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Адреса змісту:https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13893841/153/A-Magical-
Journey
Книги
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Гарри Поттер
Волшебное путешествие
Автор:
FictionOnlyReader
Следуйте за Куинном Уэстом в его волшебном путешествии,
который попадает в мир Гарри Поттера, но является ли мир, в
который он попал, таким же, как тот, о котором он когда-то читал?
Сможет ли он найти свой путь в этом новом мире? Сможет ли он
когда-нибудь почувствовать себя здесь своим? Какую возможность
предоставит ему магия этого мира? Прочтите, чтобы узнать...
[Реинкарнация] [SI OC] [Поздний роман]
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– Опубликовано:
03.06.2021, 01:41:11
– Статус: завершено - идентификатор: 13893841
292. Chapter 292: A Calm Talk
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
Quinn came out of a hallway and patted his robes for clouds of dust to
puff up around him. He sighed as he waved his hand over himself, and
immediately all the dust vanished, leaving his clothes cleaner.
He looked to left and right. As he had seen in Recon, the hallways were
empty. Quinn began his walk towards the Headboy Suite; he seriously
wanted to hop under a shower. Heavy-duty work, even with magic, was
tiring to do when one kept at it for a long time.
He stepped onto one of the secret internal passages built within the
castle's walls and stepped out onto the fourth floor. There were dozens of
them throughout the castle and regularly used by Quinn to traverse
through the castle.
"Ah, Mr. West," said a voice behind Quinn's back, "fancy seeing you here."
«Ah . . . my hot shower— . . . . . .»
Quinn cracked his neck and turned to face the Headmaster sporting his
glorious white beard and long flowing beard, his crystal blue eyes
peering at him through the half-moon glasses that hung of the bridge of
his long nose.
". . . Professor Dumbledore," said Quinn as Dumbledore walked his way
to him, "this is the fourth floor, and I live in the Headboy Suite . . . so I
should be the one to say— fancy seeing you here."
"I have been known to take a walk or two clear my mind, Mr. West,"
Dumbledore joined Quinn as they slowly began walking in the hallways.
"And, I'm sure you of all would understand that the hallways of Hogwarts
work wonders when one wants to clear their minds."
Quinn laughed, "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor."
"Oh, I'm sure you can confess to it now that you're the Headboy in the
final year," chuckled Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in a playful light.
"I'm sure you have your own big enough share of late-night, after curfew,
strolls."
"Who knows, Professor, maybe I did, or maybe I didn't, " Quinn shrugged
with a smile. "And if I did, you know what they say— A secret is
strongest when only known to one person."
"Who says that?"
"Hmm? I, for one, think it's a fantastic saying, so at least one person says
it," Quinn pointed at himself.
"That means you have secrets . . . do you, Mr. West?" asked Dumbledore.
"Who doesn't have secrets, Headmaster?" said Quinn. "Everyone has a
little or two secrets, sitting here and there."
He heard no reply from Dumbledore, and for a second, the conversation
died down into silence. Both of them had secrets of their own, a more
than fair share of secrets.
"So, you're out here on a walk to clear your mind," Quinn said to
Dumbledore. "Tell me, Professor, what are you trying to clear your head
off."
It was a casual question asked in a casual tone to continue the casual
conversation between the Headmaster and Headboy as they walked.
However, the intention behind it was anything but casual, and while the
conversation proceeded casually, what lingered between the lines was
anything but casual.
"The current times have been tough," Dumbledore hummed. "The Dark
Lord and his Death Eaters have been quite active with their . . . work."
"Ah, you mean the break-in, assaults, and building decimations," Quinn
said with a lit light bulb expression.
There had been many all sorts of criminal activities around the country,
magical and non-magical kind both. However, the curious thing was that
all of those various activities followed the same Modus operandi as a
particular Dark Lord-following group of loyal blood supremacists— but
all of them lacked one important defining part. . . . they lacked the Dark
Mark from the spell Morsmordre.
The Death Eaters, in the war, were regularly known to release the
Morsmordre Dark Mark into the air above their victim's site— burning
buildings, murders, ravaged businesses, beaten opposers . . . whatever
heinous crime the Death Eaters did, they would leave behind the Dark
Mark.
But this time around, there was nothing of that.
Dumbledore glanced at Quinn; his expression didn't have surprise on it,
"You believe the things that have been happening are Death Eater's
fault?"
The media was divided into two. One side believed that what was
happening was indeed Death Eaters' doing. But the other side believed
that those blaming it on Death Eaters were trying to sow the seeds of
chaos in the minds of the people.
"Of course, it's quite clear, isn't it?" Quinn said. "While the absence of the
Dark Marks is there, but everything else is Death Eater-esque. Yes, they
have done a good job of hiding their operations, and yes, I believe this is
an attempt to throw the public into chaos. But the ones causing chaos
aren't the ones blaming the accidents and events on the Death Eaters. It's
the Death Eaters themselves who are actively aiming to throw people
into turmoil.
It's quite clear that Death Eaters are manipulating the media to plant
doubt in the minds of people, make them think if the Dark Lord is back
or not . . ."
Yes, even though the Dark Lord had shown himself in the Ministry, the
only ones who had seen him were Dumbledore and select Ministry
Employees. The number of people who had seen the Dark Lord was
worryingly low, and it didn't help that Fudge's effort to deny the return
had done damage, which again did more damage when he in his last days
as the Minister went around saying— "Yes, You-Know-Who is back."
". . . the people don't know who to believe," continued Quinn. "The
Ministry which had been adamant about refusing the Dark Lord's return .
. . now, the same Ministry was actively propagating that his return is
indeed true. . . .
And from what I have read, in the war, the Dark Lord went out on the
raids and assaults, with his lackeys, quite a few times . . . but now he's
nowhere to be seen— so the people who had gone through the war, those
who fear him, dread his actions, are now confused, wondering why the
all-powerful Dark Lord would hide himself?"
The Dark Lord's action had been quite clever in Quinn's eyes. After his
murder attempt at Amelia Bones, he had grounded himself, shielded
away from every peering eye. The Death Eaters, which had acted semi-
openly before, were now working entirely in stealth— they left behind no
marks that would the blame at them, and barely any witnesses were
found.
This course of action only further confused the public. For why, the Dark
Lord, who had been so close to killing the soon-to-be Minister, then Head
of DMLE, would suddenly go into hiding. The Dark Lord had shown his
might and had reached the throat of the person who had access to all the
Aurors and Hit Wizards— so then why all of this sneaking behind.
It wasn't the Dark Lord's "style."
The "public" were all the people.
The "public" were the Aurors, street-side stall owners, solicitors, salaried
workers, Ministry employees, construction workers, the rich and the
poor, the young and the old . . . everyone had doubts in their minds.
Was the Dark Lord alive, or was he dead?
Who was telling the truth, and who was threading a web of lies?
What were the facts, and what was hogwash?
The Dark Lord had launched a perfect scheme.
"There isn't any photo evidence of Death Eaters," said Quinn before he
chuckled.
That made Dumbledore tilt his head. "What is it?" he asked.
"The failed assault on the Floor Authority Head Westen's home," said
Quinn. "That plan was brilliantly planned, even if it did fail.'
"Ah," Dumbledore didn't need to ask; he instantly understood exactly why
Quinn had said do, "you mean because of the trials."
"Yes, the trials," said Quinn, snapping his fingers. "Augustus Rookwood
and Rivers Lock fled from the scene, escaping the Aurors. But they left
behind their companions," he looked at Dumbledore, "all of them dressed
in Death Eater attire— Alas . . ."
Dumbledore sighed, "Alas . . . they were all previous Novellus Accionite
members."
"Yes, they were Novellus Accionite members, young people— who didn't
have the Dark Mark on their forearms . . . and Rivers Lock was there."
Quinn smiled deeply, "The narrative that came out of it, I wasn't
expecting. A lot of people ended up believing that the escaped Death
Eaters from the Azkaban breakout assimilated and led the Novellus
Accionites— they took in the new blood and infused it into the time-
ravaged Death Eater organization.
And that they did it alone . . . that it was the escapees who were trying to
use the dead Dark Lord's image to build themselves."
Dumbledore breathed a weary sigh. "The Dark Lord has many affluent
people under his command— those who have their reaches in high places
of society. They are pulling their strings from the shadows— setting
people's minds into disarray . . .
. . . But not all is bad," Dumbledore smiled beneath his beard as well his
eyes at Quinn. "Your family's Aegis warding business is spreading through
homes and businesses as if fiendfyre— especially homes of muggleborn. I
have heard from Ms. Granger that a lot of muggleborns have been
employing your services . . . and that it has thwarted a number of attacks,
saved more lives."
"Fiendfyre, Professor, really?" chuckled Quinn. "That's not a positive
connotation, now is it? But I like it— fiendfyre does sound apt."
Aegis had been going quite well. It's cheaper than goblin's ward prices
had attracted people, and the customer service had converted them into
paying customers. The non-magical customers loved because the
representatives understood them and didn't come from a society so cut-
off from them. While the magical customers had started buying their
services because of the collaboration with DMLE.
"However, I'm impressed by another business that I have been hearing
about recently," said Dumbledore. "I don't know if you have heard of it,
but it's known as. . . The Labyrinth."
Quinn didn't show any unusual reaction to the name. He kept himself
calm and looked up at Dumbledore. "I have indeed heard about it, sir.
Quite fascinating, I must say. Passages that would help one escape to a
random place in the country— far away from their assaulters."
"Yes, it's fascinating. It's clearly a take on the Vanishing Cabinets of old,
and the " Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "However, I'm curious on
who is behind Labyrinth . . . their way of operation is intriguing. They
send letters to people's doors and through your family's MagiFax. I have
read a version of those letters— they simply state their services, to the
point and bluntly. And when you pay, they send you the door . . . which
opens up to a deserted place somewhere in the country."
". . .That made the people spread the news through word of mouth,"
Quinn continued from Dumbledore. "Soon, the letters changed, and
people could order for other people . . . and then it doesn't matter if you
have the letter or not, people pay and get their door."
There wasn't a single person associated with Labyrinth. No one knew
where the letters came from or who dropped off the doors. Only
instructions on how to install and customize the door in their homes.
When it was done, the doors worked, and people had a way to escape.
"Who do you think is behind Labyrinth, Mr. West," asked Dumbledore.
"I don't know, Professor," said Quinn as they reached the Headboy's Suite.
"Whoever it is clearly doesn't want to be known— I don't know if that's a
good thing or not, but currently, from what I have seen the Labyrinth do,
I can only say that they're doing one heck of a job.
Now, Professor, I would like to take my leave. I enjoyed this little talk of
ours," he said.
"Of course, Mr. West," said Dumbledore and gestured for Quinn to enter
his room. "I too enjoyed this talk of ours," he beamed, "it did clear my
mind of something."
'Do you mean the Horcruxes?' thought Quinn.
«Because I'm way ahead of you on that.»
'Oh boy, that synced in so smooth,' Quinn shivered a little internally.
"Glad I could be helpful," smiled Quinn.
The two players on the field parted without revealing their intentions to
each other.
.
Quinn West - MC - I mean . . . I know I'm amazing.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Busy with a hunt of his own . . . it's not
going that well.
.
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!
293. Chapter 293: The Room Of
Hidden Things
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
His talk with Dumbledore made Quinn feel a sense of urgency.
The Dark Lord was spreading his web of lies and deception through the
countries, and it made Quinn think that it would be wise to "secure"
another "piece" of the Dark Lord.
He finished dinner, hung out with his friends, returned to his room, and
after loading his pockets with the necessary equipment, he threw himself
out of the Headboy Suite's portrait door and walked to the seventh-floor
under the careful guise of an invisibility spell.
His feet came to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his
eyes, and began to walk.
'I need a room full of hidden things . . . . I need a room full of hidden
things . . . . I need a room full of hidden things . . . .'
Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of the blank
wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room
of Requirement— though these doos were different from the usual ones.
Quinn wrenched the heavy doors, walked himself inside, and shut the
doors behind him shut, leaving the blank wall to stare at the silent
hallway.
He sighed. It had been a while since he had arrived in the room; he had
only come into this room a handful number of times— mostly for
salvaging broken / out-of-order things and using them inside his office
and workshop after refurbishing or transforming them, and even then, he
could not help but be overawed by what he was looking at.
He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high
windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city
with towering walls, built of what Quinn knew were objects hidden by
generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads
bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed
away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden
by castle- proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of
books, no doubt banned, graffitied, or stolen. There were winged
catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to
hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there
were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there
were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents
still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained
ax.
Quinn calmly walked forward into one of the many alleyways between
all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll,
ran on a short way, and came to a stop at the broken Vanishing Cabinet .
. . . and he could see that it was being worked at— the signs of repair
were evident.
He stared at the Vanishing Cabinet for a few moments before he stepped
near it while removing the glove off his hand . . . .
After a minute, Quinn had the glove back on his hand. He took a left at
the broken Vanishing Cabinet and started his search inside the Room of
Hidden Things.
The room, as he knew and experienced, was spelled with an Anti-Accio
spell. If one wanted to find things in the Room of Hidden Things, they
have to do it the old-fashioned way, by traversing the mounds of
abandoned stuff and hoping to have the eye catch the sight of the item or
items in question.
He paused beside a large cupboard that seemed to have had acid thrown
at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard's creaking doors:
It had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that
had long since died; its skeleton had five legs. It intrigued him for a while
before he shut it close and let the bones rest in their resting place.
He walked again for a while before he found himself in a place with
alleyways on all four sides and the mounds looking quite similar to each
other.
"How embarrassing . . . I got lost," he said to himself, turning his body to
look in all directions.
Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he
recognized from his previous trips into the room. The room was quiet
enough for him to hear his own breathing and his footsteps echoing
through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books,
weapons, broomsticks, bats . . . .
Quinn joined his hands behind his back, and soon, the heel of his shoes
left the ground, followed by the balls of his feet and then his toes. A
gentle yet powerful gust of wind raised him into the air as he raised to
the ceiling above the mounds, overlooking the garbage "skyline."
"Now, that's more like it," he smiled and continued his traversal search;
just instead of foot, he was now on air.
"Damn, isn't this tougher?" he muttered, shuffling through the stuff on the
top of the mound. Previously he was just digging through the lower pile,
but now being in the air, he had ended up increasing the area of search
by an entire dimension.
He paused for a moment, hovering in the air, gazing around at all the
clutter . . . . Would he be able to find it amidst all this junk? Was finding
it based on luck? Or was there a way to find it using something else?
"Wait a minute . . . I can try to use my soul to find it," Quinn folded his
feet high in the air, he assumed a lotus position. "Now, let's see if this
bargain pays off."
Beneath the shield pulsing with multi-colored veins, sometimes sizzling,
the shimmering gold Soul thrummed, expanded, and contracted. Upon
Quinn's command, a bright light burst out from the Soul and reached
every corner of the previous pristine white space marred with muddled
seven-colored blotches.
Outside, Quinn closed his eyes and felt his senses expand like a ripple in
the water. He couldn't feel a single thing even though his senses seemed
to grow— everything was dense and dull, seemingly melding into the
floor and into each other. But then suddenly, in the dull world, a bright
light appeared.
'Found it!'
Quinn stared at the bright light, but it wasn't a pleasant brightness. It was
muddled in its light, emanating a "scent" of death— it was completely
opposite to his own Soul. Suddenly, the corrupt light jumped and
attacked Quinn's expanded senses, and in real-time, Quinn could see the
corruption trying to infect his Soul through the expanded senses achieved
through the Soul.
He immediately cut off his senses and the Soul in the soul space.
"Well, it's a Horcrux, after all," Quinn said after opening his eyes.
He flew down to the floor and landed in front of a mound that looked
exactly like the dozens of others of its kind. Sticking out the pile was a
bust. Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a
nearby crate, he stood it on top of a wooden crate.
Quinn took a deep breath, "There is it . . . damn, I knew it would be like
that," a wrinkle and scrunched up nose marred his face.
On the chipped bust perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the
statue's head, making it look more distinctive.
The tiara, or to be more precisely, it was a diadem . . . it was Rowena
Ravenclaw's Diadem. The Founder's Artifact was chosen by the Dark Lord
to make it the vessel for his soul fragment.
"The soul fragment tarnished it," Quinn raised his hand with a painful
frown but stopped himself from touching it.
The shines of the blue sapphire jewels seemed to be dull and seemed like
they had been burned at the base; the shimmer of precious platinum that
was charmed not to rust looked was muddled with black rust.
"Ah, why couldn't he take care of the artifacts better or maybe choose
something else." He sighed, "Well, it doesn't matter, does it?"
Quinn produced a cuboidal container purely made from cloudy panes of
glass. He raised his hand, and the Ravenclaw's Diadem gently dislodged
from the bust, taking the wig with it. Quinn blew on it, and the dust wig
fell off, and the Diadem was gently placed into the box.
«Wearing it for a minute won't hurt, right? Let's try it— . . . . . .»
Quinn immediately placed the glass lid on the box, and the edges melded
with other edges, sealing the glass box shut.
"Oh, boy, that was close," Quinn breathed a sigh.
He didn't know what curse did the Dark Lord had placed on the Diadem,
but whatever it was, Quinn was sure, it would make him wear it, and
who knew if it was anything like the Diary, it would take over him, or
maybe it would melt his brain, or who knows what kind of horrifying
things.
And currently, even with him being able to snuff out the Sin-voices,
Quinn wasn't completely free of their control. Every time his own
thoughts would flow in the same line as the Sin-voice, those moments
would allow the voices to come out louder and longer than before.
"Well, that the last I can get my hands on without trouble," Quinn ruffled
his hair, his eyes fixed on the floating box. "But, I guess, now that this is
over, I can focus on myself."
His progress with the Soul and the Sin curse had dwindled down to a
halt, and he hadn't made any progress on how to actually expel the curse
from his body.
"I guess I have no other choice . . . . I will need to go home this Easter."
Hogwarts students saw three breaks in one year. After the school year
ended, the students would see a summer break of two months, the
longest break of the year. Then when people returned to school, the next
vacation was during the Christmas season and lasted till after the New
Year. And then the third break was the Easter break of two weeks, and
the dates differed every year.
He never returned home on Easter.
But there was nothing more he was able to do in Hogwarts. He needed
external stimulus to kick his brain cells into action and made some
progress.
"I would need to make some calls," said Quinn. He looked at the box with
Diadem and sighed, "I need to take care of this before that," he knocked
on the glass, "come on, buddy, let's get you settled in."
The third hunt had come to an end.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Time passed, and the Easter break arrived. Quinn was back at home. He
knocked on the door and waited for the response.
"Come in," the voice came, and Quinn entered the study room.
"Grandfather."
George looked up from his book. "Yes, Quinn?" he asked.
Quinn sat down in front of him and started without delay, "I'm going to
the US of A in a couple days."
"Why do you want to go to America, child?" asked George, flipping a
page.
"I have some work that I want to take care of in New York," said Quinn.
"What work?" George asked, quirking a brow.
"There's this bookstore there with a book that I really want."
"We can have it delivered to our home; there's no need to travel."
"I know that, grandfather, but I came home this time, so I could go
there," reasoned Quinn. "The book's a great deal . . . and I want to do
some sightseeing."
George looked up and stared at Quinn intently, "Is that all the reason?"
"Well~," Quinn chuckled and shrugged, "I guess I am going to see how
my investment in New York is turning out. I mean, I have to make sure
that my tenant is capable of paying rent."
'Twas the time to go to the USA.
.
Quinn West - MC - Yeah. . . . really need that book.
George West - Grandfather - Hmm . . . that's a valid reason.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - It's going to pick up a pace a bit. The
chapters have been a bit too chill and bland these days.
The Discord Link in the Bio has been updated.
.
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!
294. Chapter 294: The US of A
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
The United States of America . . . the land of opportunity to the non-
magical world, where any dream could come true, and everyone seems to
be pursuing the "American Dream." But in the magical world, it had a
different, peculiar reputation of being controlling and buried in strict
mandates that exercised excessive control over its magical residents and
those who visited the country. The country's magical culture was shaped
through its history that included the horrifying Salem's Witch Trials and
nationwide hunt for magical kind, labeling them as against nature and
dangerous, not to be allowed to exist, and executing them through the
cruel method of burning them on stakes. [1]
The magical congress had strict rules regarding magicals entering the
country through non-magical means. They had methods of detection on
every airport, waterway, and major roadway border for magical
detection. And would be interviewed without fail. On the magical side of
travel, Portkeys to enter the country were heavily monitored and
required a secure process to procure. If found that one had entered the
country through an unauthorized Portkey, the person would be charged
within the country and put in prison, and Magical America's stance on
negotiations on such cases was infamous for being unyielding.
"Business or pleasure?"
Quinn looked at the man sitting in front of him. The man was a MACUSA
official, one employed in the Tourism(?) department, supposedly
responsible for interviewing those who arrived in the country through a
Portkey. This was a first for Quinn— in his recent travels, though the
influence of Wests, he had obtained Porkteys directly at his destinations
without going through 'customs.' Even when he had traveled to America
during the world tour with George, he had never sat in an interview
because of his young age.
Quinn stared at the man, wondering if his grandfather wanted him to
experience this because he for sure knew that with the West's influence,
he could dance into the country naked, and no one would question his
intentions. Well, at least, he was in a private room and not in a queue.
"Both," he replied to the official.
The official looked up from the documents and furrowed his brows.
"Both?"
"Both."
"Would you care to explain?"
"Well, I have business to take care of," asked Quinn. "But I am also
looking forward to seeing some popular public spaces. I would like to
have numerous New York slices; I have heard a lot about pizza here. Do
you have any suggestions for me? Where should I go to get the best
pizza; give me the keys to the motherload, if you know what I mean."
"I do not," said the official plainly.
Quinn shrugged. So much for the hospitality.
"How long are you here in the country?" asked the official.
"Less than two weeks."
"Please give me a specific date. What day does your Portkey return back
home?"
Quinn took out a palm-sized square tile from his pocket and placed it on
the table between them. "I was provided with a custom Portkey that I can
use anytime I like to return home. The reason I say I'm here for two
weeks is that that's the maximum duration I'm personally planning to
stay in the country . . . but if I were to answer with respect the Portkey, I
can stay here in the country as long as I want."
Such was the power of Wests.
"What?" The official picked the Portkey tile off the table and pointed his
wand at it while looking at Quinn and suspicion. His expression changed
to shock as the spell gave back the result.
". . . I-It's really a custom Portkey."
"Yes, as I told you earlier," Quinn took his return Portkey back from the
official.
It would be a while before I can apparate inter-continent,' he thought.
Cross-country apparition was easy for Quinn, and he could even skip to
neighboring countries with no problem, but cross-continent and inter-
continent travel of humungous distance was still impossible for him.
«It's possible if I let the curse— . . . . . .»
". . . Where would you be staying?"
"I have a place in Manhattan. That would be my place of residence for
my stay here." And by that, Quinn meant there was a West-owned
property that was going to use.
The official stayed silent as he picked up his quill and wrote on Quinn's
form. When he was done, he put down his quill, pushed his chair back,
and pressed a button on a golden appliance sitting on a shelf behind him.
He turned to Quinn and raised his hand towards. "Your wand, please. We
need to register it in our records."
Quinn thought for a moment, wondered about his choices before he
spoke, "I don't use a wand."
". . . . Wait, what?"
"I do not use a wand," said Quinn. He pointed at the pot of ink on the
table, and the black liquid rose out and levitated in mid-air.
The American official started at the floating ink before turning to Quinn
for a while. "You're British, correct? Do you use another form of focus?
We also need to record other foci."
"No, I don't use any form of magical focus," said Quinn.
The official's eyes remained fixed on Quinn for a while before he sighed
and looked at the form as his hand went to his temple, his fingers
rubbing it.
There was a minute of silence in the room as the official contemplated,
and Quinn sat in front of him with a smile.
"Are you sure you don't have a wand?" asked the official. "That if we
check your belongings, we won't find a wand or other form of foci."
"No, you won't be finding anything in luggage," said Quinn. They
wouldn't find "anything" in his briefcase. It was, after all, charmed to hide
the expanded space, and over the years, Quinn had added his own
additions to it, making it extra-secure.
". . . Alright, but if we find that you're lying and you're caught with a
focus, then you'd be immediately arrested and tried in the court of law
here in the country."
"I'm fine with that," said Quinn.
The official nodded, placed his hand on the hefty stamp on the table, and
brought it down on the form with ka-ching, leaving behind a green
approved mark on the paper.
"Welcome to the United States of America."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
New York, the city that never slept, the Big Apple, was a fascinating city.
For Quinn, who spent most of his year in a big castle with not enough
people to occupy it, the most populous city in the entire of America, was
too much of people. Standing in Times Square, he felt like he was
standing still in the sea of people even though he was walking. The
buildings were so tall that he had to crane his neck up to look at the top,
and everything was shiny, throwing their billboard lights on him.
Quinn, who was now of age, didn't require a chaperon to accompany him
on his trips aboard; as such, for the first time on his solo trip, he was
alone. George had tried to stick to someone with him for protection, but
Quinn had bluntly refused.
"Man, there sure are many tourists here," Quinn chuckled as he saw
myriads of visually notable people who clearly looked like visiting
tourists with their fanny packs and backpacks— traveling in hoards with
their travel guides, pointing their lenses at the sights.
Quinn raised his camera, pointed his camera at the Tim Square sight, and
clicked a picture from an angle that was pro-approved as there were a
bunch of people with professional gear standing around him, doing their
own photography.
"Hey, what's that camera," one of the professional photographers.
Quinn looked at the non-magical person and the Nikon camera in their
hands and then looked at the camera in his hand. It was around the same
size, similarly black in color, and the design did follow the current
template of SLR cameras.
But there was one glaring issue with the camera.
"This is from a company called QuinnTech," said Quinn with a shameless
smile.
The man stared at the camera, "Man, that's one good looking screen . . .
your camera doesn't look like a digital camera."
Yes, the SLR cameras lacked screens on their backsides. There were
viewfinders through which you could look at your framing, but no
screens. A screen in a camera hit the consumer market in the mid-90s in
the form of a digital camera, but even then, those screens were just for
framing shots and lacked eyeballing exposure or the entire live image
package. But Quinn's camera, which worked on magic, had a screen with
stellar image quality, showing the frame that the dynamic lens in front
was catching.
"Oh yeah, it's a great screen . . . it shows a live image, meaning the image
on the screen is exactly what will come out when printing. I can even
mess with the aperture, shutter, ISO . . . and all the works right from here
and see the results on the big screen. Though this model still needs work
on stability, though," he said. The dynamic lens utilized transmutation to
change lens type, making it a one-lense camera.
"C-Can I see it for a minute," the man had a hungry look in his eyes, "just
for a little while, man."
"Yeah, about that . . . how about no," Quinn moved his camera holding
hand away.
"Come on, man, just for a minute."
"Nope," said Quinn and waved a snapped his fingers. The man's eyes
blurred for a moment before he backed up and walked off to what he was
doing before spotting Quinn's camera.
'Using magic in public . . . in the middle of the Times Square! Man, if
MACUSA is going to throw me in prison if the caught me,' Quinn
chuckled.
After being happy with his photo collection and sightseeing around
Midtown Manhattan, Quinn went around asking New York residents
about their favorite pizza places, and his accent and clean and classy
appearance worked wonders as he was able to find many good
recommendations, which he compiled and went to the most
recommended one.
"I wonder if it's different in Brooklyn," Quinn patted his belly with a
toothpick in his mouth. He spat it out, and the pick turned to wood dust
before it hit the ground.
He looked at the nondescript multi-storied building in Upper Manhattan,
and from the outside, it didn't look much except a lot of blacked-out
windows— though Quinn noticed that it appropriately matched the
buildings in the surrounding. Its front door was closed with a black inner
shutter from the inside, and it didn't look like the building was occupied.
Quinn looked at the side of the building and saw an alleyway. The
alleyway was deserted and surprisingly clean. However, more
importantly, he felt the presence of a ward as he stepped inside.
"So, that's the entrance."
There was a side double-doored entrance opening up to the alleyway,
though it was chained up with a chunky lock with charms laid every
from chain links to door hinges to the lock itself. It made it clear that the
occupants didn't want people entering from the doors to the building.
"Whatever," Quinn waved his hand, and the lock snapped open with the
chains slipping down to the floor. The door opened, and Quinn stepped
inside. The door immediately closed, and the lock and chain were back
up again with the charms recast, just much stronger.
The building was abandoned. . . or it seemed like it. Not a single soul
could be seen in the hallways; however, they were spotless with a spot of
dust, and because of the blocked windows, the lights were on. And Quinn
could tell that the light panels fitted in the ceilings were MLEs in disguise
and that, like every other magical building, this one didn't have any
electricity running through it.
The building, as Quinn was informed about, was a residential building,
and because of its location in a non-magical dense area, the building
indeed had actual two-bedroom apartments. However, there wasn't a
single non-magical soul in the building, and none of the apartments were
occupied by anyone.
In actuality, the building wasn't a residential building but a commercial
building for the magical population of New York. Besides, every
apartment's door was a magical door hidden with charms, and those were
the actual "rooms" of the building, and behind those doors was a business
owned by several people who leased the space from the building owner.
Quinn arrived at the ninth floor of the building, and he could see a set of
apartment doors and a complementary set of hidden doors. Those two
sets of doors had something in common, which was that all of them were
locked— apartment buildings locked with simple locks, while the hidden
doors were locked with strong magical charms.
Every single hidden door was locked, just like the front door of the
building. Which Quinn thought was very American because, in Britain,
the magical buildings had "anti-muggle" charms on the front, which did a
more than enough job of keeping the non-magical outside, but the front
doors were rarely magical shut close with strong magic.
Quinn finally reached a hidden door and waved his hand for it to click
open, instantly disabling the locking magic on it. He pushed it open and
stepped inside. Immediately, he had left the darb hallway and entered a
place with a very high-end vibe to it. From the royal red walls and the
lush carpet beneath his feet, he could tell that some good work was done
in the space.
"He has done a good job," said Quinn, looking around.
Walking deeper into the space and exiting the entrance hall to find
himself in a small dining area, with tables and chairs stacked to the side,
and as he was looking at the painting on the walls, he heard footsteps,
and before he could turn to face them, he heard.
"Don't move. Who are you? How did you enter? What—"
The voice halted when Quinn fully turned. He smiled and greeted the
man who owned the restaurant.
"Hello, Abraham," said Quinn to the shocked man. "Surprise!"
.
Quinn West - MC - I'm here, America!
Official - Customs - For some reason, the red denied stamp calls for him.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Ignorant about cameras, Customs, and
pizza.
.
.
[1]: This is my fictional vision of magical America. I have NOT built it from
my views of "real" America, and even those views are ignorant at best, as my
only access to America is through popular media. I know jack shit. Same goes
for all the other countries I have ever written. I won't even say I know my own
country well enough to be an authority.
.
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!
295. Chapter 295: Restaurant
Astier
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
"Don't move. Who are you? How did you enter? What—"
"Hello, Abraham . . . . Surprise!"
Quinn and Abraham stared at each other as they stood in Abraham's
restaurant. Abraham's jaw was slightly ajar as his hand raised, froze with
a wand pointed at Quinn.
"Quinn. . . Quinn, what are you doing here?" Abraham asked, seemingly
trying to figure out what was happening here. "H-How did you get here?
The Floo's not lit yet, and you can't apparate in here."
Quinn raised his hand to the front and gently lowered it. On Abraham's
end, he felt his wand hand being pushed down.
"Let's get that wand not pointing, shall we," said Quinn. "As for answering
your question, I didn't come through the Floo, nor did I apparate here,"
he pointed at the corridor that he had used to enter the dining area, "I
came through the front door like a normal person— you know, opened it
and walked inside— don't worry though, I locked it after me.
So, how are you, Abraham?" he asked.
"No, no, no," Abraham raised his other hand up, showing Quinn his open
palm, "you have to answer me why you're here first."
"Hmm, isn't that obvious? I came here to meet you."
"To New York? From Herefordshire?!"
"It's not that far, you know. It's just over the pond, as they say, and I
didn't even take a boat, popped up using a Portkey and took Floo to a
node in New York, then wandered my way here to the building. Even had
a fair share of pizza on my way."
Abraham stared at Quinn, his face still showing disbelief.
Quinn realized what the man was thinking. It was, after all, very creepy
and crazy to pop up at someone's workplace without notifying them,
especially when that space was closed off from outside entry.
'Whatever, I own the place,' he thought, ignoring that it wasn't okay, even
for the landlord to enter a tenant's place without their permission.
"I assume Lia doesn't know you're coming here," asked Abraham, sighing.
"Nope~, I didn't tell her," Quinn exchanged MagiFax with Lia every
week, and she was clueless about his visit to America and that Quinn was
visiting Abraham. "If I told her that I was coming here, she would've tried
to stop me, or told you I was coming, or be here in person to breath
down my neck. . . I'm taller than her, though."
"That does sound like her." Abraham once again breathed a long sigh.
"Then may I ask why you're actually here?"
"I'm in New York for some work," said Quinn, pulling a table and two
chairs from the corner with a wave of his hand. "As for why I'm here
specifically, I wanted to see how my lessee was doing— need to know if
you'll be able to make rent this month."
"Wait, what? Lessee, what do you mean?" Abraham asked Quinn, who sat
down by the table.
"I own the place, Abraham; you signed a lease to use this space, making
me your landlord."
"What?! I didn't know that!" Abraham, who had sat down on his chair,
immediately stood back up, pushing his chair back.
Quinn glanced at the falling chair, and it stopped falling and stood
straight up. "Of course, you wouldn't know. I wasn't the owner when you
leased this place; I only recently acquired it as part of one of my few
investments here in America."
"Did you . . . did you buy it because I have my restaurant here?" Abraham
asked.
"Partially, yes. It was one of the reasons behind why I bought this place,"
he had bought it from Lia after all. "The other reason is the prime real-
estate this space is. Upper Manhattan, especially a magical building, is
just a great investment. I'm impressed that you're doing well enough to
pay rent for this place— it's really, really high."
Abraham sank back down on the chair, his shoulders slumping.
"Don't feel down; nothing's going to change," said Quinn, chuckling. "I
don't have the time or motivation to directly take care of rent and other
things here. You'll be interacting with whomever you have been
interacting with, and things will remain the same."
". . . I don't know what to say," Abraham sighed. "I don't know how I
should feel about you owning the space for my restaurant."
"Restaurant? No, no, my dear Abraham," Quinn raised his finger and
waved it around, "I own this entire building."
Lia had only owned Abraham's building, and she had only sold that to
Quinn. But after that, Quinn had gone out of his way to buy the entire
building from all the individual owners to obtain the ownership of the
entire building.
"The entire building?!" Abraham all but yelled. "Oh my god . . . so much
rent."
Quinn laughed. Eighty percent of the lots in the building were occupied,
and Quinn was receiving rent from them every month, and he was sure
that incoming times, the management agency handling the building
would have it running at its full capacity.
"So when do you open?" Quinn asked.
"Dinner service starts at five," said Abraham.
Quinn looked at the time, and it was three. He looked around the
restaurant, and it looked deserted. "You have employees, right? Where
are they?"
"They're out for lunch. I think they're about to return."
"You don't have a staff meal?"
"We don't do staff lunch usually. My staff likes to go out after prep work
and before the dinner service starts. They're about to return."
Quinn looked around the restaurant, and Abraham noticed the gaze.
"Do you have any questions?" he asked.
"Yeah, how many people do you serve here?" Quinn asked. "I ask this
because I'm presuming this is the dining area."
The dining area, as far as restaurants were concerned, was small— from
what Quinn could tell, it was barely big enough to fit two to three tables.
Quinn had been quite a few of them, magical and non-magical, low-end
to high-end, street food to fine dining.
"We serve fifteen reservations daily," Abraham glanced around his
workplace. "Each party can be anywhere from a single patron to a party
of ten, and we will prepare accordingly."
Quinn nodded, recalling going to numerous restaurants with the model
Abraham used. They were high-end and exclusive, aiming to provide the
best experience with a very personal touch to the guests. And from what
Quinn could put together with the rent and the number of people
Abraham served, he could tell that the restaurant was high-end with a
niche clientele.
Abraham pointed around the small room, "This is just one of the fifteen
rooms in the restaurant. Our guests require privacy, and luckily America
is famous for its spatial magic services, so we stretched the space as
widely as possible and divided it into these fifteen rooms along with our
other requirements."
Quinn glanced at the wall behind Abraham and sent out a pulse of magic.
'Ah, it's indeed stretched out with spatial magic,' he thought, sensing the
magic all around the room.
He knew that America was known for its spatial magic. Lia had
commissioned the briefcase that she had gifted him from an American
craftsman. That briefcase had become home to what could be arguably
said to be his entire life.
"You must see a lot of politicians as patrons," said Quinn.
"Having a place in New York, especially in Manhattan, does make the
guests who run in political circles."
Manhattan was the home to the headquarters of The Magical Congress of
the United States of America (MACUSA,) making it the hub for magical
American politicians and bigshots who were related to bureaucracy and
politics.
"What do you guys serve?"
"French cuisine as that I was what I was trained in," Abraham said with
pride. "We, however, don't provide a menu— we provide a set menu that
changes regularly as we experiment and learn with our craft. Guests,
however, can tell us in advance what they want to eat, and we will
prepare it for them. We keep records of all our guests. For example, if
you eat here, then we will keep a record of what you ate, and the next
time you visit us, we can customize your menu— if you want to eat
something from a previous visit, we can provide that, or if you desire to
eat something new, we can make sure none of the dishes you ate the last
time repeat.
We also take feedback from our guests to learn their tastes and
preferences to provide a personal experience. The more you visit, the
better we would know you, and thus get a better experience than the last
time."
Quinn stared at Abraham with slightly raised brows, impressed with what
he heard. He knew that selling an "experience" was a good business
model, and in his view, Abraham's restaurant was implementing an
innovative version of that.
"Wow," he uttered, clapping soundlessly. "When Lia introduced you as a
restaurateur, she wasn't lifting you up, was she . . . you said that you
worked in a place much different from this one— you must've thought a
lot about this."
Abraham nodded. "I left a great job that I was very comfortable with to
start my own restaurant, so I had to be sure that I was going to do
something that would be successful. I thought about it for an entire year
before spelling the charm," he then smiled, "Lia helped me a lot when I
was thinking on how to do things."
"Ah, I can feel the love," Quinn said with exaggeration. He then paused
and leaned forward to ask seriously. "Lia's not going to come here today,
is she?"
"Lia? No, we aren't set to meet for a couple more days."
Lia, with her responsibilities, was a busy person, and with her job that
took her all over the globe, she couldn't stay in a single country like an
average person. Abraham, in his job as the head chef and owner, too was
a busy individual— it took a lot of research and experimentation to run a
place like he wanted to run, and to keep guests happy, he had to be
constantly doing something new which took time to do with the level of
service that was promised.
As such, from Quinn knew, his sister and her boyfriend didn't have a
relationship that looked like the ones that many others their age had.
"When do you two spend time together, if you don't mind me asking,"
asked Quinn.
"It's difficult for a non-resident to come in American with a Portkey,"
started Abraham and shook his head with a wry smile. "But apparently,
it's not a big deal for your sister; she said she can Portkey here every day
without any problem, so we did contemplate that but decided against it.
I start my day late and work till late, whereas Lia starts her days early
and works till evening, so our times don't match for us to meet every day.
Moreover, I'm busy at weekends, so we decided to spend time together on
Wednesdays and Thursdays— she comes here, and I leave the kitchen to
my second in command and partner on those two days— I'm lucky to
have a great staff."
'Well, as long as they're happy with their relationship,' thought Quinn
and then asked, "Do you have a room here in the restaurant where I can
rest for a while?"
"Yeah," Abraham looked towards a corridor leading out of the dining, "we
have a room in the back . . . but are you sure that you don't want to go
rest wherever you're staying."
"I'll go there after I return from my outing during the late night. Right
now, I would like if I could just jump up from here because if I go there, I
would need to meet up with a bunch of people waiting for me and sit
down with them for a while," Quinn sighed.
His living arrangements here were handled by the people employed by
Wests, which meant even though this was a personal trip, there were
people who knew Quinn was visiting. That meant there were going to be
West Executives who would like to meet the grandson of George West
and do some bootlicking and get acquainted. So if he went at night, he
wouldn't have to deal with those people until tomorrow, or . . . never in
his trip if he went out early and returned late.
"I have no problem with that," Abraham said, "you can rest in the
backroom; I will ask my staff to stay away from the room."
"Thank you, that'd be much appreciated."
.
o - o - O - o - o
.
"That ends today's briefing," said Abraham looking at his staff. "I hope
everyone's clear with their tasks and today's profile."
" " "Yes, chef!" " " replied the staff of 'Restaurant Astier.'
Abraham closed his notes for the day and smiled as his employees, but
then noticed that suddenly their eyes strayed to the side, looking behind
him. He turned and saw Quinn standing at the kitchen door, dressed in a
suit that was different from the casual jacket he wore before.
"Quinn?" he called. "Is it time for you to go out?"
Quinn shook his head before waving towards the staff with a charming
smile. He stepped forward, retrieved an envelope from his pocket, and
handed it to Abraham, who looked at the familiar envelope with wide
eyes.
". . . You have a reservation for today," Abraham said, raising the
reservation invitation letter that Restaurant Astier sent to its guests.
"Yes, I'm booked under the name Balbh East," Quinn pointed at the letter
card and then grinned, "Surprise~!"
Abraham's eyes went down to the letter card and then up to Quinn, and
as he did that, he couldn't help but think how similar Quinn was to Lia in
some aspects, and more importantly, he made a note not to spend an
evening with both of the West siblings together.
". . . I will show you to your seat," said Abraham.
They exited and followed along a corridor with fifteen doors in it. They
stopped in front of door number four, and Abraham opened it up for
Quinn to step inside. The dining room was decor-rich, yet it was simple.
Quinn could see a lot of things like a magical gramophone and walls with
paint that moved seemed to move slowly to change patterns over time. In
the middle of the room sat an ornate table with two chairs.
"Room four, from what I remember, has a reservation for two guests"
Abraham frowned as he read the reservation letter card, then looked up
at Quinn. "Someone else will be eating with you?"
Quinn looked away from the room and nodded, "Yes, I'm meeting with
someone here." He took out his pocket watch to check the time, "They
like to be on time, so I guess they're about to arrive."
As soon as Quinn said that, a hemispherical glass globe on a wall, which
had been empty, suddenly lit up with a flare of green flames rushing
under the glass.
"What is that?" Quinn asked.
"It seems you were right about them being on time," said Abraham. "Your
guest has arrived at the Floo in the reception room."
Quinn glanced down on his clothes, and they straightened up. He held
his hand behind his back and positioned himself so he was looking away
from the door. Soon he heard a jolly yet old voice.
"Thank you, little lady," said the voice.
"Good evening, sir," Abraham greeted the smiling old man with eyes that
seemed to shine with an eye-catching light. "I'm Abraham Astier, the
Head Chef of Restaurant Astier. I'll be preparing your courses this
evening."
"Hoho, I'm looking forward to it, Abraham. I don't usually come to
establishments like these."
"Please look forward to an enjoyable time, sir," said Abraham. "Please
enter, sir; your companion has already arrived."
"Oh?" the old voice chuckled . . . sounds of footsteps . . . "Quinn . . . oh
my, haven't you grown tall."
Quinn, who was acting as if he didn't know about the arrival, turned to
gaze upon the old man with a smile,
"And you have grown older, Mr. Alan."
Alan D. Baddeley's already wide smile stretched wider, accentuating his
smile wrinkles on the side of his eyes.
"That happens with time, my dear child."
The master and student had reunited.
.
Alan D. Baddeley - MASTER - Hello, little ones. It has been a long-long
while.
Quinn West - Balbh East - I don't approve of this disrespect! Why was I
bumped down the list?! Move me up this instant!
Abraham Astier - Restaurant Astier - Wonder who's the old man.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Who better than the GOAT himself.
.
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!
296. Chapter 296: Reunited In
America
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
Abraham wondered why, that for some reason, Quinn West looked more
similar to Alan D. Baddeley than he looked to his sister or grandfather.
He looked between the young and the old and tried to see why was it so.
Then it dawned on him.
'Their smiles are the same,' thought Abraham, watching the two
unfettered smiles.
"Here, I thought you forgot the poor old me," said Alan as he sat down in
front of Quinn.
"How could I?" Quinn chuckled. "I'm not going to forget you, at least until
the day when I'm able to break into that disgusting lockbox of a mind.
When your defenses are in shambles, then you have my permission to
die. So before that, don't kick the can, alright."
"That might be a problem, my dear student," Alan laughed with his eyes
closing.
"Oh, why may I ask?"
"You'll be dead before you or anyone else is able to peak into the
beautiful masterpiece what is unanimously considered to be the best
mind in the world."
Quinn laughed, "Don't count on that, old man. I'm going to do that
apprenticeship under you, learn everything you have to teach, learn
about your mind inside-out, and before you know it, I would be looking
at your most embarrassing of memories."
"You're welcome to try, but you're naive to think that I won't study your
mind as you study mine— and unlike you, I'm spectacular at what I do.
You will be attacking my mind without having a clue that I have been
sitting in the core of your mind, seeing your moves before you know
you're making them."
The master and student, both prideful about their abilities, neither
willing to concede that they would be on the losing end. One was the
premier mind specialist— the best of all time, as the man liked to declare
about himself. While the other one was a rising star— the fastest-growing
magical in the world, the strongest and most knowledgeable someone
ever was when they were at his age.
"It's delightful meeting you after so long, Quinn," said Alan earnestly.
"I feel the same, Mr. Alan . . . though I have to say before you finally
agreed to get a MagiFax last year, it was tough to get the hang of you— if
you only listened to me and let me set up a WMF-id for you."
"I have already said this to you but, at that time, I didn't see any use for
it. Even now, I don't use it as much as a lot of people I know do. Though I
have to say, it is a very intriguing and useful implementation of magic—
I have many a conversation with many magic researchers about how it
works and the implications that MagiFax has in the world.
Your family did a good job creating MagiFax," said Alan.
Quinn smiled. He had created MagiFax in his earlier Hogwarts days, a
couple years after he and Alan had parted. Then the last time both had
met, Alan had restricted (quite in a bit in Alan's skewed standards) and
didn't enter the part of Quinn's mind that he didn't want to be seen.
Though Quinn was expecting that Alan would know about MagiFax's
origins, seeing that he didn't was surprising.
'Oh, I'm thinking about it now; maybe he knows now,' Quinn thought,
staring at Alan, who noticed his gaze and chuckled. Quinn tilted his head
and asked, "What's funny?"
"Oh nothing," Alan chuckled more. "You were testing if I was reading
your mind, weren't you."
"Are you?"
"No, I'm not. I will take residence in your mind when you come
apprentice under me," said Alan, picking up his glass of seltzer. "Though I
could be lying, and I'm already in your mind, which, for you, would
mean that I'm still absolutely superior and you're still another lifetime or
two behind before you finally catch up to me if that's even possible."
"How can you say that? You don't know what I have going on in my
mind. I might have created something that even you would have a
difficult time entering," Quinn crossed his arms.
"Should we try it then?" asked Alan.
". . . No."
Their meal soon started, and because of a multi-course meal, Quinn cast a
sound spell of his own creation that would make him and Alan
communicate even with the servers going in and out of the room. The
spell ensured that Alan's words addressed to Quinn would only be audible
to Quinn and vice-versa; the server would only hear their voice if Alan
and Quinn said words addressing the server.
"Your skills with casting magic without a focus must have improved since
the last time we met," said Alan when Quinn cast the sound magic. The
last time Alan and Quinn had parted, Quinn had just finished rebuilding
his natural focus ability back from scratch.
"It has gotten better. I mean, I'm still in the growth period, so even if I
don't do anything, it would still improve," said Quinn followed by a sigh.
"This is the last year of my growth period— after this, my progress would
considerably."
"You are the only person who doesn't deserve to say that with a sigh,"
Alan said, looking at his student incredulously. "I reckon you have more
magic than any human on the planet, Quinn. People don't spend their
teenage years exhausting their magic every day— they go out and play
with their friends have fun with their lives. I don't believe that there are
many people who followed a milder version of what you did, much less
the intensity you follow.
And even those who did spend magic daily, most of them didn't do it
voluntarily . . . a child doing what their parents force them to do doesn't
make for fantastic motivation after all," said Alan, laying a napkin on his
lap.
"Still, you know . . . I end up feeling like I could've done else I could've
done to supplement my growth— that there was a method other than
magical exhaustion every day that could've yielded more results," said
Quinn, wiping the silver soup spoon with a napkin cloth.
"You're overthinking this matter," Alan waved his hand in dismissal.
"Sure, there are potions you can take and rituals one can undergo, but
you know how they can turn out. If you don't know exactly what you're
trying to do, messing with your natural physique can end up doing more
harm than good, especially in the long run."
Quinn conceded the point. Rituals were high-risk magic without
knowledge, which Quinn didn't have, at least not yet. Potions were
temporary and were a viable option to supplement their growth, but the
returns weren't worth it with what was put in. Finally, there was the
option of body magic— what he did currently was a temporary boost, but
as one dove deeper into body magic, permanent, and more importantly,
stable augmentations were possible.
But those weren't in the near future, at least not for another nine years to
a decade.
"So, tell me, what have you been for the past few years?" asked Alan.
"You're young, you must've gotten a girlfriend or two by now— what
about the girls I saw in your memories— what was their names . . .
Daphne, Tracey, Luna, Hermione, Ivy— or was there was someone else
that came along? Come on, tell me~."
Quinn suddenly slammed his palm lightly on the table. "You dare ask me
that after sending me that sort of gift on birthday?!"
"What are you talking about? I think it was a great gift!"
"You gave me a book on Kamasutra, for crying out loud!" Quinn said
loud;y, recalling the morning of his birthday last year when he found a
package from Alan in the lounge. He was excited when he saw that the
package was clearly in the shape of a book— thinking that maybe it was
a new version of Alan's books, but when Quinn opened it in the lounge,
with George, Lia, Ms. Rosey, and Elliot, all sitting nearby, he found the
book titled — Kamasutra — he had never mended anything faster than
he did the ripped up wrapping paper.
"Yeah, and that's what makes it such a great gift," Alan said proudly. "And
it was the real deal, you know, it's one the good versions that I got
straight from India with all the right spells and magic to elevate the
experience . . . you didn't throw it away, did you? Did you?!"
Quinn picked up some of the soup in his spoon but couldn't bring it to his
mouth under the intense gaze of Alan. "Alright! Alright! I still have it; I
didn't throw it away. It's somewhere in my library."
"Did you read it?"
"No."
"So you did read it, nice!" Alan clapped happily.
Quinn groaned. He had read the book . . . professional curiosity— 'It was
a type of body magic, after all. . . yeah.'
"Did you read about the chapter on first times," said Alan,
enthusiastically, "because if you use the magic, they can make it painless
—"
"Alright, stop with that already!"
Alan laughed at the sight of Quinn groaning.
"It was surprising that you caught when I was in America," said Alan,
spooning some of the soup in front of him. "I'm here for another week
before going back home to New Zealand for a year. If you called me after
another week or so, you could've been able to see my house by the beach
at Piha.
But I guess it can't be helped; from what I can recall, this is the time
when your school goes into Easter break."
Quinn didn't comment on Alan's perfect memory.
"I will see your home when I apprentice under you," he said.
Alan looked up from his code and said, "It seems you have made your
mind about apprentice under me."
"Yeah, I think starting it off with mind magic under you is going to be a
good starting point. I plan to learn from you and devote a majority of my
time to what you're going to teach me. I won't be stopping my other
pursuits— however, I will be going back to the basics and fundamentals,
understanding them at a much deeper level, so that when I leave you and
start with others, I would have a base of knowledge acting as a
springboard for me to start on."
Quinn had been juggling numerous things for the past couple of years
that it had got hectic for him, and it was becoming difficult for him to
juggle all those things as the complexity of things started to ramp up. So
he decided that he would be going back to the gold ol' basics while
following whatever Alan wanted him to do.
"Are you sure?" asked Alan. "Your apprenticeship under me might go on
for five years or even longer."
"That's a long time, Mr. Alan," said Quinn, chuckling. "I speculate, I
would be out after year three . . . and even if it does take five years, I'm
fine with it, I'm in no hurry— I have a lot of time on my hands."
"I see . . . so, what do you want to talk to me about," asked Alan. "I'm
quite certain that you didn't call me all of a sudden to catch up, did you?
So tell me, what is today's agenda?"
Quinn let the soup spoon sit in the bowl and gazed up at Alan, who sat
up a straighter, seeing the expression on Quinn's face.
"Do you remember what I told you about the curse that took away my
natural ability to focus magic?" Quinn asked.
Yes, of course, obviously," said Alan, "you called it the Sin curse."
"Yes . . . the Sin curse . . . ."
Alan gazed at Quinn, waiting for him to continue, but Quinn looked up at
him with pursed lips . . . and then shrugged. Alan's eyes widened as it
dawned on him.
"You . . . you caught it again?!" Alan leaned forward and spoke with
shock in his voice.
"Well, technically—"
"Quinn."
Quinn sighed and then nodded, "Yes, I got it again," his face scrunched
up, "and Mr. Alan, you have got to help me out."
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - I have excellent choice in gifts.
Quinn West - MC - Second again?! You got to be kidding me!
FictionOnlyReader - Author - When the students is ready, the master
appears.
.
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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!
297. Chapter 297: Introducing
The Fable
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"! What were you thinking. . . ?!"
Quinn pursed his lips and held back the groan. Alan wasn't the scolding
type and preferred to mock instead to get his point across, so seeing him
raise his voice made Quinn squirmy. He didn't dare meet eyes with Alan,
choosing to maintain eye contact and instead focus on Alan's hands.
"Why in the name of basic sanity would you go back there," Alan
chastised. "Did you forget what you went through the last time— you lost
control over your magic! If you did somehow forget, if you hadn't been
able to regain the focus back, we would've to seal your magic so that it
wouldn't kill you! Sealing your magic, Quinn! Do you know what that
entails? It's not natural— your body would reject the procedure done to
seal the magic, and in the history of sealing magic, every single case,
without exception, had seen complications with health for the rest of
their lives, and that's when the procedure is successful— the abominable
procedure has a high mortality rate and someone like you with so much
magic might just have died because of it!"
Quinn chose not to reply to that; more like he couldn't respond to that.
Described as a "dark" and "parasitic" force, an Obscurus was created when
the wizard child in question consciously attempted to repress their
magical abilities or were forced to do so through physical or
psychological abuse. This energy could manifest itself as a separate entity
erupting in violent, destructive fury. — The point to notice about
Obscurus was the repression of magic. The medical procedure Alan
talked about held a similar danger to the mysterious Obscurus as in
undergoing the procedure meant unnaturally repressing — or sealing —
magic, which while didn't result in the patient becoming Obscurus, did
hold other complications like a life long degradation of health and a high
chance of death while undergoing the procedure.
All those years ago, if Quinn hadn't regained his magic, he would have to
go under the procedure to give himself a living chance against his own
constantly rampaging magic. The magic sealing procedure was one of the
primary motivations for him to regain his focus as soon as possible— the
desperation pushing him harder and harder to achieve more in lesser
time.
"I thought I would be able to handle it this time around," said Quinn,
massaging his temple. Obviously, it hadn't gone as he wished it would've
been— things rarely went his way when it came to the Cursed Vaults.
"And do tell what made you think that you would be able to handle a
curse with a design that targets the Soul," Alan said in a rare no-nonsense
tone.
Quinn looked at Alan. He slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his
coat, where he usually fixed his expanded pockets and took a hardback
book.
"What is this?" Alan asked as he looked at the book that Quinn had
handed him. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard," he gazed at the cover art
painted in shades and hues of green and black, "what is this. . . a fairy
tail collection? What does a children's fiction have to do with any of this."
"Read the work titled, The Tale of Three Brothers," said Quinn. It wasn't
surprising that Alan didn't know of the book— it was a British special
while Alan was a New Zealander.
Alan furrowed his brows and peered at Quinn, asking for a direct answer,
but Quinn pointed at the book. Alan glanced down and opened the book
with scepticism. He flipped through the pages, looking for the story; he
found and started reading the semi-poetic words written between
illustrations depicting the story; the art moved — the robes of three
brothers fluttered in the wind while Death's robe remained still like death
itself.
By the time Alan was done, the course on the table had changed. Gone
was the soup, replaced by a tantalizing appetizer— only neither were
particularly in the mood of enjoying it.
"I read it," said Alan, closing the book, "now what; I still don't see how
any of this related to your current situation."
Quinn snapped his fingers, and the wisp of flame appeared on the top of
his index fingertip. "As you can see, I am still able to use magic, and I'm
not using Occlumency to hold it back," said Quinn. "The situation isn't as
dire as it was the last time."
Alan blinked. It seemed that he had missed that Quinn could still use his
magic and, from the looks of it, without any difficulty.
"What do you think of the three artifacts in the tale, the Deathly
Hallows," he asked.
"What do I think of them? I think nothing of them— they're fictional.
Where are you going with this; come to the point."
Quinn stared at Alan for a while before he raised a finger on the hand
that rested palm flat on the table. The platinum chain around Quinn's
neck wiggled out from within his collar and levitated out with the
pendant piece acting as the flying anchor. Quinn grabbed the pendant
piece, and when he opened his fist, a black stone set on his palm.
"See this and tell me if it reminds you of something," said Quinn as he
removed his palm beneath the Stone, leaving it suspended in the air. He
touched it with his finger and slowly drifted to Alan.
Alan observed the black gemstone as it came to a stop in front of him. It
slowly gyrated, showing its different polyhedral sides.
"Hmm?"
As the Stone gyrated, Alan caught the sight of something, and he
squinted his eyes, waiting for it to return to the front, and when it did,
his eyes went wide.
"Th-This . . . This!"
Alan immediately waved his bracelet styled magical focus laden hand,
sending the pages flipping over till the book was opened to the last page
of the Tales of Three Brother story and saw the sign made up from a
triangle, circle, and a line . . . .
"Is this real?"
Quinn nodded. "That's the Ressurection Stone mentioned in the story—
the real deal."
Alan stared at the stone, his face painted in shock. He reached out to the
Stone and clasped the stone between his fingers. He raised it above to his
eyes and peered at it.
"This Stone can summon soul?"
"It can," said Quinn, "but don't try to use it."
Alan frowned and looked up at Quinn. "Why?"
"It's calling a dead soul back into the world of the living; that's unnatural.
I don't know if there's a cost to the summoning of a dead soul. Cadmus, in
the story, was driven mad."
"Then how do you know if it works?"
"Try channelling some magic into it; you'll get the feel of it, and know
that just with one more step, a soul of your choice will descend into the
mortal world."
Alan looked at the Stone, and the magic flowed into his bracelet focus
and then into the Stone. "Ah . . . yes, it seems you're right . . . I can feel
it, one command, and I'll have soul here in this room."
Quinn snapped his finger, and the stone wiggled out of Alan's hand and
zoomed back into Quinn's. "Yeah, and that is why I dared to go back and
give the Sin Vault another try. I studied the Stone for a while before I
went diving back into the Vault . . . . alas," Quinn sighed, "it didn't work
as I expected it to."
Alan nodded, but Quinn could see from his face that Alan was thinking
about something else.
"What?" he asked.
"Where did you get this?" Alan asked.
"Ah, about that . . . let's just say I stole . . . borrowed it from a man, who
didn't need it— did him a favor by taking it out his hand . . . yeah,
totally," said Quinn.
"What about the other two Deathly Hallows, was it? The Wand and the
Cloak. Do you know where they are; I mean, if you were able to find the
Stone, then . . ."
"The other two Hallows are in possession of other people," said Quinn.
"You know Albus Dumbledore?"
"Dumbledore? Your Headmaster, correct? Hmm, ah, I remember him—
he was Flamel's apprentice, wasn't he? I think I met him once when I was
helping Flamel's with some of his memory problems— The Alchemist and
wife's minds were fascinating ones; both of them had been alive for so
long that their minds were all cluttered— it is good that they called me
in, or they might have had problems in the seventies.
Ah, that was a good time— not only did I get to study two unique minds
being held up by the Elixir of Life, I also got a consume a dose of the
infamous Elixir."
"Wait, seriously! You drank the Elixir of Life?!"
"I did," Alan said proudly. "Felt really young for a month— hadn't felt like
that in a century."
"Wow, so lucky!"
"I sure was," Alan nodded. "So what about Dumbledore?"
"Ah yes, Dumbledore— he has the Elder Wand, the Death Stick."
"Oh? Another Deathly Hallow so close to you, now that's lucky."
Quinn chuckled, "The Cloak of Invisibility resides in the hands of the
Potter family— they're the descendants of Ignotus Peverell— it's a Potter
family heirloom." Just like Dumbledore, Quinn knew that Alan would
know the Potter from his memories.
"Oh my, all three so near to each other," said Alan with surprise, "it must
be fate."
Quinn made a scrunched-up face.
"What? Why is your face doing that?" asked Alan.
"I don't like that word," said Quinn.
"What word?"
"Fate," Quinn spat. "Come on, let's get back to the matter at hand."
"Ah, yes, the curse . . . . so you decided to give the Sin Vault another try
because you had the Resurrection Stone with you, which is clearly a Soul
artifact, giving you an insight into the soul," Alan then stared deeply at
Quinn, "which also means that you have started Soul magic . . . . You
have used magic on your soul."
Quinn nodded, understanding the severity of Alan's gaze. Soul magic was
one of the most dangerous, if not THE most dangerous magic to its user.
One mistake was all it took for one to bring ruin to the user's Soul and . .
. soul magic was a mythical level practice on Earth— meaning there
weren't many who dwelled into soul magic, which made it difficult to
cure any damage to the Soul. Quinn was lucky that the Sin curse hadn't
done any damage to his Soul in the original cursing and had only
manipulated it while keeping pristine.
After all, as far as Quinn and Alan could tell, the Sin Vault was an
experiment to push the limits of magic in humans through soul
manipulation.
"Be careful, Quinn," said Alan. "Soul magic is perilous. Any mistake, and
you'll be in deep trouble. It took me a long time to even start
contemplating about diving into soul magic. I was already much-much
older than you when I started— you . . . I don't even think you should be
going into soul magic so young."
Quinn shrugged. He had started and was already deep because of Sin
Vault and curse. Also . . . the Ressurection Stone in his grasp was too
much of a temptation for him let go.
"You seem to be able to use magic without any problems," said Alan.
"Which means that there must be something different this time around—
your work with soul magic must've done some good."
"Yes . . . something is very different. Last time, all you were able to work
with was the aftermath— the curse was already out of me before you
examined me," Quinn chuckled as he pointed at himself. "This time
around . . . I brought the actual curse along with me."
Alan's eyes widened as he looked at Quinn's chest, his eyes turning gold.
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - I have met some interesting people in my life.
Quinn West - MC - " . . . . . "
FictionOnlyReader - MC - Now we see what Alan tells Quinn.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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298. Chapter 298: Before The
Answer
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". . . this time, I brought the curse along with me."
Alan's eye took over a golden hue as he channelled soul magic and gazed
deeply at Quinn. The first thing that entered Alan's mind as he looked at
Quinn's soulscape and his Soul was that Quinn had indeed made some
impressive progress— it wasn't ground-breaking, and Alan had seen this
level of achievement by many those he knew dabbled in soul magic— but
all of them were closer to his age than they were to Quinn's.
Alan frowned. 'What is this?'
Quinn had no cover that allowed him to hide his soulscape and Soul,
allowing Alan to peer right in— not many had them as the number of
people practicing soul magic were few in between; as such, time and
energy devoted to the dangerous soul magic were much better utilized in
other useful things such as strengthening the Soul's connection to magic
enabling better natural focus and thus better magical control with a
magical focus (wand.)
But, even without a cover over the soulscape, Alan couldn't peer into
Quinn's Soul. He could feel it and knew a Soul was present in front of
him but couldn't see it.
'Is that because of the Sin curse?'
'That' was the opacity that hindered his sight. The entire soulscape was
covered with shades of black— there were blotches of pitch black, while
there were others spreads of lighter blacks that were letting out some
light.
"Why can't I look into your soulscape?" he asked. "There's a lot black
blocking my view."
"The curse is acting as a parasite, and even though I have stopped it from
reaching the stage it had done the last time, the curse still has its hooks
sunk in me," said Quinn before asking. "And what do you mean by black
— isn't it seven-colored?"
"Seven colored? No, all I can see are shades of black . . . hmm, now that I
see it . . . yeah, there's seven shades of black."
Quinn tilted his head. He dove into his soulscape, and the pristine was
entirely stained with seven colors— it was one of the reasons Quinn had
decided to ask for Alan's help— even though he had stopped the mind-
whispers, the progression of the curse had continued to take over his
soulscape with only his Soul being safe because of his shield.
"Show it to me," said Quinn.
"Come in, then," said Alan, smiling.
Quinn looked into Alan's eyes which went back to their normal blue color
and reached out with his Legilimency. He found himself standing within
the dense white fog the next second, limiting his visibility down to a few
feet. He waited for the haze to clear, but seconds passed, and the fog
didn't let up.
"Alright, very fun, haha; Quinn can't see anything," he said, "come on, get
this out of my face."
He heard a peal of laughter booming from everywhere as the haze
cleared and came into his vision was a ginormous blood-red sphere of
liquid with surface rippling every other second, colliding with other
ripples and making other sub-ripples.
Quinn sucked in a breath. It had been years since the last time he had
seen this sight. Alan's Occlumency defense, built on another system of
defense— one more advanced than Quinn could even imagine; Quinn
was sure that Alan was so beyond everyone that if he turned back to see
where the second stood, he wouldn't be able to see them.
A dual natural Occlumens and Legilimens, who worked hard to perfect
his craft, was an absolutely terrifying being. Quinn had no idea how the
blood-red sphere worked or how to even avoid the fog— he could spend
his life wandering in the mind fog and get nowhere.
He watched as a point in the red liquid bubbled before a letter envelope
came out, flying to him. Like Quinn used memory-books to store his
memories, Alan used memory envelopes to form his storage; according to
Alan, his mother used to send him a letter every week when he was away
from home at school and was a big part of Alan's formative years— and
when he formally started learning Occlumency, he used those letters as
the model.
Quinn grabbed the envelope and turned it bottom side up. He slipped his
finger inside the lip, flicked it open, and that's when Alan's memory of
peering at Quinn's soulscape flooded into his mind.
Once again, he was made to realize how brilliant Alan was at mind
magic. He had landed in the memory inside Alan's perspective. Quinn
looked around and even turned back to see what was behind— usually, it
would be a blurry mess of colors, but Alan, who had developed a perfect
memory, knew precisely what was behind him as he had seen it when he
entered the room and composited that image in the current memory,
which lacked that information.
'I can also do it,' thought Quinn, and it was true; it wasn't that difficult
when you had ample immersion in the memory — 'but I can't do it in
seconds like him.' Compositing memories like that was an easy yet time-
consuming process and could anywhere from a few minutes to several
hours or even multiple days.
He stood up from Alan's chair and walked to memory-Quinn.
"So this is what you're talking about, huh," muttered Quinn, looking at
the black covering his soulscape. "Well, it looks real colorful from the
inside."
Instantly, he was yanked out the memory and thrown out Alan's
mindscape as the haze again populated the blank black space.
"Alright, now my turn," said Alan. "I'm going enter your soulscape and
take a good look at the problem . . . not going to lie, but I'm excited to
see what exactly is happening inside of you. I wonder if I would be able
to learn something— it has been a while I have made some delicious
progress on soul magic."
Quinn couldn't even rebuke; after all, if he was in Alan's shoes, he would
have the same reaction.
"How are you going to enter my soulscape?" asked Quinn. "I presume
entering on your own would not be ideal."
"Yes, can't be doing that, so you're going to take me inside on your own
violation," said Alan.
Quinn shrugged. It was dangerous to let an external soul near one's own
as it was one of the most significant vulnerabilities of a being. But here, it
wasn't even a question for Quinn.
"Alright, let's get started. I want to get this out of me."
But before they did that, Alan and Quinn completed and enjoyed their
meal. They knew that it was going to take some time for Alan to observe
and take in the situation, then analyze it before he could give a
conclusion, and that couldn't be done while a server was coming and
going between courses.
After they were done, they asked Abraham if they could use the room.
Abraham had no problems with it as he served fifteen parties and had
fifteen rooms— a party could stay as long as they wanted, given that they
left before the restaurant closed.
Quinn and Alan locked the room and told Abraham that no one was to
disturb them and got to work.
"Give me your hand," said Alan setting his hand forward on the table.
Quinn grabbed Alan's hands, and after an intimation, Quinn felt Alan's
magic flow, and he too closed his eyes to allow the entry to guide Alan
into the soulscape. It was a strange feeling— he could feel fear from the
bottom of his heart, screaming at him to throw Alan out, but ignored the
basic instinct, which was overwhelming when the very essence of his
being was in question.
". . . You look, but please hurry," said Quinn.
Alan nodded; he knew how Quinn must be feeling right now. He
immediately got to work and started to work quickly.
"It really is colorful," said Alan, 'looking' around Quinn's soulscape. The
colors had entirely covered the white of the soulscape. He then turned his
vision to the soul in the center, and he couldn't see it with a thick,
bubbling, thumping cacoon which looked like it had veins all over it.
"That doesn't look good," Alan said.
Quinn remained silent, keeping his instincts down.
Alan continued to watch the soulscape. He observed the blotches on the
walls of the soulscape and the cocoon built upon Quinn's shield that was
protecting his Soul.
"What does it feel like right now?" asked Alan. "There must be some
effect on you with your soulscape like this; I refuse to believe that you
aren't feeling anything."
"There are voices in my head," said Quinn quickly. "They are my own
voices, each tainted with a certain sin— they pop up when I'm feeling
strongly about something, or even when there's a potential that I could be
tempted to fall for the curse and other times that I don't know why they
pop up."
"Show me those memories later. I hope you have a compilation ready for
me to look at."
"Yes."
It wasn't even a question. It was one of the first things Quinn had started
upon when he thought of going to Alan.
After a while, Alan was satisfied with his observations and got out of the
soulscape. Quinn slumped into his chair and breathed a long sigh with a
sheen of sweat on his skin.
"Show me the memories," Alan said, ignoring Quinn's appearance.
Quinn grunted.
Alan took that as an invitation and instantly entered Quinn's mind.
"Oh? What's this?" Alan said, his voice rising in interest. "You have made
some exciting additions to your defenses, child. What is this thing I am
feeling emitting from defenses? It feels dangerous~."
Every point on the hexagon grid was emitting something Alan couldn't
see, but he could clearly feel them with his god-tier Legilimency skills.
They were everywhere and were being produced by Quinn's defenses
constantly.
"It's an invisible matter, a creation of mine," said Quinn, his tone flat.
"What does it do?"
"It will degrade Leglimency probes and mental attacks as they try to
break through," said Alan. "They are being emitted by the layers of
defenses, and because there's an elastic-type layer stretched over every
hexagon, the probes slow down and keep getting radiated with the
matter, continuing to degrade. If a probe somehow gets past the shields
and enters the mindscape, they would be greeted by a concentrated
version of the same matter woven into the very essence of my mindscape
— probes will be snuffed before they get to my mind-structures.
And you aren't supposed to know that they are there— they're supposed
to be completely invisible."
"Now that's sneaky," smiled Alan. "If they don't know it is there, they
won't act against it."
"Yes, that was the motive behind it."
The place in front of Alan rippled, and a memory book manifested. It was
the compilation for when the voices spoke to him. The book had every
single whisper, hundreds of them, all recorded.
Alan grabbed the book, and the memories flowed. He instantly frowned,
not because of the voices, but because the first memory wasn't about the
voices, but a place he recognized from Quinn's memories that he had
shown to his years ago.
"The Sin Vault?"
"Yes," said Quinn. "I was awake this time around . . . see if something in
the room helps you."
Alan resumed the memory and watched with intense concentration. He
saw how the Vault tried to knock Quinn out, how he resisted, how the
runes appeared on the wall, and how they shot beams, which Alan was
sure were laden with curses. After he was done with Vault memory, he
moved on to the Sin voices.
"You have grown," said Alan with a smirk as he watched the memories.
"Oh ho ho ho~."
Quinn furrowed his brows, confused.
"I'm done," said Alan, retreating out of Quinn's mind.
"And?" asked Quinn, hopefully.
Alan shook his head, and Quinn felt his heart drop.
"I can't help you."
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Mind Master - Sorry.
Quinn West - MC - "I . . . ."
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I wonder . . . what lies in the future.
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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The link is in the bio!
299. Chapter 299: Truth Of The
Matter
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"I can't help you."
Silence dominated the room, but Quinn's devastated expression spoke
volumes to Alan, who sat opposite him with an expression of regret
mixed with pity.
Quinn placed his elbows on the desk and clutched his head between his
hands; his eyes scrunched closed tight— his deep breaths audible in the
room. He had come to America to meet Alan because he had run out of
options to try out and couldn't find a road to progress— his hope was his
master, who Quinn knew had dabbled into soul magic . . . yet here he
was, hearing the words he didn't want to hear.
«If he can't help me . . . then I have no choice but to let the curse take over—
maybe this time I'll let it run longer, extract more benefits . . . more magic,
more power, more magic, more power, more magic, more power, magic,
power, magic, power, magic, power, magic, power . . . . DO IT!»
"What are you thinking right now?" asked Alan.
From within his hands, Quinn spoke in a scratchy voice, ". . . . That I
don't know what to do . . . that I don't want to think about anything right
now . . . that I . . . ."
Quinn's voice faded with a sigh, his head still buried between his hands.
"Quite the standard reaction," said Alan, "and while I'll like to give you
some time— I know you'd prefer to hear what I want to say as soon as
possible."
"What?" Quinn asked, shifting his head in his hands, giving Alan a look
from his half-lidded eyes.
"Even though I said I can't help you, that doesn't mean I haven't found
some things that'd be useful to you. I have found some interesting things
about the Sin curse— would you like to know?"
Quinn's eyes widened as he sat up straight and intently stared at Alan
with reinvigorated light.
Alan smiled.
"Now that I have gotten you interested, there are a few things I noticed
from your memories and your soulscape," said Alan.
"What sort of things?"
"Well, let's get the disappointing stuff out of the way— I have zero clue
about the runes that struck you in the Sin Vault. I'm not an expert in
rune, after all— you probably are already much more knowledgeable
about the subject than I am."
"So . . . both of us combined have no clue about the source of the curse."
Alan looked surprised as he raised his brows, "You too don't have any
idea about the runes? That's surprising."
"Believe me, I tried to find how those runes work— studied a lot on the
individual runic languages that the rune clusters were constructed with,
tried to find similar patterns in historic records and tomes . . . but there
was nothing— not a single line of text I could find that would help me in
the slightest."
"That is too bad; it could have helped us much."
"Yes, it could have," said Quinn with a frustrated tone; the amount of
time he had spent in studying for the Vault's runes hadn't paid out one
bit.
"That was the disappointing news. Now, let's move onto the next part,"
Alan said, folding his hand on the table. "Even with you, bring the curse
along with you . . . allowing me to enter your soulscape . . . and let me
look through your memories— I'm not able to understand how the curse
works or how it has taken a grip on you . . . ." Alan sighed as he
continued, "You overestimate my capabilities, child."
"What do you mean?" asked Quinn.
"While I've dabbled in soul magic, it is nowhere near the level of my
mind magic," said Alan with a half-wry smile. "I'm a dual natural with
Occlumency and Legilimency, and that's a big reason behind me reaching
where I'm today with mind magic . . . but that level of progress doesn't
convert into soul magic. Not only is soul magic much more touchy it is
also quite volatile. I had to move very carefully, which translated into a
safe yet low return.
I had told you about this one when we last met, but I picked up soul
magic so that I could diversify and spend some time away from mind
magic, to give myself a break— and well, while I'm at a respectable level,
it seems that the curse is not something my level can decipher and
decode . . . completely."
"Completely, you say," said Quinn, "that means there's something you did
find."
"I did," said Alan sounding happy. "I think I was able to find a way for
you to get rid of the curse . . . ."
"WHAT?! You did?! Tell me!"
"Now-now, calm down your hippogriffs," said Alan motioning Quinn to
calm down. "Yes, I might have found a way . . . but you might not like."
"Eh, why wouldn't I like a way to get rid of this damned curse?"
"Because it is not exactly pleasant," Alan sighed.
"Tell me," Quinn asked impatiently, leaning forwards, his hands joined
together in a tight grip.
". . . Quinn, you need to pull down the shield around your soul . . . and
let the curse in."
Quinn blinked once, then twice, and thrice. "Did you . . . did you
somehow got the curse while inside my soulspace," he put his hands
forward on the table, "come on, let me take a look— it will be bad if both
of us got the curse. If you really did catch the curse, then I'll have to
teach you how to suppress the voices until we figure out how to get rid of
the curse."
"There's nothing wrong. I haven't caught the curse," said Alan, "but you
indeed need to let the curse in."
"But, why?!"
"Think about it, the last time around, what was the thing that triggered
the expulsion of the curse from your soul?"
Quinn jerked back in his chair as the memory came up to the surface. He
pursed his lips and bit the inside of his cheeks. ". . . I was going to punish
. . . attack some students for bullying my friend."
"Yes, that is true, but that's not what I'm talking about."
"Then what . . . ?" Quinn furrowed his brows before they rose up. "You
mean . . . ."
"Yes."
"I used . . . my wand, and that was the catalyst which made me snap out
it," said Quinn. "But what does that has to do here?"
"From what I was able to judge from your memories last time around, in
which you included a level your emotion— that was a great thing you
did— I found out that you attempted to perform an action you hated so
much, something that you would never want to do that your soul
snapped back at the curse and expunged the curse— and. . ."
"And you want me to do the same this time around," said Quinn,
understanding dawning upon him.
"Yes," said Alan, "you need to find something that you wouldn't want to
do at any cost and well do it. And right now, what's the last things you
want to do?"
". . . I don't want to let the curse take over my soul," Quinn forced the
words out with incredible difficulty. "But . . . ! What if it takes over and I
am not able to escape it?! Wouldn't that be worse!"
". . . Quinn, have you noticed the state of your soulscape? It had started
with a few blotches on the soulscape's walls and thin veins on your
shield, but now they have grown to the white walls covered thoroughly,
and the shield has become the base to a thick cocoon.
Even if you don't voluntarily let the curse get a chance at your soul, it
will continue to grow stronger, and eventually, it will break through."
Quinn had no reply. There were multiple reasons he had decided to be
not at Hogwarts during Easter for the first time since he had started
school. He had noticed that the curse was progressing to spread across his
soulscape, and him snuffing the Sin voices was just treating the
symptoms while ignoring the root problem.
"I won't tell you to do it immediately," said Alan. "You have to do it when
you're ready. I won't be able to help you because you know how it feels
to have an external soul inside your soulscape. What I can do for you is
stay with you here before you have to go back home and help you
prepare.
We probably won't make any progress on your soul magic, but I can
share my experience with you, and that might raise your chances to
succeed."
After a pause, Quinn said, "Let's say that I let the curse in by disabling the
shield, and my soul struggles back with the curse. Then what should I do
afterward? I don't want to leave the chances of my soul coming out on
top to luck."
Yes, his soul was stronger than before, but so was the curse, which had
been growing inside his soulscape. He had no way to measure the
chances of his success.
"If I fail, then I don't know how long I would be out," said Quinn. "I don't
know how long it will take for me to do something that would expunge
the curse— not to mention, I would be under the influence in the period
between— which believe me, I don't want to be in."
"It's a risk that you'll have to take," said Alan. "It's clear that the curse is
growing faster than you're growing your soul magic, so you can only hold
it back for only so long."
"I know, I know," Quinn grumbled, scratching his hair.
Alan stared at Quinn for a while before he said bluntly, "You messed up."
Quinn looked at Alan, startled.
"You made a mistake going inside the Sin Vault the second time. You did
it because of asinine pride and an inflated ego— you had the
Resurrection Stone, and if you continued to work with it without going to
the Sin Vault, your soul magic would've slowly built it up— but you got
greedy and decided to go in there looking for a treasure. You had no way
of knowing if you'd be able to dodge the curse, yet you still went in there.
I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it is the truth. So make up
your mind, make a plan, and follow it until you have the curse out. That's
all there is to it."
Quinn leaned into his chair and stared at the ceiling. It was as Alan said
— pride and greed were his weaknesses. He had become greedy that with
only one year remaining at Hogwarts, he only had one year to clear the
Sin vault. And his pride didn't allow him to be defeated by a mere vault;
he had conquered all others in a single year; why should the Sin Vault be
any different.
Resurrection Stone was just the justification that he needed for allowing
himself into the vault.
He removed his eyes from the ceiling and looked at Alan.
"Alright . . . I'll let the curse in— but I'll do it on my own time. For now, I
request that you help me."
The option of letting in the curse in America was not a choice. If he fell
to the curse in America, he wouldn't be able to go back to Hogwarts, and
that wasn't an option as he had some important work to do— that if he
missed, he would never get the chance to do again.
"Well then, it is decided," Alan smiled widely. "We're staying America . . .
Now, let's come to the more important thing."
"What is it?" asked Quinn, there was something more important?
"The owner of this place is your sister's boyfriend, right? Do you think he
will let us come here every day?"
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - I'm not giving this spot up.
Quinn West - MC - "I can't give up . . . I have to regain the top spot."
FictionOnlyReader - Author - But . . . is Alan right? Am I bluffing, or is
there's something else?
.
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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!
300. Chapter 300: This is Sparta!
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"This is it?" Alan asked, looking at a couple of books sitting on the table
in front of them. "This is all you have got in the name of soul magic?"
Quinn nodded. He looked down at his hands resting on his lap. For the
first time in a decade, Quinn felt embarrassed because of books. Ever
since he had gone on the world tour, he never had a shortage of books—
he would say the word, and George would have all the books from their
destination in front of him the next day. Even after Quinn started
attending Hogwarts, he would regularly get pamphlets from all over the
world listing the new books and research journals that would give him
papers on the latest advancement in magic. And then he had added a lot
of lost magic into his collection from the Room of Requirement — thus
dubbing his library as Babel.
But if there was something his vast collection, that he felt the most pride
about, was books and tomes on soul magic— it was ridiculously hard to
get anything related to soul magic, and only those who have an "in" in
the exclusive circles would be able to get something— and unfortunately,
Quinn wasn't in those circles.
"Yes, this is all I got."
"This is quite dismal," said Alan, not munching his words. "I mean, one of
them is just completely useless; it's spiritual mumbo-jumbo." He looked
up at Quinn, "You must've had it rough, child— you had no help, didn't
you?"
They were in Quinn's temporary residence in New York, owned by the
Wests. It was a gorgeous penthouse suite too big for the five people living
in the place— Quinn, Alan (who Quinn had invited to live with him), and
the three staff members to take care of Quinn's needs while he was in
New York.
"Do you have some books?" asked Quinn.
"I do," said Alan, making Quinn's heart soar, "but they're back at home—
unlike you, I don't make it a habit of carrying my entire library with me."
Quinn deflated in his chair. He had the Babel copier he had used in the
Room of Requirements in his briefcase. If Alan had the books with him,
Quinn would've created permanent copies for himself.
"Don't make that face. I'll send copies of the books I have when I get
home."
"Then what should we do?" asked Quinn, smiling— delighted by the
promise.
"How about we do an activity," Alan put down his teacup.
"What activity?"
"A little activity involving souls. But before we start, can you extend your
senses through your soul? Because without that, we won't be able to do
this activity."
"Ah, I can do that, sure," said Quinn— that's how he had found the
Ravenclaw's Diadem in the piles of trash.
"Excellent, excellent. I was expecting that I'd have to teach it to you, but
as expected, you're prepared. Now, pay attention with your soulsense,
okay? I'm not going to tell what I'm doing, but you tell me what you can
feel."
Quinn closed his eyes and tried to spread out his soul sense. It wasn't an
easy process, and he couldn't trigger the state on the fly. Soul didn't want
to exit the vessel called the body— it was the housing that kept the Soul
safe, away from harm. His brows mashed together as the soulsense
flickered, collapsing inches outside his body, but then Quinn got the
correct feel, and it spread like a swift ripple.
He could feel everything in the penthouse. In the distance, he could feel
three souls belonging to the staff, moving around. But he frowned
because the three faraway souls shouldn't have registered first when a
stronger soul was sitting feet away from him. His senses zoned in on
Alan's position . . . and his soul was there, but . . . it wasn't pinging like
three had done.
"Why is your soul like that? Why is it dimmed and blurred?"
"If we can hide your mindscape away, then why can't we do the same
with soul," said Alan. "I haven't reached a level where I can completely
hide my soul, or even seen someone who has reached that level— but
theoretically, it is possible to hide a soul completely. But that's not the
point here; I'm sure you'll be able to do it someday if you don't mess up.
What we will be doing for our time together is you trying to alleviate the
dimness and remove the blurring."
Quinn, who had his eyes closed and focused on the soulsense, nodded.
Alan was right in front of him, and it wasn't like he was completely
invisible— he would have the soul and bright and sparkly by the time he
had to return home.
"But why are we doing this?" he asked.
"One of the most difficult to do in soul magic is to raise a Soul's strength,"
answered Alan, "and in the short time we have, doing that is not possible.
If we could do that, then it would've been remarkable for you to resist the
curse when the time comes. So we move to a different aspect of the Soul,
which is sensitivity— if you're more sensitive, you're able to feel more,
able to feel earlier, and even become more sensitive to magic thus
increasing your natural focus ability.
If you're able to see through my shroud, then that'd mean that your
sensitivity has increased, and that would be essential for you to react
faster and better to the curse's assault, increasing your chances of
triumph."
Quinn nodded. Anything to hedge the odds in his favor.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"All work, no play makes Quinn a dull boy," said Alan with rumbustious
laughter.
"Don't replace my name into the saying. I'm anything but dull," said the
not-so-dull boy.
"You say that, but you got frustrated when you weren't able to make any
progress."
"I did not make NO progress! I made SOME progress."
It has been a couple of days since they had been doing the sensitivity
exercise, but soul magic, as both of them knew, was a tricky maiden.
Quinn's soulsenses still showed Alan's Soul just as blurry and dim, albeit
just slight improvements.
Quinn looked at Alan with a side-eye. Quinn didn't know if it was
because they had met after such a long time or because he was older
now, but Alan had been teasing him a lot— much more than before when
he was a child or when he was sick.
"So, where are we going today?" asked Alan.
Quinn threw the Floo powder into the fireplace, making the flames roar
green.
"We are going to a special store today. Even if I didn't come to meet you
because of the curse, I would have definitely come to America to visit
this store."
"Special, how?"
"You know about my briefcase, right?"
"Yes, it's expanded."
While Alan hadn't been inside, Quinn had told him all about it. Especially
how big and spacious it was. And even Alan had been surprised by the
size that Quinn had described.
"We are going to visit the store which made it."
Quinn waved his hand, and a handful of Floo powder went into the fire,
making it roar. He stepped in with a smile and spoke loudly.
"The Clinker's Room."
When Quinn stepped out from the other side, he found himself in a small
room, small enough that it would only take two of his wingspans to
measure one wall to the other. Quinn saw the room glow in green light
with the fire roaring, so he stepped aside to allow Alan to step through.
"Oh my, this is the place you wanted to visit?" Alan said, looking around.
"Doesn't look like much of a store."
Quinn ignored Alan and looked around the room excitedly. In the small
empty room, three things drew his attention— the fireplace behind him,
the silver door in front of him, and the thin podium in the dead center of
the room.
"Come here," Quinn beckoned Alan to the podium.
"What is this?" asked Alan, looking at the podium with mild interest.
Quinn pointed at the indigo button in the middle of the podium's top and
said, "Press it!"
"What does it do?"
"Something interesting!"
"Say no more."
Alan slapped his palm on the button, and instantly the walls, floors, and
ceiling of the room disappeared into nothingness.
"W-What?" Alan stuttered a little as he looked around, flustered at the
sudden change. Especially when he looked down and saw the absence of
the floor— just like the walls and ceilings, leaving only the fireplace,
podium, and the podium visible. They were high above in the air, looking
down at the New York skyscrapers and buildings with roads dotted with
people and cars, all looking like ants from their height.
"Oooh~, it's just as Lia said," Quinn walked to a wall and touched it, and
he could feel that there was something there.
"What is this place?" asked Alan, also touching another wall, grabbing it
as he looked down a few hundred feet with apprehension.
"This is—" Quinn paused when he saw something and pointed at it
excitedly, "Maybe this will help you figure it out."
Alan turned and immediately saw a flock of birds flying towards them.
He raised his hand with the bracelet, and immediately a shield appeared
around him.
But then something unexpected happened . . . . The birds that were flying
towards them like they never existed.
"Look!"
Before surprise could even register on Alan's face, he followed Quinn's
voice and saw him pointing outside the room. Alan's eyes widened as he
saw the same flock of birds flying away as if they had never met a room
in their path.
"What happened?" Alan asked, surprise finally catching up. "Why didn't
they collide with the room?"
"America is famous for their spatial magic," said Quinn and raised his
briefcase that he had been holding. "My briefcase, as I said before, is
American-made," he pointed around the room, "and this room is an
application of spatial magic, and that's why we are hanging so high in the
sky.
This room," said Quinn excitedly, "is fixed in a certain point in relative
space. Now, this is just my assumption, but the creator has fixed the
room relative to the buildings below— which means, as the Earth rotates
and revolves, this room will move along the buildings, thus staying fixed
above this part of New York— or maybe the creator fixed it with relation
to the Earth itself . . . hmm, that would be so interesting."
Alan stared at Quinn, looking like Quinn's rapid and excited babble had
flowed over his head. "What happens if we fall?"
"We can't fall," said Quinn. He pointed at the spot where the walls were.
"The walls of the room didn't turn invisible; they have completely
disappeared— they're not here," he stomped on the floor, "what we are
standing currently is solidified space— and until the spells don't release
the space to its natural state, we won't fall.
And as to answer your initial question as for why the birds didn't collide
with us," Quinn pointed around the room, "this place is a dot-sized point
in space expanded to its current size— as long as the birds or anything
doesn't run into the tiny point, they can go ahead unhindered."
"And what if they do run into this point?"
"Then it would feel like they have collided into something solid, most
possibly getting injured— the faster they come in, the more damage they
would suffer."
"Is that dangerous? One of those flying non-magi things collide into this
room? That'd be terrible, especially with MACUSA laws."
"I have the same question," said Quinn, "but there's something there
stopping that because Lia told me about this place years ago, and given
that it is still here, there must be some magic that prevents any collision.
As for what magic, I'll get it from the creator."
Quinn pointed at the door in the room.
"To the Clinker's Shop!"
.
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - I have the hand of a "higher entity" upon me.
Quinn West - MC - ". . . I need to find a way to get to the top. What can I
do here, hmm. . . ."
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Higher Entity.
Also yeah, I don't think I will be able to make the March-End deadline I was
planning for myself. My attempts to achieve have failed. Though I just
completed writing the sickest arc of this volume on the platform-that-must-not-
be-named.
But don't worry, whatever happens, I won't be pissing away the ending. I shall
give AMJ a (hopefully) good end. Then the Epilogue Volume with Prime-
Quinn.
.
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
301. Chapter 301: The Clinker's
Shop
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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Link in the Bio/Profile
Quinn grabbed the doorknob in the invisible room, and as usual,
whenever he found something new, he channeled his magic into it to see
if he could figure out how it was made. Quinn knew the door led to the
shop they were going to visit, and thus he knew that it was going to be a
door like the Abate system and his own Labyrinth maze.
The second he channeled magic, he knew . . . he knew that this door was
better than the Abate doors and even his own Labyrinth door— much,
much better.
'Damn, that's why I need to visit so many places,' he thought.
The culture was an important part of magic like it was for many other
things. If a sport was extremely popular in a country, they'd have a strong
culture for that sport and churn out more quality players. Similarly,
countries had certain magic imbibed into their cultures— America . . .
was a spatial magic powerhouse.
If Quinn wanted to be the best of the best, he would need to learn from
places where the best resided.
"What happened?" asked Alan. "Is it locked; does it require a key?"
Quinn shook his head, "There's so much to do with so little time . . ."
He twisted the knob and felt the magic move and transform, doing its
work, and by the time he pushed the door open, Quinn felt a spatial link
form to a place other than they were now.
Quinn and Alan stepped into an old shop with wood everywhere. The
walls were covered with wood, his boots clacked with the wood beneath
his feet, and even the slanted roof was made with wood with wood
beams forming a grid as structural support, and even the decor was fully
wood.
"I thought a store dealing in spatial magic would be more spacious and
not wood," commented Quinn.
He was expecting a wide-wide space that seemed empty, made from
concrete inorganic in nature rather than wood, which was once an alive
thing— instead, he was greeted with a small room crammed with a lot of
decors.
"That's a stereotype, boy."
Quinn and Alan turned towards the deep voice and saw a chocolate-
skinned man dressed in tan pants and a checkered shirt under a leather
apron. The lean and lanky man had brown short rough hair and had
protective goggles over his head. He looked at Alan and Quinn with his
brown eyes with big dark circles under and lightly smiled with his
sunken cheeks.
"Is it a stereotype if it is true?" asked Quinn. "I mean, from what I have
seen from some other places, if you can blow a space wide open and it is
your business doing that, then don't you have to do it."
"It is true when your job is to expand a place into a much wider space,
you should use it in your own space," said the man. "But, spatial magic is
all about efficiency and performance. Why widen a space to a size that
you won't even use?"
"That does make sense," nodded Quinn. "You must be the owner. My
name is Quinn West," he pointed at Alan, "this is Alan D. Baddeley. We
informed that we would be coming today."
"Yes, I remember that," said the owner after a beat. He shook hands with
Alan, who was closer to him. "My name is Lado Diggs, and I'm the owner-
proprietor of the Clinker's Shop.
How did you like the Clinker's Room?" Lado looked at the door.
"It was quite fascinating," said Quinn.
"I don't see the use of it," said Alan.
Lado chuckled as he spoke to Alan, "Yes, there's no indeed no use for it. I
created that around two decades ago when I was learning how to expand
a point space into something bigger— after I was done, I decided not to
remove it and turned it into a special entrance to my store."
Lado held his chin, "Though I might have to work on the room. It has
become severely outdated— especially that door, it needs some serious
upgrades."
'That needs upgrades!' thought Quinn.
«He must know a lot. I wonder if I can have that knowledge, I just need
to peek— . . . . . .»
"About that room," started Alan. "I'm interested to know how you
managed something from colliding into for, as you said, two decades."
"Ah, there are spatial redirectors— I won't go into details of what those
are— but they ensure that nothing stays in the path of the room, and
even though I say the room, it is only one dot," said Lado. He turned to
Quinn and asked, "Boy, what brings you here to my shop today?"
Quinn lifted his briefcase and placed it on a nearby table.
Lado quirked his brow and slowly walked to the table, his eyes fixed on
the briefcase. He raised his hand to touch it without warning, and Quinn
had to hurriedly disable his personal "nasty" anti-theft placed on the case.
"This is my creation, isn't it," said Lado.
"It is. How did you know? Did you recognize the magic you cast?"
"Hmm? Oh no, nothing like that. This leather design and tone— it is
totally my style, so I knew this is mine."
Quinn faltered at the answer, so it was the aesthetic that gave it away.
He heard Alan chuckle in the background.
"Is there something wrong with this child?" asked Lado, stroking the
briefcase.
"Not at all. It has been running perfectly without any spatial fissures or
even irregularities. But I thought that I was in the neighborhood it would
be nice to bring it to you for some maintenance."
"You did good," said Lado appreciatively. "How long has this child been
with you?"
"Six years."
"It is in excellent condition for its age. My works last around fourteen to
sixteen years depending on the usage, so this one still has a long time to
go, but seeing that you have done such a great job taking care of this—
I'll re-strengthen the spells so they would last another fourteen to
seventeen years, making up for the passed time."
"Oh, that'd be nice."
"If you want, I can upgrade it with a few more features for a small fee,"
said Lado after waving his wand over the case. "But you'd have to empty
out all the contents for the upgrade. I can provide space to store your
luggage. Space is the one thing I have in abundance."
"No, that won't be required, though I do appreciate the offer," said Quinn
without giving it a thought. There were a lot of "sensitive" things in there
that even if Lado provided him external storage, he would never bring
those things out.
They waited for ten minutes as Lado went in the back and worked on
Quinn's briefcase. When he came back, Quinn could feel the magic had
been invigorated.
"Here you go."
"Thank you. How much should I pay you for the repairs?"
"It's fine. I looked up the purchase of this child, and boy did you pay a lot
of money for it," said Lado laughing.
"I wouldn't know. My sister brought this for me as a gift for starting
school."
"So it was a gift. No wonder. When you said that you got six years back, I
was wondering why would such a young boy would need so much space.
I think your sister went overboard."
Quinn laughed good-heartedly. Lia, when she had bought the briefcase,
had indeed gone overboard. Even with Quinn's collection of books
collected on the world tour, the space in the briefcase was grossly
oversized. Even now, all those years later, Quinn still hadn't utilized the
entirety of the space.
"Lado, what is this thing right here?"
Quinn and Lado turned towards and saw Alan standing behind a counter,
looking at a square cabinet with a single slider hanging on the wall.
"It's rude to touch stuff without permission," said Quinn.
"It is alright," said Lado. "Mr. Baddeley, was it? Mind picking up the
coaster on the counter behind you and placing it inside the cabinet."
Alan turned and saw a cardboard coaster on the counter. He picked it up,
turned, and placed the coaster inside the empty cabinet before sliding the
door close.
"Now, please push the button on the side."
Alan followed the instructions and pressed the green button on the side
of the cabinet. There was a ringing sound from the cabinet.
"Now open it."
Alan opened, and there was nothing inside the cabinet. "Where did it go?"
"For that, you'd have to follow me," said Lado.
Alan and Quinn looked at each other before shrugging; they didn't have
anything better to do. They followed after Lado, and he led them through
a door, down a set of stairs, and through a long corridor that couldn't fit
in Lado's shop— but it was a shop that offered spatial service, so it wasn't
surprising.
"Ah, here we are," said Lado opening another door to an industrial
warehouse-sized area . . . made from concrete.
"See? I told you . . . large space and concrete— typical," Quinn whispered
to Alan.
Lado led them to a wall, and an identical cabinet hung on it. He opened
it up and retrieved an object from it.
"Oh, that's the coaster from the counter," said Alan.
"Yes, this is a simple application of spatial magic," said Lado. "When
something is put inside the cabinet and button is pushed, it is transferred
down here. It is convenient this way— you saw how long we had to walk
to get here, and it is not efficient for the employee staffing the front desk
to come down with objects to repair every time."
Lado noticed Quinn looking around and asked, "This is my workshop; I
work here on my projects— would you like to see some of the things I'm
working on?"
"Would that be alright?" asked Quinn.
"Of course. I would be delighted. There are several interesting things here
if I say so myself."
Lado led them to an area in the warehouse. They stopped just outside a
square spot marked by the tape on the floor.
"Okay, this one is interesting," said Lado and turned to Quinn. "Would
you step inside for a moment, and I'll let you experience something
fascinating."
Quinn shrugged and stepped inside the square.
"Okay, I'm going to start now," said Ludo and waved his wand when
Quinn nodded.
Immediately, Quinn felt like he had been hit by a body-bind spell and
couldn't move a single muscle on his body except for his neck, and even
that was partially restricted.
". . . What — is — this," said Quinn with a little difficulty and saw Alan
staring at Lado with a straight stare.
The very next second, Lado waved his wand again, and Quinn was
released out of his bind.
"My apologies for startling you," said Lado. "What you experienced was
the solidification of space. I solidified the space around you inside the
square, making it so you couldn't move at all."
Quinn glanced at Alan, who shook his head— Lado was clear.
"So. . . it was like the walls in the Clinker's Room," said Quinn.
"Exactly, but this time I froze space around a person, which is more
complicated as I had to map out your body and avoid that region."
"Freezing space. . . wouldn't that mean, even if I wanted to escape using
apparition, I wouldn't be able to do so?"
"You're quite right!" Lado clapped. "Apparitions or even Portkey won't
work as long as you're inside the space."
Quinn narrowed his eyes as he looked at the tape. 'Apparitions and
Portkeys, he says,' thought Quinn.
"Now, let's move on to the next one," said Lado and walked to a long
path, once again marked with tape on the floor. "This one is even more
interesting. Now, Mr. Baddeley, would you mind walking from one end
of the path to the other."
"I won't be frozen into place, would I?" asked Alan walking to the edge of
the tape. "I don't think that'd be good for my old bones."
"Oh no, nothing like that. This one is interesting in another way," said
Lado.
Alan looked at the path, and it was the path that was several meters (or
feet). He stepped inside and took two steps, and felt vibration travel
through his body, and before he knew it, he was staring at the tape on
the other end of the path.
From outside, Quinn's eyes widened as he saw Alan's figure blur for a
split second before he was on the other side of the path.
"What was that?" Quinn asked Lado.
"The two ends of the path, both marked by the tape, are connected with
spatial magic. What I have done is create a link— folded space between
the two points so that it would only take two steps rather than the
several it would usually take."
Quinn clapped his hands with and 'ooh!' But then he saw Alan walk back,
and unlike the last time, he walked normally without skipping through
space.
Lado noticed Quinn's expression and spoke while scratching the back of
his head. "Yeah, this is still a work in progress. For some reason, it only
works one way."
"That was interesting as you said," Alan spoke.
Next, they went to another tapped-off square, but this time, it had a door
in the middle of it.
"Now, this is one of the most interesting things down here," said Lado.
He stepped inside and opened it to reveal a pitch-black space. They
couldn't see any light inside; even the light from the warehouse looked
like it was being sucked inside, and that too didn't illuminate the
blackness even with a single lumen.
"This is my favorite of them all," said Lado. "This is a pocket dimension of
my creation."
"What . . . ?" Quinn's eyes widened. "Did you just say pocket dimension?"
"Yes, a pocket dimension."
"What's a pocket dimension?" asked Alan.
"A pocket dimension is a space . . . a dimension which is not part of our
own dimension," explained Quinn. "Unlike the usual spatial practice,
where you expand an already existing space in our dimension, a pocket
dimension doesn't exist and is entirely separate with no relation to ours.
They are difficult to create and not that well researched as the usual
practice is enough for spatial needs."
"That is impressive of you, Quinn!" said Lado. "You seem to know a lot
about spatial magic."
"A thing or two," said Quinn.
"Would you like to step inside?" offered Lado.
"I can? I would love to."
"Then go on right ahead."
Quinn stepped inside the square and then walked into the dark pocket
dimension. "It is cold in here," he said.
"Yes, I do not know why that is, though."
Quinn reached out inside and met a blockage. It was like a wall, and after
feeling around, there were walls and ceilings all around him.
"Yeah, about those. The dimension that I created is infinite in its size, or
at least it seems so because I explored, I couldn't find an end, and the
deeper you go, the more unstable the spatial properties become— so just
for security, I have sealed off the region for security reasons."
"Is the pocket dimension stable as an entity?" asked Quinn because from
what he knew . . . .
"No," Lado breathed a long and depressing sigh, "at somewhat of fixed
intervals, the entire space inside crumbles. The things I place inside are
crushed and disappear into nothingness. The walled region I have created
is as stable as our own dimension, and I use it as an indication because
just before the spatial properties destabilize and everything turns to
chaos, this walled space develops light fissures giving me warnings."
"Ah . . . so it's not usable in a practical sense," said Quinn.
". . . No," said Lado, downtrodden, but then he perked up. "But one day, I
would make it work. That'd be glorious."
"It indeed would be . . ." said Quinn, his eyes fixed on the pocket
dimension.
Lado continued to show them his various projects for the evening until it
got late, and they had to leave.
". . . Well, that was something," said Alan, as they stepped back into the
penthouse suite, "though a lot of those things were wildly unstable— I
don't think a lot of things can be used at all in any sense."
"Yes," said Quinn, "but if he succeeds in stabilizing his invention, he will
become famous overnight."
"So, what do you want to do tomorrow," asked Alan.
"I want to go to a good bookstore and get loads of spatial books."
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - The throne is mine.
Quinn West - MC - "If I return back home, maybe I will get back on top. .
."
Lado Diggs - Spatial master - Clinker's Shop is used to create funds for his
projects in his warehouse.
.
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!
302. Chapter 302: Return &
Turmoil
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Patreón.
All the chapters would still be posted here, but you can support me with
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"How are you feeling?" asked Alan.
Quinn looked over the late evening New York skyline, glowing up with
lights on the buildings that rose up like peeks, and the roads flowed with
cars, their headlights making them look like flowing rivers.
"Not at a level I would like— but comfortable enough, I guess," said
Quinn.
It was Quinn's last day in America and thus also his last day with Alan. It
had been just over ten days with Alan, and every day, they would sit
together and, under Alan's guidance, work on the sensitivity activity to
help Quinn's soulsense. In the ten days, Quinn hadn't made the same
amount of progress he had done in mind magic all those years ago— but
that was expected by both because of the nature of soul magic— he had
improved, able to clear some of Alan's shroud on his soul, but not to the
level where he would be able to see Alan's soul as clear as any other.
"Any idea when you're going to drop your shield?" asked Quinn.
"Soon, I'm going to do it soon," said Quinn. "Early July, after I graduate,
that's when I will deal with this."
"That's . . . a couple months from now. Are you sure you don't want to do
it earlier? I'm not sure if you'd be able to hold on that long."
"Holding on till July won't be a problem. I can judge the progression and
my own control over the curse. I just don't want to do it while I'm in
Hogwarts— it would create massive difficulties if I lose control there."
"And it would be different when you're outside? Won't that be a much
wider environment than Hogwarts?"
"Me staying on Hogwarts doesn't restrict me," said Quinn with a sigh. "I
can leave the castle any time of any day without anyone knowing about
it— but I'm not sure the 'other' me would want to leave Hogwarts while
I'm there.
I'll make arrangements for when I'm graduated to limit possible damages
— not that there are going to be any, I'm going to beat it squarely into
the dirt."
"I know you said that it would take you around a year after graduation to
start the apprenticeship, but if you want, you can come in July, and I can
overlook you while you go crazy," offered Alan.
Quinn smirked, "Are you sure? I am pretty strong. You might not be able
to handle me— your old bones might not be up to it."
Alan laughed as if he had heard a hilarious joke. "While I might not be
much of combatant, Quinn— I'm a very dangerous individual if left alone
in a room with, which is why there are a lot of people, including your
grandfather, who doesn't prefer to be in the same room with me alone if
it is possible."
If Quinn and Alan had just met and didn't have a history together, Quinn
would've felt a cold shiver go down his spine, but with their relationship,
he knew that Alan wasn't going to do anything particularly unsavory to
him.
"By the end of my school year, if I feel that I'm not able to handle it alone
and need a level of assistance that only someone of your level can
provide, I'd take a Portkey, and you'll have a troublesome guest for an
unforeseeable future."
"Troublesome guests are my favorite kind," Alan grinned. "In fact, if it
does happen, I'm looking forward to spending some quality with 'other'
you because from the memories I have seen, it would be fascinating and
fun to rile you up to fan your wrath and challenge your pride every hour
of the day, and then see you grit your teeth in frustration because of utter
helplessness."
"Even if it is the 'other' me, I pity him."
"On a serious note, Quinn . . . you can come to me anytime without
hesitation. It would be better for you and those around you to not let the
cursed version of you see the light. Especially since you are much
stronger than you were before, and it doesn't look like the unbridled
would be touchy with magic."
"You make it sound like I'm the worst without my morals . . . but yes, I
will come running to you if needed."
Quinn took out two metallic cards from his jacket pocket and handed
them with the golden-yellow gleam to Alan, keeping the card with the
blue-gleam with himself.
"You ordered me a Portkey?" asked Alan, taking the standard object used
by the American authorities for enchanting Portkeys.
"I delayed your travel back home by so much time, and you helped me so
much, it seemed the least I could do," said Quinn. "I'll also be leaving
today. I have gotten multiple letters from home, especially from my sister
asking me why I dropped in at her boyfriend's workplace without
warning— to be clear, I'm the owner of the place."
He had been lucky that it was Abraham's chance to go to Lia instead of
her coming to America that he had avoided meeting her.
"Write to me regarding your progress; I shall do my best to use that
MagiFax thingy of yours to keep in touch."
"Be careful; you're turning old talking like that."
"Child, you don't know how bright the youthful flames of vigor burn
inside me. Even at this age, I can run circles around you."
"Make up your mind if you have old bones or youth flames of vigor."
Quinn's time in America had come to an end.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"You extended your stay," said George, flipping through some documents
with Quinn sitting in front of him. "And you had Alan D. Baddeley stay
with you for the time you were there."
"That is correct," said Quinn, looking around George's home office.
"Am I to believe that you just happened to meet him in Manhattan while
you were visiting, or was he aware that you'd be visiting?" asked George,
and Quinn could feel his silent stare.
"He knew I was in the area," said Quinn; there was no need to hide things
. . . at least to a certain limit. "I told him that I'd be joining him after
Hogwarts, and well, we ended up talking, and I got interested in a few
things which led to us spending time discussing magic at length."
"You told him that you'd be accepting the apprenticeship? So you have
made your mind."
"Yes, mind magic would be beneficial to my future magical endeavors, so
it is good if I increase my proficiency in it before I take on my other
interests."
"What else did you end up doing in America," asked George.
"Hmm? Nothing much, I went around sight-seeing, definitely did
something that would've gotten me in trouble with the American
ministry," said Quinn, grinning. "Even had some maintenance done on my
trusty briefcase from the original store— saw some very fascinating
spatial magic, which led me to buy a shelve-tons of books on the subject."
George laughed, "That does sound like you."
"I even met the Broker for a little while," said Quinn. The Broker was
American, and because of the nature of his job, he resided in New York
when he wasn't traveling. "He's resourceful, to say the least— he has ties
with a financial firm owned by a group of squibs, who are managing my
investments."
Unlike Quinn's non-magical investments, which Quinn had decided to use
the leave to the Broker to handle, George had decided to use the chance
to use his investments (that be bought alongside Quinn) to open up a
West-owned non-magical focused financial branch to increase their reach
in the non-magical world.
"Did you have him buy something else?" asked George
"I had him show me a couple of properties around New York, mostly near
the suburbs."
"And, did you buy any?" asked George.
"I did," said Quinn. "I ended up buying a big warehouse with a wide
basement."
"A warehouse? Any particular reason for that?"
"Let's just say that I got inspired by someone else who had an exciting
warehouse."
There was a knock on the door before Elliot inside. He smiled at Quinn
and greeted him before turning to George.
"It's time for us to leave," said Elliot.
George closed the documents and put them into his own briefcase before
standing up.
"I'll catch up with you later, Quinn," said George. "How about tomorrow
at dinner?"
"I will keep my schedule open," said Quinn with a smile as he waved
them goodbye.
Quinn sighed after George and Elliot left. He had failed to inform them
about his condition.
'Grandfather seemed to be suspicious about my meeting with Mr. Alan.'
The last time he met with Alan was because of a huge problem. So Quinn
didn't blame George for going in that direction. 'Luckily, I can use my
magic and walk around without forcing myself to keep a straight face.'
While in his time in America, Alan had stressed the point of getting help
— he had sneaked in the topic so many times, and Quinn knew Alan was
'telling' him to share his condition with his family.
'If I tell them now, grandfather will definitely try to pull me out,' he
thought. And right now wasn't the time he could risk that. 'I'll tell them
after Graduation.'
"Why's everyone at Hogwarts," sighed Quinn as he entered his room after
wandering around the manor, not knowing what to do. It seems he was
the only one in his friend circle who had come home during Easter.
He waved his hand, and after a few seconds, a book came zooming out,
landing in Quinn's hand with a smack. He folded his legs while standing
in the middle of the room and sat in the air while reading a newly
acquired book on spatial magic.
After reading a while, he spread his palm open and focused his magic.
The space above his hand flickered, and faint static sounds sounded as
distortions became prominent. Quinn furrowed his brows, and his magic
reacted to his commands, and after a long while, the space became stable
with a slight coloration— as if the light was being refracted.
Quinn raised his other hand, and a small marble conjured between his
fingers. He dropped the deep red marble on his palm, and his twinkled
when it didn't hit his palm and seemed to just float above it— on the
discolored solidified spatial plane that he had built.
But then the plane vanished like it was never there, and the marble fell
into the palm.
Quinn sighed, "This is nowhere the level of the Lado . . . yet."
Having a look inside Lado's workshop had opened his mind to spatial
magic. Before, he had only thought of it in travel applications—
Apparition, Portkeys, and Doorways, and storage in terms of expanding
rooms and other storage options.
But after the warehouse, his horizon had been broadened.
Spatial magic was much more than transportation and storage.
'If I put in some time, I can create and elevate wards and spells,' his mind
started going through as he started tapping his fingers on his thigh.
'Speaking of spatial magic . . . I wonder how Malfoy's doing?' Quinn
looked at the sky through the window and muttered to himself, "I hope
he's doing his job properly."
After all, without Draco Malfoy, an important opportunity would not be
possible.
"I wonder how they would feel when they come into Hogwarts . . . ."
.
Alan D. Baddeley - Master - Little ones, I shall see you later. Until then,
keep your minds safe.
Quinn West - MC - ". . . Just bear it once more; things would return to the
norm from now on."
FictionOnlyReader - Author - NOW, the next mini-arc, is going to be the
MAIN HIGHLIGHT of this year— it's going to start on 305 after a
transition. So stay tuned because it is not part of canon, and it's my
original creation (though it is inspired, or should I say, my take on it.) It
got positive(I think) response from the first readers.
.
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!
303. Chapter 303: The Weight Of
Feelings
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Patreón.
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"Hey, you're back!"
Quinn dapped Eddie's raised hand as he sat on the place between Eddie
and Luna that was obviously saved for him on the Ravenclaw table in the
Great Hall.
Just like the opening day feast, there was a feast after the Christmas and
Easter break, sans the sorting ceremony. The students that had gone
home would join their schoolmates at the time of the dinner feast.
"So, how was your time at home?" asked Marcus, who sat in front of
them.
"It was interesting, to say the least," said Quinn, casting a spell on his
golden cutlery. "So, anything special happened while I was out?"
"Special, let's see . . . Malfoy and Potter got into a serious duel— both did
enough damage to each other to spend a couple of nights in the hospital
wing and more to the place around them to get a long-long detention,"
said Marcus.
"Serves them right!" Eddie laughed.
"Oh?" said Quinn, glancing ahead at the Slytherin table to see Draco, who
was picking at his food, when he looked back at the Gryffindor table
where Harry was talking among his group.
"Any idea why they fought?"
"Why they fought? Why do those two usually fight? Probably for some
stupid-ass shit," said Eddie.
'Did Harry catch a whiff of what Malfoy's doing?' Quinn wondered.
The circumstances had been different, making the series of events
different from the canon. From what Quinn was able to piece together,
Harry hadn't run into Draco on his "trip" to Diagon Alley, thus had no
idea what he was planning, making it so that Harry never spied on Draco
during the train ride, who unlike the last time was invited to Slug club as
Malfoy Sr. was never sent to Azkaban. As the first tile never fell, the
domino was never triggered, making the two antitheses never cross each
other this year.
But both of them were truly each other's opposite, so Quinn didn't put
past them to eventually come crashing into each other, back to biting
each other's necks.
'I hope Harry doesn't mess this up; there's a lot of riding on it,' thought
Quinn. If someone else heard his thoughts, most would probably argue
his line of reasoning. Quinn threw the thought behind his head— the big
end was near, and the chances of Harry stopping Dracon were low . . .
and if he did get a bit too close, he would do something about it.
"Other than that, there was a Slug club meeting," said Eddie.
"Oh? How did it go?" asked Quinn.
"It was troublesome. It seems Slughorn had invited a bunch of executives
from professional clubs to the party, and they made my life miserable,"
sighed Eddie. "All of them were up to sucking up to me, and while
usually, I am not averse to that, it got annoying when I couldn't spend
with Tracey . . .
Eddie glanced at Quin.
. . . Speaking of, you have got to meet Daphne— Tracey told me that she
has been cranky ever since you left."
"Really?" Quinn glanced at the Slytherin table, and unexpectedly, his eyes
met with Daphne, who it seems was staring at him.
Both of them blinked in surprise. Daphne half-raised her hand and gave
Quinn a wave, which Quinn returned with a wave of his own. While in
America, Quinn had exchanged letters with Daphne, but they hadn't been
as frequent as he and presumably as Daphne would've liked.
Quinn built-up magic in his vocal box and spoke, and with sound magic,
the words traveled across the hall, reaching only the intended ears.
Daphne's eyes widened from across the hall, and Quinn saw her nod.
.
o - o - O - o - o
.
The dinner feast soon ended, and students returned to their dorms to
prepare for the third term starting tomorrow with the curfew and quite
descending upon the Hogwarts castle. And after curfew, only a few
roamed out in the ghostly halls of Hogwarts, and of them, no one was as
consistent as Quinn.
He stepped onto the Astronomy Tower and looked up at the full moon,
shining brightly in the sky, outshining the stars around it. He closed his
eyes at the cool breeze touching his skin. Quinn walked to the edge of the
tower roof and looked down to the ground. He recalled the first night of
his third year, just after getting rid of the sin curse. He had come to meet
Friar, to intimate him that the Sin Vault was behind him (if only he knew
that wouldn't be the truth).
'I had gotten rid of it, but it had left residual trauma,' he smiled bitterly,
recalling his "leap of faith" off the roof to regain the trust in the thing
that was the closest to him— his most precious gift, his magic. At that
time, he didn't know how to fly and only worked with Arresto
Momentum— and to overcome his trauma, he had jumped off from a
height that would have him dead if not for magic.
'That day was a wild one.'
Quinn chuckled at the memory of Friar's fear-stricken face.
"Now, here I'm again with the curse inside my again," sighed Quinn. "I
wonder if it would leave something behind this time as well— I for sure
hope not."
As he was pondering his thoughts, Quinn heard a voice that he was
expecting.
"Quinn?"
He turned back and saw Daphne with a wand in her hand as she
gradually became visible from what seemed like an invisibility spell.
Daphne's eyes moved from Quinn and the edge of the roof.
"Hey," he said with a smile, stepping away from the edge. "How have you
been."
"I have been fine, thank you. What about you? How was your trip?" said
Daphne, simply.
Quinn walked towards her, and before saying a word, he slipped his arms
around her waist and brought her close.
"For one, I missed you a lot," he said.
Daphne didn't look up at him, her palms on his chest, "It didn't seem so.
You barely wrote to me."
Quinn could only awkwardly chuckle. Alan had been a slavedriver with
the exercise session, and it seemed he had liked Quinn's version of
sightseeing as he would drag him out daily to be shown something new.
Between both of those, he would grow tired.
"I'm sorry," said Quinn. "While I wish to push all the blame to my master,
but it was indeed my fault to not write more. I apologize for not writing
more."
Daphne finally looked up and stared at him with her blue eyes. She
sighed, "I, too, am at fault for not being active on my part. I should have
written more without waiting for you to reply."
Quinn grinned and dipped his head to Daphne and smiled into the kiss as
he watched her eyes widen before she participated in the kiss.
"Well, was that enough to be forgiven," asked Quinn.
He felt her nod into his chest shyly.
"So, how have things been for you?" asked Quinn. "Have the Potion
classes been fun for you? I hope that my compendium has been of some
help."
Daphne's brows furrowed as she narrowed her eyes.
"From the looks of it, they have not been going as smoothly?" asked
Quinn.
"No," Daphne said with an edge to her words. "Your gift has been of
tremendous help to me— my potions knowledge and brewing skills have
improved so much that I still doubt that they were brewed by my hand.
But the potions classes, on the other hand, they haven't been going so
well . . ."
"And why's that?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"I thought, with your book, I would be able to pull away from the rest of
the class; however, that doesn't seem to be true," said Daphne.
"Somehow, Potter has become equally good— no, I'm still better— but in
the eyes of Professor Slughorn, we both seem to be on the same level.
I happened to take a peek at her workstation, and there I noticed that she
had an old Potions volume that had been assigned to use. I suspect that
that book is the reason behind her sudden increase in brewing skill and
knowledge."
"Ah, yes," said Quinn, "I know of that particular book."
"You do?" asked Daphne, surprised.
"Yes, I am well aware of that old book in Ivy's possession," after all, he
had been the one to point it out to her. "That book was previously owned
by what seems like a student with exceptional talent in potions— he goes
by the moniker of Half-Blood Prince. He has written, in the margins,
modifications of potion recipes. That book has been in the cupboards of
the potions classroom for ages."
"Just like yours?"
"Well, I won't say that," said Quinn. "While both of us have improved
upon the potion recipes— the Half-Blood Prince has chosen to make
improvements to the already present framework provided by the existing
recipes in the books— whereas I have taken much more of an involved
route of not getting restricted by the existing prevalent framework by
diving further into the potions recipes and more importantly, ingredients
and preparations.
I'm sure you have noticed that my recipes can be wildly different from
the ones in the coursebook."
"Then . . . Ivy's sudden progress has been because of this Half-Blood
Prince's book?"
"It'd be safe to say that."
Daphne breathed a sigh of great relief. "At first, I thought that Ivy had
become without any external help and that I was able only able to keep
up because of your help . . . but I'm glad that's not the case."
A soft smile bloomed on his face. The Daphne he knew wasn't one to
share her vulnerable side much on her own until prompted to do so, and
usually, he would have to observe her and prod her with questions to
know what she was thinking. But, seeing her own share on her own was
heart-warming to him, and the trust she had in him was touching.
«On the other hand, you— . . . . . .»
"Hey, Daphne," said Quinn.
"Yes," asked Daphne. She had her eyes closed and was leaning into
Quinn.
"There's something I want to talk to you about."
Maybe it was something in Quinn's voice that Daphne looked up, "Is
everything alright?"
"Ah, yes, but there's something I would like to tell you."
"Yes?"
"It's something I would like you to know. It's of importance. But I would
ask you to wait till July."
Daphne stayed silent for a moment, gazing up at him, and Quinn could
tell that she was, as usual, searching for the answer.
". . . I am willing to wait," Daphne said. "You said it is of importance,
correct?"
Quinn nodded.
"Then I will wait," she said. But then Daphne's hands clenched the front
of his clothes. "I-I . . . You're not going to break up with me after you
graduate, are you?"
Quinn's eyes widened, and more so when he felt shaking slightly within
his arms.
"No!" he said, quickly, "what would prompt that—"
But then Quinn realized why Daphne had arrived at the line of thinking.
The coming of July would see him graduate from Hogwarts, while
Daphne would still have a year left to study, and in that time, their
relationship would turn into a long-distance one.
". . . Daphne, I'm not thinking of breaking up with you. I would be with
you as long as you have me," said Quinn.
But at the same time, he thought, 'Yes, as long as you would have me . . .'
And he wasn't sure if Daphne would want to be with him after he was
done revealing what he had done.
"That is a relief," smiled Daphne and tip-toed to kiss Quinn softly.
While all Quinn could think was how selfish he was. For a year, he had
decided to hide it and take it to the grave. But, the weight of her feelings
demanded him to reciprocate. He could tell her right here and right now,
but he wasn't sure what would happen to him with the curse inside if she
left him.
Magic, after all, was tied deeply to emotion.
.
Quinn West - MC - Sometimes, I don't like myself.
Daphne Greengrass - Loving Girlfriend - Willing to wait.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Well, [some of]you asked for it. I wonder
how she would react.
.
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!
304. Chapter 304: G's t
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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"You are late, challenger."
After curfew, in the cover of night, Quinn turned a corner in the
Hogwarts hallways and was immediately greeted by a deep-deep voice.
Quinn looked up and saw the Bloody Baron, decked in the restrictive
chains wrapped around his body. The ghost was accompanied by the
other three house ghosts, making the council of ghosts all present.
"Good evening, my ghostly friends," said Quinn. "I apologize for keeping
you waiting, but my duties had seen me busy organizing paperwork with
the deputy headmistress."
"Ease it up, my friend," said Nearly-Headless Nick, laughing boisterously,
"we are used to waiting; what are a few more minutes?"
Bloody Baron didn't grace the Gryffindor ghost with a reply, maintaining
his somber self as he turned away, looking down at Quinn with his
ghostly eyes.
"Quinn," Friar floated forward, "for you to have called us here today, does
it mean that you're ready?"
"You're right to have those expectations, Friar," smiled Quinn. "I have
indeed completed what I was set out to do. I think it will be a great
addition to Hogwarts."
Helena Ravenclaw, the ghost of the Ravenclaw Tower and the once
daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, swifted forward in the air. She gazed at
Quinn with curiosity in her eyes, an emotion unusual in the taciturn and
unspeaking Grey Lady.
". . . Have you kept your promises, little eagle," she said in a voice much
quieter than her three companions, yet it was the clearest.
"I have indeed, my lady. My creations, my legacy, will be a new jewel in
the Cursed Vaults crown."
"Then what are we waiting for," said Nearly-Headless Nick, "let's go see
what Quinn has built here."
Quinn nodded. He turned to the left, and accompanied by the four
ghosts, he walked into a short corridor on the sixth floor with no
classrooms or even a single door, much less a broom closet. It was as if
the hallway was built for apparently no reason and had no apparent use
— but that was only to those who couldn't see the truth behind the
hallway.
"Scattered all over Hogwarts, short corridors like these are present on all
floors— all of them leading nowhere but dead ends," said Quinn.
"According to my research, they were built by the Architect for when the
castle was needed to equipped with more rooms in case the student
studying in Hogwarts increased."
"I presume you found this information from the Architect's Vault," asked
the Grey Lady.
"That'd be correct. There were a few documents related to Hogwarts in
the Architect's Vault. One of those documents mentioned these hallways.
And they were indeed built for the reasons I said before, but of course,
the Architect had been sneaky and had built a secret into these hallways.
Just as he had built the Chamber of Secrets for Salazar Slytherin,
Architect had built—"
"What?! The Architect had built the Chamber of Secrets?!" Friar said in
shocked exclamation.
The other three ghosts looked equally shocked. They exchanged glances
before looking at Quinn, who continued to walk towards the hallway's
dead end.
"My dear ghosts, one thing that when Hogwarts was built, the Architect
knew all secrets— the short man was an overbearing man who wouldn't
let the founders touch Hogwarts without his permission. So everything
from the Room of Requirements to the Chamber of Secrets, he knew of
everything and was actively involved in their creation," said Quinn.
"I was even able to find out that except the Underground Vault and the
Aquatic Vault— the Architect had mentioned the spaces in which all the
vaults were eventually built?"
"The Architect knew about the Cursed Vaults?" asked Nearly-Headless
Nick.
"No-no, he wasn't involved in any vault other than his own. It is just that
all the vaults were made in the hidden, secret places that the Architect
had built during the castle's construction."
"Then there must be something similar about these hallways," asked
Friar.
"Ah yes, the secret built into these hallways are rooms similar to where
the other vaults are built. Empty spaces that are hidden from the main
from the castle," said Quinn.
They arrived at the end of the hallways and stared at the black wall in
front of them.
"Just like the other vault creators, I too have used on one of the hidden
rooms inside Hogwarts," Quinn grinned, "to make my own vault."
He reached out to the wall with his hand and touched the wall for it to
immediately thrum. The bricks shifted in their places, going up and
down, forming ripples that spread across the walls. The spaces between
the walls glowed with a purple light as the bricks started to move aside,
leaving a gaping hole with a purple portal inside.
"This is just like the portal entrance to the Architect's Vault," said Friar.
Quinn stuck his arm inside, sending gentle ripples in the portal.
"You will soon realize that my vault is an amalgamation of the magic I
know until now," said Quinn. "One of the magics that I have dabbled in is
spatial magic, and I decided that the entrance to my vault would also
utilize spatial magic."
"Is there a specific reason behind using spatial magic on the door?" asked
the Grey Lady. "According to you, the place behind is an empty pocket—
what's the need for a spatial entrance?"
"The reason is simple. The actual vault is not placed in the empty pocket
behind the wall; instead, it is placed in a different empty pocket,
somewhere else in the castle— making it so that if someone decided to
break into the vault by brute force, all they would find is an empty space.
Only those with proper skill would be able to enter the vault."
"The proper way?"
"I drew inspiration from the Icy Vault and used a rune puzzle to reveal
the portal. I have found that the Architect's method of using a tangible
object is deeply flawed. If someone is to take the ring away with them,
the next challenger would never be able to enter the Architect's Vault."
Bloody Baron stared at the wall and portal as he asked, "What is the
difficulty level on this . . . rune puzzle?"
"Much easier than the one guarding the Icy Vault," Quinn glanced at the
Bloody Baron, "all according to the motive behind creating this vault."
Bloody Baron nodded.
"Now, let's enter the vault. I will show you what I have prepared," said
Quinn and stepped into the vault with the ghosts following behind him.
- (Scene Break) -
"After I went through the Cursed Vault journey, five years with five
vaults showed me various things and taught me things that have made
what I am today," said Quinn.
He, along with the council of ghosts, stood in a room shaped like a
pentagram. The entire room was painted white with artificial lights
crystal, similar to those in the Aquatic Vault, studded on the roof and
edges. The white was so pure that the lights from the crystals reflected all
over the room, lighting it up in a glow just below uncomfortable
blinding.
"However, every year, every vault, every time I ventured into the vaults,
my life was put at risk in one way or another," said Quinn. "Last year,
after completing the Architect's Vault, I fell into the thoughts about the
future challengers.
I am not one to brag, but if the challenger is someone other than me,
they will die a painful death in every one of them."
The ghosts didn't have anything to comment on. They had been giving
out the Cursed Vault challenges for centuries, and there had been a few
who had died and plenty who had come closer to death. And that was
only the first vault.
"So I decided that I would create a vault that makes things safer, or at
least keep children away from danger."
As Quinn spoke, the ghosts looked around the white room. Their eyes
were attracted to the pentagonal walls of the vault. Every wall held a
door within them; each had a unique design and a roman numerical
written over them.
[ I II III IV V ]
"Even though I said this is my legacy, I don't consider myself to be
qualified to leave behind a vault of the same nature as the other ones,"
said Quinn.
He turned to the door with the numeral [ I ] above the gate. It was the
plainest of the five gates; its design had no decorations or attractive
features— only a gate that looked like it was made from dull grey
concrete.
"The Architect's Vault was the creation of the Architect. Even though the
vault was the easiest to go through, and if a motivated student with a
hint of talent for magic devotes themselves to solving the vault, they
would be able to go through it without any problems. It's not much of a
vault and doesn't match with the majesty of the others, but the creator
behind it speaks for its legacy. Without the Architect, Hogwarts would
never exist. And while I do not enjoy saying this and would never ever
again repeat this . . . I have not yet matched the Architect in his
achievement. He had created something that has persisted over a
thousand years, and I have not done that."
Quinn turned to the door on the next wall with the numeral [ II ] over it.
The gate was made from a beautiful sea-green jade-like material, letting
out a beautiful glow. He smiled as the scent of the water tickled his nose.
"I don't know which great person created the Aquatic Vault, but whoever
it was, they have my utmost respect. If just by spending time in the
vault's final area, I was able to gain so much knowledge about water and
its relation to life, then I have no idea what that personage must know
about the mysteries of water. I have no idea if it was the motive, but
every stage of the vault showed me an important aspect of water. I have
nothing to offer of that level— making me disqualified to leave behind a
legacy like that."
The wall beside had the numeral [ III ] over the gates made from stone.
Both doors on the gates were etched with various magical creatures—
centaurs, trolls, acromantulas, wolves, among many others. Moreover, a
soft green light leaked through the slight spaces on the edges of the gates.
"The runic platform inside the Underground Vault was an application
that I have never seen before, only second to what I have seen in the Sin
Vault. Even now, there are plenty of rune logics in that runic cluster that
I have not been able to understand. Moreover, the creator had combined
runes, rituals, and human transfiguration together— three fields that are
complex and potentially hazardous. They achieved a needlessly, almost
not-worth-it procedure of achieving an animagus form through a runic
application. Do you know what that is? They revolutionized an entire
field of magic. Now that's a legacy to be proud of. I attained some
noticeable achievements, but none of them are as prominent as this
personage when it comes to the betterment of magic."
The gate with the numeral [ IV ] was unique even among the five gates.
It looked it had been crafted from pure ice, and a cold fog flowed out
from the gates, granting it an ethereal appeal. Quinn walked to the gate
and touched the ice. His shoulder relaxed when he felt cold enter his
body.
"It won't be an understatement to say that the Icy Vault and Absolute
Zero is one my longest active project— the only thing that can compare
to it is mental magic. I have tried for years to take out Absolute Zero
from its cage so that I could take it with myself so that I could continue
to study it after I leave Hogwarts . . . but, even after years of trying, I
haven't been able to create a method to transport Absolute Zero. The
person who gave birth to Absolute Zero was a master of Alchemy,
reaching legendary status, and he had enough runic knowledge to
contain a substance that could wipe out Hogwarts. Out of all the vaults,
this person might be the most talented one and one who has achieved the
most— it is safe without saying, I haven't reached that level yet."
Finally, Quinn's eyes turned to the last gate with the numeral [ V ] over
it. And unlike the previous four gates, he had no warmth in his eyes—
only cold steel flashing in the stone grey. The gate was pitch black, so
black that it looked like it was sucking in light, and even the ghosts who
usually couldn't interact with the physical world were feeling a slight
danger from it.
"I have made this clear plenty of times, but I do NOT want anyone to
enter the Sin Vault. It is an abomination that shouldn't exist in a school of
students. If I was capable, I would've destroyed the damn thing;
unfortunately, I am not able to do so and believe me, I have tried. I
implore all of you that if someone, somehow, is able to reach the Sin
Vault, I beg that you don't let them go through it. Congratulate them, pat
them on their back, and send them on their way while singing their
praise."
Quinn sighed, "If it does come to that, then let them go through their
gates, and if they're still excited after experiencing what's behind the
doors, then let them go through the Sin Vault to risk not just themselves
but also those around them."
". . . What exactly is behind these doors?" asked Nearly-Headless Nick.
"They're like tutorials," said Quinn. "Just as we discussed when I met you
guys regarding the vault order, I wanted to make the future challengers'
job easier, so if they go through what behind those gates. The aim is two-
fold— prepare them for the real deal and give them a taste of what's to
come so that they can decide if they want to go through it.
It's an asset and warning."
He looked at the four ghosts and smiled, "Would you like to see what's
inside?"
Their eyes widened. The fundamental aim of revealing Cursed Vaults to
students had been to sate the ghost's curiosity. But even with Quinn
revealing everything to them, they couldn't go in the vaults to see what
was in there. But as Quinn had said, these gates were tutorials, and with
the creator with them, they might be able to see what it was.
"We would love to," said Friar with a bright smile on his face.
Quinn waved his hand, and the [ I ] numerical glowed in a golden light
as the gate beneath it opened up.
"Well then, lady and gentlemen, how about we take a grand tour."
It would be decades before someone would step into the GUIDE'S VAULT.
.
Quinn West - MC - Even the gates have spatial magic on them, making
my vault just a node center.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I might reveal the contents of these tutorial
gates in the epilogue volume. Tomorrow, we shall start the announced
arc. Also, the I have started the final arc of this volume on you-know-
where.
.
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!
305. Chapter 305: Damon
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 stepped out of the Guide's Vault and stretched his hands over his
head. Even though the vault was complete and ready to be used, there
were still a few things that Quinn thought could be smoothened out. It
was crucial that the vaults remained functioning for years to come
because he didn't know when he would return to Hogwarts in the future,
and that is if he ever returned; as such, ensuring that none of his casted
magic would fizzle out for quite some time.
'Well, with time, Hogwarts would assimilate the vault into its ecosystem,'
thought Quinn.
Hogwarts was a magical marvel, standing for a thousand years. It housed
magicals in growth period with their magic in flux. The castle had long
been mutated with that magic, and after thousand years, the castle had
become an anomaly. Quinn was sure that after a couple decades, the
castle would take in what he had created, and after that, the charms,
spells, and runes would be maintained by the castle itself.
"I wonder how the magic would change," Quinn muttered to himself,
interested in how Hogwarts would affect his magic. "Maybe a visit to
Hogwarts, a couple decades from now, is warranted."
Quinn slipped his hands into his pocket and retrieved his trusty piece of
reinforced off-white cloth, magically converted into the Hogwarts-
exclusive artifact known as RECON, the massively upgraded version of
the Marauder's Map. It was the state-of-art solution to all Hogwarts-
related stalking and the key to almost all doors in Hogwarts castle.
He activated the map and watched as the ink bloomed on the threads,
taking various colors that formed a welcome screen before turning to the
floor map of the sixth floor, which he was on with him illuminated in a
blue dot, marking him as a student.
Quinn's travel patterns in Hogwarts changed before and after curfew
times. Before curfews, he would usually walk in the hallways and take
the stairs on the Grand staircase to go between floors, only using the
Hogwarts internal passageways when no one was around. But when the
curfew hour struck on the clocks, he would forget the Grand staircase
and exclusively travel using the internal passageways built within the
walls.
He glanced at the floating map, and a blue directional line mapped itself
on the sixth-floor floor map, and Quinn could see alternates and if there
was someone present the routes. The line plotted on the map was from
Quinn's current position and went to a passageway connecting the sixth
and fifth floors and opening near the AID office. The passageway was one
he used frequently and was near to another passageway that opened
outside the Headboy suite corridor on the fourth floor.
Quinn followed the line and arrived at a wall tapestry— magical and
moving— of a tree with birds flying around it. The wall, opposite to the
tapestry, however, was Quinn's destination. He knocked on the wall twice
before kicking it once for the bricks to move away, revealing a narrow
staircase going down.
Before stepping inside the passageway, Quinn glanced at the map and
spoke, "Fifth floor." The ink on Recon sunk into the threads, disappearing
for a split-second, before it rushed back out and depicted the floor map of
the fifth floor. The map under Quinn's non-verbal commands zoomed in
on the fifth-floor exit of the passage to see if there was somewhere there
that he needed to avoid.
Quinn gave it a cursory glance, finding that the coast was clear. But when
he was about to look away, a blue dot popped on the edge of the map—
right outside the AID office door.
"Hmm?"
For a moment, he thought it was a Prefect doing their curfew patrols
because of the blue dot as neither Astoria nor Luna used the office after
curfew. But then his eyes fell upon the name over the blue dot, and
Quinn's body froze like ice as if someone had struck him with a body
bind.
His eyes blanked out for a good few seconds before they regained
intelligent thought, and the shock of what he was seeing started to
register and settle in.
「ꟼ߶% $℟℺⌧*۞# . . . .」
For the first time since its inception, Recon had failed to recognize
someone's name. The map was connected to Hogwarts through
piggybacking the runes part in Hogwarts, and not once had Hogwarts
failed to recognize someone's name, even if they weren't once a student.
But the gibberish on the map was only a minuscule reason for Quinn's
shock. There was another thing that had set his heart beating like a steam
engine running at full throttle.
Names, as they appeared on Recon, were made from two words— First
names and Last names. The gibberish that was below Quinn's eye was the
first name, but Quinn's eyes were transfixed on the last name . . . that
was not gibberish . . .
. . . and something he was well familiar with.
「. . . West」
"I-It must've malfunctioned," said Quinn and grabbed the map in his
hand, and let the magic flow into it. The map shut down before restarting
again to show the sixth floor again.
"Fifth floor."
The map shifted to the fifth floor.
". . . ."
Quinn sucked in a breath.
There it was, the blue dot with gibberish and West, once again, on the
map.
But now, the dot was inside the AID office.
"W-What is this?"
A hundred thoughts ran through his head, trying to find a reason behind
the strange, bizarre phenomenon in front of him.
"It must be a bug, yes, Occam's Razor— the simplest reason is the current
reason," said Quinn. ". . . I just need to go down there to confirm it; yeah,
that'd work."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn stood on the corner of the hallway, the AID office in front of his
eyes. Recon was still floating beside him, and the blue dot was moving
inside the office and had moved to the workshop. . . as to his eyes, the
dot was moving eerily like a human.
A thought grew and dug its claw in his mind, making Quinn stand on the
corner, his eyes fixed on Recon, following the blue dot, waiting for the
dot to come out of the office.
His breathing quickened when the blue dor moved towards the workshop
door and came into the office. Quinn gulped when the dot arrived at the
office door, and his being stilled when he heard the sound of a door
opening.
Slowly, Quinn turned his neck up, removing his eyes from the map to the
office door.
A figure stepped out from the office, dressed in black overalls— the style
of clothing was not something that Quinn could put his finger on, yet it
seemed oddly familiar to him.
The hallway was dark, situated in the inner region of the castle, with no
open windows insight, and the fire torches had been extinguished after
the curfew hour. Quinn focused magic into his eyes and, just as he had
done in the Darkness of the Forbidden Forest, modified them to take in
more light in night as many the animals who could see in the dark.
With the adjusted eyes, Quinn could finally see the figure's appearance.
It was a man, and from its looks, the man was young— young enough
that Quinn could tell that it was a teen and not someone who had
reached the age where their aging slowed down to match the lifespan of
a magical human.
'. . . It was not a malfunction?'
Quinn took a brief glance at Recon and then at the figure, who was
walking away. His eyes turned determined. Quinn pocketed Recon and
stepped out into the hallway.
'Whoever it is. I have to find out what is going on here.'
Deciding that, Quinn took action.
"Hello," he said and saw the unknown man jolt and turn towards him
with a jerk.
The unknown man's eyes widened as he saw Quinn and took a step back,
seemingly in surprise.
". . . Yes?"
"It's already after curfew, you know," said Quinn, keeping a calm smile on
his face. "You're not allowed to roam around after hours. Which house
are you in?"
". . . S-Slytherin," said the unknown man.
Quinn's eyes narrowed. He remembered every student in Hogwarts by
name and face, much less Slytherin, and he had profiles stored in his
mindscape. And one thing was for sure, he sure didn't know who this
person was in front of him.
However . . . . according to Recon, the man in front of him was a student
of Hogwarts, indicated by the blue dot, which only showed up when for
Hogwarts students.
"Slytherin, you say," said Quinn. "I'm sorry, but it seems my memory is
failing me, and I can't seem to recognize you— would you mind telling
me your name."
The man stayed silent for a moment before the answer came,
"My name is Damon."
"I see. Damon is it. What are you doing here on the fifth floor instead of
the dungeon?" Quinn asked.
"N-Nothing, I was just here to see if I could find Professor . . . Flitchnick."
"You mean, Professor Flitwick?" asked Quinn, keeping his voice constant.
"Yes! Professor Flitwick!" said the unknown man.
Quinn hummed silently. It wasn't that late after curfew, and he knew that
around this time, the professors were usually in their personal offices,
wrapping up their work for the day. The Head of Ravenclaw's office,
which Flitwick used as his office, was on the fifth floor.
'Recon shows him as a student, and he seems to know things about
Hogwarts. . . . but that doesn't explain it,' thought Quinn.
"Sorry to say this, Damon, but I find it a little hard to believe that you're
out to meet Professor Flitwick. I mean, you understand, right?"
"Sorry, I will go back to the dorms immediately!"
"Damon" turned and started to walk away with haste.
But Quinn couldn't let the man leave.
Quinn snapped his finger, and magic gushed out of him, spreading out in
every direction. Magical barries, glowing with yellow light, suddenly
appeared on both ends of the AID hallway, blocking the unknown
person's path and trapping him with Quinn.
The figure stopped in his tracks just before the yellow barriers appeared,
his head turning up to look at the barrier.
He turned slowly back as Quinn spoke.
"I didn't say you could leave, did I, Damon," said Quinn, staring dead at
the man. "I lied to just now."
"What?"
"My memory doesn't fail me ever, and I'm quite sure I have never seen
you in Hogwarts, ever . . . so I will ask this only once— Who are you?"
Damon stared at Quinn for a moment before immediately turning
towards the yellow barrier. He raised his arm, and an emerald spell shot
out of his hand, hitting the yellow barrier, putting a deep crack into it.
Quinn blinked his eyes in surprise. 'He didn't use a wand, but that power.'
Quinn commanded his magic, and before Damon could shoot another
spell, which would've broken the barrier, the yellow barrier repaired
itself and the color deepened by several shades.
"That was surprising," said Quinn. "That barrier should've stopped any
Hogwarts student, but you managed to put a crack on it. It seems you
aren't a normal student, are you."
Damon turned to Quinn, his brows furrowed. "Listen . . . just let me go,
would you? It will be good for both of us."
"Sorry, but that isn't going to happen," said Quinn. "You're not going
anywhere until I have answers to all my questions, which you're going to
answer— willing or unwillingly."
.
Quinn West - MC - Now, let's have a nice talk, shall we?
Damon - ? - Just let me go.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I don't know if it is obvious or not.
.
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!
306. Chapter 306: Quinn vs
Damon
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
"Let's start with a simple question," said Quinn. "What is your name?"
Damon stared at Quinn and his hands as he(Quinn) put on black leather
gloves. Damon's brows furrowed as his body language turned defensive.
Quinn looked up, stretching the gloves to adjust the fit. "Hmm? Not
answering, or was my question not clear enough? Is Damon your real
name, or just something you made up from the top of your head?
Silence? Well, we do have the entire night," said Quinn, seeing that
Damon wasn't answering his questions. "But, I do not appreciate this
silence, so let me put another question on the table."
His voice turned deeper as he asked, "Why is your last name West?"
The effect was immediate. Damon's facial expression turned into one of
shock, with wide eyes and eyebrows shooting up to his hairline after his
body stiffened immediately.
"Oh?" a smirk appeared on Quinn's face. "It seems I was not wrong."
Recon seemed to be working correctly.
It wouldn't have mattered if there was another West in Hogwarts, but as
Quinn knew, there wasn't any other West in Hogwarts; there wasn't even
another West family in the British Isles as it was a rare late family name
for a magical family and the West family had only been producing one
heir per generation for many generations— Lia and Quinn being an
outlier case in the family.
". . . How did you know?" asked Damon.
"I wasn't sure, but thank you for confirming," said Quinn, making Damon
flinch.
"Now, if I assume you are indeed named Damon, making you Damon
West, the question arises if you're the same West as my family and I.
Which given the balance of probability, I am sure you're the same West
as I am," said Quinn. "Which leads me to ask, what's your origin,
Damon?"
There was another response of silence to Quinn's question. Damon didn't
open his mouth, which was pressed into a line, and only stared at Quinn
with a blank face.
'Occlumency,' Quinn noticed the lack of emotion. 'I wonder how long that
would last.'
"Come on, don't be shy—"
Damon raised his hands, and two rings, one on each ring finger, glowed
with sharp burning yellow glare. He jutted his hands forward, and zaps of
orange magic flew towards Quinn.
A magical bluish-white shield appeared in front of Quinn and met the
brunt of Damon's spells. Slice. Quinn blinked in surprise as a tear
appeared on his shield when the jet of magic started to split his magic.
'What is this magic?' thought Quinn. He hadn't seen this kind of severing
spell if he could even call it that. It wasn't strong or heavily loaded with
magic, but it was still cutting through a shield cast with much stronger
spells in mind.
Quinn raised his hand, and a thrumming orb of bright magic manifested
over his palm. He aimed it towards the incoming spell and let the orb
shoot out a thick beam of magic that swallowed Damon's spell along with
his own shields, then proceeded to barrel towards Damon with a
ferocious charge.
Damon's rings again glowed. Quinn's spell suddenly came to a screeching
halt halfway, exploding into what seemed to be an invisible barrier, until
the magic in Quinn's attack was extinguished.
Quinn lowered his hands and stared at Damon. "Hey, are those ring-type
magical foci? I have seen those a few times, but I haven't seen anyone use
two at the same time. And what was the spell you used to bisect my
shields; I haven't seen anything like that in my studies. You're becoming
more and more fascinating every second, Damon. I must know what's the
deal with you."
Damon's face twitched as his eyes narrowed. He shifted his body to face
the side and placed one of his hands on the yellow barrier that blocked
his path. The rings glowed again, and the barrier started to tremble and
shriek violently.
"Uh-uh, I'm not letting you go so easily," said Quinn. He spread his palm
for a glowing-red colored chain made from Empyrean with a weight on
end to sprout out from the middle of the palm and rattled towards
Damon.
To Quinn's surprise, the ring-user released a bullet made from a familiar
red magical malleable material and shot down the weight to another
side.
'He used Empyrean,' thought Quinn. 'But the color was darker than mine.
Was his spell a different version from mine?'
Damon, who wasn't privy to Quinn's thoughts, stepped up for the offense.
Dozens of blades made from the darker Empyrean appeared manifested
around Damon. Quinn's eyes widened when he saw what looked like red
zaps of electric arcs dancing around every blade.
'He has reached the level of adding elemental properties to Empyrean,'
thought Quinn, his eyes moving between Damon and his magical
constructs in surprise.
Empyrean was a magical material, capable of assuming a range of
physical properties— only limited by the caster's skill and knowledge.
However, achieving a wide range of those physical properties was a
tricky task while using Empyrean. Empyrean could assume solid, liquid,
and gaseous states. It could become flexible, rigid, semi-solids, or any
form of similar properties. However, that was only one level. Above that
level, additional properties like adding electric charge, making Emyrean
burn, or an ice attribute that could freeze objects at contact, among other
similar properties.
The red arcs around the blades were clearly a lightning attribute added to
Empyrean.
"Alright, so that's how we are going to do it, huh," said Quinn to Damon.
"Time for the kiddy gloves to come off."
Damon didn't reply, and the dozens of Empyrean blades shot towards
Quinn with lightning dancing around them.
Suddenly, the temperature in the hallway between the two yellow
barriers dropped, and the blades ripping towards Quinn slowed down as
if the energy had been sucked out of them, and before long, they came to
a freezing halt in the air.
Quinn and Damon's breathing turned to white mist.
Damon's rings glowed brighter, and the Empyrean blades started to chirp
with lightning arcs and vibrating as he pushed in more magic to make
them move. However, his eyes grew wider as he saw that not only did
the blades not move, a deposit of ice started to build on the blades.
". . . Ice," muttered Damon. "That's . . . ."
Quinn's raised his arm and clenched his fist for Damon's Empyrean blades
to shatter into red and cold shards.
This time, Quinn didn't speak to Damon. He let the magic flow through
his body, reaching his every muscle, and shot towards Damon like a
cheetah.
"Fast!" Damon exclaimed. His magic thrummed, and the marble tiling
beneath, between Quinn and him, broke away, and the floor started to
shake and split, aiming to throw Quinn off balance.
Quinn didn't blink, flinch, or slow down. He kicked the floor and took a
body magic-powered leap above; Quinn didn't stop and immediately cast
wind magic to push him up and ahead. He thrust his hands forward, and
wind blades flew out from his body and sheered towards Damon.
Damon, though surprised, didn't lose the focus of the fight and
immediately countered with wind magic that surprised Quinn as his wind
attacks were canceled out. Damon didn't stop, and the broken tiles
transfigured into metal chakras and shot up towards the mid-flight
Quinn.
Quinn didn't give the metal chakras a glance and directly simul-cast two
magics. The metal discs coming towards groaned and crumbled into balls
while a war hammer with a long handle made from Empyrean manifested
in his hands cocked above his head, ready to be brought down directly on
Damon.
Damon's pupils dilated. He raised his hands above his head, and the twin
rings glowed brightly as a shield manifested above his head.
Bang! The war hammer cracked down on Damon's shield. The shield
flickered, its glow dimming as Quinn's hammer did damage to its
integrity.
Quinn didn't stop for the shield blocking him away from Damon to
disappear and landed on the ground. Two spells charged up in his palm
and shot them towards Damon the very second the shield collapsed.
'This will hurt,' thought Quinn as he jumped back a few steps.
The next moment, a deep purple shield appeared in front of Damon,
again blocking Quinn's attack from reaching Damon. Quinn didn't skip a
beat and let the spells fizzle out; instead, he cast another magic, many
times more potent than the previous attack. He again let the magic
assault into the purple shield, and an explosion boomed on impact.
When the magic settled, Damon stood behind the shield, staring at
Quinn.
"It's not going to work," said Damon with a complicated in his eyes.
Quinn, wide-eyed, stared at the unfazed shield. There wasn't even a
single speck of damage on it. Without a single word, Quinn charged his
magic and cast a more powerful explosive offense magic onto the shield,
sending more louder and brighter explosions, only contained by the
yellow barriers that Quinn had cast.
"Don't waste your energy," said Damon, looking down his neckline at the
soft glow underneath his clothes. "The shield is not going to break."
Quinn didn't stop and started the barrage of successively stronger magic
at the shield until he couldn't cast a stronger magic that wouldn't
Hogwarts structural integrity.
He stared at the shield and Damon for a while before sitting down on the
floor. "You must be powerful for you to be able to cast a shield that I
can't even put a scratch on," he said.
"It's a magical item," said Damon as he watched Quinn cast magic on the
floor, restoring it to the pre-fight stage.
"So, who are you," asked Quinn. "Are you grandfather's secret child that
he kept hidden from the family? Or are you my late father's illegitimate
child that he had with a woman other than my mother?"
Damon didn't reply, though there was something in his eyes that Quinn
couldn't put a finger upon.
"You can tell me, I don't really mind if there's another West out there,"
said Quinn. "Moreover, if you are family, I would like to know more
about you— and seeing that you were in the AID office, it seems you
know about me, so it is only fair that you share something about
yourself."
"I . . . I, listen—" Damon sighed. He went silent for a moment and stared
at Quinn through the purple shield. After a few moments of silence, he
reached into his clothes and grabbed the neck chain, and a ring glow
later, the purple shield was gone.
"Listen, I am not saying this for just avoiding answering, but I can't really
tell you—"
Damon's eyes widened when he saw a smile on Quinn's face. The next
moment, ice rose from the floor, and before he could blink, he was
covered in a block of ice till the neck. His eye jumped down, trying to
look at his hands, but he could only feel it as the rings on his hands were
twisted out from his fingers and taken away from him.
Quinn stood up from the floor and walked towards the frozen Damon and
stretched his hand as the rings encased in pockets of water flew out of ice
and landed into his hands.
"Give those back!"
Quinn picked up the ring and raised it to his eye line to observe it.
"You shouldn't trust your opponent so easily," said Quinn. "I mean, even if
you're a West, I don't know you, so yeah . . . it is your fault."
Damon growled as he glared at Quinn with anger, betrayal flashing in his
eyes.
"I will check them out later," Quinn pocketed the rings and looked at
Damon. "For now, I would like to get my answers; from the looks of it,
you aren't going to get them from your mouth, so we are going to use the
magical route."
He stepped closer to Damon and spoke, "If you would look into my eyes
and relax, everything will be over before you know it."
Damon's eyes widened, realizing what would happen, and he couldn't
close them as magic held them open. "No, wait! Stop!"
"Oh my, I couldn't see it in this light, but you have heterochromia. That's
neat— well, at least one of them is stone-grey."
"Stop! Please, you don't want to do this!"
Quinn reached out with Legilimency into Damon's mind with a calm
smile. The smile froze and died down as Damon tried to struggle out of
the freezing bind.
He couldn't feel a mind where a mind should be. His Legilemency
couldn't find the presence of a mind inside Damon. It was something that
had never happened— everyone had a mind, no matter if they were
unprotected as a newborn baby or as protected as Alan D. Baddeley's.
"Damon . . . where is your mind?"
Quinn frowned when he didn't hear anything from Damon, not even
sounds of him struggling. He focused out and on his face to see that
Damon's wide eyes were staring behind him.
"Where are you looking at?"
He turned and suddenly came across a man dressed in a suit standing
behind him, staring at him with eyes that he had only seen on two other
people.
Before he could speak or make a move, his entire body froze. Every
muscle in his body betrayed him and refused to obey his command.
"I would like to have my son released."
.
Quinn West - MC - Yeah, I don't care about fairness.
Damon - West? - Naive? Or is there a reason?
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Well? How about that!
.
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!
307. Chapter 307: Meeting of
Wests
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 would like to have my son released."
Quinn, with his eyes blown wide open, stared at the man; it was all he
could do when his body was under the influence of binding magic,
something that, no matter how much Quinn resisted with no amounts of
magic or spells, didn't budge one bit.
The man looked to be in his late twenties, which in magical human
lifespan meant the man was at least inching towards sixty. But that fact
only lingered in the back of Quinn's chain of thoughts as his mind was
dominated by the man's stone-grey eyes and jet black hair. He had only
seen those features on three people — himself, George, and Lia.
"Are you Adam West?" Quinn asked. He had seen photographs of his later
father, and he could definitely see similarities.
The man glanced at him before turning back to Damon. The ice that
bound Damon poofed into a white mist that was blown away with a gust
of wind, all under the command of the man with stone-grey eyes.
"D-Dad," said Damon with his head bowed, not daring to look at his
father.
"Damon," said the man, "you are a massive imbecile."
Damon flinched at the choice of words, and his head lowered even
further, his eyes not fixed on his feet.
"I won't usually say this to you, but when you ignore basic common sense
and mess with something that you're not aware of or even remotely
knowledgable about, I have no choice but to wonder if my image of you
as a bright young man needs to be re-evaluated," said Damon's father.
"I'm actively contemplating if I should punish you here and now, and the
only reason I am of two minds about it is that this is not the time and
place to do so . . . .
Damon cowered in the face of the cutting words from his father as the
man spoke in a grave, no-nonsense tone without a speck of humor or
light-heartedness in them. Damon could only imagine what expression
was there on his father's face, only that it wasn't going to be the one he
usually sported— and that frightened him enough to not look at him
while he was talking.
". . . . So before we return home and we have a serious discussion about
your actions today and the chain of dire consequences that it could've set
forth— I suggest that you take the time and think long and hard about
what you have done today because even if I was, hypothetically, not to
reprimand you, which believe me I'm definitely going to do— your
mother would have no such mercy."
Damon quivered as his father finished speaking and could no longer look
more pitiful.
Damon's father's eyes went to his son's clenched hands. "Where are your
rings, Damon?"
". . . He took them," said Damon in a feeble voice.
The man turned his eyes to Quinn, who felt his pockets open up, and
soon two metallic rings flew out and into the man's hands. He raised one
ring to his eye level and observed them before repeating the process with
the other one.
After he was done, the father turned to his son and showed him the
magical rings. "I'm keeping them with me until we return home, and I
will let your mother decide when you'll get them back."
"You can't do that; that's not fair!"
"You're in no position to say or tell me what is fair and what is not."
His father's stern voice made Damon back down to only show his
frustration through gritted teeth, blazing eyes, and clenched fists.
Quinn, who had been listening to the father and son conversation, finally
took the chance to speak up when the conversation fell into a strained
lull. "Hey, I'm not one to interfere in family time, but can you unbind
me? It is getting uncomfortable here."
The man stared at Quinn for a while before he slightly bent his elbow up
and flicked his wrist up.
"Woah!" Quinn exclaimed when his feet left the floor, and he was raised
into the air, without even given a choice to awkwardly flail around with
his body bound tight. "Hey, let me down! I can walk and am willing to
cooperate."
The man ignored Quinn and glanced at Damon, "Follow me," before
turning away to walk with Damon following on foot with Quinn gliding
in the air.
Damon snickered as he walked past Quinn to just behind his father,
making Quinn glare at him.
"Hey, hey, you're not allowed in there," said Quinn when he realized
where the man was leading them.
The man once again ignored Quinn and opened the door of the AID office
with a look, and walked inside. After taking a step in, the man stopped
and looked around the office for a good while in silence— his eye moved
from the office desk in the front to the glass wall on the side and moved
over all the decor and knick-knacks that adorned the room.
"Damon, go and wait in the workshop while I clean this mess up," said
the man and waved his hand for the workshop door's locking mechanism
to click open.
Damon stared at his father and Quinn for a second before slipping into
the workshop, leaving Quinn and his father alone.
The man snapped his finger, and Quinn dropped down on the floor with
his bindings also coming off.
Quinn got control of himself just in time to remain standing, albeit with a
slight stumble. If it was another situation, Quinn would've resorted to
magic to fight or flight, but in the current situation, where the man had
fully incapacitated him without breaking a sweat— the better strategy
here was to see what the man wanted.
'He hasn't harmed me till now . . . .'
The man walked to the chair behind the office table. He stopped and
stared at the comfy chair with cushions and actual back support that
Astoria had brought in to replace Quinn's barebones barstool. As the man
stared at the chair, it warped and creaked to turn into a barstool for the
man to take a seat.
"Sit down," said the man, motioning with his hand for a customer chair to
place it opposite to him.
Quinn sat down in the customer seat, something he felt a bit
uncomfortable doing. In his tenure, he had been on the opposite side of
the table where the unknown was sitting.
"Sorry for all this mess," said the man, "I didn't believe my son would
make such a mess out of things."
Quinn observed the man for a moment. His tone seemed to be genuinely
apologetic even though his facials weren't reflecting the said tone. He
shrugged, "Other than breaking and entering, your son didn't do much
damage, though, in these times, those petty crimes can be serious,
especially in Hogwarts."
"Ah yes, breaking into Hogwarts is supposedly a big deal."
"Yes, that is what everyone says," Quinn chuckled, recalling the fact there
had been notable break-ins into the castle.
"And to think Death Eaters would invade the castle soon," said the man.
"Yeah . . . . . . what?" Quinn's eyes got locked onto the man, who sat
nonchalantly as if he hadn't said anything of importance. "What did you
say?"
"Hmm? I said Death Eater in Hogwarts."
". . . How do you know that? Do you have an in with the Death Eater?"
asked Quinn, emotion draining from his face. "Wait a minute, you still
haven't told me who you are. Are you grandfather's illegitimate child or
something?"
The man chuckled, "It's quite amusing to me that you can't recognize me.
Sure it has been ages, but I don't think I have changed in looks that
much."
Quinn frowned. He couldn't comprehend what the man was talking
about. "What do you mean— . . . . ."
The realization was sudden, heavy, and cut through the confusion like a
sharp blade.
Quinn leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a sombre voice, "Prove
it."
"Proof, huh. Well, how about you let the voice in your head take over; I
am interested in talking to that version."
"Don't even joke about it!" Quinn glared, his magic flaring as things
rattled in the office. "And that's not enough proof— that secret is not
strong enough," after all, the strongest secret was one where only a single
person knew about it. "If you're who you say you're, then you know what
qualifies as proof."
"Well, how about that fact that you moonlight as a brutal invisible
vigilante."
"Don't skirt around it!"
"I don't like to bring that up. It's not part of my life anymore. Unlike you,
I have moved on," the older man sighed and massaged his temple.
Quinn showed no reaction and kept his gaze trained on
"But if you do insist, then I shall bring it up once," said the man. He
looked at Quinn and spoke softly, "This world is supposedly one from a
piece of fiction, and you're an outsider. We overtook at age four, and
well, I think that's enough.
Happy now?"
"Not one bit," said Quinn snapping back immediately. This time he was
the one to rub his temple, but unlike his relaxed companion, he was
feeling a headache coming up. "I can believe I would be meeting my
older self. How am I supposed to react to this?"
"How about with a greeting," said future-Quinn with a relaxed grin.
"Hello, Quinn. I am Quinn."
"You!" Quinn stared at the man incredulously. "How can you be so
nonchalant about this?!"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, 'What do you mean?' You are NOT supposed to be
here!"
"You don't think I know that," said future-Quinn. "Why do you think I'm
here? To have a leisure trip? No. I'm here to clean the mess up."
"You speak like this is not your problem," scoffed Quinn. "You're the main
reason behind this whole problem."
"Excuse me? I haven't done anything wrong here."
"Yeah, right," Quinn scoffed again. He pointed at the closed workshop
door. "There's no way that guy capable of creating a device like time-
turner that could allow the user to travel back decades— much less, cast
temporal magic with similar effects."
"Hey. That's my son you're talking about," said future-Quinn. "My son is
the most talented of his age. If I was to compare, Damon is on the same
level as Dumbledore and Riddle when they were his age."
"Good for him. But that doesn't change the fact that when even I haven't
made a fraction of progress, that would be required for this TYPE and
LEVEL of time travel. If I can't do it, forget about Dumbledore, the Dark
Lord, or even Grindelwald— and so I doubt Damon would be able to
accomplish that.
And honestly, the only other way I see this is happening is that YOU were
careless and YOU messed up, making this all YOUR fault."
"I don't like the tone you're taking, kid," said future-Quinn. "You might
want to reign that in."
"I am just pointing fault where it lies, old man," said Quinn. "Has your
skin thinned with old age? What a tragedy; I hope I don't turn up like
you."
"Was I always this annoying?" said future-Quinn. "Nope, don't think so.
You've got that annoying quality of being irritating."
The present and future (past and present) stared at each other with
upturned noses, looking down on each other.
"Alright, enough of this," said Quinn, "I hope you have a way to fix this
mess because both you and I know how things can turn out when
temporal laws are messed with."
.
Quinn West - MC(Present) - I hope I don't turn like him.
Quinn West - MC(Future) - Man, this kid sure is annoying.
Damon West - Future West - Has his ear on the wall, trying to listen.
.
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
308. Chapter 308: Conversation
Between Two
[
A/N:
The world of online novels (fanfiction and originals) has one "issue" that I
have come to notice. Unlike traditionally published works, where you
read on one book at a time, and the entire story is already written, online
novels are usually "ongoing," and people are reading multiple works at
any given time— such is the world of online novels, filled with so much
content. But a problem arises that readers (including myself) are
sometimes not able to keep all the facts retained in their minds. And from
the last chapter's comments, I have noticed that is the case for MY
version of time travel— it is a bit different.
So to refresh that part of the story, you can read the [ Ivy-Hermione-
Quinn-Time-Travel ] mini-arc. I will link those chapters below. However, I
will also try to put those facts in this chapter as part of the conversation.
**Start of last time travel mini-arc**: CHAPTER 104: Summons,
Repayment, Negotiation
**But if you want to get to the good stuff**: CHAPTER 106: Dementor
Horde, Time Magic, Free Will
]
"Let's start from the beginning," said Quinn, tapping his finger on his
armrest. "You and Damon have time-traveled past the five hours safety
limit. So please, tell me you know what you were doing before you made
a time-traveling apparatus that doesn't implement that limit as a
restriction."
Time travel was dangerous, and traveling back extended periods could
cause catastrophic disasters. The Unspeakable Departement of the British
Ministry of Magic had experimented with time travel by sending one of
their own back in time by several centuries. The experiment, while a
hazardous failure, had taught the Unspeakables a lot about time travel—
the woman sent back in time when pulled back to the present, rapidly
aged the time she had been sent back (centuries), and died as her lifespan
ran out— not only that, but the woman's interactions with the past had
caused massive changes in the timeline. The experiment had resulted in
people getting killed, others coming to life, and several others being
erased from existence, a phenomenon known as unbirths. [canon]
"You have jumped back quite a few decades in the past," said Quinn to
future-Quinn, "and from your behavior, you're not worried about the
consequences, so I am assuming you have found to time travel without
triggering those nasty side effects."
"Temporal magic or chronomancy are vast fields, my young and naive
self; I can't claim to have mastered time, so all I can say is that it is a
work-in-progress," future-Quinn shrugged. "And don't give me that look;
you— well us— have time-traveled without knowing zilch about
temporal magic."
"Your Occlumency must've degraded," said Quinn, his mood worsening, "I
followed a strict set of rules and restrictions when I traveled— kept my
footprint minimal, only traveled within the permitted limit, and more
importantly, I made sure NOT to meet myself!
This case, on the other hand, has a person who hasn't been born yet
travel to the time before their birth; you both have traveled way beyond
the stable limit, and I don't need to say this, but we are meeting face-to-
face."
"Way to go stating the obvious," said the future-Quinn, "yes, I know all of
those facts—and obviously, if I'm not freaking out, then I have taken care
of those factors."
Quinn was about to say something, but future-Quinn raised his hand and
continued to speak.
"You don't have to be worried about the closed-loop nature of time travel
. . ."
A closed-loop was a temporal proposition in which, by means of time
travel, a sequence of events is among the causes of another event, which
is, in turn, among the causes of the first-mentioned event. In simple
words, when a future event is the cause of a past event, which in turn is
the cause of the future event. Time travel achieved through Time-Turners
was the closed-loop type of time travel.
". . . You don't have to worry that because I time-traveled back in time,
you in the future will go through this very exact situation and travel back
in time," finished future-Quinn. "That's not going to happen to you."
The closed-loop time travel couldn't change past as what was going to
happen was always going to happen with the time travel a part of those
events. Once a Quinn West triggered closed-loop time travel, every Quinn
moving on would walk down the same path. During the Dementor horde
by the lakeside, Quinn was always going to be saved by a future version
of Quinn— that version of events was always set in stone— such was the
closed-loop theory of time travel.
"S-So, you're saying that this time travel is NOT in accordance with the
closed-loop theory," said Quinn. "You really found a way to do that?"
"Of course, I did; who do you think you're talking to," said future-Quinn.
"How did you do that?"
"It would go over your little head, so there's no use of me explaining the
logic behind it all."
Quinn's face twitched, and an angry vein throbbed on his temple.
"Doesn't change the fact that you screwed up big time," he jabbed back.
"Yeah, that's getting old; come up with something new," said future-
Quinn.
"It is clear that your son isn't capable of casting temporal magic strong
enough to travel this back in time, so I'm assuming he used a device that
you created."
"That is correct," sighed future-Quinn.
"So do tell me, how did he get his hands on something so dangerous,"
asked Quinn. He had all the dangerous stuff secured under lock-&-key-&-
magic inside his briefcase. It boggled his mind that a future version of
himself would be so careless.
"I know what you're thinking," said future-Quinn, eyeing Quinn. He
sighed, "He got into my workshop at home and swiped it when I wasn't
looking."
"That's plain stupid," said Quinn bluntly, "why didn't you have wards
around your workshop."
"Because, unlike you, my workshop isn't in Hogwarts. It is in my house
where I don't need to worry about people breaking in, and believe me,
my house is a nightmare for people who want to intrude upon my family
and my privacy. And it is not like it was completely unguarded; it has
more 'top-of-the-line' protection publicly available in my time," which
meant that future-Quinn had tech he hadn't released to the world.
"What good did that do when a teenager is able to beat it. Why wasn't it
activated?"
Future-Quinn once again sighed, "I disable when I'm working in there
because I don't like the magical interference from the wards and spells
while I'm working on some very delicate and sophisticated projects. And
Damon sneaked in during an emergency when I had no time to enable
the protection."
"What emergency?"
"My daughter tripped and fell."
". . . What?"
"My daughter fell in the gardens and scraped her knee. I had a micro-
drone with an audio-video setup following her around, so when she
started crying, I had to dash to her side. I didn't return to my workshop
until later that evening, and because I wasn't working on the 'Time-
Turner,' I didn't notice it had gone missing."
"I-I see," said Quinn; he couldn't wrap his mind around the image. "How
did Damon even know you were working on something like that?"
"Because of my track record of working on project that . . . technically . .
. could be seen as dangerous, I have to tell what I'm currently working on
— usually, he's at school, but he was at home when I talked about it."
Quinn didn't know if he should take this as a valid excuse or not, so he
decided to move on.
"How did you know that Damon had traveled back?" asked Quinn. "I
mean, you got here pretty quickly. . . ."
"When you reach a level at temporal magic as I am, you learn how to feel
when there are changes in the time streams around you— I can feel the
distortions as long as they're within a few dozen kilometres. And Damon
was in only in his room, so the distortions when he jumped sounded like
resounding bells."
"I see, so you have multiple of your versions of your Time-Turners?"
"No. I have multiple prototypes, but I only had one working, which is the
one Damon picked up. I came here using temporal magic," he sighed,
"which I'm still not used or experienced in— thank god, I acted quickly
when the time distortions were still fresh, or else I would've not been
able to track him down."
"That's a bit too much luck I'm comfortable with."
"I agree."
"So what now?" asked Quinn. "You have been saying that you have to fix
things, and as this is not a closed-loop, I'm not even sure what kind of
problems needs to be addressed."
"There are some that I need to address that you don't need to know."
Quinn clicked his tongue before he gazed at his future self. He had to say,
he liked what he was seeing. He looked sharp and well-built, and even
though he hadn't told much about himself, it looked like things had been
going well for him.
"So. . . how's life?" asked Quinn.
Future-Quinn gazed at Quinn for a bit before a smile appeared on his
face. "It is good," he said. "Life after . . . canon . . . have been much more
than what you're living now. The world has much more to offer than
what Hogwarts has, and there are so many interesting people out there to
meet and learn from."
"People like Mr. Alan?"
"Yes, people like Alan. Ah, now that I remember, you're going to
apprentice under him after Hogwarts."
"Yes, that is the plan. So. . . did you break into his mind?" asked Quinn.
The expression on future-Quinn's face told it all. He looked like the topic
repulsed him, and talking about it was the last thing he wanted to talk
about.
"You weren't able to break in?"
". . . I was able to break into his mind, sure . . . but I was too late," said
future-Quinn. "He was already old when I started apprentice under him,
and by the time I was able to gain enough skill, he was already on the
decline— I wasn't able to compete against him at his best."
"So, Mr. Alan is . . . ."
Future-Quinn nodded, "It has been a while."
A silence descended between the two.
"Come on, let's move on," said future-Quinn, waving his hand. He looked
around the AID office. "It has been a while I have been here— the last
time I was in the office, it looked nothing like this."
"When were you here?"
"Hmm. . . it has been a decade, give or take. Damon's the current
proprietor, and I haven't what he has done with the place," said future-
Quinn.
"Really? Did he get it on his own, or did you pull some strings? I hope he
didn't get AID because he's your son."
"He got it on his own. The active AID proprietors only know about me
and the other older proprietors when they graduate from Hogwarts, so
Damon's predecessor didn't know that I was the one who created AID.
Until a few months back, even Damon also didn't know that I was the one
who created AID."
"What? You didn't tell him?"
"I won't lie by saying that I didn't have expectations from Damon to get
AID. So I refrained from telling him about it so it would be completely
fair and made sure that neither Luna nor Astoria told him anything. It
was going to be revealed to him after he graduated in the annual AID
proprietors meet, but Astoria couldn't keep her mouth shut, and well,
here we are."
"Luna and Astoria, huh. How are they doing? Is the blood curse still
there?"
"Astoria was cured a while back before she hit thirty. As for Luna, she's a
magizoologist as we thought; I visit her once a month, wherever she's
exploring. Both are successful in their respective field and, as far as I can
tell, happy with their lives."
"What about Eddie and Marcus? You're still friends with them, right?"
A big smile bloomed on future-Quinn's face. "They're still my best friends.
Thank magic for that. Both are doing tremendously. Eddie plays for a
Quidditch team owned by yours truly. Marcus did end up working for the
family business, and as we expected, he works closely with Lia."
"Oh, Lia? How's she doing? Has she become the most powerful woman in
the world."
"She has!" future-Quinn laughed, thoroughly amused. "I said the same
thing to her when she took the chair as the head of the business. She was
quite happy with that when I told it to her."
Future-Quinn took out a strange pocket watch from his pocket and
flipped it open to look at a glowing and shimmering watch-face.
"Time's up, kid. We have to leave now. I have to fix this problem and
don't have much time." Future-Quinn sighed, "Why did Damon have to do
this today? My evening was booked with my lovely niece, and now, I
don't know if I'll be able to make it."
Future-Quinn got up from his barstool, but before he could even stand up
straight, Quinn spoke up.
"Hey, listen. . . ."
.
Quinn West - MC(Present) - Heard some interesting things.
Quinn West - MC(Future) - Has experienced many exciting things.
Damon West - Future West - Can't hear anything because of a silencing
ward.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Hold your thoughts about the conversation.
It's not over yet. The next chapter is going to be the end of this mini-arc, I
think.
Edit: No, the next chapter is not the end of the arc.
.
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!
309. Chapter 309: It Had To Be
This Way
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
"Hey, listen . . . ."
Future-Quinn turned away from the red workshop door to face Quinn
and gazed at his younger self for a moment and a half before he ended up
sighing. Future-Quinn stepped back behind the office desk and re-seated
himself on the transfigured barstool.
"Here I thought you were skirting around the topic because you
understood the situation and my predicament," a wry smile curled upon
his lips. "Even though I know what you're about to ask me, go ahead and
say it."
Quinn smiled bitterly. He didn't want to bring this up— as future-Quinn
had said, the circumstance didn't make it easier for him(future-Quinn) to
answer the questions.
"Can you help me with the curse," he asked.
"Ah yes, the curse; it has been a long-long while since I've heard or
thought about that," future-Quinn breathed out, his eyes taking over a
faraway look. "I know you won't believe me because I wouldn't believe
me, but the best thing you can do here is to help yourself— there's no
running away from the curse. We both know better than anyone else that
dealing with the Sin curse is the last thing we want to do . . . ever. But
the reality of the situation is that the day you dove back into the Sin
Vault, you made this fight a solitary one, at least in this stage of the
battle."
"You really can't help me? Is the curse bad enough that even YOU can't
help me? I'm confident that by your age, I would be much better than
Soul magic than Mr. Alan is right now."
"I left Alan in the dust in Soul magic ages ago, kid," said future-Quinn,
scoffing. "And yes, I've enough skill that I can make the Sin curse go
away from your life, but I can't do it right now— it'd take some time for
me to work with you to get it out of your soulscape— it's stuck in there
like a parasite, growing its hold upon you.
But as it is clear here, I can't stay here for the time required."
Quinn leaned into his chair and massaged his temple. It wasn't like he
didn't expect his future self able to make his problems go away.
"Give me something that will help me; anything would do."
Future-Quinn stared at Quinn for a silent moment, making Quinn feel
uncomfortable, and just when Quinn was going to dismiss the question,
future-Quinn spoke, "I have three things that I can tell you—
First, take care of the curse as soon as possible; there's no plus point in
delaying it, and it won't give you any added value. Second is the most
important one, so listen carefully— YOU are YOU; don't forget that, no
matter if you're under the curse's influence or not, Quinn West will
remain Quinn West . . ."
Quinn furrowed his brows. He could understand the logic behind the first
point, but the second's wording was particularly vague.
". . . and finally, this might sound absolutely dreadful, but when you get
rid of the curse . . . go back to the Sin Vault."
". . . What?" The single word was enough to show Quinn's reaction, and
the bizarreness he was feeling was creeping up his tone.
"Yes, you're not hearing me wrong," said future-Quinn. "You need to go
inside again; you'll regret if you don't go inside— the more you delay
solving the curse, the more you would delay your descend into the vault,
and when you find what I'm talking about, you'll lament your decision."
Quinn's gentle furrow hard turned into an angry frown twitching between
his brows. He was confused and honestly regretting asking his future self
because if before, he was hesitant and touchy about his upcoming bout
with the curse, but now it felt like his future self had taken a syringe and
injected pure chaos directly into his mind.
". . . I-I'll think about it," said Quinn, trying to move on. His hand went
through his hair and sighed with a grumble, "Why did you have to say
that . . . to make it up, now it is all I will be able to think about."
A wry smile appeared on future-Quinn's face. "Don't worry about it . . . It
won't bother you for long."
"You say that, but I don't even know how it will turn out when I pull
down my shield."
"It will come intuitively. When you're in the thick of it, you'll know what
to do," said future-Quinn, and Quinn noticed that his future self once
again had a look as when he(Quinn) had broached the Sin curse topic.
"Even though I can't reveal it to you, I can hope that you understand that
you'll be fine."
Both Quinn's matched eyes squarely, and a broad smile rose on future-
Quinn's face, and he spoke a few words in a firm yet comforting tone that
made Quinn's eyes widen.
"Everything is going to be fine."
". . . H-Hey, are you using some magic?" asked Quinn as he felt himself
calm down.
"No, I'm not using any magic, I promise," said future-Quinn. "It's pure
charisma if I do say myself."
"Stop using magic."
"Told you, I'm not using any."
The red workshop door opened, making both Quinn-s turn in unison,
making Damon still at the door as the unison between his father and . . .
the younger version of his father freaked him out a little.
"Good timing," said future-Quinn, standing up, "we're about to leave."
Damon breathed a sigh in relief and fully stepped out completely. His
eyes automatically went to Quinn, who was staring at him.
"What?" asked Damon.
"Why did you come here?" asked Quinn. "You had a device that could've
taken you anywhere in time, but you decided to come to this date; it
makes me curious about your reasoning."
Damon felt two pairs of eyes on him, and he averted his eyes from both.
He rubbed the back of his neck and heaved a big sigh as he revealed with
closed eyes.
"Dad doesn't have many friends—"
"Hey!"
"— but those he's friends with, he's very close to— Uncle Marcus and
Eddie and of course Auntie Luna, and a few more that I think dad
actually considers to be his close friends . . ."
Quinn glanced at future-Quinn. Hogwarts was a contained world, but the
real world was anything but. It made sense to Quinn that his future self
would keep a small friend circle, knowing how many people would want
to get close to him for their own selfish desires and see him as a way to
accomplish those desires.
". . . and every one of them is always telling me stories about dad— even
the ghosts are all praises about him, and I guess I wanted to see it for
myself," said Damon; however, both Quinns could feel that there were
plenty of things left unsaid.
Quinn thought maybe Damon had been compared with him and his guess
seemed correct from the looks of it.
"I actually didn't want to come to this time," said Damon.
"What?" future-Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to go sometime in the future, but I made a mistake in the input
and ended up at this date."
Unnoticed by anyone, future-Quinn's eyes narrowed a fraction for a brief
moment before they went to normal.
Quinn intelligently didn't broach the topic that seemed to bring an
awkward tone in the room and turned to his future self to directly ask, "I
tried to enter his mind earlier; why was I unable to find even a single
spec of an actual mind inside his body?"
"Hmm? Ah yes, that was because of runic magic that I'm still tinkering
with. He has a chain around his neck with a runic cluster inscribed inside
a pendant piece— as long as he doesn't remove it, his mind would remain
hidden to a Legilemns. However, because I am still tinkering with it, if
you kept at it, you'd have been able to find the mind." Future-Quinn
turned to Damon and said in a half-warning tone, "You better not slack
off on your Occlumency. That pendant isn't an ultimate defense, and it
would never be."
"I am not slacking off," said Damon, rolling his eyes.
"Oh good," said Quinn, "I thought Occlumency had taken a major leap,
and I was being outclassed by him— no offense, Damon."
"If you say so— err . . ." Damon looked between both Quinns, wondering
how to address the younger version of his father.
"We're about to leave, so you don't have to worry about what to call him,"
said future-Quinn.
Quinn shrugged. He was fine as long as he wasn't called dad or father or
anything on those lines.
"What about the ring foci?" asked Quinn. "Have the laws regarding wands
changed in the country because they don't allow other foci in Hogwarts."
Damon shook his head, "The laws are the same. I started with a wand and
still have one. The rings, I got them six months ago," he looked at future-
Quinn.
"I was messing with ring foci and by pure luck was able to craft a pair of
rings that act as one focus," said future-Quinn when his younger self
looked at him. "I had people try them out to check the compatibility, and
Damon was the one who matched the rings the best."
"You're working on magical foci; why?" asked Quinn. "Do you use them?"
"Of course not!" future-Quinn sounded deeply offended. "I don't have to
use them to work with them— though, it does make things a lot harder
to work on."
"Also, why would you make them glow. That was a dead give in the low
light."
"I didn't add the glow," future-Quinn pointed at Damon, "that was he
trying to look cool."
Quinn shook his head at Damon, "Not cool, mate."
Damon once again rolled his eyes. What do they know about being cool?
Quinn glanced at his future self and transferred his voice directly to him,
barring Damon from hearing the conversation, "He has heterochromia,"
he said, "and I know you were trying to keep some things hidden, but
that pretty much gives it out."
Quinn glanced at Damon's eyes, and the two colors were striking to each
other. One was darker by its nature, while the other sparkled to the point
that it was the first thing anyone would notice about Damon.
"Does it surprise you?" future-Quinn's voice came directly to Quinn's ears.
"I don't know how to feel about it. My thoughts are nowhere marriage,
much less having children, and from what I know, you have at least two
children," sounded Quinn. "I don't want to think about right now."
"You don't have to. There are much more important things to focus on
right now."
Quinn nodded; however, his eyes remained fixed on Damon and his eyes.
"Alright, let's get going," future-Quinn clapped once. "Come on, children,
say your goodbyes like good boys."
"Is he always like this?" asked Quinn to Damon.
"Unfortunately," nodded Damon.
"Kids . . . no matter what the age, are the same, they don't appreciate the
good stuff," future-Quinn shook his head. He turned to Quinn, "You take
care of yourself. It's about to get hectic, so take care and watch your back
at all times. Also, take care of grandfather, Lia, Uncle Elliot, and Ms.
Rosey," he sighed, "you already know what to do, so just be careful,
okay."
Quinn nodded in appreciation.
"Now, it's time for us to leave," said future-Quinn and looked around the
office, "and I don't think we should do it here— it's too crowded here,
and things can get chaotic."
"We can do it in the corridor. I'll be on the lookout while you guys leave,"
said Quinn.
"Lead the way, young one."
Quinn walked to the office door and was about to open the door when he
noticed that he couldn't hear any notice. He turned to face the two time
travelers, "What happened—," only to see future-Quinn, raising a hand
towards him.
"Wh—"
That was all he could get out before his vision rapidly turned back and
found himself slowly falling down before he knew no more.
.
Quinn West - MC(Present) - Learned a lot today.
Quinn West - MC(Future) - "Watch your back . . . ."
Damon West - Future West - User of the first Quinn-made magical focus.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Notice the irony?
.
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!
310. Chapter 310: The Second
Coming of Balbh
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
Damon's eyes followed his father's past self's falling body after being hit
by his father's spell and flinched when the thump sounded in the room.
He turned to his father, his eyes threatening to bulge out.
"What was that about?" he asked.
Future-Quinn raised his younger self's body and floated him into the seat
Quinn had just vacated. Ropes sprung out from the wooden chair and
wrapped around Quinn's arms, legs, and torso, securing him upright to
the chair.
"Are you going to Obliviate him?"
Future-Quinn gazed at unconscious Quinn, all the fun and smiles gone
from his face, and all that remained was a look of rumination. Damon
observed his father's face, and he couldn't remember the last time he had
seen him look like that— sure, there were many times he had seen his
father contemplative while working, but this was the first time it was like
this.
"Us coming here revealed a lot about the future he shouldn't know, and I
myself revealed a lot about the future to him," future-Quinn broke the
silence. "Time travel is complicated, especially what we're doing. For us
to return home safely, I couldn't allow him to retain memories of what he
had retained here. It would've been all dandy for him, but we would've a
lot of problems back home."
Future-Quinn turned away from Quinn to a painting on the wall. He
raised his hand for the sticking charm to come undone and the painting
to float in front of him.
"Um, what are you doing?" asked Damon with an uncertain tone.
With a snap of his fingers, future-Quinn disassembled the frame and
moved them away in the air, leaving behind the artwork floating in front
of him.
"The moment we entered the office, he knew there was a possibility that
his memory might be tampered with, so he took measures against it," said
future-Quinn, half-chuckling.
Damon stepped closer to his father, and his eyes widened when he saw
the canvas flip. Written in tiny black letters were lines upon lines of
words, stretching from one corner of the canvas to the other, spanning
across the length. He stepped ever closer and leaned forward to take a
better look and recognized the context of the sentences through
keywords.
"H-He wrote everything down?!" Damon said, sputtering, his eyes
swarming between the canvas, his father, and the unconscious teenager.
"Of course, why wouldn't he?" said future-Quinn, matter-of-factly. "When
you meet someone from the future, it is beneficial that you somehow
write it down . . . . I know him— he wouldn't have written anything in
open view, so he wrote it down on the back of the painting.
There isn't any disadvantage for him because there isn't going to be any
damage to his timeline, but because we decided to share the knowledge
of the future, we have invited danger to our own timeline— and if we left
him like this, our world would've changed quite a lot."
"But, but, if he knew there was a chance that his memory would be
exchanged, then how would he remember that he has everything written
down behind the painting?"
Future-Quinn swept his hand over the back of the canvas, and the words
disappeared, leaving behind the clean canvas as it was before. Then he
turned the canvas to the front to show the painting.
"This was painted by your Aunt Luna. Half of the artwork in this room
was made by Luna." Future-Quinn pointed at the dismantled frame
floating in the air. "However, this frame is special as she'd replace the
painting in it every few months to keep the office— as she used to say—
peppy. He knew that when Luna would remove the painting, she would
notice the writing on the back that she clearly didn't write. He even made
sure that Luna would come to him with the painting by telling her in the
first line."
Damon's jaw slackened as he looked at Quinn. They were the same age;
how could he think all of this while all the crazy was happening.
"But, he's prideful in his skill with magic," said future-Quinn, scoffing
with what sounded like self-deprecation. "He didn't think I would be able
to sense him use magic. What a fool. How did he think that — I —
wouldn't be able to sense — him — use magic."
The frame on the painting came back together, and the assembled
artwork was once again sent to the wall, fixed with a sticking charm. As
if it had never been removed.
"I have a question," said Damon— there was something that bothered
him. "If you were going to erase his memories, why would you spend the
time to tell him so much?"
"The Time-Turner you have is nowhere near perfect, and you were a
bigger fool to use it without knowing anything about it," a stern voice
reprimanded Damon. "The device leaves the streams of time in disarray,
and the steams connecting here to our home is distorted and traveling
through that is dangerous and unstable— one could even get lost in the
stream of time, never to exit the steams to any single point in time.
It didn't help that in a hurry, I worsened the distortion just so that I could
catch up to you."
Damon's head flinched back, and his posture collapsed. Future-Quinn
noticed the change in his son and slapped him on the back.
"Don't worry your foolish head about it; I would've reached you one way
or another."
Damon nodded with his head down before he recalled his initial
question. "But if you were looking to pass the time, you could've
obliviated him right off the bat. That would've eliminated the risk of him
not writing things down."
There was a pause.
". . . It might not look like it, but he's going through a difficult time right
now," said future-Quinn, gazing at his unconscious self. "He's struggling
with himself and a lot of things around him. He has a plan for everything
till Hogwarts because he knew what was going to happen, but after that,
it's a blank slate, he doesn't know what lies beyond it— and that scares
him a lot . . . and I thought that talking to him would maybe alleviate
some of his worries about the future— it's quite a frightening time for
him . . . ."
Damon gazed at his father and then at Quinn. He lowered his chin to his
chest. He had not only added to Quinn when he was having a tough time
but also had dug up memories of those times in his father.
". . . But with his memories erased, won't it all be useless," Damon asked.
"Let me tell you a story, Damon," said future-Quinn, making Damon look
up in surprise.
"Once, there were two people— Balbh and Dolion. Dolion was Balbh's
maternal uncle, but they weren't close to each other as Balbh wasn't close
to his mother's family, and thus he hadn't met Dolion until quite a while
when Dolion's family invited Balbh to their home. Dolion's family truly
wanted to meet Balbh and get to know him better— however, not all was
good in the story. While Dolion's family had pleasant intentions, Dolion
himself didn't follow the same motive. He had other plans for Balbh.
Dolion wanted to manipulate Balbh for his own benefit."
He turned to Damon and asked, "How do you think Dolion planned to
accomplish that?"
Damon thought for a moment before he shook his head. "There are a lot
of ways to accomplish it; however, with just what you have given me, I
don't think I can give you a single choice."
"Good child," Future-Quinn chuckled. "Yes, there can be many ways one
can accomplish manipulation . . . However, Dolion had in his hands a
method that was essentially a sure way to manipulate to no end. One
thing I haven't told you about dear Dolion is that he was a natural
Legilimens."
"A natural Legelimens!" Damon gasped. "He was aiming to use mind
magic to manipulate Balbh?"
"Indeed. But don't be surprised just yet. Dolion, with his natural talent,
had accomplished something that even the more skilled Legelimens with
a wealth of experience found tremendously difficult to achieve— he had
found a way to exert complete control over a person . . . he had created a
mind magic that would turn the target into a puppet, something worse
than the Imperius Curse, with no hope of ever recovering."
Damon gulped. "Did this Dolion use that spell on Balbh?"
"Yes, he did. Dolion got close to Balbh to drop his guard and gain his
confidence. When he thought he was close enough, Dolion drugged Balbh
so that he could cast the spell without any problems . . .
But Dolion, like many in his position, was blinded by arrogance, drunk
on his power, he had underestimated Balbh."
Damon listened intently.
"Balbh, while not a natural, was a Leglimens. A skilled one at that. He
was always suspicious of Dolion, and so even with Dolion trying to
become closer to him, Balbh never put his guard down and just
pretended to be friendly. So when Dolion finally made his move, Balbh
was ready— he took care of the drug he was fed and turned the tables on
Dolion.
Not only that, he trumped Dolion in his own game— Legilimency."
"But, wasn't Dolion a natural Legilimens? Then how . . ."
"True," nodded future-Quinn, "Dolion had immense potential; he could've
been great and could've garnered people's admiration just like my own
mind magic master, who was a dual natural Legilimens and Occlumency.
But, unlike my master and Balbh, he wasn't hardworking and simply
depended on his talent and put in no work to improve his craft.
That allowed Balbh to be triumphant. And this is where things got
interesting."
"Interesting, how?" asked Damon.
"You see, Balbh decided that he was going to exact some revenge and
deal down some punishment on his own. So, Balbh decided to erase
Dolion's memories of not only their interactions, but he also went further
down the line and began cleaning out experiences that made up some
aspects of Dolion's personality.
Now, if Balbh had left it there, Dolion's mind would've filled the gaps on
his own with suitable memories that would've been compatible with
Dolion. But Balbh didn't stop there. He interjected into that process and
started dropping suggestions on every blank spot— suggestions that went
against Dolion's original experiences. He had learned of Dolion's likes and
dislikes during their time together, so he knew what to plant that'd make
. . . Dolion less Dolion.
When Balbh was done, he had planted enough suggestions that with
time, Dolion would change away from his original personality. Of course,
the results weren't as perfect as Balbh had expected, but he had indeed
'modified' the Dolion into something different— in a way, it was similar
to what Dolion had wanted to do him."
Future-Quinn turned to Quinn and spoke, "I'm going to do the same to
him—."
"What?!" Damon all but shouted out of shock. "! But that—!"
"Listen, first. I swear kids these days are in such a hurry," future-Quinn
sighed. "I'm not going to change his personality. What I am going to do is
to follow the same procedure that Balbh implemented and go into his
memories and plant suggestions that'd create a certain effect I am aiming
for."
"What kind of effect?"
"He'd interpret them as gut feelings, hunches, intuition. There are a few
things he needs to sort out, so I'm going to try to guide him into
directions and choices that'd be beneficial to him," said future-Quinn
before sighing. "I'm crossing the one line I know I shouldn't cross, but it is
for his own good." He chuckled, "If he ever found what I did to him,
which he isn't going to, he'd be mighty pissed at me— he might even
make it his mission to hunt us down just so that he could fight me."
"How are you so sure that he'd never find out," asked Damon. "Also,
didn't you say that in Balbh and Dolion's case, the result wasn't as Balbh
had expected."
"Dolion never found out because his skill overshadowed by Balbh. Even if
Dolion got better, it'd been too late as his mind would've assimilated
those suggestions as its own creations. And the reason why the result
wasn't exactly the same as Balbh had desired was that the skill difference
wasn't big enough, and Balbh himself wasn't skilled enough," said future-
Quinn.
He looked at his son and raised his chin, and spoke with confidence
flooding out from his tongue. "I don't overshadow him in skill," he
pointed at Quinn, "I dwarf him in skill. Not only will he never find out,
but my magic will also bloom into the exact result that I want. After all, I
have forty years on Balbh when he cast the magic on Dolion."
"Now, step aside and observe as I show you something spectacular," said
future-Quinn as magic obeyed his command.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn stepped out of the Guide's Vault and stretched his hands over his
head. Even though the vault was complete and ready to be used, there
were still a few things that he thought could be smoothened out. It was
crucial that the vaults remained functioning for years to come because he
didn't know when he would return to Hogwarts in the future, and that is
if he ever returned; as such, ensuring that none of his casted magic would
fizzle out for quite some time.
'Well, with time, Hogwarts would assimilate the vault into its ecosystem,'
he thought.
"I wonder how the magic would change," Quinn muttered to himself,
interested in how Hogwarts would affect his magic. "Maybe a visit to
Hogwarts, a couple decades from now, is warranted."
Quinn slipped his hands into his pocket and retrieved his trusty piece of
reinforced off-white cloth, magically converted into the Hogwarts-
exclusive artifact known as RECON, the massively upgraded version of
the Marauder's Map. It was the state-of-art solution to all Hogwarts-
related stalking and the key to almost all doors in Hogwarts castle.
"Let's see. . . the path is clear. The train is going to leave for slumber
town in . . . right about now," Quinn sighed with a smile; for some
reason, he felt like there was a spring in his step, and all the tension and
stress accumulated because of the Sin curse had been drained clean of
him.
He checked his soulspace, "Well, it's still there . . . ."
There was a long silence as Quinn stared at his soulscape and the
infestation of the Sin curse.
". . . I should take care of this as soon as possible," he muttered to himself
— something told him that the faster he got rid of it, the better it'd be.
.
Quinn West - MC(Present) - Suffered an unknown betrayal.
Quinn West - MC(Future) - Hope we never meet again.
Damon West - Future West - Dreading what's waiting for him back home.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Took inspiration from The Second Coming
of Gluttony's FIRST chapter. I have yet to read beyond that.
.
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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!
311. Chapter 311: Convergence
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"Potter, you should know that I've retired," said Quinn, flipping a page on
his book— charmed to be perceived as an advance charms potions book.
"If you need help, you know where to find Astoria Greengrass."
Harry halted in his steps; he stared at Quinn awkwardly for a moment
before walking to the seat in front of Quinn. He looked around the silent
Hogwarts library before retrieving his holly wand and muttering,
"Muffliato," — for an invisible dome to spread out from the wand tip
around the table and then some distance.
Quinn's eyes twitched as he felt the magic envelop him. He closed his
disguised soul magic book and gently placed it on the book before folding
his fingers together to look up at Harry.
"You're putting me in a difficult situation," he said. "If Astoria hears that
I'm intruding on her business when I clearly declared my retirement,
she'd think that I'm trying to undermine her."
"I won't tell anyone," said Harry, "and I really need some advice."
Quinn tapped his index finger on the tabletop while staring down the
boy-who-lived, who squirmed under his gaze. He wondered if hearing to
Harry would benefit him more than Astoria's possible ire, and the answer
was obvious: it was worth it— and his gut told him that he should listen
to him.
"Alright, if you insist, let's hear it," he said, snapping his finger to dispel
the annoying(inferior) silencing spell to replace it with his
efficient(superior) sound spell. "Much better, now feel free to pour your
heart on the table; I shall hear you out."
Harry looked around the table with softly squished brows and suddenly
burst into a loud shout when he saw two people walk nearby them, but
his voice didn't seem to reach them.
"It seems the spell is working."
"Of course, it's working; I'm the one who cast it. Now, is disrespecting me
the reason you disturbed my precious reading time, or do you have
something of actual substance to talk about."
"Sorry, but I had to make sure no one was listening."
"Then approach me somewhere that isn't a public place."
"Normally, I would do so; however, with AID being out of the question,
there isn't a single time or place where I can pin you except for, of
course, the great hall, but that's more a hundred times more eye-catching
than here," said Harry and gave Quinn an accusatory look. "I'm not an
idiot, you know."
"So it'd seem," said Quinn with a smile. "You've got a point, young Potter;
go ahead, tell me what ails you."
Harry once more scoured the area with a cautionary gaze before leaning
over the table. "Listen, Malfoy has been doing something suspicious. He's
been sneaking around the castle, and I fear he's planning something
dangerous. . . .
Quinn listened to Harry impassive on his face, but his mind sharpened.
After all, he had thought of this scenario.
". . . more importantly, I have found that he has been using the Room of
Requirement, but I can't seem to find what' room' he has been requesting
during his visits."
Quinn's tapping finger froze in mid-air. He, of course, knew that; he had
even seen Malfoy's thing-of-interest. But for the sake of appearances, he
had to put on a surprised front.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Harry nodded, "I have put Dobby on his tail—"
"Who's this Dobby you talk about?"
"Ah, err, he's a house-elf, who previously worked for Malfoys, but now is
under Hogwart's employment— so, I asked him to follow Malfoy, and
with their terrible history, he was more than happy to do so."
"I see now, a house-elf," Quinn nodded. "Hmm. . . what more evidence do
you have for your assumption."
"? Huh, you need more evidence. Why? He's using the Room of
Requirements?!"
"And so did we, and were we doing something harmful," Quinn paused,
"well, from a certain point-of-view, we were disobeying the authority.
Take me, I've been 'allegedly' using the Room of Requirement for years,
and I've not been doing something wrong— err, wait, I did use the room
during the curfew. . . whatever, you get my point— Malfoy using the
Room of Requirements isn't necessarily something bad."
Harry jerked back and stared at Quinn with stunned eyes full of shock.
"Are you serious. . . ? This is Malfoy we're talking about."
Quinn shrugged, "While his reputation doesn't help Malfoy in this case,
we can't automatically judge him guilty— especially when the accusation
is coming from someone like you, who isn't particularly a neutral party."
He sighed when he saw Harry's unchanging astonishment expressions.
"Let's say that Malfoy is indeed doing something malicious; what do you
want me to do here?"
"We obviously need to find what he's doing and then put a stop to it!"
"And how do you purpose we do that? As you said, we don't know what
he requests from the Room of Requirement or even what time he enters
the Room of Requirement, and I don't think we can use your friend
Dobby to find it as Hogwarts house-elves are quite busy."
"That's why I came to you," said Harry, immediately and leaning forward
enthusiastically. "We can you use the box that you used in Umbridge's
office and place it in front of the Room of Requirement's entrance, over
the troll's tapestry to know what time he visits and how long he stays."
Quinn stopped his hand from jolting. He didn't think his spy-spider™
would be brought up in this conversation. But this was Harry Potter, the
one who had planted it in Umbridge's office. Moreover, it made complete
sense, and even without a single second of thought, anyone could see
that it was the near-perfect solution for this problem.
'Damn you, Potter, now this is a vexing conundrum. What should I do
here. . . .'
He didn't, by any chance, want Harry to interfere with Malfoy's 'mission.'
There was too much riding upon this, and he just couldn't risk any
opposing factor to derail what he had been patiently waiting for.
". . . That's an excellent idea, Harry," said Quinn, "that indeed solves the
problem, at least partially— we still wouldn't know what he's requesting."
"I know, but isn't something better than nothing. I also think that the
video will be able to provide us much more than just the time and
duration."
Quinn nodded, even if quite reluctantly. "I'll prepare the recorder and
install it in place. I suggest that we wait for at least a week or even two
catch if there's a pattern in Malfoy's visits." That'd be enough time for
Malfoy to complete his initial task, and by then, it'd be too late for
anyone to do anything to stop it.
Harry nodded in agreement, even if there was a furrow between his
brows. Quinn smiled. Unlike him, who knew that Malfoy's plans were to
come into fruition this year itself, Harry had no idea that what he
worried about was already near its completion.
'Unlike the original, he was months late in finding out about Malfoy's
strange behavior,' he thought.
"Malfoy's not looking well these days, all pale, and it looks like he has
even lost some weight," said Harry, "which could mean that whatever he's
doing is not going well. It's good that he's struggling."
"That may be the case," said Quinn in agreement. But on the inside, he
shook his head, 'The worry, however, is what to come next. . . ah,
familial pressure can be tough; I'm lucky in that regard.'
"How're you doing these days, Harry," asked Quinn, now that the Malfoy
topic was over. "I heard you've been visiting the headmaster's office quite
a lot this year— even I, the headboy, hasn't visited the headmaster's
office once this year."
Harry blinked and his mouth open and closed, clearly flustered from the
sudden change in topic. He was about to splutter an answer when Quinn
laughed and saved him from uttering a feeble excuse.
"I guess, having a close relationship with the headmaster since birth and
the favoritism that comes with it does come with some caveats," said
Quinn, painting Harry's visit to Dumbledore as bothersome— after all,
what student would enjoy spending time with a professor/headmaster
instead of their friends.
"Y-Yeah, it can be a bother," said Harry with an awkward chuckle.
Quinn smiled, "Tell me if you need a break, I'll give you a detention and
assign it under myself and won't allow the headmaster to get you out of
it. . . . Ah, abusing authority does feel good," he finished with a blissful
smile.
"O-Oh, thank you, I guess?" Harry sweatdropped, confused about how
detentions could be something positive.
"You are much welcome," said Quinn and reached out to his disguised
book to continue reading, expecting Harry to take a guess and leave him
alone.
But it seems that he was expecting too much from the golden boy as he
spoke, "Ah, I also want to thank you for telling Ivy about the potions
book. She has been quite attached to it, and I have to say, it's quite
helpful, even though she doesn't allow anyone to touch it— the spell I
used before also came from it."
Quinn, whose initial reaction was one of annoyance of being disturbed,
changed to one of surprise. "She told you that I pointed the book to her?"
"Yeah, though she only told it to me when I asked what happened to the
book that she had brought in advance last year." He then sighed, "Though
I also blame you for all the problems that we have faced because of her
casting spells from that book— being an accidental target gets really old,
really fast.
But don't let it slip that you were the reason Ivy has the book to
Hermione because she disapproves and abhors the existence of that
book."
"I'll keep that in mind," said Quinn, his voice fleeting a bit before it
sharpened again, and he said, "Now, buzz off, Potter, you have already
taken too much of my time."
"Yes, sorry about that," said Harry, standing up. "Please take care of the
thing we talked about earlier."
Quinn nodded without looking up from his book; however, his mind was
no longer on the book but wandering into various places.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Time slowly passed, and the year entered into the final leg of the school
year, and with it, the chain of events had already started to rattle, and
the events that had been running divergently started to approach the
point of convergence.
.
.
.
In the Room of Requirements, the Room of Lost Things, Draco Malfoy
stood in front of a cabinet. He lowered his wand with a sheen of sweat
over his gaunt, pale face with sunken cheeks under eyes with light dark
circles of exhaustion.
". . . . It is done," he muttered weakly, his arms laying limply at his side.
"It is done; it's finally done." Power returned to his voice as he became
aware of his achievement.
"Y-Yes, now I-I can—"
But he froze when he realized what was about to happen and suddenly
he felt his stomach turn. He turned away from the cabinet, and a retching
voice echoed in the expansive room as Draco emptied his stomach all
over the floor.
"No one can help me," Draco stared at his vomit pathetically. "I can't do
it. . . . I can't. . . . It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says
he'll kill me. . . ."
However. . . he didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.
.
.
.
"Well, Harry, I promised that you could come with me," said Dumbledore.
"You've found one? You've found a Horcrux," asked Harry, gulping.
"I believe so."
For several moments, Harry could not speak.
"It is natural to be afraid," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not scared!" said Harry at once, and it was perfectly true; fear was
one emotion he was not feeling at all. "Which Horcrux is it? Where is it?"
"I am not sure which it is — though I think we can rule out the snake —
but I believe it to be hidden in a cave on the coast many miles from here,
a cave I have been trying to locate for a very long time: the cave in which
Tom Riddle once terrorized two children from his orphanage on their
annual trip; you remember?"
"Yes," said Harry. "How is it protected?"
"I do not know; I have suspicions that may be entirely wrong."
Dumbledore hesitated, then said, "Harry, I promised you that you could
come with me, and I stand by that promise, but it would be very wrong
of me not to warn you that this will be exceedingly dangerous."
"I'm coming," said Harry, almost before Dumbledore had finished
speaking.
"Very well, then: Listen." Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height.
"I take you with me on one condition: that you obey any command I
might give you at once and without question."
"Of course."
"Be sure to understand me, Harry. I mean that you must follow even such
orders as 'run,' 'hide,' or 'go back.' Do I have your word?"
"I — yes, of course."
"If I tell you to hide, you will do so?" "Yes."
"If I tell you to flee, you will obey?" "Yes."
"If I tell you to leave me and save yourself, you will do as I tell you?" "I
—"
"Harry?" They looked at each other for a moment. "Yes, sir."
"Very good. Then I wish you to go and fetch your Invisibility Cloak and
meet me in the entrance hall in five minutes."
"I have it with me, sir."
Dumbledore paused to stare at Harry before nodding. "Very well, wait
here, and we shall go to the entrance hall together for departure."
Harry clenched his fists, a fire of determination burning in his emerald
eyes.
.
.
.
Quinn laid down his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat at an
accelerated pace, blood coursing through his veins. He could feel it; his
body and mind were screaming at him that he had reached a limit— he
couldn't hold the curse back anymore.
«Yes, the time has come— . . . . . fo me to— . . . accept the curse.»
He closed his eyes dove deep into his soulscape, and he couldn't tell that
this space was once a pristine white. The colors on the walls had covered
the white and had started to bubble over; the seven colors, which had
been separate, were now mixing together to give rise to a tar-like black.
In the middle of the space, his soul's warm glow had been encased in a
cocoon resembling alien eggs with pulsing veins in cheap alien movies.
His plan to wait till the end of the school year was no longer possible.
Moreover, the situation had been gnawing on him— telling him that it
was coming— it seemed his body and mind knew better than him.
And today, he could no longer hold it in.
It was time to oppose the curse by letting it in and fighting it to the point
of overwhelming it and kicking it out of his body.
"I hope I act sane," he muttered, chuckling at his use of the word 'act.'
His face turned stern. He gathered his magic, and the soul shield, which
had been up for months, started to crumble on his command, and the
veins started to move immediately, aiming at the bright soul which had
been dangled in front of them like a golden fruit, but the couldn't reach it
till now.
As the shield crumbled and Quinn let the curse in, he didn't notice that
his soul had been shining brightly, not looking weak in any shape or
form, capable of holding on for a while longer— maybe until after
Hogwarts.
He didn't notice because he himself had betrayed him, turning him
against himself for his own sake, even if he himself didn't ask for his
help.
The veins burst open and black liquid spewed forth, tainting the
untouched soul, turning the gold hue into a darker shade. . . slowly
moving towards a black mass. . . .
After an unknown amount of time, Quinn opened his eyes, his eyes still
the same.
He sat upon his bed and stared at his own hands, flexing his fingers.
And then. . . . a toothy grin cracked his face.
.
Quinn West - MC - ". . . . Heh."
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - About to face something he already
holds.
Draco Malfoy - Death Eater - I have to do it. . . . I must do it.
.
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!
312. Chapter 312: The Second
Rise
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"I am really going to enjoy this. . . ." ~ Bully Maguire.
His bare feet touched the cold marbled floor as he pushed himself off the
bed to stand straight up. A blissful groan escaped him as he stretched his
body like a lithe cat. He looked around the darkroom and walked to a
single ray of light running into the room through a crack in the curtains;
walking to the covered window, he grabbed the two drawn curtains and
threw them to the side, making the hoops they were hanging from rattle
as the sun's glorious rays flooded the room, painting it in its golden light,
but not before illuminating the broad, free smile on Quinn's face as he
greeted the morning of a new day.
Quinn turned back into his room, treating the birds' chirps as the
melodious melody of nature, serenading him as he started his day. He
grabbed the bottom hem of his night-shirt and removed it over his head
before chucking it behind him over his shoulder in a no-look throw to the
clothes bin for the elves to clean, pants and the underwear beneath soon
followed. Quinn, buck naked as on the day he was born, walked through
the room towards the bathroom as curtains along the suite rattled open
and MLEs lit up to match the room to what he was feeling inside—
bright!
Inside the bathroom, he snapped his finger, and the showerhead spouted
hot water over him as he stood under it with his palms on the wall and
his head bowed down.
He cracked a grinned.
It was time to start a new day.
After the shower, Quinn dressed up in his morning workout clothes and
walked to the door, his eyes glancing briefly towards his bedroom, where
he could see his bed calling for him; alas, while as tempestuous was the
allure of a 'second-sleep,' it would have to wait until the night time.
He reached the suite entrance and arched his brow when he saw runes
painted on the door and spilling out onto the walls around it. He took a
step forward, and the black runes flared up into angry orangish-red with
sparks bursting out. Quinn looked down and saw that he had stepped on
a rune, eliciting a chuckle from him as he stepped back.
"What should I do. . . ?" After contemplating a couple of seconds, Quinn
shrugged, and his eyes turned purple. "Let's knock 'em down."
He raised his foot and stomped on the same rune he stepped on. The
runes flared up again, and as they did, Quinn pumped in a torrent of
magic into the runes. The light from the runes glowed brighter, a purple
light coursing through every individual rune. They trembled but calmed
down the next instant, making Quinn's eyes narrow— the runes were
sturdier than he thought— 'well that's to be expected, they're my work. . .
'
The air between Quinn and the door began to fizzle like the air above the
blazing flame. The magic in the runes started to tremble, magic
overloading them as Quinn pushed more magic into them.
Fwoosh! Quinn grinned when one of the runes burst into flames. His
overloading approach was working, and so he decided to push forward
by flooding more of his magic into his runes.
Fwoosh! Fwoosh! Fwoosh! One by one, the runes burst into flames, and
before long, chains of runes started to burst-snap together until all runes
were fizzled into non-being.
"Alright, that's done," Quinn said, looking at the wall with black char
marks on the door and walls. ". . . That'd take some repair work. . . well,
not my problem; the house-elves will take care of it."
He walked to the door without any runes opposing him.
Quinn opened the door to the day that was waiting for him.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Eddie jumped down from the grand staircase's stairs, skipping the last
few steps to land on the floor, and broke into a sprint on the ground floor
of the Hogwarts castle. He made his way through the hallways before
skidding with squeaks rubbing from his shoes into the empty entrance
hall, glancing at the still closed great hall as he ran past it, towards the
castle entrance. He vaulted from the top of the entrance to skip the short
steps. With his feet on flat ground, Eddie once again broke into a run
with his destination set at his daily green fields.
"Sorry, sorry," he huffed out as he came to a stop with hands gripping at
his sides, "I thought I saw a knick on my broom that I hadn't seen before,
and that turned into a full broom inspection."
Eddie looked at Quinn, who had his back to him and was doing pull-ups
on a pull-up bar-stand conjured in the middle of a grass field.
"No worries, it is good that you're here," said Quinn. He released his grip
on the bar and landed on his feet heavily before turning to Eddie with a
smile. "Good morning; it's quite a pleasant day today."
Eddie stared at Quinn for a moment. "You seem chirpy today; something
happened?"
"You can say that, my friend. When I woke up today, I felt like a weight
had been lifted off me."
"That's nice, I guess," Eddie shrugged and started his workout while
Quinn got back to what he was doing.
For Eddie, he started his day with a run around a track that ran that laid
around a wide part of the Hogwarts ground and was mindlessly running,
his body doing everything on its own as he stared ahead, half in thought.
But when he was on the last leg on his run, a sound reached his ear, and
he looked back to widen his eyes.
Quinn was running towards him. But that wasn't the reason for his
surprise.
"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at Quinn, who had his upper
body void of clothing— in the years he had been working out with
Quinn, not once had his friend ever removed his shirt like this— if his
clothes got sweaty, he would snap his fingers and the sweat would
vanish. "What's with the no shirt; don't feel like wearing clothes today?"
"It was feeling restrictive today, so I decided to try how it feels like."
"And?"
"It feels great! I might just do this every day from now on."
"Seriously? Well, whatever," Eddie shrugged, still running. "So why are
you here? You prefer to run at the end."
"I thought I would try something different today," Quinn looked at Eddie
and pumped his brows with a grin. "Now that we're here, what you say,
should we do a race? The one who loses will have to buy something from
Hogsmeade. I want to eat the meat pies from Three Broomsticks. How
about it?"
"Is that even a question? Yeah, let's do it," said Eddie with a wild grin of
his own— he wasn't one to say no to a challenge.
"Alright!" said Quinn. "We start from here and finish at our regular spot."
Eddie nodded and looked ahead, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
"Here we go. . . three. . . two. . . one. . . . Go!"
Eddie leaned forward and pushed the ground as hard as possible,
bursting forward. He knew his route better than anyone else; the
remaining distance was enough that he could speed all the way.
As he was running, he could still see Quinn's swinging arms and legs on
the edge of his vision. But as they ran, more and more of Quinn started to
enter his vision.
"Come on, Eddie boy, are you even trying?"
"Haha, of course, I'm running just enough that you won't be left in the
dust."
"Dust, eh, let's see about that," said Quinn.
They reached the final corner, after which there was only a straight path
to the finishing point. Eddie decided to make an all-out sprint before the
corner to get a headstart, but just as he was about to put the metal to the
pedal, Quinn pushed to just beside him.
"Taste dust," said Quinn.
Before Eddie could reply, Quinn pushed ahead as if he had been jogging
and was finally raising his speed to sprint. But then Eddie's eyes almost
popped out, and his jaw slackened when Quinn started to pull away more
and more distance.
"H-How. . . ."
Quinn, however, was already past earshot, zooming to the finishing
point, body magic pumping through his muscles. He felt his body turn
into one perfect machine as magic worked under his will, moving as he
commanded it.
It felt good.
. . . .
Eddie panted on the ground, staring at the blue sky above him, with the
annoying sun on edge, rising up as the hours moved to noon. Suddenly,
Quinn appeared in his vision, looking down at him with a goofy grin.
"That meat pies' mine now," said Quinn, "hohoho."
"You fucking cheated!" Eddie spat.
"Nuh-uh," Quinn wiggled his finger, "we never said that magic wasn't
allowed."
"Ooh, fuck off," Eddie raised his tired hand to swat Quinn's face but
couldn't reach.
"Hey, it is your fault that you didn't think who you're facing," Quinn
crossed his arms and said sagely. "Always study your opponent."
"Yeah, no, how about you fuck off!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
What once had been pristine, untouched, had now turned into a tar-like,
place full of darkness. The golden soul that sat in the middle shimmering
softly was now a mass of muddled black, giving out an ominous magenta-
purple hue.
In that space, Quinn opened his eyes. He didn't know why he was here—
maybe it was because this time his soul was stronger than before that he
was able to be present with all of his reasoning.
However, what was the use? Such thoughts swirled in his mind. He had
been here ever since the curse took over his soul, and for hours he had
tried to do so find any clue that would allow him to regain control;
unfortunately, there was not a single thing he could do.
He didn't have his magic here. . . . and without magic, Quinn West was
useless. Without magic, he was incomplete.
"Tch, tch, tch," a voice echoed in Quinn's ears, "so this was what holding
us back. . . ."
Quinn turned his head and saw that in the dark space where he could
barely see the infected soul stood a person illuminated in violet light,
looking down at with a sneer on his face and harsh, piercing eyes. The
figure was another Quinn.
". . . but I can't say that I expected anything more. We have so much
potential, more than anyone who ever existed, infinite, capable of
transcending what's possible— it is good that you were dethroned from
control. At least now we'll rise to what we are truly capable of."
Quinn looked at Violet-Quinn wordlessly.
"What, no words?"
Quinn kept staring at Violet-Quinn not a single moment from him, but
inside, the cogs of his thoughts that had come to a halt had started to
turn. Before, he hadn't had a single clue how to escape his current
situation, but now the situation had changed, the entity in front of him
was clearly a result of the Sin curse, and there was a chance that he could
use him to get out of his situation— especially when he heard the words
that had been said.
'—dethroned from control.'
If he had been 'dethroned,' which meant he could regain the throne.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Violet-Quinn scoffed. "Amazed by
my glorious presence?"
Quinn finally opened his mouth, "You're pathetic."
.
.
Quinn West - MC - A violet ray of hope.
Eddie Carmichael - Sore loser - Now, that was just complete bullshit.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Hmm. . . if I'm going to do this properly, it
would be at least this week. Edit: Lol, that changed quite quickly.
.
[
A/ N:
[1]
I have a question for those who don't like the Sin Arcs.
If you guys were to do a personality change storyline or a plot where
MC's personality was being manipulated, how would you do it? I'm not
asking this for any form of retaliation or not willing to accept that
someone didn't like my writing— I know that I can't please everyone,
everyone has their likes/dislikes, and that my readers not enjoying what I
write is also my fault.
Here, I truly want to know that if it was to be done, what'd be the best/
preferred way. Thank you.
Even though I don't reply to the reviews here, I do read them, so if you
answer, I will be reading them.
.
[2]
Second point, about AMJ ending soon. It won't be ending in March
because now I have realized that with the current point in the story and
what I want to write, I would most probably write into April. Now, the
reason why I'm ending it at canon is that I don't know what to write after
this— if I had a storyline that interested me, I would have definitely
continued AMJ, but because I lack the idea and outlooks, I can't write.
And I have also found that very soon, I'd be getting 'bored' of writing
AMJ. There will be a point where I won't be creatively attracted to or
invested in AMJ, and I want to end before that point arrives. I don't want
to get to the point where I'm bored of the story; yet, I am still writing it
because it's doing well and there's demand. That would plummet my
performance, and I would start my walk towards burnout. I have
experienced burnout(for different reasons) and have no plans for
experiencing it ever again.
If there are more questions, please ask, and I shall answer them to the
best of my ability.
.
[3]
We hit 1 Million words a couple days back! So. . . . YEAH~!
]
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the bio!
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