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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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27.08.2022, 20:58:38
– Опубликовано:
03.06.2021, 01:41:11
– Статус: завершено - идентификатор: 13893841
381. Chapter 381: Leaving The
Nest
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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The heavy rain over the countryside had locked the people inside their
houses on what should've been a lovely Sunday morning. The same went
for the people living inside the West manor in Herefordshire, with the
downpour showing no sign of stopping any time soon.
Even in the rain, the day seemed its own kind of perfect, with the wind a
little cooler than usual, a gentle rain breeze that wafted through the
house without bringing a humid quality in.
But for Quinn, it was less than perfect. . . it was as far as it could be from
perfect. He placed his suitcase by the door, and when his fingers left the
still pristine leather, the suitcase went invisible. He faced the door to the
home office and took a breath as he smoothened the suit he had put on.
"Alright, let's do it."
Quinn knocked on the door, and the sounds of his heartbeat
overshadowed the sound of the knocking. He uncurled his hand and
found it to be a little sweaty— he couldn't remember the last time his
hands were sweaty, and he had an excellent memory.
He stepped inside when the call to enter came from inside. Despite
maintaining the AID office and another office inside his suitcase for
years, he envied what his grandfather had built in his home office—
every inch of the room sang pure English class with not a single thing out
of place. Quinn remembered how much time he had spent in the office in
the pre-Hogwarts days, thinking he would have something like this of his
own.
As he was admiring the office, George walked in from another part of the
office with two sheets of paper that he was comparing. "What is it, child?
Give me a moment to sort this out, and then we shall talk," he asked and
glanced up for a moment. "Is that a new suit? I haven't seen that one; did
Taylor stitch that one for you?"
Quinn looked down at his sky blue suit. ". . . No, it is not from him. I. . . I
made this on one on my own."
"Oh, did you. It looks great on you, dear. I would say that you have a
talent for stitching. Sit down."
Quinn sat down and stared at the man who sat on top, arguably the
biggest empire on the magical side of the world. He was sure that if one
day he walked down the street to ask random people the question: Albus
Dumbledore or George West, who would you like to be? He would be
lucky to find someone who had remotely heard of the name George West.
. . but Quinn was sure if they knew the two options well, most would
choose to be his grandfather. It took something else to be chosen over
Albus Dumbledore in the British Isles.
". . . talk about. . . . Quinn? Quinn!"
Quinn snapped out of his thoughts when he saw George staring at him,
calling his name. "Yes. . . my apologies, I was away for a moment," he
said.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm alright."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Alright. What do you want to talk about?"
Quinn took a silent breath. He opened his mouth and found that he was
at a loss for words. This was difficult, he thought. He had prepared the
words he was going to speak, but despite his Occlumency, he couldn't
find them. It was like Karna's curse in Mahabharata— to forget all his
knowledge at the moment he needed it the most. . . which had ultimately
led to the hero's death.
"I ran into Dumbledore a few days back," said Quinn.
"Oh, where was that?" he asked without stopping his work. "What did you
two talk about? I hope he didn't try to get you to include in some of his
plans. He will be spinning some manipulations if he wants you involved;
stay clear away from him."
Every time the topic of Dumbledore came between them, it got clear that
there was love spared between George and him. Even the mention of
Dumbledore sprung the usually taciturn man into a stretch about not
trusting Dumbledore.
". . . That is right about what happened," said Quinn, making George stop
and look up at him.
"What?"
"He wants to get me involved in one of his manipulations. He wants you
to get involved in a web of his manipulations." Quinn chuckled with
pursed lips, "Dumbledore was quite straightforward about it, didn't hide
the fact that he was going to use both of us."
George reached for his wand, and with a swing, everything on his desk
was tidied up and pushed aside or into its place, leaving behind an empty
space between them. Quinn had his full attention.
"What did he want? Tell me what he said word for word; don't leave a
single thing out."
Quinn shook his head with a semi-bowed head. That wasn't how he
wanted the conversation to go. Dumbledore wasn't going to be the focus
of this conversation. . . this was between him and his grandfather.
"He knows a weakness of mine," said Quinn with a bitter smile. "He's
planning to exploit it to get to you. But don't worry, I have—"
"What weakness," George cut him short.
"First, let me finish—"
"What weakness?"
Quinn and George stared at each other, the latter's gaze much fiercer
than the former.
For a moment, Quinn's hand trembled. A gush of panicked thoughts
passed through his mind. They were alone in the room, which was
covered with sound-dampening charms that Quinn had personally cast.
Anything that happened in there wasn't going to get out. This was his
chance to turn back what had been said and pretend the conversation
hadn't started yet. Maybe there was some way else he could approach
this where he didn't have to involve his grandfather. He could take
Dumbledore; who knew, perhaps he could fight the master of the Elder
wand and come out victorious. . . .
Quinn closed his eyes and leaned into the chair.
Who was he kidding? Taking on Dumbledore wasn't the answer. Lying to
his grandfather once again wasn't the answer.
'I know the answer. . . there's no running from it.'
Quinn placed his hand over the table, hovering inches above the surface.
He breathed out as a black substance effused out of his hand onto the
table; it hardened to form a familiar black mask. . . familiar to him at
least.
"What is this?" asked George, frowning. "How is this related to your
weakness, Quinn. You are well aware that I do not like to beat around
the bush or anything that isn't direct to the point, so get to the point."
The 'Invisible' in Invisible Vigilante still held true. Except for those in the
Aurors and the Hit Wizard, no one knew what the Invisible Vigilante's
attire looked like. Even after the Ministry appearance, when his
appearance collated from the hostages in the Ministry Atrium was
published in the papers, it wasn't accurate due to the fear-addled brains
of the people who gave the descriptions.
"This is my mask," Quinn tapped the conjured mask made from a special
magical polymer that Quinn had blended on his own. . . and that was just
the opening act of what he was about to reveal.
Under George's confused gaze, Quinn tapped his 'self-made' suit on the
chest, and the light blue fabric turned into a thicker weave of black in a
pulsating wave that traveled through his entire body. Gone was the
stylish suit, replaced by the all-practical combative outfit.
"This is my gear," said Quinn, clenching and releasing his hand. "I call it
the Noir adaptive gear. . . version seventeen." He picked up the mask and
gently placed it on his face. There was radio silence before the usual
distorted voice came from behind the mask, "I'm the Invisible Vigilante."
An elevated heartbeat was always part of the deal when he put on the
Noir gear. Be it due to the exertion of hunting Death Eaters outside a
Quidditch stadium, facing the most dangerous Werewolf in the country,
saving Amelia Bones from the Dark Lord, or facing Fiendfyre cast the
Dark Lord. But today, the heartbeat was louder and faster than ever; it
felt like it would beat itself out before he could even speak a single word.
". . . What? No, no," George shook his head, "you are not. . . you can't be
the Invisible Vigilante. . ."
"Grandfather—"
George slammed his fist onto the table. An immediate tension filled the
room. He was fuming; Quinn hadn't seen fuming from George. "Remove
that," he said.
Quinn complied. The mask melted into fumes, but the Noir gear stayed in
the black combative form. George needed to see who his grandson really
was— he had seen the good side, and now it was time to have the nasty
side shining in his face.
". . . The Invisible Vigilante is accused of murder," said George, as if he
couldn't get the words out.
"I am wanted for murder," said Quinn.
"You're not making this easier," said George, his voice on the edge of
growling. "How did this happen, Quinn? Didn't I tell you that we are
staying away?"
"I started long before that grandfather."
"Then you should've stopped when I told you to stop!" George leaned
forward with his hands clenched over the table. "Do you think this is a
game or one of those experiments of yours? This is real life, Quinn!" He
pressed a finger into his temple, "You. . . You faced the Dark Lord in the
Ministry. What were you thinking, child? You could've gotten yourself
killed."
"Instead, I costed him an eye."
'That doesn't—"
"It wasn't the first time, anyway."
". . . What do you mean?" asked George, confused.
"I was the one who rescued Amelia Bones when her house was attacked
by the Dark Lord," said Quinn. "I know what I am doing, grandfather. I
know you're worried, but what is done is already done— dwelling on it
won't change, so let's move forward."
"Move forward? No, no, this isn't—"
Quinn waved his hand, "Dumbledore knows I'm the Invisible Vigilante,
and he has proof connecting that I'm indeed him." George looked like he
was about to burst again, but Quinn pressed forward. "He wants your
resources in the war. He will hold whatever he has over your head into
becoming a vault with an unlimited amount of coin. He will make you
publicly oppose Voldemort and ensure that the most resourceful man in
the country is working for him."
"Then I will give him whatever he wants," said George immediately, with
no hesitation.
Quinn shook his head and kept his smile to himself. "No, that's the worst
thing you can do, grandfather. If he had leverage on you, it wouldn't ever
stop. First, it will be war, then it will be politics, and whatever he wants.
. . . we don't want to give Dumbledore any leverage."
"Then we leave the country," said George with finality. "He can do
whatever he wants, but if we leave, it won't matter to us. We can cut ties
with the country and never return."
"That's called running, grandfather, and I'm no runner."
"Then what do you want me to do!" George raised his voice. "I do not
want my grandson to be arrested by the Aurors!"
"I won't be arrested," said Quinn calmly, "What Dumbledore has won't
work in the court of law, but if he presented it to the Aurors Office, they
would start looking into me— and with only one person as a suspect,
they will develop a tunnel vision towards me, especially with not finding
any leads in such a long time. Rufus Scrimgeour doesn't like the Invisible
Vigilante, grandfather. If he sets a target, he will do anything to ensure
I'm punished—"
"You don't need to be worried about Scrimgeour," said George. "He's
looking to sign a deal with me, and if I put that over him, he will stay
quiet— choosing to ignore a lesser evil in favor of a greater one. He will
make sure that everything is scrubbed, never to be brought up again."
Quinn smiled gently, but it wasn't a relieved smile. "No, grandfather.
Giving Dumbledore leverage is not good, but giving Scrimgeour isn't any
better. He was big aspirations; wants to be the Minister of Magic and
wants to stay in that position for long. He will use you every step of the
way, grandfather. I don't want that."
"I don't mind helping if it keeps you out of trouble. You know that, child."
"I know; of course, I know. . . but I don't plan on stopping, grandfather."
George shook his head. "You promised," he stood up and walked around
the table, "you promised you would do anything for me. I want you to
stop. I want you to leave the country and leave everything to me.
Grandfather will sort all of it, child; please listen to me."
Quinn felt pain spike up inside him. It pained him to see his grandfather
like this. However, this was bigger than both of them. "I can't leave it," he
said and stood up. "I have to finish what I started."
George grabbed Quinn's wrist. He said, "I can't lose you; I have lost too
much. . . I can't lose anymore."
Quinn took George's hand into his own, "You won't be losing me,
grandfather." He kissed the hand, "Don't give anything to Dumbledore
when you meet him, don't let him pull you into the public. I will handle
him, but I didn't want you to know all of this from anyone else.
And even if I am not, you still have to follow the rule— stay away,
grandfather."
He took out a small black puck and placed it on the table, "Tap it with
your wand— only your wand will work— and it will give you everything
you need in case Dumbledore comes to you. Don't let him exploit the
Wests."
He pulled his hand out of George's grip and turned away, but George
grabbed his hand again and said, "Where are you going? No! You're
staying here!"
Quinn shook his head. "I will see you soon, grandfather. Please call Lia
home and tell her, and everyone else, everything," he didn't want George
to go through this alone. He placed his hand on George's cheek, and
before the man could speak another syllable, he was knocked by Quinn's
magic. He transfigured the chairs into a comfy bed-cot and laid George
on it.
"I'm sorry," he took in George's face. "Everything will be over soon."
Quinn stood up, and without taking another look, he walked out of the
office. He feared that he wouldn't be able to leave if he looked back. He
changed his combative outfit to the sky blue suit and picked up his
suitcase.
It was time to leave home.
.
Quinn West - MC - Truth is bitter.
George West - Grandfather - Sad to say, but this will affect his health.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I don't like this chapter.
.
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!
382. Chapter 382: I'm Not A Good
Person
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
Yellow turned green.
Dumbledore left behind the roar of the fire and stepped into the noise of
chatter happening around the bar floor of Three Broomsticks in
Hogsmeade. He looked around the most popular inn in the village, which
remained festivous round the year regardless of the season or time.
He stepped away from the fireplace and was immediately greeted by the
sweet smell of butterbeer that lingered in the air, among other things that
made the bar smell like a bar. He made his way to the bar with the
occasional nod of the head accompanied with a smile to those who
greeted him along the way.
"Dumbledore!" greeted the inn's hostess, Madam Rosmerta, from behind
the bar. "You should've told me you were coming down; I would've
booked a room for you. Give me two minutes; I'll have one readied for
you right away."
"No, it is fine, Rosmerta. I'm meeting someone today." He looked around
the bar, searching, "Do you know where I can find Quinn West?"
"Ah, so you're the one he's meeting," said Rosmerta, smiling. "Quinn said
he was meeting someone. He's such a kind and charming young man, I
offered him a room, but he declined," she sighed. "Are you meeting him
to offer him a job, Dumbledore? If so, you should ask him if he wants to
shift to a room."
Rosmerta pointed out a table in the seating area. Dumbledore followed
her direction and found himself staring at a table right in the middle of
the room, surrounded by other tables from all four directions. There he
saw Quinn sitting with a plate of fries and a drink in front of him as the
young man had his eyes reading a book in hand, unbothered by all the
racket around him.
"Quinn," said Dumbledore as he approached the table.
Quinn looked up at Dumbledore, then his eyes moved around the bar,
seemingly checking if Dumbledore had brought company. He closed his
book and made it disappear inside his coat-jacket.
Quinn asked Dumbledore to sit down.
"What is this meeting all about, Quinn," asked Dumbledore. "If it is what
it is I think about, then it would be better for us to shift to a private
setting; Rosmerta has offered to clear a private room. . . if that is not
alright with you, we can go to my office."
"Here is just fine."
Dumbledore pursed his lips behind his beard and looked around the bar
before sitting opposite Quinn, who at that moment snapped his fingers
for a thick blanket of magic to cover them.
Dumbledore observed the spell with a critical eye, but as he was doing
so, he heard Quinn, "I hope you didn't want to order something."
"A private room is better than a privacy spell," and he could sense
something mixed in, "and a confusion element to keep people away."
"If you say so," said Quinn. "Moving on, I called you here for a point, so
let's get to the point. . . . You're not going to exploit my grandfather for
anything. We are going to forget about the previous conversation and
pretend that you never know that I was the Invisible Vigilante."
Dumbledore sighed, "This is why you called me here? Quinn, I'm the
Headmaster of Hogwarts, among other various duties which keep me
busy. I do not have time to take part in needless conversations." He stood
up and turned to walk, but as just as he was about to exit the boundary
of the magic. . .
"I guess you don't want to know about the Dark Lord's Horcrux."
Dumbledore's foot froze halfway outside the boundary. He slowly turned
back to Quinn, who picked up his glass and sipped on his straw while
maintaining eye contact with Dumbledore.
". . . What?" asked Dumbledore, but he didn't take a seat just yet.
"You heard me; if you walk away right now, you won't get to know what
I have to say about the Dark Lord's Horcrux," said Quinn as if he didn't
care.
Dumbledore looked around the room.
"You're insulting my magic by looking around, Dumbledore," said Quinn,
his voice distorting akin to the Invisible Vigilante.
Dumbledore wrinkled his brows and took his seat. Talking about the
Invisible Vigilante and especially about Voldemort's Horcrux in such a
densely populated setting wasn't something he appreciated. "There are no
more of those, Quinn; the one you destroyed was the only one. And I'm
working hard to remedy Harry's unfortunate situation."
Quinn shrugged, "Then why did you sit down? Do you take everyone
other than yourselves for a fool, Dumbledore? Is it not enough to
threaten my family, but you also undermine me by such a poor excuse of
a bluff."
". . . You are angry."
"Excellent guess. Do you want me to give you some sour candy for it?"
said Quinn, almost snarling. Dumbledore stared as Quinn's eyes burned a
violent purple. "I had to tell my grandfather that I'm a cold-blooded
killer. How do you think that affects a relationship? Because I don't
know; I had to leave my home before getting to experience it!" He
slammed his fist on the table. "Now, my family will know the ugly truth
about myself that I have for obvious reasons though I would take to the
grave. . . and if that was not enough, I have the great Albus Dumbledore
trying to reveal it to the entire damned world! So yes. . . I am furious."
Quinn backed away with his eyes fading back to their original black. He
picked up his glass; it developed a layer of white condensation as the
carbonated drink cooled down inside before Quinn took a big sip from it.
Dumbledore stayed silent. It was clear that today Quinn wasn't going to
be happy with him speaking anything that he didn't want him to speak,
so why agonize the young man by speaking the words that could be done
without.
"Here's the deal," Quinn cleaned the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I
hold one of the Dark Lord's Horcrux, and if you don't agree to my
demands, I will hide it, and you or anyone will never see the sight of it.
So if you want to keep an undying maniac hanging around, then you can
go ahead and walk away and blab your mouth to anyone you want to."
"I don't believe you," said Dumbledore. "How do I know you're not lying
about possessing one. I don't think you have one, and this is just a
desperate attempt disguised as a one-sided negotiation."
"Between the two of us, who do you think is more of an authority on
Horcruxes," said Quinn. "Let me clear that up," he pointed towards
Dumbledore, "you have destroyed zero Horcruxes," he pointed at himself,
"I have destroyed two of them."
"Two of them?" Dumbledore wrinkled his brow.
"You already know about my work with the Diary, but did you know
about the Marvolo Gaunt's Ring in the Gaunt Shack in Little Hangleton."
"That. . . that was you?"
"Of course, it was me. Who do you think is the authority to destroy
immortality-granting soul containers between the two of us," Quinn
scoffed condescendingly. "I'm not a one-trick pony who just destroyed the
Diary by chance. I dug deep and went down the rabbit hole, and found a
second one, destroyed it. . . and then found a third one, so Dumbledore,
tell me do you believe me now?"
That was a surprise. Dumbledore didn't think that Quinn was the one
who destroyed the Ring he found in the Gaunt Shack. When he had
called Quinn to talk about the Diary, he hadn't expected him to know
about the Horcruxes, and after he had let out the secret to the Potter
family, he hadn't anticipated that Quinn was still hiding another secret.
After spending years not knowing who destroyed the Ring, the discovery
of Regulus Black, and the fake Slytherin's Socket, he assumed that it was
the younger Black brother who had gotten to the Locket as well. . .
though inside, Dumbledore always knew that his theory had holes
because of the discrepancies between the notes. He simply didn't care
about who destroyed the Horcrux, just that they were destroyed.
Looking at Quinn's mocking face, Dumbledore only had one question.
"Why haven't you destroyed it yet?" With the small sample to draw from,
Quinn had destroyed two of his two Horcrux finds; it was a statistics-
driven assumption for him to assume that the third find would have the
same fate. "You're saying that you will hide the third one away. . . but
what if you have already destroyed it. . . what if you don't have anything
in your hand."
Quinn's response was a small curl of his lips that stretched into a smile
that opened up to a wide grin. "Do you want to risk that, Dumbledore?"
asked Quinn, his voice backed by magic. "I may have already destroyed
the Horcrux, I may not have destroyed it. . . or I may not even have it—
but do you have the liberty of testing lady luck; can you know for certain
that my threats are bogus— because if you're by chance wrong, and in
future have this one chance where you can kill the Dark Lord, and you
miraculously succeed." Quinn chuckled, "All that for him to return. And
maybe by then, you're dead; who among your cohort do you think will
kill the Dark Lord. . . who Dumbledore has enough magical prowess other
than you. Even if you're alive, Dumbledore, you're not growing younger,
and with every passing year, your magic grows weaker, but the Dark
Lord stays as powerful as he is—" he pointed near Dumbledore's waist "—
and as powerful as that wand is. . . isn't all-powerful, so think about it. . .
do you want to take the risk?"
The privacy spell dulled the incoming voice, but right now, it was as if
the magic had sucked all the voice, leaving behind a vacuum between
Dumbledore and Quinn.
". . . Why are you doing this?" Dumbledore asked, his voice laced with
disappointment. "You have done some misdeeds, but I don't believe you
to be a bad soul, Quinn. So why would you do something so important
that it concerns the people of not only this country but many others as
well? I don't believe you want to see people die. Do you know how I see
you? I remember the young man passionate about magic; someone who
wanted to pursue the depths of magic. . . Yes, I understand all of this is
because of me pressurize you for the support I need to battle Voldemort,
but for you to threaten so many lives to oppose this. . . why?"
Quinn turned his eye away from Dumbledore and fixed them towards a
window that let in warm rays of sunlight that illuminated the specks of
dust in their glow. "If there's something that can sway me away from
magic, then it is the people I'm close to. For them, I'm willing to deviate
from my goals. From all of those people, my family is the closet, and you
threatened them. . . . I'm not a person with a just moral campus,
Dumbledore. I'm willing to risk the lives of thousands, even millions, for
my loved ones. . . . Will I be able to sleep at night with it. . . No, I think it
will change me forever. But now with my family, I shall make it right.
I am a terrible person and a hypocrite at that, so don't put me in that
category, Dumbledore. When I put my mind to a thing, I end up working
towards it until I complete."
Quinn stayed silent and continued to stare at the window. It was clear
that he was going to say another word without listening to the speaker.
"I agree; I shall not threaten your grandfather to go public," said
Dumbledore, "How're you going enforce it?
"Easy, you will sign a magical contract."
Dumbledore pursed his lips, but after a lengthy back-and-forth he came
to an agreement; he agreed as long as he was given a chance to read and
question Quinn on it along with the legal counsel.
Quinn chuckled, "Very well, I shall guide, and you can take a thorough
look before finally submitting it."
". . . What is the Horcrux's identity?" asked Dumbledore.
"It is the Hufflepuff's Cup, of course."
.
Quinn West - MC - I have other plans.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Not how he saw the meeting going.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - No, Quinn hasn't gotten that one yet
.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction
or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
383. Chapter 383: Living
Independently
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
It was early in the morning.
Quinn placed his dirty breakfast dishes into the sink. The cleaning
utensils rose as the water spouted from the tap, and soap bubbled up in
the sink. He shook his hands, and a scouring scrubbed his hands clean as
he moved towards the condo's front door in Central London. The suitcase
flew into his grip as he walked out to greet the new day.
"Good morning, John!"
As Quinn locked the door to his rental house, he heard a chirpy shrill
voice. He looked to the left to see a plump, homely woman with a big red
smile walking towards with the energy of a hundred suns. Even though
he was wide awake, he found this neighbor of his to be too bright.
"Mrs. Carrott," he put on a smile, "a good morning to you as well. I hope
you're doing well today."
"I'm chipper if nothing else. Off to work, dear?" she beamed. When Quinn
nodded, she asked, "Have you given it a thought, dear? Angela is a sweet
church-going girl and very beautiful. I'm sure you both will like each
other. Should I set up a meeting?"
Quinn sighed inside. He was John. A twenty-something living alone in
London, with parents in Liverpool. He had designed the looks of the
current version of 'John' to be such that people wouldn't give him a
second look— not attractive, but also unattractive enough to catch the
eye. He was the image of mediocrity— just like he preferred. However,
for some reason, Mrs. Carrott, his new neighbor, an idle housewife with
nothing occupying her free time, fancied herself to be something of a
matchmaker, and despite Quinn's current average features, she found him
to be a target of her matchmaking.
All of it was because of the details he had put in his background. A
college graduate working a corporate job in finance that he had given
himself as it was easiest for him to pretend. That background seemed to
be a big plus point in her eyes. Moreover, even with his current
background, he wasn't able to leave behind his style of clothes— which
were high-grade suits. . . and that ended up giving Mrs. Carrott the idea
that he made good money. . . which while true, wasn't supposed to be a
part of his disguise.
"I would've to pass, Mrs. Carrott. I'm currently not looking to be in a
relationship," even though he was out, living under disguise, it didn't
mean that he was untethered from his two very thriving relationships.
"Right now, I'm trying to keep myself focused on my job. . . it would be
unfair to Angela."
Quinn thought he had made his point, but it turned out he was wrong.
Mrs. Carrott waved her hand in dismissal, "Oh, you don't need to
overthink this. Meet her once, and if you still think it will be a problem,
this old lady will give it a rest."
Quinn ticked his neck. He had been listening to this spiel for a few days
now— the first thing when he left home and the last thing before he
returned back— it was in small doses, but the irritation had pilled up.
"Mrs. Carrott. . . you're not a nice person."
". . . Pardon?"
"You barely know me. . . nowhere enough that you should be trying to
set up your cousin's daughter with a stranger who you nothing of
substance about."
Mrs. Carrott was stunned with the surprised eye, but the more she heard,
the more offended she got. She burst open like a cap on a shaken-up
soda. "Listen here, young man—"
Quinn raised his hand, and the woman sent zip silent. "I didn't want to
use magic, as it undermines my disguise and acting skills, but I think this
will be the best for both of us." He gently nudged her broad wrinkled
forehead, and her eyes turned white, "Let's make it so that you lose
interest in your new neighbor," he planted some key suggestions, "and I
will do you by not showing you my face for a while to let the suggestions
set."
Quinn turned Mrs. Carrott around and pushed her towards her home with
the final suggestion of going to sleep to cement his suggestions in her
mind.
After he was done with the annoying neighbor problem, Quinn exited the
condo building situated in a safer middle-class area. He looked around
the silent residential block. For the first time in his life, he was living on
his own in a place of his own— it was unlike Hogwarts, where he had
roommates and was aided by a staff of house-elves under the eye of
school professors— here, he had total freedom from everyone other than
his house owner who he had to pay rent.
But he had to say, he wasn't expecting his first freedom living situation to
come this way. Running away from home, hiding from all the parties that
could be looking for him. He had thought this time would come after he
had completed his apprenticeship with Alan because the old mind master
had said that if Quinn wanted to learn, then he had to stay with him.
He looked up at the sky with sparse clouds. Living out of his suitcase in
an empty studio apartment was yet another thing that his actions forced
him to do.
"Time to go to work, I guess," he cleared his throat before apparating out
of the empty street.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the students of Hogwarts were
pouring down to the all-magical village. . . was what it would be like in
any other year, but this year Dark Lord Voldemort had shown his face
enough times that the much-anticipated outings were canceled,
disappointing and frustrating many youths who looked forward to it.
Hogwarts had been advertised as the safest place in the country, and the
trip needed to go to maintain that image.
But not all could be kept inside like caged birds. They needed their free
space, especially when they received an enticing call from the outside
world.
One such person was Daphne Greengrass, who had received a message on
her secret MagiFax-ID, which including her only two people knew
existed. The blonde Slytherin followed the path that Recon had pointed
out to her, taking steps echoing in anticipation and impatience as he
exited a secret passageway leading outside the castle.
And there he was, standing in front of the passageway. . . looking the
same as he did the last time she had seen him. "Quinn!" Daphne
exclaimed as she ran to him and leaped into his arm.
Quinn hugged Daphne back and clutched her close. He closed his eyes
and just enjoyed the moment for what it was. Long-distance relationships
where they couldn't meet, with letters and the occasional face-to-face
chat was the only point of contact, were tough.
"I missed you," he whispered as he pulled her into a deep kiss.
"I missed you too," she replied with a smile, but after a while, as Quinn
didn't let go, Daphne asked if something was wrong, "Quinn, is something
wrong?"
". . . I missed you," he said again. He finally pulled back and let her go
but kept her eyes on the girl of his dreams.
"What is it?" she asked, worry splashing in her eyes.
For a moment, the cat got Quinn's tongue. His mind was at war with his
heart about if he should reveal the secret to her. He had already told his
family; it was only normal that he told his girlfriend that they might go
after her if someone came after him.
"I have to tell you something," he said and then willingly opened the
vault to his secret. "I am the Invisible Vigilante. . ."
The amount of time stern-faced Daphne's expression jumped may have
been a personal record as she went through an entire range of emotions.
By the end of it, she was on edge as the story that Quinn had told her
only went up and up. He made sure to keep the information about the
Horcrux out of the story as that wasn't a secret for him to share.
"You. . . you faced the Dark Lord twice!" her dainty fingers clutching his
clothes until they turned white. "You could've died! I-I could've lost you.
You were thirteen years old?! You-You-You—"
"I have killed people," said Quinn with his head down. "And I know if you
wanted to not associate with me, that. . . would be fine with me. It would
be better for you to not associate with me as it may bring you uninvited
trouble." Quinn continued under Daphne's eye, who single-mindedly
stared at him. "But don't worry, I will continue to treat Astoria. I've
improved since we started, meaning if I wanted, I can switch it to one
every two months while maintaining the safety standard; I think that'll be
better for everyone. . . Daphne? Daphne?"
"I-I don't know how to feel about it," she said, and Quinn pulled away at
those words, but Daphne pulled him back close, "but I know that I don't
want to leave or have you leaving me. . . so don't talk about this
nonsense."
The words brought warmth to Quinn's heart. He was frightened that the
blood on his hands would drive away. But here he was with his
girlfriend, who had shown a reaction much more favorable than he
could've ever imagined. He could see her hesitation and turmoil in her
eyes, but he couldn't see fear while she stood close to him without—
there was no revulsion about what he had told her.
It felt great. Ever since he left the house, his grandfather's reaction when
he told him the truth dominated his mind; the fact that he had used
magic against him bothered him like a splinter in the sole of his feet.
Telling Daphne and seeing her reaction felt like he was in the healing
room of the Aquatic vault but much-much better.
"Saying that, I don't like that you're going around who knows where
hunting Death Eaters. It is dangerous, and I would rather you stop and let
your grandfather take care of the mess with Dumbledore." Daphne sighed
as she looked up at him, "But you're not going to stop, are you?"
Quinn shook his head. He had gone far too long to just hang the coat and
return home.
"Just. . . Just try to be safe, okay? I-I wouldn't know what to do if you
suddenly went missing." She clutched his arms tightly, "You have to talk
to me every day. . ." She reached into her pocket and took out a pair of
mirrors that looked awfully familiar to the ones that he and Ivy shared—
but on a closer look, it was of a different design. "I made ones on my
own; I want you to talk to me every day; I won't take no for an answer."
Quinn received the mirror and stared at the reflective surface. He could
tell it was supposed to have the same function, but the magic used to
create that functionality was different from Ivy's mirror.
". . . Thank you, this means a lot," he said.
"Have you told her?" she asked.
Quinn shook his head as he looked up at the castle. "Not yet. I have yet to
meet or talk to her. . . it is going to be another challenge in its own way."
"Do you want me to put in a word?"
"No. . . it is fine. I will do it on my own."
.
Quinn West - MC - Time for truth.
Daphne Greengrass - Comforting - Has learned to get things out of Quinn
when needed.
.
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384. Chapter 384: The Price Paid
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"No. . . it is fine. I will do it on my own."
. . .
That conversation started in a way that he wasn't expecting.
"You did the right thing," Ivy said, and there was a sense of pride in her
words. "Those disgusting Death Eaters deserved their fate. You don't need
to blame yourself for anything— who knows what would've happened if
they were left alive, they would've gone after some Muggle-born or
muggle. They might've even harmed the Aurors there. You did well."
Quinn stared at the girl. Like the different magic used in two pairs of
two-way mirrors, both girls had their unique reactions. Daphne had been
uncomfortable with his confession, and he knew that it would take some
effort from his side to bring things back to normal, stronger than before.
But Ivy didn't show any revulsion to his actions— it was definitely
because of his victims, but the fact remained that she was ignoring that
he was a killer.
". . . You're fine with me being the Invisible Vigilante?"
"Of course not!" she said, smacking his shoulder. It seemed he had
thought too soon. "It is dangerous! The Death Eaters are trying to kill
you. The Aurors and even the Hit Wizards are allowed to use substantial
force against you. I'm afraid the next time you pop up in front of any one
of those people, they'll try to take your head off. Do you think anyone's
girlfriend would like that?"
"It is fine; as long as they don't get me in my sleep— or poison me— they
won't get to me," said Quinn and got another smack from Ivy.
"Don't joke about that," she fixed him with a mock glare. Ivy sighed, "I
can't believe Dumbledore tried to blackmail you," she looked revulsed.
"Just wait till I tell mum and dad— I could only imagine what the next
Order meeting would be like."
"No-no, don't do that. I don't want this to go out more than it needs to.
No offense to the Order of Phoenix; they stand for something important,
but I don't trust the people I have never met, and there are so many
Aurors in the secret group. . . that could only go one way."
Ivy pursed her lips in dissatisfaction before agreeing to keep quiet.
"You didn't tell me how you made Dumbledore stop from going to your
grandfather?" she asked.
There it was. This was why he had gone to Daphne before Ivy. It was this
part of the talk that he wanted to avoid more than he wanted to avoid
coming out to his family as the Invisible Vigilante.
"About that. . . because he blackmailed me, I held something he would
care about hostage over his head," said Quinn, his voice softer than usual.
For a moment, he didn't know what to do with his hand and what
expression to make as Ivy listened to him attentively. A part of his mind
was telling him to make another excuse and hope that it'd hold for a
lifetime, but he knew that wouldn't work.
"I told him that if he didn't stop, I was going to hide one of the Dark
Lord's Horcrux," the moment he said, Ivy's expression turned. The green
eyes widened as her face twisted in red anger like her hair; her narrow
shoulders trembled, and blood receded from her hand as she clutched a
fest. "Ivy, listen, I'm sorry, I should've—"
He reached out to hold her only to get a tight slip in return.
"Y-You!" she breathed heavily. "I was expecting you to have secrets, you
bastard! I knew that it would take time for you to open up to me; that
you'd share them a little-by-little over time, and I didn't mind for it to
happen this way. . . I was ready for it to slow because I knew it was going
to be rewarding." She roughly pushed him, "But you do this!" she yelled.
"You know how important this is to me! To Harry; to my family! You
knew this, didn't you?!"
"Y-Yes, but Ivy—."
"Then WHY?! Why did you hide this?!" She weakly staggered a step away
from him, "Is this what it's going to be like, Quinn. . . being in a
relationship with you? Finding these secrets of yours that keep hurting
me?"
"No, of course not. I had to—"
Ivy shook her head distraughtly. "You had a Horcrux with you, Quinn!
My brother's life depends on one of those. You knew that, of course! I
wouldn't know about it otherwise. Why in the world would you hide it?"
"I didn't know if I could trust anyone with that knowledge. It was too
dangerous."
"You're talking like Dumbledore," she scoffed.
"I am not!" Quinn protested. "Unlike Dumbledore, I have worked alone
from the start. Even after I was revealed to be in knowledge of the
Horcrux, I wasn't keen on working together with that old manipulative
bastard. I couldn't tell you about the others because that would've meant
you telling your family, who would've undoubtedly told it to Dumbledore
— and then the manipulative Headmaster would've tried to spin some
scheme that I didn't want any part of.
And if you don't remember, Quinn West wasn't associated with the
Invisible Vigilante back then."
There was tension between the two. It was dawning on him that Ivy was
going to take much more effort than Daphne. . . that is, if this
relationship was salvageable after today.
"Why haven't you destroyed the Horcrux yet?" she asked. "If you have it,
you should've destroyed it."
"I have my reasons," he said.
"And what might they be?"
'That I don't have the bloody Horcrux, that it is locked in a vault inside
Gringotts, that's why?' he thought. But it wasn't something he could say.
"I can't tell you that," he said. "If I tell it to you, there's a good chance
that Dumbledore would know about it."
"What, you think I will tattle to Dumbledore?" Ivy sounded offended.
"No, I don't think that," Quinn sighed. He pointed to his temple, "But I
don't trust Dumbledore with your mind. I'm half sure that he knows of
our relationship— that man has an eye for people and human nature—
and if I told you the specifics, I wouldn't put it past him to not try to pull
that information out of your head. . . so no, I can't tell you."
He knew that it wasn't a good look and not in any way a solution to the
problem. But he hoped that Ivy's logical mind would see his reasoning. . .
"I don't care, tell me," she said.
"Ivy. . ."
"I'm your girlfriend, and my brother is a living Horcrux. I don't care about
Dumbledore or the game of schemes he's playing; I want to know," she
said.
"It will put my family at risk," Quinn argued.
"I only wish to know why haven't you destroyed it yet. Can't you even tell
that much?" she said, stepping closer to Quinn. "You're not the only one
who cares about their family."
Quinn gritted his teeth. He turned away from Ivy; his hand went to his
hair as he paced a few steps. He turned back to her with a look that said
he wasn't pleased about what he was about to do, but with a sigh of
resignation, he stepped closer to Ivy and pulled out a chain from around
his neck with a triangular locket hanging from it.
"For an answer, I will only show you this," Quinn grabbed the locket in
his fist, and when he opened it up, there was a black carved gemstone
laid upon it. "Look at this design. . . yes, the triangle one. . . this is why I
haven't destroyed the Horcrux."
"What is this?" she asked as Quinn placed the black stone on her palm.
"I want to rid the world of the Dark Lord. Horcrux makes him unkillable,
and so to make him mortal, we destroy them— that much we already
know. But after that, we still need a way to kill him and someone as
powerful as the Dark Lord. Yes, we have Dumbledore; despite that, it is
in our best interest to weaken him. I'm trying to find a way we can
accomplish that."
"And this will help you do that?"
Quinn curled his finger, and the black gemstone rose from Ivy's palm. "I
think it will. . . I hope it will," he said, grabbing the stone.
"What exactly is it?" she asked, her eyes on Quinn's chest where the
locket sat.
"That is for you to find," he said, confusing Ivy. "If you can find what it is,
you will find the answer to what I'm trying to do."
"Why can't you tell me directly?!" she exclaimed, confused.
Quinn stepped close to Ivy and put a gentle hand on her cheek. She
seemed to freeze as if she wanted to pull back but hesitated to do so. "I
can't give you the entire truth because I fear that when you find the
meaning, you will go out looking for trouble. So I give you this tiny sliver
hoping that it will keep you busy until I have figured out what I wanted,"
he said.
". . . Is this all really necessary?" Ivy asked. "You don't want me to go in
danger while you intend to go out there doing who knows what."
Quinn weakly chuckled, "Didn't I tell you a long time ago before we were
even friends. . . I'm a hypocrite of the highest grade, Ivy. You knew what
you were getting into," he paused, "do you regret it?"
"The feeling I have is not regret, but I don't know what is. . . . Want to
take a look inside and tell me what they actually are?" she asked, leaning
in closer. Quinn couldn't tell if she was tempting or daring him.
He pushed her away, "I don't use Legilimency on people close to me. You
know that, Ivy."
Ivy pulled away and began stepping back towards the passageway where
she had come from. "That's the problem, Quinn. Right now, I can't tell if
you're speaking the truth or lying because of something you can't tell
me."
"Ivy, please. . ."
Ivy shook her head, and without saying a single word, she disappeared
from his sight, leaving behind Quinn standing alone with clouds
thundering above in the sky.
He clenched his fist hard enough to draw blood. It had been only a few
days since Dumbledore had first approached him, and so much had
changed— he had lost his home, the trust of his family, and had damaged
his relationship with the two people he loved from the bottom of his
heart— and now, in this moment, he couldn't even tell if they could be
repaired.
Was all of this his fault? Having the knowledge of a possible future had
made him get involved when there was no need for him to do so. Or was
it the fault of the Dark Lord who was the root of all problems, who would
not stop until he got the rule he wanted?
'This is all Voldemort's fault,' he thought. Quinn repeated it again inside
his head to assure himself of his views, strengthening the feeling of hate
and anger inside him.
However, despite all of that, he couldn't stop hating himself.
He felt something slide down the side of his face. He looked up as drizzle
began falling from the overcast sky full of dark clouds. In moments, the
heavens cried down on him, and he stood there taking what it gave.
.
Quinn West - MC - ". . ."
Ivy Potter - Confronting - Has full intention of exploring what Quinn has
given her.
.
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385. Chapter 385: Another Hunt
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Quinn exited a dusty alleyway into a busy street of London. He joined the
people and passed by everything from book shops and music stores to
hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but none of them were his
destination today.
He kept walking until he stopped to peer through the crowd of people
going through their lives to the tiny, grubby-looking pub on the other
side of the road. If not for him looking for it, he wouldn't have noticed it
was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from
the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they
couldn't see the building with the sign, Leaky Cauldron, at all.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were
sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was
smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old
bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. No one
paid him any mind as he entered and walked by. Quinn tipped his hat to
Tom, the bartender, as he led himself through the bar and out into a
small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a
few weeds.
Quinn looked over his shoulder to ensure he was alone before knocking
three bricks with his knuckle.
The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a
small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later, they
were facing an archway large enough even for the tallest of individuals,
an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. He
stepped through it and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that it had
shrunk instantly into the solid wall.
He walked through the semi-crowded street of Diagon Alley, glancing at
the various shops doing business. He even passed by Weasley Wizarding
Wheezes, his first investment in Diagon Alley, to arrive at the snowy
white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside
its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a
goblin.
Quinn snapped his fingers, and a burst of magic coursed out in a dome.
Everyone around him, including the vigilant goblin guard's eyes, went
hazy, and they didn't notice how the gangly, lanky middle-aged man with
brown hair and hazel eyes turned into a fit young man with ink-black
hair and stone-gray eyes.
He walked up the steps and walked by the goblin, who wasn't even half
his height, and was thereafter greeted by the second pair of doors, silver
this time, with the infamous engravings:
[
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
]
"Well, not today," he muttered quietly.
A pair of goblins bowed him through the silver doors, and they were in a
vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high
stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins
in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were
too many doors to count leading off the hall, yet more goblins showed
people in and out of these. No matter what time, money always flowed
through hands. He made his way to the counter.
"Morning," said Quinn to the free gobin. "I've come here to meet Bogrod
for some urgent business."
"Whom did you say?" asked the goblin teller, his slanted eyes narrowing.
"Bogrod."
"Director Bogrod?" asked the teller.
Quinn thought of the Bogrod he had met the last time, and from how the
old goblin had been treated, he could definitely be a director, so he said
yes. The teller, however, seemed skeptical; he asked, "Do you have an
appointment?"
"No, I do not. But, I assure you, he would like to meet me."
"I'm sorry, but the director won't meet a hu— anyone without an
appointment."
Quinn pursed his lips. He didn't think he would be able to directly get to
Bogrod. 'Time to aim for somewhere low,' he thought. "Then can I meet
Teller Riphook?" he said.
"Floor manager Riphook?"
"Floor manager Riphook it is," he smiled.
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't—" the teller stopped as his eyes trailed behind.
Quinn followed the teller's eyes. While most people wouldn't be able to
distinguish between goblins, Quinn could clearly tell apart every single
one. He immediately left the station, ignoring the teller's calls behind
him.
"Riphook," called Quinn to the goblin, which he and the teller had
spotted. The goblin with a swarthy, clever face, and a pointed beard,
turned to his name being called. For a moment, the better-dressed goblin
stared at Quinn as if trying to identify who the human was, but when it
clicked, he exclaimed.
"Mr. West?!"
"Good, you recognized me," smiled Quinn. He looked Riphook up and
down, "It might be late, but congratulations on the promotion." He had a
strong intuition that the deal he had stuck all those years back was the
reason for it.
"Thank you," said Riphook, surprise still lingering on his face.
"It's good that I found you, Riphook. I have some work that I need to take
care of."
The goblin teller that Quinn had talked to came running on his long-yet-
short feet. He said between huffs, "I tried to stop him, sir, but the wizard
—" Riphook raised his hand and motioned the teller to go away. The
teller looked to confirm before bowing and moving back to his station.
"What can I do for you today, Mr. West?" asked Riphook.
"I would like to meet Bogrod," Quinn got straight to the point. "I have a
very attractive proposition for him. Know, I know that it is difficult for a
person to meet, Director Bogrod, but if you could set up a meeting," he
smiled, "I would surely put in a good word. . ."
The goblin's face twitched with emotions. He gulped, "I will see what I
can do. For now, let's go to one of our lounges."
Quinn smiled, "That'd be perfect."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
It took half an hour after Riphook left Quinn alone in a posh lounge for
him to get the meeting he wanted.
"Mr. West," walked in the old goblin with the wrinkliest skin he had seen
on a goblin. "We haven't met since the time we made the exchange. . ."
"Ah yes, the time I sold you a thousand-year-old set of ancient Gringotts-
minted coins. . . which I have to say was a bargain because those coins
are a worth lot more as a set," smiled Quinn. "Then I generously gifted
you another set of coins which you then leveraged to get your current
position. I heard it is a big deal." He got straight to business.
"Which I remember was in exchange for the information about the cursed
magic that you for some reason wanted to know more about, "Bogrod's
cane clicked against the marble floor as he sat down in front of him.
"Bloodpike, your account manager, told me that you have an attractive
proposition for me. Why don't we hear about it?"
"Good, let's get into it," Quinn put his hand into his suit and retrieved a
long rectangle box of one and a half feet in length. "Today, I have
brought you something of great importance to the goblin nation," he
snapped open the locks, opened the lock, and smiled when he saw
Bogrod lean forward, putting his weight on his cane. "I checked the age,
and you'll be delighted to know that this is a hundred years old than the
coins."
The way Bogrod sharply inhaled was like music to Quinn's ears. He
turned the box to face Bogrod and said, "I present to you. . . a goblin-
crafted knight's dagger."
Bogrod's eyes glittered with gold from the gold inlaid into the grip. Quinn
didn't have much practical experience with traditional blacksmithing, but
when he had handled the knife, it was one of the better and more
balanced knives he had held in his life. Bogrod picked up the dagger with
his bony fingers and pulled the blade out of its sheath.
"The fuller is sturdy, the edges so sharp and smooth, and the central ridge
flows right into the sold point," Bogrod's hand felt every part of the knife
and even got up to swing the blade a couple times. "This is a masterpiece
from the Ragnok Era. The craftsmanship with the metal is fabulous," he
flicked the edge, and it produced a voice like a tuning fork. Quinn could
feel magic in the sound magic. Bogrod sheathed the dagger, replaced it in
the box, and said, "The dagger is the property of goblin; you must return
it immediately."
"We both know that goblin and the human sense of ownership aren't the
same," said Quinn, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees.
To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object was the maker, not
the purchaser. All goblin-made objects were, in goblin eyes, rightfully
theirs. When bought, it was considered to be rented by the one who paid
the price. They had, however, great difficulty with the idea of goblin-
made objects passing from human to human. For the goblins kind, the
objects ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original
purchaser died. They consider the "habit" of keeping goblin-made objects,
passing them down to the family without further payment, little more
than theft. Bogrod saw the dagger as the property of goblin because of
the age of said dagger.
"I'm not going to just hand the dagger back to the goblin nation, and I'm
sure that you'll give me an exuberant amount of money in exchange for
the money in exchange for it," said Quinn, making Bogrod's vein twitch
and nostril flutter. "But if you remember, this is supposed to be an
attractive deal, so if you want to listen, I have a deal I think you'll like."
Quinn knew that Bogrod would feel as if a hundred ants were crawling
over him if he asked for money in exchange for the dagger because in
goblin-sensibility, the dagger wasn't his property, and even the possession
of it was theft against the goblin nation. Offering an alternate deal was
his way of making Bogrod not feel like he was interacting with a thief, or
at least with a dishonest human. That, along with Quinn's previous
generosity, was enough for Bogrod to listen without feeling massively
offended.
"Speak," said the goblin, his eyes on the dagger.
"I have reliable information that one of your vaults is being misused. One
of your esteemed clients has exposed the revered vaults of Gringotts to a
terrible magic — something so evil that it would horrify the Gringotts
goblins to their core," said Quinn, but his words confused Bogrod as
much as he was concerned.
"What magic and vault?"
"I can tell you all. In return, I want the object on which the magic was
cast intact. I will take it away from Gringotts, and no goblin shall ever
again have to see its sight or feel its presence."
"No, that is against the rules," Bogrod thumped his cane on the ground,
"Gringotts can't give a vault's contents to another person without the
owner's consent. If a cursed item in a vault violates Gringotts law, then
we will destroy it and exact fines and penalties for the violation." A
gleam in Bogrod's eyes said that Gringotts would extort the fines no
matter what.
Quinn knew all of that; he had read every Gringotts contract he could get
his hands on, and while he wasn't an expert at law, he had read enough
and explored enough tangents to know that Gringotts wasn't going to let
him barge into a vault and take thing willy-nilly even if it was in great
violation.
"I understand, and that's why I offer this dagger to Gringotts. . . or to you
Bogrod. . . to make an exception. Gringotts can pretend that they
expunged the dark object from their premise. . . just instead of destroying
it, you give it to me," Quinn slightly pushed the box towards Bogrod with
a smile. "I'm sure it will help some things up. . . but if you can't, we can
always call off the deal," he gently pushed the lid, and with a finger
twitch, the two locks snapped into their places. "So, what do you say,
Director Bogrod?"
Bogrod stared at the knife with hunger in his eyes that even the hardened
negotiator couldn't hide. The goblin-made knife was that much of a
temptation.
". . . What is the terrible magic you talk about?" asked Bogrod.
"Oh, you know, we talked about it before."
"We talked about it before? When did we—" Bogrod's eyes almost popped
out of their socket as he sought a wild confirmation in Quinn, who smiled
with a shrug. Bogrod spoke the next word as if he tasting every syllable
on his tongue,
"A Horcrux?"
.
Quinn West - MC - I grease some palms with metal.
Bogrod - Director - A possible opportunity of a lifetime, presents itself to
him; will he take it, or. . .
.
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386. Chapter 386: Fifth Capture
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"A Horcrux?" Bogrod's expression went through a journey from a journey
from shocking-surprise to stern anger and finally ended on a negotiating
poker face. "There's a Horcrux in a Gringotts vault? Mr. West, do you
understand—" His pupils shrunk as his eyes widened; the goblin snarled
and punched down his cane, sending a wave of magic out. "You knew!
You knew there was a Horcrux in our vaults! That's why you asked. You
were discerning Gringotts' attitude towards Horcrux! You cretin wizard!"
Quinn took no offense at the harsh words. He lightly shrugged with a
serene face and ran a hand through his hair ruffled by Bogrod's magic. "If
that's how you want to put it, I won't deny it. But do you think it matters
now? The fact remains that there may or may not be a soul container in a
vault somewhere down underground."
"May or may not?"
"It depends on how would you like to proceed," said Quinn. Decline him
cooperation, Gringotts could forget the Horcrux. "Gringotts can try to find
the Horcrux on their own by searching every single vault, or you can
barter my help and get the job done. . . which I'm bringing along with an
incentive none could decline," he pointed at the dagger box. "What do
you say? How about we ink this deal in, and by the end of the day, both
parties will be on their ways happy."
The goblin made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at
Quinn as though he had never seen anything like him.
"I need to think about it. Give me a week—"
"No," Quinn shut that line of thought down, "this needs to happen now.
You need to make your decision right here, and we need to end the entire
operation by the end of the day. I don't want this to get covered by red
tape full of pointless discussions about Gringotts law and the cooperation
between goblin and human— it will only serve to make things
complicated and slow. Director Bogrod," he emphasized the title, "make
the call— do you want to do it now or never."
Bogrod growled threateningly at Quinn, who sat still and unperturbed.
The way he had put it wasn't pretty, but it was the truth; if he let Bogrod
sleep on the matter, the chances of this succeeding would plummet faster
than a brick in the sky. He needed to green-light the deal before Bogrod
stepped out of the room.
"If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek
personal gain," said Bogrod finally, "you would be the last person I think
of, Quinn West. It is people like you who have kept the right to carry the
wand away from goblins and refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with
other magical beings; they deny us the possibility of extending our
powers!"
Quinn raised both his hand and showed his palm. "I don't use wands, so I
couldn't care less who gets to use a wand. And it's not like your kind is
any better— goblins won't share any of their magic either; you won't tell
us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Believe me, I have
tried to find something that could stand up, but goblins know how to
work metal in a way I could kill for." He had consoled himself by
reminding himself of the fact that he founded Aegis and created the
entire product by himself, which was now giving goblin-made wards a
competition.
Quinn shrugged.
Bogrod gave a nasty laugh. "It is against our code to speak of the secrets
of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty
to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our
fingers." The goblin stroked the cane, and his black eyes roved over
Quinn. "I will help you. I shall lead you to the vault, and you shall take
away the Horcrux; in return, I get the goblin-made dagger."
"Excellent, a quick and simple deal, just the way I like it," Quinn smiled,
but his smile drained from his face. "But beware goblin, try to cross me in
any way, and the aftermath will not be desirable. . ."
His eyes turned purple, and an eruption of magic saturated the air in the
room, and then it began overflowing, creating a suffocating atmosphere
in the room. Bogrod started to breathe heavily as he stared at Quinn. He
looked around the door as though expecting something.
"Don't expect the guards," said Quinn. "They will only come in if the
wards are triggered," he shook his head, making Bogrod's eye tremble.
The next second, the suffocating magic disappeared like it never existed,
leaving behind a refreshing gust of wind, cooling down the room.
"I simply wish for a day on betrayals, but if I'm faced with a situation
where I feel threatened, I shall try my hardest to damage Gringotts
reputation of being the safest place in the country," he delivered flattery
amongst the threat by sidelining Hogwarts from the competition. "Don't
be greedy, Bogrod. Take whatever is being offered and be satisfied."
Quinn uncrossed his legs before folding them the other way. He put on a
polite smile, "Please tell me when you're ready. I can start anytime."
. . .
Bogrod led Quinn to the front hall with all the tellers. As they walked
behind the long row of counters, the old goblins spoke, "I need to know
the vault in question, so I can ask for the key for it."
Quinn gave Bogrod a studying glance before casually saying, "Bellatrix
Lestrange." Bogrod's face twisted exactly the way Quinn was expecting.
Bogrod stopped in his steps with the cane skidding a mark on the white
marble; he looked at Quinn as though he was seeing a vampire allergic to
blood.
No words were exchanged, and Bogrod resumed walking, but he had
taken mere a couple of steps when he again came to a halt. Bogrod
whipped his head towards Quinn and sputtered in disbelief, "A-Are you
saying that it is. . . his?!" Even the goblins feared Voldemort not speaking
his name while being inside Gringotts.
"It might or might not be," said Quinn
Bogrod made a grunt before continuing onto an office behind the
counters. He knocked on the door with a door sign that said: Riphook,
Floor Manager. Before they entered, Quinn stopped Bogrod and
whispered, "Let's keep the conversation in English exclusively, shall we?"
Bogrod glared at Quinn before opening the door. Riphook hastily stood
up from his chair. "Sir, you didn't have to come down here; you could've
called sent for me; I would've come to you."
"Riphook, I'm going to ask you to do something for me; I hope you can
keep it a secret. Can you do that for me, Riphook?" asked Bogrod, getting
straight to the point.
"Of course, sir. You have my tongue," said Riphook, with a warrior's look.
"Good man," Bogrod said proudly. "I want the Clankers to the Bellatrix
Lestrange's vault—" Riphook furrowed his brow in confusion, but as he
looked between Bogrod and Quinn, a shock painted his face, but as he
was about to express his thoughts, Bogrod cut him off "— No questions
asked, Riphook. This matter is of utmost importance and concerns greatly
to Gringotts. . . the Clanker to Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."
Riphook looked conflicted, but under the orders of his superior, so far
above the chain, he couldn't refuse and retrieved a leather bag that
seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to Bogrod.
"Thank you, Riphook. You will have the Clankers within an hour," said
Bogrod.
"Do you know how to work the vaults?" asked Quinn after they left
Riphook's office.
"I started as the teller, Mr. West. I have made my career one ladder climb
at a time."
The keys clanking, they hurried toward one of the many doors leading off
the hall. Bogrod whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling
along the tracks toward them out of the darkness, which they climbed
into. With a jerk, the cart moved off, gathering speed, hen the cart began
twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping
downward all the time. Quinn could not hear anything over the rattling
of the cart on the tracks: His hair flew behind him as they swerved
between stalactites, flying ever deeper into the earth. He had never been
down in the underground tunnels— his vault only had galleons, and most
of the time, he paid and ordered money by check.
He leaned near Bogrod and yelled against the wind, but the goblin didn't
hear. He facepalmed and quoted the iconic line that Ron Weasley had
once said to Hermoine Granger to himself— and then used magic to send
his voice to Bogrod. "This is pretty exciting," he said. "Can we go faster?"
He got no response from Bogrod.
They were deeper than Quinn had ever been underground; they took a
hairpin bend at speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a
waterfall pounding over the track. Quinn snapped his fingers to keep the
water away, but unexpectedly, the water didn't obey and soaked him.
Then he heard Bogrod's voice in his ear, "The Thief's Downfall! It washes
away all enchantment, all magical concealment! We entered the section
that hosts Lestrange, Black, Malfoy, Nott, among many other pureblood
families' vaults — the waterfall is a requirement." His voice sounded as
though he was trying to convince Quinn that he couldn't break into the
vaults without his help
Quinn sighed and snapped his fingers again; this time, the water
disappeared. He was of two minds to pull off a heist involving not vaults
with human wealth but goblin wealth.
They turned a corner and saw the thing for which Quinn had been
prepared, but it still made all of it seem insignificant. A gigantic dragon
was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five
of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast's scales had turned pale and
flaky during its long incarceration under the ground; its eyes were milkily
pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous
pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close
to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it
turned its ugly head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the
rock tremble, opened its mouth, and spat a jet of fire that sent them
running back up the passageway.
Bogrod took out the leather bag. They advanced around the corner again,
shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly
magnified so that the inside of Quinn's skull seemed to vibrate with the
din. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Quinn could
see it trembling, and as they drew nearer, he saw the scars made by
vicious slashes across its face and guessed that it had been taught to fear
hot swords when it heard the sound of the Clankers.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became
colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling
over an underground ravine and came to a stop in front of a vault
without a keyhole.
"Stand back," said Bogrod. He stroked the door gently with one of his
long fingers, and it simply melted away to reveal a cavelike opening
crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver
armor, the skins of strange creatures — some with long spines, others
with drooping wings — potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing
a crown.
"Does anyone have access to the vaults?"
"I'm the Director of Vaults; I have access to all vaults. . . Now enter and
search fast!"
Quinn didn't step inside. He motioned for Bogrod to go in first. "I'm not
going there alone. . . in case you trap me in there alone to die. Go on,
Bogrod."
"You have no trust," Bogrod sneered.
"Of course not; our relationship is purely transactional," smiled Quinn.
Both of them stepped inside, and Quinn started searching for the
Hufflepuff's Cup. He sent out various light orbs into the air and lit up the
entire vault. He didn't have to search for long; Bellatrix had placed the
Cup at a height like a prized possession. He tapped his feet, and the
winds rose him up to the height of the shelf at which the Cup sat. Quinn
stared at the little golden Cup that sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the
cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the
possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom
Riddle.
He directed his magic towards the Cup and eradicated the Gemino and
Flagrante curses laid on it externally. After confirming that it was safe to
touch, he retrieved a glass box made from a unique material that could
withstand Basilisk venom for some time. Usually, the Basilisk venom
needs to be made inert to be stored or kept in preserved Basilisk venom
sack. He conjured a pair of tongs, picked up the Cup, and carefully placed
it inside the box before sealing it inside for later.
"That makes it five," he muttered to himself with a smile.
.
Quinn West - MC - I should get a skull. . .
Bogrod - Director of Vaults - I don't believe I'm doing this.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Going to college campus tomorrow.
.
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387. Chapter 387: Another Hunt?
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"Y-You can fly?"
Quinn secured the Horcrux into one of his pockets and turned to face the
shocked Bogrod who had just seen him float up to the Horcrux. Flight
wasn't something explored in the magical world, and despite the planet's
rich history, no supernatural species without the innate ability to fly had
managed to take flight. As far as he knew, Voldemort was the only one
who had managed to discover the magic of true, unaided flight. Even his
wind magic wasn't considered true flight.
He wondered how he should respond to Bogrod. Flight was something he
had ended up locking in for the Invisible Vigilante persona, and Quinn
West person wasn't supposed to have. But after a moment of thought, he
came to arrive at the thought that the Invisible Vigilante's flying
capabilities weren't ever made public. If DMLE was to share that
information with anyone, Gringotts and goblins would be way down the
list.
"Possibility of extending our powers. . . that's what you said to me before,
wasn't it," he spoke to the stunned goblin. "I wouldn't deny that magical
foci created by the human race have allowed us to gain a certain level of
dominance on the planet. . . but it is not an end of all solution. There's
magic coursing inside every one of us, and with all that power, it opens
the door to infinite possibility. It is only the question of who grabs the
opportunity and makes the most of it." He patted Bogrod's shoulder as he
walked out of the vault. "Your kind simply needs to find and aid the
goblins capable and willing to chase after the infinite possibility— that's
how you extend power, not by being bitter about another race's fruit of
labor."
Quinn couldn't deny that even though he didn't like how his life was
now, securing the fifth Horcrux and giving the rousing speech to Bogrod
had put him in a jolly mood. The only way this day could be better was if
Voldemort somehow surrendered his life.
Just as they came into the vaults, Quinn and Bogrod exited the deep
underground— quietly and without any problem. No one except three
souls knew what had happened.
"Give Riphook a promotion," said Quinn. He wasn't going to reveal what
had happened today, and neither was Bogrod, as long as he didn't want
to face the full wrath of his kind. "A promotion with increased authority
and a pay bump will be enough incentive for him not to speak of today's
another person. I think that'll be best for everyone, don't you think?"
Bogrod nodded, but his eyes were intently staring at Quinn. There was a
mix of anticipation and threat in the black eyes, which differed from
humans.
"You don't have to look at me like this," smiled Quinn. He took out the
box storing the ancient dagger and handed it to the eager goblin. "I won't
go back on our bargain. Today went as it was supposed to go— simple
and without a fuss— and I have no intention to complicate and muddle
it." But Bogrod was no longer listening; his entire being was taking in the
ancient glory of his ancestors. The sight made Quinn chuckle.
After ensuring everything was in place, and no one had noticed
something wrong, Quinn bade Bogrod farewell. He changed his back to
the John persona appearance in the lounge and stepped out of Gringotts
as a happy middle-aged man. However, by the time he had reached
Leaky Cauldron, all the joy was gone, replaced by suspicion and
vigilance.
He was being followed.
He was sure of it. In the short walk from the bank to the inn, he had a
prickling intuition that someone was watching him. To confirm he had a
tail, he stopped to get a bite to eat and stealthily scoured the area to find
there were at least three people who were keeping note of him. One of
them even came to dine at the outdoor restaurant he was eating at; surely
to keep a closer check.
'Who the hell are they?' he thought. He had sent out a Legilimency probe
out to the nearest person, but the man had a strong enough Occlumency
that there was a possibility of alerting him.
Quinn slowly ate his meal with his mind racing to figure out who these
people were. As he finished the last bite, he had decided to find out who
these people were, why they were following him, and everything else
they could give him.
'They're following me, so be it.' He exited the restaurant and took the
Leaky Cauldron exit to enter the non-magical London. He made sure to
travel slowly and made it easier for them to follow after him. A map of
London materialized in his mind. He knew the layout of major cities
because of the Labyrinth project— the placement of doors had taken up
an extensive amount of research— and a put of that research was to find
areas with the least amount of non-magical activity.
Incidentally, one such candidate location was near Leaky Cauldron.
Quinn led the tail to a park that didn't see many visitors because of the
bad state it was in. The only people that could be found there were hobos
and people wanting a place to get high or drunk. He walked deep into
the park, circled the area once before sitting on a bench with a book in
hand. . . and waited for the playing field to set itself.
Slowly he dissipated magic into the air around and spread it out. He
sucked in a sharp breath as he gained what felt like another sense— it
was a great experience, but not something he was used to. His magic in
the air sent back the rough location of the people around him. . .
'Twenty—' the number shocked him '— twenty people! What are they
overcompensating for?' But it didn't matter; he could take all of them—
and the more there were, the more information he could get out. 'Time to
get the party started. . . I have been feeling irritated; this will hit just the
spot.'
He snapped his fingers, and the mini ward stone tied to a spatial locking
ward that he carried around because of his work with the Snatchers came
to life. He stood up, and he could feel the disturbance in the air as the
twenty people felt the ward around them.
"People hiding around me, let's not be rude; why not you all show
yourself, and we can talk like civilized people," said Quinn. 'John's' lanky
frame straightened up like a ramrod with his hands behind his back. "We
are all alone; no one will come here because of the wards— I'm sure this
is what all of us want, correct? Come out— now."
Quinn roamed his eyes at the scene with ancient trees dotting the park
with dry foliage covering the ground and paved paths in their fall colors.
If not for the garbage that was thrown without care, it was almost
picturesque. After a moment, he heard the rustle of leaves as people
dressed in tan-brown attires stepped from behind trees while others
dropped their invisibility spells. Soon, he had a dozen men and women
surrounding him, with eight still hidden, but Quinn didn't call them out
and let them think that he didn't know.
"What can I do for you all finely dressed people?" asked Quinn with
confidence, but his eyes darted around with unhidden distrust. He had to
put up a vigilant act to give them confidence.
"Quinn."
Hearing his name made Quinn purse his lips into a thin white line. He
looked down at the ground near his shoes for a moment in silence before
he released his magic, and the 'John' disguise melted away, leaving
Quinn in his original appearance.
He turned back toward the person who called his name. "Are you from
Gringotts? I told Bogrod I didn't want this to be messy—" He didn't need
to continue for him to get the answer as it was staring him in the eye.
". . . Aksel Thorne," he said with unhidden surprise. Aksel Thorne, the co-
founder of Limax Group, a "Private Security" firm sponsored by Quinn's
father, Adam West, and later by George West after Adam's death. The
man in front of him had been with Quinn in Denmark and Italy, both
times acting as his guide and bodyguard. "If you're here, then that must
mean he sent you. . ."
"Your grandfather wants you home, Quinn," said Aksel, the large,
athletic, and militant man. "He and everyone in your family has been
worried sick about whereabouts. You need to return home so that
everyone rest can easy."
"And he sent you to get me home," Quinn looked around, "and you
brought along all of this. . ."
"Please come with us; we don't want this to get ugly. We are in a no-maj
area, and if this gets out of hand, we will get in trouble with the
authorities. I'm sure, like us, you don't want to break the secrecy laws,"
said Aksel, keeping his voice and body language as non-threatening as he
could.
"Yeah, kid, give this tomfoolery up and come back with us," came a voice
from behind. Quinn turned and again faced some he recognized.
"Mr. Neil. . . you're here as well," said Quinn. The man who looked like a
delinquent was another Limax co-founder. He had only met Neil once in
Denmark. Quinn decided to pay attention to the faces of the people and
was surprised that the third founder was present as well. "Even Mr. Lucas
came . . all three of you're here." Lucas, the taciturn of the three, waved
his hand.
"Your grandfather made all three of us personally come here for you,"
said Neil, as if the entire interaction was a big bother. "The last time we
got three got together for a mission was. . . I can't even remember when
that was, that's how long it has been. That's why let's end this so we can
get back to our lives. I left vacation to come here, kid. Don't make this
more of a hassle than it already has been."
Quinn didn't reply to Neil; instead, he turned to Aksel and asked, "You
brought both of them together without you—" he noticed something in
Aksel's expression "— you didn't bring them. . . you were made to bring
them. . . . What did grandfather told you, Mr. Aksel?"
"That you have run away from home for some reason and need to return
home," said Aksel concisely.
"How did you even find me?"
"You might be nifty with magic, Quinn. But we have been doing this as a
job for decades. It took a little effort, but it wasn't that difficult."
"Did he tell you why I ran away?"
"We asked, but he refused to divulge."
Quinn's eyes shined. This meant they didn't know his alternate identity.
His grandfather had kept Limax in the dark and held back a lot of
information that could've helped them. A smile broke out on Quinn's face
— by keeping it hidden, his grandfather had given him an advantage.
He turned his smile into a chuckle and pointed at all the people
surrounding him. "All three founders along with so many people just to
catch me? Don't you think this is going overboard? I have just finished
schooling."
It was Neil who answered, "Your grandfather thinks you're dangerous
because you took out a dozen Death Eaters. I saw the files on them—
they were amateurs; I could've done that."
'This is good,' thought Quinn. 'This doesn't need to get messy.'
Quinn loosened his arms and shook his hand a little. He breathed in and
out before saying,
"Sorry, but if anything, I'm not easy."
.
Quinn West - MC - No! I'm the only one who hunts! The other way
around doesn't work!
Aksel Thorn - Limax - Let's go home, okay?
Neil - Limax - Come on, man! I'm missing ladies on the beach!
Lucas - Limax - *Wave.*
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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388. Chapter 388: Let's Dance
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Quinn prepared his magic as he thought about the situation he was in.
Aksel Thorn's talk about the risk of breaking the secrecy laws was real.
Even though the park wasn't a popular population spot, it was still in
London, the most populated city in the country. Any commotion that
leaked out would reach the massive non-magical population, further
alerting the authorities. That snowball would roll down the slope to reach
the ears of DMLE for a team of Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Obliviators to
arrive at the scene to contain the mess. Which Quinn was sure neither he
nor Limax wanted to happen— it was an element that'd get both of them
in trouble they wouldn't even want to touch with a long stick.
The fight hadn't even started, but Quinn was already regretting his
choice. This wasn't his previous brawls as the Invisible Vigilante, where
he could create as much commotion as he wanted— he had to be careful
to not attract attention. . . which meant that he had a paper ceiling above
his head that was very easy to tear. It was better for him to be in a
spacious place, away from curious eyes, where he could let his magic
work freely. The current location was tilted in favor of the Limax group.
'It's okay; not all is bad,' Quinn thought, 'I have the element of surprise. . .
and I'm a West.'
Without warning, Quinn broke into a sprint and ran towards the tree
nearest to him, ducking just in time to have half a dozen spells miss him.
He hid behind a tree and again regretted one of his decision to set up a
spatial-locking ward; it would've been better to escape rather than fight
them head-on. By the time that thought ended, half of the tree trunk had
been turned into splinters about to break apart.
'Time to move.' He triggered body magic and rushed out, threw a zig-zag
in his path, and ran towards the nearest person with a shield that took
the brunt of three stunners and multiple anti-shield spells, which
surprised Quinn— Limax was looking to really take him out quickly. His
shield held up, and he continued to charge the nearest man. Quinn shot a
disarming spell at the man— but surprisingly, the man countered it and
shot a point-blank stunner in Quinn's face.
Red exploded in front of Quinn's eyes. The Limax member in front of
Quinn smiled with victory, but the next second, the red spell shrunk
down into a point between Quinn's hand. Quinn raised his foot, front
kicked the man a few steps back, and then returned the stunner back into
the man's face, knocking him out cold. Before the man could even fall,
Quinn used Empyrean ropes to pull him up and then used the body as a
meat shield that took five stunners in the chest.
"Friendly fire?!" Quinn yelled as a taunt from behind the man's body. "I
thought a mercenary group would be better than this."
Limax members' eyes followed as Quinn dropped the man to the ground,
and when they looked up, Quinn was gone.
"He's still here; find him!" yelled Aksel to the team. Four members cast
magic, and the entire area was flushed with a wave of blue. Aksel kept
his eye peeled as he swept the area to find a momentary blur running
towards a tree. "He's running East! Niel, the tree to your left!"
Neil turned to the tree with a savage smile. His wand vibrated with
screaming magic that was unleashed towards the general area with a
Latin incantation.
"Niel, don't— !" Aksel's attempt to stop was drowned by the loud crack of
the tree being uprooted and then split in the middle, followed by being
blasted into a grenade of splinters. "Neil! What the hell are you doing?!
We need him in one piece!" He hastily turned to Lucas, "The sound?"
Lucas nodded, and Aksel sighed in relief.
"He'll be fine; the kid is good with magic," Neil waved it off. The dust
settled with the falling leaves and what left was the remnants of the once
brutally murdered tree. . . but no sign of Quinn. "Is his Disilluisionment
somehow still on?" said Neil as he cast a spell to check. His expression
changed faster than a Snitch on its wings; he yelled out, "He's not here! I
didn't get him!"
All Limax members armed themselves with spells on the tip of their
tongues. A silence passed through the fall leaves beneath them as twenty
veteran mercenaries scoured their surroundings. A crunching of leaves
sounded out, and everyone turned to watch as a Limax member fell to
the ground. Immediately, all tensed their nerves. . . they were two out.
"I want a reveal," commanded Aksel. On his order, bursts of the counter-
illusion spell were sent out; however, unlike the last time, there was not
even a blip of distorting movement on the ground.
"AaaaAhH!"
Everyone turned to see one of the Limax member's legs disappear into the
red-yellow canopy of the tree. Aksel held his hand up in a fist to stop
everyone from bombarding the tree. Lucas swung his wand, and every
single leaf on the target tree fell. . . and along with it came tumbling the
unconscious body. Everyone stared at the fall except Aksel, Neil, and
Lucas, who flushed the tree with a gust of freezing winds that froze
icicles on the naked tree top. There was no one there.
"Be attentive—"
A muffled groan was followed by a thump in the dry leaves. Eyes
widened as they pointed their wands to their fallen comrade, who had
been standing right in the middle of the formation. There wasn't need for
an order for the surrounding people to riddle the area with a torrent of
spells. . . alas, the magic just passed through.
"Where is the brat?" asked Neil heatedly. Unexpectedly, the answer
arrived immediately.
"I'm here, don't worry. . . " The Limax team got startled as Quinn's voice
sounded from seemingly everywhere. They looked around to no avail.
The voice continued, "Let's end this, Mr. Aksel. I can't return home, and
I'm sure all of you have more important things to do—" Aksel gave a
glance to Lucas, who nodded and stealthily began casting magic "— let's
make a small commotion here; a contained explosion will do, and then
all of us leave— you can go back to grandfather and tell him that you
found me, but because of the explosion, you lost sight of me and had to
leave before non-magical eyes got here. . . after that spend a couple of
days looking for until you declare that I can't be found. . . put some
rookies on the busywork of trying to find me while the experienced squad
can leave for more important work. How about that? Seems like a sound
plan."
Lucas nodded to Aksel and got a nod back. "We can't do that, Quinn. It
would undermine us in the eyes of your grandfather. We have a
reputation to uphold. I have many people working under me who have
mouths to feed; I can't have the firm's image be tarnished. So, please
come out."
Aksel gave the signal. A spell escaped Lucas' wand and hit its target. The
vacant spot suddenly had a wide-eyed Quinn facing multiple wands; he
immediately raised his hands in surrender.
"Let's not make this more difficult than it has already been, Quinn," said
Aksel, taking out a pair of thick cuffs from his vest. "I would rather have
put these on instead of taking half a dozen stunners in the chest. Please
believe me, taking any more than five takes a month and a half of
complete bed rest and some nasty medicines to recover from."
Quinn wrinkled his nose, his raised hands clenched into fists as he
struggled with the decision. He locked eyes with Aksel and softly shook
his head. A split-second later, there was a spell in Quinn's hand, but
before he could cast it, he was hit by multiple stunners.
Aksel sighed at Quinn's prone body on the ground. "Wands at ready." He
stepped towards and crouched near Quinn's body, but when he raised his
hand to touch Quinn, it passed through it as if Quinn was a ghost. Aksel's
eyes widened as he stood up and turned to freeze.
At the very back of the group, Quinn was gazing at him. He stood behind
one of the Limax members with one of his hands just beneath her nose,
holding a vial of yellow potion that entered her body through the nose in
the form of fumes, while his other hand was on her temple casting some
magic.
Quinn let her go, stepped back, and vanished into thin air as if melding
into the surroundings, all the while still staring at Aksel.
"Lira?" Aksel called to his subordinate, who had her head bowed. The
woman named Lira raised her to reveal glazed-over, hazy eyes. She raised
her wand up as the rest of the Limax team turned towards her. Aksel took
in the scene for a moment before he yelled, "On guard—"
Lira, with all her power and skill as a veteran mercenary, cast magic on
her teammates, who weren't expecting to be shot at by one of their own.
In the mere ten seconds that she had before she was spelled down, Lira
took out four of her teammates.
"Fuck!" spat Neil, whose spell knocked Lira out. "That's it, kid! Come out,
and I'll only break a few of your bones!"
As if responding to his words, four red spells manifested in the air— right
in the center of where the Limax members were standing. The four spell-
lights zapped away and struck four people in their chest, sending them
flying a couple feet. The initial spells hadn't even hit their target when
four more appeared and launched themselves at yet another four Limax
members.
Aksel, Neil, and Lucas, who hadn't been targeted, all immediately let out
some severe spell-power to the origin of magic. A bright shield was
immediately erected in response to their spell, but the Limax-founder's
magic tore, ate, and shattered the shield to strike the caster.
Quinn immediately became visible, slapping his sleeve, which was on
fire. "Shit, shit, shit, I liked this suit," he said in a tone not suitable to the
situation. He looked up at them and spoke, "Well, it's only four of us up
now. Me and the original gang— reminds me of the afternoon in
Denmark when we first met."
"What did you to her?" asked Aksel with a tone void of any previous
softness.
"Organized chaos," said Quinn, smiling proudly. "Potion of madness
combined with some suggestions planted in the front of her mind. I
pointed to a direction, and her honed instincts did the rest. . . don't
worry, neither Ms. Lira nor I used any lethal spells; everyone will be up
and running within a week of rest." He again raised his hands, "You don't
have to look at me like that. You're here to arrest me against my will; I
had to retaliate. . . Listen, I'm sorry that you had to be involved in this
family dispute, and if it's any consolation, I think you're on the right side
— it's just not the time for the wrong side to be defeated." Quinn pointed
at the knocked-out bodies and continued, "Isn't this enough? This would
be enough for grandfather to get off your back. Believe me, if you tell this
exactly as it was— he'd thank you and tell you to rest."
Aksel shook his head and continued to do so for a moment. "We are
taking you home today; there's no other way to it." Lucas stared a Quinn
with a face that could be confused with a statue, while Neil looked like
he wanted to kill and drink Quinn's blood.
Quinn rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck,
"Let's dance then."
.
Quinn West - MC - I like to tango.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - NBA Final Game-5. 27-16 for GSW. End of
Q1. I bet for GSW.
.
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389. Chapter 389: COLD
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"You don't want to fight me, Mr. Aksel," said Quinn, in one final attempt
to diffuse the situation. "Three of you can still call this off; take your
injured companions for some much-needed treatment, and I'll make sure
you cannot find me again." He kept an eye on three mercenaries who
slowly walked around, forming a boundary that seemed to be some sort
of formation.
The three had apparently decided on an answer as a flashing spell zapped
from Lucas' wand. The magic made the invisible shield around Quinn
light up in an electric blue. The shield's blue tinted Quinn's vision the
same.
'Hmm?' Quinn furrowed as he sensed something, but before he could
even pinpoint the cause, a spell corroded his shield, causing Quinn's
breathing to flare as he felt a sledgehammer like force slam into him. As
he flew back through the air, his thoughts fell into place. His eyes
glanced at Aksel— the man had shot a blue-colored spell using the
shield's tint as a camouflage.
Quinn was still surprised when he hit the ground, but the rib-rattling
impact that flared the pain snapped him out of it. His magic flowed into
the ground beneath him, and the earth rose up to form a dome that was
again immediately blasted into smithereens from the force of the spells.
Quinn squeezed his eyes closed and hissed as some dirt from the
explosion entered his eyes.
'I need to stop using earth as a cover,' he exclaimed while cleaning his
eyes using magic. Just like before, he sensed some magic and hastily
pulled up two layers of protective shield that came in use immediately as
spells torpedoed into it, trying to drill through to reach him. The spells
were one of the most powerful he had ever faced. . . but even the
combined force was weaker than one of Voldemort's Fiendfyre whisps.
He got into a one-knee kneel and steadied himself. He recognized that
the current situation was more dangerous than the time he was pursued
by the three Aurors. The veteran mercenaries in front of him were much
more trained and experienced in the art of combative magic.
'They have years of experience over me.' He acknowledged the fact, but it
didn't mean that he had nothing. 'I have magic on my side.' Listening to
his command, Quinn's magic rushed forward to do his bidding. Quinn's
shield disappeared, leaving an open passage for the Limax's spells— but
they could even inch forward, a wave of power rippled out, ripping the
magic apart. There was so much energy in the spherical wave that Limax
three pulled up shields to not be blown away.
By the time the magic had passed, and the leaves had settled, Quinn was
not to be found in his spot. "On guard," said Aksel, his eyes darting across
the place. "He's still here. . . I can feel it."
"Is that the so-called seasoned veteran's intuition?" Quinn's voice echoed in
their ears as it had done a few minutes prior. "If it is, spot-on; I'm still here.
Though the real question is—"
"—where am—. . . ."
Neil's wand twitched, and he abruptly-yet-preparedly turned to his right
to stab Quinn with a conjured silver dagger that passed through his body
as if he wasn't there and subsequently turned into mist.
"Oh, that was quick. . . your sense of magic fluctuations is good, Mr. Neil. You
turned before I could surprise you with the whisper" Quinn's voice again
echoed. "Let me share a fun fact about me. . ."
A sudden wind cutter whistled towards Lucas, who flicked his wand to
counter it. The sharpness of the wind was taken away, but he couldn't
stop a large gust of wind blowing in his face, pushing back his hair and
cheeks.
". . . I'm not experienced in face-to-face fighting. . ."
A huge metal ore conjured over Neil's head that he immediately
suspended in the air, but before he could cancel the conjuration, the ore
turned molten, and Neil had to spring up a shield for protection. The
molten ore dripped and sizzled down the shield until it suddenly cooled
down into solid within a second. Neil canceled his shield only to be left
surrounded by a strange metal ring.
". . .it's not my forte. As bad as it sounds. . ."
Two earthen hands sprung out of the ground and grabbed onto Aksel's
feet, who in retaliation turned five feet of the land around into a crater,
flattening the appendages into dust.
". . .attacking from the shadows is more in my forte."
The Limax three founders took in sharp breaths as they felt an obscene
amount of magic flooding the vicinity. It was as if someone had opened
the flood gates. Their instincts screamed at them to be vigilant; they
immediately stabbed their wands into the earth to meld the earth into
domes around their companions before taking an active stance. There
was a gust of wind here and a crunch of leaves there. . . but what
bothered them was the unnatural silence that accompanied the
overwhelming magic that prickled their skin; it was as if something was
dampening the travel of sound through the air.
Then it started.
From all around the area, spells started to barrage over the Limax three.
Magic with a real kick came from everywhere; even the sky wasn't spared
as magic rained down upon them. The Limax three immediately got to
work conjuring shields, countering the magic, and lending a hand to
others, working like a well-oiled machine. If it was a movie, they'd be
making comments like— 'It has been a while,' 'You're getting rusty,' 'Do
you remember Baghdad'. . . but it wasn't a movie, and no unnecessary
words were exchanged between the three as they defended against the
magic.
"Aksel," spoke Lucas, "north, two."
Aksel didn't even think to confirm and turned to shoot a packed
Bombarda towards the exact direction Lucas pointed to. The spell grew in
size and burst near a tree, exploding and taking a bite out of the trunk. A
figure darted out from within the smoke and dust, and Aksel shot two
quick spells towards it, while Lucas didn't even look in that direction and
aimed one explosive spell in the opposite direction.
"Spotted, eleven!" Lucas informed as his magic made contact with an
invisible figure.
Quinn, the said invisible figure, dismissed his shield and shot three quick
bone bruising spells towards the Limax three. He followed with an
illusion that looked like a smoke bomb while himself slipping up into the
sky. Quinn raced to think of his next attack when he noticed the state of
the area. . . there was too much destruction, and he could even see white
smoke that had started to rise up. . . even with all parties holding back, it
was only a matter of time when people would notice. He looked down
and bit down on his lower lip in thought.
He watched as Lucas pointed toward him in the sky for Neil and Aksel to
shoot at him. 'Was it worth the risk?' He wondered as he dodged and
started to move around to not let them pinpoint his location. 'I wouldn't
know if I don't try,' he decided and dropped down in the middle of the
three.
"Are you giving up?" asked Aksel rhetorically as he shot a spell towards
Quinn.
Quinn didn't reply. He swept his hand, and magic spread out. A ring of
neon-red flames started to burn on the ground around Quinn. The Limax
stepped back, not letting the flames touch them— leaving only Quinn
inside the circle.
The flames were made from Empyrean. The most versatile magic in
Quinn's magic arsenal.
"1927, Lestrange Mausoleum," announced Quinn, confusing the others,
"Gellert Grindelwald used Protego Diabolica to test the loyalty of his
followers and kill a number of his enemies, most of whom were Aurors
trying to arrest him. He asked them to step through the circle— those
who were loyal all passed through without harm, and those who weren't,
perished— it was all very much poetic, step into the circle to prove if you
were part of the Dark Lord's circle. . . but I digress. I can't case Protego
Diabolica here for it would attract too much attention and destroy the
park. . . and I myself don't have the confidence to contain the spell, I
have only practiced it once, almost crisped myself to death. . ."
The red flames burned brighter; they grew as if someone had injected
extra fuel into them. The flames tilted outwards as though the wisps
trying to like the Limax three, who were worriedly glancing at their
companions. But if they looked closer, they would've noticed how the
red-fire wasn't burning anything.
". . . But that doesn't mean I can't take inspiration," continued Quinn. "I
cast this magic as a tribute to him. . . to his magical prowess, to his
shrewdness, his charm, and everything that made him great. . . terrible,
but great."
Empyrean was a magic of magical constructs that could take any
property as long as the caster had the power and knowledge to make it
happen. Until now, Quinn had used it as weapon and platforms. . . but
today, he was going to try out the real potential. He breathed in cold air
into his lungs, and the red flames rose up to seven feet.
Aksel readied his wand to cast magic and was shuffling through the spells
in his repertoire when he felt. . . cold. He looked down at the base of his
feet and saw a layer of ice wafer spreading out towards him. He looked
to Lucas and Neil and saw them stepping back, noticing the ice on the
ground. The air chilled, and the Limax three felt the cold penetrate their
clothes.
Aksel's eyes widened when a wisp of flame sprung towards him. He
swiped his wand to extinguish the fire. . . it didn't work; the fire, which
was supposed to fizzle into sparks, continued forward and engulfed
Aksel's arms. He watched in panic, expecting to feel the heat, but found
his arm going numb and his face being bombarded with a cold gust. His
pupils shrunk when he realized what was going and without hesitation,
he cut off his jacket sleeve and cut off his glove. He jumped back away
from the flames, all the while trying to bend his arm only to fail to even
feel anything below his shoulder.
"Get rid of the affected clothes, quickly!" he yelled. Neil and Lucas
followed the advice and got rid of anything that had the flames, which
emitted a chilling cold instead of heat. "Don't treat it like normal fire— it
is some sort of cursed fire. It's cold—"
The cold flames grew like a wildfire, and within moments, the entire area
was burning with the fire. All Aksel could see was red. He breathed out
cold mist with his eyes trembling at the enormous amounts of magic that
had come to occupy the space. It dominated all his senses. In his decades
of experience in all sorts of places on the planet, he had never felt so
much magic commanded by a single person. Then he had a glimpse as
the fire parted for a moment, and he came face-to-face with purple eyes
glowing. . . and unlike the red flames, the eyes burned hot.
And that was the last memory. . . purple eyes and the overwhelming
feeling of cold with everything in his vision turning black. He went down
not being able to even think properly. . . and hearing the faint voice,
"It's okay. . . everything's going to be okay."
.
Quinn West - MC - This won't kill you, but it ain't gonna tickle either.
Aksel Thorne - Limax - Too much magic!
Lucas - Limax - Master tracker.
Neil - Limax - C-Cold. . .
.
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390. Chapter 390: Another Assault
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In the embrace of nature in the country, a solitary flattened dirt road led
to the iron-wrought gates of the West Manor.
The peace and quiet on the road were abruptly broken by twenty large
black boxes suddenly appearing in the air and dropping to the ground
with dull thumps. Twenty boxes in a grid of five by four. There was a
pop, and Quinn appeared in between the boxes and the gates. He had
changed out of his charred, torn, and dusty suit into a simple and
comfortable white shirt and black pants.
The second he arrived, his eyes were glued to the house standing in the
distance. He looked at his childhood and only home through the iron
gates, wondering how easy it would be to open them and simply walk
inside to reunite his family— facing the collective anger of Ms. Rosey,
Lia, and his grandfather didn't seem so bad at the moment. . . and he
couldn't even imagine an angry Elliot— but he knew it would be more
horrible than he could imagine.
Unfortunately, fighting temptation when it was at the door was never his
strong point. He quickly turned away from the West Manor, but then he
came to gaze upon the fall forest trees; they brought along the thoughts
of the trees in the London park— they weren't pretty. He had said that he
wasn't proficient in Protego Diabolica, but he wasn't much better using
his ACE flames— .Emperyean flames. As the name suggested, the magic
was a mix of Emperyean and ice magic that tried to mimic Absolute Zero
as much as Quinn could make it. Mimicking Absolute Zero, which was a
legendary alchemic material, took a tremendous amounts of magic; it
didn't help that Quinn hadn't only discovered the tip of the iceberg of
Absolute Zero— the difficulty of magic was off the charts for the current
Quinn. . . and trying to control the flames around Aksel, Neil, and Lucas
made him lose control over some wisps that ended up expanding into a
wall of fire that ended up freezing an entire section of the park. It made
Quinn wonder if he had unconsciously ended up taking Fienfyre as the
inspiration for the flame-like properties.
There was no a frozen park could be sold to the non-magical populace
any other way than a supernatural occurrence. . . or a government
conspiracy, both he couldn't afford— so he set up a fire that engulfed
everything that had been damaged and left no evidence behind of what
had happened.
He sighed. The firefighters were going to have a hard time explaining the
reason behind the problem.
Quinn knelt beside a box and tapped it. The box hissed as the lid rose up
to reveal Aksel Thorne's body submerged in a liquid that glowed with
only the front of his face out of the water infused in his magic, mimicking
the healing in the Aquatic water. The boxes were designed to keep the
bodies in stable condition and provide some first-aid before they got to
proper care.
"Sorry about this," said Quinn, glancing at the Aksel's neck with a
wrinkled nose. The injury was a dull grey from the cold; it was black
when he had put Aksel into the box. "Don't worry; it is not cursed, so
after they cut it out, it's not going to grow nice and strong."
Quinn kept the lid open on Aksel to make sure people knew what was
inside the boxes, stood up, and again turned to the West Manor. A ball of
yellow light wobbled over his palm. He squinted at the air around the
West Manor and threw the yellow ball over the bricked boundaries. The
ball of magic didn't make it over; instead, it hit the invisible ward over
the house and turned it into a shade of yellow. Every single ray of light
that was going to pass through the ward was going to be colored yellow
like a yellow light bulb. He raised his hand and then shot up a red flare
that was going to look as much red as it was. The ward around the West
Manor was an advanced version of Aegis half a decade ahead of the
current version on the market; he could manipulate it to a certain degree
from the outside.
He took a glance at the box before taking himself up to the air. The
lenses in his eyes transfigured to far-seeing, and he could see the front
door open up with George walking out with the rest of the family in tow.
He gazed at them until he was sure they had spotted the boxes and then
some before flying away slowly.
'Ah. . . this sucks,' he thought as he flew. The day had gone from a
hundred to a negative hundred. He had started this day thinking it would
be different than carefully and meticulously choosing spots to summon
Snatchers and Death Eaters by triggering the Taboo, which was getting
difficult by the day because he if didn't choose the correct location, the
Snatchers had stopped heeding the Taboo summons. The smooth
acquisition of the Hufflepuff's Cup was something he wasn't expecting to
happen as plan-A never worked, and he didn't like his plan-B and he was
sure Gringotts wouldn't like it either.
However, the day couldn't exit while still ahead. He had to fight with
people who he liked enough and had injured enough to feel regret, and it
didn't get any better than they were trying to hold back so as not to
injure him. He had to burn down a park, causing problems for so many
strangers. Then he had to deliver the entire Limax team in coffin-like
boxes to his family, who he preferred seeing because it made things that
much worse. He hadn't met with his friends in a while and instead was
spending time with total strangers making meaningless talk just to not
feel completely lonely. On top of that, he was going through a rocky
relationship with his girlfriends, and he couldn't even talk to them
properly face-to-face to clear the air.
'Everything sucks,' he thought and then wondered if it was the Horcrux
affecting his mood, making him say out loud, "Everything sucks. . . it
sucks so much."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
The robes, black as death, fluttered near the ground but never touched it
as Voldemort walked on a village road with tall trees covering the sides.
The deathly pale bald-headed Dark Lord, who seemed to be floating
instead of walking, didn't suit the picturesque scene. However, there was
no one around to object, and Voldemort couldn't care less.
Today was the first time after the Ministry fiasco he had stepped outside.
The fresh air on his face felt good enough that it infuriated him
immensely just thinking about that day. Voldemort's hand crept up to his
face, and he touched just below his now healed eye with his bony fingers.
Just a few days back, he didn't have anything in his eye socket with its
previous resident needing to be evicted to curb the spread of the curse
that plagued his stabbed eye.
He remembered the day as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. He
was dueling Dumbledore in the Ministry Atrium, enjoying the thrill of
magic while battling the frustrating urge to keep his magic at bay so as
not to cause any commotion that would arouse suspicion in the Muggles
above and risk breaking the Secrecy Laws. Unlike Grindelwald, he didn't
consider it time for the Wizarding world to reveal itself to the rest of the
world. . . the day would come when the superior kind would rule with
him at the throne. . . but that day was not now. As he kept his magic in
check, Dumbledore did the same, trying to compete against him.
Dumbledore. . . Voldemort sneered at the thought of the old hindrance.
The second coming of Merlin, the sheeple liked to call Dumbledore—
what fools they were. The entire country was filled with foolish people
whose brains would sell for top gold as they were brand new from not
using them to think at all. But he knew. . . he was superior, and soon the
entire Wizarding would know. The only reason Dumbledore could
compete was because of the wand in his hand.
The wand. The Elder wand. Voldemort hated to think that the greatest
wand made in the history of magic was in Dumbledore's hands, but at the
same time, he would love the feel of power that the wand would provide
him. The greatest wand for the greatest wizard seemed fitting, and the
Elder wand demanded someone like him instead of an old coot like
Dumbledore.
'I would have that wand with me,' thought Voldemort as he arrived at the
end of the tree-lined street.
He turned the corner and entered the small township of Rosensten,
hosting two dozen families who lived their peaceful lives in their lovely
town. Then there was the magical part of the town that sat within the
same ground, just hidden underneath the veil that kept it hidden from
the Muggle part. And today, he had come to visit that part of the town.
Voldemort walked through the town under the eyes of Muggles,
unhidden with his presence. The eyes fell on him, then followed him. . .
and then they dropped to the ground like lifeless dolls who had their
strings cut. He didn't give the Muggles a single glance; they were not
worth it— what they were worth were getting diseases in their family
history pop up in them sometime in their lifetime. The planet was
teeming with Muggles as if they were cockroaches; some of them dying
from injuries wasn't going to change anything. Anyone that crossed paths
with Voldemort watched him for a few seconds before dropping down to
wherever they stood.
The trail of unconscious bodies continued until Voldemort arrived in
front of the house of Randolf Westen, the Head of Floo Network
Authority. He gazed at the home kept properly maintained for a moment
before flicking his finger. A silverish sheen of magic shimmered in the
air, outlining an invisible dome covering the property.
"Aegis. . . it has improved," he noted. The last time he had faced Aegis
was at Amelia Bones' home when he had given her a 'friendly' visit and
had ripped apart the Aegis ward over that house. But now, as he looked
at the ward, which felt strikingly familiar to the one over the Bones'
home, yet it was different, and as he observed, he could see clear
improvements— and he was happy about it. A human warding scheme
that had stood against goblin warding and now had improved in such a
short time meant that wizards were superior to goblins, who should know
their place.
But that was it.
Voldemort brandished his wand as if handling a conductor's baton and
stepped to the front gate of the Westen property. He flicked it with a
twitch of his digits, and the magic sang to the command. The ward over
around the door turned a ghastly green, shifting into a cold blue, and
finally settling into an acidic yellow that slowly crumbled away.
Voldemort put his wand back and sauntered into the Westen property.
Like any normal person, who was visiting someone, Voldemort knocked
on the door and then waited. The door opened for a lady to show her
beautiful face that twisted with horror as she recognized who he was.
"Good day, Lady Westen. . . I wonder if your husband is at home."
.
Quinn West - MC - I hate my life.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I reworked this. The last version was let's
just say. . . bad.
.
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391. Chapter 391: A Successful
Assault
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When the clock stuck fifteen past five, the floo of the Westen house
fluttered in green, and Randolph Westen arrived home. He frowned at
the sight of the lights in the floo-room turned off.
He called, "Charlotte! I'm home, dear." Randolph hung his coat at the
coat-hang and walked to the living room while loosening his tie, turning
on the lights on his way. He called for his wide again but didn't get any
reply.
"Is she not home?" he muttered as he entered the living room to be again
greeted with darkness. He walked to the light switch of the MLEs and
flipped them to light up the room, but when he turned back, his heart all
but stopped.
"Randolph Westen, welcome home. I've been waiting for you."
Randolph's eyes trembled as his body turned to stell. There sat Voldemort
in front of him in his favorite chair, staring up at him, looking like a
simple house guest.
"D-Dear. . ." His eyes turned to the side and saw his wife sitting like a
trembling cat in the rain, looking as if she was scared out of her mind.
Her face was a mess with mascara that had dripped down her face with
red puffed-up eyes. She turned her head, pointing to the side with tears
trickling down her eyes.
Randolph followed, and sitting in another chair was his daughter with
her eyes closed with her head leaning to the side, resting on the curved
edge of the chair. His throat closed up, and his stomach churned violently
as his mind flew in directions that brought upon thoughts that almost
made him pass out.
"A-Annie, Annie!" he yelled.
"Nothing has happened to your daughter, Randolph," spoke Voldemort,
making the father turn to him, "she's simply unconscious." Voldemort
snapped his finger, and the little girl stirred as if waking from a nap. She
sat up straight and rubbed her eyes before looking upon Randolph; a
bright smile surfaced on her face, showing her front tooth missing that
had fallen off a few days back.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed in glee and was about to get off the chair when
her eyes turned back, and she slumped in her chair.
"Annie!"
"Take a seat," said Voldemort. A chair creaked behind Randolph, who sat
down, but his eyes were fixed on his daughter. "You have a charming
house here and a delightful family. Your wife has been a lovely host to
me in your absence. . ."
Mrs. Westen continued to tremble, not daring to raise her eyes from the
floor. To Randolph, his wife seemed like she had aged a decade and
looked as though she hadn't slept for a week.
". . . I desire something from you, Randolph Westen, and you will give it
to me," continued Voldemort. "I want access to the floo network. My
Death Eaters should be able to lock down any floo they want, any time
they want. If there are some un-intelligent folk out there who haven't
secured their floo-s on incoming, I want my Death Eaters to be able to get
into their house without any problem. . . . I want the floo network of this
country to be under my control."
"I-I can't do that."
"You can and you will. It's elementary. You get contacted someone from
my side, and you give them whatever they want, whenever they want. . .
don't make them come down to your house because they wouldn't mind
coming here anytime."
"P-Please, I-I cannot. . . I would—"
Voldemort raised his hand, and the look in his eyes made Randolph stop
into a croak. "I do not like to repeat myself. When I say I want something,
it happens. That's not going to change today. You have the means to give
me that and. . . you. . . are not going to refuse me. But I see the dilemma
here, so let me offer you a clear reason for you to do my bidding,
something you can't refuse."
Voldemort lifted his wrist; little Annie's right arm rose up, and like a spot
of ink dropped in the water, dying the clear in its color, a Dark Mark
appeared on her fair, thin arm. Randolph gasped, and his wife broke
down into sobs. The snake coming out of the skull's mouth looked all the
more horrifying on the girl's arm, who didn't even have her permanent
set of teeth.
"You don't give the control over the floo-system, and I can make your
daughter suffer all the way to death with a single through." Voldemort
raised his finger, and Annie's thin brows crumpled, and her petite body
shivered slightly as her face paled. Annie stirred and weakly opened her
eyes, and just like last time, she called — "Daddy" — however, this time,
it was a weak mummer that could barely exit her mouth. Voldemort
rested the finger back on the armrest, and Annie closed her eyes again;
the red returned to her skin, she stopped shivering, and her face looked
as peaceful as if nothing had ever changed. "Kneel down, kiss my robe,
and little Annie will grow to become a fine woman with a happy future
and life in front of her. . . all because of her daddy."
Randolph pressed his palms into his knees. He looked to his daughter,
then to his wife, who was repeatedly nodding and pleading. That was it
for Randolph; that was all he needed. "I'll do it. I will give you the floo
network," he said.
"Kneel down and kiss my robe."
"W-What?"
Voldemort raised his chin.
Randolph stood up from his chair and walked to Voldemort with shaky
steps. He dropped down to his knees at Voldemort's feet; with trembling
hands, he picked up the hem of Voldemort's robe and kissed it with his
eyes squeezed shut in disgust.
"Good," Voldemort stood up and walked towards the exit.
"Why not just Imperio me?" said Randolph, still on his knees.
Voldemort paused at the living room door. "The time for Imperius Curse
passed the last time we visited." He turned to Randolph, "Besides,
Imperius makes people work as ordered. You, Mr. Randoplh, will do
much more," he glanced at Annie, and she stirred, "well beyond what I
have asked for."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In an inner corner of the Ministry headquarter, somewhere highly
restricted, so much so other than a few select Ministry personnel, no
other Ministry employee was allowed inside. It was an area reserved
when the Ministry wanted to do things quietly away from prying eyes. . .
and for the cases where people of interest demanded the privacy they
deserved.
"Is today really supposed to be such a big deal?" Kinsley said to Robards
as they stood in the pearly white corridors, much different than the black
interior present in most of the Ministry.
"It is," said Robards, pointing to Scrimgeour standing ahead of them,
chatting with the Secretary of the Ministry of Magic, the highest-ranking
member in the Minister's cabinet, "if today goes well, it is going to be
massive for the department."
"For the Ministry, you mean."
"Yes, for the Ministry as well."
They straightened up when the floo at the end of the hall turned green.
The most exclusive floo after Minister's own had been connected on the
other end.
"At attention, people, the party's about to arrive," announced Scrimgeour.
The green fire exploded like an upward shooting fire thrower going up
into the empty roof of the chimney. A group of people stepped into the
Ministry from the curtain of fire.
Scrimgeour stepped forward and greeted with a smile, "Mr. West, it is a
pleasure to see you again."
George West was the reason why the Head of DMLE, the Head Auror, and
the Secretary of Ministery of Magic all had arrived collectively for
greetings. They were some of the people who wouldn't come greet people
like this individually, much less together. But George West was the big
fish that warranted this treatment. It was the Minister of Magic's dignity
that held Amelia Bones wanted to maintain the reason behind she was
not here— Cornelius Fudge would've been here faster than the fastest
runners in the country.
George West nodded to Scrimgeour before turning his eyes to the people
present in the hall. There were a couple people accompanying him.
As Scrimgeour talked with George, Robards leaned near Kingsley and
pointed out the well-dressed smiling man standing beside George,
conversing with the Secretary, "That's Elliot Dalton, THE right-hand man
to George West. Most people have to go through him before even getting
the chance of getting a single alphabet to George West, much less seeing
him."
"I have never seen Madam Secretary smile like that."
"Neither have I. Moving on, you know Bach," Robards sneered. Kinglsey
nodded with similar emotion and recognized arguably the best attorney-
at-law in the country, Orrin Bach. The old lawyer had built a career so
strong that he was the only one in the country able to bill whatever he
wanted from his clients. None in the entire DMLE liked the man and his
firm.
"As for the other, I don't know who that is. . ." said Robards, looking at
the middle-aged man in a fedora who stood a step back from everyone
with a small smile on his face.
Robards and Kinglsey had their eyes stuck to the man. They couldn't pull
them away, no matter how they tried. Even Scrimgeour shifted his eye to
the man from time to time. There was something about the man which
screamed dangerous to the Aurors— the way he stood, the way his hands
laid- relaxed yet ready, even the way his eyes moved said that the man
was experienced.
"That guy is trouble," said Robards, eying the guy with a critical eye.
"He's the bodyguard, isn't he?"
"He's got training. I can tell he's got professional training and then
something more. . . I wonder how much is he getting paid?"
Robards quirked his brow. "Are you looking to switch to private?"
"No, I'm for the long haul," smiled Kingsley.
"Aiming for my position?" asked Robards. Kingsley shook his head. "Head
of DMLE?" Kingsley again shook his head. Now Robards was surprised.
"The Minister of Magic?" Kingsley nodded with a smile. "Oh my, you got
big aspirations, my friend, and I hope you achieve them."
They stopped talking when Scrimgeour began to lead George down the
hall. It was time for the biggest meeting of the year. . . and possibly of
the entire current administration.
.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - I use spells other than the Unforgivables.
Randolph Westen - Head of Floo-Network Authority - I should've retired
the first time around.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - WARRIOR DUBS!
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392. Chapter 392: Various
Offerings
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When the West party and the Ministry escort reached the designated
meeting room, they were greeted by Amelia Bones. The Minister rose
from the black chesterfield sofa in greeting. "How are you doing today,
Mr. West?" she smiled.
"Not well," George said bluntly as he directly sat on the sofa opposite
without exchanging the customary polite greeting. "I do not like what is
happening in this country, my country. A madman is running freely in
the country, blowing up Auror's Office, barging into Ministry and taking
hostages. . . and who knows what he's doing now." He peered at Amelia,
who was still standing, "And when I ask anyone or read the paper, all I
hear and see is that your government is a strong one, or at least is
supposed to be."
Amelia sighed deeply and sat back in her spot, and Scrimgeour sat by her
side, with Elliot taking a seat beside George. Orrin Bach placed himself
on one breadth of the table alone while Robards and Secretary sat
opposite him. The bodyguard walked straight to the bar in the room
while Kingsley stood next to the wall near everyone.
"We are trying to keep him down," said Amelia; gone was the polite
smile, and back was the woman who had reigned over the DMLE, "but
with the current situation, it has been getting difficult to properly deal
with with the Dark Lord and his minions."
"And what are these problems?"
"How can I truly focus on the threat when I'm shackled down by internal
problems."
"What, the blood supremacist? Minister, you're making me doubt if you're
truly committed to dealing with the threat as quickly as possible. You
can't use them as an excuse when you have been handling them just fine
during your time in DMLE."
"My ranks were clean when I was the Head of DMLE. All I get to deal
with now is a building full of people who wouldn't move a finger if it's
not doing them some personal good," the Minister's one grey hair looked
whiter than ever.
"Give them a boot; you're their boss."
"If it could be that easy, politics gets in the way."
"It isn't that difficult," George said unperturbed.
The Ministry officials all showed some form of reaction to the words. It
wasn't a secret to them that George had dug his claws into the Ministry.
But the way he had done so made them twitch— the speed at which the
reach of his influence had grown was astounding, to say the least. George
West had never been directly involved with the Ministry; there were
always systems in place that would facilitate him when required— but
never directly. It was as if West always knew that something like would
happen and had cast the net when needed. And all of it had been done
out of spite and just because he could do it.
"The Dark Faction have been clogging up Wizengamot for months.
Whenever I try to bring something of real consequence up, they just
make a f-" Amelia held her tongue, "mess of things. The other factions try
to intervene, but eventually, everything turns into a pissing contest
between men."
"Why do you need Wizengamot's approval for anything? You're the
Minister of Magic with a background in DMLE of whom I suppose you
have the support," George pointed to Scrimgeour. "What is the problem;
because I can't see any."
"Resources are the problem, Mr. West. DMLE doesn't have enough
resources to deal with the current situation. Even with the lethality law
in place, the force can't make a difference if they don't have the means
for it."
"DMLE's budget hasn't dipped since you assumed the big office. The
Aurors Office and the Hit Wizard Bureau never had a shortage of funds
during your time. You lobbied the budget to be highest after war times."
"After the war times, that's the crux. . . the wartime budgets were much
higher than anything I saw coming in. We are at war, Mr. West— houses
are being broken into, families are being threatened, and just last week, I
had cases of six Muggleborn deaths done with Death Eater work all over
it— DMLE can't fight this without a war chest." Amelia sighed as she
gazed at George, "But you already know this, or else you wouldn't have
arranged this meeting. . ."
"That is true," said George, "and I'm here to help, so how can I help?"
"I need your help in clearing up the Wizengamot clog so that I can
redirect the budget to DMLE. The Grey Faction needs to participate in the
hearings more proactively; what they're doing is not supportive enough. .
. . I also know that you have ties to some in the Dark Faction; the
Ministry would appreciate it if you could have them soften up."
If George had been any other rich man, Amelia would've never bothered
to meet him like this— she would've lobbied him differently. But the
Wests were entrenched in the country more deeply than most people
could imagine. A request like this would usually require her to reach out
to various people who would reach out to various other people— but
there sat a single person who could handle all that for her and could do it
much smoother, quicker, and discreetly than she could with all the eyes
upon her right now.
George turned to Scrimgeour and posed a question, "Can you assure me
that you can show some results with an influx of resources?"
"I assure you we can," said Scrimgeour, steely certainty in his tone. "My
people have been working hard with what they have; they will work
harder if they get the right means for their job."
George peered at Amelia, Scrimgeour, and Robards. He nodded, "I will
help you clear up the mess at Wizengamot; start preparing for the
motions you want to present, and I guarantee they will be properly
discussed." Everyone from the Ministry smiled as they exchanged looks of
happiness.
"Thank you, Mr. West; this would truly be of great help," Amelia said.
"And I can provide you with my contacts," said George, making
everybody look at him. "I'm willing to provide you with my contacts,
access to my trade routes, better prices on purchases. . . additionally, I
can provide external funds— my gold— to the efforts in the war."
Orrin Bach, the lawyer, took out a sheet of paper from his briefcase and
slid it over to Amelia. He smiled, "There's the number Mr. West is willing
to provide to war efforts."
Amelia picked up the sheet and started to read what was a short
description of what George was willing to provide, and as she reached
the end of the page, her eyes widened at the string of digits printed on
the bottom right corner. She looked up at George as she passed the page
to Scrimgeour. "Are you sure? This is a sizeable amount," she said.
"That's something to say," Scrimgeour breathed out.
"I can get the talks going in Wizengamot," started George, "but do you
think with the current divide, you'll be able to gather the amount you
need? This isn't like last war, Madam Minister. Before the Dark Lord, the
purebloods supremacists got what they wanted by exerting control from
the shadows; they believed themselves superior to the others, but they
talked about it behind doors. During his reign, they were enabled to
display their views in the open and now could silence those who didn't
think the same way— purebloods who didn't agree became blood traitors
and either got killed or outcasted. . . Muggleborns who previously were
at least welcomed into our world suddenly felt it to be cold, harsh, and
unwelcoming. After his fall, the purebloods who had tasted power
couldn't go back to the days of pulling strings from behind the curtain;
they had tasted what it felt like to be in open power, and with a weak
administration, they took the chance and cemented their position despite
being in a disadvantageous situation. Some were pushed as scapegoats,
while others got free by paying petty fines and using the Imperious
excuse. Over the last ten years, the pureblood influence has risen instead
of getting weaker— the Boy-Who-Lived might have been a Symbol of
Hope, but the Dark Lord was a Mark of Fear that persisted even after his
supposed death. Yes, some purebloods tried to fight for equality, but it
didn't change the fact that all enjoyed the benefits."
Amelia knew that better than anyone. No matter what Faction, they all
had used the opportunity to position themselves in prominent positions.
It was why they had so few Muggleborns in prominent positions of
power, and the entire Ministry's upper hierarchy was occupied with
purebloods, the vacuum in the middle had been taken up by Halfbloods,
leaving the scraps to the Muggleborns.
"You might not get what you're expecting," finished George.
". . . Even then, I can't accept this. If this was a donation to DMLE's
support fund, I could've imagined it going through— but you're offering
it as war support; I have no way of accepting this. I can still accept the
other help, but not the direct gold."
"Oh, but you can," said Bach with his lawyer smile. He pulled out a thick
stack of paper and placed it on the table. He placed his on the stack and
said confidently, "This here details how the DMLE can accept the gold
within the confines of the law. . . barely, but still within the law— and
you get to use it for war purposes."
"Take it now," said George calmly, "or forget about it."
"I can't accept this now. I have to get this checked," Amelia pointed to the
stack.
"You can get it all checked; we will forget about it if you find any
illegality. But you have to decide now if you want it or not."
Amelia stared at the stack, then at Scrimgeour, the Secretary, and
Robards. Scrimgeour slightly nodded while the other two didn't send any
negative signals. Amelia took out her handkerchief and started cleaning
the monocle she wasn't wearing; she looked up at George and nodded. "I
accept. As long as there are no problems concerning the legality, I will
appreciate the help," she said.
"Excellent choice." George got up with everyone following him. "I hope I
won't come to regret today, Minister. I'm expecting some returns from
this."
"You won't regret this, Mr. West; you won't."
. . .
This time around, Amelia accompanied George to see him off. After
today, if she could get the entire Ministry, she would get them together
to see George off.
"Who's the bodyguard," asked Amelia, glancing at the fedora-clad man
walking ahead of everyone. "Is he from the Limax?"
"You know about Limax?" asked George, quirking his brow.
"I've seen their name plenty of time on documents when you bring them
into the country."
"I see. No, he is not from Limax; they are busy with other. . .
commitments. Laro is an independent contractor and a friend."
"Scrimgeour was giving him looks; Robards as well."
"He is good, that's why."
As they reached the end of the hall, nearing the floo, it burnt up green,
and a figure stepped out, making everyone stop when they recognized
the man. George's brows furrowed together when he saw the man, and
Elliot was no different with his smile slipping away.
"Good day. . . everyone," said Dumbledore as he fixed the hat on his
head.
.
George West - GrandMC - Returns. . . those I will get.
Amelia Bones - Minister - She doesn't know it yet.
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393. Chapter 393: Shoulda Just
Asked
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"Good day. . . everyone," said Dumbledore, his eyes gazing at everyone,
stopping on George and the fedora-wearing bodyguard more than anyone
else.
A sense of surprise came from both parties. Dumbledore― to see George
West meeting the Minister of Magic and the Head of DMLE. From Amelia
and her party, they preferred someone from the outside― especially
Dumbledore― to know about this arrangement before it was inked and
the resources were flowing. They were sure that Dumbledore wasn't
going to get the meeting details, but they preferred if he had no idea at
all.
"Amelia, George. . . I'm surprised to see you two together; what brought
this along, if I may ask?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.
"Mr. West and I were discussing a Ministry contract."
"And we discussed a donation from me to the Ministry for the war efforts
against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters," said Geoge out of nowhere.
Amelia, Scrimgeour, Robards, and others from the Ministry turned to
George with a shock that they hid after a split moment with all the
politician's skills they possessed. "Mr. West, we shouldn't talk about this
with outsiders," said Scrimgeour.
"Yes, we should not," said Geoge, staring at Dumbledore. "But this is
Dumbledore, the one who the Dark Lord fears and the one who defeated
Grindelwald. I'm sure he would be glad to know the Ministry would be
getting the aid that would allow it to resume its proper working without
getting into a lengthy yet needless political conflict. These are urgent
times that need urgent actions. . . don't you think so too, Dumbledore?"
". . . Yes, I think so too," said Dumbledore.
"I was sure you would," George said. "The Order of Phoenix was of great
help the last time around, and even though they weren't a legitimate
authority. . . a vigilante outfit. . . and had no place doing somethings
they did, those brave people stepped up in the time of need for the right
thing, for the just thing― what do you think of their contribution in their
last war, Minister Bones?"
"Of course, I am grateful for their bravery and courage to stand for their
country against evil," said the Minister, keeping a positive yet diplomatic
stance on the matter
"I, too, commend their valor," said George smiling. "My contribution
today is in the similar vein, help my country in the time of need― it's just
that my gold is much more valuable than my wand. I'm simply trying to
help. . . like others have done before me."
Dumbledore smiled positively as ever, flashing the infectious charm, and
nodded along; however, the man of words with something to speak on
anything and everything said nothing and seemed like he was humbly
not accepting the praise. How could he. . . all his ear could hear was the
subtext lingering and hidden in George's words.
"And the Ministry appreciates your generous contribution, Mr. West," said
Scrimgeour.
"I'm just doing my civic duty," George said with a slight head nod. He
turned to Dumbledore and addressed the man for the second time,
"Dumbledore, if I remember correctly, you wanted to meet me regarding
something. I have time now; we can talk now. I'm sure the Ministry has a
lounge that we can borrow for a while. The one in which we just sat
down, perhaps."
"Of course, take all the time you need," said Amelia.
George gazed at Dumbledore, his stone-grey eyes studying him as he
stood under everyone's attention.
"It is fine; we can meet at a later date at leisure; I also have official
urgent Hogwarts that I need to take care of right now before the offices
close," Dumbledore said in a good-hearted tone. "From the gist of it, the
discussion you just had with Amelia was a significant one and enough for
today― let's leave some other work for another day."
George twisted the ring on his finger. "I don't like to leave work for
tomorrow; I'm a busy man, and I prefer to finish as quickly as possible so
that I can return home. . . where my family awaits me. I'm sure any office
will be more than happy to accommodate Albus Dumbledore even if he's
a little late. . ."
"Oh no, I can't keep people at work more than what's warranted; I don't
want them cursing me in their minds as they do my work," Dumbledore
chuckled.
George looked to Elliot, who leaned in to listen to some whispers. Elliot
nodded, took out his wand as George approached Dumbledore, and cast a
privacy spell around them. He turned to the Ministry people and smiled,
"So, I hear the executive lounge in the DMLE serves some great truffle."
Amelia glanced at the two men under the privacy dome, wondering what
they were talking about. If she knew, she would want to scrub the
information out of her mind because it would mean saying goodbye to
the opportunity that had presented itself today. . . and she didn't want to
get that slip away even if she had to pay the price later.
"What are you trying to do, Dumbledore?" said George, all the etiquette
slipping away. "I have been waiting for you to approach for long, but I
haven't even seen a glimpse of your shadow. Is this some play of yours to
make me sweat?"
"I don't understand. . ."
"Don't handle me, Dumbledore. If you want to deal with me, then do it
directly, don't go blackmailing my grandson. . . but maybe getting to my
grandson is all you're capable of." George glared at Dumbledore before
breathing out deeply. He set his shirt sleeves under his suit sleeves before
saying, "No matter. I would make sure my grandson gets out scot-free
even without you."
"Was that what today with Amelia was about?"
"Do you think I need to do this to get my way? I don't. This country owes
me more than enough already. I'm doing this so the megalomaniac is
erased from the face of the Earth, and I can have my grandson back
home. He has idiotically left home because of that threat of yours and
refuses to return home," George sighed, "the sooner this ends, the sooner I
can have my grandson in front of me. . . . If anything to happens to my
grandson, then pray to everything divine because I will make the lives of
you and everyone you're involved a living hell. I don't care if the Order of
Phoenix is made up of Aurors and Hit Wizard and think their fellow
colleagues won't prosecute them because of some brotherhood code― I
will become the Kingmaker in this country and put whoever can get me
what I want on the Minister chair. Don't force my hand by going public
with what you know, Dumbledore, because if you do, I will take away
the one thing you love so much."
"And what that might be?"
"Many might not like you up there, but I don't mind you in the castle,
Dumbledore― so don't make me change that, for I can make that happen.
I know you love the Headmaster chair more than anything in this world,
so consider yourself warned― cross me, and you'll never see the inside of
the castle as Headmaster or Professor or anything."
For decades, Dumbledore had been up in the test polls for Minister of
Magic during elections, but for decades, the candidate who could
essentially hold the chair in perpetuity had refused to run in the election.
It could've meant that Dumbledore wasn't interested in politics, but he
was an active member of the Light Faction and the Chief Warlock of
Wizengamot. After that, the most likely reason one could consider that
was that he hadn't run for Minister of Magic because that would mean
giving up his seat as the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"I can see where he got that bite of his," muttered Dumbledore, staring at
George.
"What?" asked George.
"Nothing. I noticed that you didn't pull out of our Hogwarts deal. I notice
your people are still there in the village."
"Don't for one second think that's because of you," said George. "I have
other reasons for my people in Hogsmeade."
"Is that reason called the Daphne Greengrass? You've people stalking the
place in case Quinn comes to meet her."
George fixed Dumbledore a stoney look. It was true; he was hoping that
Quinn would visit Daphne or he would visit Astoria Greengrass for
treatment. The previous plan had been capturing him. . . but after the
incident with Limax, George considered talking and persuasion the first
choice before using force.
The conversation was over. George was done as he stepped out of the
dome and towards the fireplace with his companions following him.
"What was that about?" asked Kingsley to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's eyes followed George until he was gone, and the fire
settled down in the fireplace. "That was when you get hasty and don't
consider all the cards dealt," said Dumbledore. He looked to the Ministry
company and muttered, "I suppose this is the best I can get out of this
situation. What did George offer?"
"It makes me think if I had a wish, I would wish to be reborn as a West.
We could really do something with what we're getting."
Dumbledore sighed. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Even though
George had said he didn't need to do this, it was clear that he was the
reason it happened. And while he directly didn't get what he wanted, the
DMLE got a war chest.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn sat on a bench inside Bristol Temple Meads railway station.
Hundreds of people walked past him every minute while he sat there
with a newspaper in his hand, doing the crossword. "You're here," he
said.
Lucius Malfoy, sitting behind him on the joined bench, turned his head
towards Quinn and asked, "Do we have to do this here?" he asked,
looking disgusted at his clothes. "We could've met anywhere, in a forest―
why here?"
"Because no Death Eater would come looking in a non-magical railway
station," said Quinn, though the real reason was that he wanted to hold a
secret meeting in a busy railway station. "You got something for me?"
"Something big is coming up soon. We haven't done something this big
since the last war."
"Oh, a big attack, tell me more."
"Not a big attack― big attacks. We are going to attack Ministry Officials
who have been creating problems. . ."
"A series of assassinations; that's bold."
"Not a series of assassinations. . . they're going to be done on the same
day," said Lucius, and Quinn's brows rose. "The aim is to create as much
chaos as possible in the Ministry."
"How is this going to happen?"
". . . I don't know."
"What? You're Lucius Malfoy; how can you not know?"
"That's the problem; no one knows the entire operation except the
operation lead," said Lucius. "We are assigned the targets, and two weeks
from Thursday, we will go after them. I was able to get the names, but
not how or when they are going to happen during the day. The different
teams are not allowed to discuss their plans."
"Why is this happening?"
"Because of Rivers Lock, you know him," said Lucius, and he was right;
Quinn knew him. "He made it so that no one other team knows. Novellus
Accionites operated that way apparently."
Quinn closed his crossword and pursed his lips.
This was going to be a problem.
.
Quinn West - MC - Okay, let's think about it; I can always clone myself. . .
that's easy enough. . . yeah, super easy.
George West - GrandMC - I'm embedded in this country.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - I should've just asked.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Do you guys know how to insect-proof a
room? The monsoon season is approaching in my college city, and I'm
not from a place where we get a lot of insects during the rain.
.
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!
394. Chapter 394: Finding Her
If you want to read ahead of the posting schedule then head over to my
Patreón.
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"We shouldn't be doing this," Hermione gazed around the streets of
Hogsmeade, looking at every person, window, and rooftop with suspicion
and worry. "This is too dangerous, and we can get in trouble."
"Don't be spoilsport," said Ron with a bag of Mangey's mouth-firecrackers
in his hand. He popped some in and kept his mouth open for miniature
firecrackers to burst out. "We aren't going to get in trouble if we don't get
caught; it's as easy as that."
Hermione removed her worried eye from the surroundings and glared at
Ron. "I'm not worried about getting caught by the professors, that is—"
She stopped with a surprised eek when an arm snaked around her waist.
She turned her eyes to find Harry looking at her with a comical-surprised
look.
Harry fake-gasped, "Hermione Granger, not worrying about getting
caught by professors? Who are you, and what did you do to my
girlfriend?" he smirked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "This is not a joke! What if—" she looked
around before dipping her head to whisper "— a Death Eater sees you
and tries to kidnap you. . . What if they call others and others get hurt!"
The more she spoke, the more panicky she got. "I really feel we should
return to the castle now; it's not worth the risk."
She was stopped when another arm went around and above her shoulder
from the other side. "Cool down; you're worrying too much," said Ivy
Potter with a smile that Hermione had only started to see return recently.
"No one will know it is us because how can they? We don't look anything
like us."
Hermione pressed her lips into a white line. It was true; they didn't look
anything like their original appearance. Harry and Ivy were barred from
visiting the village during Hogsmeade weekend because of security
concerns and all the things that could go wrong if they were outside
Hogwarts without protection. So when the plan to sneak out to Hogwarts
was made, she had, of course, denied it immediately. But then Ivy had
suggested the solution of changing their appearances to some random
magazine models they had looked up in an old issue of Witches Weekly
so that no one would know who they actually were. They even made sure
not to wear their Hogwarts robes in case someone got suspicious because
of their house trims.
"But what if someone realizes that it is magic," Hermione rebuked. They
didn't have hair for a Polyjuice, so she and Ivy had to work off the
magazine clippings and create a replication through Transfiguration.
"Our magic is good enough so that no one would know if they didn't
know what exactly to look for. I adore how worried you're getting for us,
but shake it away— who knows, this might be our last Hogsmeade
weekend," said Ivy.
"Hey!" Harry chipped in, "Let me tell you, this is in no way the last time
we are doing this. I'm here till June, and I will be in Hogsmeade every
time the weekend opens up."
Hermione tried to resist one more time, "But still. . ."
"How about we go look at some stationary," said Ivy, "that should calm
you right down, and it will take your mind off this when you see all the
new inventory they have."
Hermione rolled her eyes and softly shoved Ivy away, making her giggle.
Maybe Ivy was right; perhaps she was overthinking it— her magic was
good, it would hold up. "Should we go to Scrivenshaft then?" she asked—
the thought of new inventory did make her feel a rush of excitement.
"Not Scrivenshaft," Ivy's smile ran away faster than a squirrel.
Hermione knocked herself internally, and she could feel Harry's arm
tighten around her waist, telling her that it was indeed a landmine that
she should've sidestepped. She knew that Ivy had a fight with Quinn, and
her mood hadn't been good ever since then— her temper had only
improved around the time they had begun planning for today.
"Tomes & Quills is better; we should go there," said Ivy, pulling her
towards the street that led to the store.
But then they heard a voice that made them come to a skidding stop. "I
would like to object to that statement," said the familiar voice. They
turned to see him standing in the middle of the street, smiling at them
pleasantly.
"Scrivenshaft is the best stationery and printing solutions store there is in
Hogsmeade. . . nay the country. . . nay the world," said Quinn. He was
dressed in a suit made up of a grey blazer and tan pants; he seemed
absolutely spotless in how he dressed— not how one would expect
someone who had run away from home.
He slightly narrowed his eyes and examined them over. "Let me take a
guess," one by one, Quinn looked at them, "HG, Ron, Boy twin. . . Girl
twin."
"Sorry, I don't know—" Hermoine said, trying to defend, but that went
down the drain immediately.
"How did you know?!" exclaimed Ron, his jaw-dropping, letting the
firecrackers whistle out.
"Idiot!" "Ron!" "Moron."
Quinn smiled, "Thank you for confirming, Ronald. As for how I knew? I
know every Hogwarts student who was there last year. You clearly aren't
new first years, and I don't know any now-seventh year who looks like
you four. . . it was an easy guess."
"How did you know we'll be in the village today?" asked Harry, his tone
full of distrust.
"I didn't." Quinn looked to Ivy, "Can we talk. . . somewhere private?"
Harry stepped forward, but Ivy pulled him back. She whispered
something into his ear; Harry looked like he wanted to protest, but a look
from Ivy, he clicked his tongue and turned away.
"You go ahead; I'll find," said Ivy.
"Are you sure?" asked Hermione. "You don't have to. . ."
Ivy didn't reply and followed Quinn as they entered an alley and
disappeared into another street.
"Should we go after them?" asked Ron.
"I don't think he's going to hurt her," said Hermione, though she was
tempted to go after them. She turned to Harry to see what he thought,
but he just passed by her wordlessly, heading towards where Ivy and
Quinn had left.
"Harry, wait!"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"What do you want?" Ivy asked scathingly.
"I want to talk."
Ivy stopped in the middle of the street and stood there with crossed arms.
"Well, I don't want to," she said testily.
Quinn stopped and rolled his eyes for a moment before turning to Ivy.
"Yes, you do, or else you wouldn't have followed me here. Now let's go,"
he took her arm and pulled her along. Ivy tried to resist, but Quinn
tugged her along anyway.
"Let me go!" she protested.
Quinn looked around to survey the surroundings. He entered the door
nearest to him and pulled Ivy in. It was a shop full of odd trinkets with
an odd scent permeating from the floor's wood. There was a long counter
that stretched from one side of the shop to another, and an old man sat
behind it, wiping a glass bowl with a washcloth.
"Ernie, is the back room free?" Quinn asked as Ivy studied the shop with
suspicion.
"It is," said the old man with a shaky voice.
"Thank you, Ernie."
They walked to the store's back room, which was filled with boxes. Quinn
walked to a wall, and like they didn't exist, they passed through the
boxes.
"What— the wall," yelled Ivy.
But they passed through the wall. It was an illusion that opened up to a
narrow tunnel with a single MLE on the top, walls that barely had any
paint or plaster on them, revealing the red bricks that had turned a dirty
brown with time. At the other end of the tunnel sat a red door at the end.
Inside the room, on the other hand, was nothing like the tunnel. The
room was furnished to the inch with decor that made it seem like it was a
luxury hotel.
"What is this place?" asked Ivy, stunned at the place.
"Hogsmeade is a village, and like any other village, it has places that only
local knows. Locals and those who know what to look for. This place is a
spot where people can hold meetings with privacy." He turned to Ivy and
said, "So, let's have that meeting."
"What is there to talk about? You said it all the last time, or maybe you
didn't— who knows what you're hiding."
Quinn sat down on a comfy leather chair and motioned Ivy to the chair
in front of him. "For one, I don't plan to hold the Horcrux hostage. I never
did. I want Voldemort dead as much as anyone does," he said. "It was
merely a timed threat against Dumbledore. I have my security now."
"What if you didn't have the security?" Ivy asked, not taking the seat.
"What then? Keep the Horcrux; maybe join Voldemort while you're at it."
Quin's brow furrowed for a moment, and his smile weakened the same.
He sighed and lightly shrugged, "In that case. . . then I would've walked
into the Aurors Office and revealed the Invisible Vigilante's identity in
front of the entire Auror force. That way, my grandfather wouldn't have
needed to deal with Dumbledore. It would've probably jeopardized my
future in this country. . . grandfather would've tried to undo that and
most probably succeeded, but I wouldn't be walking around as freely as
I'm right now— I'm already fending off grandfather's attempt to bring me;
I don't want the Ministry behind me as well."
"Like that would've mattered; they haven't been able to catch you until
now."
"No, they haven't, but they could do much better with my face. Not only
would I have Aurors looking for me with a renewed vigor— people hate
rich folks— but I also would have the non-magical authorities after me. .
. I don't like that many eyes on me." He was sure that in this scenario, his
grandfather would've used the Ministry and, in turn, non-magical
intelligence agencies as extra man-force. "It was crucial for me that
Dumbledore stayed quiet. Moreover, I don't appreciate my family getting
threatened."
"So, you're saying you did nothing wrong?"
"I did you wrong and your family. And I deeply apologize for it. It was
wrong for me to keep what I knew, what I did, hidden. I know my
justifying my actions won't be helpful here, but I had reasons to do so.
I'm aware I sound like Dumbledore right now," said Quinn. He pointed to
the chair, "Would you please take a seat, or would you prefer for me to
stand up."
Ivy eyed the chair, then Quinn, before conceding her stubbornness to
keep standing to take the chair opposite Quinn.
"I missed you," said Quinn. "I tried to reach out to you, sent you letters,
but you never replied. You even stopped picking up my calls on the
mirrors."
"I didn't read them," said Ivy, a little less angry than before.
Quinn looked down at his hands in his lap. There was a silence in the
room. As the silence persisted, Ivy's anger started to slip, replaced with a
worry at Quinn's demeanor. The only time she had seen him quiet was
when he was working with magic, but other than that, he always had a
way of striking up conversations— the silence now was unnerving for
her.
"Quinn?"
He raised his head, and even though there was a smile on his face, it sent
all the wrong signals to her. If she had been worried at Quinn's silence
before, she was genuinely concerned now.
"I. . ."
.
Quinn West - MC - I know places, and I know people.
Ivy Potter - Much Anger - Quinn?
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I just wrote the first chapter last conflict of
AMJ. AMJ has successfully entered the last leg of its journey. It's
expected to end Early or Mid July 2022 (I can say it with confidence this
time). It'll followed by the Epilogue Volume, which will end by the last
days of July 2022.
.
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!
395. Chapter 395: The Occasional
Thought
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Though there was a smile on Quinn's face, his face was sending all the
opposite signals to Ivy. All of a sudden, she could notice the slight
droopiness, the lack of the lustre in his eyes that made him seem
intelligent at times and mischievous at others, she could even light bags
under his eyes. It was as if a filter had been lifted over her eyes, and as
she put aside her anger for a moment, she could see more and more.
"I. . . I am tired," said Quinn. "I have known about the Horcruxes for a
very-very long time, and I don't know how Dumbledore does it, but it is a
great deal of pressure for me knowing that there exists a madman who
can't be killed without getting rid of immortality granting vessels. At first,
I was all up for it— things seemed so simple back then— find and destroy
the Horcruxes, kill the Dark Lord, and be the unknown hero by the end of
it all— and it started great. . . . I had a bucket load of Basilisk Venom
ready to torture the soul fragments till they die, and one already down
the sack, then I got another one and burnt the ring to a crisp. . . But
things are never so simple, are they."
Quinn heaved a heavy sigh. He glanced over his shoulder at the alcohol
trolley near the wall with any choice of liquor he could ask for. "Do you
mind if I drink?" he asked.
"You don't drink."
"I know, but I really feel like it could help," he sighed. The look from Ivy
looked like she wanted to say something but was holding back made him
chuckle weakly. "You don't have to say it; I'm not going to drink; it was
just a thought." Both of them knew that Quinn didn't want to partake in
anything that would leave him inebriated.
"You see, the first time I saw your brother, I always knew that that scar
wasn't normal— I thought it was a dark curse injury that your family
wasn't able to get fixed, but when I came to know about the Horcruxes, I
began to suspect things, and when I looked closer my suspicions were
true— the infamous lightning bolt of a scar was indeed a Horcrux. I don't
know how that could be possible because Horcrux takes elaborate magic
to create. . . but then there hasn't been a maniac who split his soul more
than once." Ivy watched as even the talk of magic that would always
make Quinn's face glow up failed to bring any joy to his face. "It may
sound bad, but back then, I didn't care for your brother's well-being
much; I would've preferred to help him, but the bottom line was that
Harry Potter was simply. . . a Horcrux."
Ivy's face wasn't a pretty sight. There was hurt and alarm painted all over
her face; she even hugged herself, a very out-of-place sight for someone
like Ivy Potter. Quinn watched her, and the look of betrayal didn't make
him feel any good. But it was true, from the very moment he had begun
actively thinking about the whole Horcrux ordeal, he had found Harry to
be an allowed sacrifice for the good of many. Yes, Harry had survived in
the canon, but magic could be as unpredictable as methodical; who knew
what would happen this time around.
"But then something happened which changed all of it," he said with a
bittersweet smile. "I became friends with you."
"What?"
"I don't become friends with people easily, you know that. It was a
miracle that we became friends, much less get together in an unorthodox
relationship. If I had told a past version of me before things went up for
us, he would've scoffed and laughed at me while patting me for better
luck next time on the prank," chuckled Quinn with a tired smile, but a
real one nevertheless.
"Okay, well, thank you for tolerating me," Ivy snapped in return.
"But with hindsight, I think you and me were bound to at least have a
good rapport with each other even if we didn't get together like we are
now. Don't you think so? I like people who appreciate magic. You had a
personality that I could along with. And well, you being pretty didn't
hurt, but I'm sure you have heard that plenty of times."
"Are you seriously flirting with me right now?" asked Ivy, flabbergasted—
he had been down in the dumps just a moment earlier.
"Who other than I you would I flirt with?" said Quinn bluntly, and the
frankly straightforward look made her feel conscious of what he meant.
"Even before we started dating, you were close enough to me that I
couldn't perceive Harry as just a Horcrux. I couldn't look at him as a
liability; he was now an asset to be protected."
"And that's when things became difficult," she said in a half-statement,
half-questioning tone.
"The realization kicked in later, but yes, that's when the easy-go-lucky
attitude exited my body, and slowly life started to get real," said Quinn.
"Things were tough during the Tri-wizard tournament and our time in the
DA. I started to sit down with Harry more frequently than ever, and most
of the time, I was acutely aware that there was a Horcrux near me, and
he was your brother." Quinn paused, and for a few seconds, he rubbed
the armrest of the chair in silence, staring at his hand. "I began looking
into sure-fire ways I could subtract Harry out of the equation— or at least
subtract the Horcrux in Harry's scar from him— and the more I looked,
the more questions began to pop up, more problems surfaced, and the
answers weren't flowing in at the same rate. As time passed, I began to
put increasingly more time into the Horcrux research. Soon both my
social and personal time was being dominated by Horcruxes. . . and last
year wasn't good for me. . ."
Quinn shook his head. It wasn't good at all. The entire year, his mental
state was like a glass full of water up to the brim, threatening to spill
over with a single drop or gentlest of gust, and Snape's death was the
thing that broke the dam— for a couple of days, he had shut down
completely, letting the Sins take over for a time longer than he would've
permitted if he was sane. But at the same time, right now, some part of
his mind interpreted them as the last moment of true peace where he was
free from any sort of conflict— even if that state came because of giving
up on everything.
"You know, somewhere down the line, I began to realize what was truly
at stake; that if the Horcrux weren't taken care of, the Dark Lord would've
threatened millions of lives, if not more," said Quinn with a harrowed
look. "Do you know, destroying the Horcrux is not the hardest part of the
problem? The hardest part is killing Voldemort," he said, and Ivy reacted,
but he motioned her down. "There are many who have accomplished
much in magic, revolutionary achievements that will go down in history,
but there are only a handful of people who have reached levels of
combative power that Dumbledore and the damned snake bastard have
achieved— they can level down cities on their own, wipe out armies,
magic or non-magical. They're almost impossible to kill; if one comes
looking for you, it is advised to escape rather than attempt confrontation.
I said this about Dumbledore before; the same goes for Voldemort; killing
them is nigh impossible when they can decimate everything and anything
around them."
If there was one thing he couldn't agree with in the canon timeline was
the fight between Voldemort and Harry. Voldemort could've killed
everyone in the Great Hall with a flick of his wand without breaking a
sweat. His agreeing to duel Harry was Voldemort saying that it was
enough of playing around and he was taking over to finish everything on
his own. Quinn had gone dueled Harry, and he had faced Voldemort;
both of them weren't even on the same planet.
He looked at the red door of the room; it was the only 'striking' thing that
stood out from the rest of the interior of the room. He simply stared at it.
Ivy noticed it and asked,
". . . What are you doing?"
"A couple of times in the last years, but mainly in the past few months,
I'm visited by this one thought, it is same every time. It always comes in
the evening. . . always. . . just before dinner time," said Quinn, and his
eyes were locked onto the door with Ivy trying to figure out if she was
missing something. "The thought always starts with imagining what my
life would be if the Dark Lord and Horcrux never existed. It goes the
same for me every time—" he smiled "—I would be somewhere in Europe
or Asia with Eddie and Marcus on our trip," which he knew, despite his
many attempts to convince himself otherwise, wasn't going to happen,
"having the best time before Eddie starts traveling with his Quidditch
team, Marcus with studying under Uncle Elliot, and me going to stay
with Mr. Alan for the apprenticeship. . . I imagine me visiting you and
Daphne during Hogsmeade weekends or whenever we miss each other—
I have gotten pretty good with my apparition, and I can create Portkeys,
so it wouldn't be a problem to pop by whenever I want. . . I imagine
enjoying the world and doing the craziest of things with my best friends
while I also take little time to explore some magic here and there, you
know, without it distracting from the purposes of the trip. . . I imagine
myself not knowing anything about Horcruxes, anything about how to
cripple people, with much less knowledge of how to break people down,
and without knowing what it feels like to take a life and live with it—
that last part always feels plastic because I can't escape from it— it is
called living with it, after all, can't just imagine it not existing . . ."
While Quinn's tone was positive and his words full of warmth, Ivy
noticed how his demeanor grew weaker by the sentence. The person she
knew to be strong no matter what seemed to shrink into his chair. She
got up from her chair and almost leaped to his side; Ivy knelt in front of
him, taking his hand into hers.
". . . And then I'm back. . . In a room inside my suitcase, or under the
mask hunting Snatchers, or in a shitty corner who knows where talking
to people I didn't know, almost always under a fake face because I know
my grandfather will find me. Always I console myself that the best part of
the day, dinner, a hot and delicious meal, is ahead of me," Quinn was
now staring into Ivy's eyes as he spoke every word, which now contained
a faint hint of a quiver in them. "I walk out in the open from where I am
and always stare at the sky, and the same thing passes through my mind.
As I look at the evening sky, I always feel tempted to just give up," Ivy's
eyes widened, "give up on the life as a runaway, stop being a Death Eater
hunting masked Vigilante— hand over the Horcrux and my research to
Dumbledore, and leave everything behind. A part of my mind speaks to
me, says that this was never my duty, that I don't have to deal with
Voldemort— I should leave it to Dumbledore and the Ministry, that they
would take care of it. . . and I should live my life, having fun without all
the unnecessary stress."
The bitterest of smiles crept over his face as he pointed at the red door, "I
had the same feeling right now. . . that this, what is happening between
us too difficult, and I should just leave because I don't think I can fix it
anymore." He grasped Ivy's hand and leaned forward, "I don't want to feel
like this, but I can't help it. . ."
Ivy stood up, sat down on his lap, wrapped her arm around him, and
hugged him tightly while whispering words into his ears. She felt him
clutch at her clothes. Ivy couldn't see Quinn's face as it was dipped away
from her, but she could tell what was happening from the wetness she
could feel on her clothes.
.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I don't want to write anything for this
chapter here.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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396. Chapter 396: Cut Short
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"Hey," Ivy whispered softly, "how're you feeling now?" She held Quinn in
her arms, sitting in his lap. The heavy breathing had settled down, and
Quinn was not clutching her as tightly as he was before.
Quinn leaned away from Ivy but didn't let her go. His face looked like a
mess with tear stains, but the heaviness had lifted away, and now he
seemed much more like himself than before. "Yes, I'm fine now, thank
you. . . . I apologize for my unsightly behavior," he said. "I don't know
why that suddenly came over me. . ."
"No. . . no need to apologize," Ivy said. She felt that Quinn breaking down
had done good. She feared that if Quinn had continued to hold it in
without an outlet, it would've snowballed into much bigger concerns
down the line.
"It was guilt," he suddenly said.
"What?"
"Why I didn't tell you about the Horcruxes," he said with a tired voice. "I
knew if I told you about the Horcruxes, I would've needed to tell you
about Harry. If it was before, I wouldn't have pressured Dumbledore into
revealing Harry's identity and simply let Dumbledore do whatever he was
doing— the reason why I revealed it was because of guilt of hiding a lot
more, much more. Somewhere in my mind, I felt that if your family
learned about Harry, it would ease my conscience somehow. . . it didn't. I
felt great when I left the Headmaster's Office, but by the time I was out o
the castle, I was back in the pangs of anxiety. When Dumbledore
threatened to reveal my secret, and I had to tell you myself before he
could, I felt like hurling my stomach out at the thought of things going to
the worst-case scenario."
"The worst-case scenario?"
"You breaking up with me, of course," Quinn said tiredly. "I jeopardized a
lot doing this; I'm already at odds with my family, my social life has
reduced to nothing, and if you left me, it would be all for nothing."
"It wouldn't be for nothing. . . You-Know-Who will be vanquished."
"We don't know that for sure. As I told you before, killing him is the
hardest part of the problem."
"Don't be like that. If the other side is You-Know-Who, then we have
Dumbledore. The Headmaster can stand against him. . . and Dumbledore
has the Elder wand, the most powerful wand in existence, which gives
him a clear advantage."
Quinn's brows raised as a surprise passed over his expressions; he sat up
straighter in the chair. "You found about the wand?" he asked.
"I found about the Deathly Hallows." It was the last time they had met
that he had given her some cryptic information about what he was doing.
Fueled by the anger, she had dug into it on her own, and after much
researching, she wasn't able to find a single reference of the symbol
anywhere in the Hogwarts library. Just when she had started to think
that Hogwarts was a dead-end, she stumbled upon it from an unlikely
source. "I had almost given up when Luna happened. . ."
"Luna?"
"I was in the library when she found me and saw the Deathly Hallow
symbol I had drawn. She knew what it was. The Tale of the Three
Brothers by Beedle the Bard. . . it turns out that her father had shown the
symbol to her while telling her the story. The three Deathly Hallows—
the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. . . do
you really think they were crafted by Death?"
"No, even with the existence of magic, I don't believe laws of nature
having living personifications. I think they were made by the three
brothers, who I don't know if you know. . ."
"They're my ancestors. I found Ignotus Peverell in the Potter family," she
sighed. "I can't believe my Invisibility Cloak is the Invisibility Cloak from
the story. . . I still can't believe it."
"The signs of it being something special have always been present. That
cloak has been passed down in the Potter family for generations and
before without ever needing any work on the strengthening of the
charms. . . it's clear that the cloak is special."
Ivy had to agree to the point. She guessed no one ever paid any attention
to the fact because the cloak had been in the family for so long that its
existence had become normalized. "I can't believe you have the
Ressurection Stone," she said. "Does. . . Does it really work, you know,
can it summon the dead?"
Quinn nodded.
"Have you used it?"
"For summoning souls— no. I have been using it for other purposes."
"And what are they? You didn't tell me last time. I found about the
Hallows now; can you tell me now?" Ivy found herself the target of
scrutiny in Quinn's eyes the moment the question left her. The stone-grey
eyes studied her for a moment.
"I'm trying to figure out how to get the Horcrux out of Harry's head. Even
though a fragment, a Horcrux is still a soul, and because the Resurrection
Stone is a soul artifact, I believe it can be the key to free Harry from the
Horcrux." He sighed, "It's not going well."
"Don't push yourself," Ivy caressed Quinn's face, which was paler than
usual.
Quinn gently grasped Ivy's hand and leaned into it. "I didn't have any
hope today, you know. I had been avoiding you since the last meeting
because I thought if we meet, you will dump me. . ."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Not gonna lie, I'm judging you a little bit," he said and got a light smack
in return. Quinn stared at her as he softly said, "You're too good for me,
you know. . ."
Ivy sensed his eyes going to her lips, and even she found herself doing
the same. They moved at the same time, and in a moment, they were
kissing. It was stronger than what she was expecting, but at the same
time, she was surprised at her own reaction— since the last time they
had met, she hadn't once imagined it going like this once.
She felt his hand go under her sweater. She raised her arms up, and
Quinn removed it, and yet she felt herself getting hotter. She reciprocated
and got rid of his suit jacket; one by one, the clothes began to come off,
but before they could move ahead from making out, there was a loud
slam.
Ivy jumped and turned to the noise, feeling a mix of shock and irritation.
But all of that drained away when she realized where the sound came
from. The loud slam was from the door of the room swinging to slam into
the wall, but that wasn't what had shocked her— it was who had
slammed the door open. It was her twin brother in his natural
appearance (without the disguise they had put on) along with Hermione
and Ron, who were still in disguise. She watched as they, for a split-
second, their eyes widened, but before she could even blink, three red
spells shot toward them faster than an arrow from behind her, making
their eyes turn upwards, and they crumpled down where they stood.
Ivy turned back to Quinn, who shrugged. "I'm testy these days," he said.
"They're lucky you were here, or else they would've been hit with
something much worse than a stunner."
"Wake them up, please," she said, contacting up from his lap before
adding, "let me get dressed first."
As she got dressed, Quinn dressed himself, all the while grumbled about
locking the door— much faster than her, using magic— and then
levitated Harry, Ron, and Hermione and dumped them into the chairs in
the room. She gave him a nod, and Quinn snapped his fingers. The
unconscious three snapped open their eyes and immediately jumped up
from their chair. Beside her, Quinn waved his hand, and all of them were
knocked back into their chairs. She gave him a look.
"Ivy!" "Are you alright?!" "Wha—"
"Calm down," she said. "What are you three think you're doing?! Didn't I
tell you to go, and I'll catch up to you."
"You mean you'll catch up after shagging him!" Harry shouted scathingly.
"I don't like the sound of that," commented Quinn, leaning against the
wall just beside the door. "Makes me sound dirty."
"I can do whatever I want," Ivy said, arms crossed. "You barging in here
was extremely rude. You shouldn't have done that." It didn't feel great to
have her twin brother barge upon her when she and her boyfriend were
in a state of undress, not to mention her best friend and a boy who she
saw as a brother.
"I'm also curious, how did you get in here? Ernie should've stopped you,"
Quinn asked Harry, but then he narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you
showed him your face, and he let you." Hermione and Ron's expressions
answered for Harry. Quinn sighed, "He's getting old; I'll have to have a
talk with his son."
"You shouldn't have removed your disguise," said Ivy. "There's a reason
why we used them; what if someone saw you."
"Let's not turn this about me," said Harry. He pointed to Quinn with his
whole hand and spoke, "Just a while back, you were telling me how
much you hated him— and now you're doing this! What the hell?!"
Ivy resisted the urge to look at Quinn. She had said some nasty words
before today in anger and frustration, mostly in front of Hermione, but
there were times she had sprung out in front of Harry and Ron. "What do
you want, Harry?" she asked. "You barged in here; now what?"
"Are you serious? I was worried about you! I didn't know what will he do
to you!?"
"Oh. . . and here I remember a time when you were willing to have your
flesh cut by Umbridge on my word," said Quinn, pumping his brows.
"Where did all that trust go?"
Harry ignored Quinn and continued to speak to Ivy. "You know, he's
dating Greengrass, right?! What the hell are you doing?"
Ivy could feel Quinn's eyes boring into her from behind. She had told
Harry about Quinn being the Invisible Vigilante and about the other
Horcrux that he had destroyed, along with other things Quinn had told
her, but she had left her relationship with him out of the things she had
told Harry. In the room, only Hermione knew about their dating.
'Well, not anymore,' she thought. "We are dating," she said.
" "What?!" " Harry and Ron shouted in unison.
"Happily," said Quinn. Ivy gave him a glare asking him to stop. He wasn't
being helpful here.
"When did he break up with Daphne?" asked Harry, still reeling from the
shock. "When did you two start. . . when did all this happen?!"
"He didn't break up with Daphne," Ivy sighed as she saw Harry and Ron's
expressions cycle through a very wide range. "He's dating me, and he's
dating Daphne. As for when. . . same day as Professor Snape's funeral."
There was utter silence in the room. Ron was staring at Quinn, shocked
with a hint of administration in his eyes. Harry, on the other hand, was
moving his eyes between Ivy and Quinn— he opened his mouth to speak
but couldn't get any words out— for a moment, he resembled Ron by
quite a bit.
Ivy gave Hermione and 'telepathically' had a conversation with her best
friend. She pleaded with Hermione to take over, and after some back and
forth, Hermione agreed.
"Alright, boys, let's get out of here," said Hermione. "Let's go back to the
castle, and I'll tell you all about it."
"You knew?!" Harry exclaimed for the n-th time.
"Yes, I knew, of course, I knew. I'm her best friend. Now, let's go," said
Hermione, and amidst protest, she dragged them both out, closing the
door behind, leaving Quinn and Ivy alone.
"I think I should leave," said Ivy, after a moment of silence. "Harry would
irritate Hermione if I don't get there soon."
Quinn nodded. "I should also leave. . . can't be seen out and then stay for
long. . . the news will get to grandfather." He took Ivy's coat from the
hanger and helped it on her.
"Quinn. . . " Ivy turned to face Quinn and found him close enough to feel
his breath. His hand went up to her cheek as he kissed her. It was deep,
and Ivy savoured it because she knew that it was going to be the last one
for a while.
The kiss ended, and Quinn began to back away towards the door. "I don't
know when any of this will end, but I'm going to well damn make sure
that when things settle, they tip on my side." There was a steel in his eyes
that, to Ivy, was a little scary and reminded her that she was looking at
the Invisible Vigilante, but at the same time, that same looked so reliable
that all she could do was nod. "Be safe, Ivy, be safe," said Quinn before
disappearing.
.
Quinn West - MC - I'm going to take a long shower.
Ivy Potter - Rollercoaster - Okay, I don't have to have this talk, but let's
have it.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Hostel Mess food ain't that great. . .
.
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or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the
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397. Chapter 397: Gathering Intel
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One Canada Square, the fifty-story tall high-rise skyscraper with its iconic
pyramid-shaped top, stood tall in the middle of Canary Wharf, London,
glittering in the London night skyline.
On a vacated floor in the forties that once served as an office, Quinn
overlooked the active civilization that ran along in its fast-paced city life
with no time to stop in fear of falling behind. He sat on a leather chair
with a glass of steaming slow-cooked salted caramel hot chocolate in his
hand. His eyes followed the traffic of cars on the road and the group of
office workers that shuffled out of their respective office buildings to
return home— he extended his Legilimency senses but shook his head to
himself when his range grossly fell short in reaching even five floors
below much less people on the ground.
As Quinn wondered how to extend his reach, he heard the door creak
open, and a chorus of footsteps entered the room with a chatter that
echoed on the empty floor.
"Welcome, gentlemen," said Quinn; his eyes remained on a solitary man
who looked to be a delivery man entering the nearby office complex.
'Maybe I should also order in today,' he wondered.
"Did we have to meet here?" asked a gruff voice as the footsteps came to
a stop.
"Do you have a problem with the location? No one knows that we are
meeting here. It's empty, isolated enough, and with guards who can be
turned away with a snap of our fingers. Isn't it a perfect meet-up place?"
Quinn swiveled in his chair to come face-to-face with nine grown men,
all dressed up in clothing perfect for blending in the non-magical part of
the country. "It was either this or inside a dark forest somewhere. I'm
sure all of you fine people prefer this to a forest at night."
He snapped his finger, and nine comfy leather recliners appeared in a
broad U-shape around Quinn's own chair. He motioned them to sit down,
which they did, taking a seat each, with the man who had spoken before
sitting in front of him. The man was dressed in leather and seemed to
have more hair coming out of his head, beard, chest, and arms than a
brown bear's.
"So, what do you have for me, Mason?" asked Quinn.
The nine men were hired by Quinn to follow people. They were a for-hire
group that worked in the field of intelligence. After accepting a brief,
they executed and got as much information as they could and presented
it to the client. It was a secret society of people that Quinn had found in
his years of exploring the country during summer breaks, and things had
taken a spike when he had run away— his time had been spent in darker,
seeder, hidden gaps where people of many skills resided.
"We did what you asked for," said Mason, rubbing his forehead. "Tailing
and documenting the daily schedules of nine high-ranking Ministry
employees. . . "
"Any problems?"
"No. . . no problems. It's just that this was a big job."
"Which I paid for. You already have your sixty percent as you quoted.
Give me the information today, you receive another twenty percent, and
when my job is done next week. . . and you keep me updated till that
day." He had paid a good chunk of change— golden change— to finance
the job.
"Yes, I know that."
Quinn snapped his fingers and clapped his hand. "Then, let's get started,"
he said. "Let's get started with. . . Head of Office of Misinformation. What
is Mrs. Wambsgans doing these days?"
All eyes turned to the person third from the right, and Quinn followed
them to face the lean coat-hanger of a man who seemed as though he
hadn't eaten in days.
"Err, yes. . . Fiona Wambsgans is a woman who doesn't know how to have
fun. She gets up every morning at six, tends her gardens for half an hour,
freshens up, and is out of her house by quarter past seven. She takes her
office by quarter to eight and is at work till five in the evening. She is
home by quarter to six and then doesn't leave until the next morning,
where the cycle continues."
"She travels how? Apparation or floo?" asked Quinn.
"Floo directly to her office and the back."
"If that is so, then how do you account for the gap in time in the morning
and evening. She leaves at seven-fifteen and assumes her office thirty
minutes later; what happens in those thirty later? In the evening, there's
a forty-five-minute gap between office and home; what's there?"
The man took out a little tan notepad from his long jacket and flipped
through the pages. "There's a night shift in the Office of Misinformation
that she directly meets for what has happened since she had left— that
covers the time in the morning. As for in the evening. . . she goes to this
little cafe where she has tea, the same order every day, and then goes
home from there."
'And there it is,' Quinn tapped the leather with his right index finger. He
asked, "Any other irregularities in her behavior? Anything at all? Does
she have a friend group that she visits— or maybe even an occasional
dinner with guests— or if she meets with someone at the cafe. . .
anything of that sort?"
"In the time I've been following her, she has had dinner with others
twice. Both of them happened in one of those high-end Ministry
restaurants. She doesn't meet people outside of working hours."
"A bit strange for a high-ranking Ministry official, but if that's what her
behavior says, then she's unique," said Quinn. He had already guessed
where she was going to get attacked; it didn't matter if she was outside
now. "Alright, moving on, what's the deal with the International Magical
Trading Standards Body's chief. Who was on that?"
The one who spoke next among the nine men was the most average-
looking man Quinn had ever seen. This was a man whom one could look
at and then forget the next second. It was quite frightening.
"Colton Hirsch is, I would like to say, is completely opposite of
Wambsgans. He's in the office for four to five hours, but other than that,
he's always out meeting someone at salons, bars, restaurants, private
clubs— I can confirm with absolute confidence that the man is a
functioning alcoholic. In the days, I have tailed him, there hasn't been a
day since he hasn't been drunk."
Quinn pursed his lips. This was different from the previous one with
various variable factors, which didn't bode well for him. "What are his
go-to places?" he asked.
The man took out a sheet and passed it on to Quinn. There was a list with
various establishments' names on it. "There's no set pattern of how he
chooses where he goes, but he makes sure that he doesn't repeat one
place in a week."
"What about reservations?"
"He visits the places so much and spends so much gold that they give him
a room, table, appointment whenever he comes."
"In other words, he's a regular," Quinn sighed. "Can you get me his
schedule for the next week? His secretary must have a schedule on which
we can get our hands?"
Mr. Average glanced at Mason, who spoke after a few seconds of silence.
"We can get that for you; it might take a couple of days."
"Not more than three," said Quinn. If he could get the schedule, he could
try to find the weakest point in the day. He didn't have the time to keep a
constant eye on the target because of the work burden on the day,
meaning that he needed to ensure that he had the exact time and location
so he could prepare.
"Let's continue; who would like to go next?" asked Quinn.
One by one, the men continued to feed Quinn with information on the
targets he had specified, which he got from Lucius Malfoy. There were
some which he found easy, while there were others which he found to be
increasingly harder than the previous. He posed questions, in return, got
answers— for those which he didn't get one, he asked the team to get the
answers.
Quinn stood up, and his drinking glass and chair disappeared into thin
air. "Today was a great day, gentlemen. I'm quite satisfied with your
work, and if you get me what I asked of you today, I'll be elated as well,"
smiled Quinn. "Now, let's get to the part everyone has been waiting for."
Quinn took out a small briefcase from his bag and put it on the floor. He
opened it and continued, "This is the twenty-percent cut that I promised
you; anyone of you gentlemen can go inside and confirm an amount."
Mason nodded to one of his companions, who went inside, and after a
minute, the man came out. "It's the correct amount."
"Great," said Quinn. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to leave." Saying
that, Quinn headed toward one of the floor's exits.
"Who are you?" came Mason's voice.
Quinn turned and looked at Mason in surprise. "I'll be honest, Mason, I
wasn't expecting you to ask me that. I'm your client, not a target. Or did
someone hire you to investigate me?"
"I prefer to know who I'm doing business with," said the spy. "But we
haven't been able to find out who you are, not a single fact. . . it's like
you're a ghost. In usual circumstances, we wouldn't even take a job
without a proper background check—"
"But you did because of the money," smiled Quinn. It wasn't strange they
hadn't found anything on him. "You don't need to know who I am,
Mason. You can treat me as a ghost if that's what you'd prefer."
Mason sighed. He took out a smoking pipe and twisted a bronze ring on
it that lit a fire inside. He took a puff before saying, "I would've preferred
what I was getting into, John. I have been hearing chatter about the very
people you asked us to investigate. I don't know what this is all about. . .
yet, but I'd like to. . . know."
Quinn laughed, "Don't we all. But be careful; knowing can be a curse." He
turned away and walked off, humming a tune that seemed a little sad.
.
Quinn West - John - I need to prepare; it's going to be a busy week
Mason - Intelligence Seller - Can feel it on his skin. . . something big is
coming.
.
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398. Chapter 398: Always Prep-
ing
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The seaside breeze tickled Quinn's nose as he looked at the blue North
Sea that stretched to the horizon. He stood at a hill near the seaside,
overlooking an unexplored part of the shore with beautiful white sand
receiving the gentle white tides.
Quinn shifted his feet and unsettled the seaside pebbles near his feet. He
raised his hand, palm down towards the ground, and said: "Up!"— A
couple of dry, rounded stones rose up, gently smacking into his palm. He
looked to the sea and raised his other hand, and in response, puddles of
water rose up from the sea and floated at his feet-level in a straight line.
He cocked his arm to the side and swung it like a whip launching the
shallow pebble towards the first puddle— it skipped off the water pool,
and then continued to skip along in the line, landing precisely where the
puddles were.
He smirked and extended the line of puddles. He tossed the stone up
high, and while it was in the air, he injected body magic through his
body. The stone came back down, touched his palm, and with another
whip-like swing, heaved it across the line of floating water puddles
launching water out on every hit.
Quinn nodded his head with satisfaction at his effort. He stamped his
foot, and a pebble shot up into his hand, ready to be hurled across(and
above) the sea— but his senses picked up something, and he dropped the
stone along with the water. He waved his hand in front of his face to
ensure his disguise and then turned to see Lucius Malfoy struggling his
way up the small hill.
"Updates?" asked Quinn.
Lucius Malfoy stepped to the top of the flat hill and respired heavily
while trying to hide the fact that the climb had left him out of breath.
The proud man stood straight and looked toward Quinn as if nothing was
wrong, and Quinn waited in silence.
"No changes have been made to the plans," said Lucius finally. "The
attacks are to go down tomorrow—" he cleared his throat "—my own
target will be attacked near the noon, at the Cerible Square, whereafter
he will be taken into custody—"
"Until all attacks have been completed," Quinn nodded. As the days had
passed, Rivers Lock had distributed more and more parts of the plan to
the teams, and one of the additions was that the target-victims were to be
hidden until the end of the day or the last attack, whichever came first.
"Are you ready?" asked Lucius.
"Ready?" Quinn quirked a brow. "No, I'm not."
"What. . . then—"
"Being ready means that you believe you've prepared for an event, which
means that there's nothing more to be done. I never believe that there's
always more to be done— to ensure the success of the plan to a greater
degree, even if it's only by a fraction. I have certainly met the minimum
requirements to secure success— but as Helmuth van Moltke the Elder
said: No plan ever survives contact with the enemy— and I've learned
that I like my plans surviving even if by a thread."
While the words were pretty, they held the concrete truth inside of them.
He was a major disadvantage of being only one person and going against
eleven groups of people who had planned out their offenses. And even
with his preparations, most of it wasn't his own— the research for nine
out of eleven targets had been outsourced, one he had taken directly
from Lucius, and the remaining one he had done on his own. Moreover,
the influence of Rivers Lock had organized the plans in such a way that
he had no way to get the exact details of the plans— and his counter-
strategy was a gamble, even though backed by research. He didn't even
fully trust Lucius' information and had to get into the double-spy's head
stealthily to confirm the genuinity of his words.
"What about me," spoke Lucius. "I-I don't want to get into trouble with
the Dark Lord."
". . . Has the last meeting been done? Is the Dark Lord or Rivers Lock or
anyone else going to address regarding tomorrow?" asked Quinn, looking
over the setting sun at the horizon. The sea was stunningly blue, with the
sky above painted in a tint of red, with streaks of white clouds that were
half-shadowed by the light from the sun.
"Everything's done, today we rest, and tomorrow we go for the job."
"I see," Quinn turned to Lucius and said, "then you're going to be just
fine." He raised his arm and pointed his index finger between Lucius'
brows— it was just close enough that Lucius had to squint to zone-in on
the finger. His squinting eyes blanked out with pupils dilating; the
shoulders slumped, and the entire loosened.
"If there's no memory of it, then there's nothing to be worried about,"
muttered Quinn as he stepped closer and let his fingertip touch Lucius'
forehead. "Don't worry, I will return your memories when I think it is
safe. Yes, you won't be getting any more family visits for a while— but
don't worry, I will leave the comfort behind."
There were two types of Obliviations: one type was to completely erase
the memory, expunge it completely without leaving any trace of it— but
then there was the other kind, it would cut the connection of the
memories to the larger net, leaving them inaccessible, turning them into
forgotten memories. Quinn had learned both types of Obliviations from
Alan's texts— he had wiped Dolion's memories completely, which was the
first type of Obliviation— while what he was doing with Lucius was
simply snipping the strings to the memories that could be retied later. As
for 'leaving comfort behind,' — he was going to work around the
emotions and leave the sentiments Lucius felt during his short reunions
with his family. Not only would it make Lucius's Obliviation proceed
much more smoothly, but it also wouldn't risk his work tomorrow. As for
the risk, Quinn knew how Legilimens operated. He knew how Legilimens
scoured through memories, and he knew if not explicitly looking for it,
no Legilimens would look for Obliviated memories. And someone like
Voldemort, who brute-forced most of the time, would never look,
especially when his target willingly submitted for most of the time.
Quinn removed his head, and Lucius dropped to the ground like a sack of
potatoes. Lucius' body rose up into the air, straight as a plank. Quinn put
his hand on his shoulder, and without an eruption of noise, the beachside
was left void of human life.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"You called for me, my Lord," said Rivers Lock, standing just outside the
room's threshold by the door. He looked at the brightly lit room with a
shred of surprise— whenever he had met with the Dark Lord, he had
done it in a dimly lit room with a couple of candles or a fire burning in a
fireplace. Having a room adequately lit, even a little bit overlit, was a
surprise if nothing else.
"Come in."
Rivers stepped in and observed the Dark Lord sitting behind a table with
a book in his hand, flipping through the pages as he leaned into his chair
leisurely. And there it was again, once again a surprise. River knew that
the Dark Lord was a learned man— no one becomes a magical juggernaut
without studying— but in the years he had been near the Dark Lord, he
had never seen him with a book in hand.
"Sit down."
Rivers complied and sat down. When Voldemort didn't look up from his
book, Rivers took the chance to observe the room; it was different from
the last time he had been there. The empty room had been filled with
bookshelves with tomes in every row; a grand table, and a throne-like
chair behind it. There were velvet curtains over the windows, and there
were some interesting things on the walls— an animated world map, a
tapestry giving out an intimidating feel, a seemingly normal circle mirror,
and a pelt of some beast hanging on the wall.
"Is everything prepared?"
Rivers turned to Voldemort and replied, "The teams have been prepared
and instructed. I have sat down with all the leaders, listened to their
plans, and suggested some improvements— it's up to them if they wish to
implement my suggestions. All in all, the teams are ready to perform
tomorrow." He had listened to their plans, and even though he would've
done things differently, done things better— but making plans wasn't
part of his duty. Though, the plans were decent enough for them to
succeed. "By tomorrow night, the Ministry would know what has
happened to them, and by the following morning, the people of this
country will realize who they're facing," he said.
Voldemort hummed and continued to read the ancient tome with frayed
page edges. "Who do you think has the highest chance of failing?"
"Nott," said Rivers without skipping a beat; he didn't even need to think
about an answer.
"Why?"
"Too brash, too hot-headed. The Southern Lord is too self-confident in
himself, the people he has chosen for his team, and his plan. I have sat
with everyone on various stages, and I had to directly question the man
on specific parts of his plans to make him see the egregious faults in
them," Rivers said nonchalantly, but his eyes were deader than usual. "He
doesn't know the importance of feedback; I had to force it down his
throat to make his plan. . . acceptable."
"What if he fails?"
"I. . . have a man in his team. . . a competent man, in case things go
awry. He will deviate from Nott's plan and do what seems fit for the
situation."
"And what if the situation is too public? Your plan requires secrecy."
"If it seems that the plan is going south, I've prepared a backup team just
in case."
"To go to such great lengths, you must really not trust Nott."
"Success is the only desired result," said Rivers. Trust Nott? If there was a
person in the world he trusted, it would never be Nott. If not for the
orders and Nott's standing in the Death Eater circles, he would've not
even let the man sniff the air around this operation.
Voldemort hummed again. He closed his book and let go of it for the
book to float into an empty slot in the bookshelf. For the first time, he
looked up at Rivers, and there was a sense of critical observation in the
red eyes. "What do you think will happen if tomorrow succeeds," he
asked.
"Chaos. Aurors will be blamed, Ministry will receive pressure, and a great
unrest will spread. We can assert control in the situation."
"Yes, we can. . . but I do not want to assert control, Lock," said
Voldemort, in a tone that, even though it seemed flat, was nothing but. "I
wish to rule," the voice was full of self-confidence, something much
different than Nott's— it was an insult to even compare. "For that reason,
this is just the start— the days of hiding are coming to an end."
"What do you mean, my Lord?"
"It's time to take over."
.
Quinn West - MC - Busy day ahead.
Lucius Malfoy - Double-Cross - Found himself waking up in a private
booth at a private club— thinks he's getting old to fall asleep in the
evening.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - I wish to dominate.
Rivers Lock - Strategist - Sure. . . whatever you say.
.
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399. Chapter 399: Cicada - Mantis
- Oriole
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Quinn stretched on the roof in his Noir gear configured into a grey urban
camouflage setting. It had been a second since he had put on the suit—
the Taboo curse had run out of steam with no Snatchers responding to
the calls— he had done a month where he had slept in two very short
shifts and had gone out after anyone who had responded to his Taboo
calls and swept the floor with them hard. Since that month, the Taboo
activity had been cut to near zero, excluding some exceptions.
After ticking out the last crack in his back, the mask appeared over his
face, and he moved towards the center of the roof to the edge. He turned
invisible, stepped on the ledge, and looked down at a window of a
calligraphy store, behind which an elderly friend sat trying out new
stationery. Quinn turned his head around the street and scoured the
general crowd, and there he saw it— people acting weird while trying to
blend in naturally.
'Use magic, you morons,' he thought, looking at the fools who were not
using a single shred of magic.
Head of Beast Division, Steven Jeffery— the man in charge of sub-
departments like Centaur Liaison Office, Committee for the Disposal of
Dangerous Creatures, Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau, Troll
Patrol. . . and the Security Council of Werewolf Caution. It was clear why
he was a target today; eliminating the man in charge of so many
important sub-department would cause so many security problems that
the DMLE would receive a ton of tension.
'A perfect start to the day. . .'
Quinn stretched his gloves over his hand and stepped back down. He
turned to the side, ran, jumped over to the next roof, and crossed the
distance before dropping into the alley below. He cut his fall with magic
and silently walked behind the Death Eater, standing in the shadow of
the wall, smoking a pipe— he was doing the best job, so Quinn decided
to take him out first.
Quinn tapped the wall, and the bricks shifted behind the man, creating a
void in which he fell. Quinn snapped his finger, and the sound of the
horrified man's scream was snuffed out. When the bricks closed, all that
was left behind were the Death Eater's hands, and the fingers moved
around, trembled, and even desperately flexed in search of freedom.
Quinn extended his hands and intertwined his fingers with the Death
Eater's, along with various tiny holes for breathing purposes.
"Sorry, but this is going to be traumatic," he muttered. Tetani Nervum
coursed through the Death Eater's arms and crippled them to the core. He
then released the Death Eater from the wall imprisonment and dropped
him down to the ground. He crouched down and entered the man's head
to get some concrete information about the plan.
'Got it.' Quinn got up and cast an anti-attention shroud over the Death
Eater. He walked out in the street while being invisible; he spread his
arms wide, and invisible magic started raining down on the Death Eaters.
Their eyes dulled and hazed for a moment before they returned to
normal.
He dipped into an alley again, and a moment later, he was out in his
John disguise. He wasted no time and entered the calligraphy shop—
behind him, not a single Death Eater twitched even a muscle.
"Welcome, sir," greeted the female employee with a smile. "How may we
serve you today?"
Quinn smiled, "I'm here to pick up a guest." Even though she was still
putting up a professional smile, he could see the confusion in her eyes.
He didn't wait for her response and clapped once; a wave of magic surged
out of him, and it was like someone had pushed pause on a video; no one
moved or reacted and remained utterly still— except Quinn.
He walked to Steven Jeffrey. There Ministry top-brass had his eyes
concentrated on his writing with the quill's tip touching the paper that
was soaking up the ink, creating a widening ink blot. Quinn snapped his
finger, and the quill slipped out from Steven's hand into the ink pot.
"Let's get you out of here," Quinn tapped the man on his bald spot, and
Steven went limp.
Quinn walked out of the shop with Steven in tow, floating beside him
under an invisibility spell. He looked behind and clapped again for the
store to resume its activity again— the female employee who had greeted
him blanked out for a second before turning to another customer. Quinn
gazed at the Death Eaters, who had their eyes trained on the shop
window and hadn't moved at all; even though Steven Jefferey was no
longer there, they didn't react. Such was the power of illusion magic.
They saw an illusion of Steven Jeffery doing what he was doing before.
'Two minutes,' noted Quinn. According to the scouting, Steven left the
calligraphy store at the same time every Friday. He dumped Steven
Jeffery on a bench on the street and then walked towards the Death
Eaters.
Two minutes later, out of a team of six Death Eaters, five had their hands
crippled, and Quinn was staring down at the unconscious sixth man.
"You're one lucky guy, Goyle," Quinn shook his head. Every team leader
had to report back on specific points of the day to communicate that
everything was going according to the plan. "Get ready to have a good
day. . ." He placed his hand on Goyle's head and began fabricating.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Rivers Lock apparated into a forest with nothing else but trees. A place
away from everything, somewhere he had explicitly chosen to hold
meetings. If he had chosen the meeting point in the headquarters or a
place with a roof, some of the team leaders would've been bound to
become lazy, thinking their job was done. In a place like this, they would
rather go back and wait with their people.
He turned to notice a bulky large-framed man sitting on a luxurious chair
— clearly conjured— under a tree's canopy shade.
Rivers walked in front of the chair and asked: "How did it go, Goyle?"
Vincent Goyle, who had been combing his long beard with a beard comb,
looked up at Rivers with unhidden displeasure and snorted, "What do you
expect?"
Rivers stared at Goyle without a word. Goyle stared back that soon
turned into a glare, but Rivers continued to stare down at the man. He
knew many Death Eaters didn't like him, labeling him as a 'fake' Death
Eater because of his past as a Novellus Accionites. It hadn't been a
problem when he had been under Pettigrew's 'mentorship,' but they had
turned on him when the Dark Lord had begun giving him attention.
Miserable people playing their pathetic politics. At least people like
Rookwood and Pettigrew made the experience bearable.
When Goyle saw that Rivers didn't budge, he grumbled, "It's done. Jeffery
is on the allocated area."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
Rivers nodded, "Good, now return," and turned away to leave.
"Don't be proud of this," called Goyle, scoffing. "You're nothing but a
bug."
Rivers didn't reply. It wasn't needed. Goyle was a simpleton whose brain
operated like an ape. He apparated out, not giving another look to Goyle.
. . .
When Rivers left, Goyle stood up and also left by way of apparation, all
the while grumbling about pathetic lowlives. He left the forest and
arrived at a small cabin situated in a grassland with a gentle breeze
wafting the green pastures.
"I've returned," said Goyle upon entering the wooden cabin. "Any
problems while I was gone? . . . No? Good. . . Where's the body? In the
back." Goyle walked to the back room and looked inside the back room,
and gazed at the table in the center of the room. He nodded before
walking back into the front. "Anyone by chance brought something to
drink?" he asked. He got no response in return. He sighed, "No matter, we
shall drink our hearts out when today ends, and celebrate in the name of
our glorious Lord."
He cheered, sat down on the padded rocking chair, swung back and
forth. . . and seemingly talked to people who were not there, laughing all
alone in the small cabin. There was no one in the little house, not even a
dead body in the back room that Goyle had just seemingly checked.
All alone.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
Quinn looked up at the hole in the ceiling, watching the light snow
falling down. He followed a little flake as it fluttered past his face,
weightlessly made its way down to the floor, and gently landed on a
Death Eater's check. The cloudy white snowflake dyed red from the blood
that bled out of a shallow cut.
Fourteen Death Eaters laid around him in all sorts of horrendous
positions and shared the fact that they all were riddled with injuries.
Quinn sighed; things had gone awry so quickly. He looked at the cause of
it, and he couldn't say that he wasn't surprised.
Nott Senior. Father of Theodore Nott. The man that had once tried to
make his underaged son into a Death Eater. Quinn had thought that the
man would be more shrewd if he had once tried to leverage his son, but
it turned out that he was just another idiot.
"To be not trusted by your own side, what a pitiful sight," he sighed.
The day had started great; he had begun with Goyle's team and had made
it through half of the teams before lunch without a hint of trouble. But
then he met Nott's team and faced the first unexpected situation, and
none of it was his fault. Nott's target was Colton Hirsch, the high-
functioning alcoholic.
The operation had started well, with Quinn identifying every single one
of the Death Eaters in record time. They were just sitting around in the
biggest bar in town, watching Hirsch without even pretending to hide.
Unlike with Goyle, he couldn't repeat what he did in the calligraphy store
with so many people drinking in the bar, so he decided to target Hirsch
instead.
When the drunkard decided to go piss, Quinn followed him with the plan
of shooting Hirsch with a stunner inside a stall, tapping him up in there
under an invisibility spell and then taking his place. But it turns out that
Nott had the same plan as half of his team followed them inside the
washroom.
Wands were drawn, and in the tight quarters, Quinn had taken quick
action and used hostile force against the Death Eaters, breaking bones
and knocking consciousness. Alas, they had squealed like pigs, and some
of the noise leaked out before Quinn could silence it, causing the rest of
the Death Eaters to come inside. He had knocked them out instantly, but
then something shocking happened. A hole blew up in the ceiling, and
spells rained inside. Taking them out was simple, and Quinn had done so,
but the gaping hole in the roof could've created a problem.
"Let's hope no one was scouting," Quinn muttered.
He snapped his fingers, and the debris flew back to the ceiling, sealing
the gap up; in a couple of seconds, the roof was whole again. He walked
to Nott and targeted the feeble mind of the fool.
.
Quinn West - MC - Let's see, shall we?
FictionOnlyReader - Author - 1 down, 1 to go.
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400. Chapter 400: 400!
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Quinn observed the Death Eaters standing outside a local Quidditch
stadium.
The target was yet again a department head, and the reason she was
visiting a stadium was to see a game that her son was playing in as part
of a local team in a second-tier league. Quinn gazed around to see if he
could discover someone hidden, but none was in sight. He sent out the
gentle winds to do his scouting, but they also returned empty-handed.
The Death Eaters he could see were the only ones present.
'Which means that the situation with Nott hasn't created a problem,'
thought Quinn. After the fight at the bar was over, Quinn had read every
Death Eaters' mind present in the washroom, and he had found that the
two teams didn't have any communication with the Rivers Lock, which
meant that he could spin the narrative any he wanted. He had edited the
memories in the mind of Nott and Rivers' spy in Nott's team to make it so
that they would remember their operation as a success— while the
backup-cleanup crew was expunged of their memories of ever getting a
distress call from the spy and were made to believe that Nott's team had
done the job correctly.
It was a three-way insurance. Rivers would meet Nott and get a positive
response; he could call upon the spy and get the same answer; the backup
crew's leader would convey the same result.
Quinn let the winds under his feet go and allowed himself to freefall from
the sky. The winds fluttered for a moment before Arresto Momentum cut
his fall, and he was beside the Death Eaters. He flicked his wrist, and the
Death Eaters fell down like bowling pins.
"One more, and I'll be done for the day," he sighed, "but before that." He
looked at the target walk out of the stadium's VIP gate and flicked his
wrist again, and she fell down on the ground, face first. Quinn wrinkled
his nose. "Sorry about that," he muttered. He was going to need to fix that
before he could let her go. He couldn't let any of the targets continue on
with their days because the Death Eaters had plans with their corpses.
'Better than in my care than theirs,' Quinn shrugged as he got to the
standard memory alteration.
. . .
The sun was near setting, with the sunset red almost out of sight and
about to be replaced by the evening blue. Only one Death Eater team was
left, and Quinn had saved the easiest one for the last.
He turned his head from the changing sky when he heard the pops of
apparation. The last Death Eater team had arrived. He stepped out from
the shade of the tree and came upon a huddle with the last leader, Lucius
Malfoy, addressing his team. Quinn sighed when he saw the long sleeve
that hid Lucius' right missing hand. That hand could be healed back to
new in a week tops; the cut wasn't caused by dark magic and only needed
the material and the jolt from magic to regrow— but Lucius hadn't grown
it back because it was fear rather than magic holding him back.
'I hope he doesn't get punished,' he thought as he raised his hand for
several stunners to fly out of his hand. The entire team dropped to the
ground, and it made Quinn realize how easy it was some time to simply
take out people from the shadows.
He sat down the Death Eaters and cast Tetani Nervum onto everyone
except Lucius as he still had a job to do. As the soot and haze covered the
Death Eater, he heard footsteps coming to a skidding stop. Quinn turned
and saw a middle-aged in track pants. It was the target; he had his house
right around the corner, and around the same time every day, he would
go for a run around his home. Quinn shrugged, and a stunner caught the
man in the chest, and he flew a couple steps back before falling down to
the ground.
"Well, time for chaos."
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
"Lucius Malfoy just reported back," said Rivers to the Voldemort, who
was again reading in his room. "The last Ministry head has been captured
and killed. They're ready to be presented."
"Good, give them the signal to proceed."
"They'll move at six."
Voldemort's hand, which was writing on parchment, stopped. He leaned
back on his chair and stared at Rivers for a moment before saying, "I
would like to see."
"My Lord?"
"I would like to see one of the displays."
Rivers thought for a moment before shrugging internally; he didn't mind
the Dark Lord tagging along. The Dark Lord was the one who ordered the
operation, Rivers had no say in refusing him, so he asked, "Which one
would you like to go visit?"
"Lucius. Perhaps I was too hard for him. I shall witness his work and
graciously bestow the permission to have his hand healed back. It'll be
excellent to re-affirm the fickle Mafloy into out of our ranks. I'm sure he'll
be elated," said the Dark Lord. "Where is Malfoy?"
"He's in charge of Diagon Alley."
"You must like him to give him Diagon Alley."
"He was the most logical and calm of all. It was a rational choice to give
Diagon Alley to Malfoy," Rivers said before posing a question. "Your room
has changed quite a lot, My Lord. May I enquire the reason for the
sudden change."
Voldemort raised his right arm for a wand crept out of his sleeve and slid
into his hand. Rivers stilled as he cautiously gazed at Voldemort while
hiding all his emotions; he didn't dare to reach for his wand. Voldemort
gazed at the wand as he spoke, "Magic is power, Rivers. If you master
magic, you can master pure power. Mastering magic, however, requires
knowledge— the more knowledge I gain, the more magic I'll master, and
more power I'll acquire." Voldemort looked up at Rivers. "I can sense that
you disagree."
"No, My Lord. You are correct."
"You're simply saying that to agree with me," Voldemort called him out.
"Both of us have been leaders of organizations. I of Death Eaters and you
lead the Novellus Accionites— but the truth of the matter is that the only
reason you gained followers was that you used my name. . ."
Rivers kept his face steady, but his fist clenched behind the table.
". . . and why do you think that is?" continued Voldemort. "Even when
the world thought I had perished, they responded to my name— why?
Because I commanded that much power. So much so that even after my
death, people didn't dare to say my name and taught their children to not
utter it." He pointed his wand at the book and raised it up, "This is the
source of all of it, Rivers. Magic and knowledge. You are witty and wise,
but you lack the might of magic. . . and that's the difference between you
and me." Voldemort stood up, "Come now, as we witness the start of my
rise."
Rivers silently stood up and followed after Voldemort. As he looked at
Voldemort's back, Rivers clenched his jaw as he failed to think of a way
to get rid of Voldemort. . . and that made him feel what he had been just
told.
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
In the winter, even with a thick coat of snow coating the roads, roofs,
and the nook and crannies of the Diagon Alley streets, the Diagon Alley
was abuzz with people shopping in the shops that the marketplace had to
offer. The shops sparkled with their lights under the night sky, shining
their glows on the paved paths.
"Ugh, the cold's hurting my back," Sirius Black pressed the sides of his
fists into his lower back.
"What happened to your back?" asked James, looking around the street,
observing everything that entered his eyes. Today was the monthly
random check of the area under their jurisdiction, which they did to
check if the rookie Aurors were doing a good job at their patrol duties.
James was in charge of Diagon Alley and had placed his most promising
subordinates on Diagon Alley, so he wasn't expecting any problems, but it
was better safe than sorry.
Sirius groaned, "I didn't sleep well yesterday."
"What happened?"
"I was with this girl I met yesterday, someone I picked up at the bar," said
Sirius twisting his waist in an attempt to gain some relief. "We were
having fun, as we ended up at her place—"
"Okay, okay, so you slept at her place, and the bed didn't suit you; is that
it?" James said with a sigh.
"I did sleep at her place, but not on her bed. . . things were pretty wild,
and I woke up on the floor with her draped on me," Sirius smirked and
then gleefully said, "It was a good night."
James shook his head. "When are you going to settle—"
"Oh, here we go."
"— find a good girl, start a family—"
"Can we not do this again."
But before the banter could continue, they heard screams and shouting of
men and women that cut through the joyous theme of the streets. Sirius
and James turned back and saw a crowd of people gathering around a
spot. They exchanged looks, and their faces assumed an Auror-on-duty
expression as they ran towards the crowd.
"Move aside, move aside!" Sirius pushed people aside as he and James
made their way to the front of the crowd. "Aurors! Move back, move
back!"
When they reached the front, two Senior Aurors gasped when they saw
the scene that had gathered so many people. Seven people, on their
knees, forming a circle with their heads bowed down to the ground; their
arms hung wide on wood beams. One sleeve each of the seven men were
torn, revealing their arms— and showing the tattoo made up of a skull
and a snake— the Dark Mark.
"Death Eaters," whispered James.
"Who did this?" said Sirius.
"I can guess, and I'm pretty sure it will check out their arms for magic,
but he has never been so public with his showings."
"No, not in public like this."
"What did they do? Or is he planning something?"
"How would I know. . . let's get the people away from the scene."
James and Sirius were about to call out to people when they heard
someone call out to them by name. They turned to see a Junior Aurors
pushing her way to the front.
"Sir. . . sir," she huffed to catch her breath. "Sir, twelve Ministry
departments are missing! None of them—" The female Auror stopped
when she saw the seven Death Eaters. "W-What happened here?"
"Continue the report," ordered James.
"Err, yes, sir," she said with her eyes still on the Death Eater kneeling
circle. "Just now, we got a report—"
"Sirs!" another voice called after them. Three Aurors turned to see
another Junior Auror pushing his way to the front. "Head Auror is calling
you back to the Office, sirs. We got multiple reports of Death Eaters
sightings—" his eyes went to the Death Eaters— "exactly like this! Oh my
god, who is doing this?!"
Sirius and James looked at each other. "He's involved," said Sirius. James
nodded, "Oh yeah, no doubt about it. . . let's go—"
"Sirs!"
"Again?!" Sirius exclaimed when another Junior Auror came running
through the crowd. "What is this? Why isn't just one of you relaying
messages."
"Sirs!" exclaimed the third Junior Auror, standing in line with the other
two. He looked at the female Junior Auror before continuing, "The
department heads have been returned in a group outside one of the
Office gates!"
James was speechless, but Sirius had one final thing to say, "Today is a
Friday, man. . . why can't they choose a better time?"
.
o - o -O - o - o
.
On the roof of a building in Diagon Alley, Voldemort and Rivers watched
the commotion.
"Lucius reported that the operation was a success," frowned Rivers. He
looked at the Dark Lord, who hadn't said a single word since they had
arrived.
"Do you see the Aurors there?"
Rivers moved his eyes, and to his surprise, he saw James Potter and
Sirius standing in the front of the crowd.
"I heard what they're talking about," said Voldemort. "One of them said
that all the department heads just showed up at the Aurors Office— and
they," he pointed at the Death Eaters, "met the Invisible Vigilante, I can
sense his magic inside their arms. . . so I will ask this once, Rivers Lock—
when did you start colluding with the Invisible Vigilante?"
". . . What? I'm not colluding with the Invisible Vigilante."
Voldemort turned to Rivers, and he backed away, feeling the eyes of the
ruthless man on him.
"You were the one who knew the entire plan, Rivers. You're the only one
that could've told him about it."
". . . I didn't."
"Speak the truth."
"I did not collude with the Invisible Vigilante. I haven't even seen him in
person."
"You leave me no choice," Voldemort raised his hand, and Rivers felt like
someone had buried everything below his neck into the ground— he
couldn't even move his toes. "If you won't tell the truth, I'll look inside
myself."
Rivers felt like his heart would leap out of his throat, and Voldemort
moved closer to him, and when the pain arrived, he couldn't even scream
out.
.
Quinn West - MC - Chaos. . . just the other way around.
Rivers Lock - Death Eater - Nooooo!
Voldemort - Dark Lord - I'm feeling displeased.
.
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