support his gambling habit
and was falsifying the records. I caught him and blackmailed him into
owing me."
"What about Antonio? Why is he acting like that?"
"I re-wrote his mind to follow my every command. It's like hypnotism,
but unlike hypnotism, he would do things that even if they go against his
moral code. It grants me complete control like an Imperius curse does,
but Antonio can't escape my control with a strong will. . . . his will
doesn't even come into play. . . he's completely subservient."
This was the power of a natural. . . . they could do things that others
would take years upon years of hard work to replicate. Quinn could
imagine achieving blocking a Legilimency probe for a third after a couple
of years of research and experimentation, but he couldn't even believe
how he could even get started on turning another person into a puppet
without any chance to escape, changing them from the very inside.
"Do you have any other puppets?" asked Quinn; he wasn't going to ask if
Dolion's next target was him — that was obvious.
"There are many. . . . but Antonio is my best."
Quinn stared at Dolion and asked after a pause, "What do you mean by
best?"
"It took some time and trial and error to improve my puppeteer ability.
There were many before Antonio, but they didn't come out of the
procedure whole. . . . many lost their minds and became empty vessels. . .
vegetables."
Quinn bowed his head down. It wasn't surprising to hear that, but that
didn't make it any less horrifying. "How many?" he asked.
When no answer came, Quinn looked up and saw Dolion staring at him.
The Veritaserum had run its course, and Dolion wasn't going to answer
any more questions.
"That is my last question," said Quinn, "you can answer it, or I scrape it
off your mind."
Dolion just glared. All his secrets had been exposed; he wasn't going to
answer anymore.
"Your choice," spoke Quinn and then dove in deep, Dolion's eye
reddened, and a scream would've escaped him if he hadn't been silenced
by Quinn.
The answer that Quinn found was as horrifying as he had thought. Dolion
had left six people in vegetative states, seven with paralysis and
permanent memory loss, and nine were just a tad bit inferior to Antonio,
with the Antonio being the best.
"So much talent, yet you waste it, you're lazy, Dolion." said Quinn, finally
giving Dolion some breathing room, "You have such a tremendous talent,
and all you created out of it was puppeteering magic; because you
wanted some slaves." Dolion's abilities were impressive, but his basic
Legilimency skills were sub-par for a natural; Quinn, who was less than
half of Dolion's age, was better, a travesty for someone with a natural
talent.
"I will kill you," said Dolion, a card snarl in his voice, "I will cripple your
mind and turn into an empty vessel. . . . you are nothing in front of me. I
can break you down to mere trash!"
Dolion watched to expect a look of anger or fear on Quinn's face, but all
he got was a look of pity. "What!" he yelled. "Why are you looking at me
like that?!"
"I don't expect every magical to excel magic or even pursue it as a career.
People have their own interests, and they shouldn't be tied down with
something they had by birth," the look of pity on Quinn's face deepened,
"even you, Dolionm, if you didn't explore your talent, I wouldn't have
judged you. . . . but you have nothing to replace it. . . . nothing at all, you
are a waste of life."
"Fuck you!" he cursed in his mother tongue.
Quinn stood up without replying and walked closer to Dolion. He placed
both his hands on Dolion's temples and stared into his eyes.
"What are you doing?!" yelled Dolion in Italian.
"I have been practicing fabricating memories for a while now," stated
Quinn, "mostly on myself, and I have progressed to the point that I have
been able to fool myself with my own fake memories. . . . I'm going to
erase your memories, then plant fake ones deep into your conscious. If I
can fool myself, then I will definitely be able someone inferior to me,"
Dolion growled, "even if you ever start developing your skills, by the time
you catch up to the current me, your brain would've assimilated these
false memories, classifying them as organically real. . . . You'll never get
back what I erase."
Quinn smiled and spoke a final word, "I will miss our little cat-and-mouse
chase, Dolion, and some weird way, I will miss you; because the 'you'
that will come out of this will be a whole lot different."
Magic flowed, and Quinn connected with Dolion's mind and started to
look for every memory relating to puppeteering magic, his victims, his
plans to make Quinn into his puppet, and every other memory connected
to his evil deeds. It took every bit of Quinn's Occlumency to power his
brain for processing the memory and his Legilimency to isolate them, but
he was able to reach every corner of Dolion's memories, and in his grasp
was every memory he was going to erase and replace.
The fantastic thing about the human brain was that when it lost
memories, it would actively replace them on its own to fill in the gaps.
All Quinn had to do was let the brain do its work and simply use its
powers as a guide to influence the brain so that when the memories
formed, they would be to his liking.
"Let's change you from a puppet-creating maniac to a person who will be
absolutely hated in Italy." Quinn went on to plant memories in which
Dolion disliked pasta, meat, parmesan, garlic, cheek kisses, coffee —
thought America was better than Italy — kept to himself — drank
cappuccino after breakfast. . . . and threw in always wanted to partake in
gardening to keep the new Dolion mellow.
Of course, Quinn knew that these memories had the same chances of
changing Dolion's real taste as Quinn leaving magic. Legilimency would
have been classified as dark magic a long time ago if it was that easy. But
he could do was give Dolion amnesia and make him lose his memories,
so when the Abates invite a mind-healer to help Dolion, the memories
which would surface will clash with his instinctual tastes and cause chaos
on the person known as Dolion. He would start doubting the him before
memory loss and reassess his life and hopefully take a new turn.
"If I didn't invite the threat of getting myself identified as my alter ego, I
would have taken your hands from you and with it most of your magic,"
muttered Quinn as he stared at the unconscious Dolion — Tetani Nervum
couldn't be connected back to him.
After giving Dolion amnesia by sealing away his memories (obliviation
but comparatively easier to reverse) and placing natural-looking memory
blocks throughout his mindscape to hinder recovery and make the mind-
healer's work more difficult, Quinn dragged Dolion to a window, set him
over the ledge before pushing him off.
Dolion's unconscious body fell from the middle floor of Palazzo Abate
and landed on his legs, shattering them into pieces on impact.
"Feel lucky that I don't want a war between Abates and Wests because if
not, I would've done much, much worse."
"Alright, my work is done here," said Quinn, but then saw Antonio's
unconscious body, "ah, I need to dispose of this as well." Quinn simply
obliviated Antonio off the plan to turn Quinn into a puppet and dumped
him in another room so that Antonio wouldn't point fingers.
. . .
That night, Dolion was found, and he was immediately taken to hospital.
The Abates found that Dolion had lost his memory, and the retrievable
would be a sure but long process — the mind of a natural Legilimens
wasn't something a mind-healer could cruise through; it would require a
degree of carefulness to not fear instinctual retaliation.
The following day, Antonio Abate reported his Abate gateway key
missing; upon the report, the key was immediately de-activated from the
source to avoid exploitation.
Around the same time, Quinn was given the news that Nereo Polo, the
manager of Rigenerare on Pisand Row, was brutally maimed last night by
an unknown assailant and had turned in his resignation first thing in the
morning after he gained consciousness — he had decided that life was
too short and was going to spend time with his family.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
After a day of break from sightseeing, Quinn and Aksel were again
traveling and had started their day early with breakfast in a cafe in
Venice.
Aksel walked back to their table with their orders to see that Quinn was
at another table, chatting it up and laughing with a middle-aged lady. . . .
in fluent Italian.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," said Quinn, sitting down across Aksel, "I was
just asking that sweet woman about restaurant recommendations in the
area."
"You speak Italian," stated Aksel and asked a question.
"Of course, I do. . . it's my mother's mother tongue. What kind of son
would I be if I didn't Italian? And I'm half-Italian; I need to honor my
blood someway."
"You haven't spoken a word of Italian the entire time we have been in the
country. You spoke in English; you made Dolion translate every
conversation you had."
"Yes, that's right," smiled Quinn, eating his food.
"Why?"
"No specific reason; it was a whim," replied Quinn. He couldn't say that
he was simply following the saying, 'keep friends close, enemies closer' to
make sure that Dolion stayed with them and got comfortable with his
role as the guide/translator, hoping that he would let something slip in
Italian.
"A whim?"
Quinn winked before biting into his sandwich, "This is great stuff!"
He looked at the beautiful city, clear skies, sparkling waters which
reflected the sky, the ripples formed by gondolas that rowed passed and
smiled,
"Mamma Mia!"
.
Quinn West - MC - "Mamma Mia!"
Dolion Abate - Adjusted - In the future was sent away to America after he
changed so much.
Antonio Abate - The best puppet - Continuous his life without change.
Nereo Polo - Ex-manager - Beaten to a pulp.
Aksel Thorn - Bodyguard - In the initial drafts, he had assassinated
Quinn's parents on a hit paid by Brio Abate.
.
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!
200. Chapter 200: July 31, 1995:
Party Rules
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The walls in the West manor were covered with patterned wallpapers,
but Quinn's room's walls were painted in a two-toned color scheme with
the ceiling and crown moldings painted in white while the walls were
cobalt blue. The dark walnut floor hadn't changed, which tied together
all the wooden furniture like Quinn's study table, bed, and the small
round table and two chairs set that sat beside the room's window, which
was right above the room's fireplace. The room's right wall held a white
two-panel door that opened into the walk-in closet; the door was
surrounded by a top-to-bottom array of half-filled bookshelves from all
three sides. The bed was opposite the room's entrance and on the wall
above the headboard was a wall painting made with hexagonal rings and
solids of white and sparse golden-yellow contrasting well with the blue
background. Finally, the room was equipped with MLEs which Quinn had
embedded/fused right into the walls for lighting and in the lamps sitting
on the bedside dressers and study table, which had replaced the candle
chandelier and lamps which previously hung from the ceiling.
Sitting on one of the chairs by the window, Quinn stared at the envelope
in his hand. He had just returned from Italy yesterday, and today, his
grandfather had handed him the letters which arrived in his absence.
Quinn opened the envelope and read the calligraphy on the letter card
inside, "You're cordially invited to celebrate the Birthday Anniversary of
Harry and Ivy Potter on July 30, 1995, at [. . .] as the guest of Harry
Potter [. . .] Best Regards, James and Lily Potter."
Quinn sighed, "Yeah, this almost slipped my mind. Damn, this is
tomorrow, huh. I haven't prepared any gifts for them," he looked around
to see if something would do for a gift, and his eye fell upon the
miniature Leaning Tower of Pisa sitting on the round table in front of
him.
"No, I'm not giving you away," he scoffed. The miniature was made from
marble that Quinn had skimmed off the original Leaning Tower of Pisa
using transmutation. It was too unique for him to give it away as a gift.
As a side note, Quinn had miniatures of the Colosseum, the Duomo di
Milano, Giotto's Bell Tower, Duomo di Siena, Doge's Palace, Cathedral of
Santa Maria del Fiore, Pantheon, and many other buildings across Italy
made from the materials stolen from very important places inside the
original buildings.
Quinn stood up and entered the walk-in closet, which was essentially a
mid-size room. Then he waved his hand for his suitcase to come out from
a corner. The locks snapped open, and the suitcase opened, expanded to
quadruple its size, and instead of standard insides, there was a ladder
going down leading into the expanded space contained inside the
suitcase.
He climbed down and passed through a couple of corridors to push grand
red-oak doors that opened up to Quinn's ever-growing library. The same
library which held all of the books that Quinn had obtained during the
world tour, their translations, the books which Quinn had personally
brought since then, the books Lia had brought him as souvenirs, all of his
notes and research that he had ever penned, and finally, it held the entire
Room Of Requirements library copied as part of Project: Babel.
"Now, what should I give Ivy?" he muttered to himself. He had a lot to
choose from; Quinn was sure he could find something.
Five hours later, Quinn was hunched over a table, holding his head
between his arms. He had spent the first ten minutes looking for a gift for
Ivy, but then he found an intriguing book (for himself), got distracted. . .
. and recovered out of his book-coma five hours later with an empty
fountain pen and twenty-odd pages of double-sided notes.
He groaned loudly as the books flew back into their places and pages
filled themselves into appropriate files.
"Screw it," he spat and made his way to a specific section of the library
and took out a book. "This one will do," he said, staring at the book in
hand.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The Potter family preferred living in their homely home, more than
comfortable enough for the four family members, but their social circle
was bigger than their home could support. As such, they had booked a
great campground inside a forest with a stream nearby. Proper
arrangements were made to accommodate all their guests and have a
great outdoor party.
At the campground entrance, Harry and Ivy stood to greet the arriving
guests while their parents took the shift inside.
"I'm going to win this year," said Ivy after receiving birthday wishes from
yet another guest, "like I did last year and the year before that — a
champion's three-peat."
Harry scoffed, "Not a chance. I'm going to destroy you and your stupid
friends this year."
". . . . A lot of them are your friends too."
"Not today; they are not."
"Whatever, Hermione and I are going to win to get our three-peat. You
should work harder, you know; it's only time that this starts gets boring,"
said Ivy with a smug smirk on her face.
Harry stared at his sister with a look of disgust, "I'm going to have a lot of
fun wiping that smug smirk off your face."
"Dream on, four eyes."
Harry briefly glanced behind Ivy, whose back was turned towards the
entrance, and caught a glance of a certain someone. He held back a smile
that, if not, would have split his face.
"Twins." — Ivy heard the voice, and thinking it was another guest, she
turned to greet them with a smile, but the second she laid her eyes on the
'guest.'
"Q-Quinn," she said in astonishment, "what are you doing here?"
In front of her, dressed in a sea-green full t-shirt and white pants over tan
boots. One could say that Quinn looked effortlessly good, and Ivy was
one of them.
Quinn didn't immediately answer. Instead, he leaned forward and softly
grazed his lips against Ivy's cheeks, rendering the girl into stone. Quinn
didn't seem to notice the change in Ivy and moved towards Harry and
repeated the same with him.
"What?" uttered Harry, staring at Quinn in shock.
"Hmm?" Quinn felt confused for a second, but then he too froze, realizing
what he had just done. "A-Ah, sorry about that. . . . I-I just returned from
Italy, and I guess I did that on auto-pilot. . . . again, my sincere apologies
for making you two uncomfortable." Inside, he was smacking himself for
making things awkward.
Harry nodded, but Ivy was still quite flustered; she could feel her cheeks
searing and felt like her entire face was on fire. Everything had happened
so fast and so suddenly that her brain hadn't had the time to catch up
with the events. And it didn't help when Quinn stepped closer to her,
onsetting another bout of heartbeat elevation.
"I was invited, of course," said Quinn answering Ivy's question. He took
out the invitation card and handed it to her.
Ivy creakily received the letter and hadn't been paying attention to
Quinn's words, so when she looked at the square letter in her hand, she
froze. She could clearly see the invitation to the party, but what caught
her attention was the ". . . as the guest of Harry Potter."
All her previous embarrassment evaporated, and she all but snapped her
head towards Harry to see her twin brother with a smugger smirk on his
face. When Harry saw Ivy looking at him, he mouthed out the words, "I
—am — going — to — win."
"I take my arrival was kept a secret from you," said Quinn with a smile,
facing both twins, who both nodded but with entirely opposite energies.
"Well, I don't know what this competition would be like, but I'm looking
forward to it."
"Ah, and before I forget," continued Quinn, putting his hands behind his
back, and when he brought them back to the front, he had two packages
wrapped in a solid golden-tan gift wrap and tied up with a pistachio-
green colored satin ribbon.
"Those are your birthday presents," said Quinn, handing the twins their
respective gifts, "I hope you will like them. You can open them now if
you so desire."
And desire they did. The twins undid the wrapping in their own ways
and uncovered the gifts inside.
First was Harry, who found himself a pair of glasses inside; they were
identical to what he wore. He looked up at Quinn in confusion, who
smiled, "Give me your glasses and the one I gifted you," he took Harry's
round glasses, detached the eyeglasses making Harry squirm a little
before attaching them to his gift.
"I didn't know your prescription, but fortunately for me, you wear like
huge glasses. . . . now they were perfect," said Quinn handing them to
Harry, who confusedly put them on. "Touch the thin button on the leg of
the frame and look at yourself in this," he said, giving Harry a conjured
mirror which he had pretended to take out from his pocket.
Harry stared at his reflection and grasped around for the button to feel a
slight bump. When he pressed the button, Harry saw his glasses change
from round to wayfare shape; he pressed it again, and the frame shifted
to a square shape.
"On the other side, you'll find another button to change the thickness of
the frame, and if you remove your glasses, you'll find two more buttons
for lens and frame color. There's a manual inside the box that you can
refer to for different functionality, you know to experiment and find the
perfect fit for yourself. . . . there's even the option where they turn to
quidditch goggles, so have fun and happy birthday, Harry."
"Thank you, mate, this is great," said Harry, still looking at himself in the
mirror.
Quinn turned towards Ivy and saw her staring at a book in hand. As
Harry had suggested when he had invited Quinn, Ivy would like a book,
so he decided to give her a book that he thought was top-grade reading
material.
"That's an original Quinn in your hand right there," he said, gaining Ivy's
attention.
"You wrote this?" she asked.
"Uh-huh, that's the seventh edition Compendium of Charms written your
truly and contains the most practical and useful that I have come across
and provides practical insight to every mentioned spell." Quinn didn't use
a wand; as such, he couldn't use the convenient wand movement, and it
was a personal choice to not use vocal chants, so Quinn had to truly
understand every spell to perform it to the best of his ability.
"If you read that and actually implement the insights mentioned inside,
you'll be able to pass to pass OWLs and NEWTs without breaking a
sweat," smiled Quinn and pointed at himself, "the proof is right in front of
you — I crushed the OWLs. . . . also, there are some pretty cool spells
inside, so you won't be getting bored of this one in a very long time."
Quinn had thought about simply gifting Ivy a rare book from Room of
Requirement but decided that one from him would be better. This way,
she would actually be able to apply every word inside in the short and
long term. Of course, it went without saying that the version in Ivy's
hand was heavily curated.
Inside, Ivy was comparing her's and Harry's gifts, and while her twin's gift
was clearly custom-made for him, her book, as Quinn has said, was a
seventh edition, which meant that Quinn had handed her the result of at
least a couple of years of his hard work. . . . and that touched her heart.
"Thank you, Quinn. I'll talk to you about this when I read the book," she
said and was looking forward to the day Quinn and her could talk, talk
and talk.
"Sure, it would be my pleasure," nodded Quinn.
. . .
Quinn left the twins to their duties and headed inside to enjoy the party.
The campground was set up pretty nicely, with plenty of tables for people
to sit around and talk. There were food and drinks at every corner with
the hired help refilling to keep the party going. The Potters had set up
tents in case there was a need for privacy or someone wanted shelter
from the sun. Not only that, Quinn could even make out a few game
activities going on for younger children in the Potter family social circle.
All in all, it seemed a pretty fun party. Quinn picked up some
refreshments and decided to find some familiar faces, and found his
favorite pair of sisters by the cotton candy booth.
"It's not nice to patronize with the enemy, Astoria," he said.
The black-haired Greengrass turned with a smile; she had already
recognized the voice. "You're finally here. I thought you wouldn't be
coming!"
"I was a bit busy with some last-minute shopping," meaning that he had
to do a rush job making Harry's gift.
The blonde older sister, too, turned and raised both her hands with fluffy
pink clouds, "It looks like you got your eye back."
"Yes, it is. It's as good as new. Though I do miss the eyepatch look; it was
the only good thing about that time."
"You looked like a happy pirate," said Astoria.
"Isn't that the best kind?" smiled Quinn.
"I thought he bore a resemblance to Odin," said Daphne.
"I like that; Odin is much better," said Quinn; plus, he had the Raven
connection going for him.
"I bought the sausage rolls — oh, Quinn, you're here!"
Quinn turned to see Tracey with a platter of sausage rolls in hand. "Hey,
Tracey. Which team are you on?"
". . . . You start with that?" said Tracey as Astoria took a couple rolls from
the platter, "I'm on Ivy's team, of course."
"So, who else is on Harry's team?" he asked.
And soon, he got the answer.
. . .
"So, this is our team," said Quinn, looking at Team Harry members
gathered around with Astoria by his side, looking at Harry and Ron,
along with other Gryffindor boys, as in Neville Longbottom, Dean
Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Lee Jordan, along with Katie Bell, and Terry
Boot.
He turned to his competition and saw Team Ivy — Ivy, Hermione,
Daphne, Tracey, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Ginny Weasley, George
and Fred Weasley, and Sue Li.
"Why in the world are the Weasley twins on Ivy's side?" asked Quinn,
"weren't you guys supposed to be prankster buddies or something?"
Harry turned his face away from Quinn's gaze, "It was two years ago
when I was sort of upset at them for a prank, and we had temporary
falling down. . . . Ivy swept in and invited them as her guests — she
hasn't let go ever since then."
"No wonder you lost two times in a row," said Quinn, "no offense to you
guys, but Ivy's been stacking her team with talent — look at them, Ivy,
Hermione, and Daphne are top of the grade; Tracey might seem she's all
bubbly, but that girl is really clever and street smart. I have worked with
Susan and Hannah; they are good at what they do. I don't know much
about Ginny, but Sue is intelligent and really athletic and freaky fast."
"But worry no more, for I'm here," smiled Quinn as he raised his fake
wand, "we will conquer this year and show who the real bosses are."
"Uhm," Neville raised a hand and spoke hesitantly, "we are outside
Hogwarts. . . . so no magic."
Quinn paused for a moment before putting his fake wand back in, "Okay,
we are screwed. Those fellows are winning."
"Eh, why?" asked Astoria.
"If you guys haven't noticed, my 'thing' is magic. If you took that away,
all I got going for me is smart, handsome, great style, funny, fit, good at
fighting, sick with a violin and piano, public speaking, selling stuff, and
magic tricks. . . . I feel really restricted, you know."
The nine people stared at Quinn, not knowing how to reply to that.
"Alright, all you guys gather around." Both teams turned to see prank
master general Sirius Black standing in full black with two top buttons
unbuttoned. When they gathered around, he spoke with a grin, "First of
all, I welcome the new ones to the Potter battles; it will be a fun thing,
just ask the ones who have been here before."
"Okay, move on," interrupted Ivy, "tell us what are we going to do
today?"
Quinn looked around and saw that none of his team or others showed
any negative reaction to abrupt cut-off, so he shrugged and nodded in
agreement. 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do,' he thought while
silently chuckling to himself.
"Tch, tch, tch, so impatient," laughed Sirius, taking Ivy's word as
enthusiasm. "If you do want to know, then we are going to play
dodgeball today. . . ."
The Wesley twins high-fived loudly.
". . . . with water balloons," continued Sirius, catching everyone's
attention. "Of course, seeing that this year I volunteered to come up with
the competition activity, you know that there is a twist." He took out a
red water balloon, "the twist is in the balloon."
"What do you mean?" asked Ron.
Sirius smiled and turned towards Lily, who was watching with a smile.
But then she saw Sirius raising his hand holding the water balloon, and
her smile vanished. "Sirius, no!" was she could say before the Auror threw
the water balloon in her direction.
But contrary to her exception, the water balloon curved in the air at wild
angles and hit not her but her husband right in the back of his head while
he was talking to a guest. James Potter, soaking in dark red liquid, slowly
turned towards Sirius with a stunned expression.
"As you can see, the balloons will follow an irregular path," said Sirius,
ignoring his best friend, "so you might be really close to your target,
about to hit them just for the balloon to miss them."
"Is there a pattern to how they balloon curves?" asked Hermione.
"There is — but you will have to figure that out on your own, or believe
in your luck and throw with faith that it will hit." Sirius then raised both
of his hands in different directions, and there sat five buckets. "Red
balloons are for Team Ivy and green for Team Harry." He then threw ten
red and green tags each on the ground. "Stick them on your clothes, and
if a balloon hits you anywhere, I will know. . . . each member gets three
hits after that you're out. . . . the team with the last person standing wins.
Finally, every time a person gets hits, they come back here and stay for
half a minute before rejoining the game."
Sirius clapped once and grinned, "Now, let's get started and have a day of
fun—" He had just completed his sentence when a massive splash of ice-
cold water hit him from behind.
Everyone, including a shivering Sirius, turned to see James Potter,
pointed at Sirius with his wand brandished in Sirius' direction.
"Have fun, kids," said James with a satisfied smile.
.
Quinn West - MC - I am truly nothing without magic.
Ivy Potter - Birthday Girl - She has been gathering talent for domination.
Harry Potter - Birthday Boy - Recruited a Behemoth in hopes of victory.
Sirius Black - Game Master - Worked on the game during work hours.
.
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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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201. Chapter 201: July 31, 1995:
War & Love
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"Okay, gather around everyone," said Ivy, calling for a huddle — Sirius
had given them some time to plan and discuss before the game officially
started.
Team Ivy, dressed in white jumpsuits with red stripes on their chest and
upper arms for ease of identification, gathered around before Ivy stepped
back and Hermione took the lead. It had been so ever since Hermione
first attended Potter's birthday after Ivy and Hermione had become
friends, and Ivy had invited Hermione after their first year.
It was necessary because before Hermione and Ivy had become friends,
Team Ivy had always been a group filled with internal conflict, with
Daphne and Ivy quarreling with each other and making teamwork
difficult which was why before Hermione, Team Ivy had a losing record
against Team Harry. Hermione had forcibly taken the reigns after getting
frustrated by the two girls' nonsensical quarreling and, in her first year,
came close to winning, just losing by a hair, but the next two years, she
had led Team Ivy to victory.
"Okay, let's go over the rules once, so everyone is clear about them,"
started Hermione, "As you can see, we are wearing white, and so is the
other team, and as Sirius said, the balloons are filled with colored liquid,
which would stain our clothes. So make sure to only those with green
stripes."
"Next, everyone gets three hits before they are out of the game. And
every time someone gets hit, they are temporarily out of the game — this
not only wastes a lot of time and puts the entire team at a disadvantage
because our strength decreases by one for a couple of minutes that it
takes to go back to the start point and wait out for half a minute. As such,
please make sure to secure your safety before going in for a risky attack."
Everyone nodded.
"To ensure some additional safety, we will be moving in groups of two.
Cover each others' backs, and if your partner gets hit, try to take out the
one who attacked them because that will take them out so they won't be
able to attack you. . . as I said before, it takes three hits to kick them out
of the game, so it will take some time to get in thirty hits."
Hermione exhaled a bit and thought about what to cover next. "Alright,
next is one of the most important things," she stepped back a couple
steps, turned to see the buckets filled with the water balloons near her
feet, and picked one, "these balloons will be the deciding factor to who
wins. As Sirius said, these balloons have a pattern to their erratic path
change — the team that figures them out first will be the one to win."
A balloon each was passed on to every member to see if they could see
something. "Magic isn't allowed; that means there must be a way to
figure the pattern out without it," she said.
"Can we take Sirius' words for it?" voiced Ivy. "He might be 'pranking' us,
and there's no pattern making it purely luck-based."
"I wouldn't be so quick to discredit your bother's godfather there, Potter,"
everyone turned to see Daphne holding the balloon up in her palm,
"there's a square mark on my balloon; see if there's one on yours."
"Found one." "I got one too." said the Weasley twins. "Mine's a triangle."
"A circle for me."
"I have a star on mine," notified Tracey.
Everyone checked their balloons and found that there were only four
markings (square, star, circle, and triangle.)
"I'm guessing that the four markings decide how the balloons quirk while
thrown," said Sue Li, the sole Ravenclaw in the group, "if we can figure
out how these patterns co-relate with how the respective balloons move,
then we can exponentially increase our chances to hit our targets."
Sue raised her to throw the water balloon but was stopped by Ginny.
"Don't," said Ginny and pointed in the direction she was looking.
Everyone followed their gaze and saw Quinn tossing and catching a
balloon as he watched them with a smile on his face.
"He's tossing the balloon," said Hannah, "he's tossing the balloon, and it's
not doing anything weird — did he figure out how the balloons work."
"We can't be sure," said Tracey, "he's not throwing it high enough for us
to be sure."
"He probably wants us to think that he knows how the balloons work,"
said Ivy.
Team Ivy saw Quinn stop tossing the ball and then squeeze it tight
enough to burst it and taint his hand with green liquid. Then as if
appearing out of nowhere, Astoria stepped out from behind Quinn and
dragged her thumb across her neck.
"What the hell," uttered Susan.
"He's playing mind games with us—" "—trying to get into our heads
before the games start—" "—so devious, so shrewd—" "—we absolutely
love it!"
"I have a feeling that it's not going to be so easy to win this, is it?"
commented Hermione.
"That's why Harry invited him and kept it a secret from me," said Ivy,
"and looks like he's already doing it," she turned to her team, "let's ignore
him and don't give him the satisfaction of thinking that he's succeeding."
Daphne nodded in rare agreement, "Yes, we should try to figure out the
balloons before the time ends—"
A sharp whistle pitch sounded out. Both teams turned to see Sirius with
hand in hand.
"It's time, children; preparation time is over," said Sirius. "It's time to start
the fun and see you all getting pelted with balloons."
Team Ivy turned towards Quinn and saw him grinning. He had
successfully wasted their time.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Ginny Weasley and Sue Li walked in the small area specified by Sirius as
legitimate competition grounds. Everyone, including Ginny and Sue, had
gone in different directions towards the areas populated with trees. Team
had Ivy decide to test the balloons and communicate the findings when
they came across others or met each other in the waiting zone after being
hit.
"Let's find a good spot and test out the balloons with us," the pockets in
the jumpsuits were expanded enough to hold an adequate amount of
balloons to allow them to stay for a while without needing to refill at the
party area.
"Yes, I have thought of a way we could figure out the balloons fastest,"
said Sue in reply.
But then they heard a rustle of leaves and came out in the view were
Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Lee Jordan from another direction,
making both parties freeze when they saw each other. Almost
immediately, both parties took out balloons and exchanged a round of
fire on instinct before Team Harry took cover.
"We should keep attacking them," said Ginny.
"I couldn't agree more," nodded Sue.
Both girls took some cover of their own and started to throw balloons at
each other whenever they got a chance, with Team Ivy being
substantially more aggressive despite being a member less than Team
Harry. Both parties eventually moved closer to each other to get better
opportunities, and the end result of the heated exchange was Ginny and
Sue taking out Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan in exchange for getting
hit themselves.
When the exchange was over, the four people who were hit decided to
walk to the party area for the thirty-second respawn area together. But
not before Seamus and Lee transferred some of their balloons to Dean,
leaving him alone to wander among the trees.
"That's got to be against the rules," said Ginny in a complaint against the
balloon transfer.
"Sirius said nothing about the balloon transfer after getting hit; he neither
denied or allowed it, so we can do whatever we want," said Lee in smug
justification.
. . .
In another part of the competition zone, Hermione and Ivy tested their
balloons together.
"Hey, Hermione," said Ivy.
"Hmm?" said Hermione throwing a balloon and noting its trajectory.
"There's something I want to tell you," said Ivy, and Hermione noticed the
tones of hesitation and a bizarrely out-of-place shyness in her
straightforward best friend.
Hermione stopped throwing her balloons and asked, "What is it?"
Ivy pursed her lips and paused a bit before speaking, "I have a bit of a
crush on Quinn."
"WHAT?!"
"Shh! Not so loud, do you want to get found?"
"Then why would you say something like that so abruptly?!"
"I mean. . . I just thought this was the right time. . . ." said Ivy, aimlessly
kicking the ground.
"When. . . . did this happen?" While Hermione knew that things had
approved exponentially between Ivy and Quinn to the point that both
had danced with each other at the Yule Ball, but she hadn't thought
things had improved so much that Ivy had developed a crush on Quinn.
"I don't know. I can't put a date on it, you know," said the birthday girl,
"it just happened."
Even Ivy couldn't believe that she had developed on Quinn — the guy she
hadn't liked so much in the first couple of years they had known each
other. If Ivy could go back in time and tell her younger self that she
would come to like Quinn, then the younger girl would suggest getting
checked for a love potion.
"Okay. . . so, what are you going to do?" asked Hermione.
"That's something I wanted to ask. . . . well Quinn kissed me today, sort
of."
"WHAT?!"
"Shh! Shh! Pipe down, will you? I want to win this and establish the
three-peat."
"Then why are you dropping bombs on me, girl?! And what do you mean
he kissed you? When did that happen?"
". . . Well, he had just arrived and sort of kissed me on both cheeks.
Quinn said he had just returned from Italy and apologized."
"Oh," was all Hermione said at first. What else could she say; she had no
experience in the romantic business. "Then what do you want to do? I
mean, it could be just as he said — a mistake. I mean, are we even sure
he doesn't have anyone he likes. . . . he was involved with Fleur Delacour
last year."
Ivy Potter didn't like the French Veela. Her opinion had deepened after
she had come to the realization about how she felt. "He said that there
wasn't anything between them. That the . . . . kiss was just a thank you."
"Yeah, but we heard it from someone who had heard it from someone
else who had supposedly heard Quinn say that."
Ivy didn't like Hermione's reasoning, no matter how much sense it made
— the Hogwarts rumor mill wasn't the most credible of sources.
"You can feel him out, or maybe ask Carmichael or Belby if he's
interested in someone. After that, you can let him know that you're
interested."
"How do you do that?" asked Ivy. "Let someone know that you're
interested."
"Maybe tell him directly or. . . . write a letter."
Ivy turned to her best friend, "Write a letter, really?"
"I don't know. I haven't done this before," said Hermione.
"Ugh, this is frustrating!"
*Splash*
Both girls jumped when they heard the voice and saw Terry Boot fishing
out a balloon out of his jumpsuit, standing in the shadow of a tree.
"We will talk about this later," said Ivy, as Hermione and she stepped
back, taking out balloons of their own.
"Sure, whenever you want."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Neville Longbottom came through a bush into an area enclosed by a thick
growth of trees and the dense overhead canopies. There he saw Quinn
sitting with his wall against a tree with Dean standing.
"Welcome, Neville. How did it go?" asked Quinn.
"Terry got hit by Hermione and Ivy, but he took out Hermione," replied
Neville. He was feeling guilty about leaving Terry behind and sneaking
away even though he was doing as asked.
"Hermione has only two hits left? That's excellent news," smiled Quinn.
"What about the other thing I asked you to do?"
Neville took out some burst blue balloons and showed them to Quinn. "I
did ask you asked and picked up the balloons of which I could remember
the path of," and started to tell Quinn what he remembered.
"I also did that same," pointing at the similar burst blue balloons on the
ground near Quinn's feet.
Quinn nodded after hearing both Dean's and Neville's testimony. It was as
he had thought. Quinn had already figured out Team Harry's balloons,
and he had sent out Dean's squad and Neville's squad to figure out the
pattern of Team Ivy's blue balloon pattern. It turned out that Sirius Black
had been clever, and the similarly marked balloons of Team Harry and
Team Ivy moved differently. But now he knew which one was which, and
he could start phase two of his plan.
"What about Astoria?" asked Quinn.
"Umm, about that. . . . we accidentally came across Greengrass and
Davis," said Neville, "Astoria decided to tail them and ran away before we
could stop her."
"That girl can be so reckless," sighed Quinn. "Let's hope she follows them
quietly."
"What about Harry's group?" asked Dean.
"No news from them yet," said Quinn. Harry, Ron, and Katie had gone
after the Weasley twins. He got up and dusted his backside, "Let's start
with the second phase and get the real fun started. . . . you two have your
next task, go find the others and tell them about the Team Ivy's balloon
patterns and then join the fun."
"What are you going to do?" asked Dean.
"It's time to start the hunt," said Quinn with a beaming smile.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Daphne and Tracey were walking towards the party area to refill their
balloon supply when Daphne caught a glance of white and stopped
Tracey. Daphne pointed at the back of the white jumpsuit, but then both
girls noticed the big splash of green squarely in the middle. They sighed
in relief because it meant that it was their own team.
"You should hide better, you know," said Tracey, "we can clearly see
you."
The person quickly got up and hid behind a tree.
"It's okay, it's us."
Then the figure stepped out, and both of their eyes widened when they
saw Quinn's smiling face. And before they could say anything, Quinn
threw balloons which he already in hand at odd angles and speeds — the
slow balloon suddenly sped up and hit Tracey in the shoulder while the
second balloon threw left to Daphne suddenly curved and hit Daphne in
the side.
"Well, that's one for each of you," smiled Quinn as he walked towards the
stunned girls. "Seeing that you stainless before tells me you got Astoria."
"Yeah, she wasn't quiet at all," said Tracey.
"That's unfortunate," said Quinn and winked before running away
without saying another word. Leaving the two girls alone, still staring at
the paint on their jumpsuits. It didn't feel good.
. . .
"We should ask others about who they got," sighed Ivy. "It's not fun, isn't
a good reason to not tell us the tally."
"He did say that he will put up the tally board after fifteen hits from any
team," replied Hermione before glancing at Ivy, "So, what do you like
about him."
Ivy blushed a little at the question. "He is different. He isn't like other
guys, you know."
"Well, that is to say the least."
"Not like that," said Ivy. "He can be manipulative, but I've seen times he
had been kind and times he had been genuine." During the time Quinn
had been training Harry — Ivy had seen Quinn having fun, and he was
different; she had seen how Quinn's eyes sparkled, and to her, Quinn
seemed to be glowing when he talked about magic.
"And he's brave," she said, knowing the times he had saved her and Harry
— including the time he refused to enter the Chamber of Secrets.
Hermione gazed at Ivy's face, and a smile bloomed on her face, "This is so
exciting! My best friend has a crush~."
"Oh, stop it," said Ivy, feeling the embarrassment creeping up.
Splat, Splat. . . . out of nowhere, the two girls were hit with green water
balloons — Ivy on the thigh and Hermione on her arm. The girls froze in
their spots and gazed around their surroundings to see Quinn jump out
from a tree and could only watch as their assailant immediately ran away
while laughing like a madman.
"So him," said Hermione, not sounding impressed.
Ivy could only muster a nod with incredible difficulty.
. . .
When Ivy and Hermione arrived at the penalty point, she saw more than
half four of her team members (Daphne, Ivy, Susan, and Hannah) picking
up their refills and exchanging details. They also noticed that the tally
board was up and could see they had already suffered fifteen hits on their
team.
"What happened here?" asked Hermione.
"We got deceived by Quinn," sighed Susan.
"Same for us as well," said Tracey.
"And he used the same trick," told Hannah.
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione. She wanted to know to ensure
they didn't get hit by the same tactic.
"He had a green splash on his back that he used to deceive us and hit
when we put our guards down," Daphne explained.
"That doesn't sound right," said Ivy. She turned to the tally board, and
there Quinn hadn't been hit even once. "If he was hit with a green
balloon, it should've been there."
"No, it's something friendly fire, and it isn't counted as a hit, at least not
in this game," said Daphne, "do you remember when Quinn was tossing
up the balloon up and down before the game?"
"Yes, to waste our time," said Ivy, recalling the attempt at mind games.
"That was only one part of the act," continued Daphne, "when he burst
the balloon, he was testing his friendly fire theory."
"That's right." — Team Ivy turned to see Quinn, Astoria, and Neville step
out of from behind the tally board with balloons in their hands. "I was
waiting for the half a minute period to get over."
"Sorry," said Neville before he, Astoria, and Quinn raised their hands and
pelted the present Team Ivy members with green balloons.
That day, Quinn-led Team Harry dominated Team Ivy. Even the Weasley
twins, who had accounted for ten hits on their own, couldn't win against
a five-people ambush without magic and their items.
.
- - (Volume Six: Year Five, Ends) - -
.
Quinn West - MC - If they want war, they will get defeat. — Sun Tzu.
Ivy Potter - Girl-Who-Likes - Quinn saving her from imposter-Moody
tipped the scale.
Hermione Granger - Great Captain - The dream for a three-peat is gone.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Peewop!
.
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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!
202. Chapter 202: Three, Two,
One SIX!
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The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as
the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the
right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.
The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the
starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse
through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along with the
tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the hall and
the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging
summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing
one another's new haircuts and robes.
It was a new year, and life had returned to Hogwarts.
Quinn tapped his fingers against the Ravenclaw long table, surrounded
by his friends, who applauded for every student who nervously crawled
from under the sorting hats' judgment. As he waited for the sorting
ceremony to end, his eye wandered to the ancient wizard's hat, heavily
patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim, recalling
fleetingly his own sorting experience, and wondered how things would
go if he was tested now, and contemplated if he should give it another
try; subconsciously his Occlumency tightened a touch.
He was interested in the sorting hat's song that it had just sung. It had
branched out quite a bit this year. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself
to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four
Hogwarts Houses and its own role in sorting them, but today, it had
warned the entirety of Hogwarts about a great danger — and to stand
together, be strong from within. The hat sat inside Dumbledore's office
except for this one feast; it picked up all sorts of things.
The sorting ceremony ended, and Dumbledore then rose from his 'throne'
to greet them all before the start-of-term feast.
"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms
stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old
hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is
not it. Tuck in!"
There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as
Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder
to keep it out of the way of his plate — for food had appeared out of
nowhere so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies
and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice.
"Excellent," said Marcus, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized
the nearest plate of chops and began piling them onto his plate.
"You know," said Eddie, "I thought they would give both Prefect positions
to the Potters, but it seemed Granger beat out the good one, a pity that
the badge went to the wrong one."
Quinn looked over his shoulder towards the Gryffindor table, and from
his distance, he could just make out the shine of the gold-and-red lapel
pins on the two new fifth-year Gryffindor Prefects.
"Between Hermione and Ivy; the former is keener on obtaining a position
of authority such as Prefect, maybe that was the deciding factor — I'm
sure the decision must have been close," said Quinn, "as for Harry; I think
he will revel in the position if," he stressed, "he takes on the duties
responsibilities — which isn't that difficult, Prefects don't do much."
"Don't talk nonsense!" shouted his female sixth-year Prefect counterpart.
"We do a lot of work!"
Quinn waved her off, "As I was saying, it's easy enough work with a lot of
good perks."
When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall
started to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more.
Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Quinn
could feel Luna leaning against his shoulder, feeling pleasantly drowsy,
and muttering something about her four-poster bed that awaited
somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft. . . .
"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a
few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said
Dumbledore. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is
out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to
know by now too."
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four
hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not
permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things,
all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr.
Filch's office door.
"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to
welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of
Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor
Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"Who's that?" asked Marcus, pointing at Umbridge. "She seems familiar
for some reason."
"It looks like you have been reading the newspapers," said Quinn faintly
smiling, "she is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores
Umbridge. She has been making quite a few statements these past few
months."
Quinn eyed the woman. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's
maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair and the horrible
fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face
slightly to take a sip from her goblet, and he saw a pallid, toadlike face
and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.
There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause.
Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take
place on the —"
He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not
much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody
understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor
Umbridge said, "Hem, hem," and it became clear that she had got to her
feet and was intending to make a speech.
Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back
down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he
desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff
were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows
had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall's mouth
was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever
interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this
woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge simpered, "for those kind
words of welcome."
Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish, and Eddie felt a
powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew
was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her
fluffy pink cardigan.
"I do not like that woman," he voiced, "she gives me the jitters."
Umbridge gave another little throat-clearing cough ("hem, hem") and
continued: "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She
smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces
looking back at me!"
Quinn glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy; on
the contrary, they all looked rather taken aback at being addressed as
though they were five years old.
"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure
we'll be excellent friends!"
Umbridge cleared her throat again ("hem, hem"), but when she
continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She
sounded much more businesslike, and now her words had a dull learned-
by-heart sound to them.
'Uh-huh, bring the real pink monster out,' thought Quinn.
Umbridge went onto go on and on about the Ministry, wizarding society,
traditions, the noble profession of teaching, how the Ministry cares about
the children as they are the future, and how they'll move forward into a
new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on
preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be
perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be
prohibited.
She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though
Quinn noticed several of them brought their hands together only once or
twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken
unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a
few words of it, and before they could start applauding appropriately,
Dumbledore had stood up again.
"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,"
he said, bowing to her. "Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be
held . . ."
"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," said Marcus in a low voice.
"You're not telling me you enjoyed it?" said Eddie, "That was about the
dullest speech I've ever heard, and I have no problem staying up in Binns'
classes."
"It explained a lot of things. Underneath all that drabble, the real
meaning was quite clear — moving forward through her," Marcus
pointed at Umbridge, "the Ministry will be interfering with Hogwarts."
Quinn leaned forward, not because he was interested in what Marcus was
saying — he already knew all that, but he was fascinated that Marcus
was able to glean the real insight from the words when most were busy
laughing at her clothing and demeanor.
'I might need to change my plans for him,' thought Quinn.
There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore
had obviously just dismissed the school because everyone was standing
up, ready to leave the hall. Quinn saw his female Prefect counterpart
hurriedly stand up after snapping out of a conversation with her friends
and look around to the crowd moving out.
"Calm down," said Quinn, smiling, "we don't have to do that anymore —
we have underlings now," he turned to the newly promoted fifth-year
Ravenclaw Prefects, who looked quite flustered, "time to pay for the
perks you two, get on it!"
Eddie stared at the first year walked shyly up the gap between the tables,
all of them trying hard not to lead the group. "I'm sure I wasn't this small
when I was there age," he turned to Marcus and Quinn, "I mean they are
tiny. . ."
Marcus and Quinn simply grinned at the news students and waved as
they passed by and at Luna, who was sleepily walking right in between
the group of said new students.
"So, I noticed that you didn't comment on Professor Umbridge," said
Marcus to Quinn as they walked out of the Great hall while Eddie stuck
close to Luna to make sure that she didn't decide to sleep on the floor in
the middle of a corridor.
"Hmm, about what?" said Quinn.
"About why she's here," said Marcus. "All those years ago, you said to me
to take in all the information, ask questions, see what's what, find the
hidden truth, and then make an opinion — an informed opinion."
"And, what's your informed opinion here," said Quinn with a hint of a
smile on his face.
"It's not an informed one yet; I need more to be sure, but right now,"
Marcus paused a smidge to think, "she's here because of all the You-
Know-Who's return that Dumbledore has been saying for the entire
summer. Though it's difficult for him to convince as many people what
has happened because of the Ministry and Fudge's position, since Fudge
believes that Dumbledore is after his job; his fears make it easier for him
to believe that, rather than admit You-Know-Who is back, which would
end the last fourteen years of peace."
Quinn's smile widened with every word that came out of his mouth. He
was feeling absolutely delighted right now.
"You're utterly correct, Marcus," he said. "Even though Dumbledore has
his strong Light faction behind him, it doesn't change the fact that Fudge
sits in the Minister's chair and is thus in control."
It didn't matter how strong every faction was; the fact remained that
Fudge was the Minister — he held the key to power. There was a reason
the Dark faction lined Fudge's pockets even though every single house
head had more influence in the relevant circles than Fudge — it was the
Minister seat that allowed Fudge to roam unperturbed.
For example, if George West wanted to get something done that he
couldn't get done on his own, he would need to pay bribes at various
levels of the Ministry; however, if Fudge was to get a whiff of George's
moves and didn't like them, he could squash them into oblivion, wasting
all the efforts and resource put in. That was the reason those in high
places developed politicians to not let that happen.
The only reason Fudge catered to the rich and powerful was because he
wanted to get re-elected next term.
"Ministry has been using the Daily Prophet to build on what Rita Skeeter
started and is portraying Harry as an attention-seeking liar and
Dumbledore as a bumbling buffoon," said Marcus. "The Ministry has been
doing everything they can to curb stomp Dumbledore, and it seems to be
working — people are losing confidence in Dumbledore; he's reputation
is taking a hit. He's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the
International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles. .
."
"It's not only that," said Quinn, providing more facts to a motivated
Marcus, "a lot of Light faction works in the Ministry as employees at
different levels, which would be very good in usual circumstances, but
right now, with Fudge being on a hunt, any action that opposes his
stance on the situation, would be rewarded with a job termination."
James Potter and Sirius Black, even without their Wizengamot chairs and
political power, held substantial influence in the Ministry because of their
Senior Auror designation — people respected Aurors because the Auror
cloak and badge represented the cream of the crop.
Quinn put his arm around Marcus' shoulder and continued, "But that's
something out of our area. You asked me about Dolores Umbridge —
how I feel about her would become clear when she starts teaching and
her action as a Ministry representative-slash-mole. If she creates problems
in the school, I'll switch to the 'dislike' train like you and so many others,
but right now, I'm on the 'eh, whatever' train.
"But you, Marcus, should continue to think with your brain and feel with
your heart. Peer into the logic and trust your instincts; they will show
you what you need to know."
Marcus glanced at Quinn, "I will keep that in mind, but I still don't like
that woman."
"I understand, buddy. I totally understand," said Quinn before glancing
back to see Umbridge standing near her seat with a sickeningly sweet
smile on her face.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn heard a knock on his office door and someone trying to open it,
which didn't give because it was locked. He removed his hand from the
glass wall he was in between installation — at the end of every school
year, Quinn would pack up everything in his office, including the glass
wall.
He looked at the doorknob, and the lock snapped unlocked with a
satisfying click. "Come in," he said.
The door opened, and the chime above melodiously rang. And from
outside, entered Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The two
Gryffindors saw Quinn sitting on a high chair with a ridiculously long
elevation, sitting Quinn halfway up the room's height.
"See, I told you he would be here," said Harry, grinning.
Hermione could only nod as she didn't believe that Quinn would be in his
office during the very first break hour in the sixth-year Ravenclaw
timetable.
"Harry and Hermione, what brings you two here," asked Quinn.
Harry pointed at his Prefect lapel pin and smiled, "We were just going
around talking to the Prefects from other houses — saying hello of sorts."
"That's an interesting initiative," said Quinn, jumped down from the high
chair, and punched the chair with the side of his fist to cast a simple
finite on the conjured chair for it to disappear. "But, you didn't need to
that — every year, the Headboy and Headgirl throw a party of sorts to
welcome the new fifth-year Prefects and celebrate their own promotions.
. . it gets quite rowdy with the Slytherin and Gryffindor Prefects quarrel. .
. . it's pretty fun."
"A party," said Hermione in disbelief.
"Hermione, despite the strict and disciplined image that many Prefects
and Headboys and Headgirls try to portray and maintain, away from eyes
of students; they party, share stories about the couples they catch in
broom closets, hang around after curfews, and do a lot of stuff that they
are responsible for stopping."
"You do it too?" asked Hermione.
"Sure, I partake in gossip when I wasn't busy, though believe it or not, I
haven't given a single detention in the year I have been a Prefect." He just
let them go and made sure to tell them that he was doing them a 'favor.'
"I don't think anyone would take me seriously if I reprimanded them
about curfew."
"So Cedric is going to throw the party this year, huh," said Harry.
"Yup, he was the shoo-in for Headboy this year," which he would have
thrown even in the original timeline if he wasn't murdered, "though if
you do want to develop some positive rapport, I would suggest that you
can use your Tri-wizard prize money to pitch in for the party, but make
sure to ask Cedric and Patricia Stimpson to see if they are fine with it and
don't see it as you stealing their thunder."
". . . . That's actually a good idea," said the winning champion.
Quinn stared at Harry and asked, "You are doing it because of all the
tension because of the the Dark Lord deal, aren't you?"
Harry matched eyes with Quinn before nodding, and Hermione glanced
at Harry with a worrying gaze. The first day hadn't been kind to Harry
with all the whispering, angry glares, and constant chatter around him.
"There was a lot of talking in the Ravenclaw, so I can only imagine what
happened in Gryffindor."
"It has been not so positive," said Harry, with a hollow chuckle.
"It's going to be a tough year then, seeing that Dumbledore and the Light
faction are already involved too much for them to back out now."
Harry clenched his hand. It was so unfair that no one believed him even
though he had seen Voldemort with his own eyes and had almost lost his
life.
"Harry," said Quinn, "I have a certain influence inside Hogwarts. . . ."
That was an understatement thought the two Gryffindors.
". . . I can't make students stop thinking the way they are thinking about
you right now. But what I can do, if you would like, is to inject a series of
chatter into the Hogwarts populace that would support the Dark Lord
being alive. . . . it won't eliminate the ire against you, but it would
lighten it up a bit, taking some pressure off you."
"I. . . I-I. . . thank you for the offer, but I would like to refuse."
"If that's your choice, then I shall respect it. But may I ask why?"
Harry took a deep breath before raising his head and standing up
straighter, "I didn't lie, I saw Voldemort. . . . I — did — nothing —
wrong," there was a light of determination in his eyes, "so, I don't need to
mind what others think, when I know I'm right."
Quinn gazed at Harry; he wasn't expecting this answer, but it made the
most sense.
"Alright then," smiled Quinn widely, "my doors would be open for you if
you ever need my help."
.
Quinn West - MC - First things first. . . I need to set up shop.
Marcus Belby - Reads newspaper every day - Has a keen interest in what's
happening around.
Harry Potter - Gryffindor Prefect - Boy-Who-Lies. . . . by Daily Prophet.
Hermione Granger - Gryffindor Prefect - Doesn't know how to think about
the parties.
Dolores Umbridge - DADA Professor - Currently on a sweet sabbatical.
.
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203. Chapter 203: First Lesson
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"Well, good afternoon, everyone!" said the short, squat woman dressed in
bright, in-your-face pink, looking over the classroom with a sickeningly
sweet smile.
The class was quiet when they entered the classroom; Umbridge, as yet,
was an unknown entity, and nobody knew yet how strict of a
disciplinarian she was likely to be.
"Good afternoon," said a few students while the other observed.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Pink, "That won't do, now, will it? I should like
you to reply, 'Good afternoon Professor Umbridge.' One more time,
children. . . . Good afternoon, class!"
Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie glanced at each other before shrugging.
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.
"There, now," said Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it?
Wands away and quills out, please."
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had
never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Quinn, in
expectation, hadn't taken out his wand and only had a notepad and his
trusty fountain pen in front of him — neither of which, he thought, was
going to come in much use today.
Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her wand, an unusually short
wand, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the
board at once:
Defense Against Dark Arts
An Ethical Guidance To Budding Wizards
"From what I have been informed and gathered on my own, your
learning in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented for the
past few years, hasn't it, dears," said Umbridge, turning to face the class,
hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constantly changing faculty,
many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved
curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your OWL scores being
thoroughly unsatisfactory."
Utter bull crap thought many students in the room, especially the
Ravenclaws in the room. A lot briefly glanced towards Quinn as he was
the reason that despite the rocky teacher situation, the grades hadn't
suffered to a level that Umbridge wanted to make it appear. The students
who had genuinely read Quinn's exam notes (everyone bought them)
didn't have much problem clearing the exams with grades above
Acceptable. Quinn's batchmates' OWL result had a 10% Outstandings,
20% Exceeding Expectations, 50% Acceptables rate, with the remaining
scoring below that level — which was a respectable result on any
measuring standard.
Quinn, of course, didn't mind anything that came out of Umbridge's
mouth. He didn't start the notes initiative because it would be beneficial
to students — no, he started it because Padma Patil came to him for
notes, and he saw an opportunity and took it to spread his influence in
the school. Even if he cared about the entire school's grades — he
wouldn't have referred to Umbridge; instead, he would have gone for the
report cards to see authentic results.
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to
be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred,
Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. . . . Has
everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I
should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor
Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by
Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," said Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read
chapter one, 'Ethicality of Defense Magic.' There will be no need to talk."
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair
behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's
eyes. Quinn looked to both his sides to see Eddie and Marcus flipping
through their books. He looked around and saw people dully reading
their books.
Quinn closed his eyes and started to do his own thing — expend some
magic, practice Occlumency, mess around with stuff. Several silent
minutes passed, and silence reigned supreme in the classroom. Next to
him, Marcus noticed that Quinn had his eyes closed, and his focus began
alternating between his quill and Quinn. Soon, Eddie got bored of the
inane book, and he was just staring at Quinn.
After several more silent minutes had passed, however, Eddie and Marcus
weren't the only ones watching Quinn. The chapter they had been
instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were
choosing to watch the motionless Quinn, wondering if he had gone to
sleep. When more than half the class were staring at Quinn rather than at
their books, Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the
situation no longer.
Umbridge got up from her desk and walked to Quinn with her stumpy
short legs; the new Professor stood in with hand clasped behind her back.
"Are you sleeping, my dear?" she asked, as though he had only just
noticed Quinn.
"No ma'am, I'm wide awake," came out from Quinn.
"Then why do you have your eyes closed?"
"I'm simply resting my eyes," said Quinn, "I'm done with my reading."
Umbridge glanced at the table and saw no book on the table, "I don't see
your book, dear. If you don't have a copy, why didn't you report it to me
when I asked?"
"I have the book. But as I said, I've already completed my assignment.
There's no reason to have my book out."
"Then you wouldn't if I asked you to tell the class about the first chapter,"
said Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth.
"Chapter One: Ethicality of Defense Magic goes over the circumstances
when a civilian is ethically and legally allowed to raise his-or-her wand
against a fellow magical—"
"I hope you mean wizard, dear," Umbridge's voice became determinedly
sweeter, "and I require my students to know the course material by heart
— word-for-word — so that they completely and thoroughly understand
what's the correct way to use magic; so take out your book and study a
little, please; I would take note of your progress at the end of the class,"
she said before turning to walk back towards her desk.
Quinn finally opened his eyes and glanced at the woman's pink-clad back,
and opened his mouth, "What is Defense Magic. . . . Defensive magic is
divided into two main branches: jinxes and counter-jinxes. Jinxes deals
with the spells that fall into the category, when used by a person, would
disable their attacker, stopping the attack on the defender. By contrast,
counter-jinxes deal with the spells that are used to deflect. . . ."
Eddie raised one of his brows and removed his eyes from Quinn to his
book. He turned back a dozen pages (he was a fast reader even if, in his
own words, this was a piss poor and utterly dull read) and reached back
to page five.
"Holy shit, he's reciting it word-for-word," muttered Eddie with a chuckle
in his voice.
The mutter wasn't as quiet as Eddie was trying for it to be, and it reached
many ears, including the ears of one Dolores Umbridge. She slowly
turned around and found Quinn staring at her as his mouth spoke a word
after another. Umbridge gently placed her hand on Marcus' book and
slowly yet forcefully dragged the book; she looked at the page Quinn was
supposedly reciting for him, and there it was, Quinn's words matched the
books' print.
". . . . that's why instead of engaging your attacker, the first step would be
to negotiate to either calm the attacker down or to buy time till an Auror
comes to your aid," Quinn finally stopped reciting. "Will that be enough?
I have, as you asked, the assignment learned by heart. As I said before, I
don't require a book."
"Yes," said Umbridge, smiling, then smiling more widely; she turned her
back on Quinn and walked to the front of the class; then faced the entire
class, "Don't stop reading, the rest of you. Mr. . ." she faced Quinn to ask,
"what's your name, dear?"
"Quinn West," answered Quinn plainly.
"Oh my, I have heard about you, my dear," the smile on Umbridge's face
was splitting her toad-like face. "for those who might not be aware, Mr.
West scored the highest results in the OWL exams taken last year, and as
you can see, he's the perfect example of what all of you can achieve if
you follow proper instruction and curriculum."
'The woman is decent,' thought Quinn. She, at the start, probably wanted
to make him an example, but when he foiled the plan, she turned it
around and turned Quinn into an example, just of another kind.
Quinn once again closed his eyes.
It had been a good two years — two years where Hogwarts had a decent
enough Defense Against Dark Arts Professor. Remus Lupin was an
excellent teacher and coached students in both theory and practical — he
was the best Defense Against Dark Arts Hogwarts had in Quinn's time
here. Barty Crouch Junior, disguised as Moody, wasn't a traditional
teacher of the subject, but he had been trained by Voldemort himself, and
to properly play his part as the ex-Auror, Barty had provided the students
with a top-class practically education and extensive demonstration on a
wide variety of dark spells.
But now, here she was, the pink monstrosity, Umbridge; Quinn knew this
was going to come from, but just staring at the woman made him upset.
Even Quirrell was better than her, even though both stuck to the theory.
At least, Quirrell's teaching made sense, and at that age, the theory held
more weight than practicals. Quinn wasn't worried about himself; he had
completed his NEWT education years ago, but he was concerned about
the education of his friends.
A war was coming, and Defense Against Dark Arts was of the utmost
importance in defending themselves. His friends not getting proper
instruction wasn't sitting well with him. He, of course, could train them
on his own, and he had been doing that for years — Luna had been under
his instruction for a while now; Marcus and Eddie had learned much
from their proximity to him, and despite their worries about what
subjects to take, both were already past NEWT level in studies because of
Quinn's influence — positive peer pressure did wonders when it gave way
for positive motivation to arise.
'I might need to push them a bit,' he thought, 'maybe I should put them
on the same course as Luna.'
The class ended with Umbridge staring hidden daggers at Quinn while he
continued to keep his eyes closed.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"You should mingle more, you know."
Quinn looked away from the small crowd of Prefects and turned to face
Cedric Diggory, who was staring down at him with two butterbeers in
hand. He moved a bottle towards him, but Quinn shook his head,
"Butterbeer is a bit too sweet for my taste," said Quinn, raising a flavored
soda, "but thank you for offering," he turned to the crowd and pointed
with his chin. "Parties aren't my scene; I tend to linger around the corners
— it's a habit." All the balls he had been with his grandfather and sister,
Quinn had spent in corners, staying away from all the flattery.
"You have been doing fine with commentary," said the newly minted
Headboy as he sat beside Quinn. They were inside a classroom that they
were unofficially for the Prefect/Headboy-girl party.
"It's just parties," said Quinn watching Harry and Draco exchanging
barbed words. "How is the new title feeling?" he asked.
"It's the same thing as Prefect," sighed Cedric. "It's just now I get to decide
what you guys do — correction, I get to decide what you and I all do
because I'm both a Prefect and Headboy. All I get in return is a new
bedroom."
"So, not worth it?"
"Oh no, it's totally worth it when I get out of Hogwarts — I get special
commendations and Letter of Recommendations."
"That, along with being a Tri-wizard champion, has you sorted for the
recent future. Damn, you have got it all figured out, haven't you."
Cedric laughed; he really looked like he was free on any weight, not
something seen in NEWT year students. "NEWTs are still going to be
tough, but yeah, I do have things sorted out," he glanced at Quinn and
spoke with a change in subject, "I heard that you went head-to-head
against the new Professor, the pink one."
"I did no such thing," said Quinn, "I was simply following instructions.
She wanted us to rote-memorize the book, I did so; nowhere did she say
that I wasn't allowed to rest my eyes and spend my time in peace."
"Oh, come on. . . We both know you lay low in classes, so you can do
homework without gaining the ire of the Professors — your grades pretty
much ensure that you can do whatever you want in the class as long you
don't disturb it. . . . Why this sudden exception to Madam
Undersecretary?"
"Her reputation isn't great. . . ."
"That's an understatement," chuckled Cedric, "I sat with the head of the
house today, and none of the four are happy with Umbridge; they were
actually quite satisfied with your little stunt. . . . But be careful, Quinn.
Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than
House points and detentions."
"She won't move against me; at least not like you are suggesting," stated
Quinn, a solid fact, "she won't move like that against you or any other
student with parents with any decent level of influence. . . . but, first-
generation magicals or those without much voice, they won't be spared
from her schemes, if she does anything, the chances of that happening
are astronomically high."
"I will need to look out for the younger ones and the rowdy ones," said
Cedric, sighing, "make sure they don't get out of their way to provoke or
have fun with Umbridge."
"She hasn't done anything," Quinn glanced at Cedric, "yet you act like she
will act maliciously — your father must not have a positive experience
with her."
Cedric nodded, "Dolores Umbridge is an evil woman who represents the
very worst of even scum. She's extremely cruel, brutal, corrupt, sadistic,
intolerant, power-hungry, and devoid of any kind of moral or ethical
center. . . . my father once told me that she will go to any number of
lengths to get what she wants. That woman has made my father's job at
the goblin liaison office difficult on several occasions — I have seen his
hair grey and wrinkles deepen with that woman standing over his head."
It was no secret that Umbridge held a deep dislike for half-breeds and
other intelligent humanoid species. As such, the goblin liaison office was
one of Umbridge's favored hunting grounds.
"Well. my doors are opened to all and any who need help," said Quinn.
Eventually, the back-and-forth between Draco and Harry was broken up
before it turned physical. Draco sat himself down with a heavy thump,
away from his Slytherin peers, trying to calm his anger and irritation. He
popped open a butterbeer and felt the cold and fizzy go down his throat,
cooling him down.
'Potter is an utter twat, tosser,' he thought, his eyes glaring at Harry, who
sat among the Gryffindors, chatting it up and laughing as they hadn't
fought at all.
"You should frown less, Malfoy. I fear your face will set into that
expression."
Draco turned with a heavy frown on his face to suddenly feel a jump of
surprise to see Quinn sitting an arm's distance away from him. "When did
you get here?" he asked.
"I was here before you," said Quinn, placing a glassy red pellet in his
mouth for it to turn into a mist upon touching the tongue. Quinn
immediately closed his mouth, but his face went red before red fuming
bubbles came steaming out of his nose and ears.
"Oh, that was good. Weasley twins definitely know how to create good
stuff," said Quinn before holding up a pellet, "you want to try one? It's
like getting drowned in carbonated fizz."
"No, thank you," said Draco.
"So, how it's been going, Malfoy?" said Quinn, making small talk. "By the
way, congratulation on becoming a Prefect. You deserved it," Draco had
excellent grades and combined that Snape was chummy with Malfoy
Senior; he was a shoo-in for the position. "If you get bored during your
after-curfew patrols, pop by the office — we will chat it up till it's time to
go sleep."
Draco stared at Quinn, who looked as relaxed one could be. "What are
you doing?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" said Quinn.
"This," he said, pointing between them, "I know you don't like me."
"Now, where did you hear that from. It's not true at all. Even if it was, I
don't think it would've made a difference — You and Harry talk enough
to be close acquaintances, and I'm willing to bet my entire fortune that
there's no love spared between you two."
Draco made a displeased face at the analogy, and while could argue
against it, looking at Quinn, there was no use doing so.
"I never disliked you, Malfoy. I barely know you enough to actually
dislike you. If you do want me to dislike you, how about we spend some
time together, and then we will see where that takes us," said Quinn,
lazily grinning.
"Then why would you get my father in trouble all those years ago?" asked
Draco, pointing to the Christmas Ball.
"I did nothing of sorts. You were the one who brought your father into
the fray at the ball; I simply brought mine to counter it," said Quinn, "and
why are you bringing up something so old. Move on — I barely
remember that anymore. . . . though that day was fun — Daphne was
easier to tease back then."
Draco stared at Pansy Parkinson sitting with the rest of the Slytherin
group. "You're not upset that Pansy got the Prefect position instead of
Greengrass?"
"Just the fact that you bring this up shows that you think that Daphne
would've been better than Parkinson," smiled Quinn, "hmm, it doesn't
really matter if Daphne got the Prefect position or not. It isn't much use
to her except the perks that come with it. That, of course, goes for me
and you as well. And if she really wanted the position, she would have
gotten it."
Quinn checked the time on his pocket watch, got up from the conjured
couch. He turned to face Draco and placed the latest-generation AID card
beside Draco. "Don't be a stranger, Malfoy. Drop by if you have any
problems; I will solve them for you."
Draco stared at the card and then at Quinn's back as he walked away
before going back to staring at the card. When the couch was eventually
vanished, no card fell on the ground.
With Quinn, he was simply thinking about how it was about time he
should try to secure a critical asset as the Malfoy heir in his pocket. He
never knew when Draco might just come in handy.
.
[
A/N:
Now, there's something that I want to discuss. I want to talk about
Occlumency-aided memory. I realize how this is seen — it's seen as a
BEYOND perfect/photographic/eidetic memory.
But this is how I see it. . . . I, in real life, remember the English Alphabet by
heart. I can recite it in my sleep without ever slipping. I'm sure it must be like
this for everyone, if not the alphabet, then at least 1 to 10 numbers. OR how
to write your name. OR your date of birth.
As long it is just this, then everyone has a perfect memory.
But I don't have the English Alphabet in my mind, all the time, 24/7/365.
When I need the Alphabet, it pops in my mind. I'm not thinking about it
constantly.
So, in my view, people with perfect/photographic/eidetic memory must be able
to RECALL EVERYTHING when they IDENTIFY THE NEED for a memory. If
they aren't able to relate the situation with a memory, why would they think
about it.
For example, if you're watching a very, very good mystery movie/show where
the movie/show actually drops the clues throughout the movie so the viewers
can actually deduce the truth/twist/climax before it actually happens. . . .
Even if you remember every frame of the movie, if you aren't able to connect
the dots, it's useless.
Perfect memory doesn't provide that ability to connect dots. (At least in my
view). Unlike us, people with perfect memory have all the dots clear in their
mind, but ability to connect said dots differs from person-to-person.
What do you think about this topic?
]
.
Quinn West - MC - Slow start to the year.
Dolores Umbridge - "Professor" - Politician through and through.
Cedric Diggory - Headboy - Continues his life after "death."
Draco Malfoy - Fifth-year Slytherin Prefect - It's already started. . . . he
just doesn't know it yet.
.
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!
204. Chapter 204: The Oldest
One, Bird Group
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The time was after hours with the night curfew in full effect; the place
was the ever illustrious AID office owned and established by Quinn, who
sat behind his desk, staring at the translucent silver entity 'sitting' in the
seat opposite to him.
"To be honest, I never thought you would make it this far," said the ghost
of the fat cleric, "us, the four house ghosts, including me, never thought
that a student would be able to complete a single vault — never in our
imaginations did we guess that someone would reach the fifth vault,"
Friar, the Ravenclaw house ghost stared at Quinn with fascination and
excitement, "but here we are, about to talk about the last vault."
"It has been quite a journey, that's for sure, but it's not over yet. We never
know; I might not be able to complete this vault." He, of course, wasn't
thinking of that possibility — Quinn was going to complete the vault and
get his reward.
"Alright, tells hear about the last riddle. I want to know what I will be
facing this time," said Quinn, rubbing his hands in excited curiosity.
Friar gazed at Quinn with his ghostly eyes and smiled as pleasantly as a
ghost could, "There is no riddle."
The challenger of four vaults frowned a smudge, "What do you mean
there's no riddle?" asked Quinn in confusion. "That's not ideal. I need
something; anything; even something vague would be a start."
"It's not that I don't want to give you a riddle, Quinn. It's just there is no
need for a riddle," said the ghost before smiling, "I will be guiding you to
the entrance of the vault, and you will be taking it onwards from there."
"I don't have to find the vault?" said Quinn in surprise, "that's unusually
generous of you — I have spent months to find the vaults, and now you
are saying that you will guide me to the entrance."
"That's the reason why we're not giving you a riddle — us ghosts don't
know anything except the location of the entrance. . . . we ghosts have
been here for so long, together we figured out the location of the vaults,
and in most cases, and given that there isn't much that can affect us, we
were able to peek to see what laid inside," Friar sighed, "but in this case,
we don't know how the entrance works and in turn, what's inside."
"That. . . . doesn't sound encouraging," said Quinn, "if you don't know
how the entrance works — are you even sure that you have got the
location right?"
"There's no doubt about the legitimacy of the location," said Friar before
asking, "tell me, Quinn, do you remember what I told you about
Deathday parties?"
Quinn nodded, "It's a celebration thrown by ghosts to commemorate the
anniversary of their death and their 'rebirth' as ghosts."
"That is correct. . . . Deathday parties at Hogwarts are quite grand; ghosts
from far and wide come to visit," Friar then stared at the ceiling above,
"we get met many ghosts not from Hogwarts and in doing so we realized
that we're different from them. . . ."
"Different, how so?" asked Quinn, leaning forward; he hadn't read
anything about types of ghosts.
"Did you know that I can award and deduct house points," chuckled Friar,
"there was once a time, we couldn't do that, and except the four house
ghosts, no other ghost can do so. For some magical reason, through the
centuries, we have formed a connection to Hogwarts — it wasn't our
doing as we never even thought that it was possible, but as you once said
— Hogwarts is a mystical place. . . . because of that connection, we know
that there's something behind the entrance."
Friar moved his eyes back to Quinn and revealed, "This vault was the
oldest, Quinn. . . . I studied under Lady Ravenclaw herself and was killed
fairly young before coming to haunt Hogwarts. There's isn't much that
pre-dates me, and even though the creators of the other vaults were able
to hide their actions and were able to create the vaults without us
knowing. . . ."
Quinn was utterly engrossed in Friar's words. Many forgot how old the
house ghosts were.
". . . but the last vault. . . it is older than us," said Friar, "and unlike the
other vaults. . . . it was part of the original design — the vault is as old as
Hogwarts."
"How. . . . how can you say it with such certainty?"
Friar floated up from his seat, "Follow me."
"Now?" asked Quinn, standing up.
"Right now might be the best time."
. . .
Hogwarts was a fascinating place; it was a beautiful castle with its
eccentricities which gave it its charm, but in the shade of the night, when
the lifeline of the school, the children, slumbered in Morpheus' kingdom,
the castle was as eerie as it could get — but to a ghost who couldn't sleep
and a guy who roamed the same lifeless halls every day, these corridors
were home.
"Are you serious?" said Quinn, staring at the 'entrance' of the last vault.
Friar nodded, "That's why I said, this is the best time."
Hogwarts' entrance hall was so big that one could have fit an entire
house in it, and there would still be space left in it. The ceiling was so
high that it was almost difficult to make out. In the morning, the hall was
lit in bright lights of fire torches, but right now, the same torches shed a
dim and warm glow on the hall, casting giant shadows everywhere.
Quinn and Friar stood in one corner of the entrance hall, illuminated by
the same fire torches everywhere in the hall, but these torches shed cold
blue light because of Friar's ghostly influence on fire. They gazed up at
the golden statue of a lean man sporting a majestic beard styled with
curls akin to tornados; the man wore an ornate headrest and elaborately
embroidered robes that flowed to the floor; clutched in his long and thin
digits were a long roll of parchment charts in one hand and a model of
the Hogwarts castle in other.
"He's the architect, isn't he?" said Quinn; he had this same statue inside
the mind-replica of Hogwarts inside his mindscape.
"Yes, Stigweard Gragg, the personage who designed the very castle you
stand inside," said Friar with admiration in his eyes, "not much known
about him, but one thing is for sure that he has immortalized himself in
the annals of history and magic. He has touched the countless lives of
every person who ever studied in Hogwarts and will continue to do so till
this glorious school continues to do its mission to propagate magic to the
young witches and wizards of the future."
Quinn nodded. Living forever wasn't the only form of immortality after
all.
"So, you are saying that you can feel something from this statue," asked
Quinn as he peeked behind the statue and touched the figure made from
solid gold.
"Yes, we can feel that there's something in here."
Quinn sighed as he scratched the back of his head, "This is going to be
difficult. . . . I can't work on this vault before curfew without gaining the
eyes of literally everyone," every single person in Hogwarts passed
through the entrance hall to get to the Great hall for meals.
"This year is going to be a sleepless one," groaned Quinn. He turned to
Friar and spoke, "are you sure you don't have any information related to
how to proceed from here?"
Friar shook his ghostly head.
"Hmm, Quinn stared intently at the statue, "how much trouble do you
think I would get in if I broke it?"
"A lot," came Friar's curt reply.
Friar then saw Quinn sit down on the floor as he stared at the architects'
statue and knew that it was time for him to leave. He had given the
challenge; now, it was up to Quinn to conquer the vault.
But the four house ghosts would be lying if they said they didn't have
great expectations from their latest challenger.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"What the hell, Dumbledore!" thundered Sirius Black angrily, slamming
an issue Daily Prophet on the table inside 12 Grimmauld Place, "what the
hell are you planning at?!"
"Sirius!" exclaimed Molly Weasley disapprovingly. But Sirius ignored the
Weasley mother and the other hushed voices that accompanied her.
Dumbledore looked at the paper and saw a page which was devoted to an
advertisement for Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was
apparently having a sale.
"I've got all the robes I want, Sirus," said Dumbledore.
"Not that!" Sirius placed a finger on an article, "read this!"
.
TRESPASS AT MINISTRY
Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has
appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted
robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by
Ministry of Magic watch wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to
force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning.
Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both
charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.
.
"Why was an Order member caught breaking into the ministry?!" said
Sirius. "Do you know how much work I had to do just to reduce his
sentence to six months! I was almost questioned by Unspeakables, for
god's sake! Why would you order him to break into the Department of
Mysteries?!"
Dumbledore remained silent for a moment before starting, "I issued no
such order. . . . Why would I want Sturgis to break into the Ministry?"
"Then why would he go in there?"
"I would guess that he was put under the Imperius curse and manipulated
into breaking into the Department of Mysteries."
Sirius exhaled heavily and calmed himself down. It wasn't like he hadn't
thought of that possibility. He was a Senior Auror; it was his job to think
about the possibilities. But the case wasn't handed to him and his team,
Sirius couldn't get access to Sturgis and could only work from outside, so
when Sturgis had refused to defend himself, he had assumed that Sturgis
was protecting the Order and especially Dumbledore because of the
scrutiny Dumbledore was under.
"Death Eaters?" asked Sirius.
"They are the most likely plausible culprits," replied Dumbledore.
"We don't have any proof," sighed Sirius and glanced at the other Senior
Auror in the room. "Are you alright, James?"
James Potter sat in the corner of the Order of Phoenix meeting, out of
character for the Potter family head, who was always heavily involved in
the Order matters.
"I have said it time and time again that we should destroy the prophecy,
but you," he looked at Dumbledore, "have refused to listen to me and
now look!" he pointed at the paper, "Voldemort is aiming for the
prophecy and is using our own people to do his bidding."
"Because there's no point in destroying the prophecy," said Dumbledore,
"there isn't anything in the prophecy that would help Voldemort move
against Harry. The portion he knew, he had already acted upon it."
"Then why have you kept the prophecy hidden from us for so long?"
asked James in a tone harsh enough to surprise the attending members. It
was a burden on James' chest that he didn't know the entirety of the
prophecy pertaining to his son's fate.
"Only the people involved can hear the prophecy: Me, Harry, and
Voldemort. Of course, there are Sybill and the Keeper of the prophecy
hall, but Sybill doesn't remember issuing the prophecy, and the Keeper
has already passed away. This means currently, only I know the
prophecy's entire content," said Dumbledore.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"James, wouldn't you want to read a prophecy that mentioned you and
your fate and how a child could end your life?" said Dumbledore. "Even if
you didn't want to, Voldemort would, without a shred of doubt would
want to listen to that prophecy.
"By making sure that only I know the entire contents, I'm making sure
that Voldemort doesn't have no choice to either come and face me and
pry the prophecy off my head or break into the Department of Mysteries
and get his hands on the prophecy orb."
Between the two options, the latter sounded much more easier. Going
after Dumbledore wouldn't only require incapacitating a magical
powerhouse but also breaking into a highly fortified mind while looking
out for surprise Legilimency attacks.
"Voldemort won't come after me, so the only choice he has is to go to the
Ministry and get to the prophecy orb. . . . which he wouldn't do
personally, at least not for some time. He has just returned, and his
group, his organization, his cult, is weak after fourteen years of
separation and absence — he can't go out strolling to Ministry without
taking a massive risk of being seen and proving Harry and me are right,
exonerating me off any slander against me, thus strengthening the
support towards us."
"You want to keep him occupied," said James.
"Yes, as long as his attention is focused on the prophecy, the world would
be safer from his maniacal actions," Dumbledore removed his glasses to
clean them and continued with his eyes closed, "it's regrettable that
Sturgis got arrested; we must definitely learn from this and ensure the
safety of our members, especially those with higher access and those
who're in charge of guarding the prophecy hall — they will be the Death
Eaters' prime target."
After the meeting was over, Dumbledore asked James to remain in the
meeting room, while others were asked to leave.
"How is Harry doing?" asked Dumbledore. Even though he was the
headmaster and Harry stayed in Hogwarts, he had been too busy to keep
track of Harry's wellbeing.
"Lily says he has been doing okay," sighed James, "it's inevitable there are
children who don't believe his words, but he has his friends around,
supporting him. The Prefect duties keep him occupied with some work,
and his position makes other children think twice before speaking
anything to Harry," James half-chuckled, "as you know, Harry isn't the
most forgiving person; from what Lily tells me, he's enjoying taking
points away and giving detentions."
"He's not abusing his power, is he?"
"No. . . . fortunately, he has Hermione by his side; she makes sure Harry's
not deducting points and giving detentions because of personal reasons,"
said James while smiling.
"Speaking of detentions, I'm surprised that Harry is able to control
himself in front of Dolores," asked Dumbledore curiously.
James leaned back into his chair and sighed, "We talked back at home.
Made him understand to stay out of trouble and not to provoke Umbitch
because she will particularly have an out for him. . . . I'm not sure how
long Harry would be able to keep it down. . . . both my children don't
have good tempers."
"I hope the presence of Lily would keep him calm," said Dumbledore, "it
would be better if Harry stays out of Dolores' ways. She will do anything
to wrest away power inside Hogwarts," he sighed, "all of this is
happening because of Fudge's paranoia — why doesn't he understand
that I don't have sights on his position."
"Because he is an idiot," said James, stating it like a fact. He had been
given the Minister protection detail sometimes, and Fudge had left him
utterly frustrated every time.
"He, with the Lucius' support, has already kicked me out of Wizengamot,
and I don't think he will stop without getting me out of Hogwarts," sighed
Dumbledore.
". . . If," James took a pause, "if you are indeed kicked out of Hogwarts,
would George West still support the school as he promised?"
"I don't know," said Dumbledore, "if I know George West, then there are
two outcomes after I'm kicked out of Hogwarts. First is as you suspect, he
will pull his support — that man won't make a move if he's not entirely
sure in his decision. . . . Second," Dumbledore chuckled, "is that George
West will take over Hogwarts — I'm sure if he puts his mind to it, he will
have Hogwarts under his control in no time."
". . . Do you think he will try to get control of Hogwarts?"
"If I exit, Hogwarts will fall under the control of the political landscape,
more than it has now. And if it does, George West can exert control over
it with his resources; if he wants Hogwarts, then he will get it —
everything will be set for him to take over, especially with Fudge being
his current self."
"I don't know if it'll be good or bad. . . . George West taking control of
Hogwarts, that is," said James, and he really couldn't imagine how
Hogwarts would turn out.
"Hmm, well, one thing is for sure, George West won't be the headmaster,"
chuckled Dumbledore merrily, "so I suppose, the headmaster would
either be a Ministry figurehead or maybe he'll elect from within — if he
does get control of Hogwarts, I hope he would elect McGonagall. . . .
though there is a very high chance that Poppy might ascend to
headmistress."
"Poppy. . . as in Madam Pomfrey?"
"Yes," smiled Dumbledore in amusement, imagining what it would be
like. "It would be a fun new Hogwarts, that's for sure," said the
headmaster as he got up from his seat and walked away out of the room,
leaving James alone.
James watched the headmaster walk away with confusion and
unanswered questions.
"Why Madam Pomfrey?" he called out. All he got in return was laughter
followed by a whoosh of fire.
.
Quinn West - MC - "So. . . how's it going?" he asked the statue.
Friar - Hufflepuff house ghost - Challenge has been issued. . . have fun!
Sirius Black - Senior Auror - My house is only available from 11 to 5.
After that, I want my bachelor pad back.
James Potter - Senior Auror - I'm not the source of temper. . . I'm suave.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - I can only think what it would be like.
.
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!
205. Chapter 205: Educational
Decree - 23
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Quinn sat behind his desk, his elbows resting on the table with a glowing
red thread of Empyrean looping between his ten fingers as he played cats
cradle with the magical material for practice. In the time Quinn had
begun studying Empyrean, he had realized that the magic could really do
some fascinating things — for example, the thread which Quinn playing
with was a width of a thick woollen thread, but he could thin it down to
the length of a hair yet at the same time give it the strength of an
intertwined steel cable.
But while his hands and magic played with the Empyrean malleability
and manipulation, Quinn's mind was thinking about the fifth vault (he
was torn between the names: Architect's vault and Hogwarts vault).
The Architect's statute, which acted akin to a gatekeeper to the
mysterious and hidden vault inside, refused to budge and give way for
Quinn to proceed. He had tried channeling magic inside, looking for a
key or switch, see if some type of puzzle, but nothing had popped out to
him — he had essentially spent, night after night, just looking around,
hoping to chance upon something that would allow him to make
progress, but with no avail.
'I need to make some progress, or I'm just wasting my time,' the thoughts
passed through his mind as the strings in hand made the shape of a lion,
'there must be something-anything on the statue that would help me — I
would hate to destroy it, who knows how much would they task me I
broke the gold statue.'
Quinn lifted his chin up a little to admire the raven reflected in the
network of strings weaved and looped around his digits. As he did that,
Quinn felt the detection ward ring in his ears — the Empyrean vanished
from around his fingers, and Quinn lifted his eyes to look at the door just
in time to hear the door chime ring and see a redhead and curly-haired
brunette enter his sanctum sanctorum.
"Welcome, ladies," he smiled, "hope you're doing well; what can I do for
you today?"
Ivy Potter gazed towards Quinn, and it was a bit strange for her to see
him sitting idle in his office. "What're you doing?"
"I was contemplating the meaning of life and its existence."
". . . Really?" said Hermione, wondering if he actually meant it.
"Uh-huh, I had just reached the point of realizing that human life didn't
even amount to a grain of dust when in comparison to the vast universe,
the size of stars, and other stuff. . . . but then I got bored and realized
that the stars didn't have to work and they just explode and die — but I
do have to work and don't have the explosion option — well I have but,
you know — so I started thinking about transfiguration and was about to
descend into the rabbit hole just before you entered. . ."
"I see, that's nice," said Ivy as both girls took their seats.
"So, what brings you two here?"
"We came here to buy two sets of fifth-year OWL notes," said the top-of-
her-year with a tinge of sparkle in her eyes.
Quinn quirked his brow up, "That's fast. We aren't even a month into the
school year," but he did lean down to pull out two sets of fifth-year notes
from the desk drawers, "may I ask the reason for this early purchase?"
"Umbridge," spat Ivy with an intense glare forming in her green eyes,
"that pathetic pink imbecile of professor is going to make every one of us
fail the OWLs. Her lessons are getting more and more moronic every time
she enters the classroom," Quinn noticed that Hermione hadn't rebuked
Ivy, "she only teaches theory, and even that theory is so inane and out-of-
context that it makes me want to pull that eyesore of a cardigan off her
and stuff it into her mouth, whole, just to shut her mouth from spouting
things which makes anyone who hears them dumber (ugh!)."
"Oh my, that's some strong emotions," said Quinn as he received the joint
payment from Hermione.
Ivy crossed her arms and silently fumed just thinking about the Ministry
stooge ruining their school life.
"What about you? What do you think of her?" she said to Quinn, "don't
tell me that she doesn't piss you off."
"Hmm, I would be lying if I said that I'm unflappable, but I don't feel any
strong emotions toward her. . . at least not yet. . . . maybe she'll do
something in the future which will make reach your level. . . . but for
now, I'm just sitting in her class with my eyes closed."
"I wanted to ask about that," said Hermione, looking up from the notes,
"how's she in the class with you? I mean, with you not studying in her
class, I can imagine her taking in strides and being an angel about it."
Ivy scoffed at even the thought of comparing Umbridge with an angel.
Quinn glanced at Ivy, thinking if she would be the one to break before
Harry did.
"She and I don't interact much in her classes," he told Hermione while
giving her the bill, "even after a couple of classes, she tries to catch me
off guard," Quinn chuckled, "but in our last class, she made me handwrite
the chapter just to make me do something."
"Someone needs to do something, or this school is going to be in serious
trouble," said Ivy, tapping her feet. It seemed that Umbridge had really
affected her. "I just know worst has not passed yet, and it may seem not
possible, but the pink toad is going to do something more abhorrent."
Quinn smiled sympathetically as he knew that Umbridge had the
potential to be worse, much worse.
"The only thing that could be worse about her would be if she's a Death
Eater," said Hermione, channeling the frustration of being refuted proper
answers time after time.
"I doubt it," said Quinn, "I know her by reputation, and I'm sure she's no
Death Eater —"
"She's foul enough to be one," said Ivy scathingly.
"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," said
Quinn with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though —
two years ago, she almost succeeded in passing something that could
only be seen as an anti-werewolf legislation which would have made
nigh-impossible for werewolves such as everyone's beloved ex-Professor
Lupin to get a job in the magical world," he gazed at Ivy, "the bill was
vehemently opposed and thwarted in Wizengamot by your father and
Sirius Black."
"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione angrily.
"Scared of them, I expect," said Quinn, smiling at her indignation.
"Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople
rounded up and tagged last year too. . . . and tried to have Fleur
disqualified as a champion."
"You don't suppose she's being extra revolting because of that, is she?"
asked Ivy.
"Who knows," said Quinn giving a shrug, "people are never rational and
logical. . . . she might taking out her frustrations by trying to get a rise
out of you to get you into detention."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It seemed that the very next day, Umbridge had indeed made things
worse by pulling the move Quinn was expecting her to make, and he got
confirmation while serving of eggs. He stared at a large photograph of
Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from
beneath the headline:
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE
APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"
"High Inquisitor," said Eddie darkly, his half-eaten bit of toast slipping
from his fingers. "What does that mean?"
Quinn glanced behind the raised newspaper and looked at Marcus, "So,
what do you think about this?"
Marcus pulled back the newspaper and read aloud:
"In a surprise move, last night, the Ministry of Magic passed new
legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"'The Minister has been growing uneasy about the goings-on at Hogwarts
for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is
now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the
school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.'
"This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to
effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th,
Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed to ensure that, in the event of
the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a
teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.
"'That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff
at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone,
so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate
success —'"
Loud chortles of laugher spouted out of Eddie and Quinn. There wasn't a
place that held more hate for Umbridge than the Ravenclaw house.
Especially the fifth and seventh-year Ravenclaw students who were
worrying their hairs grey stressed about failing their OWLs and NEWTs.
To say that the change was 'an immediate' success was the biggest joke.
"Wait, there's more," said Marcus grimly.
"'— an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense
Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground
feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.'
"It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the
passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new
position of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.'
"'This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with
what some are calling the "falling standards" at Hogwarts,' said Weasley.
'The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make
sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been
offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are
delighted to say that she has accepted.'"
Marcus finished reading and looked across the table at the other two.
But before he could speak, Eddie craned his neck up and called out to
Ron on the Gryffindor table "Hey, Weasley! When did your brother turn
traitor!" he yelled across the tables.
Ron looked up from his plateful of bacon rashers with confusion flashing
on his face before realizing what Eddie was talking about, and his face
colored up to match his hair.
"Why are you being mean to the poor guy," asked Quinn plainly while
making himself a sandwich.
Eddie was still grinning at Ron, trying to catch the redhead's eyes, "I
heard that he got selected as an option for Keeper. I'm just trying to get
into his head — you know, easier for me if he's even a bit frazzled. . . .
the three Gryffindor vixens might be decent, but their efforts will be for
naught if their Keeper is a sieve."
A knock on the table by Marcus got their attention back to him.
"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this
'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the
power to inspect other teachers!" Marcus was breathing fast, and his eyes
were very bright. "I can't believe this. It's outrageous . . ."
"There's nothing we can do about it," said Quinn with a candid shrug,
putting the final touches on his sandwich, "but behave appropriately in
the classes and not give professors a hard time. . . that's the only way we
can help." He then sighed, "If Umbridge comes to inspect in one of our
classes, I'll have to stop doing my homework. . . what an utter nuisance."
"That's what you're worried about?" said Marcus.
"I'm already wasting an hour with Umbridge; of course, this inspection
stint of her might end up wasting more of my time, and that's a no-no,"
replied Quinn, licking his lip towards his delicious creation.
"Then study in the classroom, damn it," said Eddie and Marcus in unison.
"Eh, where's the fun in that," mock-whined Quinn before taking a bite of
his sandwich. For a second, his went turned rolled back, and a short
food-moan escaped him. "Marcus here, have a bite of this. It's really
good~."
"O-Oh, really. T-Then I will have a bite," said Marcus taking the sandwich
in hand; his mouth salivated as he had just seen Quinn's reaction to the
sandwich.
"Yeah, take a bite. . . . only a bite. . . . hey, that's a bit. . . . AAH! You
fatso, that's not a bite! You chomped off half of it! Give it back, give it
back!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn didn't end up meeting Umbridge in one of his classes for
inspections, neither did Eddie, but Marcus wasn't so lucky and ended up
meeting 'High Inquisitor' Dolores Umbridge.
He was pulling out his muggle-observation diary in a seat right in the
middle of the homely Muggle Studies classroom when his seatmate
elbowed him in the ribs and, looking around, he saw Umbridge emerging
from the door with a broad, lip-thinning smile on her face, wearing yet
another pink cardigan, making him think if she didn't own any other
color and if she didn't, then why pink?
The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt
fall in the noise level made Professor Lily Potter, who had been wafting
about handing out her routine Muggle-Facts Pamphlet, look round.
"Good afternoon, Professor Potter," said Professor Umbridge with her
wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of
your inspection?"
Lily nodded curtly and, looking composed, turned her back on the pink
intruder as if Umbridge didn't exist and continued to give out the
pamphlets. Still smiling, Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest
armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches
behind Lily's professor seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from
her flowery bag, and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to
begin.
Lily walked to the front of the class and surveyed the class with her vivid
green eyes. "Good afternoon; I hope you have been having a lovely day,"
she spoke with her usual bright smile, "Today, we'll be picking up from
where we left in the last class and continue talking about the Muggle
inventions that changed the world."
Lily raised her wand, and behind her, below the blackboard, a small
wooden box opened, and from within, chalk powder rose up in lines. The
lines of white flew to the blackboard and stuck to its surface in various to
give shape to a figure as if it had been drawn from a chalk stick.
"This is an airplane," said Lily pointing at the illustration of a wide-body
airliner. "Any guesses on what an airplane is? Please, no guesses from
muggleborn students or the half-bloods who know the answer; let your
other classmates take a guess."
"It's some sort of muggle toy?" said a student from an all-magical family.
Lily hummed and turned to look at the blackboard. She raised her wand,
and the sketch on the board changed to now show an airplane standing
in line beside drawings of the Whomping Willow, a forest troll, and a tiny
little human.
"Now, who would like to take another guess," said Lily with a smile as
she watched the expressions of many of her students change when they
deduced the actual size through comparison.
There were various guesses from around the class: a new type of muggle
house, dragon catcher(?!), a place for a muggle sport. . . . Each guess
made those who knew the answers chuckle and laugh while the guessers
became bolder and bolder in their guesses.
"Marcus, how about you answer the question," said Lily.
"Professor, I already know the answer," said Marcus with a smile; Muggle
studies were always fun.
"Please enlighten your classmates," said Lily.
Marcus was nodded and was about to answer but was cut off. He looked
at the seat behind where Lily was standing and saw that Umbridge had
stood up from her chair with a "Hem, hem," making it clear that she
wanted to speak. Marcus considered himself a mild-mannered person, but
every time he heard the "Hem, hem," it made him want to cut her voice
box and make her eat it.
"Yes, Professor Umbridge? Do you want to contribute to the class
discussion?" said Lily, but inside she seriously doubted that Umbridge
was capable of any positive contribution.
"No, dear. I don't think I can contribute in make-belief," said Umbridge,
looking up at Lily, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?"
Lily held back a scowl, clasped her hands behind her back, and stood up
straight to stand firm against the indignity of the 'inspection.' After a
slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so
offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a flat tone, "This
will be my fifth year."
"Hmm, you can't be considered a new teacher with that amount of
experience," said Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. "So it was
Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"
"That's right."
Umbridge made another note.
"And you joined the same time as you children started their schooling at
Hogwarts."
". . . Yes," said Lily; she still held her voice, but there was a twitch in her
eyes at the implication.
Umbridge scribbled more in her notepad, looking happier by the second.
She looked up inquiringly, still smiling, "Which book do you use as the
reference material?"
"I don't use any. I personally provide my students material every class."
"I see," said Umbridge, her toadlike smile widened as she made another
note on her clipboard. She turned away, leaving Lily standing rooted to
the spot.
The entire class watched and listened sneakily from behind their diaries;
most of the class were staring transfixed at Lily as she drew herself up to
her full height. She turned to the class, put on a smile a bit dimmer
before speaking up.
"Sorry for the disturbance. Let's continue; where were we. . . ."
.
Quinn West - MC - My sandwich. . . . NOOOO!
Ivy Potter - Gryffindor - Acid in her veins.
Hermione Granger - Prefect - Feels just as frustrated but is keeping them
hidden.
Eddie Carmichael - Chaser - Won't hesitate in using Yo Mama jokes.
Marcus Belby - Not a fan of pink toads - Oh my god, this sandwich is so
good!
Lily Potter - Muggle Studies Professor - Result of inspections is. . . .
unknown.
Dolores Umbridge - High Inquisitor - "Hem, hem."
.
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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!
206. Chapter 206: Architect's
Puzzle
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In the dark, dimly lit entrance hall, a figure could be seen doing a
moonwalk from one end of the enormous hall to the other. The figure
was, of course, Quinn, who had gotten tired of sitting in front of the
Architect's Statue and had decided to think while walking, which
somehow turned into him doing moonwalks on the entrance hall's marble
floor.
"It's night, and I'm lonely~," he softly sang in whispers, "the one who
defies the destiny, waoho~ yeah~, I'm fate's enemy~, uh-huh, can
someone listen to me maybe~ — because right now this boy needs this
problem's re-re-remedy."
Quinn was so engrossed in his ugly singing that he didn't notice when he
reached the end of the path. His back bumped into something pointy,
startling himself, and he ended up jumping forward in surprise. He
turned in a hurry to see what he had bumped into and saw Founder
Rowena Ravenclaw cast in pure gold, standing with a diadem in one
hand and a tome in the other.
He let out a sigh of relief and stepped forward with a smile. Quinn knelt
in front of the statue. "My fair lady, this student of yours asks for your
guidance. This poor one's wit has reached its limit, and only your divine
intellect could grant me the hope to succeed the Architect's arduous
trials," he said, exaggerating every word that came out of his mouth.
There was a widespread belief that a change in perspective could help
things along and sometimes allow a breakthrough when stuck at a
problem. And technically, Quinn was looking from a different perspective
— he was looking at Rowena Ravenclaw's golden statue while kneeling
instead of standing. . . . and in doing so, he noticed the palm on which
the tome rested.
It was a tiny thing, and at any other moment, he wouldn't have noticed
it, but as he looked up at the end, he noticed a ring on Rowena
Ravenclaw's middle finger, but that wasn't the odd thing; the thing that
popped out to Quinn was that the ring wasn't melded into the finger as it
would in a sculpture or stature — the ring looked like it had been put
into the finger separately.
Quinn stood up at once and looked around the entrance hall. There were,
in total, six golden statues in the hall — Godric Gryffindor, Rowena
Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Architect Stigweard
Gragg, and the unnamed one-eyed witch.
He hurriedly jogged to the nearest statue and reached Godric Gryffindor's
statue — the man with the portly stood tall dressed in leather armor
under his robes; his hands rested on top of a vertically standing sheathed
sword with the only very tip of the blade touching the floor. With both
hands laying on top of each other, the lower hand was partially hidden
from sight; Quinn bent his knees and got in close to finally get a glimpse
of a ring on Godric Gryffindor's ring finger.
"That's two," he muttered quickly before excitedly running to Helga
Hufflepuff's statue and the homely plump woman holding a small golden
cup with two finely-wrought handles with a badger engraved on the side.
Here too, the ring was placed in a hard-to-spot place on the Hufflepuff's
curved index finger grasping the cup's handle.
The fourth founder, Salazar Slytherin's bald head and cold eyes were
perfectly depicted in gold. The ancient and monkeyish man with a long
thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of his sweeping robes had so
many rings on his hands that Quinn hadn't noticed that one of Slytherin's
pinky was also not melded with the finger and was a separate entity.
He looked at the founders' statues standing in different corners of the
room. "Four founders, four statues, four rings," said Quinn in but a
whisper.
His hand instantly snapped into a fist, and his magic flowed. The 'ringed'
fingers of the four founders straightened out with the power of
transmutation as the gold heeded the command of Quinn's magic. The
four rings (one from each founder) slowly rotated around the fingers as
Quinn pulled them out, and the second the rings left the fingers, they
zapped through the air and arrived in front of Quinn in mere seconds.
He stared at the rings and noticed the common denominator of the rings
except that they were made from gold: "The four mascots," he voiced. The
rings had etchings of the four house animals: lion, eagle, snake, and
badger.
Quinn knew what he had to do. He walked towards the Architect's statue
and rested his eyes on the Architect's hand holding the model of
Hogwarts with the fingers digging into the ground below the model — all
of his digits were bare with not a single ring in sight. Once again, the
magic worked its course — the Architect's golden fingers were pulled out
from the model and straightened out so Quinn could insert the rings.
Rowena Ravenclaw's eagle inscribed ring taken from her middle finger
went into the Architect's middle finger,
Godric Gryffindor's lion inscribed ring taken from his ring finger went
into the Architect's ring finger,
Helga Hufflepuff's badger inscribed ring taken from her index finger went
into the Architect's index finger,
Salazar Slytherin's serpent inscribed ring taken from his little finger went
into the Architect's little finger.
Quinn stepped back and used transmutation once again to curve the
fingers back into Hogwart's model and then waited for the show to
happen. . . . but nothing happened.
"Hmm?" he stepped forward to see if the fingers weren't properly inserted
or had he made a mistake in the ring placement. . . . but all the things
seemed to be in order.
"Then why isn't something happening. . . . was my assumption wrong?"
he muttered in contemplation, but then the bare fifth finger caught the
attention — "the thumb is still unoccupied, there must be a fifth ring for
it, yes. . . . the question is, where's it?"
He wondered for a few moments, whereafter he turned to the one
remaining statue in the entrance hall and stared at the ugliest statue,
which for some reason was also drawn in gold. Quinn walked towards
the statue of the unnamed one-eyed witch — hair haggard, unsightly
bumps on the skin, heavily hunched back, ragged robes, and a crooked
staff — nothing about the one-eyed witch was pleasant, yet it was
stationed in the entrance hall for an entire millennium.
"It makes wonder, doesn't," he mumbled and observed the statue of the
woman blind in one eye. He first looked at her hands, but unexpectedly
there were no rings on her bony fingers.
"Okay, what else?"
He looked at her staff which had big hoops on the top, but they were
melded into the staff, which indicated that they weren't what he was
looking for.
"Eyes. . . eye, singular."
At first, Quinn thought it was because of the general vibe of the statue
that the woman's 'good' eye was bulging and looking in an off direction,
but the more he stared at it, the more he thought that the direction in
which the statue was looking in was of significance.
Quinn raised a hand and rubbed his index finger and thumb — when he
pulled them apart, there was a thread of red Empyrean connecting them.
He took the end attached to his thumb and stuck it right in the middle of
the eye.
"Alright, let's see where this goes," said Quinn and started walking in the
direction in which the statue was looking in. Soon, he reached a wall, but
the statue wasn't looking near the floor level but higher above.
He looked up, then at his feet and tapped his heel against the floor twice
for a platform of glowing red Empyrean develop beneath his feet which
then pushed him up, and soon he was standing atop a solid pillar — he
had gotten decent enough to create massive concrete structures.
The line of Empyrean was still in Quinn's hand, and he pulled it a little
for it became taut, then positioned it so that the glowing red line was
perfectly perpendicular to the eyeball. When he looked at his end of the
line, it pointed right in the middle of a very small-framed photo (there
were hundreds of magical portraits in the entrance hall).
When Quinn looked at the photo, his eyes widened in surprise — what he
saw was a photo of the entrance hall — a perspective of the entrance hall
as seen from the eye of the one-eyed witch.
"That's some cool planning," he said in amusement.
The picture was too small for Quinn to discern anything valuable with
the naked eye, so he conjured a magnifying glass and began observing
the magnified picture inch by inch. From the viewpoint of the one-eyed
witch, she could've seen all other statues, but because her field of vision
was higher, she could only see the wall of photo frames.
Minutes went by as Quinn tried to spot something of value, and just as he
was about to give up, his breathing hitched, and Quinn gulped — he was
looking at the very same spot that the statue was looking — at the photo
in the small frame. . . . he could see the frame, but. . . . the picture inside
the frame was different.
He looked at another picture of the entrance hall from the one-eyed
witch's viewpoint, but this time there was an old man with tornado-like
curls for a beard staring back at him as if knowing that Quinn was
looking at him.
It was the architect — it was Stigweard Gragg. . . . and he was standing
right where Quinn was standing right now, next to the photo wall. The
architect in the magical portrait smiled and turned to where the small
frame should have been, but instead, there was nothing in that spot. The
architect pointed at the empty square before turning back towards Quinn
and continued to smile while staring squarely at him.
He leaned back away from the frame, the magnifying glass in his hand
vanishing in the process. He gazed at the square frame and the picture-in-
picture inside it, thinking about what he had seen; at the very least, him
spotting the architect meant Quinn was on the right path.
Deciding to act on what he had seen, Quinn undid the sticking charm on
the frame and pulled it off the wall to reveal an unnaturally white square
area of the wall previously hidden by the frame. But when Quinn brushed
his fingers against the newly exposed wall, his lightest touch sent the
piece of wall caving in with a click before the entire white square popped
out with another click.
"Woah," Quinn wasn't expecting this to happen; nevertheless, he braved
forward and pulled the cube of wall out — the surface of the cube felt
smooth against his fingertips, and the exposed brick he was expecting
was absent. He turned the wall cube around, and saw that it was painted
white all around.
"This isn't brick at all, is it?" Quinn felt the cube through his magic and
knew what he held was a wooden block — wood that had gone through
heavy processing to make it feel and look like a piece of wall.
Quinn folded his legs and sat down, the wall cube in front of him. His
fingers felt a faint lip around the cube, and with a flick of magic, the box
opened up to reveal a hard cream-yellow material filling what would
have been a hollow wooden box.
"I know what this is." A heat produced through magic traveled from his
digits into the cream-yellow filling, and immediately the solid substance
gave way, and Quinn's fingers sunk into a gooey viscous emulsion,
making Quinn's lips turn up on the successful guess.
Quinn further dunked his fingers and reached around to feel something
solid in the emulsion; he grabbed the small object and pulled a goo-
covered ring out of the box.
"I knew it," said Quinn sounding pleased with himself. A strong gust of
wind blew the goo away to reveal a platinum ring with a black gem fitted
in the crown.
Quinn then jumped down from the Empyrean, his robes fluttering for a
short moment before his feet touched the ground, and he went running
towards the architect's statue. He slipped the ring onto the statue's
thumb.
It was almost instantaneous.
The four founder rings blazed in clear colored flames — red flames
covered the lion ring, yellow wrapped the badger, green glittered across
the serpent, and blue illuminated the eagle. On the other hand, the
jeweled thumb ring didn't burn, but the black gem roused to throw out a
deep, dark, and disturbed blackish-teal glow.
Quinn immediately threw an illusion around him and the statue in case a
ghost or house-elf was attracted by the glow of the rings. The flames
grew brighter in a flash before they went out, and the only light was from
jeweled ring glowing in a teal light. But it seemed everything wasn't over
yet as the founders' rings started to shake, and suddenly their bottoms
separated, and the rings flew out from the fingers, zooming through the
sky and flying to their initial positions in the hands of the golden founder
statues.
The only remaining ring sat in front of Quinn's eyes; he sent a pulse of
magic — the thumb straightened out, and the ring spun out of the finger.
He raised his hand, and the ring slowly floated down into his palm.
Quinn noticed that the black gem had transformed into a dark teal gem,
and as the ring sat on his palm, he felt a slight constant thrum from the
ring as it vibrated in his hand.
Now that the ring was in his hand, Quinn did the only logical next step
he could think of and put it on his ring finger — the ring, as many
magical rings, adjusted to fit his finger.
"In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight! Let
those who worship evil's might, beware my magic. Teal Lantern's light!"
By the end, Quinn had his hand raised up, expecting the ring to shoot a
beam of light above, but it did no such thing.
"Yeah, thought so," Quinn brought down his hand and, in earnest, began
observing the ring. He felt that the ring was no longer warm, and his skin
touched the cool of the metal, but like before, the vibration was still
present.
"What's the mean of this?" he touched the ring with his other hand while
contemplating the significance of the vibration, but after thinking for a
while, he couldn't arrive at a conclusion.
He raised his hands up, stood up his toes, and stretched his body from
top-bottom, and groaned while doing it. "I should go to sleep; I'll see
what it does in the morning."
He turned towards the direction of the grand staircase to climb up to the
Ravenclaw dorm room entrance, but the moment he reached the ground
floor level of the stairwell, Quinn noticed a glint from the corner of his
eyes and turned his gaze towards it just in time to see the ring jewel
flashed brightly and shoot a teal beam of light towards the front.
"Holy shit, it really shot a beam of light." He watched with wide eyes as
the teal light beam hit the staircase, and at once, the every moving grand
stairwell stopped moving.
The feeling of shock was something Quinn couldn't describe. In all the
years he had been here, Quinn hadn't seen the sight in front of him once
— not once had he witnessed all the stairs stopped in one place,
especially not in the middle of them changing platforms.
The complete stoppage only lasted a moment as Quinn's gaze was
attracted to a set of stairs moving, and he watched as the stairs connected
with each other all the way to the sixth floor; the second the connection
completion happened, a teal radiance covered the side-railings, marking
a path for him to follow.
"I. . . . wanted to go sleep," he sighed, and from the looks of it, if he didn't
climb the prescribed path, the stairs weren't going to return to normal.
He climbed the illuminated stairs to reach the sixth floor and looking
behind, the teal was gone, and the stairs were once again moving. He
looked back ahead, and a clear line of teal was going through the middle
of the floor. Following the teal line had him arrive at a dead-end in the
corridor.
The wall he faced was plain with simple tan paint, but just like all other
things, the presence of teal was evident on the wall — the line that aided
Quinn to arrive at the wall climb up the wall and in the dead center of
the wall, it made a small circle ring.
Quinn glanced at the ring in his hand; he walked forward and touched
the jewel in the ring to the center of the circle.
Teal overflowed the wall, with the light flooding the entire corridor.
Quinn opened his squinted eyes and lowered his arm to see a layer of
swirling teal had replaced the wall. He conjured a ball and threw it in;
the ball disappeared into the teal leaving behind a single ripple as it
vanished.
"There's definitely something behind here."
Quinn gingerly advanced a hand into the teal, which like the ball,
disappeared behind the layer. He stepped forward, and soon, Quinn had
left the corridor, leaving behind nothing but a ripple in the teal layer,
which disappeared the next second, and all that left was a simple tan-
colored wall in the dead of night where silence reigned supreme.
.
Quinn West - MC - The Architect is sure a creepy guy. . .
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Ugh, I had written 2/3rds of this chapter
before going to sleep yesterday and was in a good mood that I didn't have
much to write tomorrow. But today, I saw an article on "Show, not tell,"
which disrupted my entire rhythm as I became conscious about my
writing, and the last 1/3rd took so much time.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
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207. Chapter 207: Architects
Vault, CatVsToad
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When he stepped across the teal permeable layer, Quinn's shoes stepped
on a coarse surface with a grainy texture that gripped the soles of his
boots. Quinn briefly took in the room in front of him before turning back
— the swirling layer of different shades of layers was still there — he
exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding and turned to the front.
Even with the room bathing in the soft teal light, the room was clearly
colored in a darb dark grey, giving it a lifeless ambiance — unlike the
'public' Hogwarts where every wall had a story to it, this room seemed to
have been created without a thought of flourish or fanfare — the sheer
monotony of the room made Quinn's eyes strain and relax all at the same
time. His step echoed in the empty room as he descended down a shallow
circular well of stairs and gazed at the surrounding circle of pillars that
supported the perfectly circular room's equally dull ceiling.
"Now, what's this?" Quinn's voice echoed along with his steps as he
walked around the short, perfectly cylindrical pedestal present right at
the room's middle. Like everything in the room, the column-like pedestal
was just as the name suggested — a cylinder.
"Is this really from the same person who designed Hogwarts," despite the
eccentric parts of the castle, Hogwarts was a beautiful construction of its
time.
To this day, the tradition of taking the first years on boats through the
lake was because of the castle's architectural beauty that mesmerized the
children and stayed them for a very long time — it certainly did with
Quinn, who despite having seen a range of different architecture that
changed with cultures across the globe in his world tour, had been all but
hypnotized when he had set his eyes upon the moonlit castle with a
thousand-year history and the ever-more enchanting reflection in the
clear lake surface.
He squatted down fully on his knees and felt the base of the cylindrical
pillar — specifically, the place from where the pedestal rose up from the
floor. The pedestal wasn't part of the floor, but neither was it sitting on
the floor — no, the pedestal column came from within the floor, meaning
that there was a length of pedestal beneath the surface of the floor.
"Hmm." A thought struck his mind. He straightened his knees with body
magic pushing through his muscles — he kicked the floor and launched
himself atop the cylinder.
"Now, let's how my hunch pans out." With body magic still coursing
through his body, Quinn took a mighty jump, joined his feet, and pushed
down hard on the pedestal with his landing.
A slight tremor went down the pedestal as the force generated by Quinn's
weight coming down on the pedestal pushed it down into the ground by
mere millimeters. At the same instant, Quinn turned his face towards the
loud sound of stone being dragged against stone — a part of the wall in
the shape of an archway was pushed back a couple of inches. But the
very next second, Quinn shifted his feet to maintain balance as the
pedestal rose to its original height in an instant, and with the archway
merged back into the wall sending a big wave of tremor, causing Quinn
to struggle maintaining balance on the narrow pillar.
"A weight-based mechanism," Quinn glanced down on the pillar, "the
pillar needs force to be pushed down, which then, will push that section
of wall," he gazed at the previously affect spot in the wall, "in the shape
of an archway, which I'm guessing is the way to the next section of this
vault."
"Well, that's easy enough to solve." Quinn jumped down to the floor and
walked to the part of the wall that had shifted. "Why follow the rules
when you can break the game."
He drew up his sleeves before placing his palm snugly against the wall
where the archway was supposed to be and pushed magic into the small.
「 Transmutation 」
There was no need to push the pedestal into the ground when he could
simply excavate the stone in the wall out and see what lay hidden behind
the archway.
But it turned out that the Architect wasn't a dunce. The very next
moment, Quinn's magic was met by another force — a magical explosion,
and Quinn was sent back, tumbling onto the ground on his back.
He groaned with the dull pain spreading through his back and butt." I
guess that's why people don't break the rules," he said while grimacing in
pain — the stone wall was 'disabled' against transmutation and
transfiguration just like the glass in his office, but here, the creator, who
Quinn was assuming to be the Architect, had provided with some
'motivation' to not try to re-attempt breaking the rules.
"I get it, I get it. I'll follow the rules," said Quinn as he walked back to the
center pedestal. He bowed his head down while closing his eyes and
raised his hands above his head; magic flowed out in lumps over lumps.
When he finally looked up, there stood a massive block of conjured steel
hanging overhead, gradually rotating. He looked down at the stone
pedestal and cracked his neck,
"Time to get down into the ground."
He retreated back up the shallow stairs and peeked from behind the stone
pillars.
"3. . . 2. . . 1. . . . go!"
The looming steel cube looming overhead suddenly dropped, and its
sheer size buried the thin pedestal within an instant. The entire room
quaked, sending waves to every corner of the room, including Quinn,
who felt the vibration down to his bones and had hugged the sturdy
pillar to not tumble over.
When the dust settled and the room who longer shook, Quinn jogged to
the archway.
"Ah damn, really?" What he came across was a flat wall with no signs of
an exposed archway in near sight.
Quinn sighed, and the massive conjured steel cube vanished into
nothingness and stood in view was the undamaged cylindrical pedestal as
if it hadn't hugged the heavy steel block.
"So that failed," he said, but in every failure, there was an opportunity to
learn. Since his entry into the vault room, Quinn had noted a few
observations.
"The pedestal is connected to the archway and is operated with a weight-
based mechanism," he walked to the pedestal and stood with his back
leaning against it, "the force generated by my highest jump and factoring
in my weight could shift the archway a couple of inches, meaning that
the steel cube must have achieved that much. . . . but the mechanism
needs a constant force to keep the archway exposed. The steel cube must
have pushed the archway back, at least the length that I alone did; I can't
be sure of how much over that," he was too busy trying not to fall, "but
given that I wasn't able to see it means that the steel's weight wasn't
enough to keep the archway open."
He groaned. If the force created by the massive steel cube couldn't push
open the archway, then Quinn couldn't see an option that would exceed
that. Using an explosion charm or a banishing charm from the ceiling
was not an option as it would require him to keep casting magic to keep
the archway open.
"Even if I am able to push the archway to reveal whatever hidden path
enough for me to slip inside, it's useless if I can't keep it open while I'm in
there," he said with a sigh. He had no plans to entomb himself in a wall
after the archway closed up.
He had reached a bottleneck in progress.
Quinn spent some more time contemplating the next step but then
recalled that it was already well past midnight when he had figured out
the Architect's puzzle. So, he decided to call it in and retire for the day.
He gazed around the dull grey room with his hand on his waist. Solving
puzzles, struggling to find answers, and standing alone in an unknown,
possibly dangerous part of Hogwarts. . . his lips curled up. . . this felt
correct. . . this strangely felt like home.
"Yeah, this is going to be yet another fun year," and he couldn't feel more
better about it.
Later that night, as Quinn lay in his bed, he gazed up at the teal jewel
wrapped around his ring finger; it glowed very faintly, reminding him of
the journey he had left in front of him.
"The architect, huh," this was the first time Quinn had a clue about a
vault's creator, "the library must've something on him — and I guess I
need to look at physical mechanisms in case there's a mechanical aspect
to the weight-mechanism. I wonder if. . ." And sleep took him as he
trailed off murmuring all the things he wanted to do tomorrow.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Hufflepuff and Slytherin houses sat in the perfectly set Transfiguration
classroom, waiting for the class to start. But unlike the usual thoughts
and emotions that went through everyone's mind, today, they were all
busy glancing at the corner of the room.
Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner, staring at her
wristwatch with a glint in her eyes.
McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest
indication that she knew Umbridge was there. The High Inquisitor
thinned her lips; McGonagall had arrived in the classroom five minutes
before the class — as a teacher was supposed to.
"That will do," she said, and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Nott, kindly
come here and hand back the homework — Ms. Jones, please take this
box of mice — don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you — and hand one to
each student —"
"Hem, hem," said Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she
had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. McGonagall
ignored her.
Theodore Nott handed back Draco's essay; Draco took it without looking
at him and saw, as he had expected, that his grade was an EE.
"Right then, everyone, listen closely — Tracey Davis, if you do that to the
mouse again, I shall put you in detention — most of you have now
successfully vanished your snails, and even those who were left with a
certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be —"
"Hem, hem," said Umbridge.
"Yes?" said McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together
they seemed to form one long, severe line.
"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling
you of the date and time of your inspec —"
"Obviously, I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing
in my classroom," said McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Umbridge.
Hufflepuff students exchanged looks of glee. "As I was saying, today we
shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice.
Now, the Vanishing Spell —"
"Hem, hem."
"I wonder," said McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Umbridge, "how you
expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to
interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am
talking.
Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did
not speak but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began
scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, McGonagall
addressed the class once more.
"As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the
complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate,
does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a
much greater one. Bigger and more complex animals, including humans,
can't be vanished as they present complications that aren't yet solved.
This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your
dinner. So — you know the incantation, let me see what you can do . . ."
"McGonagall is angry," Tracey said to Daphne under her voice.
"She is quite angry," replied Daphne. The expression on McGonagall's face
might have been stone, but many could feel that she wasn't one bit happy
to have a shred of pink in her classroom.
Umbridge did not follow McGonagall around the class as everyone had
heard she had done with Trelawney; perhaps she thought that Professor
McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more
notes while she sat in her corner.
"Toads are particularly easy to vanish," said McGonagall in her usual
commanding voice, "they are such unimpressive and simplistic creatures
that even a poorly performed vanish spell can work on a measly toad. . . .
So — if you ever see one, you can try it out to test your skill and boost
your confidence."
Tracey couldn't stop her laugh, and a quick chortle escaped her. But the
eyes of the two professors made her quieten up instantly. Daphne, at her
side, shook her head, but there was a glint of amusement on her face.
Many students from both houses had their heads bowed to hide the grins
on their faces.
When McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, Umbridge rose with
a grim expression on her face.
"Well, it's a start," said McGonagall as she watched the students dropping
the wiggling mouse pieces into the box by her table as they exited.
Umbridge approached the teacher's desk. "How long have you been
teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked.
"Thirty-nine years this December," said Professor McGonagall brusquely,
snapping her bag shut.
Professor Umbridge made a note.
"Very well," she said, "you will receive the results of your inspection in
ten days' time."
"I can hardly wait," said Professor McGonagall in a coldly indifferent
voice, and she strode off toward the door. "Hurry up, all of you!" she said
at the lingering students. And a lot of them swore that the Scottish witch
had a faint smile on her face.
Among the leaving students, Draco Malfoy walked a little behind his two
goons, who talked among each other about food, but he was looking
down at his hands at the black card with gold lettering. He couldn't help
but wonder a thing that the maker of this card had said to him last year.
And the words that he heard just a few weeks ago.
'Don't be a stranger, Malfoy. . .'
'Maybe. . . just maybe he would. . . he's a noble pureblood after all,'
thought the Malfoy heir, clenching his free fist before turning back to see
Umbridge walking out of the classroom with an unhappy expression on
her face, shouting at students to clear the way for her.
.
Quinn West - MC - Oh boy, here we go again.
Minerva McGonagall - Transfiguration Mistress - Toads are easy to. . .
disappear.
Draco Malfoy - Malfoy Heir - Thoughts swirl in his mind.
.
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208. Chapter 208: Meeting For
The Future
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The morning of the first Hogsmeade visit in the first week of October was
a bright but windy day. After breakfast, almost all students — third year
and above — queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to
the long list of students who had permission from their parents or
guardian to visit the village.
But while the majority of students went to various stores and shops in the
village, a small stream of students walked between the tall stone pillars
topped with winged boars and turned left onto the road into the village,
the wind whipping their hair into their eyes. They walked down the main
street past Zonko's Joke Shop, past the post office, and turned up a side
street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung
from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture upon it of a wild boar's
severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it.
「 Hog's Head Inn 」
The sign creaked in the wind as the people approached, and for the
students of Hogwarts, it was a place not many were used to visiting; as
such, many hesitated before entering.
It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an
impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar
comprised one small, dingy, and squalid room that smelled strongly of
something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so
encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room,
which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden
tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be earthy, but when one
stepped on it, the soles of their boots would stick to the sticky floor.
All who entered in time, there was a man at the bar whose whole head
was wrapped in dirty gray bandages, though he was still managing to
gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over
his mouth. Two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the
windows; one might have thought them dementors if they had not been
talking in strong Yorkshire accents; in a shadowy corner beside the
fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They
could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude
slightly.
"So, Potter," said Eddie loudly, who had been sitting silently in the
middle of everything, "why have we gathered here — you know that I am
a busy man," Marcus sitting by his side raised a brow, "so I hope this isn't
going to turn into a huge waste of my time. . . . I have only thought of
ten ways to whoop your stuck-up arse in quidditch and quite frankly I
don't think that's enough in my book, I need to at least plan double to
thoroughly embarrass you on the field — so — what's the deal here."
A silence had preceded Eddie, and the same silence followed him.
Everyone was just staring at him with varying expressions — some
amused, some not.
"I didn't call you here! I would never call your sorry self even if I was
dying," said Harry acidly, glaring at Eddie, who was leaning back into his
chair with one arm hanging behind the backrest.
"I know that," said Eddie with a smirking scoff, "like I would show up
anywhere even if you came begging for it — maybe I will if you accept
that I'm the better man."
The rest of the students watched intently as what seemed to barrel into a
fight, but just then, an irked voice with a mix of exasperation stopped
both of them.
"Okay, stop this childishness, you two," said Ivy Potter, "can you two not
fight for once — do you two somehow feel obligated to go at each other's
throat when you see each other, because there's no such thing, and if you
can't, then don't speak at all," she turned to her brother, "I was the one
who called Carmichael here — no! I don't want to listen, Harry — now
behave both of you, I want to start!"
The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-
looking old man with a great deal of long gray hair and beard. He was
tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to some. The barman froze
when he saw the crowd of children in his bar; possibly he had never seen
his pub so full.
"What?" he grunted with a glare.
"Hello," said Marcus, standing up from his chair and counting the
gathered crowd quickly. "Could we have . . . forty-three butterbeers,
please?"
The man reached beneath the counter and pulled four dusty, very dirty
crates of butterbeer, which he then slammed on the bar.
"Take forty-three. . . . five galleons and a sickle. . . . give me five gold," he
said.
"I'll get them," said Marcus and handed the man five galleons from his
pocket before returning with the crates levitating behind him, "I paid. . .
we can settle everyone's share at the end of this meet."
As Marcus set the crates on a table in the center, Luna took out her wand
from her hair-bun, and after a chant and flourish of the wand, the bottles
had been chilled with ice magic.
Ivy watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from
the table.
First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed
by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her usually giggling
girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy that she might have
walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet,
and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan,
Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and one of the most surprising
attendees in Headboy Cedric Diggory and a Hufflepuff girl with a long
plait down her back whose name Ivy did not know; out of the five
Ravenclaw boys, Ivy knew Eddie Carmichael and Marcus Belby (who was
talking something seriously with Susan Bones), the other three she was
pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry
Boot; Ginny, followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose
whom Ivy recognized vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff
Quidditch team, and bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with
their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags
crammed with Zonko's merchandise.
Ivy wasn't expecting so many people to show up. Hermione scooted near
her.
"Wow," she said in a low voice, "this. . . . this is more that we thought."
"Uh-huh, y-yeah," said Ivy nodding in agreement, "this is twenty people
more than we thought — twenty people more than our best and most
unlikely estimate."
"Hi, Ivy," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite to where Harry
sat.
Ivy gave a polite smile, still feeling a little nervous. Her worries didn't
lessen when everyone settled down in twos and threes around her,
Hermione, Harry, and Ron, some looking rather excited, others curious,
Luna gazing dreamily into space, Eddie looked bored, but his eyes
seemed attentive. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter
died out. Every eye was upon Harry.
"Hello everyone," said Ivy, and despite hiding, her voice was still a bit
higher than usual out of nerves.
The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to
dart back regularly to Harry.
"Most of you must've some idea why you're here. . . Well, we here had
the idea — that it might be good if people who want to study Defense
Against Dark Arts — and I mean really study it, you know, not the utter
garbage that Umbitch had been teaching us" — Eddie whistled and
suddenly Ivy's voice became much more confident — "because nobody in
there right or even wrong mind could call that Defense Against Dark Arts.
. . ."
""Hear, hear,"" said the Weasley twins, and Ivy looked heartened.
". . . . well, I thought it would e good if we, well, took matters into our
own hands." She paused, looking at everyone a few people in the room,
and went on, "And by that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves
properly, not just theory but the real spells —"
"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I
bet?" said Michael Corner.
"Of course, we do — don't well all," said Hermione. "But I want more
than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . .
. She took a great breath and finished, "Because Voldemort's back."
The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and
slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary
twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, Neville gave an odd yelp that he
managed to turn into a cough, and Eddie along with Marcus frowned
deeply. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.
"Well . . . that's the plan anyway," said Ivy. "If you want to join us, we
need to decide how we're going to —"
"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff
player in a rather aggressive voice.
"Well, Dumbledore believes it —" Ivy began.
"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at
Harry.
"Who are you?" said Ron rather rudely.
"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "and I think we've got the right to know
exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."
"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this
meeting was supposed to be about —"
"It's okay, Hermoine," said Harry.
Harry knew that something like this was bound to happen and felt that
both Ivy and Hermoine should have seen this coming. Some of these
people — maybe even most of them — had turned up in the hope of
hearing his story firsthand. . . . And while they were planning this meet,
Harry had stayed quiet when neither had bought up this issue because he
knew they wouldn't approve.
"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back, you say?" he asked, looking
Zacharias straight in the face with his arms folded. "I saw him — because
— I — was — there. . . . But Dumbledore told the whole school what
happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me,
and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."
The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke.
Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening in. He was
wiping the same glass with the filthy rag; it was becoming steadily
dirtier.
Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that
you got kidnapped by You-Know-Who and somehow got back to
Hogwarts after a fight with him. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us
exactly how you escaped, I think we'd all like to know —"
"Do I like look I give a knut's worth of shit what you would like, eh,
Smith?" Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days,
was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's
aggressive face and looked down at him. "Even though I fought with
Voldemort, it wasn't a what I would call a traditional duel, and nor was
my experience a positive one — Voldemort is every bit as evil as all the
stories say about him."
Harry didn't want to, but he kept the smirk off his face, which threatened
to break on his face when Zacharias flinched at the sound of Voldemort's
name.
"If anyone of you doesn't like my answer or want to know the specifics,
you might as well clear out. I couldn't care less," said Harry nonchalantly.
Zacharias glanced at Eddie, thinking that the Ravenclaw would take
offense as Harry had addressed all of them; but. . .
"What the hell are you looking at me like that?" said Eddie with jibe in
his voice. "Potter said that he doesn't give a knut's worth of shit about
what you like, in the same way, I won't listen to his crap if someone paid
me to do it."
"Then why are you here?" asked Zacharias.
"Were you listening, or are those ears just for show? The good Potter and
Granger said that this is for Defense Against Dark Arts; why else do you
think we are here for?"
". . . . They're a year younger than you," said Zacharias as a last attempt,
gritting his teeth.
"Congratulations for stating the obvious, doofus," Eddie pointed his
thumb towards his back, "the fucking Headboy and other seventh years
are here; I'm going to learn from them — and unlike you, I don't stick to
the course material and actually learn to fucking apply myself — but
that's to expected, I'm smarter than you after all. . . . and a far better
Chaser."
In the end, no one left their seats, now even Zacharias Smith, though he
no longer gazed at Harry.
"S-So, erm," said Ivy, moving the conversation along so the group didn't
fall silent, "like I was saying. . . if you want to learn some defense, then
we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to
meet, and where we're going to meet."
At the back, Cedric leaned forward from his chair and spoke up, "This is
dandy and all, but we, the seventh year, have NEWTs to prepare for —
how is this going to help us?"
Harry, feeling impatient, rose from his chair and replied, "I can produce a
corporeal Patronus."
Cedric, along with the other seventh years, blinked in surprise.
"A corporeal Patronus, you say," said Cedric. "That's. . . actually pretty
impressive."
"I can teach it to you," said Harry, "and that's a reason for you to attend if
you would like to attend."
"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?"
asked Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me
when I was in there last year . . ."
"Er — yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.
Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged
awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said "wow" softly. Harry was
feeling slightly hot around the collar now.
"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "he saved that
Sorcerous Stone —"
"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.
"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.
Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.
"And that's not to mention," said Ron smiling proudly, "all the tasks he
had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past
dragons and merpeople and those god awful acromantulas and things . .
."
There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table.
"Look," he said, and everyone fell silent at once, "I don't want to sound
like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with
all that stuff. . . and just like the help I got, we can help each other out
and get ourselves out of the mess that Umbitch had dug for us."
"Yes, well," said Ivy hastily, "moving on . . . the point is, who here wants
to partake in this study group?"
There was an approving murmur in the group. But in Hogwarts, there
was something known as the house system, which could sometimes make
things complicated.
The Hufflepuffs glanced at Cedric, who thought for a moment before
nodding. "Hufflepuffs are in," he said, "and I will personally help by
keeping you updated on what's happening with the professors —
meaning, I will spy on Umbridge for you."
The Golden Squad being part of Gryffindor meant that the lions were in
and probably the ones the most excited about this thing — defying
Umbridge was right up Gryffindor alley.
Finally, everyone looked at Ravenclaw, and the members of Golden
Squad glanced at Eddie, but the Ravenclaw students glanced at Marcus,
who thought for the longest time before looking up at the Golden Squad.
"Ravenclaw is in, but this better be what you think it's going to be," said
Marcus. "The gamble of going behind Umbridge's back better be worth
the risk."
"Right," said Ivy, looking relieved that something had at last been settled.
"Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think
there's any point in meeting less than once a week —"
"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with
our Quidditch practice."
"No," said Eddie, "nor with ours. . . . it better not."
"Nor ours," added Cedric Diggory.
"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly
impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about
learning to defend ourselves against Voldemort's Death Eaters —"
"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan. "Personally, I think this is really
important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year,
even with our OWLs coming up!"
He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry,
"Surely not!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally, am at a loss
to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this
critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-
Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us
from using defensive spells —"
"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense
Against Dark Arts," said Ivy, "is that she's got some . . . some mad idea
that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private
army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."
Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna
Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius
Fudge has got his own private army."
"What?" said many, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of
information.
"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths," said Luna solemnly.
"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.
"Yes, he has," said Luna.
"What are heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.
"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that
she looked madder than ever. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop
across the ground burning everything in front of —"
"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.
"Oh yes, they do!" said Luna angrily.
"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione.
"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts; just because you're so narrow-
minded, you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you
believe anything isn't everybody's fault!"
Hermione looked at Eddie, who shrugged, "Don't look at me. I stopped
arguing against this a long time ago. Plus, she spends so much time with
an enabler who indulges her thoughts." Of course, said enabler wasn't
present here.
"Hem, hem."
At once, everyone in the inn's bar shivered with their heart almost
jumping out of their chest. They turned to expect the pink monster but
saw Ginny Weasley smiling.
"Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get
Defense lessons?" she said.
"Yes," said Ivy at once, "yes, we were, you're right . . . Well, the other
thing to decide is where we're going to meet . . ."
This was somewhat more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a
message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the
first meeting."
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then
hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.
"I-I think everybody should write their name down just so we know who
was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to
agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you agree not
to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to."
Some people signed the parchment, but there were several people who
looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
But eventually, as the list of names grew, the unwilling ones too joined
under peer pressure. When the last person — Zacharias — had signed,
Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag.
There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had
just signed some kind of contract.
"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George and
I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase and progress reports to
draw; we'll be seeing you all later."
"Same here," Cedric got up from his chair, "I have a date to attend," he
looked at his girlfriend, Cho, who also got up, "see you guys later, keep
me posted." The two lovebirds then left with fingers interlocked with
each other.
In twos and threes, the rest of the group took their leave too. Leaving
only the Golden Squad and Eddie, Luna, — and Marcus, who was
collecting money from everyone as they left.
"Carmichael," said Ivy, calling to Eddie.
"Hmm? Yeah, what?" said Eddie looking up from playing rock-paper-
scissors with Luna.
"Where is Quinn?" she asked. "He didn't show up. . ."
"My boy is busy today. . . well, he entered his annual busy season last
week."
"What's he doing?"
Luna raised her hand in answer, "He is worried about weight."
". . . Weight," Ivy spoke in confusion. "As in, he's worry about his weight.
. . I don't think he's fat, though."
Luna shrugged and then went back to making rock, paper, and scissors
shapes with her hand with full concentration between her brows.
"There's no use of thinking what Quinn is doing," continued Eddie, "he
has the habit of disappearing from time to time — you get used to it."
"I see," Ivy couldn't say she wasn't interested in where Quinn was, "do you
think he will join this study group? I mean, if we are able to get him in,
everyone will benefit greatly from it."
"I don't know if Quinn will join or not. I myself only came here because
Marcus was keenly interested in what you were suggesting and because
Luna and Cho were also going. . . . If you want to know if Quinn is
willing, then you need to ask on his own, but as I said, he entered his
busy season last week, and that usually goes for months."
Ivy bit her lower lip and nodded. She really wanted Quinn to join.
'I mean, he will be perfect. He taught us last year, and that was amazing
— yeah, I need to get Quinn to participate,' she thought and by the end
was determined to get Quinn to participate no matter what.
"You know when and where to find him," said Eddie before turning to
Ron, "see you on the field, Weasley; I'm really looking forward to seeing
if I will be able to set some new record against you."
"You wish. I'll stop every—" said Ron, but Eddie was already walking
away laughing.
Ivy turned to Hermione, who was reading names from the list.
"Hermione, do you have the AID cards? I want one," she said.
Hermione looked up and went off, "Which one do you want? I have more
than forty generations worth of cards — do you know, with the latest
issue card, you could press it against on any of the classrooms' doors, and
it would turn into a game of tic-tac-toe — if you touch two transformed
cards together, that will register them as player-1 and player-2. . . and
then you can play while anywhere in the castle, no matter what the
distance."
". . . I just need one that would tell me if Quinn's in his office or not."
"I have the perfect one for you! When we get back, I'll be showing you
Issue #19. It's from a few years back, but it's a classic one."
"O-Okay," said Ivy in the face of the sheer excitement from her best
friend.
.
Quinn West - MC - What can I say? I love my calling cards.
Eddie Carmichael - Talker - Let's get some focking study in.
Marcus Belby - Ravenclaw Ringleader - Got his money back in full.
Hermione Granger - Collector - I have a Issue #1 in pristine, untouched
condition.
Ivy Potter - Organizer - I-I just need a card.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Extremely SICK (bcos of weather change) -
But very long chapter, so see you later. . . Maybe tomorrow or day-after-
tomorrow.
.
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!
209. Chapter 209: Agreement To
Join
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Patreón.
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Link in the Bio/Profile
Dark circles . . . dark bags under the eyes due to exhaustion or lack of
sleep, among other reasons — it wasn't a condition that Quinn wasn't
familiar with; he had spent more than his share of all-nighters — but
never in his life did Quinn had let himself slip so much that it would
cause dark circles to appear on his face.
One of his believes was: 'The number of hours you are awake doesn't
matter, as much how you spent those awake hours — sleeping seven to
eight hours every day was perfectly fine if the remaining hours spent
awake were spent efficiently and diligently.'
The only exception to his track record was the two weeks in Hogwarts
after the Sin curse had broken; in those days, Quinn's condition
deteriorated so much that he had on more than a few occasions had
taken Sleeping Draught just to put himself into sleep — a fact that he
loathed because Sleeping Draughts were addictive if taken carelessly over
a long period of time.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh," he voiced with his face
buried into his hands, "why is this so difficult . . . it's just pushing a
pedestal down into the ground . . . so why can't I solve that."
In the days that Quinn had been going at the weight-pedestal-archway
problem, the amount of progress he had made couldn't even amount to
an iota — an imaginary number. No amount of force or way to apply said
force he tried; the result was the same — the archway the same as it did
when he jumped on the pedestal, and that was it — the pedestal refused
to budge beyond that.
In frustration, Quinn had attacked the archway wall, but that didn't do
him any good — the wall was too tough for him to break through force
— not to mention it attacked back with explosions(which didn't harm
Quinn anymore, but that didn't make the experience any less pleasant.)
He took a deep breath, opened the notebook on the table, and stared at
the pages upon pages of calculations, theories, decisions, possibilities,
opportunities, hypotheses drafted by him to beat the mechanism.
"Useless," he flipped a page, "ever more useless," some more, "what was I
thinking here, this would never work" — he snapped the book close —
"waste of time, all of this." He crossed his hands and stared straight ahead
at a random cabinet door in his workshop, thinking how to proceed from
here on.
"There's absolutely nothing in there that would tell me how to proceed."
As Quinn had observed, the vault room was unbelievably plain; the only
extra piece of information from the room was the type of stone it was
made from; other than that, the room had told him zilch.
Quinn had even gone back to the entrance hall in case he had missed
something. But after a thorough study of everything, the results were
disappointed with no gains — even taking the portrait with the architect
on it and keeping an eye on it for twenty-four hours had not unearthed
any new information.
With a heaving sigh, he got up on his feet and walked into the office. One
step into the office, he heard the door chime bell as expected, saturating
the room with a filling ting.
"Welcome to AID. How may I be of service today," the customary lines
flowed out as he closed the red door behind him. Raising his eyes to the
customer met him with familiar faces, "Ivy and Hermione, it's you two
again," the Gryffindor girl duo walked to his table, taking their seats,
used to visiting his office, "so what's going to be the agenda today?"
"You don't look good," said Ivy worried.
"And you look gorgeous as well, my dear," said Quinn flashing a smile,
and that had some effect on Ivy. "I'm lacking some sleep — it's nothing to
be worried about."
"Are you sure?" said Hermoine. "We can always come back later."
"It's the middle of the day; I'm not going to sleep just to wake up in the
middle of the night. . . Please, I appreciate your concerns, but be relieved
it's nothing that a good nap can't fix."
The two girls stared at Quinn for a moment before relenting.
Ivy nodded and continued at Quinn's assistance, "We want to talk to you
about our study group—"
"Ah yes, I have heard about that from Marcus, and I recall Eddie
mentioning that you were looking for me."
"So you know what we are doing," said Hermione.
"I know that it's a study group for Defense Against Dark Arts and that
you've been putting out feelers to see who'll be interested," he had also
gotten said feelers from Weasley twins in one of their meets, "you set up
your first meet at Hog's Head and from what the chatter I heard and what
Marcus told me, it seemed to be a great success — how many of them
were there, again," — saying that Quinn opened a drawer and took out a
sheet of paper and read from it, — "forty-six people attended the
meeting, and all of them signed up."
"What's that?" asked Ivy as both girls stared at the paper in Quinn's hand.
"This is a copy of the list that you guys drafted that day," Quinn passed
on the sheet to Hermione.
Hermione, who was in charge of safe-keeping of the list (it falling into
Umbridge's hand, would have been nothing less than an apocalypse)
stared at the so-called copy, and her jaw dropped when she saw that it
wasn't just a list of names — it was an exact replica with original
handwritings intact.
"H-How. . . how did you get this?!" exclaimed Hermione.
"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" spoke Quinn. "Someone in that meeting made
a duplicate using the doubling charm and gave the copy to me, which I
then used to create a permanent copy before the charmed-duplicated
vanished. . . of course, the identity of my informant will be kept a secret
according to their and my wishes."
Seeing the expression of shock and doubt towards him in Hermione and
Ivy's eyes, Quinn sighed, "My motive behind doing this was not to hold
this over you, which might be a bit difficult to believe given our history
together, but believe me, I'm not trying to gain leverage on the people in
the list."
"Then why?" said Ivy, a bit unhappy. "If you wanted to see the list, I
would have shown it to you upfront."
"To make both of you feel threatened." — the expression on their faces
turned confused — "If I can get my hands on that list so easily, when I
wasn't even in the meet, Umbridge can also get her hands on the list and
then all of you will be in great trouble. . . so make sure to keep the
original safe and," Quinn pointed at the copy, "you can keep that; it's my
only copy — as I said, I meant no harm, and it was just an attempt to get
you aware of the stakes. . . Even though they know the risks, I don't want
Eddie, Marcus, and Luna to get in trouble."
Ivy flourished her wand in hand, and a red zap turned the paper into a
pile of dust on the table. Quinn vanished the ash pile and stared at the
table to sigh in relief when he saw the absence of scorch marks on the
wood.
"Hey, I'm capable enough to burn a paper without surrounding damage,"
said Ivy.
"I believe you, I promise."
"Ahem," Hermione cleared her throat to gather their attention and
continued with haste, "so will you take part in our group?"
"Dumbledore's Army," said Ivy adventurously.
Quinn hummed as if in thought and then glanced at both of the girls.
"No," he said simply.
"Eh, why?" "What's the problem?!"
"There are a few reasons, but the biggest reason is that," he pointed at the
place where Ivy had burned the list, "there were no Slytherins on that list
— excluding one house while the other three play together is a big no-
no."
"We can't take the risk," said Hermione, "if we tell them about our plans,
we will be over before we even start — Slytherins will leak our plans to
Umbridge; they love her."
"I understand your worries, but what you're doing is to segregate a group
because of the actions of a part of said group. I won't pretend what you
are saying isn't correct; you would have been shut down a hundred
percent if you kept Slytherin in the loop," — he hushed them —, "but
there is a good quantity of Slytherins who wouldn't shake Umbridge's
hand with a ten-meter pole. . . and your group isolating them form this
opportunity doesn't fit right with me — and don't get me wrong, I'm not
saying that it's your responsibility to get Slytherin students; this is a
private group and not a charitable cause, you can take in anyone you
want, even Umbridge herself. . . but if you want me to join your group,
then you'll have you take in some Slytherins."
If it was someone else, they wouldn't have contemplated even for a
second, but the person in front of them wasn't anyone else.
"I can make your decision easier and get you a highly curated list of
people who would want to be part of this group and would keep their
lips sealed about it. . . I can guarantee that last part."
"Guarantee?" said Hermione.
Quinn nodded lightly.
"What else," said Ivy, not fiving Quinn an answer immediately.
"The group name, Dumbledore's Army," said Quinn with a sigh, "listen I
don' mind signing my name on the original parchment as everyone did; it
wouldn't be fair to everyone otherwise," circumventing Hermione's charm
was easy enough, "but I would prefer if I'm not taken as part of
something known as Dumebldore's Amry — so I would seriously suggest
changing the name."
"We can do that," said Ivy immediately because even though they had
chosen Dumbledore's Army as their group name, that was just because
they thought of it as fitting. "We'll get back to you with another name."
"Great. Next, how is this group going to work," asked Quinn, "what's
going to be the system of learning because I would only attend in an
instructor/tutor capacity — so I would need some amount of freedom on
how to conduct things."
"We were actually thinking about letting those good with a spell or
concept to teach others. There are close to fifty people with us, so we
thought it would be better to conduct it this way," said Hermione.
"Good, that's fine with me. Organize the slots in which you would like me
to come in and help out, and I'll be there."
"You won't be there for every session?" said Ivy asking. She thought
Quinn would be there every week; she hoped that he would be there
every week.
"If you set me up to teach me every week, then I will be there every
session," said Quinn shrugging; he didn't mind taking a few hours every
week to help out the study group — it would serve as a great break from
his others commitments.
"Then we will do that," said Ivy without missing a beat.
Hermione glanced at her best friend. She was folding a bit too easily for
Quinn's request. 'Damn, the girl really likes him, huh,' she thought.
"Anything else?" asked Hermione.
"Hmm, nothing I can think at this moment," said Quinn. "I'll get you the
list of names for the Slytherin people. You can approach them and tell
them that I recommended them to you guys and that I recommend the
study group — that will jump up the conversion rate."
"Can you give us an idea who's going to be on the list?" asked Hermione.
"Some of my friends and a few regular clients who I think would like to
attend."
The Gryffindor girls knew about the friends, of course. There were only a
few that Quinn would call friends.
The conversation seemed to be over when the office door opened up with
the door chime ringing. Quinn looked up while Hermione and Ivy turned
back to see Luna enter the room with her satchel by her side and a
garland of colorful flowers around her neck.
"It's evening," she said.
"A good evening to you as well, Luna," said Quinn in reply.
She glanced at the Gryffindor girls as she walked to beside Quinn. "You
look like a panda. A panda with no chubbiness. A panda without panda
level cuteness."
"No idea how to respond to that, so I will keep my comments," he smiled.
Luna shrugged before taking out a book from her satchel and handing the
ancient leather-bound thing to Quinn. "I got the book that you wanted
me to get."
"Thank you," smiled Quinn, and Luna got an entire bar of chocolate in
return — something that Quinn didn't give out that much.
Luna unwrapped the chocolate and took an uneven bite out of it as she
turned to Hermione and Ivy. "Did you ask him to join Dumbledore's
Army?" she asked.
"We did." "They did."
"Then did he agree?" asked Luna.
"He did." "I did."
"That's nice."
"It is." "You bet it is."
While Ivy and Quinn were answering Luna's questions, Hermione was
staring at the book in Quinn's hand. "What is the book about?" she asked.
Quinn glanced at the book in hand for a moment. "It's a book about
Hogwarts' Architect, Stigweard Gragg. From what I heard from hounding
Madam Pince, she says that this book might be written by the man, the
myth, the legend himself."
"And why are you looking for it? Also, why didn't you get the book
yourself?"
"I'm just curious about the man who designed the castle, and I'm already
at the limit at what I can lend out of the library, so Luna got the book for
me on her account."
"Stigweard Gragg, was it? He must be quite a person for you to be
interested in him."
"The man who designed hundreds of passages inside this huge castle is
bound to be really interesting, isn't he?" he stared at the walls above,
"Even though Hogwarts wasn't like this at the time it was created, he
must've thought that someday his creation would turn out like this. I'm
trying to peek into the mind of Stigweard Gragg, attempting to see why
he chose to do things as he did; what motivated the man to conceive his
creations."
He looked down on him and smiled, "It's a little. . . project of mine that I
have taken up this year. . . I think it will be. . . inspiring."
"Inspiration is important," said Luna.
"I think your garland is pretty inspiring, Luna," said Quinn.
"It's an arrangement and color combination that attracts Jauffins. They
are supposed to bring luck and make everything go your way. I'm have
laid a trap for the Crumpled-Horn Snorcack near the greenhouses and am
hoping that one would settle down in the comfy trap."
"The Crumpled-Horn Snorcack doesn't exist," said Hermione.
Luna turned to Hermione and glared at her heatedly.
"It does exist," said Luna.
"It doesn't. There's no proof of it," said Hermione, still not willing to
indulge in Luna's 'fantasies.'
"It does exist. The proof is just yet to be discovered," said Luna in a
confident return. "I'm going to find it and show everyone once and for all
that Crumpled-Horn Snorcack exists." Then the blonde turned to the red
door and disappeared into the workshop but not before slamming the
heavy, heavy iron-laden door shut.
Quinn looked away from the red door and pumped his brow once at the
girls.
"Luna is. . . a complete nonconformist; she lacks self-consciousness and is
not afraid to show who she truly was. The only way to truly convince her
of something is to make Luna experience it. From the fundamental
experience to the most complex things, Luna will only believe in things
she has experienced firsthand. . . She believes that the Crumpled-Horn
Snorcack exists, and the only way to convince her that it doesn't is for her
to herself look for it fail, or for her to find it and show others that she
was right."
"What if she never finds and yet never gives up?" asked Hermione.
"Then she will keep looking and keep believing," said Quinn smiling, "it
might be a little tacky, but it's a great mind for learning anything. She
applies everything she learns just so that she confirm that the words
written in the books and those spoken by me hold the truth."
"Isn't that sort of. . . unhealthy," said Ivy.
"Usually, that would hold much truth. But not with Luna. She is
intelligent and smart — she is critically aware of where is the line," said
Quinn in unbreakable confidence. His time with Luna had taught him
that she was far from what one feels when imagining crazy or 'Loony.'
"I still can't relate to how she thinks," said Hermione, not convinced.
Quinn got up, prompting the two girls to get up too, "Well, I'm sure you
two would come to realize each other's perspective with all the time you
would be spending with each other in the new study group. . . now,
ladies, I apologize that we can't talk any longer, but I have some work to
do. . ."
"Ah, I see," said Ivy, "then please do send us the names."
"Uh-huh, you'll have them in your hands' first thing in the morning."
As the two were leaving, Quinn spoke the final words, "I'm looking
forward to this study group."
"Us too," said Ivy smiling before raising her and waving it, "Well then,
bye."
Quinn confusedly raised his hand as well and slowly waved back, "Bye?"
. . .
Outside, Ivy felt her face heat up, and the gaze of Hermione in her back
didn't help.
"Bye?" said Hermione.
". . . It just slipped out."
. . .
Inside, Quinn lowered his hand, the smile gradually drained, and he
turned back, walking to his table.
"Now, let's get into the messed up mind of the freak Stigweard Gragg," a
vein popped on his head, "if this doesn't work, I'm going to dig his tomb
and raid his grave."
.
Quinn West - MC - Believe it or not, I have a grave robber kit on ready.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I'm back! Let's get the ball rolling 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 synopsis!
210. Chapter 210: Educational
Decree - 24
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On the Monday morning after the meeting at Hog's Head, Eddie and
Marcus headed downstairs from their dormitory together, discussing the
correct order of jam and cream on a scone, and not until they were
halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to
the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of
people.
A large sign had been affixed to the Ravenclaw notice board, so large
that it covered everything else on there — the lists of secondhand
spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus
Filch, the list of new arrivals in the Ravenclaw library, the Quidditch
team training schedule, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog cards
for others, the Weasleys' new advertisement for product testers, the dates
of the Hogsmeade weekends, and the lost-and-found notices. The new
sign was printed in large black letters, and there was a highly official-
looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.
.
EDUCATIONAL DECREE - NO. 24
- By Order Of -
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth
disbanded.
An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is at this moment defined as
a regular meeting of three or more students.
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor
Umbridge).
No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without
the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society,
Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will
be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-
Four.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
- Ministry of Magic -
.
Eddie and Marcus read the notice over the heads of some anxious-looking
second years.
"Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?" one of
them asked his friend.
"I reckon you'll be okay with Gobstones," said Eddie, ruffling a second-
year's hair, "I don't suppose Quinn will be happy with this, though, is he?"
asked Eddie to Marcus as the second-years scurried away.
Marcus was reading the notice through again. His mind turning with the
new injection of information. There were a few implications from this
notice.
"No, he will not be happy with this; that much is obvious," said Marcus.
"This isn't a coincidence. She knows. . . somehow she found out."
"Someone blabbed?" Eddie guessed and threw a glance around the
common room, "I can't see anyone with an infestation of acne. . . and let's
face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can
trust. . . . Any of them could have run off and told Umbridge . . ."
Eddie, Quinn, and Luna were already made aware of the jinx placed on
them when they signed the parchment; of course, it was a courtesy from
their best friend. But he didn't remove it for them — they had committed
to the study group, they were going to be treated like everyone else.
"Or someone could've been listening in that pub. . . we didn't really get a
good look at any of their faces," said Marcus, suggesting another theory.
"My money is on arse-face, Zacharias Smith," said Eddie scoffing,
punching his fist into his palm, "man, I'm going to pop his the jinxed
acne-face all at once," he shivered, "oh, I can already feel goosebumps."
He was convinced that Zacharias Smith was the one who leaked the
information.
"I wonder if Quinn has seen this yet?" Marcus said, glancing around.
"It doesn't matter; he will know soon enough."
"You're pretty chill," said Marcus, looking over to Eddie, "I thought you
would be more pissed at this."
"Eh, why? We were probably going to do the study group no matter what
the situation; this is but a blip in our endeavor."
"You realize she's including Quidditch in this. An Organization, Society,
Team. . . team as in Quidditch team."
Eddie's mouth slowly opened as his eyes read upon the notice once more,
and as Marcus had said, it was written right there.
"Motherfuc—"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The clicking of a wall clock ticked away in the silent AID office as the
owner sat behind his office table, reading the ancient tome written on the
life of Stigweard Gragg and, in turn, making his way through the
enormous amount of garbage written about the Architect.
"No, I don't want to know about his neighbor's wife's relationship with his
other neighbor. . . maybe some other day, not now," mumbled Quinn
with a sigh but picked his pen and made notes — one never knew where
a code might be hidden. "Surely not in the color of his favorite loincloth.
. . Ugh, why would someone add this to a biography!"
But he had no choice to read through this book as the room of the now
dubbed Architect's vault didn't provide him much information.
"At least, in the Icy vault, I knew what I had to work towards to succeed,"
he said, grumbling while flipping a page and marking some notes.
The Icy vault had a mechanism, and just like Architect's vault, he had no
idea how both mechanisms worked (he only got to know the working of
the Icy vault mechanism after he entered the inner vault room.) But in
Icy vault, Quinn had a direction on how to solve the problem — here, he
only had a problem (to push the pedestal down) and no way to solve it.
"The pedestal better not be a decoy for the real deal to be hiding
somewhere else," he said before again flipping to the next page to start a
new chapter in the book.
"The Magical Adventures of Stigweard Gragg. . . hmm, this might be
interesting," he said, but his reading was interrupted when he 'sensed'
someone outside and looked up. A few seconds later, the door opened,
and 'pink' entered the room with Argus Filch holding the door for her.
"You can leave, Argus," said the woman in her sickening voice, and the
hunched caretaker left with a bow and a nasty cackle.
He watched as the toad-like woman gazed at his office with hands
clasped together in the front and a sickeningly-sweet smile on her face as
if she was watching an infant's playroom.
Quinn glanced down at the open pages in front of him, and a sigh
escaped from him.
"Afternoon, Madam Umbridge," said Quinn as he gently closed the book
and put it away in a drawer with his notes. "To what do we owe the
pleasure for you to visit my humble abode."
Umbridge continued to look around his eyes and move from one wall to
the glass wall. She raised her hand and touched the glass. . . her fingers
curled up into a claw, and her manicured, sharp pink nails dragged down
on the surface, but they failed to do damage because of the series of
treatments that the glass had gone through.
The woman looked dissatisfied and raised her hand to look at her nails
then back at the glass.
"Good afternoon, Mr. West," said Umbridge finally, "I have heard about
this club of yours a lot," she reached into her purse and took out a black
card, "AID services. . . you have been running this club for quite a few
years, and I have heard nothing but promising words about it."
"Thank you," said Quinn nonchalantly.
"But did you not see Educational Decree Number Twenty- four?" she said,
moving towards his table step-by-step, "all Student Organizations,
Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded."
"I did see that, but don't you think it was a bit too aggressive — to shut
down every long-standing club, formal or informal?"
"Of course not, my dear," the smile on her face widened, "it's all to
improve academics of Hogwarts students — it's for their own good. I'm
simply trying to guide the children to grow into functioning part of the
society as model citizens."
"But you ever closed the educational clubs — transfiguration, charms,
astronomy, and the other ones. Those clubs were a place for students to
share, increase, and consolidate their knowledge."
"Nonsense, the ministry-approved taught in the classroom is more than
enough," sweetness rolled off from Umbridge's tongue as her tone became
one used with little children, "and if the children do think that an
organization is indeed beneficial to them, a provision is given for
reinstation — they would just need to tell me the benefits."
Quinn picked a parchment on his table and read from it, "Seventeen
applications were submitted to you today, and you rejected every single
one of them bar one — that one exception being the Slytherin Quidditch
Team. . . and out of the sixteen rejections, one of them was Professor
Sprouts' outdoor club for extra herbology exploration for the interested
ones. . . your provision doesn't seem to make sense, Madam Umbridge."
"The Slytherin Quidditch Team members all have outstanding grades —
there wasn't a need to disband them because of their excellent academic
performance," Umbridge had reached the table, and as she spoke, she
tried to take a look at the parchment in Quinn's hand, but he had held it
vertical enough for her not being able to see a single word.
Quinn laughed as he had heard the best joke of the year. "And Ravenclaw
Quidditch Team doesn't?" he said, "it took you," — a look at the
parchment — "a total of two minutes for you to dismiss the team captain
Roger Davies and reject the application. . . . Do you, a Hogwarts
graduate, really think that a group of Ravenclaw students would have
poor grades, surely not."
Umbridge fixedly stared at the parchment in Quinn's hand.
"Mr. West, what's that parch—"
Quinn cut her off at once and apathetically stared while directly asking
what seemed to be a question with an obvious answer.
"Why are you here, Madam Umbridge?" he asked.
"That's Professor Umbridge to you, Mr. West."
"First teach me something, then I will think about it. I'm more willing to
address the author of the reference as my Professor than you."
Umbridge's smile twitched a bit, "Detention check for that cheek, Mr.
West."
"With pleasure," said Quinn with a shrug, "Give me a time and place, and
I will be there."
"Good, at least you're not completely without manners," said Umbridge
with a smug smile. "Now, I want to you two close this little playhouse,"
she sighed, "what were the Professors thinking giving a student complete
control over a classroom and allowing him to run this ridiculous charade.
There's a reason why Prefects, Headboy, and Headgirls are selected —
they'll help their fellow students and not this ridiculousness from you."
Quinn raised a finger and pointed at the Prefect pin on his robe's lapel,
"I'm a Prefect if you haven't noticed."
"I'm aware, Mr. West," Umbridge said in a chiding tone, "but you have
been wasting your time on this before you were a Prefect — I, in good
standing, can't allow for this to continue any longer. You'll return the
room key to the caretaker first thing in the morning."
Quinn shook his head to that.
"You can't order me to that," he said and took a roll of parchment from a
drawer, "I was granted the permission to use this room and turn it into
AID's office from Professor Flitwick. You don't have the authority to shut
me down."
Umbridge giggled without opening her mouth, which Quinn thought was
quite disturbing.
"You don't have the choice, Mr. West," she smiled, "Education Decree
Twenty-four grants me, the High Inquisitor, to dismiss any Student
Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs."
Quinn softly laughed a few chuckles before his face immediately lost all
joy in an instant. "You don't have that authority, Madam Umbridge."
Umbridge made a half-confused face mixed. "Did you not hear me, Mr.
West? Education Decree Twenty-four—"
"Allows the High Inquisitor to disband Student Organizations, Societies,
Teams, Groups, and Clubs," Quinn raised his chin and smiled deeply, "But
an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is at this moment defined
as a regular meeting of, — Quinn raised three fingers, — "three or more
students. . . . and AID," — his three fingers turned to two, — "is a two-
person venture," Quinn's smile turned lop-sided, "We don't qualify as an
Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club. . . so as I said — you don't
have the authority."
Umbridge's smile turned stiff. The pink-clad woman stilled in her chair as
she watched Quinn's smile drop once again into total apathy as he
continued to stare at her as if waiting for her to leave.
"I'm the High Inquisitor," she said.
"And your power is over the Professors and from the Education Decrees
implemented from the Ministry," said Quinn straightforwardly, "you can't
shut AID down because. . . you — don't — have — the — authority."
"You will obey me!" Umbridge's breathing started to quicken as her voice
rose shriller and louder.
"You can't make me."
Umbridge's vision started to turn red as she began to shake with fury.
"I'm the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. YOU WILL OBEY ME!" she
was yelling by the end of her sentence.
Quinn once again shook his head in disagreement. "You're on sabbatical.
You don't have that authority. Even if you did, you still wouldn't have
any power over me. I'm not a criminal or in trouble with the law, after
all."
"Detention! Detention! Detention for the entire month!" yelled Umbridge,
her voice turning harshly high.
"Get an Education Decree, and then we will talk about shutting me
down," said Quinn laughing casually before getting up, "Come on, Madam
Umbridge. Let's go and get this over with."
"What?" said Umbridge acidly.
"I was going to your detention punishment," Quinn pointed his fake wand
up, and the MLEs dimmed, "but now, I'm going to have them annulled."
"You can't do that," the she-toad scoffed.
"But, I can," Quinn walked to the door and held it open, "come on, let's
see who's correct, you or me," he grinned, "or do you think I'm in the
right here and your detention was out of malice."
"No! Of course not," said Umbridge harrumphing, "let's go and see this
farce over. I want to see what nonsense you're talking about."
"After you," said Quinn, gesturing her to exit first, "I don't feel safe and
am worried you'll hex me in the back. Not that I would be able to defend
myself — you haven't taught me anything that would allow me to do so."
. . .
In a classroom in the Charms wing of Hogwarts, fifth-year lions and
serpents listened to Filius Flitwick, a Master of Charms, and the Charms
Professor at Hogwarts as he guided them through the theory behind the
Growth Charm — a charm that allowed the user to increase the size of an
object.
"Children, please take note as to not confuse the incantation of the
Growth Charm for that of the Color Changing Charm — I have seen many
students make this particular mistake in their OWLs and lose marks in
practicals where losing marks isn't warranted one bit," said Flitwick from
his spot behind the teacher's podium, standing on a stack of enlarged
books, "and please, I say this time and time again, please don't hesitate
about asking me questions and solving any doubts you might have."
There was a loud knock on the door, and before anyone could even turn
to look, a shrill voice pierced everyone's year.
"Filius! I would like to talk to you. Would you please step out!"
Every pair of eyes turned to the door to see Umbridge standing at the
threshold, arms crossed with foot tapping against the floor, looking
absolutely livid.
"Dolores. . . I'm in the middle of a class," said Flitwick sighing, "you can
meet me in the office when I'm free. I would like you to leave now; I
want to continue teaching."
"This is important!" said Umbridge heatedly.
"I'm sure it can wait," but Flitwick didn't share the sentiment.
Gryffindors and Slytherin watched as Umbridge's face grew red, and just
when everyone was about to think that she was about to blow up,
another voice from outside the classroom spoke up.
"Let me try," everyone watched as Quinn West came into view,
"Professor, may I have a moment of your time. It will only take a
minute," he then turned to the class and bowed his head politely, "Hello,
everyone, I hope I'm not disturbing your close. Sorry, but I will need the
Professor for just a bit."
Faced with the same request once again but from another person who
also turned out to be his favorite student, Flitwick jumped down from the
stack of books.
"Of course, Quinn," said the half-goblin in his squeaky voice. He turned to
his class, "I will be back in a moment; please complete your notes; we
will start casting the charm when I return."
As Flitwick, Umbridge, and Quinn went out; inside the classroom, Ron
turned to Harry and asked, "What do you think that was about?"
"I have no idea," said the bespectacled Potter.
"Umbridge didn't look happy, that's for sure," said Hermione, but then a
thought flashed into her mind, "Quinn didn't tell Umbridge about DA, did
he?"
"What rubbish are you talking about. Of course, he didn't," said Ivy in
instant denial. "But, I'm curious what they are talking about," she stood
up, "I will go listen what's it about."
"Ivy! Wait, don't go!" but Hermione's efforts went unheeded as Ivy
sneaked to beside the door, listening to what was going on.
Outside, Flitwick looked up at Quinn and asked, "Now, what's this
about?" The half-goblin acted as if he couldn't see Umbridge fuming.
"I'm here to contest an unjust detention," he nudged his chin to
Umbridge.
"He lies!" hissed Umbridge, "he refuses to call me Professor even after my
countless times asking. My detention is just, and he will follow it!"
"Quinn, is she telling the truth?" asked Flitwick, ignoring the menace to
society.
"I did no such thing, Professor Flitwick," said Quinn innocently, "you be
the witness of my character, Professor. Have in all my years at Hogwarts
ever failed to give respect to the faculty? I have always given respect
where it's due," — Quinn faced Umbridge with a hurt expression —
"Professor Umbridge, I know that you're angry, but I couldn't just stand
still and watch the Educational Decree's integrity be damaged by
someone using abusing them. . . . even if that someone is as prestigious
as you, the High Inquisitor."
Flitwick's pointed ears twitched at Quinn's words. "Quinn, what do you
mean by Education Decree being abused."
"Don't listen to him!" said Umbridge shrieking, "he's lying!"
"Professor Umbridge came into my office saying to shut down AID
immediately because it went against Educational Decree Twenty-four, but
then I politely pointed out that AID didn't come under the specified
definition of Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs.
. . but then. . ."
When Quinn trailed off, Flitwick stepped closer and urged.
"Don't be afraid, Quinn. I will not let injustice fall upon you," said the
Ravenclaw head of the house.
Quinn 'diffidently' glanced at Umbridge before continuing, "S-She
threatened me with her Senior Undersecretary position. I could only
bring her here — I'm sorry if I brought you trouble, Professor. . . . I know
she's the High Inquisitor."
"You don't need to worry about me, Quinn," said Flitwick, standing taller,
"you don't need to worry about me," he frowned towards Umbridge.
"Quinn, I believe you. I officially annul your detention; you're free to go."
"You can't do that!" yelled Umbridge.
"I can, and I'm doing it," said Flitwick in a no-nonsense tone, "this
detention wasn't given in your class — Any detention assigned outside of
a class can be reviewed by Head of House, and I with that authority
annul this detention."
"You believe him instead of ME?!"
"Yes, I do. . . I believe my top student of six years who I nominated as a
Prefect instead of. . . well, you," Flitwick shrugged, then turned to Quinn,
"You can go, Quinn. I will take care of her."
Quinn nodded appreciatively, and as he walked by Umbridge, he sneakily
gave her a smirk that only served to infuriate her more.
But before he left, Quinn nonchalantly sneaked into the Charms
classroom and stood real close to not one but two eavesdroppers.
"You know, it's not good to listen in on conversations," he smiled, "Ivy,
Daphne. . ."
Ivy's eyes widened in surprise, and she hastily turned to see Daphne
standing right behind her.
"When! . . how long have you been here?!" said Ivy shocked at Daphne's
stealth skills and her failed perception check.
"From the very start," said Daphne rolling her eyes before turning back to
Quinn, "Are you alright? It sounded very serious."
"Meh, it's fine," said Quinn off-handedly, "she was trying to throw her
weight around; nothing I can't handle."
"Are you sure that was a good move; she will try to make things difficult
for you," said Ivy sounding worried.
"Eh, once again nothing I can't handle. . . hmm, but you're right — I
might just nip the bud before she becomes extra annoying," said Quinn,
seeing the point before looking at both the two girls.
"So, Daphne. Will you be attending the little study group?" he asked.
"Shh!" said Ivy; Umbridge was right outside. "Also, how did you know I
asked her?"
"Of course, I know what's going," said Quinn, acting cool and staring
deeply into Ivy's eye, "I always know what's going on."
"Astoria must've told him," said Daphne shattering the cool moment. She
turned to Ivy and spoke, "Astoria, Tracey, and I will be attending."
"Okay, then you'll have to add your name to the list," said Ivy.
"Ahem, well, I will take a leave before Professor Flitwick comes along,"
said Quinn clapping his hand, "I need to go back, my break is going to be
over soon, and I need to get my book bag from my office. . . I will see
you two around."
"Bye-bye," said Ivy while waving her hand and immediately regretted it.
". . . Bye," said Quinn, once again feeling a little confused.
After Quinn left, Ivy turned to Daphne and found the blonde looking at
her strangely. She could only avert her eyes and walk away — after all,
she was aware of how Daphne felt about Quinn.
That day, the news of the incident spread far and wide in Hogwarts.
.
Quinn West - MC - Naw, biatch.
Dolores Umbridge - Pink-toad - She was found shrieking at anything and
everything in her path.
Filius Flitwick - Head of House - You ain't touching my fledglings.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - ( . . . )
.
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!
211. Chapter 211: Putting DA into
RoR
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Link in the Bio/Profile
Angelina sat in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, sulking
gloomily as she tried to merge into the cushions of her chair — her year
wasn't going as she had planned; having just received the reigns of the
Gryffindor quidditch team as the captain, Angelina was looking forward
to building a cup-winning team, but then Umbridge and her Education
Decrees had ruined her chance of her doing that by taking away the thing
she was looking most forward this year.
Furthermore, it was painful to tell her teammates the same and watch
their crestfallen expressions, which she was sure that her face matched.
Alicia, George, and Fred, along with herself, had taken the decision quite
deeply because this was going to be their last year at Hogwarts and thus
their last chance to play together — something they hadn't done since
their fifth year.
'If not for the tournament last year, we wouldn't have gotten the chance
to play last year,' she thought and couldn't imagine how it would feel to
not play quidditch for two straight years.
She heaved a deep sigh, one of many that day.
"You really are down in the dumps." Angelina raised her head and saw
Harry standing in front of her, smiling consolingly at her.
"This year sucks," she spat with force but then deflated, "it was supposed
to be the best year — and not. . . this, whatever this is."
"Cheer up, you know. Nothing is going to happen by sulking here in the
corner," said Harry quietly, when she told him, "because we've found
somewhere to have our first Defense meeting. Tonight, eight o'clock, the
seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed
by those trolls. Can you tell Katie and Alicia?"
She was slightly taken aback but promised to tell the others; Harry
smiled and was about to leave when he turned back towards her and
spoke.
"Listen. . . this might not help, but there's no harm in trying," he said
slowly. "Quinn is coming to the meeting today — maybe you can talk to
him about this. . . he just might be able to help," — Harry chuckled —
"he did make a joke out of Umbridge, so there might be something he
might be able to do. Why don't you give it a try."
A light appeared in Angelina's eyes. Yes, Harry was right, she thought.
Quinn was able to protect AID from Umbridge's ugly clutches; he just
might be able to help him.
"If I bring along Diggory and Carmichael along with me, he might do
something," she said with a renewed vigour, "yes, he has been the
commentator for so long and even organized the tournament last year —
he surely will be able to us." she stood up from her seat and hugged
Harry, "Thank you, Harry. I'll go tell Alicia and Katie. We'll be ready for
today."
"O-Oh," said Harry, a bit taken aback at the bombastic restoration of
energy, "Best of Luck. I also can't wait to go back to practice and play for
the cup."
After Angelina left, Harry turned around to find Hermione watching him.
"What?" he said.
"Well, are you sure we can trust Dobby's plan. . . he's not the most
reliable of people, you know," she said.
"This room isn't just some mad idea of Dobby's. He even brought a house-
elf friend of his, and he vouched for the room's existence."
"Hmm, oh well, that's all right then," said Hermione briskly and chose not
to raise any more objections.
Together with Ron and Ivy, divided into two teams, they had spent most
of the day seeking out those people who had signed their names to the
list in the Hog's Head and telling them where to meet that evening. By
the end of dinner, he was confident that the news had been passed to
everyone who had turned up in the Hog's Head.
At half-past seven, Harry, Ivy, Ron, and Hermione left the Gryffindor
common room, Harry clutching a particular piece of aged parchment in
his hand. Fifth years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine
o'clock, but all three of them kept looking around nervously as they made
their way up to the seventh floor.
"Hold it," said Harry warningly, unfolding the piece of parchment at the
top of the last staircase, tapping it with his wand, and muttering, "I
solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
A map of Hogwarts appeared upon the blank surface of the parchment.
Tiny black moving dots, labelled with names, showed where various
people were.
"Filch is on the second floor," said Harry, holding the map close to his
eyes and scanning it closely, "and Mrs. Norris is on the fourth."
"And Umbridge?" said Hermione anxiously.
"In her office," said Harry, pointing. "Okay, let's go."
They hurried along the corridor to the place Dobby had described to
Harry, a stretch of blank wall opposite an enormous tapestry depicting
Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.
"Okay," said Harry quietly, while a moth-eaten troll paused in his
relentless clubbing of the would-be ballet teacher to watch. "Dobby said
to walk past this bit of wall three times, concentrating hard on what we
need."
They did so, turning sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch
of wall, then at the man-size vase on its other side. Ron had screwed up
his eyes in concentration, Hermione was whispering something under her
breath, Ivy simply closed her eyes, Harry's fists were clenched as he
stared ahead of him.
'We need somewhere to learn to fight. . . .' he thought. 'Just give us a
place to practice . . . somewhere they can't find us . . .'
"Harry," said Hermione sharply as they wheeled around after their third
walk past.
A highly polished door had appeared in the wall. Ron was staring at it,
looking slightly wary. Harry reached out, seized the brass handle, pulled
open the door, and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering
torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below.
The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs, there
were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the
room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy
Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that Harry was sure had seen the
previous year, in the fake Moody's classroom.
"These will be good when we're practicing Stunning," said Ron
enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.
"And just look at these books!" said Hermione excitedly, running a finger
along the spines of the hefty leather-bound tomes. "A Compendium of
Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions . . . The Dark Arts
Outsmarted . . . Self-Defensive Spellwork . . . wow . . ." She looked
around at Harry, her face glowing, and he saw that the presence of
hundreds of books had finally convinced Hermione that what they were
doing was right. "Harry, this is wonderful; there's everything we need
here!"
And without further ado, she slid Jinxes for the Jinxed from its shelf,
sank onto the nearest cushion, and began to read.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Harry looked around; Ginny,
Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Dean had arrived.
"Whoa," said Ginny, staring around, impressed. "What is this place?"
Harry began to explain, but before he had finished, more people had
arrived, and he had to start all over again. By the time eight o'clock
arrived, every cushion was occupied.
Except for one person.
"Belby," called Ivy, "where is Quinn?"
Marcus took out a pocket watch he had gotten as a gift; the time was one
minute to eight, and the second hand was ten clicks from striking twelve
on the clock dial.
"He will be here at eight," said Marcus, looked at the door, "three. . . two.
. . one—"
The door opened on point, with the last person remaining stepped inside.
"Good evening, people," said Quinn with a smile as he looked over the
gathered crowd. "It's nice to see all of you gathered here — the unity that
I'm seeing between the four houses fills my heart with pride, joy, and
warmth. . ." — he spread his arms wide — "so, to all of you guys, I say. . .
get out of here, at once."
There was a spell of silence that descended over the room. It took a while
for everyone to register Quinn's words and triggered a cluster of whispers
among each other.
"Did you take a strange, untested potion again?" asked Eddie. "I told you
to test out on the second-year twirps before taking it on your own."
"I didn't take anything," said Quinn, "but I seriously need you guys to get
out so that I can do my job, which is to teach you guys properly" — he
clapped his hands — "now, get out, come on, hurry."
Luna was the first to stand up and walk out of the Room of Requirements
without question; she was followed by Marcus and Eddie along with the
Ravenclaw crowd; the next to leave was all the Slytherin students who
had come here because of Quinn's recommendation. Seeing that half of
the people had left, Hufflepuff also got up and left with Cedric in the
lead, who followed after Cho.
"Come one, guys. I want to start quickly," said Quinn urging the
Gryffindor to follow.
Fred and George shrugged and left the Room of Requirements and the
rest of the quidditch team (sans Harry and the newly recruited Ron).
Ginny followed after her brothers, and soon everyone left, leaving the
Golden Squad remaining in the room with Quinn.
"What are you doing?" asked Ron.
"Trying to get this group started," said Quinn in reply, "we will get started
the minute this room empties out."
Ivy matched eyes with Quinn for a moment before she sighed and nodded
to the other three. Finally, everyone in the room, including Quinn.
"Now, we can finally start," said Quinn to the crowd behind him as the
door to the Room of Requirements disappeared. "You guys choosing this
room was the greatest decision you made in your school life. . ." — The
Golden Squad watched with wide eyes as Quinn marched back and forth.
— "but, you, the newbies, don't understand the real abilities of the Room
of Requirements."
He knows about the room, they thought.
An ornate door with webs and networks of lines crossing in intricate
patterns had appeared in the wall. Quinn touched the center of the
handleless door, and the entire door disappeared as melting into the air,
leaving a gaping arched doorway in the wall.
If the room previously was spacious, then this room was even more so. It
was lit with MLEs(purposely dropped in the Room of Lost Things by
Quinn). The library was much smaller than the previous one and only
held the necessary bare-minimum books on their shelves. . . but that was
it; there was nothing else inside.
The gathered crowd looked around with doubt, wondering if Quinn knew
what he was doing.
"Are you sure know how this works?" asked Tracey.
"Of course, I know," said Quinn with a chuckle, "I have been using the
Room of Requirement ever since my first year."
The Golden Squad's jaw dropped at the shocking revelation. They more
or less understood the essence of the Room of Requirments — and to
think that Quinn had been using this room for five years, this being his
sixth, was mind-blowing.
"And you, you fucking mingebag, never thought of telling us about this,"
said Eddie with his arms crossed.
"A man needs his space, you know," said Quinn in defense while smiling,
"this is my secret treehouse as to speak," he then sighed, "not anymore
though; all of you guys now are aware of its existence," — which Quinn
didn't mind as Project: Babel was over, and because. . .
"A piece of warning though," said Quinn with his tone dipping deeper,
"no one will use this room except me — I will be the one who will call for
the Room of Requirements to provide our needs and no one else."
"Why?" asked Dean Thomas, frowning.
"So that this magical room doesn't turn into a broom closet for people to
snog and shag," Quinn's bluntness made many blush, "I don't want any of
you willy-nilly coming to this part of the floor whenever you desire — if
anyone comes here out of the meeting timings, they will be penalized
and don't try to be sneaky about it — I will know when someone comes
here."
"But why do you get to be the one to be in charge of this?" said Zacharias
Smith haughtily.
Quinn plainly smiled and raised his arms, "Because I know more about
Room of Requirements than any living person on this planet."
Quinn then raised his arms wide.
It was instantaneous. Starting from the color of the floor to the shape of
the walls and the size of the room, everything shifted as if everything
before was simply an illusion lifted to reveal the thing.
". . . The Great Hall," said Cedric at the 'new' room they stood in.
Cedric's words made everyone's eyes flash in recognition; the room was
indeed like the Great Hall — an empty Great Hall with only the shape
and size resembling strikingly to where everyone ate their meals; there
were no house long-tables, no paintings and hanging candles, no faculty's
high table, and nothing.
"I have been using it for so long that I know how to operate the Room of
Requirements."
Quinn clapped once and instantly, and simultaneously, two humanoid
target dummies appeared on either side of him. He raised his hand
straight up — everyone looked up — and when Quinn snapped his
fingers, a dummy came out of the ceiling.
"I can control everything in this room," said Quinn. The temperature
dropped a few degrees at his words, but everyone felt heat in the room
the next moment. "I can do anything I imagine; of course, the room must
be able to provide my request — but with the time I have spent here, I
know what the room is capable of and what's out of its ability."
The group watched as dummy after dummy started popping in the room
— no matter what direction they turned, where they looked, there was a
dummy there waiting for them.
From the corner of her vision, Daphne noticed something and looked
down to see. . . herself — the floor was polished enough for her to see
her own reflection. The next second, she felt her feet sink into grey sand
before everything went back to normal.
"So, what's the agenda for today?" said Quinn beaming after he had
demonstrated his authority and established himself as the manager of the
Room of Requirements — if no one was going to use it besides the
meetings, then he would have it for the remaining time — just as usual.
Hermione raised her hand immediately.
"I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.
Quinn shrugged, "Sure, we can do that. How do you want to do this?"
"By putting it to a vote. It makes it formal, and it gives them authority. So
— everyone who you think ought to be our leader?"
The group looked at specific people — Cedric, Harry, Quinn, Hermione. .
. but there was no one in the majority.
"I vote for Ivy," said Quinn, raising his hand high. "Who's with me?"
Ivy stirred in shock surprise, acutely becoming aware of everyone's gaze.
"I have no problem with that," agreed Eddie, shrugging, "I vote for the
good Potter." Marcus nodded to show his agreement on the matter, with
Luna raising both her hands in support.
Then everybody their hands up — a lot of them had been approached by
Ivy(and Hermione), and others knew of her, so they had no reason to
deny her the leader role.
"Er — right, thanks," said Ivy, who could feel her face burning. "And —
what, Hermione?"
"The name. I think that before starting, we should decide on that before
we start," she said brightly, her hand still in the air. "It would promote a
feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"
Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina hopefully. "Or the
Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.
"I was thinking," said Hermione, frowning at Fred, "more of a name that
didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely
outside meetings."
"The Defense Association?" said Cho. "The fits with DA for short, and
nobody will know what we're talking about?"
There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring at this.
"All in favor of the DA?" said Ivy, taking her role as the leader, "That's a
majority — motion passed!"
She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall
and was about to write the name when Blaise Zabaini from Slytherin
spoke up in interjection.
"Wait," he said, "how about we don't write the name down," — he gazed
at everyone who were looking back at him — "this is a secret group, and
while it would best to have no name to keep things most secretive — but
for unity and team building, we chose the name — however for a secret
to be strong, there must not be a paper trail. . . so I suggest that we don't
write it down — DA will only be kept in our thoughts and nothing else."
"As expected from a Slytherin and the son of the infamous Black Widow,"
said Quinn with a smile, making Blaise squirm about his mother being
mentioned. "I am in total and complete agreement with Zabini — let's not
write anything that happens here down — everything that happens stays
in our heads."
Ivy, being the leader, thought for a moment before nodding. "Rule
Number #1: No one except Quinn will access this room; he will be the
one to request for DA. Rule Number #2: Nothing that happens here must
ever be written down — not in your diaries or letters home. . . . We will
make rules as we move along," she finished.
She turned to Quinn and ordered, "We should start. Please begin."
Quinn smiled and turned towards the group.
"Let's start some magic, shall we?"
.
Quinn West - MC - Room of Requirements is my asset. I will hold the key
to it.
Ivy Potter - Leader - . . . Alright, so I'm the leader now. . . okay, so first
rules.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I have been thinking about the next chapter
for a very long time.
.
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!
212. Chapter 212: DA Files: First-
Day Duels
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
Now that a leader was selected in Ivy, and after Blaise Zabini's suggestion
of not putting anything in the meetings in writing, the jinxed list of
names was placed up on the wall, everyone was on the same page, ready
and excited to start.
"Right," said Quinn, "before we start, how about we see where every one
of us stand when it comes to," he did air quotes, "dueling or just casting
magic in general," — he smiled broadly — "to check that out, we are
going to have some battles."
There was once again a murmur of activity among the group — some
were excited about the prospect of dueling, while the others were a bit
nervous about dueling in front of so many people.
"So, who is going to volunteer to come up to the front," said Quinn, and a
wide circle of color red appeared on the floor with him in the center.
"There's nothing to be shy about here; this will help you know where you
were on the very first day, and when you look at your performance at the
end of the year, you all will see how much you have progressed."
Quinn looked around the Room of Requirement and saw that no one was
stepping up.
"Come on, people; don't make me call someone up. I want some active,
willing participation," he looked around the group that stood around him
in a circle.
"Alright, if no one is going to come up," said Quinn, "then I will choose. .
. Tracey Davis and Padma Patil. . . come on you two, get inside the circle
and show us what you got."
The Ravenclaw cheered as Padma stepped out of the bronze and blue
group, took a spot in the circle with her wand out by her side, and raised
her chin up a smidge in confidence. On the opposite side, Tracey smiled
beamingly and threw her outer robe off(which Daphne had to catch)as
she advanced into the circle with a hop in her step.
"Now, ladies," said Quinn smiling, "you can choose any spell you desire to
defeat your opponent — but keep in mind that I don't want fatal injuries;
a few scratches and bruises are permissible, but nothing that can't be
treated on the spot. . . now, I will stop and let you two play. . . you may
begin when the red below your feet turn green."
He stepped outside the circle, and the two girls stepped forward, facing
each other with their wands pointed at each other in attention. Quinn
glanced at the two girls, and with a thought, the red circle turned green.
The first one to move was the nimbler Padma, who flourished her wand
and whipped a Disarming charm — "EXPELLIARMUS" — the scarlet spell
zapped at Tracey. . . but Padma had misaimed as the spell light missed
Tracey's arm and went over her shoulder, only able to push aside some
hair.
Tracey stiffened as Padma frowned at her spell missing. Then Tracey saw
Padma raise her wand again, so she finally let her held breath out and
moved her wand as well.
"STUPEY," chanted Padma, but just at the end of the wand movement, —
"CARPE RETRACTUM" — Padma's wand hand was caught in a reddish-
yellow cord wrapping around her wrist.
Tracey cast one of the spells that she was most comfortable with and
yanked. Padma felt her hand tugged forward, and with her aim
disturbed, her Stunning spell zapped into the floor. Seeing that she had
messed her opponent's balance, Tracey swung her hammer when the iron
was hot — "EXPELLIARMUS" — Padma's wand slipped out her hand and
dropped right beside her feet.
"Yes!" exclaimed Tracey raising both her hands up, "I won!"
Eddie immediately started clapping loudly, earning him a very pretty
smile from Tracey — it made the boy very happy.
"Okay, that was decent for a starting point," said Quinn stepping back
into the circle as it turned red, — "Padma, you need to improve your aim;
you had excellent speed and job well done on gaining that initiative, but
your aim ruined what could have been a one spell victory." He turned to
Tracey, "Tracey, while your start was poor, your use of Seize-and-Pull
charm was excellent; you made Padma lose balance, which allowed you
to get that Disarming charm in for the finish — but your Disarming
charm wasn't impressive, Padma's wand should have shot out of her
hand, far away, not fall beside her feet."
Quinn turned to everyone, "If you're going to use the Disarming charm,
then you'll have to perfect it to the point that either you can force the
target's wand out to a substantial distance, or you can direct it right into
YOUR hands."
Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor raised her hand.
"That spell. . . Seize-and-Pull. Will we be learning that?" she asked.
"Yes, we will be going over Seize-and-Pull. It's a versatile spell you can
use in a variety of ways, and it's one of my favorite spells," he said,
"Alright, who's next? Who wants to duel to assert magical dominance?"
Two hands went up in perfect unison.
" "Us." "
A smile made its way to Quinn's face. He turned to the speakers.
"Weasley twins. . . will this be the day that everyone knows who's the
better twins, the better half, the superior menace?"
"That was a never question," said Fred, smiling, "everyone knows I'm the
better one."
"And that's exactly why I'm the better one," said George, smirking, "if you
believe that everyone thinks that you're the better one — then you must
be dumber than I imagined."
"Shut up, Gred." "Sod off, Forge."
Quinn rubbed his hands together as the Weasley twins entered the circle
with confidence and swagger in their bodies. They took out their wands,
and like many previous times, Quinn noticed that their wands were
nothing alike — they didn't have twin cores as both wands were brought
second-hand.
While it wasn't a common occurrence, neither was it rare, but there were
times that magicals grew out of their wands, their preferences changed,
and their magic no longer reacted to their wands as it used to before.
Other times, the wand cores expired and lost the magical nature that
allowed them to conduct magic.
When it was the former, many people chose to sell their old wands to
wandmakers in return for a discount on their new wands. The
wandmakers would then refurbish the old wands and sell them at a lower
market price to people who couldn't afford new ones.
This was the case with Fred and George.
'Pity, it would've made an interesting case study for twin cores in the
hands of identical twins,' thought Quinn.
"Alright, wands at ready!" announced Quinn with an uumph in his voice.
Fred and George raised their wands with grins on their faces. They stared
at each other while their peripherals watched the circle below their feet.
The moment red turned green, their magic thrummed into activity.
"INCARCEREOUS," yelled Fred, and braided ropes with weights at ends
shot towards George.
George boisterous laughed and swiped his wand — "DIFFINDO!" — the
ropes were cut right from the middle, and the weights pulled the cut
ropes to either side.
"That's not how you cast Incarcerous, brother mine!" laughed George,
"this is how you do it!" — "INCARCEREOUS!"
Unlike Fred's ropes, George produced a steel chain with just a minor
alteration in the wand movement. Fred's eyes widened, but so did his
grin; his magic surged through his wand — "FERRUM ROTA!"
A ripple of steel bubbled out from a point in front of Fred to form a disc.
Clang. . . sparks flew as steel met steel. The shield cracked on the impact,
but it did its work as the steel chain lost its momentum, dropped to the
ground, and both conjurations vanished the second they hit the floor.
" "EXPELLIARMUS!" "
Scarlet ripped from both brothers as a battle of attrition ensued. Both
brothers exerted force as red versus red pushed each other for a few
seconds.
"You're good, brother mine," said Fred smiling when the spell stopped.
"You're not bad," said George, laughing.
"Then, let's get this over with —" "— one spell is all we needed."
" "STUPEFY!" "
Two red spells burst out of the wands and zoomed through the air. In real
life, things were never so perfect; the spells didn't meet in the middle and
passed each other, missing each other by mere inches and hitting their
targets squarely in their chests.
Fred and George stiffened for a moment before their kneed buckled, body
swayed, and their bodies crumbled onto the ground simultaneously.
Quinn stepped into the circle, and it turned red. He stared at the
unconscious twins for a while before turning to the crowd.
"Who can cast Reviving spell or Rennervate?" he asked.
A lot of hands went up.
"Good," said Quinn as he gazed through the crowd, "okay, Goldstein and
Astoria, please step forward and give pointers to Maisy Reynolds and
Dennis Creevey, who will then revive the brothers."
As the four people stepped out nervously and started to communicate
with each other, Quinn addressed the group.
"As you saw there in the end," he said, pointing to the twins, "not every
time will the spells meet each other — no, most of the times, the spells
won't meet each other — it takes aim or luck to get spells to meet each
other, so don't rely on canceling spells each other or on entering a contest
of force because they won't go as you might think — there's a reason why
defensive spells exits and of course, we will be learning them later."
Theodore Nott from Slytherin raised his hand.
"Shield charm, Protego. . . when this spell exists, why is there a need for
other shield charms like. . ." he glanced at the unconscious twins,
wondering who was who, ". . . one of the twins used. Is there an
advantage?'
"Excellent question," said Quinn appreciatively, "Protego is a versatile
spell with its variations, and it can be used to block a variety of attacks,
but in its basic form, Protego is a defensive shield that works better for
spells and charms, which lack the material aspect to them — as in the
spells which don't conjure something. . . like, Stunning charm doesn't
conjure something physical, but the Bluebell-Fire spell conjures a blue
fire. . . if those two spells were shot at a Protego shield, the Bluebell-Fire
would have a greater chance at breaching the shield than the Stunning
spell's spell light. . . and that's why there exist a myriad of defensive
shield spells: to defend against various offensive spells."
As Quinn answered the question, Dennis Creevey and Maisy Reynolds
had fumbled through various Reviving spells and were able to wake the
Weasley twins up.
"That was an entertaining showdown, twins," said Quinn, "but let's keep
the talking to a minimum. There won't be much of that in the field, and if
your opponent starts talking, then that means they won't be chanting, so
get in a good hit while they are busy yapping their mouths."
" "Aye-aye, captain." "
Quinn turned to the four people who he had called out and spoke to the
entire group.
"This is how we are going to do things here," he said, "those who know
how to do something will teach those who don't. In that way, both sides
will profit in the way that the teachers will consolidate their knowledge,
and they will find their own faults, and the students will learn a new
spell. . . so get ready to teach because everyone will be doing a lot of it."
"Good, then let's bring in the next pair," said Quinn, "who's up? Come on,
get in here quickly. . . I want to cover as many people as I can today.
Everyone here needs to know who they are going to learn from so they
know who to approach."
It was Eddie who strutted into the circle with confidence(which looked
like arrogance to many). And seeing that Eddie had stepped, Harry
Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had just fought the Dark Lord a
few months back, all but hastily hopped into the circle.
Harry was excited. It was no secret that he and Eddie didn't get along —
both of them were at each other's throats whenever they met. They both
played Quidditch, but because they played different positions, they
couldn't directly, and neither came out on top based on their
performance.
Outside of Quidditch, whenever they met, Eddie would trash talk, and
Harry couldn't really beat him with words(the little shit was just too
good)
and no matter what Harry did, Eddie seemed unflappable. But when it
came to magic, this was Harry's chance to shine and one-up Eddie. He
was sure that he could soundly defeat Eddie 'fucking' Carmichael and
finally wipe that arrogant look off his face.
"Oh-ho," said Eddie, smirking, "Potter, you seem to be in a hurry to get
your arse whooped by yours truly. How about I make things easier for
you — just stand still there, and I will hit you with a stunner and send
you packing. You know, let's get the ball moving and let others show
what they got."
"I'm going to beat you so bad today that you'll be crying for years. . .
years," said Harry in scorn.
"We will see about that," Eddie reached into his robes and took out a matt
pitch-black wand made from blackthorn having silver engravings going
from the wand tip to the handle where a small shiny black pearl sat;
powering the wand as a core was unicorn's mane hair.
'His wand is needlessly cool,' thought Quinn,
On the other hand, Harry took out his holly and phoenix feather wand,
which had a handle that still resembled the raw bark of a branch. It
wasn't as cool, but the history behind the wand made it special enough.
"Alright, you two," said Quinn, "get yourselves ready. . . I repeat that any
lethal usage of magic is not permissible, and the moment I see any of you
two stepping over that line, I promise a world of pain," he stepped
outside the circle, "now. . . let's see what you got."
The first one to move when the circle turned green was Harry as he
rapidly waved his wand — "EXPELLIARMUS" — the scarlet spell streaked
through the air towards Eddie, who maneuvered his wand — "PROTEGO"
— the invisible shield rippled in silver as the scarlet collided and fizzle
against it.
Before Eddie could remove his shield and go on offense, Harry had
already moved — "LIGNUM VIRGA" — five wooden rods manifested in
front of him, started spinning along their length, and shot towards Eddie
with speed.
Eddie's eyes widened, and he immediately jumped sideways just in time
to avoid the wooden rods ripping the shield into oblivion. Eddie rolled on
the floor, and the moment he stood up — "IMPENDIMENTA" — a
turquoise jet passed through just under his ear.
"Stay still, Carmichael," said Harry laughing, "I will make it quick; let's
get the ball moving and see what others got." — "STUPEY" — he ripped
another spell towards Eddie.
"PROTEGO" — Eddie created a shield, but it was sloppy, and the stunner
from Harry was physically able to push him back the shield and him with
it a few steps back.
"Argh!" Eddie grunted in frustration. Since the duel had started, he had
been targeted by four spells, and in turn, he had only cast two shield
spells. It was starting to make him irritated.
"I can hit hard as well, Potter!" he shouted — "DEPULSO" — a yellow jet
of the Banishing charm escaped the black wand.
Harry smirked and twirled his wand — "PROTEGO. . . DUO" — the
invisible shield rippled in front of him, and with the change in the chant
and wand movement, the variant Shield charm became stronger.
But Harry's eyes widened when he felt Eddie's Depulso collide against his
shield.
Then everyone saw Harry all but fly away. The yellow jet of magic
pushed the shield like a berserk bull; first, his feet skidded. . . then, he
was being forced to step back repeatedly as the yellow spell still drilling
against his shield. . . and before Harry knew it, he was off the ground and
thrown back a couple feet.
Harry blinked and wondered how he was staring at the ceiling. He raised
his neck and saw Eddie smirking down at him from a distance.
"Come on, Potter; feeling sleepy?" said Eddie with a shit-eating grin on
his face.
Harry got up and loosened his tie. "That was a fluke," he said, "it's not
going to happen again. . . so you can celebrate now because you're not
going to do it anymore."
"Don't delude yourself, Potter," said Eddie laughing, "I have decided that
you're going to be looking up at the ceiling time and time again until you
give up."
Both raised their hands, their magic thrummed, and wands vibrated as
the magic flowed.
"INCENDIO DUO" "AQUA ERECTO"
.
Quinn West - MC - . . . Should I start a betting pool. . . no, but. . . no.
Tracey Davis - Slytherin - Throwing robes in style.
Padma Patil - Ravenclaw - The aim is to work on aim.
Fred Weasley - Forge/Gred - second-hand wand. . .
George Weasley - Gred/Forge - . . . first-rate magic.
Eddie Carmichael - Boy-Who-Cusses - "Get fucked!"
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - "I'm going to hit you. . . hard."
.
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!
213. Chapter 213: DA Files:
1stDayDuels Cont
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
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Link in the Bio/Profile
Every DA member watched in stunned silence at the duel happening in
front of them. Except for three people in the Room of Requirements, none
were expecting the duel to be like the one happening in front of them. In
fact, their expectations were the exact opposite.
"LACARNUM INFLAMARI" — the wild smile on one Eddie Carmichael's
face while casting spells was one every villain would approve.
Harry, who saw the fireball wildly spiraling towards him, frowned and
gritted his teeth — "PROTEGO DUO" — the fireball met the invisible
shield and violently rippled in response; it held its defensive integrity,
but Harry could feel the heat from flames despite being behind the
magical barrier.
"Come on, Potter," called Eddie laughing, "don't tell me this all you got!"
— "DEFODIO" — the stone floor near Eddie's feet gouged out and
bundled up into a sizable ball which he then flung towards like a heavy
shotput.
Seeing the chunk of stone hurling towards him, Harry raised his wands
with a frown — "DEPRIMO" — the leaf green spell flew into the stone
ball, and green lightning arcs covered the stone before it exploded into
pieces.
Harry exhaled heavily and stared at the dust cloud in front of him. This
wasn't how he was expecting things to go, not in the slightest. All the
upper hand he had in the start was gone, and now he was struggling
against every spell from Eddie.
'How in the hell is this happening?' he thought.
On the sidelines, Ivy watched her brother struggling against Eddie
Carmichael; she also thought this should've gone the opposite direction,
but that didn't seem to be the case.
"Are you surprised?"
She turned towards the speaker, and Marcus Bebly was the one who had
spoken. She nodded — why wouldn't she? It wasn't like Eddie Carmichael
was famous for being a great caster.
"Well, to me, this is actually to be expected," said Marcus, chuckling,
"Your brother is good, there's no doubt in that, but when you compete in
magic with someone with an overwhelming difference in skill and power,
one tends to adjust and improve accordingly."
"What do you mean?" asked Ivy.
"Eddie is ultra-competitive. . . it can be his best and worst quality; it
depends on the situation," said Marcus. "Imagine what would happen if
you for five years, on a regular basis, you challenged someone so much
better at the magic that it isn't even funny. . . and despite never winning
a single time in five years over thousands of challenges, you never give
up and continue to challenge the much better opponent," — Marcus
pointed his chin at Eddie —, "that's what Eddie has been doing with
Quinn. . . he challenges Quinn at least three times a week on anything
magic and always losses, but he has never given up. . . not once."
"Eddie wants to win, he loves to win, he craves victory. . . but Quinn
hasn't given him a single glance of triumph. . . but because of Eddie's
particular disposition, he works hard after every single defeat so that he
could win the next one. . . in doing that, he eventually improved so much
that the progress was something to behold."
". . . Even so, Carmichael's spells are hitting too heavily. . . they are
almost unnaturally powerful," said Ivy in inquiry.
"One of the side-effects if a good portion of the challenges are duels
against Quinn West," Marcus deeply sighed, thinking back to destruction
and hazard caused in empty, unused classrooms as the aftermath of
duels. "If you want to even have a chance to penetrate Quinn's defensive
spells, you offensive spells better pack that extra punch and then go over
that and have most power beyond that. . . because Quinn is just too good
at magic — there have been times when he had let Eddie exhaust himself
without against a simple Protego without moving an inch in retaliation. .
. Eddie's magic or Eddie himself adapted to his 'daily' situation, and his
spells got heavier and more impactful through the years — what you're
seeing now is pure hard work on improving offensive spells."
"Come on, Potter. Put your back into your shields! It's like I'm throwing
my spells at sheets of paper — TOTAL OVERKILL!" they heard Eddie
shoutout while laughing semi-maniacally.
Ivy turned to Eddie, who cleared his throat in second-hand
embarrassment, "That's one of his worse qualities."
Harry glared at Eddie, and magic flowed through holly wand —
"ARGENTUM GLADIO" — a single silver rapier rippled into existence,
exerting a threatening vibe and turned in the air above Harry's head to
point at Eddie.
"That!" uttered Ivy in shock at Harry's spell. That wasn't a spell to be used
against a fellow student. That was a spell taught to Harry by their father
and was to be only used in emergencies.
"Now, that's more like it," grinned Eddie; his magic thrummed in
excitement and thrill.
Harry slashed his wand vertically down, and the sword streaked with a
silver trail, flying towards Eddie to cut him. Eddie's grin widened to this
limit — "BOMBARDA. . . MAXIMA!"
A glowing white with streaks of magenta emitted from Eddie's blackthorn
wand, carrying with it Eddie's heavy-hitting magical deposition.
"No, stop! Don't!" yelled Ivy, stepping forward, but her exclamations were
of no use as the spells were already dispatched.
". . . Didn't I explicitly state that lethality wasn't allowed," was followed
by a heavy sigh.
A yellow layer appeared right in the middle of Harry and Eddie, in the
path of the silver sword and Explosion charm, and simultaneously took
the brunt of both spells. The silver sword tried to pierce its way to Eddie
but only ended up cracking after trying to breach the shield. The
Explosion charm exploded against the shield but couldn't even put a
fissure on the barrier.
When the chaos settled, Eddie and Harry glanced at the still-present
yellow barrier layer and then at the caster.
"You know, I didn't expect someone to break the lethality rule so early in
this group's existence, on the very first day, but it seemed I was wrong,"
said Quinn sighing, and swiped his fake wand to disable his casted magic.
"But I should've expected this from both of you — one with a mouth that
loves to rile people up and the other who get easily riled up."
He turned to Eddie, "Bombarda Maxima, really? That would have taken a
chunk off him if it hit. How do you think that would have panned out if I
had to take him to Madam Pomfrey with parts missing from his body,"
Eddie looked a bit embarrassed and turned his face away. — "And you,"
he turned to Harry, "that silver sword had some form of curse attached to
it. I don't know if you are trained in the counter-course for that spell.
Even if you do know, were you really going to launch that against him?"
"Both of you're IDIOTS!" said Quinn bluntly before turning to the entire
group. "Listen up! Everyone! We don't have the leeway to get seriously
injured in here and go to the hospital wing to get fixed — I, personally,
can fix pretty much every fix you guys right here. . . . But! If things take a
serious turn, and even if I can heal you back to health, it'll take time, and
we can't hide in here for a chill two or three days without the Professors
looking for us. . . So I will repeat this! Do not aim lethal spells at anyone
in here — you just need to say the word, and practice dummies can be
provided. . . be responsible and think carefully before you decide to cast."
Luna raised her hand in salute and spoke loudly, "Yes, sir!"
"At ease, soldier," said Quinn in reply and took the chance to break the
tension and return the atmosphere to normal. "Alright, Eddie and Harry,
take care that this doesn't happen," he said. "Now, who's the next one —"
"I will go," said Ivy, stepping forward.
Quinn smiled with a smooth nod and gestured her to step into the red
circle as the part that Eddie gouged out fixed itself in real-time.
"And, who wants to take on the Potter Princess," asked Quinn.
It was once again Ivy who spoke up.
"I want to duel her," she said and pointed her red ebony wand with a core
made from braided unicorn tail hairs.
Everyone looked in the direction she pointed and saw Daphne Greengrass
standing at the end. The Ice Queen, as people had started to call her,
stared back at Ivy for a moment before raising her chin slightly as she
stepped forward. Daphne wordlessly stepped into the circle, placing
herself opposite Ivy.
"We haven't competed in this, have we?" said Ivy to Daphne.
"No, we haven't," said Daphne as she took out her willow wand with a
braided unicorn's tail hair as cores.
"Another thing we can cross today," said Ivy. She briefly glanced at Quinn
before speaking back to Daphne, "I'm going to win this one."
Daphne noticed Ivy's quick glance towards Quinn, and her brows
furrowed slightly. Daphne herself looked at Quinn; she couldn't lose in
front of Quinn, so. . .
"I wonder where that baseless confidence of yours comes from," said
Daphne. "Have you ever won against me ever?"
"Are you still stuck in the time when we were children because that's just
sad. We are no longer children, Daphne. . . If—"
"Ladies," said Quinn interjecting, "if you want to compete, I'm all for it,
but this is a magic club and not a debate, so less chit-chat and more
magic, please. Let's get the duel moving."
The girls stared at each other for a moment before both took their
positions at ready.
"Good," spoke Quinn and retreated out of the red circle.
One second passed, then two, and the red turned green on the third,
signaling both participants that the duel had begun.
"PETRUM INDICIBUS" — Ivy's wand shone in an earthen glow, and out of
the glowing wand came a volley of fist-sized rocks, rolling in the air
towards Daphne.
Daphne swiped her wand in a circle — "IGNIS OFFII" — multitudes of
crackling fire orbs lit up brightly and whistled towards the rock pellets
blasting them on impacts, nullifying Ivy's attack.
"EXPELLIARMUS," chanted Daphne, and the scarlet jet passed right above
Ivy, who ducked to dodge it.
Ivy didn't get up immediately and moved to immobilize Daphne —
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS" — the whitish-purple spell zoomed very close to
the ground towards Daphne.
Daphne once again didn't move from her spot — "PROTEGO" — and
effortlessly blocked Ivy's spell. She then immediately raised her wand up
— "STUPEFY" — she aimed to finish the duel in one go.
Ivy rolled sideways and let the spell narrowly miss her.
Quinn's eyes shined as he watched Ivy and then at Harry. The twins had
been trained in an important aspect of dueling.
"AVIS! AVIS! AVIS!" — chanted Ivy repeatedly, and a flock of small blue
birds filled the space and rapidly flapped their wings to fly towards
Daphne with their sharp talons and beaks.
"That's a NEWT level spell," said Marcus on the sideline, sounding
impressed; he also could do it despite being in the sixth year, but casting
it three times in rapid succession would be difficult for him.
"She practices magic more than anyone in Gryffindor," said Ron, "even
more than Hermoine — which is bonkers."
The mass of blue startled Daphne a bit and skipped a beat and would
have been in trouble if there would have been any more delay in her
response — "CONFUNDO!" — and a pink vapor began spreading out from
her wand.
Quinn nodded with his lower lip jutting out at her choice. The Confundus
charm was a charm that caused confusion in a person or bewitched an
object. It wasn't a choice he would have made, but he could see how it
would have worked — if performed correctly, which couldn't be said in
this case.
The pink vapor did its job in distracting two waves of conjured birds
away from her, but she wasn't able to affect the last one; they swopped in
and cut her arms and legs, tearing away at her robes and clothes.
"PROTEGO" — chanted Daphne loudly and covered herself in a shield to
protect herself from the aggressive birds.
Ivy grinned — "OBICE CONFRACTUS" — and shot a generic shield
breaking charm which did its job splendidly and broke the shield, but by
now, Daphne's Confudus charm had done its job on the third wave, but
Ivy was ready for that aND shot another spell — "EXPELLIARMUS" —
and with Daphne's wand flying high into the air, the duel was over and. .
.
"I win," said Ivy grinning.
Quinn stepped into the circle, and it turned red. He lazily waved his fake
wand, and the conjured bird fizzled out into nothing. Then he walked to
Daphne and watched the girl who had her head bowed down.
"Are you alright," he asked.
Daphne didn't look up but nodded, but from the part of her face that
Quinn could see, he saw her face scrunched up in pain from all the cuts
she had suffered.
"Let me see the cuts," said Quinn, sighing. He pulled up one of her arms
and pulled the cut parts of her clothes away to reveal the wounds,
"there's nothing to be ashamed of or be embarrassed about here, you
know." He waved his fake wand, and light blue lights covered her
wounds slowly but surely, knitting the skin-deep cuts together. "What you
need to do is learn from what went off here and learn from it to never
make the same mistake."
Daphne continued to keep her head down as Quinn continued to heal her
wounds.
"If it's any consolation, Ivy's father is a Senior Auror; she simply picked
up a thing or two from him which allowed her victory here," said Quinn
before pausing a moment, "I liked your use of Confudus charm on the
Avis-conjured birds, it was inspiring. If you perfect that spell, you would
be able to send the birds back to their caster. . . turning their own spell
against them, that's inspiring."
Daphne finally looked up at him.
"Really," she asked, "do you really think so?"
"Uh-huh, how about this? We will go through the spell together, and I
will even show you what I would have in your position."
Daphne nodded, "I would like that."
When everyone was talking about the duel in the audience circle, Tracey
leaned towards Eddie and spoke, "They look good together, don't they?"
"Yes, they do," said Eddie, nodding.
Tracey looked at Eddie, and after a slight pause, she asked, "Do you
think. . . Quinn likes her?" She was Daphne's best friend, and who better
to ask this question than to Quinn's best friend.
Eddie stared at Quinn and Daphne standing close to each other as Quinn
healed Daphne's wound. As Tracey had said, those two did look good
together, and ever since the Yule Ball last year, the two groups —
(Quinn, Marcus, Eddie, and Luna) & (Daphne, Tracey, and Astoria) —
had started to hang out with each other frequently.
In that time, Eddie had observed the girl named Daphne Greengrass and
had come to know a lot about her. And in his mind, he could imagine a
number of girls with Quinn, but if he was to set someone up with Quinn,
it would definitely be Daphne Greengrass.
Furthermore. . .
"He hasn't said it to me directly, but I do think Quinn likes her," he said.
Tracey's eyes sparkled, "Really?!"
Eddie nodded, "He's comfortable around her. He doesn't control his smile
around her and looks like he enjoys her company. It helps that she can
actually hold a conversation with him without making bedroom eyes at
him. And I haven't seen him this close to a girl that isn't Luna and well
Astoria, but she sticks to him like glue."
"What about Fleur Delacour?"
"Nah, that was just him being. . . well, that was just a small stint," said
Eddie; he wanted to say horny, but that wasn't fitting. "It's whatever
Quinn has been saying; it was nothing."
That ticked another cross off the question list, and the answer was a good
one.
"That's good, that's really good," said Tracey and then looked at Eddie. He
had earned a reward, and so had she. "You wanna go on a date with me
next Hogsmeade weekend?"
Eddie slowly turned to the girl beside him and profoundly nodded. There
was no way in hell he would refuse this; there was not a single reason he
could think for refusal.
"Good," said Tracey smiling, "wear something nice."
Eddie once again wordlessly nodded.
But what they didn't know was that someone was paying attention to
their conversation. Hermione Granger had listened to the entire
conversation and what she heard wasn't for HER best friend.
'Quinn likes Greengrass,' she thought, 'Oh, Ivy. . .'
The girl in question was standing in the red circle staring at Quinn and
Daphne standing in front of her. Just a few moments ago, she was happy
at defeating Daphne, but now all that happiness had evaporated. All she
felt was envy.
.
Quinn West - MC - Duel, duel, duel!
Eddie Carmichael - Heavy-Hitter - I've got a date, again!
Harry Potter - Unsatisfied - Wants a rematch.
Daphne Greengrass - Target of envy - Lost the duel.
Ivy Potter - Envious - Won the duel.
Tracey Davis - Best friend - Her day is going very well.
Hermione Granger - Best friend - Eavesdropper.
.
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DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the Bio!
214. Chapter 214: Round Two?
Undefeated
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"Finally," said Quinn with a gleeful smile on his face, "finally on the last
chapter. . . just a few more pages and I would be finished."
He sat behind his office desk with Stigweard Gragg's biography in front of
him. With no other clue on how to proceed with the pedestal in the
Architect's vault, Quinn had chosen to focus on the only lead he had —
the biography and had taken upon himself to comb through every
paragraph, sentence, phrase, and word written to find some hint, any
hint on how to proceed inside the vault.
And how he was on the last chapter after an arduous process of analyzing
every page, chapter, and section of the book to see if there was
something hidden in words — he even went as far as to check the book
for the magic to see if it was hiding something, but no, there was nothing
weaved into the book other than preservation charms and traces of shelf-
life elongating potions that the pages had been soaked into.
In the dozens and dozens of chapters Quinn had read, he hadn't found a
single clue or mention regarding the vault. Yet Quinn was happy; in no
way did he think that this book was going to help him — he was simply
happy that he would be able to cross this book out of plausible helping
resources and proceed to the next step-of-action — finding Architect's
tomb and go grave-digging to find the clue.
"I better find a zombie so that I can bash his head in to release some
irritation," he smiled while humming a tune. Finally, with one hand on
the book and the other hand holding a pen over a sheet of paper, he
began reading the last chapter.
But even before his fountain pen's nip could touch the paper and stain it
with its glossy black ink, Quinn sighed as he sensed someone out of his
office. He closed the book, capped the pen, and put aside his research
material just in time to hear the bell chime.
He got up to greet his client/guests.
"Welcome to AID, how may we help you today. . . . Quidditch!"
Angelina Johnson, Roger Davies, and Cedric Diggory, who had entered
the office, stopped at the sudden exclamation.
"What?" asked Roger Davies.
"You guys are here for Quidditch," said Quinn, then nodded, satisfied
with his guess.
". . . Yes, how did you know?" asked Cedric.
"Three Quidditch captains stepping into my office at the same time, the
balance of probabilities dictate as such," said Quinn as he sat down back
on his chair and gestured for them to take a seat as well.
"So, what seems to be the problem," asked Quinn; of course, he could
guess what they want to talk about.
"The problem," sighed Roger.
"It's Umbitch," hissed Angelina acidly.
"Who else could it be?" said Cedric putting on a wry smile.
"Of course, of course, the usual, huh; the High Inquisitor sucking the fun
out of Hogwarts," said Quinn chuckling.
"Yes," Roger rubbed his forehead, "she has allowed the Slytherin team to
exist, and they have been practically practicing every free slot they can
get at the field. . . which because of Umbridge's ban on us is any time
they want, as long as they want. . ."
"We're sure that we will be able to get the teams reinstated eventually,"
said Angelina, "but it might be too late by then. . . we would be lacking
practice, and the Slytherin team would have too much practice," she
stared deeply at Quinn, "we need to get this ban lifted as soon as
possible."
"I have tried a lot from my side," said the Headboy, "but no matter what I
do, Umbridge isn't budging — every time I try, she cites academics and
grades as the reason for refusal."
"Hmm. . ." Quinn went silent for a few seconds, and the three captains
waited with bated breath — "Can you get the support of the House
Heads?" he asked.
"Is that even a question?" said Roger.
"Ever since Umbitch stepped into Hogwarts," continued Cedric.
"She is willing to rebel," added Angelina.
Quinn chuckled as he nodded, "Alright, that is great for you guys. . .
Now, all I want you guys to do is gather signatures from a majority of
people from all three houses. . . If you do that, then I'm willing to
guarantee that I will have all three teams un-banned the very next day
you get me the signatures."
"You don't really believe that showing signatures from us 'lowly' students
will move the 'High Inquisitor,' do you?" said Angeline, sceptical about
Quinn's promise and methods.
"Of course not," said Quinn laughing at the absurdity of the thought, "but
the thing is, negotiation isn't a science; it's a strategic conflict, it's
persuasion, and persuasion is an art — negotiation means getting the best
of your opponent, and it's unwise to take anything personally during," he
chuckled, "and with Umbridge's big personality, I'm not sure if she's
capable of it. . . even if she's, I don't think she would be able to be
objective when I'm sitting in front of her."
"She doesn't like you very much, does she," said Cedric.
"No, she doesn't," smiled Quinn, "from what I've heard from the Ministry;
she is in the works to somehow update Educational Decree Twenty-Four,
which is blocking you guys to change the definition of Student
Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs from three student
bodies down to two student bodies. . . but that isn't going to work, is it?
Even she can't stop two people from talking and doing an activity
together."
Quinn was a sixth-year this year, and this was AID's fifth year of
operation; in all that time, he had handed out plenty of favors, helped a
ton of students, and made many 'friends' — students who had graduated
from Hogwarts and were now working in all parts of society — several of
Quinn's 'friends' had joined the Ministry as their careers as such Quinn
had contacts in Ministry who could provide him with information.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" asked Angelina, still a little
doubtful.
"It's going to work," said Quinn relaxed, "you just need to get me those
signatures."
"We can do that," said Cedric, "I will work with the willing Prefects to
streamline this — I'm guessing. . . it will take a couple of days for the
stack of signatures to be in your hands."
"Excellent," said Quinn smiling, "you guys can relax now and start
working on building your teams — I will have the Quidditch season
started in no time."
After thanking him, the three captains left, and of course, Quinn asked
them to help him out in return in the future. When he had started AID,
Quinn had only aimed to increase his influence inside Hogwarts and
hadn't thought of the future after that, but after the first 'batch' of his
debtees left Hogwarts, he realized that his network had now expanded up
from the closed-world of Hogwarts to the big, open, real world.
"Now, let's continue," he took out the Architect's biography and his pen
and paper.
Time passed in silence with only the clock's ticking and turning of pages
audible in the room. After a while, Quinn finally capped his pen, neatly
stacked his notes, and then raised them up high in the air, as high as his
hand could reach up.
And then. . . the flash-burned into nothingness, not even ashes remained.
"I hate this guy," he said, "I absolutely hate this guy."
The Architect's biography — which Quinn was now sure was an
Autobiography — was open on his book and on the second last page of
the book, in tiny font, written on the last line of that page was. . .
「Magic of Earth shall let the Mast sink and reveal the Secret.」
It was utterly unrelated to the contents on the page, and if someone
didn't know the context, they wouldn't understand the line — but Quinn
was different, he knew the context, and he knew it well.
Quinn groaned. He had spent a lot of time analyzing the Autobiography
— more time he had spent on some magic books — but all his hard work
was for naught as it turned out that he only needed to read one single
line.
"Nasty bastard wasting all my time," he grumbled heatedly. And the
biography wasn't even interesting; Stigweard Gragg might have been a
great Architect, but he couldn't write for shit.
"Alright, calm down, calm down," sighed Quinn, "he's dead, dead for
centuries. . . don't let the dead guy rile you up. . . I'm the best, he sucks,
I'm the best, he sucks. . . . that's right."
He finally calmed down.
"Damn, Earth magic, huh," but then he grinned, "oh boy, it's time to buy
new books! Such a treat!"
He got up and exited the office, heading towards his dormitory. He
needed to see what he had and what more he needed.
"I love the Architect!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
A few days passed, and as promised, Quinn had signatures from seventy-
five percent of the school. A big majority of Slytherin refused to sign
because it had nothing to do with them, and they knew that the more
time the other three teams remained disbanded, the greater chances
would have at winning.
Of course, as expected, students from the three houses refused to sign,
fearing retaliation from Umbridge.
"We thought there would be more," said Cedric as he, along with
Angelina and Roger, walked with Quinn as they walked to the
Headmaster's office.
"This is more than enough," said Quinn, flipping through the sheets they
had given him this morning, updating the information in his hands of
who signed and who didn't. He did notice a few names he was expecting
to see in the list but were missing.
"It's true that a number more than eight percent would've looked better,"
Quinn smiled, "but that is if we tell her about the number."
"What do you mean?" asked Roger.
"We don't have to put a number to the signees," Quinn waved the stack of
parchment, "instead of telling her a quantity, if we used the physical
thickness of this stack and the lines after lines of signature to smack
Umbridge in the face, then the voice it would make be resoundingly
loud."
He turned to the three and smiled, "While holding the truth is definitely
essential, it's more important to know how to say that truth. . . even the
greatest ideas are worthless if you can't present them to garner interest. .
. communication is the key to success. . . If you want to be successful in
life, out of one-hundred, you only need twenty points in competence and
other in eighty in people skills."
The best-case example for this was Gilderoy Lockhart. He might not have
done all of the deeds written in his books, but he knew how to weave a
storyline, knew how to present it, was aware of precisely what people
wanted and thus knew how to provide it.
The group reached the gargoyle that protected the door that protected
Headmaster's office. Cedric stepped forward and spoke the password.
"Turkish Delight."
The gargoyle rotated on its axis, and its massive wings that blocked the
entryway retreated into its back to clear the way for them to enter. They
entered the office, and as planned, present inside was Albus Dumbledore
sitting behind his desk, to the right of his desk sat the three House Heads
(Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout) to the left of the desk sat Umbridge with a
small purse on her lap, and in the corner of the room stood Snape like an
edge lord. Leaving the front of Dumbledore's desk clear for Quinn,
Cedric, Angelina, and Roger to stand.
The three captains looked at Quinn to lead, who was looking around the
office.
"Headmaster," started Quinn, "I can now safely say that except the
gargoyle guarding the door, I have the better office," he smiled, "I would
suggest that you make some changes if you wish to stay in the
competition."
Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk, smiled through his long white
beard.
"I haven't seen your office, Mr. West," said Dumbledore, "but if it's as
fascinating as you say, then I'm fine with conceding defeat. Somethings
need to be passed on to the younger generation."
Quinn smiled deeply but didn't extend an invitation to the Headmaster.
He was about to continue with some chit-chat, but there was an
interruption in the form of "hem, hem" that made everyone look at the
pink-loving mass of personified evil sitting in the chair.
"Now that you all of you are finally here," said Umbridge with a humph,
"let's get this farce over with. . . what do you want to talk about? If it's
nothing important, I suggest that you stop at this instance; my duties as
THE High Inquisitors keep me extremely busy — this school has many
faults that need to be fixed."
'Why does her hubris surprise me?' though Quinn and many others had
the same unspoken thought in their minds.
"We are here to talk about reinstating the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and
Ravenclaw Quidditch teams," continued Quinn, "I think it's high time that
the Quidditch season starts, but for that to happen, we need the four
teams to be ready for the games."
Dumbledore nodded and was about to speak up, but Umbridge
interrupted him.
"That's unfortunate, but the poor performance by the students and the
utter lack of discipline doesn't allow leisure for all of you until I see some
improvement," she said smugly.
"Well, I don't think the students share the same thought," said Quinn and
took out the stack of signatures, "the entire school demands that
Quidditch is returned to Hogwarts."
"Of course, you all would say that. You delinquent children can't see your
faults and what I'm doing is for your good," said Umbridge instantly and
then put her hand out. "Give those to me, and I will think about it when
to reinstate the teams. . . You all should learn from the Slytherin house;
they are excellent children and thus have their Quidditch team."
Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall didn't like the tone and content of
Umbridge's words, but they didn't say anything as it was within her
power to ban the Quidditch team. So they settled on glaring at her
openly.
Quinn smiled, stepped forward, placed the signature stack on
Dumbledore's table, and then stepped back, leaving Umbridge's raised
empty. The pink woman didn't look happy at all as she put her hand back
down.
Quinn knew that this would happen, and the signatures were just a piece
to set up the foundation and scene of his argument.
"It's not just the students who are unsatisfied with Quidditch season being
delayed. There are the Quidditch businesses in the Hogsmeade who get
orders for gear every year and depend on our school for some revenue,"
said Quinn and once again ignored Umbridge as he handed in the letter
of support from mentioned business to Dumbledore.
Quinn had written to the broom and gear maintenance shops in
Hogsmeade that students went for maintenance work to show how the
community was supporting the students.
"If we stop Quidditch, then our relationship with Hogsmeade might
degrade, and we can't have that. Both parties depend a lot on each other.
and the village residents look after us and help with the safety of the
young ones during Hogsmeade weekends."
There were murmurs of approval from the three House Heads and a nod
with a hidden smile behind his beard.
"And because we don't need to protect ourselves," said Quinn, staring at
Umbridge as she was the one who preached this, "in case something like
Novellus Accionites incident happens again in Hogsmeade, we need the
assistance of village residents for protection."
Umbridge's expression darkened at Quinn's words.
"The terrorist group has been dismantled by Auror's office," said
Umbridge. "They won't be coming to Hogsmeade anymore."
"Hmm," he looked at Cedric and asked in a wondering tone, "how many
people died during the attack. . . wait, I remember, yes. . . three people
died."
The room was silent, and everyone looked at Umbridge, who looked like
someone had fed her shit. The Novellus Accionite incident was a taint on
the Ministry's reputation and lack of response that led to the deaths —
they had to essentially rely on the Invisible Vigilante because if he wasn't
there, the deaths count would've been much higher.
Quinn then took out another series of letters from his pockets.
"These are the letter from various eateries and watering holes. Last year, I
had radio equipment installed to transmit the game commentary over a
magical radiofrequency," Quinn smiled widely. "It seems that many of
those restaurants and pubs would like to continue to get Hogwarts
Quidditch games broadcasted and have shown their support by offering
donation funds to set up Hogwart's own broadcasting system so that they
can continue to get game commentary that their customers liked so
much."
The team captains and even the House Heads looked surprised that
Quinn had gotten these letters. They all loved it! This was perfect
reasoning for continuing Quidditch.
Umbridge looked red with embarrassment and anger and was about to
say that they were a school, a place of education, and not some
entertainment center for filthy eateries and watering holes, but then she
saw Quinn take out another letter.
"This is the letter of commendation from the Head of Magical Sports,"
said Quinn, pulling out a letter from Ludo Bagman(who had sent the
letter back in two hours after getting Quinn's demands). "He believes that
Hogwarts without Quidditch isn't Hogwarts at all. He urges that
Quidditch shouldn't be stopped and that Quidditch teams should be
exempt from Education Decree Twenty-Four to keep the tradition with
such rich history to continue existing."
Baam, a letter from someone in Ministry itself supporting a decision in
opposition to Ummbridge's (the Ministry representative) decision. Now,
even Snape looked impressed in his corner.
Umbridge wanted nothing more than to blow up and scream bloody
murder at how she was the Senior Undersecretary to the Ministry, and
her decision was final, but then her words died in her throat before she
could even open her mouth as Quinn took yet another thin stack letter.
"These are the letters from the eight of the twelve members of the
Hogwarts Board of Governors," said Quinn, "they have all supported that
Quidditch should return to Hogwarts and that the game helps promote
unity between students and is essential for relaxation from the studies.
They have individually written their recommendations with their seals
and signatures and demand that this problem be solved immediately."
While Education Decree Twenty-Three gave the High Inquisitor
substantial power and even exempted her from answering to the Board's
authority so they couldn't touch Umbridge, but they still held plenty of
power, and while they had penned the letters as 'recommendation' it was
clear that they were demanding Quidditch teams to reinstated.
Quinn had sent out letters making them aware of the situation under the
AID letterhead, and because of the last year's tournament, that name now
held some weight in the Board members' eyes and his name that he had
put along with his name at the end of every one of the letters helped.
Eight people that Quinn was sure weren't in cahoots with Umbridge
received the letters, and as he expected, they replied with these glorious
letters.
He once again ignored Umbridge and handed the letters to Dumbledore.
He was done — he had started with pulling out the tickling feather in the
form of student signatures; then a slap in the face in the form of
Hogsmeade letters; the restaurant and pub letters were Stunning spell; a
Cruciatus curse with the Ludo Bagman's glowing letter; and finally, cast a
Killing curse with Board members' recommendation/demands.
"Now, Madam High Inquisitor," said Quinn as he took yet another stack
of letters, "the Board members have asked me for your decisions because
if you're not comfortable with continuing Quidditch, they are thinking to
directly approach the Minister to see if he can do something about this
problem. . . so, should I send them in, or would you be taking their
'recommendations' into considerations?"
Everyone watched the very still Umbridge sitting in her chair. Fudge had
issued Education Decree Twenty-Four to thwart any 'rebel groups' that he
feared Dumbledore was building. If people started to go complain to
Fudge that she had been using the Decree to shut something like
Quidditch, he wouldn't be happy, and if the news went out and the
'uncontrolled' reporters caught the whiff of what she did, it would give
Dumbledore the chance to creep back some control.
". . . Seeing so much support for Quidditch warms my heart," said
Umbridge with a thin smile and extra sweet smile, "I will accept the
Boards' recommendation and reinstate the three Quidditch teams. . .
effective immediately." She raised her hand to ask for the letters that
Quinn was going to send to Board members, but Quinn pocketed them
with a smile.
Umbridge's face couldn't be any more darker than it was now. She
immediately excused herself as she was 'busy.' When she exited, the three
captains and their House Heads outright celebrated loudly as Dumbledore
smiled and Snape frowned at the noise.
That day, Quinn received word of thanks, gifts from every Quidditch
team member from all three houses, and many kisses on checks from
many girl members. Eddie said that even he was very tempted to kiss
Quinn, but both decided that it was enough to hug it out.
.
Quinn West - MC - You. Have. Been. Served!
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - That was entertaining; nicely done.
Dolores Umbridge - Pink & Red - Didn't even have time to pull up the
Suprised Pikachu face.
Three Captains - Captains yet again - 'In your face, Umbitch!' they
thought.
Three House Heads - Happy - Spread the entire thing to the rest of the
faculty and had a celebration party.
Severus Snape - Fourth House Head - Noisy. . .
.
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215. Chapter 215: Wall's Secrets,
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The gray room in the Architect's vault with the dull ambiance was now lit
with shining MLE throwing their luminescent glow to brighten up every
corner of the place. In the lit-up room, Quinn sat beside the pedestal with
his hands on the pedestal.
After getting the plainly visible(fantastically hidden) clue from Stigweard
Gragg's autobiography, Quinn had decided to act on the hint and arrived
at the vault the first chance he got. Now, as he sat in the room with
magic seeping into the pedestal through his hands, Quinn could feel the
existence of something other than solid stone.
"There's nothing in there," he muttered in a low voice, but it reverberated
in the room. He had been sitting in his current position for many
minutes, but there was nothing in the pedestal stone.
He was using the same principle used by him in his aquatic sonar skill
but with Earth magic to sense around the floor using earthen vibrations.
When it came to elemental magic, Quinn was a master at Water, Wind,
Ice magic which he learned from his various escapades, but that didn't
mean that he was clueless about the other elements — it was a dream of
every boy to control elements like a god, and Quinn was no different in
that regard — he had knowledge for and skill in other elements like Fire,
Lightning, and Earth, albeit at a lower level than Water, Wind, and Ice.
He sighed heavily and retreated his hands from the pedestal. He propped
his upper body with his arms acting as a support with his palms against
the floor.
Earlier today, when he had entered the vault, Quinn was excited about
finally making some progress and hopefully finding the answer to the
pedestal-archway problem, and just maybe applying the solution today
itself to move onwards, but from the looks of it, none of that was going to
happen.
"Maybe I just need to hone my Earth magic. . . maybe there's something
here, but my magic can't detect it," his Earth magic was indeed weaker
than his other specialties.
Given that there was nothing for him to do, Quinn decided to just
practice his Earth magic right here between some very natural, earthen
rock. His magic once again started to seep out of his palms, this time into
the floor. It was only a couple of seconds before Quinn snapped out of his
thoughts and sat up straight. He looked towards the floor and once again
placed his palms to spread his magic inside, and there was it; he hadn't
imagined it.
"Oh my, there's really something in there," he muttered and closed his
eyes. "Can't tell what it is," he said with his brows furrowed, "it's all so
fuzzy."
Quinn could feel a couple of inches of stone layers that acted as the floor,
but beneath that, there were plenty of hollow spots of various shapes and
sizes dotting his range.
"Well, I can't break the floor now," he sighed. He didn't know what was
inside, so it was too risky to split the floor as he had originally planned if
the autobiography hadn't given him anything to see what was stopping
the pedestal from sinking into the floor.
"Hmm. . . I guess I need to improve my skill to clear the fuzziness of
what's inside. . . but, how far does this go?" Quinn crawled on his knees
and plodded around the pedestal, and as he expected, the hollow spots
were all around the pedestal.
"I should mark the area till these hollow spots extend," he said and
reached into his pocket before summoning a red piece of chalk; it was
made from the special material to be used in runes, but he didn't have
anything else, so he had to make do with an overqualified stick of chalk.
Quinn started to crawl outwards, and every ten inches, he would stop
with the chalk ready to mark a circle, but no matter how many ten inches
he repeated, the fuzzy hollow spots didn't stop appearing. Soon, he was
at the edge of the floor where it met with the walls.
"Don't tell me. . ."
He immediately stood up on his feet and put his hands on the wall, and it
was as he expected. The hollow spots extended into the walls as well. To
make sure, Quinn walked around the room, his hands gliding on every
surface he could touch(he even climbed up to the roof), and the result
was the same.
As he stood beside the pedestal with his eyes surveying every corner of
the room.
"Except this thing," he patted the pedestal, "there are hollow spots inside
every single thing. . . pretty sure that Architect didn't skimp on costs by
using cheap material. . . there's something in there. . . the question is
what?"
Quinn rubbed the teal ring on his hand, and his thoughts went to the way
he had found it — there was a pattern to the Architect's method, and if
the second clue was infuriating, Quinn had an inkling that the second
clue in the autobiography was just one of the places that the Architect
might have dropped that line (pure conjecture.)
"The hollow spots must have something to do with the pedestal. . . they
key is Earth magic. . . I wonder what I would find. . . "Quinn exhaled
before climbing the pedestal to sit on it. A book came out from his
pockets, and his research on Earth magic began. . . if nothing, he was
going to get increased Eath magic skills out of this.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Ivy Potter(The leader of DA), Hermione Granger(The Gryffindor
representative), Daphne Greengrass(The Slytherin representative),
Marcus Belby(The Ravenclaw representative), Susan Bones(The
Hufflepuff representative) all sat in a modified AID office — a round
table had been placed in the middle of the office around which all the
members sat — while Luna Lovegood(the AID representative) sat behind
Quinn's desk with her wand out poking around a rhombicuboctahedron
made from various materials (woods, glass, steel, aluminum, rubber, etc.
. .)
These people had gathered here to discuss matters about DA, and Quinn
had been generous enough to lend him his office to hold the meeting
while he was out. Of course, Luna was there to keep an eye on them.
"We have to work something out because if this keeps happening, we
won't be able to fix another DA meet," said Ivy with the Marauder's Map
open on her lap to keep an eye on Umbridge, Filch, or anyone who seems
to lurk around outside the AID office.
It had been two weeks since DA was formed, and they had two meets,
and things had been going smoothly in those two weeks, but now they
were finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for
DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate Quidditch
teams' practice (there were no Slytherin Quidditch team members in DA),
which were often rearranged depending on the weather conditions.
"It would be better if we don't try to keep a fixed night for the practices,"
said Marcus, after considering the Quidditch situation, "It would be better
for us to keep the timings of our meetings unpredictable and flexible,
seeing that it suits our needs better. . . and if anyone was watching us, it
would be hard to make out a pattern."
"I concur," said Daphne shortly.
"That's fine and all, but we would still need to work off the Quidditch
schedule because that's when the Quidditch players are free," Susan
Bones said while looking, "and only if there are any last-minute changes
— which seeing the recent weather are going to be plenty — that we are
going to change our schedule."
"Then we will need a method of communication to communicate the time
and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to
change it at short notice because it would look so suspicious if people
from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each
other too often," said Hermione, adding her two knuts.
The five people collectively sighed. The Quidditch reinstation had hit
them hard — from early morning to the last moment before the curfew
started, the Quidditch pitch had been aggressively occupied as the three
teams started their team training camps later than usual — Gryffindor,
Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw teams worked overtime to procure the little
field time they could get after Snape would assign a big chunk to
Slytherin even after their regular protests.
"Any idea on how to bring about this secretive exchange of information?"
asked Ivy as the moderator to keep the conversation moving.
"I have an idea," said Hermoine, "I was thinking of using the Protean
charm—"
Hermione stopped as Luna suddenly got up from her barstool, making a
noise and all but ran into the place behind the red door as it shut closed
behind her, startling them with her abruptness.
"Uhm, I know this might be out of context," said Susan curiously, "but
what's behind that red door. . . "
Ivy and Hermione exchanged quick glances remembering the time they
had thought of the question and the outcome of their curiousness. Ivy did
know what was inside, even though she was looking in the dark with a
Lumos lit at her wand tip.
"It's Quinn's workshop," said Marcus without looking up from the current
standing schedules.
"Have you been in there?" asked Susan, more curiously.
"Hmm? Yes, a couple of times," answered Marcus.
" " " "You have(?/?!)" " " " asked all four girls in unison.
Marcus looked up, startled at the sudden barrage of questions at him. "Y-
Yes, I have. . . like I said, it's a workshop — with everything you would
find in a standard workshop. . . though he does have pretty strange stuff
there. . ." there was a look in his eyes that showed that he couldn't forget
things even if he wanted to forget.
The red door opened up again and came out Luna with a sheet of paper
in her hand as she approached the table. She placed the paper smack dab
in the middle of the table.
"As part of the spell-enchanting initiative launched in 1994, AID provides
a mass order service where you, for a small fee, can place objects in bulk
quantity to be charmed with spells of your choice," said Luna as if
remembering something she had read from a manual. "And lucky for you,
as it so happens, our extensive list of spells do include the Protean charm
in them," she pointed at the list of spells, and there it was — Protean
charm.
Luna then raised her sleeve to show her black wrist bracelet with a silver
tag on it. She raised her wand and tapped it for the words — [Hello.] —
to appear on them.
They all watched as the words disappeared and a — [Hey, what is it?] —
appeared on the silver.
Luna tapped her wand once again — [Making a sale.]
The five people raised their brows at that.
[. . . Isn't the DA meet going on?] — came the reply.
Luna nodded even though the conversation wasn't face-to-face — [I'm
selling the Protean charm 2 them. . .] [. . . this is a demonstration.]
[Ah. . . let me guess. They're thinking of. . .] — the disappeared and new
words appeared — [. . . ways 2 communicate 4 meeting times.]
The five representatives blinked, but they weren't surprised.
Another message came back — [Well, if U can, close the deal, C U later.]
Luna pulled her back, and the conversation was over. "We offer cheap
rates and have express delivery times. We can craft the object to be
charmed in accordance with the designs you submit, or you can provide
us with the objects, and we can charm them in any Protean configuration
you desire," she said, finally finishing her pitch, and waited for the
response.
Daphne was the one to speak for the group. "Thank you for that
demonstration, Luna. We will let you know our decision after some
discussion," she said.
Luna nodded and then skipped back to Quinn's desk, back to whatever
she was doing before going to pitch mode.
"So, as I was saying," started Hermione, "we can use Protean charm to
enchant a non-descript object to communicate the date and times of the
meetings. . . as for enchanting the object," she looked at Luna, casting
magic at the multi-sided object, "I guess we can outsource to AID."
"What're we going to charm?" asked Susan about the non-descript object
that Hermione talked about.
"We can discuss that out, and one of us can tell it to Quinn," said Marcus.
" "I will/can do it." " — came two offers.
Ivy and Daphne looked at the other. For a second, they looked at each
other with confusion, then varying emotions, and then their eyes flashed
a sharp glint at each other.
But then something caught Ivy's eye, and she looked down at Marauder's
Map.
"Filch is coming this way," she said while getting, "we need to leave."
This was the deal for using the AID office for the meeting. They had to
leave before anyone could see them together, giving Umbridge the
leverage to shut down AID. It didn't matter if it was one minute after the
meeting; if they saw someone lurking around, they would have to leave.
Everyone got up and followed Ivy out of the office as Luna waved them
goodbye. Ivy led them through one of the secret passages mentioned in
the map, and soon they were on an entirely different floor away from the
AID office.
"We will discuss this later," said Daphne, "get your ideas ready for the
next time we can meet."
They nodded and were about to disperse into their respective directions
when Hermione spoke up,
"Marcus," she called, "can I talk to you for a moment. . . I want to talk
about Ravenclaw Quidditch schedules." She also turned to Ivy and said,
"You go ahead, I will meet you in the common room."
Ivy shrugged and walked away, as did Susan and Daphne, leaving behind
Hermione and Marcus.
"What is it?" asked Marcus, "I already gave you the booking schedule for
this week."
"I don't want to talk about Quidditch," said Hermione quickly, "I want to
talk about Quinn."
Marcus became a bit suspicious. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Hermione took a deep breath and directly came to the point, completely
cutting out the beat-around-the-bush phase. "Does Quinn like
Greengrass?" she asked.
It took Marcus a few seconds to make sense of the words that entered his
ears. "Why. . . do you ask that?" he asked in reply.
"I want to know," she said shortly.
"Do you. . . like him?" asked Marcus, thinking that's why she was asking.
"No! I like someone else," said Hermione trying to squash that line of
conversation, "I'm asking for a friend of mine. . . she likes Quinn."
Marcus didn't completely buy that reason. . . it was cliche. "Okay. . . but
where did you find hear that Quinn likes Daphne," he asked.
"Carmichael," she answered.
"Eddie said that?"
"Yes, does Quinn like Greengrass, or not?"
"I can't be sure because Quinn doesn't really talk about who he likes or
not."
"So, Carmichael was lying?" said Hermione hopefully.
"I wouldn't say Eddie was lying; as I said, Quinn hasn't ever brought up
who he likes, so all we can do is guess who he likes," said Marcus
chuckling and sighing at the same time. "We have actually talked about
this a lot and observed Quinn when he's around girls, and in doing so,
there have only been a few who he's free around, and one of them is
Daphne — she's the one he's most comfortable around. . . so, Eddie
must've pushed that as Quinn liking Daphne, and we never know, it
might be true. . . but Quinn is a private bloke, so only he knows."
"So, Quinn has never said that he likes Daphne?" asked Hermione.
Marcus shook his head.
'That was good. This was really good,' thought Hermione.
If it was someone else, then the words of friends might have counted as
something, but this was Quinn West they were talking about; one could
never be sure about the things said about him if it didn't come from his
own mouth (even then things could still be a bit iffy.)
If Quinn didn't say that he liked Daphne Greengrass. Then there was still
hope for her friend.
But at the same time, things weren't all well. If Tracey Davis asking Eddie
Carmichael about who Quinn liked wasn't a sign, then today, Daphne and
Ivy shooting daggers at each other was the proof.
'Daphne Greengrass also likes Quinn,' thought Hemione, 'and time of the
essence.'
"Thank you, Marcus," she smiled, "that helped a lot; also, let's keep this
between us. My friend doesn't want anyone to know that she likes Quinn
just yet. . . you know what is it like, us girls can be mean. . . okay, see
you later."
Then she all but bolted, leaving Marcus behind, confused.
"Girls are mean? They are confusing as well."
.
Quinn West - MC - I'm BZY, C U 2morow.
Luna Lovegood - Employee - I pitched, I'm done; back to work.
Ivy Potter - DA Leader - Likes Quinn.
Daphne Greengrass - Slytherin representative - Likes Quinn.
Susan Bones - Hufflepuff representative - Doesn't like Quinn.
Marcus Belby - Ravenclaw representative - Likes Quinn, but not that way.
Hermoine Granger - Gryffindor representative - Doing best friend duties.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I'm L8, C U 2morow. . . maybe, tomorrow
mid-terms start yet again. Man, three trimester an year has too many
examinations.
.
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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 synopsis!
216. Chapter 216: Fooking
Records!
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As the first Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw,
drew nearer, the excitement in the castle grew as well — The fact that
the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably the
interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game — after all,
while Quinn's Quidditch tournament was new and exciting with ten
brand new teams, there was nothing more invigorating and blood boiling
than a long stand House rivalry.
The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the
outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the
coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though
they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship,
were determined to see their side's victory.
Many had soon realized how much Flitwick cared about beating Slytherin
when he abstained from giving the Ravenclaw Quidditch team members
homework in the week leading up to the match.
"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," he had
said squeakily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked
directly at Eddie and Cho and said grimly, "I've grown sick of seeing the
Quidditch Cup in Minerva's study, and neither do I want to see it in
Severus' dingy dungeon office nor in Pomona's plant-infested study. So,
use the extra time to practice, won't you?"
Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch
for Slytherin practice so often that the Ravenclaw had difficulty getting
on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of
Slytherin attempts to hex Ravenclaw players in the corridors. When
Hailey Chambers, Chaser, turned up in the hospital wing with her
eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and
obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a
Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen
eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles
Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the
library. But he was quick to give detention to Eddie when he had —
Depulso'd —Miles Bletchley into the wall from behind, smashing the
Slytherin Keeper's nose badly.
Despite being penalized with detention, Eddie felt optimistic about
Ravenclaw's chances; no way in hell were they going to lose to snakes.
Admittedly the lack of practice time did hurt the in-synergy between the
three Chasers and two Beaters. On the other hand, they also had spikes of
greatness with point-perfect pass routes by Chasers and interceptions by
the Beaters: During one memorable practice, the Chaser trio had passed
the balls twenty-five times in one play to absolutely confuse the Beaters
on who to go after to get the ball; on that day, they weren't able to
intercept a single pass as the Quaffle moved a bit too quickly for them to
pick it.
In one of the open group discussions, Cho had said that Eddie looked
much better with the Quaffle than he did last year — which was to say
something given that he was by far the best Chaser in the previous year's
tournament — that there was a focus in his eyes that scared even the
Ravenclaw Beaters, even though they weren't going to play him in a
match.
Even Slytherin's tactics of trying to rile Eddie up were failing
spectacularly. How were they supposed to rile a guy up who would rile
them up every time he opened his mouth, and after the Miles Bletchley
incident, no one in Slytherin dared to curse Eddie in freat of brutal
retaliation.
October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain,
and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every
morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and
the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains
around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle
dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon
skin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Quinn woke
up, he looked around at Eddie's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his
legs crossed with his hands resting on his knees as he stared fixedly into
space.
"You all right?" asked Quinn.
Eddie nodded but did not speak. The two didn't exchange a single word
that day during their morning workout session — Eddie knew what to do
on a game day morning, and Quinn didn't want to disturb whatever was
going on.
The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived — the talk louder
and the mood more exuberant than usual. The Ravenclaw and Slytherin
House table being next to each other, when Quinn, Eddie, and Marcus,
walked through the space between the table, the Slytherin Quidditch
members spoke up,
"Hey, Eddie-boy, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your
broom."
Eddie turned to the laughing Slytherin lads and shrugged, "Warrington's
aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next
to me," he retorted calmly, which made Quinn and Marcus guffaw and
wiped the smirks of the Slytherin's face.
"Get yourself a bed booked in Hospital Wing, Carmichael," said
Warrington, Beater. "Who knows, you might just crash into the pitch like
last year. . ."
"Well, then I'll go out like a tough son of a wand, and not like a whiny
little bitch like you who cries out for mum every time someone does as
much as touch you," scoffed Eddie.
Warrington's face darkened, and he stood up from his chair. He was taller
than so Eddie had to look up at him when he walked closer.
"You wanna fight, big boy?" said Eddie.
"Don't push your luck, Carmichael," said Warrington, threatening.
Eddie lightly chuckled and stepped very close to Warrington, "How about
you pinch yourself, you might be dreaming about beating me up; it'd do
you good to wake up and apologize to me, big bitch."
Behind Eddie, Quinn leaned towards Marcus and whispered, "He seems
unusually calm today."
Marcus nodded, "He indeed seems quieter today."
After the heated stand-off was broken off, they sat down to have their
breakfast.
"How're you feeling?" Marcus asked Eddie, who was pilling up food onto
his plate, stocking himself up for the game. "Are you nervous?"
"Some nervousness is good; it keeps you on your toes," said Quinn
chiming in.
"Hello," said the vague, dreamy, and, more importantly, familiar voice
from behind him. Eddie looked up: Luna stood there behind and close to
him. Many people were staring at her and a few openly laughing and
pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a larger-than-life-
sized eagle's head, which was perched precariously on her head.
"Ah, so this was what you were making, huh," said Quinn in
understanding. He had seen her, in passing, huddled up in the corner of
the workshop, making something.
"I'm supporting Ravenclaw," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat.
"Look what it does . . ."
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth
wide and gave an incredibly realistic eagle's peal that made everyone in
the vicinity jump.
"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a
serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway .
. . good luck, Eddie!"
Then she drifted away.
"Luna! What about breakfast?" called Quinn, but the blonde with the
eagle hat was already in her own world.
They had not quite recovered from Luna's hat before Roger came
hurrying toward them, accompanied by Cho and Hailey, whose eyebrows
had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.
"When you're ready," said Roger, "we're going to go straight down to the
pitch, check out conditions, and change."
"I'm ready, I woke up ready, I came to Hogwarts ready, I drank my mum's
milk ready, I was born ready," said Eddie. As he got up, Quinn got up,
looing his arm around Marcus' neck.
"I bet that Eddie is going to massacre anyone and everyone in his way,"
he said.
"I thought you weren't allowed to bet," said Marcus pumping a brow up.
"That was last year," said Quinn, silently shooting a list pinching hex into
Warrington's butt, who immediately yelped while jumping. "With
Umbridge here, I can't open up a gambling den; she would slam it shut
and take away AID for that. . . but that doesn't mean we," he shook
Marcus a little, "can't have a friendly, off-the-books, teeny-tiny bet."
"But I too want to bet on Eddie kicking everybody's arse today."
"Ah, but we can't bet on the same side," Quinn looked around the Great
Hall, "maybe we can find the Harry Potter and scam some money out of
him — no way he's going to bet in Eddie's favor."
The mention of Potter made Marcus remember something and someone.
"Hey, Quinn," he asked.
"Hmm?"
"There's a girl that likes you."
Quinn turned his head towards Marcus with a 'where-did-that-come-from'
expression. There was also the point that Quinn did time-to-time get
confessed to (the number would have been higher if the girls could get a
hold of Quinn more.) So Marcus and Eddie never brought 'a girl liking
him' into their conversation as he had rejected every confession.
"Well, it came from Hermione' ever-so-serious' Granger. . . thought that I
should bring it up," said Marcus.
"Hermione's friend. . . did she say who specifically it was?"
"Nuh-uh, she didn't. . . I think she's the one who likes you."
"Na," said Quinn waving that chain of thought off, "Hermione likes Harry.
. . that much is clearly obvious from last year's Yule Ball. . . well,
whatever, we'll see whenever this 'friend' of her arrives, if she does that
is."
"You aren't curious at all?"
". . . No."
Marcus stared at Quinn as his best friend stayed silent, refusing to
comment. "You're thinking who she is, aren't you?"
"Am not," said Quinn a bit too quickly.
"Yeah, right."
That conversation died the second they stepped outside the Entrance
Hall, down the steps, and out into the icy air.
The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the
sloping lawns toward the stadium. There was no wind at all, and the sky
was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good
without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. That could mean that
the Seekers would be able to spot the snitch easier, the Keepers would
have a clear view of the Quaffle, the Chasers would have a clearer view
of the incoming Bludgers, and the Beaters would have a clear view of
who set the Beaters on. Overall, the weather had set up the scene for the
game to be an excellent one.
Quinn sat down on the commentator's chair and dragged his palms over
the armrest with a smile as he exhaled deeply. He could hear hundreds of
footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands now.
Some people were singing, though Quinn could not make out the words.
"It's good to be back," said Quinn before turning back to the Professors.
"Good Afternoon, all of you. . . looking sharp for the opening day game."
The Professors, however, were dressed as they did every day, except for
Flitwick and McGonagall, who both had worn robes with House shades,
showing their silent support.
"Ready for another season of commentary, Mr. West?" asked Sprout
smiling a homely smile.
"The weather is excellent; the company is excellent; I'm feeling chipper; I
can safely say that this season is going to be a great one," said Quinn with
a beaming smile as he roamed his eyes over the Professors, including one
pink person, who had a fake, plastic smile plastered over her face.
"Alright, let's get started," said Quinn as he grabbed the microphone and
pumped magic into it, "GOOOOD MOOOORNING, HOGWARTS! I
welcome all of you to yet another season of Quidditch Cup, brought to
you by the Four Houses of Hogwarts. Let's beat the cold by making some
noise; give some yells to heat the stadium up."
There was a positively enthusiastic response akin to an army going out to
war, causing a beaming plastic on his face.
"Okay, people! That! Was! Nice!" spoke Quinn into the microphone and
then looked at from a list in his hands. "I've only just found out the final
lineup for Slytherin. Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left now,
but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with. . . ah, two blokes
called Crabbe and Goyle — I'd say an interesting choice from Slytherin.
"From the Ravenclaw side, there is only one change from the team two
years ago because of the team being youngest of all four at that time. . .
Eddie Carmichael, the Best Chaser from the last year's Quidditch
Tournament, will be officially donning the Ravenclaw colors for the first
time in his debut game."
There was a fanatic cheer from the Ravenclaw stands at Eddie being
mentioned. He hadn't officially played a game, but he was already the
star player.
"Now, let's bring the two teams in. Feast your eyes on the serpents and
the eagles! Welcome the predators of land and air!"
Both teams came out of their tunnels, already mounted their brooms, in a
single file and into the dazzling sky. They circled the stands once as the
roaring sounds greeted them with a mixture of cheers and whistles.
On the middle of the pitch, both teams gathered, still in two single files.
And as the game hadn't started, it was time for the resident Ravenclaw
foul-mouth to shine.
"So, snakes," said Eddie plainly as if bored, "I'm really interested in the
outcome of this year's Quidditch Cup," he raised his arm to observe his
gloved hand, "interested in who's going to finish in the second place. I
wish you the best of luck so that you can at least finish on the podium."
He looked up at them with a smirk oozing with smugness and confidence.
The Ravenclaw members smiled as the Slytherin's face's dropped.
"Your arrogance astounds me, Carmichael," said Bole from Slytherin.
Eddie jutted out his lower lip and shook his head as he spoke, "I'm not
arrogant; I'm just that good. It ain't braggin' if you can back it up. . . That
can't be said for you, unfortunately."
Bole was about to say something, but Madam Hooch approached the
teams, and before she could say anything, Eddie spoke up.
"Madam Hooch, can you please make it a rule this year that the other
teams aren't allowed to cover me with just one person? They must bring
at least two people if they want to defend against me because that one
unfortunate bloke who would cover me on his own would suffer the most
embarrassing moments of their life. . . at least if there were two, they
could share the blame for the rest of their lives."
Madam Hooch sighed and turned to the two captains.
"Captains shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Roger and
Montague reached each other. Eddie could tell that Montague was trying
to crush Angelina's fingers, though he did not wince. "Mount your brooms
. . ."
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released, and the fourteen players shot in various
directions; out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see the Quaffle going
up in slow motion. It was done in an instant; his broom changed
direction, and he zoomed up toward the blue ball.
Derrick, a Slytherin Chaser, grinned wildly as he reached out his hands
towards the flying Quaffle — he was going to score the first goal of the
season.
'Yes!' he thought as his fingertips were barely an inch away from the
Quaffle, but then his eye caught a set of fingers in their sight, then a
complete hand. . . half an arm till the elbow. . . entire arm with a
shoulder. . . and soon Derrick's sight was covered by Eddie Carmichael
grabbing the Quaffle.
But it was just for an instant as Eddie disappeared from his sight.
"Huh?" uttered Derrick, and he looked to his left, but there was no sign of
Eddie, "where—"
His voice died down in his throat as the cheers of the crowd drowned
him out, and the commentary sounded out.
"GOAL! The first goal of the season is scored, and it's by none other than
EDDIE CARMICHEAL!"
"Haaa?!" yelled Derrick and turned towards the Slytherin's goal, and his
eyes widened as a flash passed by him — it was Eddie Carmichael. He
flew past him without giving Derrick a single glance — the game was,
and gone with it was Eddie's trash talk.
That day. . .
"And it's Carmichael, Carmichael with the Quaffle, what a player that
man is, I've been seeing him play for years, all I can say that he whines
too much. . . Oh! HE SCORES!"
That day. . .
". . . and he's ducked Warrington, he's passed Montague, Carmichael's —
ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe. . . . Montague
catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice
Bludger there from Howard Bonnet, that's a Bludger to the head for
Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Roger Davies, Roger Davies of
Ravenclaw reverse passes to Carmichael, and he's away — ah! what
speed, what maneuverability with the broom — ah, HE SCORES once
again."
That day. . .
The chants of "Sieve, Sieve, Sieve, Sieve" from Ravenclaw covered the
stadium as Slytherin's Keeper's ability was all but absent in front of Eddie.
That day. . .
All it took was two hours — in two hours, Ravenclaw had a 100 point
lead on Slytherin with a score of 210-60, with Eddie scoring 120 points
on his own.
That day. . .
"We're seeing history, my friends," said Quinn, genuinely hyped as he
stood near the same railing that he had broken, "120 points, 12 goals, 7
assists, and in a rare feat by a Chaser, 6 steals. . . Eddie Carmichael has
broken the previous long-standing Chaser record for joint stat line in a
single Hogwarts game. . . by 40 points, 4 goals, 1 assist, and 3 steals."
A minute after Quinn's announcement, the worst thing for Slytherin
happened as Cho Chang caught the snitch, putting an end to the game
with the final score of 360-60. . . a 300 point crushing, crippling defeat.
At the end of the game, Eddie took out his wand from his robes and flew
to the center of the pitch, and cast a — "SONOROUS."
"Listen up all of your, be it Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor. I, Eddie
Carmichael, declare this in front of all of you — We. Are. Going. To. Win.
Every. Single. Game. This year, we will win the Quidditch Cup with an
undefeated season. . . so, get ready to swallow defeat and pray to
whoever you believe in that your teams come out of this because. . ."
He filled his lungs with air.
"WE'RE HERE NOT TO TAKE PART. WE'RE HERE TO TAKE OVER!"
Then a maniacal laugh filled the stadium.
"You guys are so screwed, hahahaha!"
The amount of garbage that was thrown from the stands also broke the
previous records.
.
Quinn West - MC - Nuh-uh, I ain't thinking. . .
Eddie Carmichael - Record-breaking Chaser - Records? I break records for
pass time.
Marcus Belby - Best friend - Did you think I won't tell?
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Eddie really is one of my fav. characters |
Also, Day-1 of 4 is over. 2 of 7 subjects are done. The update might be
janky for the remaining three days, but let's hope I do have the time and
energy to keep the schedule up.
.
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!
217. Chapter 217: DA Files:
Style&Imagination
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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"Looks like everyone is here. . . Welcome back, all of you," said Quinn as
he closed the Room of Requirements to anyone outside. He removed his
outer robe and hung it on a coat rack that appeared beside him. "I hope
all of you're feeling well and are ready for another day of fantastical and
mystic magical learning."
He walked to the center of the Room of Requirements as the DA members
gathered around him in a circle.
"Last time, we finally completed the duels, and I and hopefully you, now
know where your fellow peers lay on the skill ladder," he said while
rotating so he could look at everyone. "A key advantage of making you
guys duel each other is that it showed which spell you think you know
the best because usually in duels, people chose their best magic. . ."
Quinn raised a finger with a short pause, ". . . or to be more specific, they
chose the magic they think they're the best at — of course, that's not the
cause, is it."
He turned to Tracey and raised her hands towards her.
"Tracey Davis here chose the Disarming spell to strip Padma's wand, and
she thought it was her best or obvious option to end the duel but was it
the correct decision — don't get me wrong, it worked — but her
Disarming charm wasn't effective in a real-world scenario where the duel
doesn't end at Disarming the opponent. . . Any thoughts on why I say
that?"
From the circle, Harry raised his hand and spoke when Quinn nodded.
"The duel doesn't end until when you have entirely made sure that your
opponent can't cast a spell," said the son of an Auror.
Quinn acknowledged and nodded approvingly. "Exactly, stripping your
opponent off their wands doesn't mark the end of the duel." He pointed at
Padma Patil, "When she was disarmed by Tracey, Padma still had her
wand right beside her feet, which means Padma still had all the chance
to rearm herself, continue the duel, and maybe even turn the table on
Tracey.
"So, what we learn from Tracey and Padma's duel is that when engaging
in a duel, front with your best spells, and by that, I mean the spells that
you're a hundred percent can cast at a higher level of quality. . . if you're
casting the Disarming spell, then make sure it whips the wand out of
range. . . if you fancy the Stunner, then ensure that it knocks the person
out. . . if the Full-Body Bind is what tickles your wand, then it better
restrict your target like a death hold."
A third-year Gryffindor raised his hand hesitantly and asked, "What if we
don't have spells like that," his voice quietened a level, "spells that we're
good at."
There was a lot of eye shifting in the crowd as a lot of younger ones and
even some older ones had the same question in mind but weren't as brave
as the third-year Gryffindor to bring it up.
"That's why we are here," said Quinn smiling brightly to put everyone at
ease. "The objective of us gathering here is to learn how to cast spells
practically; you will learn defense and attacks spells, and even study
various charms. . . I sincerely hope that by the end of our time together,
all of you have a set of spells you're comfortable with."
Daphne raised her hand in question: "What are your preferred magics?"
Crippling-ice, drowning-water, raging-wind, perception-bending illusions,
mind-magic, flesh-severing spells, a spell that disabled body parts. . .
"I like the Stunner," said Quinn smiling. "It knocks the target out — no
muss, no fuss."
Another question was raised, this time it was Hermione: "What about
Harry and Carmichael's duel; both used various spells. From what I have
heard, the number of spells they used was extensive even for experienced
duelers."
Quinn glanced at the boys in question and recalled the duel they had.
There were indeed a lot of unique spells exchanged between the two.
He raised his arm and pointed at Harry, "Harry Potter is the son of a
Senior Auror, and from what I know, he has to learn a thing or two from
his father. It's not unusual for someone in Harry's position to learn a
variety of spells, which he showcased in his duel."
Then he pointed at Eddie and continued, "Eddie is my best friend, and
from that, I know how he learned magic. The way he duels is to cast a
series of non-repeating spells, with every single cast packing a punch on
its own. This way, the target can't get comfortable, and Eddie will exploit
that discomfort to land in a hit."
Quinn and Eddie's difference in casting ability and strength of spells was
akin to a great chasm. Eddie couldn't compare in that aspect; as such, he,
a long time ago shifted to the tactic of variety and speed — he would
never repeat a spell two times in a row and cast in the hopes of sneaking
one in and from time to time he had indeed surprised Quinn and had
come very close to get a hit, solidifying Eddie's belief, leading him to a
path on which he learned and practiced a variety of spells — something
that, Eddie as a Ravenclaw, had no qualms in doing.
"But!" said Quinn stressing. "You're not to copy both of these guys. The
style they use is suitable for them because they," he turned to Harry and
stared at them for a moment, "not they. . . Harry hasn't got the hang of
the high-variety dueling style. If he reduced his choice of spells, he
would've beaten Eddie."
"Hey!" said Eddie throwing his hands up.
"If you yapped less and cast more, you'd have won," said Quinn shrugging
— "As I was saying, high-variety casting only comes after you're
comfortable with a great number of spells and cast them under pressure.
If you're not skillful with various spells, you will mess up when it really
matters."
"What do you use?" came a question.
"I keep my spell-choice limited and only use a selected amount of spells
according to the situation," answered Quinn.
Quinn met the requirement for high-variety dueling, but a lot of his spell
arsenal was tied up in various situations:
Ice was extensively used by Invisible Vigilante,
Water was tied up by his stint at the Great Lake,
A lot of the spells that he was comfortable using in duels were 'dark' in
nature,
Illusion magic was free, but he hadn't developed a way that would fit in
with his current dueling style,
Mind magic was one of his foremost fortes, but the fact that he was
Legilimens was a tightly kept secret,
Body magic was definitely on the table,
Wind magic was still in development, but it was definitely at a stage
where 'Quinn West' could use it. But it was his decision to keep it as a last
resort,
Any of the above magics could be used by 'Quinn West,' but he refrained
from using them because they might attract attention and connect back
to him.
Quinn snapped out his thoughts when another question was raised to
him.
"Then is — limited-variety, can we say that — worse than high-variety?"
said Blaise Zabini.
"Not at all," said Quinn after a pause to collect himself, "if you choose
your spells wisely and master them, understand their use case, and delve
into variations, you'll have the confidence that they will work for you no
matter what the situation. . . High-variety style can be challenging to use
with practical effectiveness; that's why it's only seen used by Aurors and
Hit Wizards who are trained in various spells to combat every situation
they come across."
He once again pointed at Eddie.
"Look at him, he might practice high-variety, but his spells are largely
offensive spells with a severe shortage of defense spells. If he wasn't so
overbearing and quick with his offensive spells, he would've miserably
failed at dueling," Eddie puffed his chest in pride, but Quinn cut him
down the following sentence, "but if someone more skilled — not
powerful — than him got the initiative, Eddie would be screwed sooner
than he could get a cuss out of that mouth of his."
"Hey!" said Eddie once again, throwing his hands up.
"The point being is that it's better to concentrate on what is part of the
Hogwarts curriculum," said Quinn, "but you have to go beyond the level
and master the variations and capture the essence because that's the only
way you'll actually succeed at limited-variety style."
Quinn clapped his hands once.
"Let's stop the chit-chat and get at the good stuff. You guys are going to
divide into pairs and then use spells against each other. It's the best way
to learn, and it's really fun one-up your partner," Quinn pointed at Eddie
with his thumb. "Ask Eddie; he partners up with me when he wants to
learn a spell. Ask him how fun and effective it is."
When everyone turned to Eddie, they saw him make a disgusted face as if
someone had just stuffed a scoop of poop into his mouth and tied it shut.
One-on-ones were effective, but they weren't fun when you were against
Quinn because he would land every hit, and it would soon get frustrating;
it was only because of Eddie being Eddie that he was able to hang on
without rage quitting.
"We will start with something straightforward, something at a very
basic," said Quinn after everyone had divided themselves into pairs. "The
Disarming charm will be the first spell that DA will learn, and the first
step of it is to learn to learn how to get disarmed."
There was a pause in the excited pairs on officially learning settled down
for a moment.
"You mean learn how to disarm," said Ivy.
Quinn shook his head, "No, it's to learn how to get disarmed."
The murmurs rose. Discussing. What did Quinn mean by learning how to
get disarmed; was there a correct way to get. . . disarmed?
"The best way to learn a spell is to experience it," stated Quinn. "Of
course, there are spells like Reductor spell which you can't experience
and spells like Stunners which are harmful after a couple consecutive
hits, but spells like the Disarming spells can be experienced. So what I
want you to do is concentrate on how your hand feels when someone
disarms you. . . I want a person from the pair to disarm the other person
five times in a row before switching the other way round. . . Remember,
concentrate on the feeling of getting disarmed."
The feeling of confusion and doubt grew inside the Room of
Requirements as the pair members stared at each other, but. . .
"EXPELLIARMUS."
Everyone looked in the direction of the chant and saw Daphne
Greengrass picking up her wand and holding it straight up for Tracey
Davis to cast again — "EXPELLIARMUS" — the wand flew up once again
and fell into the air. Both girls were experienced with Quinn's methods as
he had made them understand what it meant to 'pull' while he taught
them the Seize-and-Pull spell.
Then another Disarming chant came from another direction, and
everyone saw Eddie Carmichael and Marcus Belby staring up towards the
ceiling. Marcus raised his hands up and caught his wand that dropped
into his hand from very high up.
"Can't you go easy?" said Marcus, "I fear that the wand might poke my
eye out."
"Hmmm," Eddie made the sound before — "EXPELLIARMUS" — and
Marcus' wand went flying into the air, really high.
Another two Disarming spell chant was heard, and they turned to see
Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, and Ivy Potter & Hermione Granger cast the
Disarming spells. Three out of four had gone through the same ordeal just
last year — they were just thankful they were starting light.
"Stop staring and start casting!" Everyone turned to see Quinn sitting on
the ground, legs crossed, with a big block of dark-gray stone in his hand.
"I want everyone to at least get sick about getting disarmed; that's the
aim~."
The room was suddenly full of shouts of "EXPELLIARMUS!": Wands flew
in all directions, missed spells hit books on shelves, and sent them flying
into the air. Quinn would look up from his rock time-to-time to glance
around and thought he had been right to suggest that they practice the
basics first; there was a lot of shoddy spellwork going on; many people
were not succeeding in disarming their opponents at all but merely
causing them to jump back a few paces or wince as the feeble spell
whooshed over them.
'I guess it will take some time,' thought Quinn before going back to his
rock.
Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown casted Disarming charms on each
other, with frustration building in both girls.
"Ugh, how long do I have to do this — EXPELLIARMUS!" said Lavender.
Parvati picked up her wand with a fed-up expression and aimed it at
Lavender as it was her chance to disarm Lavender. Her hand was feeling
chaffed at her wand repeatedly being stripped out of her grasp. She
winced a little as the wand in her grasp hurt and kept the tens of
disarming fresh in her wand.
'Aah, aah, disarming, disarming, disarming, it's so frustrating!' she
thought, and the feeling of a wand being disarmed grew stronger with
her anger — "EXPELLIARMUS!"
A scarlet zap escaped her wand struck Lavendar's hand; the wand flew
high into the air, and Parvati blinked in surprise as the wand spun in the
air and dropped into her raised hand.
"Huh?" Parvati stared at Lavander's wand in her hand with surprise. In
her last turn, she was barely able to push Lavender's wand out to a
distance outside her reach; getting into her own hand wasn't even in her
sights.
"Oh, you did it. Nicely done."
Parvati turned to see Quinn standing at a distance from her.
"By any chance, were you thinking about getting disarmed while
casting?" he asked.
"Y-Yes," said Parvati, still surprised to have cast the spell so well.
"Now, how about carrying that same feeling but this time channel them
towards Lavender specifically," said Quinn in advice.
Parvati nodded hurriedly, and after returning the wand to Lavender, she
once again cast — "EXPELLIARMUS" — and this time, she followed
Quinn's advice. Once again, Lavender's wand was in Parvati's hand.
"It was easier this time," said Parvati fascinated.
"That's to be expected," said Quinn with a smile, "that's how magic is cast
— magic within, focused through your wand, shaped by our intents and
imagination, made possible with the knowledge and the chant.
"Now, can you explain what you felt and did to Lavender?" asked Quinn.
Parvati nodded and immediately got to sharing her newly gained ability
with Lavender as if she had just heard a new hot piece of gossip that was
just too good not to be shared.
That day, from Parvati and Lavender, a chain of explanations and
demonstrations spread into the entire Room of Requirements as, one by
one, people started to understand how intent, imagination, and
knowledge worked together to form and shape magic.
"Till the next time I want you guys to practice the spell on anything you
can disarm; it can be clothes from hangers, lids from bottles, rings from
fingers, anything you can find, BUT!" he raised his voice, "it shouldn't be
outside the four walls of your dorm room. If Umbridge gets a whiff of
you trying spells out in the hallways, she will take advantage of the no
magic in hallway rule and push you into harsher detentions than
needed."
And with that, the DA meeting was dismissed.
After ensuring everyone was out of the Room of Requirements, the
Prefects in DA, with knowledge of patrol routes, led their respective
houses back to their common rooms. Hufflepuff and Slytherin took a
common route to the Dungeons, while Ravenclaw and Gryffindor took
another route to descend a couple of floors to go to their common rooms.
When they were on the fifth floor, Ivy watched as the Ravenclaw group
turned towards their common house, but she noticed that Quinn was
missing.
"Huh, but I just saw him with them on the seventh floor. . ." She turned
to Hermione and asked, "Does Quinn have patrol duty today?"
"No, he isn't on duty for two more days," said Hermione.
'Then where did he go?' wondered Ivy as they descended down to the
fourth floor, and she looked up the Grand Staircase. He could've gotten
down only one floor between the seventh and fifth floor, and that was the
sixth floor.
'But what's he doing on the sixth floor,' she wondered.
.
Quinn West - MC - Get sick of it to get good at it.
Eddie Carmichael - Ravenclaw - Hey!
Parvati Patil - Gryffindor - So, like, it was so, like. . .
Ivy Potter - Leader of DA - Noticed the vanishing act.
.
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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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218. Chapter 218: The Vault is a
Vault
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Magic was a supernatural force that changed aspects of the world at
fundamental levels while allowing the possessors to perform feats outside
the norm — feats like sensing what lay inside the deep, dense stones.
Quinn sat on the pedestal as an exceptional amount of magic flowed out
of his body into the stone all around him; every knock and cranny of the
vault room washed in his magic, filled to the brim, not a single grain of
stone was left untouched by Quinn's magic.
'Uh-huh,' thought Quinn as he channeled Earth magic, 'I'm close. . . I'm
really close; it just needs a little bit adjustment. . .'
Icy vault required his Ice magic to be excellent in both pure strength and
fine laser control and skill. The Aquatic vault had the same arrangement
with the solution to each trial being a mix of strength and skill, albeit
each trial gave more weight to one than the other.
But now, as Quinn sat in the Architect's vault, he realized that this room
only required pure skill for Earth magic without a requirement for power.
Anyone with a decent amount of magic could train fine-train their Earth
magic to succeed in this room, and currently, Quinn was close to making
a breakthrough in his Earth magic skill. What he was trying to
accomplish was to spread his magic into the stone and turn it into a sixth
sense that would provide him a 'view' of the entire room.
'The fuzziness is because I lack control over my Earth magic.'
Quinn's magic in the stone shifted at his command — the density of his
magic thickened in some places while in some areas, the magic thinned.
'Remember, it's not about the quantity of magic. The vault doesn't require
floods of magic. Stigweard Gragg was an architect; he was the Architect. .
. a profession that requires precision, calculation, and sureness to bring
their creations to life.'
The design and nature of his magic changed. The days of him studying
the type of this particular stone were ingrained in his mind, one of the
most immersed memory books that he possessed in his mindscape.
'Imagine being present in every particle of stone. . . put yourself in the
Architect's shoes. . . remember how to cast magic — focus your intent,
apply the knowledge you have learned, and turn imagination into reality.
. . and. . . bring about the blueprint, an architect's blueprint.'
Then it happened.
Quinn inhaled noisily as his magic clicked into place. The fuzziness that
he experienced lifted in all but an instant, and everything became clear
as if he was looking at the insides of the stone walls, floor, and ceilings in
a brightly lit environment.
He opened his eyes and whispered, "Illusion. . ." and the next moment,
the self-illusion he cast on himself translated his Earth sense into vision
— granting him something akin to x-ray vision.
'Illusion magic is convenient like that,' thought Quinn.
That was the last errant thought in Quinn's mind as the awe of the sight
in front of him overtook his mind.
"Stigweard Gragg. . . for the love of magic, he really was an architect
through and through, wasn't he."
On the day, he had found that there were hollow spots inside the walls,
floors, and ceiling; Quinn matched it with the solution to opening the
archway but not in his slight imagination did he imagine that the fuzzy
hollow would be something like this.
Every inch of the room, except the solid pedestal, was covered in gears of
hundred sizes, shafts of different lengths and thicknesses, levers of
different configurations, mechanical switches that locked into various
places, rotating axils with screw-ends, oscillating half-wheels, deadbolts
jammed into cam slots at dozens of sites, locking everything into place.
'The entire vault is god damned lock,' thought Quinn as he couldn't voice
it in words.
Just below the pedestal were nine thick plates of stone, each connected
to an intricate mechanism that, when solved, would separate the plates
from the middle, pulling them apart, allowing the pedestal to sink a level
with every solution.
"What a masterpiece," he muttered, "what ingenuity, what creativeness,
what must his mind be like for him to create something like this."
Every vault before this had been 'magical' in nature, but the Architect's
vault was purely mechanical, without a trace of magic except the
fortification of stone and fail-safes in case someone tried to brute their
way through the vault. Just the thought of someone turning the entire
room into one huge lock mechanism.
". . . I don't know this level of lock-picking."
Believe it or not, he had ordered various locks to pick while doing extra
research on Unlocking charms (he followed the same method he taught
in DA), but this was another level — this was the level used in
complicated safes and. . . vaults.
Quinn jumped down from the pedestal and put his hands to his sides.
"I suppose I need to learn how to pick safes now," he said while sighing
but with a big smile on his face.
This was going to be different; he could feel it, and it made him excited
all over again. He was going to learn something new, and that made his
body fill up with giddiness.
"This is going to be grand."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The Golden Squad exited Hagrid's house after having a good long chat
with the recently home half-Giant.
"He was in bad shape," said Hermione sighing.
Ron snorted in response, "Bad is saying it lightly. I'm pretty sure he had
his ribs broken." Broken ribs weren't a severe injury in the magical world,
but it was terrible anywhere if the injury was left unintended for days or
yet more than a month, as in this case.
Hagrid's hair was matted with congealed blood, and his left eye had been
reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of purple-and-black bruises. There
were many cuts on his face and hands, some of them still bleeding, and
he was moving gingerly, which made Ron suspect broken ribs. It was
evident that he had only just got home; a thick black traveling cloak lay
over the back of a chair, and a haversack large enough to carry several
small children leaned against the wall inside the door. They saw Hagrid
himself, twice the size of a normal man and three times as broad, limped
over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.
"We should inform Madam Pomfrey about him and tell her to heal him
before Umbitch gets to him," said Ivy deciding the best course of action.
The other three nodded. Umbridge had been overbearing these days; it
was like she was out looking for even the smallest things to blow them
out of proportion.
"But to think that Voldemort has been going after Giants," said Harry, "I
wondered why someone like that bastard was so quiet, but it seems he
was trying to get the Giants to his side."
"Never knew that the Ministry was on a lookout for Portkeys," said
Hermione. It took a month to get to the place where Giants lived, and
because anyone associated with Dumbledore was being monitored,
Hagrid couldn't take a Portkey to the location and had to physically
travel there.
Hagrid had told them that when he, along with Maxime Olympe, had
reached the largest tribe of Giants on this side of Europe — a total of
eighty Giants.
There were hundreds of tribes of Giants dotting the entire world map, but
because they lived in small groups, it wasn't feasible for Voldemort to
send delegations to each tribe as giving gifts to every small tribe was too
costly and required too much effort; that's why this eighty Giant tribe
was the only attainable option and thus was the one where Dumbledore
sent Hagrid and Maxime to.
Hagrid and Maxime presented the Giant chief, Karkus, with gifts to
garner his and the tribe's support — Giants loved magic, but because they
couldn't perform it, so they liked to collect magical items; Dumbledore
had sent a branch of Everlasting fire to help them to keep warm in the
winter and cook food. Other gifts included a goblin-made helmet for the
chief of a battle-hungry race and a great roll of old dragon hide.
Unfortunately for the Order of Pheonix delegation, just when Karkus had
finally sat down with them Hagrid and Maxime to listen to them, tragedy
struck — Giants weren't meant to live in tribes with more than a dozen
members, and it seemed like an outsider bearing gifts had offset turmoil
in the large tribe as the very next night, there was great inner-fight in
which a dozen Giants died along with Karkus, the chief.
Giants were a violent race and had no qualms about killing their fellow
members over food, best sleeping spots near warm fires, women, and
that's why Giant tribes weren't larger than a dozen Giants each as that
was the highest number a deep mountain or forest could adequately
provide for without inciting in-fighting.
The next day, a new chief was elected, Golgomath.
The new chief, it seemed, was on a power roll and wanted to assert
dominance to consolidate his position as the head, as the moment Hagrid
presented them with their final gift (a great roll of dragon skin), Hagrid
and Maxime were captured and hung upside down. They only escaped
because of Maxime Olympe whipping out her wand and injuring their
captures before making a break for it.
That was the end of Hagrid's and Maxime's talk with the tribe, as Giants
hated the wizardkind. The humans had been hunting Giants for a very
long time and were one of the reasons why Giants had gone through a
great thinning in population worldwide. The moment Maxime had used
wanded magic, any chances of communication were closed.
And as Hagrid and Maxime hid in caves to heal themselves before
heading out, they chanced upon the newly arrived Death Eater
delegation. And they had sent a familiar face, Macnair, which was why
Golgomath didn't hang them up on sight; the rest was handled by a series
of gifts to appease and impress the new chief.
"In the end, Voldemort got the Giants' support," said Hermoine worriedly.
The four fell into silence as their minds turned in each's imagination of
the repercussions of Giants falling into Voldemort's hands. Giants were
hard to kill or even subdue.
"Hey, isn't that West there?" said Ron, breaking the silence as he pointed
a short distance away from Hagrid's house.
Harry, Ivy, and Hermione turned to where Ron was pointing, and they
saw Quinn leisurely walk out of the Forbidden Forest trees while
stretching his hands over his head.
"Isn't he cold?" said Harry commenting on Quinn's attire; he only had a
shirt and pair of pants on him, and they were already in peak snowing
season.
Ivy raised her hand high and reached out to Quinn loudly, who stopped
in his tracks and turned towards them. They say him raise his hand and
wave back.
"How're you four doing today," said Quinn as both parties met halfway.
His eyes went to where they previously stood and saw the smoke
churning out of the hut's chimney, "Looks like Hagrid's back at Hogwarts.
I suppose now that I'm here, I'll say hello to him."
"He has just returned," said Harry hiding a jump in his voice, "and is tired
from his travels. . . we should probably leave him alone to settle back
and rest; Hagrid did say that he wanted to get in a good nap in his own."
Hagrid's Giant adventure was a secret mission given to him by
Dumbledore. It was wise if the news didn't spread, given Umbridge's
close proximity to Dumbledore and Hagrid. Harry feared that if Quinn
saw an injured Hagrid, the word would spread because they couldn't
keep him quiet without telling him the reason behind the injuries.
"Is that so; then I'll just greet him when I see him in the Great Hall," said
Quinn shrugging.
"Why aren't you wearing more clothes. It's freezing out here," said Harry
changing the topic.
Quinn looked at his attire, and it was indeed not weather-appropriate,
but on the other hand, he wasn't feeling cold right now, so he once again
shrugged,
"I'm feeling fine now, but you're right. . . my clothes do seem out of
place," he took out a wand and conjured a robe around his body, "do you
guys feel comfortable now?"
The Golden Squad were confused, but they nodded.
"What were you doing on in the Forbidden Forest?" asked Ivy curiously.
Quinn tapped his pant pockets and smiled, "I was collecting a herb or two
for making potions. Forbidden Forest is a great place to pick out some
great herbs, and you know what the best part is; it's one hundred percent
free."
The Golden Squad stared at the West heir, who was making a proud
impression at saving money on potion ingredients.
'They seem to be buying it,' thought Quinn observing the Golden Squad.
He couldn't tell them that he was stalking the magical wolf tribe that
lived in the Forbidden Forest, watching them, their civilization, and their
culture.
The clothes on his body were actually his transformed Noir-Suit, and he
had, without any reason, turned them from a dark-forest camo to casual
shirt and pants.
Last year, he had made plans to observe the tribe, and this year, he was
executing them. His motive was to study the wolves and see if they held
a clue to cure Lycanthropy in werewolves. They were the descendants of
two Lycanthropy mating under the full moon in their werewolf forms. It
was a good possibility that their unique birth could help solve
Lycanthropy.
These wolves essentially had their human forms eliminated by birth, sure
their intelligence came from the human side of their parents, but there
were plenty of non-humanoid species with human-level intelligence. If
these beings could have their human physical traits removed, why
couldn't Lycanthrope be cured of their wolf aspects?
"So, did you guys inform Hagrid about Umbridge?" Quinn asked as they
walked towards the castle as Quinn lazily waved his fake wand back and
forth, shoveling snow out of their way.
"We did," said Harry, "Hagrid said that he has some interesting stuff
planned for the year. . . I just hope Umbridge would find it interesting as
well."
"I doubt it," said Ron scoffing with raging disdain. "She seemed chummy
with that Grubbly-Plank lady; she'll try to make Hagrid's life difficult."
It was no secret that Ronald Weasley disliked the new Care for Magical
Creatures' Professor. That dislike increased when Grubbly-Plank's
inspection went surprisingly smoothly, with Umbridge being the least
amount annoying she could be. Credit to Grubbly-Plank for being a good
Professor and staying entirely out of politics.
"Speaking of. . ." Hermione jutted her chin forward, and the group looked
up to see Umbridge standing in the Entrance Hall with a clipboard in her
hand, scribbling things while looking around the Entrance Hall.
"What's she doing?" muttered Harry suspiciously.
"Some sort of inspections to find out. . . probably to undermine
Dumbledore's upkeep ability of the school," Ivy garnered a guess as the
group consciously turned into a different direction.
"But isn't she chummy with Filch?" asked Ron.
"This is Umbridge we are talking about; she won't hesitate a single second
in betraying Filch; that woman is lower than a fleabag," said Harry with a
nasty humph.
Filch, as few knew, was a Squib and thus couldn't use magic. Even
though house-elves were excellent in upkeep, if Umbridge could find
something directly related to Fudge, she could connect it back to
Dumbledore and get him a demerit — a severe problem in these dire
times. While Filch was in charge of cleaning, Dumbledore was in charge
of Filch, and with Dumbledore's inability to retain a DADA Professor, it
would seem like Dumbledore wasn't adequate in his role as the
Headmaster.
"Ah, children, what might you be doing here, dears?"
The five stopped in their tracks, and four of them released groans and
whines. They turned towards the High Inquisitor walking towards them
with her stumpy legs, looking funny to Quinn, but he held back the
smile, chuckle, laugh, and guffaw.
"What can we do for you, ma'am?" asked Quinn pleasantly, refusing to
say the word Professor but still getting by just below the line.
Umbridge looked at Quinn up and down, and a sweet smile stretched
over her human-like face. A shine of vigor shone in her eyes like a child
finding her favorite candy.
"May I ask why aren't you in your school robes, Mr. West," said
Umbridge.
"You may not," said Quinn shortly.
". . . You don't have your uniform on nor your outer robe."
"And there's nothing wrong with that."
"You're a student of Hogwarts, Mr. West," said Umbridge stressing her
point.
"That I am," said Quinn smiling, "I'm even a sixth-year Prefect."
"That will be a detention, Mr. West," said Umbridge, smiling widely,
giddy.
"As I said, I'm a Prefect, I know the rules," said Quinn smiling in return,
"After classes for the day ends, students are no longer required to wear
their uniforms. . . for reference, it's Policy Sec 1, Clause 1.5, Page 8."
He had memorized the rules years ago in case he was caught in some
trouble and needed to weasel his way out. Umbridge reeled back in
dissatisfaction. She, of course, hadn't bothered to read Hogwarts student
rules and regulations.
"I'm the High Inquisitor—"
"And as I said before, you don't have the authority over the things you're
trying to enforce. . . I expected more from the High Inquisitor," said
Quinn non-chalantaly before clasping his hands in front, "Now, we'd
leave you to the important work you're doing and leave as to not waste
your time."
Quinn immediately walked away without waiting for a reply. The Golden
Squad followed after a beat. They had heard that Quinn had shut down
Umbridge, but this was the first time seeing him in action.
"That was a little weak," said Quinn in retrospection, "I could've gotten in
a jab or two more; I will make sure to remember that for the next time."
The Golden Squad had no words for him except a strange sense of
admiration and reverence.
Back in the Entrance Hall, Umbridge fumed in silence. She was getting
angrier by the second. Her interactions weren't going well, and she was
always on the losing front.
"Just because he's from a powerful family doesn't mean he can get away
with this," said Umbridge, gritting her teeth. "He's just a kid. . . a naive,
disciplinable rude brat," a glint appeared in her eyes, "he wants authority,
then I will give him authority."
.
Quinn West - MC - Bringing past projects to fruition.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Mid-terms over!
.
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219. Chapter 219: Petty Ban,
Temper, Locked
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.
EDUCATIONAL DECREE - NO. TWENTY-FIVE
- By Order Of -
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Broomsticks may not be flown on unless during AUTHORISED Quidditch
practice.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty- Five.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
- Ministry of Magic -
.
"What does this woman. . . toady-bitch(!) think she's doing?!" exclaimed
Eddie along with the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, standing in
the Ravenclaw common room with their housemates also reading the
notice posted on the Ravenclaw house bulletin board.
The one line on the Decree-notice spoke many things.
First was obvious in the face interpretation that brooms were banned
outside of Quidditch practices, which meant that anyone outside of
Quidditch players wasn't allowed to fly a broom. Not being on the
Quidditch team didn't mean that people didn't enjoy flying brooms; in
fact, a large majority of Hogwarts had their personal brooms and flew
them regularly with their friends playing casual-versions of Quidditch or
even flew solo to spend some time alone in the sky. And many people
who wanted to be on Quidditch teams practiced on their own time to get
better so they could pass the try-outs.
The second interpretation was to the Quidditch teams. As the sentence
stated, brooms were only allowed during Authorized Practices, which
meant that teams could only fly their brooms when practicing in the
stadium and not anywhere else. This was a tremendous detrimental as
teams practiced as much if not more outside the stadium than inside the
stadium. The stadium and the pitch were shared between four teams, and
none thought that their time during Authorized Practice was enough.
There were even some Quidditch team members (picture Eddie
Carmichael) who practiced alone out of team practice.
"The bitch and Snape are clearly in bed together," said Eddie scathingly.
The Slytherin Quidditch team had by far the most Authorized Practice
time because of Snape abusing his power and assigning them the
Slytherin Quidditch team the pitch.
"Eww. . ." said Cho making a disgusted face. "Don't say that; I just
imagined what it would be like." That triggered many people's
imaginations, and they too made disgusted expressions and groans while
glaring at Eddie.
That's when Quinn came down the dormitory stairs into the common
room to see the crowd gathered around in front of the bulletin board.
"What is it? What happened?" asked Quinn as he walked to the front with
his eyes on his pocket watch to see if he was running late.
"Umbitch did something stupid again," said Terry Boot, not holding back
the hatred in his voice.
Quinn finally looked up and saw the Decree-notice on the bulletin board.
The realization dawned on him.
"Ah, Umbridge's being petty," he said, "we got Quidditch back before she
would've lacked — she prematurely lost one of the leverages to power —
so she does this, huh. . . but I would've to say, that's a good petty-jab she
got in — Quidditch still goes on, but she restricted broom-time, and
because Ministry isn't happy about the Hogwarts' academic performance,
we can't complain about," he smiled, "a move well played."
"Why in Morgana's saggy tits are you smiling," said Eddie, frustrated, "this
isn't good, not good at all; you do understand that, right?"
Quinn shrugged his shoulders, "There's nothing we can do about this, you
know? She, as the High Inquisitor, does have that authority. . . If you do
want this to be fair — fairer — then find a way to convince Professor
Flitwick, McGonagall, and Sprout to do something about Snape's
scheduling tyranny — that's the only way you'll get your deserved
practice time."
Quinn was obviously Pro-Umbridge-opposition, but he couldn't hold their
hands on every problem they encountered. He neither had time nor
motivation for moving against Umbridge on every little move she made.
He was only going to move against significant actions that were a bit too
much.
"I would suggest that you grab Marcus and have him plan something
involving Potter, Diggory, the other captains, and Eddie if you can keep
your mouth clean to lobby the Professors to stop Snape from abusing his
authority," said Quinn and then look around, "where is Marcus?"
"He went down to Great Hall with Luna to eat," said Eddie.
"Get him good things to eat. . . you know, butter him up to provide him
some incentive; that'll get him moving," said Quinn, patting Eddie on his
shoulder before leaving the common room leaving the gathered
Ravenclaw crowd behind.
Eddie turned to the said crowd and spoke, all of them looking back at
him. "Well, you heard what he said. . . now, dish out some money; we'll
need a lot of food."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
December arrived, and it was yet another dull and inane Defense Against
the Dark Arts lecture with "Professor" Umbridge "teaching" to the best of
her ability, trying to impart "crucial" knowledge to the future of the
British Isle's magical community by silently sitting and ordering her
students to read an impractical book with pointless "ethical" jargon.
Umbridge looked up from her teacup filled with tea poured from a pink
bottle-gourd-shaped flask; she smiled pleasantly at the silent class with
only the sound of pages turning and notes being scribbled from her class
of fifth-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.
"Memorize well, children," she said with a thin smile curling up, "I'll be
taking a surprise test next week of all the things I have taught you till
now."
" "Yes, Professor Umbridge," " said the students in unison like a group
trained in synchronicity.
Harry Potter sat at the backbench of the classroom (a popular seat in
Umbridge's classes), as far away from the pink menace as it was
physically possible(the fat cow never got up from her chair), glaring at
Umbridge with intense hate in his eyes. He was feeling very much
resentful towards Umbridge, greater than he had ever felt towards the
woman. This year, he enjoyed only two things at Hogwarts — DA and
Quidditch — the woman, had sucked out all that made Hogwarts and left
it feeling like a prison.
If someone beat him half to death, Harry would give partial credit to
Umbridge for the inception of DA. The other thing being Quidditch —
Umbridge had tried her best to take that away, and even though they
were able to wrestle it back, she had imposed the petty Educational
Decree Number Twenty- Five and threw a Bombarda into what seemed to
be turning out to be a good season.
His temper had been on an all-time high at the start of the year and had
subsided for a while was now back in full force, nay it was stronger than
before.
And so he raised his hand.
Umbridge caught the raised hand and spoke with her "honey" dripping
voice, "Yes, dear. What is it?"
"Are we going to be tested in our casting ability in this test," asked Harry
plainly, hiding all his true behind a facade.
In the middle of the classroom, Hermione and Ivy were looking back
towards the back seat at Harry with baffled expressions, wondering what
Harry, who had not said a word in Umbridge's classes for three months,
had raised his hand now.
Hermione hurriedly grabbed Ivy's sleeve and tugged it hard.
"Cast. . . cast a Cheering charm or something, hurry, quick, do it, do it,
do it now before he does something stupid," she said.
But it was too late.
Umbridge's smile got wider as she said in reply, "No dear, as I've been
saying, there's no need for all of you to be casting spells and charms, so
why would you need to be tested in your ability—"
"Peter Pettigrew," said Harry.
The quiet classroom somehow became more quieter than it was before as
the entire class of thirty held their breath.
"What?" asked Umbridge.
"Peter Pettigrew, a trusted Death Eater of Voldemort," everyone in the
room showed varied reactions, "that man escaped his prison and is now
on the run. . . the Ministry tried to find him, but they were unsuccessful. .
. what if Peter Pettigrew came after me, how would you expect me to
defend myself if I can't cast spells?"
All eyes turned to Umbridge, who stood up and leaned toward them, her
stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
"Why would he come after you—"
"Because he originally came after me. That day Voldemort killed my
grandparents; they were after me," then he paused, "and I am the Boy-
Who-Lived, the one defeated Voldemort—"
"Don't say that name!" said Umbridge, hissing.
Harry stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared,
half-fascinated.
"Harry mate, no!" Ron whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his
sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
"Voldemort is dead, according to the Ministry. What if Peter Pettigrew, a
deranged Death Eater, who had been in the presence of dementors,
decides to take revenge and come after me, the Boy-Who-Lived, who
killed his master Voldemort, tried to kill me," said Harry with force.
"The Ministry will take care of—"
"Ministry hasn't been able to take 'care' of him for two years now; how
am I supposed to feel safe after such a long time of ineptitude. How
would I feel safe when a high-ranking Ministry employee such as yourself
shivers at the name of a supposedly dead man."
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Umbridge; she was so furious that her entire
face had turned red. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. The
Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark
wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside
class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about escaped Dark
Wizard, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend.
And now, you will kindly continue your reading."
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again, and so did Harry;
both were fuming in their chairs, red down to their necks. But after a
while, Umbridge's face went blank. Then she said, in her softest, most
sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and up to the teacher's
desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so
angry he did not care what happened next.
Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag,
stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and
started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she
was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so, she rolled up the
parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that
he could not open it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge,
holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even
looking back at Ron and Hermione, and slamming the classroom door
shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to
McGonagall clutched tight in his hand. When he reached her office, he
rapped the door more aggressively than politely.
The door flew open, and McGonagall emerged from her office, looking
grim and slightly harassed.
"What on earth was that rapping, Potter?" she snapped. "Why aren't you
in class?"
"I've been sent to see you."
"Sent? What do you mean, sent?"
He held out the note from Umbridge. McGonagall took it from him,
frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began
to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles
as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line, they became
narrower.
"Come in here, Potter."
He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind
him.
"Well?" said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?"
"Is what true?" Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had
intended. "Professor?" he added in an attempt to sound more polite.
"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"
"Yes."
"You called the Ministry inept."
"Yes."
"You told her that Peter Pettigrew might come to kill you."
"Yes."
McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Harry. Then she said,
"Have a biscuit, Potter."
"Have — what?"
Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of
cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. "And sit
down."
There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned
by McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor
Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to
a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done
on that occasion.
Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked
very seriously at Harry.
"You had been very good, Potter. You had been good for more time than I
thought you'd be," she said with a sigh, "I won't lie by saying that I didn't
see this day coming."
Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone
of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp, and
stern; it was low and somehow much more human than usual.
"What do you — ?"
"Potter, use your common sense," snapped McGonagall, with an
abrupt return to her usual manner. "You know where she comes from;
you
must know to whom she is reporting."
The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all-around came
the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.
"It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting
tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note
again."
"Every evening this week!" Harry repeated, horrified. "But, Professor,
couldn't you — ?"
"No, I couldn't," said Professor McGonagall flatly.
"But —"
"She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. This
happened inside her classroom, so I can't even cancel it. You will go to
her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: Tread
carefully around Dolores Umbridge."
"But I was telling the truth!" said Harry, outraged. "Wormtail could come
after me; he was there that night, you know it, Professor Dumbledore
knows it—"
"For heaven's sake, Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, straightening her
glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's
name). "Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping
your head down and your temper under control!"
She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and he stood too.
"Have another biscuit," she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.
"No, thanks," said Harry coldly.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.
He took one.
Thanks," he said grudgingly.
"Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast,
Potter?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah. . . she said. . . progress will be prohibited or. . .
well, it meant that . . . that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at
Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall eyed him for a moment, then sniffed, walked
around her desk, and held open the door for him.
"Well, I'm glad you at least listened," she said, pointing him out of her
office.
Harry got up with the biscuit in hand and headed towards the door.
"Oh, and Potter."
He turned back to McGonagall, "Yes?"
"She also you banned from Quidditch."
"WHAT?!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn sat in the Architect's vault, near a part of the wall. Above his
hands floated a small replication of a portion of lock mechanism inside
the vault's walls.
It turned out that when one could see the lock mechanism from the
inside with every single piece visible, it got so much easier to figure out
how things worked and moving which parts would get the mechanism to
open up. In this case, Quinn could see everything as such; he had no
problem replicating a miniature version of the lock mechanism inside
into one of the models in his hands.
He then practiced on miniature hundreds of times to find the correct
combination of moves he needed to make the first stone disc below the
pedestal split and move to allow the pedestal to fall one level.
"Rinse and repeat for the remaining discs, and this will be over in a
zilch," said Quinn with a smirk on his face and laugh in his voice,
"Architect must not have thought that someone would go this deep into
earth sensation, hehehe, I'm indeed one good challenger. . . Now, let's do
this."
Quinn looked down at the miniature, and immediately, multiple parts
started to move at once. Shafts moved, gears spun, links locked together,
others snapped open, deadbolts snapped out of places — every piece
served a purpose, and Quinn knew every single one of them.
"Click, clack, and another tick, tack," Quinn smiled as he did some fancy
jazz hands, and with every small solve, two pullies with stone-linked
chains pulled on the two sides of the miniature disc and pulled them
apart.
"Voila~! That's how it's done!"
He twirled on the spot to celebrate and did the running man before
transmuting the miniature back into a block of stone(he had the layout
and dimensions memorized by heart) and threw the stone block into his
pockets.
"Now, let me show you how it's done."
He placed his hands on the wall, exhaled deeply. His breath touched the
wall as he closed his eyes and extended his magic into the stone. There
was the usual fuzziness, but as Quinn adjusted his magic, his senses
became clearer and clearer until he had the 'look' of precisely the same
thing as the miniature.
"Time for some magic."
With the phrase, the magic began its charm. The grand pieces started to
shift. The map in his mind shifted at the same time the actual gears
inside the walls. The room vibrated, shook, trembled as the heavy stone
pieces moved under the effects of Quinn's magic.
After a long series of shifts, turns, twists, pulls, pushes, and a wide range
of motions, Quinn opened his eyes and moved away from the wall. He
looked down the floor as a tremor moved from the wall inwards to the
pedestal until everything stopped, and with a huge boom, the pedestal
sunk in one level. Quinn immediately looked to another part of the wall
and saw an archway portion retreat inside a few inches, setting of dust as
more tremors settled inside the room.
"That's too many tremors, damn it," said Quinn after everything was over.
He smiled as he ran towards the newly revealed archway, but before he
could even take a few steps, the teal ring on his hand abruptly glowed,
making him stop in his track.
"What, what?"
Before he could form another thought, a stronger teal glowed from his
back. Quinn's breath skipped a beat as he realized where the light was
coming from. He immediately turned to see the murky-teal entrance to
the vault shrinking on its self, and within mere seconds, the teal had
vanished, leaving behind the same simple wall just like those everywhere
in the vault.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
.
Quinn West - MC - Not cool. Locked rooms are not cool!
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - The inheritor of the Potter temper.
Dolores Umbridge - Hem, Hem - Educational Decree, Detention, Ban. . .
Eddie Carmichael - Potty mouth - That day, he whispered tales of toads
and snakes in many ears.
Marcus Belby - Food lover - What, what is this?! Why're you giving me all
of this food?!
.
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!
220. Chapter 220: Race Against
Time
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, you've got to be kidding me!"
Quinn walked towards the entry/exit wall to the vault — the teal portal,
which was ever-present no matter what he did inside the vault, had
shrunk down on itself like someone had pulled the water plug in a sink,
and all the glowing teal-colored water got sucked in till there was no
more, leaving behind the gray-colored darb, rough wall.
"No, no, no, this isn't good," Quinn's palm went over to his forehead, "this
isn't good at all. . . what's the time?"
He fetched his pocket watch out of his pocket and glanced at the watch
face and hands that showed the time half past midnight.
"Three o'clock, how much is that. . . fifteen. . . fourteen and a half. . . I've
got fourteen and half hours," said Quinn after calculation as he started
paced around the vault.
Today was a Tuesday(day changed to Wednesday at midnight), and
because sixth-year Ravenclaws didn't have Astronomy lessons at midnight
today, Quinn was able to start his nightly vault escapades well before
midnight. There was a reason why Quinn preferred to do his vault work
in the night as no one would come looking if he went occupied for hours.
This was also the reason why Quinn had to carefully manage his time
during both his expeditions of both the Aquatic Vault and Underground
Vault, as he preferred to go in the Great Lake and Forbidden Forest in the
evenings while there was still light.
"Umbridge's class is at three," he muttered quietly, "I have to get out of
here and go back before that."
Quinn's class timetable tomorrow had him attending Arithmancy,
Charms, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, and Defense Against The Dark
Arts — in that order. Fortunately for him, there was no Potions class and
Defense Against The Dark Arts was his last lesson at three o'clock. He was
a Prefect and an outstanding student; as such, he could skip one class in
every subject, and no Professor would mind except Potions with Snape
and Defense Against The Dark Arts with Umbridge as neither of the two
gave rats ass who Quinn was and what his track record was. He would
get detentions from both if he missed class without valid justification —
which he didn't have in this case.
Quinn was a hundred percent fine with scrubbing potion cauldrons in
detentions with Snape, but no way in hell was he going to offer himself
up to Umbridge, so she could waste his time for hours on end every day
for months (the vindictive woman would definitely go that far.) So he
needed to get out of the vault in time to get to Umbridge's class to retain
his freedom.
Even if he ate one of the Weasley twins' purposely sickness-inducing
products as an excuse, everything would be for naught if he couldn't get
to Madam Pomfrey, who was needed to sign off on sick notes for which
he needed to get out of this vault.
"Luna, I've to contact Luna," Quinn reached into his pocket and took out a
leather bracelet with a silver plate — the same kind that Luna wore on
her wrist all the time and was connected to this one through the Protean
charm.
[I'm bzy. Not attend class. Tell E&M 2 say not well, sleep in dorm.] — he
wrote on the silver and then made it so that it stayed till Luna replied
back in the morning.
"Hopefully, that will do the job," Quinn said, putting back the bracelet
into his pocket. "Trust the Bro Code. . . Trust the Bro Code. . ."
He turned back towards the inside the vault and took in the room. The
now shorter pedestal column and the visible archway inside the wall. His
magic surged out from his core, flowed out from his legs, and rippled into
every corner of the vault. Illusion magic laid its charm over his own eyes,
and now he could see the entire layout of the hidden lock mechanism in
yellow.
"Let's get started," he said somberly — time was of the essence.
Quinn glanced towards the right, and a part of the lock mechanism lost
its yellow color and dulled into a muddy and barely visible brown — it
was the part of the mechanism responsible for the first disc.
"Eight more to go. . ." Quinn took out the block of rock used for
miniature, and with a wave of magic, it turned into yet another series of
intricately connected pieces of the mechanism.
He sat down on the ground with his feet crossed and stared at the
miniature floating in his hands. "Disc two, Combination #194, Simulation
start."
The moment the sentence left his mouth, the miniature stone gears
started to move rapidly for the first ten seconds, but after that, with each
passing second, the movement got slower, more deliberate, more careful,
and seemed to demand more Quinn's mind real estate than before.
Clack. . . the sound of stone colliding with stone stopped all the
movements in the miniature.
"Combination #194 failed," said Quinn without a hint of frustration; he
had already gone through this enough times.
The stone miniature turned to dust which floated around his hand for a
second before it rushed back to solid — it was reset into the initial
position before Quinn had moved it around.
"Disc two, Combination #195," he said once again and the trial-and-error
with the knowledge of hundred ninety-four failures behind.
.
.
.
.
"Disc two, Combination #238," said Quinn, and for a whole fifteen
seconds, the mechanism moved at high speed before once again slowing
down and finally getting stuck at a point equating to failure.
But this time, Quinn didn't immediately start with the following
combination in mind and closed his eyes to think about the two-hundred
thirty-eight failures. Every combination he had spun flashed in his mind
as his eyes raced behind his eyes. He didn't open his eyes, but the
miniature turned to dust and reset back to state-zero, and started to parts
spun slowly, irregularly, some even rolling back a couple steps back
before going a different way, and after three full minutes, the chains
connected to the two sides of disc were pulled, and the disc was pulled
apart into two clean hemispheres.
"Disc Two, Combination #239, success," said Quinn before slamming his
fist into the ground sending a flooding surge of magic into stone.
The room once again began shaking with tremors as the real-life pieces of
mechanisms began moving under the commands of Quinn's magic —
eventually, after a minute of tremors, the pedestal sank in a level deeper,
and the archway shifted deeper inside the wall.
Quinn got up and ran to the archway site, and as he expected, a slight
gap in the floor had revealed itself; it was just big enough for Quinn to
shoot light inside and find it was.
"A staircase," he muttered as he looked at what seemed to be the first step
of a staircase that went down. '"If I keep solving the mechanism, the
archway will continue to shift inside. . . I need to solve this; the key to
the exit must be down the stairs." He extended his sense into the stair,
and it was just a solid block of stone, but there was a magical
interference that restricted his sense from going past the first step.
He turned away from the hidden stairs and looked at the portion of the
mechanism responsible for the second disc plate, and his illusion turned
it to the murky brown for his eyes.
"On to the third disc," sighed Quinn as he looked at the miniature that
was already in the third form, "this is going to take a while. . . "
Quinn had already solved the first portion before coming into the vault
today and had good progress with the second portion that allowed him to
completely solve it in around thirty-five minutes, but the third was a
brand new territory; he had to start from scratch.
"No time to waste."
He sat down and got back to work.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The sun slowly rose from the horizon, gently shedding its light over
everything and anything that stood below it; the birds chirped at the
advent of the morning, and even the plants seemed to bloom up in the
presence of glorious sun that provided them with life.
In Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie's dorm room, a ray of sunlight sifted
through a crack in the curtains and slowly crept over Eddie's bed,
gradually making its way towards his closed eyes as he sprawled on his
bed in slumber. Soon, the lone ray of sunlight did its solemn duty to hit
the eyes of everyone who dared to have their curtains open even by
mistake.
Eddie's brow furrowed as the light disturbed his lidded eyes, so he shifted
in bed just to face directly towards the curtain allowing the light's job to
get easier. The furrow deepened by the second until Eddie was full-on
frowning, and his eyes couldn't take it anymore, so they set off the
internal alarm of discomfort and sent the signal.
He sat upon his bed with a rushed jerk as the mumble — "Burn the toad!"
— escaped his mouth. For a whole minute, Eddie's entire upper body
leaned forward as he sat on the bed before he groggily moved his feet off
the bed and got up like a stringless puppet. He stumbled his way into the
bathroom with a change of clothes clutched messily in his left hand and
his right ruffling his messy bed hair into more of a mess.
After the sound of a flush, running tap water, and ruffling of clothes,
Eddie Carmichael exited the bathroom with exercise clothes, open eyes,
clean teeth, and a washed face. He threw his bedtime clothes into a
hamper, wore his shoes, and was grabbing his wand from his bedside
when he noticed,
"Where did Quinn go?"
Eddie looked at the clock that hung in their room to see if he was late,
but that wasn't the case.
"He must be down at the common room," said Eddie guessing, and after
making sure everything was ready, he climbed down the dorm stairs and
entered out into the common room. "I'm ready, let's go. . ."
But Quinn wasn't in the common room either.
Thinking that Quinn must've left early, Eddie exited the common room
and jogged down to their usual spot, but even after waiting ten minutes,
Quinn didn't come. Eddie ran their usual route with a frown on his face
to see if he could find Quinn somewhere along the route, but the result
was the same — Quinn wasn't to be found.
"Where did he go?"
. . .
Around the same time, Quinn was sitting in Architect's room holding one
of the pillars as the room shook as if it was being hit by a severe
magnitude earthquake. When it finally stopped, Quinn got up and walked
a couple steps to reach the archway, and the archway had moved almost
a foot.
He silently stared at the slowly revealing staircase as the illusion he cast
on himself one again turned a part of the mechanism to murky brown.
'Now, I've to find which part of the remaining is for the fourth disc plate
and then figure out how to open it,' he thought, not choosing to speak at
all and then walked to the middle of the room so that he could get a good
look of every part of the room.
[6: 30 AM]
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Hey, do you know where Quinn is?" asked Eddie to Marcus as the latter
walked out of the bathroom, ready to go to the Great Hall for breakfast.
"Hmm, no, I don't. Why?" asked Marcus.
"He wasn't there when I woke up today, and neither was he down in the
grounds," said Eddie as he fixed his hair in the mirror.
"Did you go to the office?"
"Yeah, but it was locked."
"Room of Requirement?"
"No, I didn't go there."
"Well, he'll turn up," said Marcus, shrugging, "let's go; breakfast is about
to start."
Both boys walked down to the common and saw Luna sitting in an
armchair with a pencil and parchment in her hand, scribbling on it.
"Let's go, Luna," said Marcus.
Luna looked up from her parchment and handed her leather and silver
bracelet to Marcus.
"Isn't this. . ." said Marcus recognizing the bracelet. He looked at the
silver and read, "I'm busy. Will not attend classes. Tell Eddie and Marcus
to say that I'm not feeling well and sleeping. . ."
"Where did he got busy this early in the morning," said Eddie.
"I don't know," said Marus, "but well, he's asking us to tell the Professors
that he won't be attending; we'll do that. . ."
"Even to Umbitch?" asked Eddie.
"Never said we have to say it first if she forgets that Quinn is absent. . ."
"Yeah, not going to happen, that. . . No way Umbitch forgets Quinn."
"He must've something in mind," said Marcus, figuring that Quinn
must've some rule in the code of conduct that allowed him to get away
from Umbridge without punishment.
"Let's hope that's true. . . we can't have him doing detentions."
If they only knew the truth.
. . .
"Ha-hah-hah-aha, I-I s-solved it-t!" laughed Quinn as he watched the
pedestal sink deeper as the room shook harder than ever.
It took some time to isolate what part belonged to the fourth disc, but he
figured that it would be easier to solve when he found the portion as
Quinn had three portions under his belt, and he had begun to see
patterns that the Architect liked to use. Stigweard Gragg might have
planned this intricate lock, but he was still human, and human loved
patterns. Quinn even went as far as to isolate the fifth and sixth portions
so that he could leave the solving instead of identification for later.
But it turned out that the mechanism portion for the fourth was twice as
large as the previous three, marking the complexity of the fourth portion
higher than the first three. In the end, Quinn was still able to charge
ahead and really apply himself to solve the fourth.
"Now, onto the fifth!"
He was about to change the color of the fourth portion, but Quinn
noticed something strange in the placement of the mechanism portions.
". . . The fourth and fifth. . . are connected. . . together. . ." said Quinn,
his voice trailer longer and slower as thoughts clicked in his mind
together.
The fourth and fifth had now fused together to become the part of the
new, bigger, more complex mechanism portion — it was four times as big
as any of the first three ones.
". . ."
[8:00 AM]
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Quinn West. . ." said Septima Vector calling out for her Arithmancy
classes' role call and was about to automatically put a tick in front of the
attendance parchment when her hand stopped as she didn't hear a
response.
Septima Vector looked up from the attendance with bewilderment. It was
for the first time in four years that she hadn't heard a call back when she
had said that name.
"Quinn West?" she said again, looking around the class, but Septima
couldn't find the face she was looking for; what she did find was Marcus
Belbly's raised hand as he sat beside Eddie Carmichael.
While Quinn took every class besides Muggle Studies and Divination.
Eddie left behind Muggle Studies, Divination, and Astronomy as part of
his NEWT level curriculum. On the other hand, Marcus left out
Divination and Astronomy from his (both had Outstanding in their
Potions OWLs to pass Snape's ridiculous NEWT standards.) Though they
were contemplating if they should drop Care with Hagrid back and
Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank out as the substitute Professor.
"Yes, Mr. Belby?" asked Septima Vector, expecting an answer about
Quinn's whereabout given the common knowledge about the Ravenclaw
trio of best friends.
"Quinn isn't feeling well today, so he's resting in the dorm, Professor,"
said Marcus.
"Oh my, is he alright?" asked Septima.
"Yes, Professor. He just needs a little rest, that's all," said Marcus.
"I see, then I hope he'll feel well soon," said Septima, and even though
Quinn was absent from the class, she ticked him present to not let the
perfect attendance get broken.
. . .
"Disc 5, Combination #58 failed!" said Quinn, grunting with frustration.
"Disc 5, Combination #59. Simulation start," he said as he looked at the
ticking pocket watch sitting on the ground in front of him.
[9:10 AM]
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"What did you say?!" squeaked Flitwick as he almost fell off his stack of
books. "Can you please repeat that?"
"Quinn ain't coming. He's not feeling well," said Eddie, repeating his
words.
"I should go see him," said Flitwick, worried about his star student. It was
the first time since Quinn dunked himself in a freezing potion cauldron
that Quinn West had even missed a class.
"Please don't do that, Professor," said Eddie keeping his voice plain as
Marcus shook his head repeatedly by his side in support. "Quinn is
sleeping; going to our room would wake him up from sleep; he's a very
light sleeper, even someone entering the room would wake him up, so
let's leave him be."
"I see. . ." said Flitwick as he ticked Quinn as present on his attendance
sheet, "I'll drop by before curfew to see if he's awake and find how he is
feeling."
. . .
"Take that, you dumb Architect, I did it! It only took me two hours! Just
two hours!" yelled Quinn celebrating what seemed to be a needlessly
complex lock mechanism.
But then he turned to the walls, and his smile dropped as he watched the
newly converted fourth and fifth mechanism potion merge with the sixth
to create a humongously annoying mechanism series.
He silently screamed as he raised his hand to replicate the new sixth
portion into a miniature.
[10:10 AM]
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
By lunchtime, everyone knew that Quinn was sick and resting, and
somehow it had turned into this big thing that everyone had talked about
at least once. And somehow, it had turned a colossal snowball that Quinn
West was fighting for his life against some dark curse.
"How do you think he's doing?" asked Astoria, worried.
"Astoria, the rumors are exaggerated. Given that he's in his dorm room
and not with Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure he'll be fine," said Daphne
comfortingly, but she was a little bit concerned for Quinn's health. A little
part of her mind was thinking if she could get into the Ravenclaw dorms
without anyone knowing.
"I'm back."
The Greengrass sisters turned to see Tracey sit down beside them.
"What did Eddie say?" asked Astoria.
"It's nothing serious, he says," said Tracey, "he said that Quinn is just tired
and needs to rest to get rid of the fatigue. . . so he isn't cursed by a dark
curse," she said, eyeing Astoria teasingly.
"It could've happened! You don't know!" said Astoria definitely.
"Wait till I tell Quinn," said Tracey, grinning, "I'm sure he'll be very
interested in this entire thing."
"That is true," said Daphne softly, smiling. She could imagine him talking
about the mystery of the Hogwarts Rumor Mill.
. . .
Quinn stared at the partially revealed staircase under the archway. He
had just solved the sixth portion, and the archway was pushed deeper
inside.
"This is big enough," he muttered, "uh-huh, big enough for a Raven. . ."
He immediately transformed into his animagus form and walked on his
two talons into the staircase and then fly-jumped down the stairs just to
come across a dead-end.
"Of course, no shortcut here," said Quinn after getting out, "I guess I
would need to use that to solve portions 7 to 9."
He sat down and closed his eyes and brought up his Occlumency to the
limit. The efficiency aspect allowed Quinn to think faster and even do
multitasking at an absurd level, but that was only for simple tasks and a
certain level of casting. He hadn't tried to efficiency aspect for anything
this complicated and didn't know if it would work or he would just
ending up getting confused.
"But, it's now or never. . ."
[1:10 AM]
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Umbridge was feeling very happy today. She had just heard that Quinn
West was sick and wasn't attending classes today. According to the rules,
if the student was to miss a class, they needed to have a clear reason for
being absent.
She had asked around and had found that Quinn West hadn't been to the
hospital wing today, meaning that even if he was sick, he didn't have the
sick note from Poppy Pomfrey, and she could give him detention for
missing class without proper reason.
'Finally, I can teach him about manners,' Umbridge thought as she
walked towards her classroom.
Her eyes shined, and her smile sweetened when she saw Eddie
Carmichael and Marcus Bebly walk into the classroom without Quinn.
'Today is going to be a good day,' she thought as she reached the
threshold of the classroom. Umbridge stopped and raised her wrist with
her watch to look at the time. She was about to turn her wrist when she
heard the voice.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. What a lovely day we are having."
Her smile froze as she looked up just to see Quinn West walk past into
the classroom without giving her a single look.
[2:10 AM]
.
Quinn West - MC - I did it, biatches!
FictionOnlyReader - Author - YEET!
.
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!
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