HP: A Magical Journey

by Little Merger

Follow Quinn West, who finds himself in the world of Harry Potter, but are things as they seem, is the world he has landed in the same as the one he once read about. Will Quinn able to find his way in this new world? Will he ever be able to feel like he belongs here? What opportunity would the magic of this world provide him? Will it lead him to the light or drown him in the dark?

6. 161 - 192

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Two girls stood outside the AID office; both looked nervous about stepping inside. Both had gone to grab the doorknob just to back off at the last second.

"What do you think he called us for?" asked one girl.

"I don't know!" replied the other, sounding a little snippy, "If I knew why he called us, I wouldn't be pulling my hair out here."

The first girl sighed and leaned against the wall. "That girl Luna. . . she just handed us the letter and then skipped. She could've told us something."

"Yes, even that letter was just an invitation," though it felt like summons, "the reason wasn't given inside."

"Do you think we did something that he didn't like?"

"I-I hope not. You know what they say about the older students who got called in by him. They —"

The second girl cut her off. "Yes, yes, I know what they say. You don't have to repeat it. I prefer not to think about it."

"I-I think we should leave," suggested the first girl, "we can talk to Cedric; he might be able to help us out."

". . . Yeah, that isn't a bad idea," nodded the second, "we should leave and return with Cedric or just send Cedric to see what he wants to talk about."

The girls reached a conclusion and nodded. They straightened themselves up and were about to leave when the door opened and stood there sighing was Quinn West.

"I've been waiting for you two to enter for ten minutes. How can you two spend so much time out here doing nothing — I'm assuming you were doing nothing. Step inside, I have a lot of work to do, and you aren't doing me any favors standing outside."

Quinn turned and walking back inside the office.

The two girls looked at each other with expressions of worry. They were just about to leave. They should've gone quicker, thought both of them. With no choice remaining, they entered the office, closing it behind them.

"First of all, you have no reason to be scared or anxious," started Quinn as all three sat down, "You aren't here because you made a mistake or anything — someday, I'm going to get the guys who're spreading misinformation about me."

'You're the one who is doing it by calling older students left and right like they mean nothing,' thought the first girl.

"I'm not that bad," said Quinn smiling at the first girl.

"Huh?" uttered the girl, confused. 'Did I speak that out loud,' she thought. But no, she didn't say her thoughts out loud.

Quinn's smile grew a tad bit wider before he clapped his hands once. "Now, we're already working a few minutes behind my schedule, so I would like to move on immediately."

He gazed at the two girls, one brunette and the other a strawberry blonde.

"Ms. Bones and Ms. Abbot," he addressed them, "I've actually called you two here because I'm in need of assistance. I have a lot of things to do for the quidditch tournament, and as such, there are some things that I simply can't devote. Unfortunately for me, those unattended tasks can't be ignored, so to combat my little problem, I've called upon both of you to inquire if you would be willing to help me."

The Hufflepuff girls' first reaction was to exhale a sigh of relief. They weren't called here because of something that displeased Quinn — hearing that had lifted the stone off their chest.

"What are these tasks that you talk about?" asked Susan Bones, the strawberry blonde and a fourth-year Hufflepuff.

On her side, Hannah Abbot, the brunette, a fellow fourth-year Hufflepuff, raised the same question.

"The upcoming quidditch tournament is going to be held at a much larger scale than our typical quidditch tournament. There will be a lot of fanfare around the tournament — seeing that AID has decided to sell tournament-exclusive merchandise to anyone who would like to buy them."

"What kind of . . . merchandise, was it? What kind of merchandise?" asked Hannah.

"Ah yes, I guess showing some samples would be clearer for everyone," said Quinn nodding in agreement. He pulled out two objects from his pockets and placed them on his desk.

"These are?" muttered Susan picking up an object; Hannah did the same.

As Hannah stared and studied the object in her hands, she questioned, "Is this Cedric?"

In her hands was a small figurine of Cedric Diggory, decked out in Hufflepuff quidditch gear, flying on the broom, which wasn't connected to the circular base and suspended in the air with magic. Similarly, Susan held Victor Krum's quidditch action figure. This one wore Bulgarian national quidditch team and rode a Firebolt, chasing a miniature golden snitch.

Both action figures were enchanted with the animation charms. Cedric's robes and hair fluttered as his broom moved above the circular base. Similarly, Krum's figurine chased a tiny golden snitch, and when he caught it, the figurine celebrated.

"There will be many more things like team-specific lapel badges, banners, flags, hats, jumpers, and player cards when the final teams get decided," said Quinn listing things that he was planning to sell. "I'm planning to sell all of these among other things at the games, and I need your help regarding this — only if you're willing, that is."

"You don't want us to make these, do you?" asked Hannah. Transfiguration wasn't her strong suit.

"Oh no," came the reply immediately. "Of course not. There will be too many of each object for a student to complete with their timetables. I will be making some of these things myself —," his efficiency-aspect occlumency was coming along splendidly, enabling him to multitask production tasks, "— the rest I've already outsourced to professional businesses."

"Then?" asked Susan.

"I want you to be in charge of sales," said Quinn, "I don't have the time to man the sales of these merchandises; as such, I want you two to take care of it, and of course — I will provide you with appropriate compensation. What do you say?"

Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot were well-established Hufflepuffs, and the duo ran in many circles — social butterflies if one were to attach a word to it. Quinn had judged them to be his first choice for his sales team — well, he wanted to hire the girls who handled the sales for his Lockhart merchandise, but they had already graduated.

"Let's say if we take the job," asked Susan Bones, the niece of Head of DMLE Amelia Bones, "Do you think we will be able to handle it? I'm not sure if Hannah and I are. . . prepared for this. We haven't sold anything before."

"You don't have to worry about that," smiled Quinn, "there is a first time for everything. And I don't want to brag, but I'm really good at sales, terrific even. A crash course from me is all you need to get started. Also, it's not like I'll be leaving you, leaving you alone without supervision — no, I'll be there to help, but you two will be handling most of the stuff."

The best friends looked at each other and communicated with their gesture skills which bordered on telepathy. Quinn watched them with a smile, confident that they would accept.

"What is the compensation that you talked about?"

Quinn grinned. It was time for their first lesson. He was going to sell the job to them.

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Hiring a sales team wasn't enough. Quinn had more departments he wanted help in, and it was high time he got to hire more people. So he got to it and started with people close to him that he trusted.

"You know what, we haven't sat down like this and talked in such a long time," he started with a smile, "what happened? It's like you two have gotten so busy to make time for us."

Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis sat in front of his desk; both girls sported deadpan expressions, not feeling Quinn's amusement.

"Would you like to reframe that sentence?" asked Daphne.

Quinn awkwardly chuckled. He knew that he had once again messed up his work-life balance.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he spoke, "I got caught up in work, got busy, and wasn't able to hang out."

"And?" asked Tracey, raising her chin slightly.

". . . you warned me that this would happen," muttered Quinn, looking at them with his chin down and upturned eyes.

"Yes, we did, and what did you say?"

Quinn mumbled something that the girls missed.

"Pardon, I didn't catch that," said the blonde.

". . . that you were worrying about nothing it won't happen," replied the boy, lightly pursing his lips.

"And here we are," said the bubbly brunette smugly.

Quinn twidled his thumb over his desk as the three sat in momentary silence before Quinn spoke up.

"Well, you know the saying —"

But Daphne cut him off with, "We will help you."

"Eh?" uttered Quinn with a loss of words.

"You called us because you wanted help, did you not?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did, but how did you—"

Again he was cut, this time by Tracey, "Just like you, we have our means."

Quinn's mind turned into a wide 'O' as he stared at the girls, moving his eyes from one to the other.

It took him a couple of seconds before he realized what he was doing.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat and spoke in a voice a tad bit deeper than usual, "well, that saves me time from convincing. Thank you, I really need all the time I can get."

"Uh-huh, so what do you want us to help you with," grinned Tracey; the brunette was back to her bubbly mode.

"Did you two see the construction going by the quidditch stadium?" asked Quinn.

The girls nodded.

"Do you know why?" When they shook their heads, he continued, "This year, the students wouldn't be the only ones to see the games. . . This year! The quidditch tournament is open to the people outside. Anyone with a ticket would be able to see the tournament. Of course, every student will get a guaranteed seat, irrespective of attending or not. Only the remaining seats will be sold to outsiders."

"I need someone to corroborate the tickets and seats," he then pointed, "Tracey, I want you to help me that."

Tracey tilted her head in confusion. "I'm confused; what do I need to do?"

"Don't worry, it's a desk job. You just need to authorize tickets and mail them to the buyers. Any ticket that isn't authorized by you will be deemed fraudulent. The only maybe tough part will be that the job will get repetitive, and you'll have to keep extensive records."

"I see. . . I still don't understand, but I'll do it."

"No worries about that. I'll give you a rundown of the entire process and will be there with you every step of the way."

Tracey gave a thumbs-up, so Quinn moved on to Daphne.

"Daphne, you will be handling communications with the team," said Quinn. "Any and all communication with the teams will go through you. They won't come to me but to you. You'll answer their questions and solve any problems they have. When you come along with a problem that you can't solve, you'll come to me. You'll also keep me up to date with what's happening with the teams; everything from recruitment to logo, name, and jersey creation, you'll update me every day."

Daphne and Tracey both stared at Quinn. . . They were confused. One job didn't involve interaction with other people, but the other was primarily a communication-heavy duty. They were okay with the nature tasks, but. . .

"Quinn. . . are you sure you don't want to switch our tasks," asked Daphne, "Tracey will be better for this one. Are you sure you aren't making a mistake?"

Tracey nodded; she also thought that Daphne would be better at the ticket task. From what she understood, it was a task that required attention to detail and precision; it was right up Daphne's alley.

Quinn tilted his head. "Why?"

His expression, more than his words, caused the girls to be at a loss of words. There was something there that they couldn't put the finger on, but it stopped them from giving an answer.

"I want Tracey at tickets and Daphne with the teams," he said in a neutral tone, "Are you saying that you won't be able to do this? If so, we can stop right here."

". . . No, we can handle it," said Daphne, "Tracey will handle tickets and I the teams."

Quinn was enlisting them because he needed help. They weren't asking him anything in return, so he decided to pay them in a new experience. Tracey was an extrovert who could generally get along with anyone, so Quinn chose to put her into a position where she would've to be meticulous, something Tracey wasn't that good at. On the other hand, while she didn't have problems with communication, Daphne liked to remain in a small circle of friends, so Quinn put her into a position that would actively have her talk to other people.

In that way, he hoped that both would be comfortable outside their own comfort zone by the end of the year.

"Good to hear that," smiled Quinn.

"So, how are you going to pay us?" asked Tracey.

It seems Quinn was wrong; they were asking for something in return.

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"Never thought that we would be called here by you —"

"— and that too because you want our help."

" "Now, that's a surprise!" "

Quinn watched as another duo sat in his office. This duo, unlike others, was in sync.

"It shouldn't be that much of a surprise," said Quinn, "In the years of our correspondence, you guys know that I have come to . . . like you two."

The Weasley twins laughed. " "We too like you." "

"I'm glad to hear that," smiled Quinn.

"So, what do you need from us," asked George Weasley, and Fred Weasley continued, "do tell because it really makes us wonder."

"The quidditch tournament, are you guys taking part?" asked Quinn.

" "We are." "

"Oh, have you guys decided on teams?"

"Yes, Gryffindor team is already divided —" "— we're going with Angelina —" "— while Harry and Katie are playing with Alicia."

"Any progress with the non-Gryffindor part of the teams?" asked Quinn.

" "Not yet." "

"Alright, then. Let's get to why I've called you here," said Quinn, "I think you both are going to enjoy with very much. It falls right up your alley."

The Wesley twins smiled. They have known Quinn for a while. Their correspondence had reached a point that seventy percent of items on Filch's list were made under the West-Weasley collaboration. The Weasleys designed their items from scratch: design, constructions, spells, and constructed prototypes. When they were satisfied with their creations, they would pass it onto Quinn, who would give it a look over and optimize to create the final item.

The Weasley got their items while Quinn got to use his magic knowledge, and from time-to-time get inspiration.

" "Tell us." "

"Gambling."

A single word from Quinn made the twins lead forward. " "You've got our attention" "

"Great. Every tournament has some sort of betting going on. Our regular Hogwarts tournaments also have it going. Students from all years of all houses. This year isn't going to be any different — no, it's going to be different, the bets will be on a different level this time. There are more teams, more games, more things to bet about and. . . a lot more money to be made."

"That's true —" "— we thought about it too —" "— what're you thinking about?"

"I want to keep all of the bettings under one umbrella — under my umbrella," said Quinn, "centralize the entire thing, create a framework that will eliminate the need of side betting."

"An ambitious project—" "— we didn't expect any less from you."

"But if I want to make this a reality, I will need promotion and enforcement," he continued, "I can provide great odds to eliminate any and all competition. But if we want to make it a regular operation that runs throughout the tournament, I need people who will work the field."

Quinn pointed at the twins and smiled, "And who better than you two. So I would like you two to work with me to set up the betting scene for the quidditch tournament."

"Hmm. . . let's just say if we join you —" "— what will we get in return —" "— because while this sounds mad exciting, it's also a lot of work."

"Hmm, as expected, I was right to choose you two," beamed Quinn, "I will give you something that both of you are seeking. . . I will invest in the joke shop you both are planning."

" ". . . How do you know 'bout that?!" "

Quinn gave them a silent look and gesticulated to them with a smile.

"Yeah, that was a redundant question to ask —" "— but are you serious because this is serious for us."

"I'm serious; very serious. Work with me, and I will invest all the money you'll ever need to set up the shop. The amount of capital I will give you will depend on the performance you show me. Do good, and you'll have enough resources to let those ideas of yours come to life."

"So what do you say," asked Quinn.

The twins didn't even look at each other as smiles split their faces.

" "We agree!" "

Quinn interlocked his fingers and nodded, "Merry cooperation, lads."

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Quinn West - MC - Gathering independent contractors.

Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot - Independent Contracts (#1) (#2) - Sales.

Daphne Greengrass - Independent Contracts (#3) - HR.

Tracey Davis - Independent Contracts (#4) - Logistics.

Weasley Twins - Independent Contracts (#5) - Entrepreneurs.

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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A shadow rushed between two Forbidden Forest trees, cruising through the forest, zig-zagging among the trees. The figure seemed to know its way around the woods as they sprinted through the woodlands without losing much speed while twisting, turning, and jumping through any obstacle that presented itself in the path.

"This! Feels! Great!"

Quinn didn't know his way around the Forbidden Forest woodland; sure, somewhere in his mind, he had the layout of trees he had seen memorized, but Quinn never accessed or immersed those memories; it was inefficient for him to do so.

So how could he move through a densely packed forest with plenty of short-range altitude obstacles? The answer was pure athleticism — an elevated level of athleticism enabled by the use of body magic.

"These enhancements are mad!" he grinned as he spun to the side to avoid a tree, and then without missing a beat, he kept running.

Quinn was a fifteen-year-old with an above-average base physique granted to him by genetics. He exercised regularly without fail and took care of his body; as such, Quinn was the most physically fit among his weight class. His jogging speed was higher than others' sprinting speed. And currently, that person was accessing ninety percent of his total physical capability.

He kept running, running, and running. Quinn didn't stop, which was unusual as he couldn't keep running for this long, even at his ninety percent.

The answer was once again body magic.

There were two different ways a user could improve their body magic skills.

First, they could increase their percentage accessible throughout the board and enhance every category simultaneously. Quinn had employed this method to get himself access to ninety percent of his physical capabilities. But that was it — ninety percent was Quinn's limit; he couldn't push it above ninety as his magic failed due to instability. He didn't have the skill to bring his body above ninety percent.

He had reached a cap — a cap that restricted his progress, and Quinn didn't like his progress to be hindered, so he set on looking for ways to kickstart his progress so that he could continue to grow.

And from that came the second method.

Body magic was divided into five broad categories: Speed, Strength, Endurance, Durability, and Reflexes.

For Quinn to reach ninety percent, he had to access ninety percent in all five categories. He had done that and thus had reached his current limit, and that's where the second method kicked in — if he couldn't pull all five at the same time, how about tackling the five categories one at a time. One was much easier than five. Quinn didn't have to corroborate five different sets of magic and only work with one-fifth load — that was something he could work with.

Thus he started working using the second method. According to the instructions, he targeted one of five — Endurance: the ability to sustain the prolonged physical effort.

The start was slow: the first step along the way was to push his natural endurance above the ninety percent he had complete control over. The last ten percent was a tricky block to cross; his human body showed resistance against his wishes. The limit that could be achieved by pure physical exercise was eighty percent, with the last twenty percent reserved for life-and-death situations. Quinn had already encroached half of that reserve, and his body wanted to keep the remaining for its original purpose — for emergencies.

To perform any magic, the user needed to believe that what they were doing worked — During his occlumency shields build, he had believed that his hexagon design would be solid and stable. While understanding took care of the actual functionality behind the magic, it was imagination that took shape to that functionality.

So it was a slight problem when his physical instincts "believed" that the last ten percent of his physical capabilities wasn't there at all, that there wasn't anything to access, and Quinn was already working with hundred percent. Talk about a wrench in his plans. It took Quinn a lot of time and effort before he could override that physical instinct that limited him.

He did them all while channelling magic, trying different ways to mold magic to gain desired effects by running, shovelling ground, boxing, and whatnot. The result was access to one hundred percent of his stamina. He could keep doing things longer, much longer than his non-magical-base sixty percent.

Now, as Quinn ran, he passed the cautious acromantula infested area, the troll clearing, and kept running. Soon he reached yet another clear area — it was dark as the surroundings' canopy was so outreaching that they covered the sky above the clearing.

"Finally," said Quinn, leaning forward as his hands on his thighs supported his body. "Oh boy, didn't think maintaining a hundred and twenty percent of stamina would require that much control."

No matter how hard Quinn trained, he couldn't keep running at speeds closer to sprinting than jogging for a dozen minutes. To achieve that, he needed to surpass the natural hundred percent limit and enter the realm of magical augmentation.

"As expected," he mused, "I can only augment my stamina by thirty points over the all-around ninety percent. Anything above that will collapse the magic."

As the name suggested, body magic was magic and thus supernatural. It allowed Quinn to go above hundred percent and enter levels not achievable by his body. To achieve it, instead of his body, his magic covered anything above a hundred.

Currently, he could only make his magic cover thirty points on his muscular endurance and cardiovascular endurance (ability to transport oxygen throughout the body).

"Yeah, this was the right decision," affirmed Quinn, standing up straight, "Going with augmentation rather than hundred across the board. This will be a better fit for me."

When Quinn reached the ninety percent block, he was presented with two choices. The first was to get every individual stat to a hundred and then learn to manage all five on a hundred percent before entering the field on augmentation. The second choice was to get one stat to a hundred and then learn to artificially (magically) augment and repeating that with every stat before moving on to merging them to push his entire physical above its full capabilities.

Both were equally apt, but Quinn went with the second as he thought if he learned to augment, it would be easier to grasp how to merge and manage all five when he learned it.

"Alright, then, let's move on," said Quinn, ending his body magic thoughts, "now, where am I. . ."

He looked around, and there wasn't much to see except for a tree-free area surrounded by many trees.

"Well, let's move on, I guess."

He took in a deep breath and checked how long his body could take getting its endurance augmented; body magic had its limits — out of the one hundred and twenty percent that he was pulling, a hundred was his body's natural endurance, and the magic would stop if he went lower than a certain point.

"Hmm. . . without a rest, I can go another fifteen minutes," he formulated. "Let's go —"

Suddenly, Quinn felt someone was staring towards him. His attention to his surroundings peaked, and he looked around to see what had triggered his senses. His dark vision eyes peeled through the darkness.

"Found it," he whispered. It was very faint, but Quinn caught it among the tall grass and bushes present on the base of trees.

He slid his hand from left to right for an arc of water to manifest in the air. He snapped his fingers for the water arc to become razer thin and cut through the air towards the one who was watching him. The razer sharp water cut through the tall grass and bushes, but there was no one there.

"Hiding behind the tree, huh."

Magic concentrated in front of him as Quinn cast a potent piercing spell; he was going to nail the offender by going through the tree. But just as he was about to unleash the attack when he heard a growl behind him. Immediately, Quinn raised his left hand behind him and initiated a spell that could disintegrate flesh and bones on contact while holding the piercing spell in his right.

He looked back, and his eyes weren't already diluted; they would've diluted to their fullest as ten feet away from Quinn stood a wolf, and Quinn could immediately tell that this wolf was of a magical species as even while on four legs, the wolf's height came to his chest.

Quinn heard a rustle where he was about to shoot the piercing spell, and he turned his head just enough to see another gigantic wolf walk out into the clearing.

"Why do you invade our land?"

The second he heard the words, Quinn's eyes widened, and he immediately cut the supply of magic to his spells and instead charged a brand new spell and shot it towards the wolf closer to him.

The aurora blue spell hit the wolf right in the face, and Quinn watched in anticipation to see the effects, but nothing came. The wolf, other than being startled, stood there unaffected.

"Huh? why didn't it —"

Quinn didn't have time to finish his sentence as he heard a roar from the second wolf behind him. He turned to see the enormous wolf charging towards him with a snarl. The sight of the giant wolf was scary, and Quinn didn't want the wolf anywhere near him.

He tapped his foot on the ground once, and his magic responded as metal chains with cuffs shot out of the earth and snapped around the running wolf's ankles. The wolf's speed was so high that it didn't get time to stop in time, and the chains became taut, pulling all four of its legs, causing it to slam onto the ground.

Quinn didn't have time to celebrate. He turned back and saw that the first startled wolf had recovered and had just pushed the ground to charge Quinn. He breathed out, and a large strip of earth between them froze over. And from the layer of ice covering the ground, dozens of big gnarly spikes shot out with crunching and crinkling noise.

The wolf didn't seem bothered as it continued to charge, and the moment its front paws came one step within the iced region, the wolf planted its feet before taking a might leap.

"Oh, shiiit!" uttered Quinn, his eyes wide as he saw the wolf's feral face and sharp bite coming towards him.

He raised both of his to the front of him and cast. The air in front of his hands seemed to thrum in power as a circular ring distorted in front of Quinn.

「Viking's Charge」

It was a spell Quinn had learned from the Nordic book of Vikings he got from Denmark. It took him a lot of time to translate Younger Furthak for this spell into English to finally get the information on the spell's working.

The circular air ring shot the wolf and pushed him back like the wolf's frame did nothing. The wolf went flying back and yelped when it hit the ground. With the force it was shot, the wolf rolled on the ground and skid in an effort to stop himself, but the task was arduous as it took a lot of effort to get back on its feet.

But once again, didn't have time to gain with this one as the second wolf had freed itself from Quinn's chains and was already inbound for Quinn. It ran straight at Quinn with a feral shine in her eyes.

"So fast!" commented Quinn. He pulled his hand back before fully pushing the hand solid. And the magic seemed to be in sync as a thick pillar of ground projectile along with a feral for growl.

It was an instant for the wolf; the pillar shot out of the ground and hit it in the jaw. A painful yelp sounded out as the wolf rolled backward from the force.

"Stop!" yelled Quinn, raising his hands towards each wolf, "Let's talk!"

The wolf, which had been blasted in the face with the Viking's Charge, snarled at the hooded and masked human in front of him. "You attacked first, human! Why stop now? I won't stop till I get your neck in my jaws!"

"I apologize; I was startled," said Quinn, his voice distorted. He wanted the fight to stop because of his initial spell failure.

The wolf, who had been hit in the face with a pillar, finally got up, and this spoke in a female voice, "Let's see what the human has to say."

The male wolf snarled indignantly before walking over to the female wolf while keeping a vigilant eye on Quinn.

"What do you want, human?" asked the she-wolf.

Quinn stared at the two gigantic wolves, and he couldn't believe that they were standing in front of him.

"You two aren't Animagus."

The first spell he had shot was an Animagus cancellation spell that would revert a magical into their human form. Quinn knew that there were no wolves in the forest because there weren't any records of a native wolf species, so when he heard the wolf speak up, he thought that someone had figured out how to speak while in their animal form.

"Animagus, what's that?" asked the male wolf cautiously.

But it turned out that the records weren't true or at least incomplete.

Quinn stared at the wolves, observing the two grey wolves with curious eyes. "Do the two of you know your ancestry?"

The two wolves' body language immediately became defensive. The vigilance in their eyes deepened.

Quinn noticed that, and behind his mask, he smiled, "So you do know. I can't believe that I'm seeing your kind, especially here in the Forbidden Forest. . . Tell me, are you direct-progenies or descendants?"

"Y-You —! Human, you know about our kind?" spoke the female wolf. In their entire lives, they were told that their kinds were scarce in number.

"I've heard about you," replied Quinn, "answer my question, or you direct progenies or descendants?"

The two wolves exchanged glanced at each other before the female wolf answered, "Descendants."

"Fascinating!" voiced Quinn. "Is there any difference between you and the direct progenies?"

"We don't know. . . there hasn't been a direct in our tribe since our first ancestors. Other than them, we all have been descendants," answered the he-wolf. "As for the difference, it's said that they were stronger, faster, and tougher."

"Hmm, I see, I see."

The two wolves in front of were an extraordinary breed of wolves.

It was known that werewolves couldn't pass on their Lycanthropy to their children. As such, the only way to continue the species was to bite others. But there was one particular case in which werewolves could create special progenies.

If two werewolves — one male and one female. If the two werewolves were to conceive a child on a full moon night, that child when born wasn't a human but a pure magical wolf. A wolf breed that was bigger than any typical wolf species and held human-like intelligence and speech.

But this wolf species was extremely rare. The two wolves in front of him weren't children of werewolves, but children of the wolves born from werewolves. Which, in turn, was also rare as the breed was so rare that chances of seeing a direct male and direct female together were itself sparingly rare.

"How many of you are there in the forest?"

The wolves didn't answer, but Quinn didn't miss the he-wolf's glance in a particular direction. It told him that these two weren't alone and there were more of them.

'I see; I'll come to observe them later,' he thought, planning to get some observational data about this very rare species.

"Well then, wolves, point me in the direction of the cursed vault, and I'll be on my way, away from your land."

"Cursed vault? What is that?" asked she-wolf. They didn't know that term.

". . . how about cursed mines? Have you heard of that?"

"Oh, you mean the Sunken Crypt?" said the she-wolf in recognition. "It's that way. You'll know when you see it." She said, lifting her paw to point in some direction.

"Thank you, I'll be on my way."

"Human, are you thinking of going inside the crypt?"

"Yes, I am. Have you two gone inside?"

"No, we haven't," replied the he-wolf before he glanced at the she-wolf, who nodded back.

The two wolves gave Quinn a stare down before they left wordlessly, leaving only Quinn behind.

"I'm inquisitive about their culture and civilization; I wonder how it would be different and regular wolves," muttered Quinn before moving on to the pointed direction.

"I'll know when I see it, huh, let's see what's all this about."

With that, Quinn had moved one step towards the fourth vault.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - STAMINAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!

Forbidden Forest Wolves - Pure Werewolf's Progenies - Wolves ~ By Selina Gomez.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Meeting the Forbidden Forest wolves was an unexpected yet inviting experience. He didn't think that he would chance upon an extremely rare species, and now that Quinn knew about their existence, he had made a note about observing them — he wasn't a big fan of magizoology and "alive" creatures, but with a species so rare, Quinn wasn't going to let his likes and dislikes color his judgment.

"The wolves pointed towards East," he recalled and used a point me charm (east-direction version) to set himself a direction to trek in.

Quinn sighed as he jogged East; the scenery had returned to the continuous gray dullness with the wolves gone. The bleakness was starting to get on his nerves because of the sheer monotony. He concentrated on the ground, running, jumping, sliding over overgrow vines, exposed roots, and fallen tree trunks. Quinn's feet moved according to his will, and the rhythm and sound of his steps against fallen, dry leaves dulled the boredom.

But it seemed he was bored for nothing. He skipped over an old, fallen trunk log, and as his feet off the ground, his vision caught something.

Rustle, rustle; he looked at the ground ahead of him and the small spread of dry leaves parted, and from within, came launching out a bottle guard-sized leech with a hole full of pointy for a mouth; its gross and slimy wiggled in waves as it flew towards him.

Quinn's expression immediately turned into one of disgust and irritation. He should have known better to jinx the peace, and now he had to face these.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled a white mist straight onto the leech, freezing it inside a thin sheet of ice. The momentum of leech carried it over, and Quinn caught the ice-covered worm in his hand before mercilessly turning it into a meat patty by crushing its entire body inside the ice.

His feet finally touched the ground, and at that very moment, a gust of wind pushed every leaf up and away, revealing an infestation of big leeches lying on the ground.

'Bloody knew it!' he thought. "Blood-sucking bugbears."

As the name suggested, the leeches sucked blood, and Quinn hated them with a passion. He had been bitten by them once; it was during his surveillance over the forest trolls that one bit Quinn's arm, and within five seconds, Quinn felt like he had lost most of the blood in his arm. The leeches could suck in blood like a thirsty person in desert water. That day itself, Quinn had found that the leeches worked with teamwork.

The moment Quinn's other foot planted itself on the ground, the still leeches came to life, and at once, every one of them jumped up from the floor towards Quinn. In retaliation and defense, Quinn pulled up the same shield he had used against the acromantulas. The slugs met the protection and immediately burned up.

But the semi-circular shield wasn't enough as some leeches started within the boundary of the dome.

"F*k!" cursed Quinn as two leeches bit through his Noir-gear onto his feet.

He felt them sucking his blood, and unlike last time where he had tried to pull them just to fail and had to blast them off his body, this time he went another one. Freshly drawn blood maintained a magical connection to the owner for a brief spell of time, and right now, Quinn could feel his inside the leeches' body. He grinned cruelly, and immediately, his blood inside the leeches' bodies bubbled and burned through their flesh like a corrosive acid.

Simultaneously, both of the now-dead leeches fell down onto the ground. Quinn then pulled down his shield and then blasted every bugbeard he laid on his eyes.

"Any more?" he asked to one in particular.

Quinn looked around and looked vigilant as an infestation of blood-sucking bugbears meant there was a good source of blood for them, and any source of blood inside the Forbidden Forest had a high chance of being dangerous to him.

He silently jogged ahead, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. He had dashed around twenty meters when he had to come to a skidding stop.

"Haha," chuckled Quinn with a genuine smile on his face, "I forget that he was supposed to be here."

In front of Quinn laid a Cereberus: a hound, a monstrous hound that took so much space that it put elephants, Argog, and even the forest trolls to shame when it came to size. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in his direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

"Fluffy, that's the name, right."

Fluffy, the Cereberus got up on its feet that sported sharp and long claws on its paws. The six eyes remained fixed on Quinn as multiple guttural growls harmonized together.

"Hoho, you look much more intimidating awake, bruv," smiled Quinn.

Fluffy's three heads barked and pounded its front paws on the dirt. The ground shook, and the barks filled the space between the trees.

If it was someone else of this size, Quinn would have been worried, but this was someone who Quinn knew how to handle.

Quinn built up magic into his throat before he started to whistle with a fun smile on his face. If Fleur Delacour put a dragon to sleep, then Quinn could put a Cereberus weak to music down to sleep with a whistle infused with thick bewitchment sleep spell laced into the sound.

Fluffy looked confused, and all three heads shook left-to-right, flapping their six ears. Fluffy stepped one step ahead, and in response, Quinn moved one step back and to the right.

He continued to whistle for half a minute before Fluffy went down to his feet, another ten seconds before he retreated into a dog sleeping posture, and by the end of the minute, Fluffy was sleeping soundly.

"This might be the easiest thing I've done in these woods," whispered Quinn. He didn't need to continue to whistle because of the infused, bewitching sleep magic.

Quinn walked ahead and squatted near Fluffy's paw, and stared at the black claws in interest. He shot cleaning spells on one nail before touching it.

"Hmm, I wonder how tough this nail is," pondered Quinn before shrugging and raising his arm to drop a chop charged with slicing spell on it, putting a deep gash on it.

"Okay, this is tough enough," nodded Quinn before once again raising his hand, and this time when he dropped a chop, the tip of the claw was cleanly chopped off, "well, it will get tougher when I'm done with it. Some alchemy will do the trick."

Quinn bagged the hardened keratin into his pockets before moving further East but not before rubbing Fluffy's head.

"Sleep well, buddy. You'll be up in no time."

. . .

"The wolves messed with me, didn't they," spat Quinn, "it's been a half-hour; where the hell is the vault?! Those mutts lied to me."

He stood deep in the Forbidden Forest with his hands on his waist, looking around. He was so deep in that if Quinn couldn't recall his every step, he might not have been able to get out of the dense and spanning woods.

Quinn looked up and sighed because he couldn't see what time it was. He took out the pocket watch he used with Noir — one of his designs, a minimalist construct that didn't have any fancy functions and only a printed dial with two clock-arms covering a solid and accurate mechanism.

"It's getting late. I should —"

Quinn stared straight ahead at the ground, but he was focusing on his peripheral vision.

"Not going to lie, but I feel embarrassed," said Quinn, slowly turning to his left to see what he had caught. "How did I miss that? I've been standing here for a solid half-minute."

Quinn walked forward and stopped after ten steps. He tilted his head and stared in all directions to his front.

"A masterful work," he commented, "fascinating illusion work given the amount of light in here. Ah, now I see, it's targetting my magic and not sight."

Quinn clicked his tongue and scrunched his face. He didn't like that his magic was manipulated to influence his sense. Of the many magics he knew, Quinn considered his illusion magic to be one of the better ones. Now seeing that he was fooled wasn't an irritating feeling.

"Is this how people feel when they are humbled?" he pondered aloud while raising his hands. "Not a feeling I like, absolutely not a feeling I enjoy."

He stabbed his hand forward, and it disappeared till his elbow joint.

"Definitely an illusion," he sighed, "wait. . . what am I doing playing with it?!"

Quinn gathered his magic and proceeded to get free from the illusion. Almost instantly, the illusion fell down for Quinn, and the sight inside made him take a sharp breath.

The illusion was cast in a dome shape, and inside was another clearing.

A golden ray of light fell down from a hole in the canopy. A ray from heaven dropping down to the desolate lands, illuminating it with hope. On the ground, where the sunlight stuck, stood a square altar, bathing in the spotlight from mother itself.

Even just this made Quinn think it was a beautiful sight, but the altar in golden sunlight wasn't the only thing hidden under the illusion.

Around the raised altar, outside of the sunlight, in the darkness of the dim woods, were signs of strong and vital life. One of the most charming plants that Quinn had seen graced the land around the altar with its stunning beauty.

They didn't have the gift of light bestowed upon them from the sun above, so mother nature decided to give them their own light. White flowers bloomed on the plants, and those flowers with white petals glowed with soothing light, softly showing that not everything in the Forbidden Forest was a shade of grey.

Quinn canceled the transfiguration on his eyes as he stepped inside to see the scene like he was meant to see to it.

"Outside is white and gold," he repeated.

White was from the flowers, while the gold represented the golden light irradiating the altar.

A perfect contrast of two opposites.

"I'm moved."

Quinn carefully walked forward, avoiding stepping on the glowing plants, and made his way towards the altar. He stopped near the base of the stairs that led up to the altar to check if there was something that would discomfort him. . . but the area was clean. In the hidden clearing, there was nothing other than him, the altar, and the plants.

"Good to know."

Quinn stepped on one of the four staircases — one on each side of the square altar and started climbing. There weren't many steps in the stairs, but the height of each step was tall enough that he couldn't see the top of the altar till he had climbed halfway.

"Is that a hole?" noticed Quinn and hurried up the steps to reach the top, where he saw a hole in the floor. From its looks, the hole was part of the original design as it was perfectly round, and the tiling on the floor complimented the gaping gap smack dab in the middle.

"What's with vaults and tunnels," said Quinn squatting down, "Sin vault had one down to the antechamber, Aquatic vault going down to the front cave, and now this one." He stared inside, and with the light from above, he could see the base, and it wasn't that deep.

He stuck his hand inside and touched the walls of the tunnel going inside.

"Hmm, there are no engravings," observed Quinn, "that doesn't eliminate the presence of some magic." He sent a beat of magic through his hand into the walls, but nothing popped up on his radar.

"Good enough," saying that, Quinn snapped an end of Carpe Retractum's cord of light onto the floor, and with the other end clutched in his hand, Quinn rappelling down into the tunnel.

He wanted to start on a positive note, so — "Whoopee~!"

Squelch — The lower end of the tunnel was wet sloppy ground, and Quinn's boots dug a couple of inches into the dirt.

"Eww," groaned Quinn, "This wasn't the start I was looking for. . . ugh." He looked around and saw the entire floor was loose mud. Not a single spot of solid ground to be seen.

Quinn took a step forward, but the wet mud turned into a transfigured square of solid limestone just before his foot hit the ground, and with every step he took forward, Quinn transfigured some earth into limestone for him to walk on.

"Word smart, people, work smart," said Quinn chuckling at the end.

He lit up orbs of light for illumination, and finally, he could see inside the vault: it was a long curving corridor of which Quinn couldn't see the end. Looking above, Quinn could see roots peeking out from the top. Quinn continued to walk forward, and soon he reached the end.

"Oh, it opened up." The narrow corridor opened up to a large room — if it could be called that. The corridor's end was on a wall, but that opening was nowhere near the floor nor the ceiling of the gigantic room. The corridor end was right in the middle of the wall.

"Now, how do I get down there?" wondered Quinn aloud and peeked out. On the other end of the room, he could see a passage on the opposite wall, right beside the floor.

"Well, let's use my favorite way," he grinned and stepped a couple steps back before sprinting forward and jumping from the edge and out of the corridor. "I. Love. This!"

He joined his feet and spread his hands wide like certain hooded individuals who followed a certain secret creed that liked to jump from high spaces into carts of hay and never ever caught anyone's attention while doing it.

Of course, Quinn didn't have those skills and lacked the haystack to land in, but instead, he had magic in his corner, so when he reached the ground, he shot out Arresto Momentum to cut all his momentum and landed with utmost grace.

"And. . . that's how you do it."

Not wanting to waste any more time, Quinn jogged across the room towards the passageway in the wall. And he had just reached mid-way through the room when the ground beneath his feet broke apart and from within came out a vine that wrapped around his foot.

Quinn stopped in his spot, faced his palm toward the vine creeping up his leg, and immediately the vine incinerated into ashes.

"What the hell was that? It came out —"

For the second time in the same hour, Quinn couldn't complete his sentence as the ground beneath him started to break. The same vine that had clutched his feet began to come out the breaks.

Ten. . . thirty. . . fifty. . . soon there were around a hundred breaks in the ground, and from every single one of them, dark moss green colored whips of vines with thorns all over their curvature appeared and rose above, increasing in length every second.

Quinn didn't have any words to describe his situation. He wasn't even thinking of commenting on anything. He immediately started to back up as the tips of vines turned towards him. The turning point of chaos was sudden as abruptly, hundreds of vines zapped towards him, all homing towards one target — Quinn.

Body magic coursed through his body faster than ever as he pulled all his facilities to ninety percent with endurance (the only stat he could augment) being augmented beyond his body's natural capabilities.

'Throw zig-zags in there, zig-zags, zig-zags,' repeated Quinn reminding himself not to run in a straight line. A wise decision as vines behind him stabbed places where he had been just a moment ago.

'Beelzebub's Crawlers,' he knew the identity of the vines from taking one glance at them. Beelzebub's Crawlers were like Devil's Snare, but much worse. They attempted to constrict or strangle anything in their surrounding environment, but unlike the Devil's Snare, they didn't wait for their prey to near them; instead, they actively sought out any game that came remotely near them. Over that, they had thorns that would inject venom into their prey's body before pulling them into their ground, where the bodies would decompose, turning into nutrients for the plant.

Quinn hurriedly looked up at the passageway in the middle of the wall that connected this room to the altar's entrance with a curved corridor.

Now a problem presented itself to him in the face of danger; unlike when he jumped down from there, he couldn't go up at the same speed.

Quinn raised his hands, and suddenly, planks of earth protruded out of the great wall like a staircase along a diagonal of the surface. As Quinn jumped on the first one, it turned into limestone for durability, and with that, he started to scale the wall by climbing stairs that he created for himself.

"Oh no, you don't!" he yelled at a rough dozen vines that came stabbing towards him. His magic thrummed, and a strong cutting curse lopped a considerable chunk of the vines before they could even touch him.

But it wasn't enough; he continued to dodge, cut, and climb, but by the time he was three-quarters way up, the vines had become too much for Quinn to lop off in bunches.

"Okay, I will try that," he decided and stopped on a step. Magic ran unrestricted in his body as gusts of winds started to circle around his body, rings of strong visible hurricane-like winds began manifesting and flowing around his body.

Beelzebub's Crawlers' primitive mind didn't seem to sense any danger. They sensing their prey stop in one place saw an opportunity, and all at once, the hundreds of vines jumped at Quinn.

「Viking's Axe」

Quinn opened his eyes, and with a flex of his muscles, the violent winds, which had almost formed a dome around him, were unleashed in the form of razor-sharp wind cutters on the vines. If one could describe a plant massacre, then this was it. Shreds and scraps of vines fell down onto the ground. The venom inside the vines leaked onto the earth, and the soil sizzled from the sheer corrosiveness.

With the vines seriously damaged, Quinn didn't waste a beat and continued to climb; soon, he was inside the curved corridor.

'Don't stop; you know what's about to happen,' popped in Quinn's mind, and as if his thoughts were heard, the earth behind him started to shake akin to a light earthquake.

"Come," he voiced and stopped at the end of the corridor, standing just below the altar tunnel. "I will show you who's the boss here."

The best way to combat plants was to target them with one thing that was so harmful to them that forests worldwide fell prey to it.

"I didn't use it above because of the risk, but I don't have a problem here," spat Quinn and raised his right towards the corridor.

The shaking on the ground stopped and a silence set inside the cave.

'Here they come.' Quinn could feel it.

Like a wave of water being released into a narrow place, vines over vines of Beelzebub's Crawlers rushed into the corridor towards Quinn, filling it completely.

"Flame on," grinned Quinn.

It was abrupt. Eruptions of fire sparked across the corridor; instantly, the corridor covered with vines was now filled with yellowish-red flames, with the Beelzebub's Crawlers burning within the angry fire.

Quinn squeezed his fist, and the screams of fire became stronger as flames became stronger. He was planning to turn every vine that came after him into dust. When he stopped, the earthen walls and ground were scorched into complete blackness, and if there was light inside the tunnel, he would see the black ashes of the previously vibrant vines filled with vitality.

Deciding that it was enough for today, Quinn climbed out of the tunnel and laid on the altar beside the hole with his arm covering his eyes.

He let out a long groan and whined before he cried out,

"I don't want to go through that every time I go inside!"

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - "Oh, screw this, I'm out."

Fluffy - Cerberus - Woke up thinking which idiot cut his nails and what level of stupidity was it to just cut one.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Angelina Johnson and Alicia Snippet sat in the AID office in front of the big desk. They looked at each other and then behind the desk.

"So team names," they heard, "have you decided what you want to call yourselves?"

"Y-Yes," replied Angelina, "The Remembralls. . . no one would be able to forget us."

"For us, it's Sonic Brooms," said Alicia.

"Those are two good names," came a nod of approval, "much better than what Cedric and Eddie chose, what kind of name is Trolling Bogeys," before looking to the left and saying, "please not the names down."

Both girls looked to their rights and saw Quinn standing on a barstool next to the glass wall, noting their team names down on the notepad.

"Remembrealls with two L's, right?" asked Quinn.

". . . Yes," replied Angelina.

She then looked behind the desk where Luna Lovegood sat, looking at them.

"What's the color scheme? I hope it isn't gold and red; that would be unfortunate," she asked. "If you haven't decided, let's first decide the logo before we reach the color scheme as coordinating colors then would be much easier."

"O-Oh," replied Angelina, a sixth-year replied to Luna, a third-year.

Quinn glanced up from his notepad and looked at the two confused girls. "Don't look at me; she's the one in control here; I'm just the note taker. I suggest that you communicate with her well because she'll be the one who'll be designing everything from your quidditch uniform design to your logo before everything goes to production. Especially the logo because it'll be literally everywhere, you really don't want to mess that up — take my word for it, you won't be happy if you mess the logo up."

Luna glanced at Quinn and put her hand out. "Show me the notes; what're you writing."

Quinn handed the notepad to Luna, who flipped through it before looking at him, "I told you to write their team names, I didn't ask for brief notes on conversion theory in organic transfiguration. . . you even made diagrams." She looked up and bluntly said, "I will do it on my own. You can leave if you want."

Quinn nodded with a sad expression, and when Luna looked down on the notepad, trying to make some sense, he glanced at the Gryffindor girls and winked.

"I will see you guys later," he said, "Luna, there's a list on the table with the timings of other teams' arrival. Please wrap these two up before the next duo arrives."

"Hmm," replied Luna.

Saying that, Quinn left the office with a smile on his face, hands in his pocket. After a long time of being swamped with preparations for the tournament, he finally had free time.

"Now, I know why people hire other people," he comfortably groaned while stretching his hands up, "work becomes so easy with other people doing it for me."

His new team had taken a lot of work off his shoulder. Now he only needed to communicate with the vendors, and that was just written communication. Every other thing was handed to the students he had selected as unpaid (some paid) interns.

He hummed his way through the corridors, and before he knew it, Quinn was standing in front of the Room of Requirements. He walked past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and on the third time, a metal gate with intricate and ornate metalwork appeared on the opposite wall.

"Oh my friend, it has been a while," it had been a week, "I've missed you."

Quinn's palms rested on the locked door, and on his touch like the vaults in Gringotts, the metal design onset into a massive transformation of shift, and before long, a click was heard indicating that the door was now unlocked. He pushed the door open and stepped inside into a stark white room.

As Quinn stepped through the threshold, he felt potent magic sweep him — to be accurate, as Quinn stepped into the room, he entered a ward that stripped every speck of dust and grim on his body and clothes. Quinn wasn't strange to this feeling as he had one inside his workshop, but this one was multiple times more robust than his.

"She overdid it — I think my skin hurts," he smiled, thinking about what he assumed was Rowena Ravenclaw's work.

The room's walls, floor, and ceiling were all stark white, with no spot disturbing the white. Quinn walked to the two brown wooden tables in the room and stood in between the two, which stood side-by-side to each other by length.

He glanced at the left long table, and on it sat ten identical table lamps equidistant in a line. Every lamp had a one-foot rectangle strip of metal sheet turned into an MLE light source. Below each lamp sat thick tomes, each of them looking more ancient than the other. One such book beside Quinn gently turned a page on its own before the lamp above flashed a bright red light for a single second.

Seeing this, Quinn turned to his right to see the other long table, but on this one sat ten modified designs of MagiFax. He walked behind the table, and behind each MagiFax sat two stacks of papers, one blank and the other printed. He watched as a blank sheet was sucked into the machine, and a printed sheet came out — the contents were the same as the tome beneath the lamp that Quinn had just seen.

Then he looked to the further right to see what at a glance looked like a 20x20-ish grid of paper stacks arranged neatly on the floor. One of the printed stacks behind a modified MagiFax lifted off the table and gently floated to the floor, landing on an empty spot, joining the grid of other stacks.

.

「Project Babel」

.

The Library of Babel, written by Jorge Luis Borges, was a story about a library that contained every book to be ever penned in the entire universe. Quinn was a devout bibliophile, dreamed of owning such a place, and was ambitious by nature. He set out to build something similar to the Library of Babel — a library with every knowledge about magic ever conceived and written down.

The aim was grand, and he had to start somewhere — he had already begun when Lia gifted him his first set of magic books in French. Ever since then, Quinn had coveted magic books: The books that his grandfather George had brought him during their travels, the books he to this date regularly ordered, tomes inside the vast Hogwarts library, and. . . the ancient tomes that sat hidden inside the Room of Requirements.

The stark room in which he stood was a room that Quinn had requested from the Room of Requirments: "A room that only I, Quinn West, could enter with all books and tomes marked by Room of Requirements." His wishes were answered by a room that only Quinn could open, and it existed even when he wasn't present, just like the Room of Lost Things existed when someone wasn't inside.

He looked ahead of the tables and saw the result of the second part of his request. Bookshelves upon bookshelves upon lined up in the room, each filled with esoteric and old knowledge: some that were considered vile and dark, some that were looked at as "right" magic, some lost to the world, some disproved, some that were then rare but now commonplace knowledge — but all of them held some nugget of magical wisdom that interested Quinn.

The books in here were so old that the Room of Requirements had added automatically added a sterilization ward without Quinn asking for one, and even if he wanted it gone, he couldn't remove it — the books came tied with the warding magic.

Quinn had built this room and the setup at the start of the year. He knew that it would take time to copy every book even when his copy system worked round the clock, all day, every day.

"I just hope I cover most of it by the end of this year." The following year was when the Room of Requirements was found, and Quinn had built this plan taking in that possibility.

He didn't know the whole story, but Dobby, the Malfoy house-elf (now-ex), worked as a Hogwarts employee. While Quinn hadn't talked to Dobby, he knew from the house-elves that he did know that Dobby was still a Boy-Who-Lived fanboy. If somehow, the Room of Requirements was revealed to any other student, Quinn's access to it would be restricted. Thus, this year, with everyone invested in the Tri-wizard and interschool quidditch tournaments, Quinn decided to finish making copies of every book branded by Room of Requirements.

"Let's get to work," he clapped and sat down at a big desk but not before taking ten books from the bookshelves.

There were two types of books inside the Room of Requirements.

The first type: regular books with the same number of sheets as printed pages — meaning that if there were a hundred pages worth of content in a book, then there were a hundred sheets of parchments in the books.

The second type: charmed books that held lesser pages than the actual content. An example of such books was all the books that Alan had given Quinn; those books only had around thirty pages, but the content was worth three hundred pages. The ink would shift to transform into different pages.

While the copying setup could cover the first type but the second type, that Quinn had to take care of on his own. He kicked back and started to read the book page-by-page while multiple fountains opened up and started to record everything that Quinn read.

He had long hours ahead of him.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"H-He really changed the stadium, didn't he," said Tracey as she sat down.

Daphne, who sat down beside her, looked around the new quidditch stadium and nodded, "With people actually sitting inside, you can actually see the changes that had been made."

Both had been inside the stadium once before, but at that time, everything was covered in scaffolding and covers, but now they saw the true glory of the new stadium.

Today was the opening day of the quidditch tournament, and Hogwarts students, along with outsiders, had already filled most of the stadium, with only a few seats remaining that too were being quickly taken by their incoming owners. The stadium had been re-constructed, the seating capacity had been increased, and the stands had been raised into an elevated setting instead of a previously comparatively flatter one. Even the lowest seats were raised above for a better watching experience.

"Where is Astoria?" asked Tracey looking for her best friend's younger sister.

"She's going to watch the game with her friends," replied Daphne.

"Is she still miffed about not getting selected in a team?"

"She got over that in two days," said Daphne shaking her head, "what did she expect? She hadn't picked the broom more than a handful of times ever since she got better; no way was she going to get selected."

The younger Astoria had tried to get into four different teams recruited via tryouts but failed to get into any of them.

"She has been pretty active these days," commented Tracey, "it seems like Quinn's treatment is working well."

"That it is." Daphne had told her best friend about her sister's condition. "I need to remind Astoria that her next treatment date is coming. All of us have been so busy that I almost forget about it."

Tracey was about to continue but saw the pitched and pointed, "Look, Quinn came out."

Daphne, along with many others, looked towards the pitch to see Quinn dressed in royal blue and gold robes.

. . .

"Welcome. . . all," said Quinn looking at the crowd greater than he had addressed during the first task, "I'm Quinn West, and today, I welcome you to Silver Moon Printing MagiTech presents Tri-school quidditch league — TQL."

Along with the edge of the quidditch pitch and below the stands hung multiple banners of varying sizes, all stark white at the moment. As Quinn opened the tournament, every banner shifted — an ethereal design of a blue night sky with a silver crescent hanging in the sky. If one would look closely, both the sky and the moon designs were made from printed paper with actual readable content on every inch of all banners present in the stadium.

"It's my pleasure to kick off this event today in all your presence," smiled Quinn while walking on the pitch, "I'm sure you'll are aware of the Tri-wizard tournament currently being held at Hogwart; as such, we have the exciting opportunity to host Baeuxbatons and Dumrstrang for the school year — but because of that, we had to cancel the quidditch season to make space for the Tri-wizard tournament. . ."

Boos were thrown from the entire Hogwarts crowd — no one had been happy about that particular decision/announcement.

"See? That's what we at AID thought as well," grinned Quinn, "so we decided to bring it back along with certain twists to make things interesting after all, we've players from three schools."

There were cheers of approval, showing the joy and happiness towards just the fact that quidditch had returned.

"Before we start, I would like to walk everyone through the new rules that this league and tournament will be following for all its games," announced Quinn before placing the first rule in front of them,

"Every game played will have a total duration of two hours —" There was a lot of murmur in the stands, "— unlike the standard rules which allow games to go as long as the snitch isn't caught, we(I) decided that to impose a time limit on the game; this way, the teams will have to think about time which will give rise to all kinds of interesting scenarios."

Quinn didn't stop and continued because the second rule change was tied to the first change.

"The second rule is for the seekers and golden snitch," announced Quinn, "a standard golden snitch is worth a whopping hundred and fifty points — an amount that could turn the tides of the game in an instant. . . sounds exciting, right?"

Crowd aye-d in agreement about the rule change when a seeker locked onto the snitch, the flying was definitely the most fun and exhilarating with the seeker flying literally weaving in and out the game — with the risk of getting hit by others.

"In this tournament, we've decided to change the worth of the golden snitch from a hundred fifty to a lower fifty points. In return for decreasing the snitch's value, we created another home role or provision for the game: as I previously said, the game will end after two hours and not when the snitch is caught; therefore, we've decided that every time a snitch is caught, a minute later, another snitch is released for yet another fifty point chance. That way, the seeker gets to play while staying a considerable part of the game."

. . .

"Oh my, what a smart idea," said professor quidditch-nut, "the snitch would be needed to be caught thrice for a seeker to get the same level of control over the game; this will relieve a lot of pressure from the chasers, beaters to increase the point game — maybe this is a good chance to see a slower-paced game with more passing and teamwork. . . interesting, truly interesting — I wonder if the teams have thought about chaser-beater routes and beater-to-beater cross-team defensive options. . ."

In the professor's box, the professors stared at McGonagall as she droned about the new possibilities that the rule brought in.

Aurora Sinistra, the Astrology professor, leaned towards Lily Potter's side and whispered, "I bet that today she is going to speak more than she speaks in her classes."

Her voice, as it turned out, wasn't as low she had planned, and many professors (sans McGonagall, who was too involved) laughed and snickered at the comment. Let's just say that even the professors who weren't that interested in quidditch were going to have a good time.

. . .

"What do you think about this, James?" asked Sirius Black, pocking his mate in the side, "seeker won't be the most popular position if these rules were imposed everywhere." Which Sirius liked as he played as a Beater who didn't get appropriate recognition, well he was okay with it as long as he got to swing his bat and flung bludgers towards smug chasers.

"I don't like it," replied James, "do you know how hard it is to first spot a snitch? Those things don't shine as much they should. Even if we do spot them, it's only one out of three-four times when you're able to follow it — catching the damn thing is another shitstorm. . . this doesn't make sense."

"I like it. Everything will depend on chasers, beaters, and goalies. You guys can just have fun flying while we actually play."

"I can play chaser if I want."

Sirius scoffed, "Your stupid face would be the first I would've hit with a bludger — it would've been supremely satisfying."

". . . We were on the same team."

"I know."

. . .

"Now, I'll not waste any more of your time and introduce the teams that will be participating in the much anticipated open game sponsored by WesternForge Constructions," shouted Quinn.

Smoke started to escape out of two tunnels opening to the pitch, and from inside came the players on their brooms, shooting to the sky as fireworks lit the stadium up.

"I present to you. . . Trolling Bogeys led by Cedric Diggory and Treacherous Barons led by Victor Krum. . . The battle of champions is afoot!"

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Quinn West - MC - Glorified photocopier.

Luna Lovegood - Designer - Out!

Minerva McGonagall - Quidditch Nut - Omoshiroi!

FictionOnlyReader - Author - I don't like the pacing and structure of this chapter.

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Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum faced each other in the center of the pitch, staring down at each other — not a word was spoken to each other. The captains stared at each other without blinking — the stare down went too long, but neither were willing to break the eye contact first.

"Well, are you guys ready?"

The voice seemed to be the cue to break the eye contact; they removed their eyes from each other and looked at the source of the voice — standing there was Quinn West, dressed in his royal blue with gold trims, smiling at them.

"Trolling Bogeys are ready," replied Cedric; the man looked abashed as he said it.

"I've to ask, why that name," asked Quinn; he was aware of the name from Daphne's regular reports, but not the reason behind it.

"Your dear friend," sighed Cedric, "Eddie decided that Trolling Bogeys would be a good name for us. . . I got busy with the golden egg, and well, missed the team name meeting."

"Oh, that checks out. . . don't worry, it's a good name, it's a villainous name — those always do good with the crowd," said Quinn, assuring the captain before jutting his chin towards Krum. "Look at Treacherous Barons, now that's one badass name; whose suggestion was it?"

"I did," said Krum.

"Excellent choice," smiled Quinn. "Okay, let's move on and get the game started; tell me the centre position — who're you going to start with?"

At the start of a quidditch game, the three balls (quaffle, bludger, and the snitch) were released, and two players from each team would be right in the centre to contest for the quaffle and bludger.

"We're sending a chaser and beater each," said Krum.

"Two beaters," replied Cedric.

"Noted, I'll relay it to Madam Hooch; get your teams ready for the throw-off; we're starting in a couple of minutes."

. . .

"We're late."

"The game hasn't started; we're right on time."

The older gentleman sighed as he sat down in his seat in the stands, "It's only correct to arrive sometime earlier for any event; arriving early actually —"

"— Arriving early actually gives you time back in your day. You will more than recoup the ten minutes you arrive early in the productivity you gain by being able to catch up and prepare," finished the young woman, completing the saying that she had heard oh so many times. "But this is a quidditch game, grandfather, no use in arriving early when we have reserved seats."

"It's about creating habits, young lady," said George West sitting in simple yet elegant clothing, "only by practicing certain actions regularly would you be able to make them second nature; arriving early is one of those things that you need to want to do on your own."

Lia West didn't reply; she didn't have to — the grandfather-grandchild pair knew that Lia was rarely late for anything; it was only an elder's nature to repeat things to that important advice stuck in their young one's mind.

"Oh, there he's, down on the field," pointed Lia.

George took out a pair of un-tinted sunglasses from his pocket. He wore them before taking a look towards the field. From the glasses, he could see what he would typically see, but after a single tap on the frames' side, the image zoomed; as a result, he could see his grandson's face clearly despite the distance between them.

Lia glanced at her grandfather and saw the sunglasses. "Oh, right, I forgot Quinn sent those to us." Lia also took the pair of her own sunglasses and zoomed-in her vision before looking at her baby brother.

"I can't believe he fit all those runes and charms inside such a thin frame," commented Lia, "the omniocculars on the market look bulky in comparison to these."

"He's getting better," smiled proud granddaddy, "the pocket watch he sent me last month was on another level than the one he sent me last year. It's like he's a craftsman that is improving his craft, growing with every piece."

"Hmm," voiced Lia before placing her hand on George's shoulder, "grandfather, look there — right opposite to us centre row — that's Luna Lovegood."

"Oh, where?. . .The dazed-looking blonde child; is that Luna Lovegood?"

"Yes, that's her."

"Hmm. . . why is she wearing a hat in the shape of a troll?"

. . .

The Wests had insisted that they were seated in nondescript seats, choosing to sit among students to avoid meeting people from their social circles so that they could watch the game in peace by not having to make small talk with literally everyone who had heard of them as initially, they were seated in the VIP section of the stadium booked for high-profile personnel.

"That's the West child down there? He sure has grown."

Lucius Malfoy glanced at the portly little man with rumpled grey hair sitting at his side. He wore a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, long black traveling cloak, pointed purple boots, and lime green bowler hat. The man was currently leaning forward, squinting his eyes towards the pitch down below.

Lucius glanced towards the pitch, but unlike his companion, he didn't lean and squint; instead, he took out a pair of Galilean binoculars (tiny binoculars on a stick) to use them to look at the pitch.

"Yes, minister, that's Quinn West," replied Lucius, thought the fact that the introduction had just been given a few minutes back went unsaid.

Cornelius Fudge leaned back into his seat and nodded. "I've seen that child a few times at functions during the summer break but never got to talk to him. I should talk to him today after the game; I hear that he organized all of this on his own."

"That's a great idea. I'm sure that the child will be thrilled to meet the minister," replied Lucius, though inside, he doubted that Quinn West would even bat an eye on meeting Fudge.

"Good, good," said Fudge sounding happy.

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- (Scene Break) -

.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her.

She held out the golden snitch in front of everyone. "Regular rules for snitch release — thirty seconds before the quaffle and bludgers." She looked at both the seekers: Cedric and Krum, "When either of you catches the snitch, the time will stop, and the positions will reset, and we will once again start with a throw-off."

"Mount your brooms, please."

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air.

"Ahem, the brooms have taken off; the game is about to start," Quinn's voice sounded throughout the stadium, "the snitch is out — I repeat the snitch is out. . . you can just see the player rearing to go."

Chaser was the most dangerous position in quidditch as not only they had to keep note of the beaters who were always trying to hurl bludgers at them, they also had to track opposing chasers as they were also coming after them for quaffles and interceptions.

In the pitch's centre, the T. Baron's non-center chaser looked at the T. Bogeys' chaser, and he was taken aback by what he saw.

'Eddie Carmichael, right. . . why is he looking at me like that?' He saw Eddie stare towards them as if he owed Eddie some money, and to be honest, it made him gulp — the look was intense.

Piiii, the whistle sounded startling T. Baron's chaser. The quaffle and bludger were thrown straight, and the second they reached their peak height, just before falling down, the players moved.

"The game is on! — Oh, what's this! Bogeys' beaters; aren't going for the bludger or quaffle! — They are blocking the Baron's player from getting to the balls — It worked! It worked! T. Bogeys' have the quaffle."

T. Bogeys's two beaters slammed right into the T. Barons' center members (chaser and beater) and let the quaffle and bludgers drop down their flight level. The non-center players moved like a swarm of bees towards the chaser and beater, all trying to get a hand on them.

Eddie Carmichael, in his first play of his first official game, dropped down on his broom and zapped towards the quaffle — his hand touched the quaffle first, which he tucked under his arm — stiff-armed T. Bogeys' chaser who tried to take the quaffle back and zoomed past the crowd straight towards the goal hoops.

"Off he goes! Carmichael has the quaffle. What speed! Speed brought to you by Nimbus cooperation and their Nimbus 2001 line — the official broomstick of the league."

Eddie alone flew towards the hoops with his teammates holding back the others. Eddie was already too far away by the time they got open — only the goalie stood his path. No complex thoughts went through Eddie's mind — he had the ball, and it had to go into the hoop, that's it.

The goalie saw Eddie come near him with the quaffle back in his hand, but the second he was within throwing distance, Eddie abruptly pulled straight up, confusing the goalie, and before he knew it, the quaffle went zooming past him, deflecting off from the rim into the hoop.

"Score! Eddie Carmichael has scored the game's first goal and season, with Trolling Bogeys taking the lead. What an exciting start to the game!"

And it seemed genuine as the people in the stands went crazy.

. . .

"My apologies for being late; I, for the life of myself, couldn't find a pair of socks to wear."

The people in the VIP box looked at Albus Dumbledore as he entered with a bright smile on his face, dressed in his colorful, eccentric robes, looking jolly as ever. His bright eyes peeked from behind his half-moon glasses, taking in everyone in the room before finally stepping inside the box.

"What's the score?" he asked as he sat beside the other two heads of the school.

"The game just started; fifty to seventy."

"Oh, Ogden, I didn't know you were coming. How long has it been since you come out of your distillery," smiled Dumbledore towards the owner of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

". . . You just saw me in Wizengamot last week," said Ogden.

"Ah, yes! It fell off my mind; how forgetful of me," laughed Dumbledore before once again looking around the VIP box, "speaking of. . . where is George West, I was told he would be attending."

"George West is attending!" exclaimed the minister in his bowler hat, looking around to see if he had missed the man.

"That's what I've been told," said Dumbledore, "but from the looks of it —" the VIP box was already full, "— even if he was here, George West wouldn't have sat here."

"Who told you that he'll be here?"

Dumbledore held back a sigh at the minister's question. Why wouldn't he, the headmaster, be privy about the people coming to his school for a highly organized event.

"You see the student right in front of us — sitting with the professors — Quinn West, he's the organizer, he submitted the guest list."

The organizer, however, cleverly didn't share the seating plan with the headmaster, just the names.

"Then where is he?"

"Hmm, I'm assuming that if he's attending, then he's among the students," guessed Dumbledore — nay, Dumbledore was sure that George West was sitting in the stands.

'Not that I can blame him,' thought Dumbledore as he watched everyone in the VIP box whip out their omniocculars, but they weren't looking at the game but at the stands.

"Oh! It seems the seekers have spotted the snitch."

. . .

Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum zoomed across the pitch, both seekers chasing after the ever-elusive golden snitch.

Seekers were generally the smallest and lightest players on a team and needed both a sharp eye and the ability to fly one- or no-handed — but today, both seekers didn't comply with the archetype.

Cedric Diggory was a tall fellow with a not-so-wiry frame. His body caught too much drag from the wind, causing him to fly slower, just by a fraction, but those fractions were what mattered when one was competing with a fast seeker chasing a faster snitch. With his bulky and stocky build, Victor Krum was the complete opposite of the seeker archetype — too heavy for a seeker. He was already heavier for adult seekers — there wasn't even a need to mention school level.

But for some reason, both of them were still the fastest players on the field.

"Diggory and Krum are hot on the tail of the snitch — Diggory to the front! — Krum is back in the lead! What an intense chase. What do we see here — Krum anticipated the dip from the seeker and has clutched a substantial lead! What's this?! Diggory is gaining speed — will he catch up? — It's late! It's late! Krum has it! The snitch has been caught! T. Baron's have caught the first snitch of the season!!!"

Fireworks shot on cue as T. Barons surrounded Krum as the team circled the stadium, with snitch the held clutched high in Krum's grasp.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

In the professors/commentators box, the head of houses sat in the front row, just behind Quinn, who sat just behind the railings, to get a clear view of the game.

"Minerva. . . did he really organize all of this?" asked Sprout looking at the new stadium, the animated and colorful banners with the game going in the center of all of the numerous little things that impressed the herbology mistress.

"He did," answered McGonagall distractedly as he craned her neck with her favorite omniocculars set on her eyes. "Yes, dive, dive, dive, yeah!"

Sprout sighed at her colleague's antics — the quidditch nut was in no condition to hold a conversation.

She decided to talk to the "Filius, are you proud —" she saw the half-goblin snicker in amusement as he wrote something off a parchment, "— what're you doing?"

Flitwick looked at Sprout with a toothy grin and showed her the parchment, "I just won 20 galleons on who would reach a hundred points first — I bet on Bogeys which had high odds because Mr. Krum is on Barons, but heh, my hunch was good, now I'm in profit."

Suddenly Quinn turned towards them and gave Flitwick a thumbs up, "Good decision, professor. Bogeys' chasers are on fire today; Do you have something on them today?"

Flitwick slapped his thigh, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I didn't think that Mr. Carmichael would be so good as a chaser — this is his first game, and he had already scored third of Bogeys points. I was actually counting on Mr. Diggory to pull the point total — a miss on my part."

"Haha, don't worry, professor, there are still many, many games remaining you can —" laughed Quinn but suddenly looked back at the field, "— CHASER CRASH Two chasers crashed down into the grass; Carmichael from Bogeys and Bam from Barons — ah, Carmichael is already up and flying! What endurance, I wonder who's his trainer!"

Sprout looked between Quinn and Flitwick in shock. "Y-You're betting! Filius —"

"Loosen up, Pomona. Enjoy the game," grinned Flitwick, "Next time, I'll take you with me; the Weasley twins have a great betting setup; they give great odds — shell some of your galleons on things other than seeds and plants."

Sprout sighed, her eyes going to the fourth head, who was intently watching the game.

'No way. . . ' she thought. "Severus did you —"

"No."

"A-Ah, I see, of course, of course."

"Oh! Diggory has beaten the pro to the snitch! Bogeys have their first snitch of the game! That puts them above the Barons with a great margin! A great offensive team effort by the Trolling Bogeys! What a game we're getting to see brought to you by Blishen's Fireworks."

Smoke works filled the sky as green and black colors of Trolling Bogeys menacingly made their presence known.

Quinn once again turned back to the professors.

"Professor Snape, here you go," he threw a roll of parchment along with a tiny vial towards Snape, who effortlessly caught it, "my personal recipe for smoke sky-shots, what do you think about it?"

Snape stared at the vial with silver liquid for a moment before reading the parchment.

". . . Good enough," was the short response before Snape opened the vial and a small plume of green smoke rose to turn into a shape of a troll, "Better."

Quinn grinned before once again turning back towards the game.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Marcus reached the T. Bogeys' locker to meet Eddie and jumped when he heard a loud, frustrated shout.

"How the hell did he catch two snitches in the last twenty minutes! $#@%!!!"

Marcus saw Eddie angrily stuff his gear into his bag while throwing out profanities which from his mouth sounded weirdly melodious.

"Krum was lucky; it popped up right in front of him — all he had to do was reach out to it," said a beater. None of the house beater duos were separated in the team recruitments, with the Hufflepuff duo coming to Trolling Bogeys.

"I know! We f*cking played so well! Ah, that buzzcut of his pisses me off!"

'That pisses him off?' thought Marcus, sometimes he couldn't understand what went through his friend's head.

"We'll win the next game and every coming game," said Diggory, and his tone lacked his usual happy style.

Marcus was about to enter the locker room when Luna, with a troll hat on her head, walked past him and entered the locker room.

"You lost."

"I know! I was there!"

The opening day game ended with plenty of fanfare.

.

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Quinn West - MC - Plugging sponsors whenever I can.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Suggest credits. Too many people in this chapter.

.

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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After closing the game by thanking everyone for attending, Quinn turned to the professors while getting up from his seat. "This was fun, professors. I hope you all enjoyed the game and the little changes we made to the gameplay."

"It was a fantastic game, Mr. West," nodded McGonagall, looking as if she had eaten a scrumptious meal, "now, I'm looking forward to the upcoming games — it'll be a fun quidditch season."

"That's good," said Quinn smiling before clapping his hand once, "Now, I'd take my leave; I've to meet some important people. . . I'll see you all at the after-game party."

Then he exited.

There was nothing to do in the stadium, and they also had to make sure students went back correctly, so the professors also rose from their seats, but then Quinn peeked back in,

"Even though I said it, please don't come to the after-game party. People will kill me if they know I invited you guys. Have your own party — I can arrange for drinks and snacks; contact me if you need that."

He didn't wait for a reply and ducked back out, leaving for real this time.

Flitwick looked at his colleagues, raising his betting parchment, "I had a decent game today. Do you all want to gather this evening? I'll pay — my treat."

The professors looked at each other, contemplating the offer; they all had a tough past few months with arrangements.

"Sure, why not."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

For the guests to arrive at the stadium, they had to go through the grounds while walking a clearly marked path that went from the main entrance straight to the stadium.

Near one of the stadium's exits stood George and Lia West, waiting for Quinn to arrive — the family had decided that Quinn would escort the two out after the game.

"I'm here, I'm here," said Quinn, jogging his way out of the stadium. "I came here as fast I could."

"Yet, you're late, my child," said George, taking in the appearance of his grandson.

"What do you mean?"

George didn't pull his hands from behind his back, although he subtly nudged his chin towards Quinn's back.

Quinn turned halfway to see the minister with his peripherals, along with various VIP guests walking right towards them.

"Ah, I'm indeed late," said Quinn turning back, "you don't think we would be able to make a run for it without it looking like we're avoiding them."

"I'm too old for running," smiled George, "It doesn't matter; I came here knowing well that I'll have to talk to some people. . ." he sighed as at the sight of the incoming people, "I just hoped that they would be a little smarter."

"Not all of them are that bad," commented Lia, matching the faces to the information she had in her memory.

"Yes, but the one in the lead is as smart as a bait."

"Okay, they're here," said Quinn and acted like he never saw the incoming people.

"Mr. West!" called out Fudge, sounding absolutely delighted.

"Minister," greeted George.

"Mr. West, I heard that you were attending though I was surprised not to find you in the VIP box; may I ask why? Was there an error in seating arrangement?" Fudge glanced at Quinn at the end.

George caught the look. "Minister, do you really think my own grandson won't put me in the VIP box."

"No, I mean —"

"There was no mistake; I asked for to be seated where I sat."

Fudge spluttered in response, not knowing how to continue. Fortunately, there was another person to continue.

"I'm sure there wasn't a mistake, Mr. West — Mr. Quinn West, that is — is very component. So, the question remains —why were you seated there? I'm truly curious."

George looked at the jolly old man standing just behind Fudge. "If one truly wants to enjoy a quidditch game, then the place to do it is in the stands with others and not in a VIP box, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Ah, I see," smiled Dumbledore, "some say the secret behind enjoying a quidditch game lies with the company."

"Wise words."

"That they are."

Quinn stared at the two men stare at each other.

'This is nice,' he thought; while Quinn always stepped carefully around Dumbledore, his grandfather was different; George West didn't need to be careful.

"How are you feeling about what your grandson has done here?"

"I'm proud of him; something of this level takes time and effort. He did a great job with the organization of this event."

"So, it was expected?"

"Hmm, Quinn tends to succeed at everything he picks up. Given his achievements, though an exceptional accomplishment, isn't something. . . unexpected."

"What about him employing a lot of West-owned companies? Do you think Mr. West would've been able to pull this off if he didn't have those resources?"

"He just used the cards he had been dealt. Quinn utilizing, making legitimate business transactions, with West-owned companies was him simply being resourceful — a quality that I'm glad that he has picked up.. . . Now, if he would have succeeded if he didn't have those — yes, would have; it would have required him to work faster and harder, but I'm sure he would've reached this same exact result or who knows, even better."

"You think he could've done better than this? Surely not."

"Everything can be improved, headmaster. I'm sure, a couple years down the line, when Quinn looks back at this time, he would think about how he could've done things differently — I, to this day, think back. That's how people grow."

"Isn't that true for all of us?"

"That it is."

After a quick back-and-forth, the two men once again fell into silence.

'What was that? They just talked about me,' thought Quinn, 'well, they're my grandfather and headmaster.'

"Ah, Quinn did a great job organizing the game," praised Fudge when he saw that Dumbledore and George had stopped talking and it was the right time to gain attention.

"Thank you, minister. I'm glad you liked it," said Quinn, smiling humbly, "I hope I'll see you all again next week and the week after that to see more games."

"Yes, yes," said Fudge with a big smile before turning to George, "Mr. West, I was hoping that I would get some of your time. . ."

"Minister, you're aware of how to schedule a meeting with me," replied George, giving the man a look.

"A-Ah, yes, of course," sputtered Fudge.

George studied the short and portly man for a second before silently sighing. "I've some free time next week, minister. I suggest that you make the appointments for then."

"Thank you, Mr. West! Yes, I'll get to it as soon as possible."

The people stared at the smiling Fudge, and except the man himself, they all knew that it was 'pity' that had got him a chance to talk with George.

"I would also like to talk to you, Mr. West," chimed in Dumbledore, "I've some subjects that I would like to discuss with you."

"Send a letter to our main office, and they'll see if I have a free spot in my schedule — MagiFax is the preferred mode of communication," replied George; he, of course, how much free time he had and could give both Fudge and Dumbledore a slot right here and then, but George wasn't sure if he wanted to give his precious time to these two men.

'I'm sure Dumbledore would be fine, but Fudge,' sighed George in his thoughts. To this date, he couldn't believe how Fudge had won the election; it made him think if he could have changed the results by endorsing other candidates.

"Ah yes, MagiFax, I've bought one for myself but haven't got to opening it," said Dumbledore, "this will finally give me the motivation to set it up; it will be a fun evening."

"Don't fiddle with it, headmaster," said Quinn, "if it breaks, repairing charms will put it, but it won't work."

Both Lia and George gave Quinn a brief and discreet look. While Quinn didn't notice the look, he did feel the urge to smack himself in the head. His decision was to keep his name hidden as the inventor; not many people knew about his involvement in the development (like Gary and Ben). Right now, Quinn's words didn't give any inclination that he was the creator, but it did open him up to a multitude of questions.

Fortunately, no one took the opportunity to ask the questions.

"I will keep that in mind, Mr. West," said Dumbledore.

"Now, ladies and gents, it was a pleasure to meet you all, but I will take my leave now; I've some previous commitments that I need to take care of," said George.

"Will you be visiting again?" asked Dumbledore.

"If the time permits, I will," replied George.

"I see; allow me to escort you to the main gate."

"That's not needed; Quinn is taking care of that."

No more words were exchanged as the Wests walked away, leaving the others behind with their thoughts and chatter.

"That wasn't so bad," commented Quinn.

"Nothing bad could've happened with me talking to them. You worry too much," replied George. "I just didn't want to waste time by making meaningless small talk with no clear motive in mind."

"Are you going to meet Dumbledore?"

"Yes, I've decided to see what he wants. That man is persistent if nothing else."

"Keep me informed."

The family of three talked about various things until they reached the main entrance.

"So who will be coming next week?" asked Quinn.

"Uncle Elliot wants to visit," said Lia, "He wants to visit the castle if possible."

"Hmm, okay, I'll see what I can do," said Quinn thinking about how to get Elliot inside the castle, 'Professor McGonagall or Flitwick will be my best bet, or should I act sick. . . no, I have to host. . . I'll think of something.'

He brushed his thoughts aside and addressed his family,

"I guess I will see you two on Christmas."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"Listen to me, you two!" said Eddie standing on his bed, "As I expected, my great mind was right to suffer for a year to play quidditch; just with one game, my reputation is flying high with no signs of ever coming down!"

"Yeah~. . . good for you," said Quinn, finally fixing MLE in their dorm room while Marcus sat on his bed watching both his friends.

"My magnificent skills have charmed the ladies," declared Eddie, "I can tell — I've entered the scene!"

"Yeah~. . . good for you."

Eddie gave Quinn a stink eye before continuing with the same enthusiasm. "But this isn't the time to rest on my laurels — It's time to strike the iron while it's hot."

"Yeah~. . . good for you."

"Sod off!" barked Eddie before once again continuing his speech, ". . . ahem, as I was saying, I need to take this chance to score big, and the perfect opportunity has presented itself to do that — The Yule Ball."

"Yeah~. . . good — Yule ball!" exclaimed Quinn, almost falling off the stool he was standing on.

"Oh ho, it seems I have finally got your attention. Yes, the Yule ball! A traditional part of the Tri-wizard tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize if you know what I mean~. Perfect opportunity for me to turn one date into two, which will turn into another one, and before you know it, your mate would have already escaped singlehood."

"Yule ball!" repeated Quinn jumping down from the stool, "When was this announced?"

"Today, in the last class," said Marcus, "it was after McGonagall called you out of the class. Flitwick announced that the Yule ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall."

Quinn sat down on his bed, holding his face. He had been so busy that the Yule ball had slipped his mind. Even today, he had been so busy, after all the work, Quinn spent some quality time inside the Room of Requirements, peacefully reading on some new charms, and while reading, he lost track of time, missing the time for the dinner feast, making him eat in the kitchen — he remembered the hostages but how half of them were selected slipped his mind.

"Marcus, are you going to go to the ball?" asked Quinn, looking at his shy friend; even Eddie looked interested and was about to offer his help to find Marcus a date.

To their surprise, Marcus didn't seem to be flustered and simply nodded.

". . . Are you going to take a girl with you?" asked Eddie, knowing that having a partner wasn't mandatory, at least for anyone who wasn't a champion.

"Yes." Once again, Marcus seemed to be serene, as if he didn't have a worry in the world.

"Have you asked her?"

"Not yet; I'll ask her tomorrow."

''Tomorrow?! So fast!' 'thought Quinn and Eddie at the same time.

Eddie jumped down from his bed and walked towards Marcus. "Who is it? Who're you asking?"

Even Quinn walked near them and stood behind Eddie with his arms crossed.

"You'll know," answered Marcus.

"Tell us now," they demanded.

"No, only after I ask her."

"Tell me, I have a Quinn behind me," said Eddie, treating Quinn as if he was an interrogation device, and Quinn puffed up his chest, playing his assigned role.

"He won't do anything to me; Quinn likes me more than you."

"That's true," said Quinn immediately.

"I'm standing right here!" exclaimed Eddie.

In the end, the two decided that it was easier to stalk Marcus than trying to get the girl's name out of him as one of Quinn's very scarce legilimency rules dictated that he wouldn't use legilimency against friends — they weren't friends if he thought it was okay to use legilimency on them (TC apply.)

"Who're you going to take?" This time it was Quinn's turn to answer the question.

Quinn looked at his friends as some faces flashed through his mind. "I don't know yet. I'll have to see; if no one agrees, I'm going solo. One Quinn West can trump one couple."

After saying that, Quinn went to brush his teeth so that he could go to sleep.

"Yeah, right!" scoffed Eddie, "Like a girl will reject him; if he goes alone, that means he's either gay, or he didn't want to take anyone with him."

". . . What if he is actually gay?" asked Marcus.

Eddie glanced towards Marcus and shrugged, "You said it: he likes you more than he likes me."

". . ."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn had never known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas; he did, of course, because of hosting responsibility and tournament organization; even if there would be no games that week, Quinn needed to take care of practice schedules. This year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all seemed to Quinn to be obsessed with the coming ball — or at least all the girls were, and it was amazing how many girls Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; he had never been cognizant about it before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear on Christmas night. . .

"They seem to be staring at you. . . intently," Marcus said to Quinn as a dozen or so girls walked past them, sniggering and staring at Harry.

"I noticed," said Quinn, not bothered by it.

"Why do they have to move in packs? How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?" said Eddie looking around. "Lasso them? — Wait, should I fly down on my broom, pull a girl up, and ask her while flying in the sky? How does that sound?"

"That's just kidna— maybe it will work; prince on a white pegasus of sorts. Use it as your last option," suggested Quinn.

They reached the Great hall and made their way towards Ravenclaw.

"Hey, Luna," they greeted as they sat down — Luna, Quinn, and Eddie on one side and Marcus on the other.

Luna scribbled on her sketchbook with various crayons laid on the table.

"Luna, you know the rule. This isn't allowed on the dinner table," said Quinn.

"But the food isn't here yet."

"Okay, then keep it away when it arrives."

"Okay."

Marcus looked at his three friends: Eddie gazing around the Great hall, surely trying to see who he should invite, Quinn arranging the crayons scattered around the table, and Luna scribbling with her tongue sticking out.

"Luna," called Marcus.

"Hmm?" came the reply.

"Will you come to the ball with me?" he asked.

Eddie snapped his head towards Marcus while Quinn's impressive crayon pyramid scattered back on the table as he stared. Reflexively, big brother instincts were triggered as under the table Eddie pointed his wand while Quinn's hand flexed. But the two looked at each other, realizing what they were doing, and retrieved their weapons while lightly clearing their throats.

Luna looked up from her table and stared at Marcus for a good half-minute.

"Okay."

"Alright, then," said Marcus with a bit of grin on his face and nodded towards his two best friends.

Eddie looked like his world had toppled over at the ease with which Marcus secured himself with a date while he was still thinking about who to ask.

Quinn, on the other hand, clicked his tongue that he missed the opportunity to ask Luna. She was also his first option — his safest option.

"Well played, Belby. . . well played."

"It certainly was!"

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - High commodity that a lot of "people" have their eyes on.

George West - Grandfather - Doesn't like dull people.

Marcus Belbly - Mad Lad - "He who strikes first wins."

Eddie Carmichael - Has finally achieved popular jock status - It's finally game time, people!

Luna Lovegood - ( _ ) - Ball? Sure.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - No, he isn't gay. So, don't start.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"I'm sorry. . . but I'd not be comfortable," said Quinn, "I hope you understand; it's not you, it's me. I'm sure someone as pretty as you'll absolutely be able to find someone much better than me."

A curly-haired fourth-year Hufflepuff girl to whom Quinn had only ever spoken to in passing and thrice in his office for notes looked down towards her feet and shakily nodded. Quinn held back from sighing as she walked away without again gazing at him, looking rather hurt.

"She was quite good-looking," said Marcus fairly, after clearing a serving of crisps.

"I don't know her; if I accepted, it would've turned awkward pretty quickly," answered Quinn, sitting down.

"No, it wouldn't," countered Marcus, "you don't do awkward if it's not on purpose."

". . .Yeah — you know me too well," sighed Quinn, who was he trying to fool, "I wasn't one bit interested in taking her to the ball. The entire thing reeked of a day full of chores for me."

"That's what — the eighth girl you rejected — what the hell are you doing?!" grumbled Eddie chewing on a strip of bacon, "all the boys hate and admire you at the same time. You don't know how annoying these contradictory views are — I want to bash your pretty face but at the same time want you to impart some wisdom to me."

"I don't have anything to offer. Just follow what Marcus did and go ask a girl out."

"Yeah," nodded Marcus, pointing his fork at Eddie, "what's the worse that can happen? She will say no; you lose nothing."

"She could say eww. . ."

Eddie and Marcus looked at Quinn, who ate a piece of roast chicken.

"Sorry, what did you say? I missed that."

"Me neither."

Quinn waved his hand and shook his head with a smile, "Oh, it's nothing, don't worry about it. . . Marcus is right, Eddie. Pick a girl you want to take to the ball and ask her out."

He hit Eddie on his arm, "Where did that year-long enthusiasm go? Bring it back; unleash the legendary virgin power and show everyone what you're made up of or whatever."

A pair of girls were passing behind the trio when Quinn spoke and broke into giggles at his words. Eddie tried to merge his face into the table while Marcus seemed unperturbed — he already had a date; Quinn turned towards the girls and flashed them a smile. The blushes that the girls that sported would've made a healer worry about their health.

"You reject eight girls, and then you do that; what're you doing," asked Marcus seeing the short exchange.

"Well, there has been girl-talk circulating in the castle; I simply wanted to check if it was true," said Quinn shrugging.

"The smile thing?" asked Eddie, the side of his face flush against the wood.

"Yup~ I have the most charming smile in the entire school."

"Not surprising given that you constantly moderate your smile," commented Marcus.

"Thank you, it's a talent," Quinn gave Marcus a wink.

"But seriously, what're you going to do about your date," said Marcus, "it's not like for you to leave things to the last date. Sixteen girls asked you out, but you haven't tried once from your side."

"I can't decide who to ask out."

"Ha!" Eddie sat up straight and pointed at Quinn. "Unleash your virgin power and whatnot and go get a girl. . . yeah, take that."

"Mate, what're you doing," said Quinn looking to his sides.

"Yeah, Eddie, you can't say things like that," added Marcus doing the same as Quinn.

". . .What? He did it first." Eddie pointed at Quinn.

"That was different," scoffed Marcus.

"How?!"

"There is a time and place for everything, mate. It wasn't now," said Quinn shaking his head.

Eddie stared at his two buddies with an expression of confusion and disbelief.

"What?"

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Tap, tap, tap. . . Quinn's finger tapped away at the desk in his office, staring at Recon laid on his desk. He stared at the map, and the map stared back at him.

Suddenly he leaned in and spoke to Recon, "Daphne Greengrass."

The map obeyed its creator's orders, and the ink on cloth shifted to a blue dot moving out of the Hogwarts library.

Quinn leaned back and stared at the map while tapping his foot away. He watched as the dot moved across floors and climbed down the stairs.

"Ah, let's just do it," he said and got up from his barstool with Recon packing itself into Quinn's pocket.

He fixed his clothes while walking towards the door. He opened the door and froze in the spot.

"Quinn."

"Fleur, what're you doing here?"

The French Veela standing just outside the door spoke in French, "I've something I wanted to talk about."

"Oh, please do tell; what's the problem? I'll try my best to help," said Quinn continuing in French.

"Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

"Ah yes, of course, please come in, come in."

The two entered the office with the MLEs lighting the moment Fleur entered.

"So tell me what seems to be the problem?" asked Quinn as both sat down.

"Are you sure you're free? It seemed like you were going out," said Fleur, "if you're busy, then we can do this when you're free."

Quinn shook his head, "It's okay. . . I'll take care of that later." It could wait.

"Good as I need to get this problem solved as soon as possible," said Fleur, "I'm not sure if I'd be able to solve it if I waited."

"Oh, what is it?"

"I would like you to be my date at the Yule Ball."

". . . Pardon?" The words escaped Quinn's mouth before his mind could even process the words that were spoken.

"It's the tradition at Yule Ball that champions and their partners open the ball; as such, it's compulsory for the champions to have partners."

"I'm aware of that, Fleur. But why me? It's only been a few days, and you've already got multitudes of invitations. You can choose from one of them."

"That can be said to you as well. You've rejected as many people as I have."

"Surely you jest, Fleur. I'm sure you rejected far more than I did," smiled Quinn.

"Let's not go that way; there will be no end if we start."

"If you say so, but the question remains, why me when you've so many choices to choose from."

"I could ask the same, why did you reject so many?" asked Fleur crossing her legs.

"I didn't want to go with someone I don't know."

"Then, it goes the same for me."

Quinn smiled and shook his finger. "Nuh-uh, one of Beauxbatons guys asked you out, but you rejected him the same. . . Fleur, if you don't tell me the real reason, I won't be able to help you."

Fleur sighed and leaned back into her seat with her arms fully resting on the armrests. Fleur looked like she didn't want to share, but she had to if she wanted to help.

"You already know it," she said.

"Yes, but I want you to say it," he insisted.

". . . Allure, my allure," she sighed, "none of the guys who invited me could resist it. . . Roger Davies, for a moment, I thought he wasn't affected, but it turned out he's just good at hiding it. I could tell from the fleeting glances that stayed a little too long — released a little more, and he was out."

"Hmm. . . how do usually Veela find their partners? It sounds complicated."

"Allure is a part of us. If a Veela wants it, they can retract it completely. When Veelas find someone who we like, we completely retract our Allure. . . I can't do that — yet."

"I see," said Quinn followed by a silence in the room.

Fleur watched as Quinn stared at his desk. She couldn't tell the look in his eyes, but as time went by, she started to feel anxious — a feeling new to her in the current context.

"It's okay if you don't—"

"I accept."

The two people stared at each other, with Fleur watching Quinn with slightly wide eyes.

"You accept? Are you sure?"

Quinn felt the weight of Recon in his pockets that were charmed to be weightless. The thoughts of a blonde flashed through his mind, but he put those aside. Fleur needed his help, and it was easy enough for him to provide.

". . .Yes, I'm sure," he said before putting on a smile, "It'll be my honor to be your date for the Yule Ball. It'll be a fun evening; I'm looking forward to it."

"C'est parfait!" she beamed in exclamation.

"Indeed, it is."

Fleur looked satisfied, but she had to ask one last thing, "You do know how to dance, right?"

"Know? I'm great at dancing."

"The day keeps getting better."

"I live to impress, Fleur. Live and love to impress."

It was decided — Quinn West and Fleur Delacour were attending the Yule Ball together.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn and Fleur decided not to tell anyone about them going together as each other's date till it was absolutely necessary. The only one privy to the information was Olympe Maxime, as she had required Fleur to find a date as soon as possible, and if she wasn't couldn't find a date, Maxime would arrange one for her.

A couple of days passed once again, and Quinn's rejection continued to increase, yet the number of girls inviting him to the ball didn't seem to slow down at all. He still got through one or two rejections a day. The girls seemed to have formed a mentality that there was no harm in trying as if they get rejected, Quinn would refuse gently and utter politeness.

The great hall was no longer safe for him — especially lunches where girls would usually ask him to meet them in private so that they could invite him to the ball. It had become for him to be seen in public as a lot of eyes were on him watching to find if he had found a date; his office was the only "public" place that he could be at peace as no girl dared to use his office to invite him out — Fleur Delacour, an outsider to Hogwarts was an exception.

And while he was free from Yule Ball invitations inside his office, the Yule Ball didn't leave him as the day the ball was introduced, most of his requests were related to the ball. Guys after guys coming to the office for help regarding dates — while it wasn't compulsory to get a date for the ball, no guy wanted to go alone; all wanted a girl on their arm.

Knock, knock. . . there was a knock on the door as the door chime alerted Quinn that someone had entered his office.

'I hope it isn't another one of the Yule Ball requests,' he sighed while walking out of his workshop.

He saw a familiar client standing inside his office; she was looking towards the workshop door since before he had walked out.

"Ivy, what can I do for you?" asked Quinn, sitting down on his barstool while asking the girl twin to make herself comfortable. "Given that you're here alone and not with together with your brother means that it isn't about the Tri-wizard tournament. So, tell me. . . what has you in trouble?"

"I can be here for the Tri-wizard tournament; you don't know that."

'She's testy today,' he noticed.

"You could be, but that seems unlikely given your brother's attitude regarding this entire situation. . . he would be here if it's regarding the tournament."

Ivy didn't speak immediately; moreover, she continued to stare at him. While Quinn would've preferred if she didn't wordlessly stare at him, he wasn't that bothered by it and stared back.

When Ivy finally spoke, she dropped a bomb on him.

"I want you to be my date at the Yule Ball."

'Why would she ask me out during business hours?' were his genuine first thoughts, but his words asked a question: "Why?"

"What do you mean why? I want to go with you, so I'm asking."

Quinn silently stared at her, showing that he wasn't buying whatever she was selling, and the stubborn girl tried to remain strong against the stare but eventually faltered under the intense stone greys.

"All other boys are either pigs or gits," she all but whispered.

'Ah, I see. . .' he thought, having an inkling where this conversation was going.

"They are either too creepy — honestly, why would I go with someone who I haven't talked to even once, and yet they act like we have known each other for ages, acting all chummy. . ugh, it sends jitters down my back," she looked uncomfortable even thinking about it, "the others who actually act civil and invite me properly just want to go with Ivy 'Potter' and not me — just Ivy."

She looked a mix between livid and tired. Harry got attention as the Boy-Who-Lived almost always, drawing the spotlight away from Ivy, who was okay with it as she found the attention tiresome. But this time, she was in as much spotlight as Harry, and it was getting on her nerves.

"Pick a friend and go with him," suggested Quinn shrugging.

"I can't. . . I don't want to go to the ball with Ron, my brother's best friend. Neville has already found his date, and I don't think it's a good idea to go with other Gryffindor boys. . . other than that, I don't know many boys outside of Gryffindor."

"I can suggest one charming fellow—"

"I'm not going with Eddie Carmichael. . . Harry will blow his top if I do that. Not something I want to deal with right now."

"Well, can't say that I didn't try," shrugged Quinn. "and why me, if I may ask?"

"You're the perfect shield," said Ivy, seemingly happy with her statement, "if you go with me, there won't be a single peep from absolutely anyone. Seeing how much she likes you, even mum will be happy with my choice. Dad and Harry like you enough that they won't act stupid — especially dad, after the incident, he has a splendid view of you."

"I'm flattered," said Quinn with a smile which dimmed as he continued, "but unfortunately, I would've to respectfully decline, Ivy."

"Eh, why?"

"I already have a date."

"You have?!" she exclaimed a bit too loudly. It wasn't an exclamation of upset but of surprise.

"When?" asked Ivy.

"A couple of days."

"A couple of days?!"

". . . Now you're just repeating my words."

Ivy was genuinely shocked as one of the prime topics among the girls across the school was about who the 'most eligible' boys were going with to the Yule Ball, and Quinn was there right at the top hanging with the champions and to hear that he already had a date when everyone was still wondering who he was taking was startling news.

"Who're you taking," she asked.

Quinn stared at the redhead, and given their relationship, he didn't mind telling who he was taking to the ball, and Ivy knew better than to leak his secrets. So he replied,

"Fleur Delacour."

". . .You're taking the Veela?" asked Ivy and studied Quinn, looking for something.

"I'm not under the influence of Allure if that's what you're wondering."

"O-Oh."

"So,. . . sorry about this, but I can't take you."

"It's okay. . . It seems I was a little too late."

". . .Yeah."

Ivy leaned into her chair and sighed while looking at the ceiling. She wanted to get up and escape immediately but held back as that would make things awkward.

"Would you've accepted if I came earlier?" she asked.

"To be honest, I don't know. . . I might or might not have accepted it. It would've depended on that moment."

"What about if I asked you to be my date as part of a job?"

Ivy heard a laugh in response, followed by a happy-sounding Quinn saying: "You're a smart girl, Ivy Potter. If you came to me leading with that, your chances would've definitely increased."

His answer brought a bit of a smile to her face.

Shortly after, Ivy got up to leave, with Quinn walking her out. As she exited, Ivy heard Quinn call out to her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Save me a dance?"

". . . Sure," she answered.

In a way, she had confirmed that she would be attending the ball.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Ivy stood in the corridor, looking at the mood overhead while leaning on a ledge, thinking about her meeting with Quinn.

"Ah, I got rejected."

Even though her reason behind asking Quinn was so that she could escape the constant stream of boys bothering her. . .

"And I was looking forward to it," she sighed.

Quinn had worked with her, Harry, and Hermione for two weeks to prepare Harry for the first task. Those two weeks were tough, not only for Harry but for her and Hermoine as well. Quinn West was a taskmaster when he needed to be. They learned more than they had learned in a while, and that was saying something when you took Hermione Granger and Ivy Potter into context.

But those same two weeks were fun as well. They had fun, and Quinn had managed to turn what would've been tense times into generally upbeat sessions.

Ivy thought if she had gone with Quinn, her evening would've been the same fun.

"I knew Delacour was a possibility, but I was sure it would be—"

"What are you doing?"

Ivy turned to see a furrowed brow on the generally expressionless resting face of the blonde girl, with who she was well familiar.

"Daphne."

The girl who Ivy had been thinking had appeared in front of her.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Being famous is hard.

Fleur Delacour - Champion - Being a Veela is hard.

Ivy Potter - Potter Princess, Twin - Being a Potter is hard.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"What're you doing here?"

"Daphne."

Both girls studied each other with observant eyes, scrutinizing. And for once, they didn't start bickering with each other from the first glance. Ivy wasn't in the mood to start anything with Daphne. The blonde saw that and thus retrieved the attack instinct they had around each other.

Daphne watched as Ivy stood with her arms folded over the ledge, slightly leaning out as she gazed at the stars shining in the inky sky overhead. It was different for her to see Ivy like this. . . at least it had been a while. . .

"What happened to you?" asked Daphne.

Ivy breathed in before releasing an audible sigh. "I got rejected."

"Rejected? What do you mean?"

"Rejected as in I got turned down for a date at the Yule Ball."

Daphne's face faltered at Ivy's words. She blinked in surprise as her mouth opened and closed a couple times before she finally could get something out.

"You got turned down?" she said, and a taunt escaped her, "well, it's not surprising that someone turned you down — not a lot of people can handle that brutish brash nature of yours."

Daphne pursed her lips as soon as she said that — It was habit; it had been a very long time since Ivy and she had a talk where they didn't go after each other's throats. And now, even after her taunt, Ivy didn't show as much as a twitch in return.

It finally dawned on Daphne that Ivy really was affected by the rejection.

"I'm curious; who turned you down?"

Ivy glanced at Daphne, and it was supposed to be a momentary glance but seeing the look in her made Ivy pause her sight on Daphne. Ivy didn't like to hide her emotions. As such, she never liked occlumency; the only reason she practiced it was because she knew its importance and wanted to beat Daphne at it. On the other hand, Daphne was a natural at it — she wasn't a natural occlumence, but the protective mind art came easier to Daphne than most.

They had started learning the art together and even had taken many lessons together (their mothers were close friends). Not once since then had Ivy ever beaten Daphne at a single occlumency activity/task/competition.

But there was one thing in all those times that Ivy had learned about Daphne — eyes were the window to the soul, and Daphne's eyes tend to give her hidden emotions away.

'Ah, is that concern I see,' she thought, noticing the flash in Daphne's eyes, 'it's been a while. . .'

After all, they weren't always like this.

Ivy looked away from Daphne and once again gazed at the stars. "It was Quinn West."

The words made Daphne froze. "Q-Quinn. . . you asked Quinn?"

"Yeah," said Ivy, noticing the crack.

"Why? I mean. . ."

"Why not? He is handsome, well-mannered, fun to hang around, what's not to like. And I like him enough for it to turn into a pretty great evening. I thought if I could get to attend the ball with someone like him — wouldn't that be the best?"

". . .But he rejected you."

"Yes, he did," she sighed, "Quinn said he already had a date."

"What?!"

Ivy turned toward Daphne, fully expecting the reaction; it was why she had told her that.

"Yeah, Quinn already had a date for a couple of days, it seems."

"I-I see. . . who is it?"

Ivy contemplated for a bit — if she should tell her the answer.

"Fleur Delacour."

Daphne stilled. . . it was like looking at a picture — the muggle kind. She was so still that for a moment, Ivy doubted if Daphne was breathing or not.

'She *really* likes him, huh,' thought the redhead. There was no expression on the blonde's face, but her eyes betrayed her chaotic emotions.

Ivy turned her back to the ledge and continued to stare at Daphne. It might have been a minute after which Daphne once again spoke.

"Who?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Who asked? Was it Quinn or that bi— or Delacour?"

Ivy held back a smile threatening to break on her face.

「 Hogwarts' Ice Queen」 — that's what they had started to call her. But Ivy knew the truth — Ice Queen was far from accurate when it came to Daphne Greengrass. Sure she was cold, but Ice wasn't the correct representation for it.

'More like cooled of magma turning into rock. A layer of rock that hid the blazen magma inside. . . that's more like it.'

There was no doubt that Daphne Greengrass was calm, cool(cold), and collected. Brutally logical when needed, but that wasn't the complete her. The other side was only known to people who knew Daphne from her childhood days — people like Ivy Potter, Harry Potter, Tracey Davis, Draco Malfoy, and a few others outside her family.

Those people knew and had seen the passionate emotions that run deep within the surface, coursing like molten magma, only emerging when the inherently steady Daphne was agitated — when her feelings swung to extremes; that was when the other side showed.

"I don't know," said Ivy, "he told me that he was going to attend with Fleur Delacour. He didn't mention who asked who out."

Daphne's dainty hands clutched into fists as her eyes narrowed. If she knew this was going to happen, she would've gone asked Quinn out the second the ball was announced. . . of course she didn't. Daphne thought that she knew Quinn quite well — the fifth-year boy had many "casual friends" and even more "acquaintance," but what he didn't have many were "close friends" and "intimate friends."

If one were to ask to name Quinn West's intimate friends, then ninety-nine out of hundred people would take three names: Eddie Carmichael, Marcus Belby, and Luna Lovegood. These were three people with whom Quinn held a commitment to the development of each other's characters, the mutual responsibility of utmost faith and trust, and a connection that ran soul deep in the non-magical sense. They were his closest confidants and whom he had bonded with over his and their vulnerabilities to reach the highest level of friendship.

As much as Daphne wanted to be at that level, she wasn't there. . . yet. But she was sure that she was Quinn's close friend. Not only had they both invested in each other personally, but also emotionally. Because of the level of investment, close friends have shared more information. They are aware and familiar with each other's family members and private life. Also, they both know and help each other accomplish their life goals, hence emphasizing emotional investment.

And Daphne was confident that she was the "closest" close friend Quinn had. More importantly, she was one of the few girls in that category.

Luna Lovegood wasn't a threat — as close as the girl was to Quinn and vice-versa, they were more of a brother-sister duo. 'And she is going with Marcus Belby,' she thought.

Then there was her own best friend, Tracey Davies. Sometimes, Daphne felt envious, jealous of Tracey. She and Quinn had clicked the moment they had met. The two constantly joked around every time they met and seemed to have the time of their lives. They went even as far as matching their sentences with each other. The only thing that relieved Daphne was that she had asked Tracey if she liked Quinn and Tracey refused.

Her own sister was annoyingly close to Quinn. Whenever Quinn was in the vicinity, Astoria would run over towards him and glomp him as if he was a treat. It annoyed Daphne to the limit, but Astoria continued to do it, and Quinn allowed it. This year, Quinn had been so busy that he hadn't talked to her for a month and only met her because he needed to treat Astoria — which she was grateful for (don't judge.)

Finally, there was the new girl Fleur Delacour. Ah, how much she hated the French hussy. She just swept in like it was nothing, all giggly with Quinn, who seemed to be lapping it up. It took her such a long time for Quinn to use her first name. But she(Fleur) with her 'please call me Fleur' made him say it in months!

But Daphne was sure that if Quinn was going to ask a girl out, then it would be her. Especially after Quinn had asked for her help to communicate with the quidditch team — every day, she would arrive at the AID office to give her daily report, and after that, both would walk to the Great hall for dinner, talking about everything and anything.

They were having fun these days. So when the ball was introduced, she patiently waited. She was raised to think that the boy was supposed to ask the girl out and not the other way around. Her confidence increased with every girl Quinn rejected.

But here she was hearing from Ivy Potter of all people that Quinn already had a date — a date with Fleur Delacour. If she knew this would happen, she would've trashed what she had been taught and asked Quinn instead of waiting for it to happen the other way round.

Ivy continued to watch Daphne. She could only imagine what was going in her head — well, she could. . . she had seen it too many times.

"You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"

Daphne's eyes snapped towards Ivy. "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't. . . why don't you explain it to me so I can understand."

"Oh-okay, you know how you used to do those stupid things when we were little," scoffed Ivy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," denied Daphne.

"Yeah, you keep saying that, but that isn't going to make things any less true."

Daphne simply shrugged in response, deciding to end this conversation.

'Ah, she calmed down; that was fast,' thought Ivy, and it was a sign that the conversation was over.

Ivy walked pushed herself away from the ledge, ready to leave. As she walked past Daphne, Ivy stopped.

Daphne glanced to her side at Ivy, waiting for her to say something, but the redhead gave her a fleeting glance before walking away while humming a tune.

'She's annoying,' thought Daphne and started her way towards the Slytherin common room. She had to talk to Tracey about this; Tracey would know what to do with this.

As Daphne reached the corridor just beyond the common room entrance, she heard.

"Daphne?"

The girl turned, and her eyes flashed with recognition.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

On the whole, Harry had to admit that even with the slightly intimidating prospect of opening the ball before him, life had definitely improved since he had got through the first task. He wasn't attracting nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which he suspected had a lot to do with his performance; the people who wore 'Support the Champions' lapel badges finally had smiles on their faces when they looked at him.

If he had to complain, it would be about Rita Skeeter's articles and Draco Malfoy's whispers subtly supporting them in the Hogwarts rumor mill. Malfoy might not show his displeasure outwards in public, but that didn't stop him from continuing in the back, where it wasn't visible to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

The last week had become increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumors about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though Harry didn't believe half of them — for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. However, it seemed to be a fact that he had booked the Weird Sisters — something everyone who had grown up listening to the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) felt wildly excited about having the famous musical group at the ball.

Some of the teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed them to play games in his lesson on Wednesday and spent most of it talking to Harry about the perfect Carpe Retractum Charm Harry had used during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns, for example, from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions — as Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn't going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as dull as Percy's cauldron-bottom report.

Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes too (McGonagall would let her hair down on and before the quidditch game day), and Snape, of course, would no sooner let them play games in class than adopt Harry. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

"Evil, he is," Ron said bitterly in the Gryffindor common room, "springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying"

"Mmm . . . you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?" said Hermione, looking at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack — a much more exciting pastime than with non-magical cards because of the chance that the whole thing would blow up at any second.

"It's almost Christmas, Hermione," said Ivy lazily; he was rereading Historical Witches Throughout The Ages for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

"No, it's not; there's still ten days remaining."

". . . That's almost Christmas, Hermione."

Hermione sighed before looking at Harry severely. "I'd have thought you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes!"

"Like what?" asked the fourth champion.

"The egg!"

"Come on, Hermione, he's got till February the twenty-fourth," said Ron, setting the cards.

"But it might take weeks to work it out! You're going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don't!"

"Leave him alone; he's earned a bit of a break."

And the arguing between the two opposites begun.

Harry, who was doing nothing, stared at them — well, he stared at Hermione for the most part. He had been part of such arguments with Hermione an n-number of times. In the past, he always thought of them to be oh-so annoying, having to answer about any "fun" he had.

'Ah, the fun, huh,' thought Harry, 'those things aren't that fun now, are they?'

The day his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, all those little fun things were thrown out of his mind and life — he didn't have time for goofing around. And with that went away his and Hermione's bickering.

Then he saw it.

The constant taunts and gibes weren't out of spite but out of concern. That concern showed in earnest when he was struggling with a sudden crisis.

Suddenly, her voice — gentle, not irritating; her words — soothing, not cutting; her gaze — worried, not mocking. It was a brand new Hermione, a Hermione he liked.

"Hermione," he said. Harry Potter wasn't one to be shy.

The girl got in a gibe before looking at Harry. "Yes, what is it?"

"Will you go to the Ball with me?"

The group went silent, and the common room became attentive. Everyone watched in a complete hush as Harry gazed at Hermione, who stared back at him with a stunned and surprised face.

Ivy, who had been laying down in an armchair, her feet dangling off the sides, instantly sat up while Ron's hand holding cards stilled mid-air as he stared at his two friends.

"Are you serious? This isn't a prank," asked the smartest-witch-of-her-age.

"Yes, I'm not serious, and this isn't a prank," answered the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Why me?"

"You know me," said 'Harry,' "and I like to think I know you too. . . I would like to take you, who I know, with me to the Ball."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Is that not enough?'

"N-no, it's enough."

"So are you. . . ?"

"Yes."

The room was about to erupt, but Harry spoke up, delaying it a bit.

"I would like you to be a bit more. . . articulate," he smiled, leaning forward.

"Don't push it, Potter."

'I'm a Potter too,' thought a redhead, but she stayed quiet.

"Please, I insist," asked Harry, using one word he had picked up from an old man who loved socks.

The brunette with wavy hair pushed one side behind her ear. "Okay, if you want it that much. . . I accept your offer; I'll go with you to the Ball. It's a date."

"It's a date."

Now the crowd erupted — cheers and hoots, the complete package. Everyone surrounded the champion and his date — festivity ensured.

Ronald Weasley looked to his side; he still didn't have a date.

"So. . . Ivy, should we go together?"

The reply came quick. "No, thank you, Ron. I'll be fine."

"Oh, come on!"

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - "Uhm. . . hey, I guess. See you next time."

Ivy Potter - Rival #1 - Got rejected. Now feels a little better.

Daphne Greengrass - Rival #2 - Missed her chance. Isn't feeling good.

Harry Potter - Protagonist (A/N: Pfft!) - Well, I got a date for the party. How about you guys? Yes, I'm asking you.

Hermione Granger - Still a champion's date - Oh boy, she's going in the lake again.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Are you still mad? Are you going to complain to him? Will you try to. . .you know. . . ?"

Sitting in her chair, Daphne Greengrass sighed. She glanced to her side, and sitting in another chair, swinging her feet, was Astoria Greengrass staring at her with curious eyes.

"I'm not going to do anything of any sort. We're here for your treatment — there isn't any place to bring that up, and I'm sure Quinn would appreciate us talking about those things in his office; he's very particular about it."

"But, you want to, right? If you had the option, you'd ask him."

Daphne didn't grace that question with an answer. What was she supposed to say? That Quinn should ditch the French hussy and take her to the ball — that wasn't going to happen. Knowing Quinn, he wasn't going to back out of his commitment and. . . .

'I don't have that option anymore,' she thought.

Astoria continued to gaze at her sister. The still-secret news of Quinn going to the Yule Ball came as a surprise to her. Astoria, much like her sister, thought that Quinn would ask Daphne out to the ball — she was the best option after all.

'Can't say I didn't enjoy seeing her fret for hours to Tracey.'

As much as Astoria loved her sister, the one thing she didn't like was Daphne's habit of keeping emotions away from her face.

'She is so pretty; it's an absolute pity for it to be set in stone.'

Daphne had been good at occlumency from the very start, getting praise from everyone — Daphne's occlumency teacher had wildly applauded her when she was able to keep emotions off her face so well. Maybe it was because of the constant praises that Daphne kept few feelings on her face to this day.

So Astoria felt joyous whenever someone could rile Daphne enough for her to break her occlumency. That was the reason why she would always bother Daphne in one way or another — anything from making her sigh to smile.

'Then came Quinn,' reminisced Astoria, 'suddenly she became more expressive. Now she talks more, smiles more. . . she even laughs.'

It had started with Daphne only changing around Quinn, but little by little. . . Astoria smiled brightly. 'She is returning to the Daphne of before.'

"Why're you smiling so much?"

"No reason," said Astoria grinning even more.

"Oh, smiling, are we? Let me on the joke."

The sisters turned their heads to see Quinn exit through the red door in the glass wall.

"So, Astoria, ready for this month's dose of oh-so-spooky dark magic?"

The younger Greengrass bowed her head. "Y-Yes, Dark Lord W-West."

"Good, good, I can feel the fear. . . I like it," said Quinn in a low, deep, and spooky voice. The smiling expression on his face, though, didn't match his tone.

The two looked at each other and broke out laughing. No matter how many times Quinn treated Astoria, it was a little tension-raising for the girl to have blood magic run through her body — maybe it would get better with more time, but that time wasn't now.

So to ease her worries, Quinn would always make the ambiance as carefree as possible for Astoria to feel safe.

"Before we get started, let's go over the usual, shall we?" asked Quinn pulling his trusty barstool beside Astoria.

"Certainly."

"Okay, how are you feeling right now?"

"Fit as a unicorn."

"Excellent, unicorns don't get sick. How about any anomalies during the month?"

"Nothing I can remember of. . . . Ah wait, I have one!"

Daphne looked alarmed at Astoria's sudden revelation.

"Oh, please tell," asked Quinn.

"Throughout the month, I felt a little too. . . happy!"

Quinn chuckled in response, but Daphne wasn't amused.

"Astoria! This is serious! You can't joke—"

"Oh, it's fine. The healer isn't angry; you shouldn't be as well."

Daphne looked towards Quinn, who shrugged with a smile — he honestly didn't have a problem with it.

"Okay, Astoria, jokes aside, any problems throughout the month?" asked Quinn.

"No, I don't recall having any problems."

"That's great."

After taking Astoria's account of her own health, Quinn started to check on Astoria's health. One of the principles of diagnostics that Poppy had taught him was that patients aren't an accurate source of patient condition as several of them lied or weren't cognizant of their own state. It was a healer's role to find and search for a more complete diagnostic of their patient.

"Alright, everything indeed looks good. I can't sense anything odd except, well, you know — the blood curse."

"That's good, I guess."

"Yeah, now let's not waste any more time and get you good for another month."

The same routine of blood magic was repeated in which Quinn used his own magic to repress the blood malediction in Astoria's body. The results were, as usual, the amount of blood magic that he could use would keep the curse down for a month.

"Okay, it's done. You'll be good for another month. How do you feel?"

Astoria exhaled deeply as Quinn's hands left her; she looked at her hands and clenched them; just like after every treatment, she felt a boost of energy as if she could go on forever.

"Yeah, I can feel it," she said, "it's done; it's like every time."

"Excellent. Now, how're you doing, Astoria? What's going in your life," asked Quinn as he got up with the barstool in hand behind his desk.

Astoria tapped her chin with her finger in wonderment. The gears in the brain of the extrovert Greengrass turned as a naughty glitter flashed in her eyes.

"I'm a little sad, I guess."

"Sad, why?" asked Quinn, furrowing his brows, "any problem I can solve. Tell me, I'll have it clear in a jiffy."

"No, it's nothing like that," her puppy-dog eye were fatal, "I'm just sad that no one invited me to the Yule Ball. . . now I'll have to go back home at Christmas."

Daphne twitched, and her eyes widened as she realized what her dear sister was trying to do. 'She's trying to bring the topic up!'

Quinn, who was expecting an everyday problem, also froze for a split second. His eyes subconsciously moved towards Daphne, and to both of their surprise, both of their eyes met. Both immediately averted their eyes away.

"O-Oh, that's unfortunate."

Astoria was delighted that just a single sentence from her was splendidly doing its job.

"Yes, it is. . . Wait! — Quinn, you should take me. Please!"

Quinn kept his eyes on Astoria, trying his best not to look at the other sister whose gaze he could feel on him. And he as did that, he noticed the subtle odd expression on Astoria's face — an expression he was well familiar with.

'Wait a minute,' the realization dawned on him, 'she knows! Astoria knows. . . that would mean. . .'

He finally ended up looking to the side and saw Daphne staring at him.

'Ah. . .'

Daphne knew about it — she at least knew that he had a date. He hoped that of all people, she would be the last one to know. But now that he thought that the cat was out of the bag, he decided to come clean and finally start disclosing from his end.

"Sorry, Astoria, but I already have a date for the Ball."

"Eh, you do?" Astoria looked between Quinn and Daphne, subtly implying a question if they were going together.

"Yes, I have a date," said Quinn, ignoring the subtlety that was hitting him soundly in the face.

"Who is it?!"

". . . Fleur Delacour."

"The French champion? You're taking the Veela to the Ball — hmm, I surely thought you'd be taking Daphne. Don't you think so too, Daphne?"

"Don't talk nonsense, Astoria," said Daphne, half-glaring at her sister.

Astoria just stuck her tongue out in cute defiance.

Daphne couldn't do anything but sigh. However, now that the matter was blown up and out in the open, she turned to stare at Quinn. No words were exchanged, but both knew what the gaze meant.

"She asked, I accepted," said Quinn.

"Delacour asked? Like Ivy Potter asked?" inquired Daphne.

"Ah, you know about that, huh. Tell me one thing when did you hear this from Ivy?"

"The day she got rejected," answered Daphne. At the same time, she notices how Quinn addressed Ivy, 'she sneaked in without me knowing.'

"That was quick." Quinn wasn't bothered by it. Any information he was willing to give out was information he was okay being spread.

"What about you, Daphne? Will you be attending the ball or going back home with Astoria?"

"I'll be attending."

"Oh? Who's the lucky guy?" asked Quinn, leaning forward.

Daphne opened her mouth to answer the question but then paused. She gazed at Quinn and changed her answer.

"It's a secret."

Quinn's eyes widened a fraction at the answer. "A secret?" He looked at Astoria, who seemed as clueless as him

"No need to look at her. She doesn't know. No one knows."

"Okay, then tell me this. Is it someone I know?"

Daphne sat on the question for a moment before nodding, "Yes, you do know of him."

"Do I know him?" questioned Astoria.

"No, you don't."

"Now that's interesting," said Quinn holding his chin, "someone I know, but Astoria doesn't. It must be someone older than Astoria."

"That's too many people."

"I won't lie by saying that I'm not curious, but I'll wait," said Quinn, leaning back. "Also, Daphne?"

"Yes?"

"May I have a dance at the Ball?"

Astoria turned to her sister, staring at Quinn, and thought, 'What's she waiting for?'

"Yes, you may."

Quinn nodded and returned a smile to Daphne's tiny smile that graced her lips.

"I also want to dance!" exclaimed Astoria interjecting.

"Grow up first," was the sister's prompt response.

. . .

The Greengrass sisters left the AID office after chatting a bit with Quinn, who had to end their chat as he had previous commitments, and Daphne too had to meet with the teams who had a game the coming day.

"You should've asked him," commented Astoria.

"It isn't proper for a girl to ask a boy. It's the other way around."

"Fleur Delacour, Ivy, and a dozen other girls did it. One of them got through."

"If Quinn wanted to go with me, he would've asked."

"I can't deny that. But I'm just saying. . . the Veela clearly wanted something, and she took it."

"Astoria—"

"I bet if you had asked, he would have said yes."

". . ."

Daphne had no answer to that. She knew what Astoria meant by — 'the Veela clearly wanted something, and she took it.' Their father had always said,

"If you want something, then the world won't hand it over to you — no, the world will try its level best to keep you away from it — so if you ever have a genuine desire for anything at all, it is your vocation to go and get it. . . because if you don't, someone else will."

As the Greengrass heir, she never truly had to work hard to obtain something; as such, she never connected with her father's words.

This was the first time she could understand what he meant. Unfortunately, the understanding came a bit too late.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"U-Uhm, is this really fine?" asked Eddie in a nervous tone not usual on the confident, outspoken, and loud boy.

Quinn looked at himself in the mirror, turning to look at his sides and back. "Yes, it's fine. The question is if you're comfortable."

"I-I guess. This isn't something I'm used to," said Eddie.

"Raise your hands wide, lad."

Eddie immediately raised his hands as he felt measuring tapes wrap around him as a pot-bellied middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth walked around him.

"Hmm, you two have good frames on you two lads: broad shoulders, thin waists, long legs, shorter torso. . . a bit difficult to stitch, but nothing I can't manage."

Quinn checked himself in the mirror while adjusting the fitting jacket full of stitches and threads.

"I'm looking forward to having the complete suit, Mr. Taylor. This will be my first bespoke three-piece suit. As much as I adore my two-piece suit collection — three-piece suits are a class apart. Plus, I get to show off one of my pocket watch chain going throw the vest."

"You're grandfather loves his three-piece suits, little West. He has them stitched four times a year — I know an addict when I see one."

Quinn laughed, relating to Mr. Taylor's description of his grandfather. Mr. Taylor was the tailor George, Quinn, and Elliot used for their suits (Lia had her own personal tailor).

The thing about Mr. Taylor was that he had no filter whatsoever — anything that popped in his mind came out of his mouth. This quality of his, along with the fact that stitched killer suits, was the reason that George West hadn't used another tailor in thirty years; he loved the fact that Mr. Taylor didn't act reserve in front of him like so many others did.

"Then get ready to get another addict as your client, Mr. Taylor, because I'll be coming to you for all my suit, shirt, and pant needs — also, do you do belts?"

"I'm okay with that, more money to me. I sell belts, ties, suspenders, anything you formal you want, you'll get it," said Taylor as his eyes studied his charms working on Eddie's fitting jacket, "how does it feel, lad? Any tightness while moving."

Eddie twisted his upper body to get a good feel of the jacket.

"It isn't as flexible as my quidditch uniform, but it's comfortable, no doubt."

"Don't worry, when I'm done with it, you would be able to wrestle in it."

With the Yule Ball coming around, every boy and girl attending the Ball was getting their formal party wear prepared. Quinn and his friends were no different; they all were attending the Ball and needed formal wear for the occasion.

Being very particular about her dress, Luna had pulled Marcus along with her to coordinate their clothes so they would match. Poor Marcus had been stressed as his standard black-and-white dress robes weren't going to match Luna's eccentric ideas, so he asked Quinn to change the color of his clothes to match Luna's preferences.

Quinn offered to have new dress robes stitched for Marcus to match Luna, but Marcus wanted to wear what he got from home, so Quinn agreed to cast the most potent color change charm he could cast.

Eddie accepted Quinn's offer, so both boys had new formal wear stitched for them.

Quinn didn't want to wear dress robes; he found them tedious. He decided to go with a classy three-piece suit — it didn't matter if it was the magical or non-magical world, suits were in style everywhere.

Eddie went along with whatever Quinn was wearing, so it was decided that both would wear three-piece suits — bowtie for Eddie and necktie for Quinn.

"Are you sure she will like this?" asked Eddie sounding a bit worried.

"Eddie, while clothes are powerful weapons but to wield their true power — to look your best, you need to feel your best; you've to believe that you look good."

"But I don't if I will look good in this."

"Bah! Everyone looks good with my babies on. Take a bath and cut your hair and you'll be no less than a dashing prince," shouted Mr. Taylor while writing down adjustments and measurements.

"I still don't get it, you know? How in the world did you get Tracey to agree to go with you to the Ball?" asked Quinn.

He was shocked when he was looking for Tracey for the progress of ticket mailing and pulled out Recon to locate her. To his surprise, he saw her with Eddie in a classroom.

His curiosity peaked. At first, he thought they were planning a prank against him and decided to spy on them to be ready for their action. But to his surprise, they were practicing dancing in the classroom.

"It all started when Tracey wanted to know why you didn't ask Daphne to the ball — thanks for telling me, by the way; it felt real good knowing about your date from someone else."

"No hard feelings, man. It was a mutual decision."

"Yet you had no problem telling Ivy Potter."

"What did you expected me to do? I had just rejected a girl I know personally; I had to give her something."

"Yeah, whatever. So we got talking, and Marcus' advice popped in my head. . . so I asked her."

"And she accepted."

"She did," grinned Eddie.

'It's like he's floating on clouds,' smiled Quinn in thought.

"So, you like her?"

"Yeah, she's nice and smart. . . and pretty," said Eddie.

'Oh ho, look at him all shy.'

Eddie Carmichael was a guy who didn't get bashful easily. He charged out towards every situation with a face thick as an elephant's skin. Seeing him grinning like a buffoon and getting lost in thought was a unique look on him.

"You're smitten."

"Am not!"

"You so are. But you better not hurt Tracey — she's a dear friend."

"And I'm your best friend."

"Yes, and that's why Tracey will know exactly who to come, so she could spite you. Given that she doesn't do it herself."

"What if I'm the one who gets hurt?"

"Then, I'll stand behind you and spite her. It goes both ways — gender equality holds strong."

"Good, that's good. I'll take that."

Mr. Taylor puffed out a smoke ring and blurted, "If you ladies are done with your chat. It's time for me to take your pant measurements."

"Of course, Mr. Taylor," said Quinn, removing his fitting jacket.

Eddie leaned towards Quinn and whispered,

"He's not going to poke down there, is he?"

Quinn turned to Eddie and laughed out loud.

". . .T-That doesn't give me the answer — Quinn? Quinn?!"

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Suits are dope!

Daphne Greengrass - Feelings are complex - The entire situation is very complicated.

Astoria Greengrass - Little Cherub - Smart people can be dumb.

Eddie Carmichael - Smitten - I! Have! A! Date!

Mr. Taylor - Tailor - I do hats as well — if anyone's wondering.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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!

Report chapter Comments

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https//fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

.

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The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas.

When the decorations went up, Quinn noticed that they were the most stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words.

Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

Soon, the term ended, and with it ended his busy schedule managing the quidditch tournament — he was free till the school term started again. As such, he was looking forward to spending his time leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as thoroughly as possible, along with everyone else.

Ravenclaw Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were so much rowdier than usual.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a giant, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It's too heavy, all this Hogwarts food," said the girl while sitting along with Quinn's group, her voice reaching everywhere in the Great hall, "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

"You're a Veela, Fleur. You're not going to gain weight so easily — your body won't allow it."

Eddie agreed with Quinn. "Yeah, that's why it's hard for Veelas to play positions other than seekers and goalies. They can't gain weight easily; that includes muscle mass as such they usually play beaters and chasers."

When everyone looked at Eddie, he shrugged,

"I read it in a book I picked up for light reading."

Sometimes people forgot that Eddie was a Ravenclaw — he was a certified nerd despite jock status.

Fleur's little complaint wasn't registered as well as it did in Quinn group; for example, by the Gryffindor table, Hermione snapped.

"Oooh, there's a tragedy. She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"

Ivy and other girls like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brow nodded feverously. None like the audacity of a Veela complaining about gaining weight — it was as if a fish deep under the ocean to an aquarium fish complaining about having less space to swim.

"Oye, Potter!" said Draco, behind them, "You're not telling me the rumors are true — you asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?"

Harry and Ron looked at Draco, instinctively turning their attention away from the food towards, but Hemione beat them to it and waved to

somebody over Malfoy's shoulder,

"Hello, Professor Moody!"

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" said Hermione scathingly before inaudibly sighing as her hands went to her teeth

She gazed at Harry, who had joined Ron in laughing at the embarrassed Draco at the Slytherin and then at the Ravenclaw table.

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- (Scene Break) -

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"You want me to shrink your teeth."

Quinn sat across Hermione Granger, repeating her request back to her for confirmation.

"Yes, I would like you to shrink them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright, let's do it."

Hemione stilled for a second; she was expecting a little more something. . . . anything.

"Just like that? No questions pertaining to why?"

Quinn shrugged his shoulders and lightly shook his head.

"Not really."

"Nothing?"

"Ms. Granger, unlike you're previous interactions with me, this request of me shrinking your teeth will have no possible negative consequences for me — null, nil, nada, zilch. . . . I have your consent, and that's all I need to get started. . . . If you're talking about the reason behind this particular request, I won't ask if you don't want to tell."

"O-Oh, okay. Thank you for that."

"Should we get started then?"

"Yes, please."

Quinn got up from his barstool and walked to the client-side, sitting on the chair beside Hermione.

"Please show me your teeth and don't lock your jaw together; keep them a little apart. Yes, excellent."

Quinn retrieved his fake wand to shrink the two front buck teeth down using a healing-grade transmutation-based spell.

"Teeth are one of the parts in a body that can easily be transmuted; enamel is an inorganic material, beneath it are Dentin and pulp, which might be organic materials, but are the type that can be easily transmuted — the very few areas of living tissue in the body which can be transmuted without immense risks involved."

Hermione Granger, of course, had a lot to speak about the topic but couldn't as her teeth were being operated on.

The witch started to talk the second Quinn was done and removed his hand from Hermione's chin. "With all the living matter inside a human body, it gets increasingly difficult to permanently change — especially with nerves running through everything."

"Precisely," nodded Quinn.

He conjured a hand mirror for Hermione to see the end result.

The girl studied her modified dentures and nodded with satisfaction with their new size.

"Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to let me shrink my teeth for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they're dentists. They just don't think teeth and magic should go together."

"It's natural for them to think like that," said Quinn going back to the barstool behind his desk, "they're in the profession as orthodontists — they had to study for years to start practicing their craft. Waving a wand to fix everything with magic — something they don't understand, might not sound convincing to them. . . . For example, I have learned to play the violin and piano for years — playing them with magic doesn't sound good to me."

Sitting down, he asked Hermione. "Anything else you wanted to get done today?"

"No, that's it for today. . . . So I heard you're going with Fleur Delacour."

"That I'm,' replied Quinn taking out a billing pad, "ah, do you want a receipt?"

"How much are you charging?"

"Just spare me some silver-sickles; this wasn't hard, you could've gone to Madam Pomfrey, and she would've done it for you free of charge."

"Then you don't have to give me a bill."

Hermione pulled her bookbag up from the floor and started to look for her coin purse.

As she did that, Quinn continued with conversation, "It seems we both will be going as champions date."

"Hmm? Ah yes!" said Hermione pulling out a pouch with a jingle of coins inside. "Any idea who is going with Krum and Cedric?"

"Cho Chang is going with Cedric; they're dating. I'm not sure about Krum; there is no news about him."

"Is that so. . . . so, you rejected Ivy."

Hermione slid the silver-sickles across the table.

Quinn glanced up from the table, looking at the girl before he pulled the coins towards him.

"I did. Are you angry about that?"

"Not really. I expected Ivy to get rejected. But I thought it would be Daphne Greengrass."

"Yeah. . . that's the official party line."

"You're going to dance with Ivy, though."

"Only if it doesn't make things awkward with her date. I don't want to ruin her evening. I also want to dance with you so, save me a dance. Speaking of that, who's she going with?"

"No one yet."

"No one?" said Quinn raising his brow.

"You rejected her," said Hermione and shrugged, "she couldn't recover."

"Hahaha, you're joking, right? . . . Right?"

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- (Scene Break) -

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Christmas day had finally arrived. Quinn woke up to white covering the entire castle and grounds. It was a beautiful sight — a sight to behold.

"A white Christmas," smiled Quinn, looking out of his window.

He started his day with his usual morning workout; Eddie had paused his morning workouts to work with his teammates who had a different routine; as such, his mornings were spent exercising in silence.

After a breaking sweat in the wintery, snowy cold, Quinn returned to the common room. The second he opened the door, he was greeted by an unusual scene — the usual thin crowd of early birds who had bathed and come down to the common room was replaced by the entire Ravenclaw crowd dressed in their sleepwear, ripping through gift wraps off their Christmas presents and exchanging gifts with each other.

"Everyone woke up early today."

He weaved his way through the crowd of jolly festivity up the stairs to his dorm room.

"Merry Christmas, lads; how're you jolly doing today."

His two roommates talking with each other looked up and greeted him with broad grins,

""Merry Christmas!" "

Eddie picked up a wrapped-up cube box and threw it towards Quinn, who had to catch it with both hands because of its size.

"What's this?" smiled Quinn.

He tapped his fingers against the box, and all strips of tapes came off. The light and casual use of wandless magic had already become commonplace in Quinn's dorm room. He had started to show very light wandless capabilities following his meeting with Dumbledore after the rescue of Harry Potter from Novellus Accionites abductors — Quinn wanted to make sure that the people close to him knew that he could use rudimentary levels of magic without a wand, bringing them to the same level as Dumbledore.

Quinn opened Eddie's gift box, and inside it was a sturdy wooden mug tankard.

"Whenever we go to Hogsmeade, you always have Madam Rosemary fill a conjured mug. So here you go, use that next time."

"Thank you, Eddie, this is great!"

Next was Marcus, who, unlike Eddie, didn't throw his gift at Quinn and properly handed him a smaller box.

"It isn't much, but I hope you'll like it."

Quinn unwrapped the gift wrap, and immediately shiny metal peeked out. He looked at Marcus, who urged him to continue. Quinn complied and fully unwrapped the paper.

". . . Is that?" said Quinn.

In his hands rested a stainless steel cuboidal case with beautiful engraving inlaid into it. On the broader faces of the case was engraved a monogram of 'QW' — the same monogram that Quinn printed on his personal contact cards.

"Rub your finger along the side face of the case," said Marcus.

Quinn gently swiped his finger across the side face, and like a camera's shutter opening up, the broad face opened, revealing a deck of cards inside. The back design was minimalistic, with only a black background and a thin golden border.

It was a card deck holder.

"You can swap the deck inside to one of your choice."

Quinn hummed as he started to play with the case and the deck inside. Pulling the cards out, putting them back inside, switching things up — soon the case and the deck had become part of one whole inside his hands.

"Oh yeah, this just screams class." He was satisfied with both his gifts.

"Now it's my time to give you both your gifts. . . Unlike you guys, I haven't made unique gifts for you."

Quinn took out his fake wand and summoned the gifts to him. His study table drawer opened, and two objects flew towards him, which he caught before presenting them to his best friends.

Marcus was the first one to recognize the gift. "Aren't these your expandable pocket?"

"Yup, I made one each for both of you. No need to stuff your pant pockets to the point they bulge. Keep all of your odd stuff inside them, plus you'll not feel their weight as I've charmed them to be weightless — so you can go nuts with the stuff you want to put inside as long as you know how to pull them out — I would suggest summoning charm for easy retrieval if the pockets get overcrowded."

"They don't have limits?" asked Eddie.

"Of course, they do. Infinite space inside a pocket isn't possible. There'll always be a limit to space expansion. This also has a limit; explore it at your own discretion."

"Nice, I'll fit my broom in there."

Quinn wasn't done yet. He had another gift for them— a somewhat serious gift. Two small packages flew through the hair towards him, and with heavy hands, he handed them to Eddie and Marcus.

"Is this. . . a lighter?" asked Marcus.

He held a silver Zippo lighter with a complicated yet subtle design etched into the silver surface — those designs weren't for show, but for magical purposes, as everything etched on the cover was a rune.

Eddie flicked the Zippo lighter and spun the wheel to light it up.

"Oh yeah, this is cool."

He closed it with a click before flicking it open again.

"Uh-huh, this is very cool."

Quinn smiled at their positive reaction. "I'm glad you liked it, but I didn't give this to you because it's cool. . . . the lighter has another use."

"Oh, what is it?" asked Marcus.

Quinn took Marcus's lighter and flicked it open; he pointed at a non-descript witch below the lighter wheel.

"Now, I hope you never get to use this," he started, "but if you guys ever get attacked or get trapped in a situation that you need some extra. . . push of sorts — flip this switch, close the lid and throw it towards the target."

Marcus gulped before asking nervously, "What does it do?"

"It would be better if you don't know — you won't use it if you know."

"Does it explode?" asked Eddie.

"No, nothing like that. It won't explode. But make sure you're at least twenty feet away from the place you're throwing it."

". . . Seriously, what does it do?"

- (Scene Break) -

Quinn, Eddie, and Marcus met up with Luna in the common room, and they went down to breakfast together. Quinn gave the same gifts to Luna while getting a painting in return. They spent most of the morning in Ravenclaw Tower, where everyone enjoyed their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, including at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings and enormous piles of Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers.

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Luna chose to watch the three-way snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o'clock, said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

"What, you need three hours?" said Quinn, looking at her incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by Quinn, hit him hard on the side of the head.

"Oof!"

"Haha, got you~."

There was no Christmas tea today, as the ball included a feast, so at seven o'clock, when it had become hard to aim correctly, the trio abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room.

Quinn, Eddie, and Marcus changed into their formal wear-up in

their dormitory, Eddie and Marcus looking very self-conscious. On the other hand, Quinn looked like he was in his element, feeling out his suit and threading a pocket watch chain through his vest with a smile on his face.

"Are you boys ready?" asked Quinn looking at his best friends.

Quinn himself wore a light grey three-piece suit with a faint blue shirt and a royal blue tie around his neck. Eddie's suit was of a deep and dark royal blue color with checks over a black shirt and bowtie; unlike Quinn, Eddie had a folded handkerchief sticking out from his breast pocket.

Marcus seemed happy with his clothes. He had gotten lucky with the color scheme required to match Luna with a bright yellow robe and pants over a black shirt and white bowtie. He had pulled his hair slick back and set them Rudder fish's gel, giving him a clean put-together look.

"You chaps clean up well," smiled Quinn, "come on, before we go down, let's take a photo."

He set out a prototype camera under development half as small as any current model in the magical world — with full intentions to reduce the size to the non-magical world's DSLR cameras.

The three boys lined up with Marcus in the middle and the suit boys standing at his sides, facing the camera fixed upon a tripod stand.

"Three. . . two. . . one. . . smile with glee."

With the MLE flash built into the camera prototype shining light on them, a memory was captured forever — an image that all boys would cherish for years to come.

"Now, let's go meet the ladies."

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Quinn West - MC - Feeling good, Looking good.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yule - Vault - Second Task.

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The Ravenclaw common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black. School robes could only be customized so much; as such, party robes and dresses showed each student's unique charm.

Terry Boot looked Eddie from top-down and spoke in an unconvinced tone, "I still can't work out how you got one of the best-looking girls in the year."

Eddie put his hands into the pant pockets and answered suavely, "Animal magnetism."

Marcus, who was talking to Michael Corner, turned and scoffed, "More like a bashful request."

Marcus felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see his lovely date standing behind him. Luna Lovegood looked very pretty indeed, in robes of shocking yellow, with her blonde plait braided with white flowers, white ribbons wrapped prettily around her hands, and silver satin gloves gracing her hands. She was glowing.

"You look pretty."

"Thank you. You are looking pretty as well."

Marcus reached into his robes and pulled out a wrist corsage with three white roses and numerous faux-pearls. "This is for you. I thought it would look good with your dress."

Luna presented her wrist. Marcus understood it immediately and gently clipped it around her wrist.

The girl looked at her wrist for seconds, raised it near her face to take in the scent of roses preserved with a special potion to keep the freshness and enhance the fragrance. She looked up at Marcus with a smile in her dreamy eyes.

"Thank you, it's beautiful."

"I think it's you who makes it look even more beautiful."

By the side, Eddie, Terry, and Michael stared at the scene between the two.

Eddie clicked his tongue and commented, "Normally, he doesn't speak much but now look, he's spouting flowers out of his mouth."

"Did you bring something like that?" asked Terry.

Michael shook his head, "He's making us look bad."

Marcus and Luna joined the boys, with Luna asking, "I don't see Quinn, where's he?"

Eddie pointed towards a corner of the common room. Everyone looked towards the corner to see Quinn surrounded by a horde of Ravenclaw girls, all giggling while Quinn smiled all the way while talking with them.

"What's he doing there?" inquired Luna.

"Don't know; they were suddenly all over him," replied Eddie shrugging.

Eventually, the crowd of giggling girls dissipated, with Quinn waving them all off while making his towards them.

"Luna! Now, don't you look pretty," said Quinn with a beaming smile on his face. He looked at the guys and nodded, "Looking good, fellas, ready to party hard?"

"Do you have an after-party planned?" asked Michael.

Quinn shook his head, "No, I was a bit too busy to organize an after-party, but I can get you inside the Weasley twin's after-party; you'll just have to pay a reasonable token entry fee."

"Why don't we know about this party? How do you know that?"

"It's a very exclusive thing; they don't want just anyone to come in, but if you take my name, they'll let you in. It will be even better if you guys take your dates with you; a better gender ratio always helps."

Quinn's name held weight in the Weasley twins' world. He had a long history of cooperation with them, plus he was their future angel investor for their business.

"We should get going," said Quinn, checking his pocket watch, looking pretty happy about using it.

The entrance hall was packed with students, too, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd, trying to find one another.

Tracey arrived the same time they did and called out to Eddie when in earshot. The slightly nervous boy turned to be stunned out of his mind as Tracey Davis, his date, walked towards him in a dress of royal blue and turquoise; she had tied her hair in a messy bun with an ornate glass hair stick.

"Hi," she said.

"H-Hi," that was all Eddie could get out.

Quinn leaned to mutter into Marcus' ear, "It's so entertaining to see him like this. He's usually all attack; I knew he'd be weak to attacks."

"I don't think Tracey has done anything, though I see what attack you're talking about."

"I know, imagine if she did go on attack," cackled Quinn, "if Tracey wanted, she could have him wrapped around her finger by the end of the day."

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from the dungeons. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which made him look like a vicar in Quinn's opinion. Pansy Parkinson, in very frilly robes of pale pink, was clutching Malfoy's arm. Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders, and neither of them, Quinn wasn't surprised to see, had managed to find a partner.

Next came the group of Gryffindors with Harry Potter and his date in the lead.

"Holy moly! Is that Hermione Granger," gawked Eddie as he saw the pretty girl dressed in periwinkle robes.

"You can say that again," said Tracey in agreement, "it's like she's another person. What happened to her? What kind of magic is that."

"Meh, spoke Quinn, "it's a simple work of change of clothes and hairdo with some glamor charms accentuating everything. Hermione Granger was always pretty; she simply needed a little makeover to show that. Even without all of what we're seeing and some minute changes, she would attract eyes."

The Ravenclaw group looked at Quinn with varying gazes and expressions.

Quinn stared back at them. "What? You know me, look at me, I like to dress well. I know that kind of stuff."

"What about her then?" asked Terry Boot, his eyes stuck one person in the Gryffindor group.

Walking just behind her brother and best friend was Ivy Potter. The Potter princess was dressed in a flowing red dress long enough to float just above the ground. Her usually straight hair was lightly styled into waves, flowing down her back and brilliant green earrings matching her eyes.

Everything from her dress, hair, looks, the way she held herself looked like a fire goddess.

"Yeah, I see it now. Why so many people asked her out," spoke Michael Corner.

"She's very pretty," spoke Luna; it was also the first thing ever she had said to Ivy Potter when she delivered Quinn's letter to Hermione Granger.

While everyone was looking at Ivy Potter, Eddie was looking somewhere else; redheads weren't his types. But what he was seeing was totally in his range. He raised his hands and reached around to find Quinn's shoulder and then face.

"What are you doing, man?!" asked Quinn, swatting the offending hand away.

"Look what you missed."

"What?"

Quinn looked to where Eddie was looking and stilled as his eyes caught what Eddie was seeing.

The oak front doors were opened. Outside, he saw an area of lawn right in castle's front had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by his date in shimmering midnight black robes.

"You're totally missing out, mate; a Veela as a date better be worth it."

It was Daphne. Be it her blonde hair, blue eyes, or her black dress, everything was what you would call perfect, in tune with each other, creating a sort of harmony that would be absolutely stunning if put into words.

A lot of girls gazed at Daphne in unflattering disbelief. When the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum's fan club stalked past, throwing Daphne looks of most profound loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn't seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her.

Tracey turned her gaze to Quinn and stared at his face. "Yeah, this is what I imagined. He is making the exact expression I thought he would make. Well, he's missing the dropped jaw."

"Oh yeah, no, he did just fine," Eddie spoke up, "it was a fair trade— yup, he left a diamond mine, in return, he got a platinum lode."

Once again, the crowd in the entrance hall buzzed with activity.

It was as if an angel had descended down on Hogwarts.

The Beauxbatons students were all very handsome and beautiful, but she stood on another level even among those people.

Fleur Delacour's every step seemed to light up the Hall. She was dressed in a simple silver-gray satin dress; despite that, if asked, anyone in the school, they would, with high certainty, crown Fleur as the prettiest girl in the school today — by dressing in such a simple dress, it was as if Fleur was saying that she didn't have to dress up, she could do it — effortlessly.

"Alright, people, time for me to go join my date," said Quinn with magic fixing his clothes, "I'll see you inside in a bit; until then, I hope you enjoy your evening."

"Look at him," smirked Eddie, "rearing to go to his date; he's a dawg."

Though suddenly, he felt an arm loop around his. He looked to his side and saw Tracey looking up at him with upturned eyes.

"Should we head inside?"

Eddie's smirk drained, and he could only wordlessly nod — right now, he would agree to anything Tracey would ask of him.

Quinn walked towards Fleur, who stood in the middle of the Hall as if she owned all of it.

"I guess complimenting you on your appearance would be redundant, wouldn't it?"

Fleur looked at Quinn, and for a while, she didn't say anything and simply observed Quinn. In turn, he stood there, letting her get a good look at him.

"Redundant, hmm, I wouldn't say that. Most special, especially I, like to hear compliments — especially from my date."

Quinn nodded with a bit of a smile, "That's true. Well then, Fleur — you looked unconditionally, utterly, unquestionably gorgeous."

"Thank you for the compliments," a smile bloomed on her face, "you haven't done a bad job yourself. I like you didn't go with the tailcoat like so many others; I like the suit." She pointed at the lower part of the vest. "And the pocket watch, an effect I like very much."

"You just said everything I would have wanted in a compliment today," he said before taking out a long velvet box from his robes, "and for that excellent compliment, I have a gift for you."

"Oh my, I like gifts."

Quinn opened the box with a silent snap and showed the platinum necklace with a violet teardrop-shaped jewel floating near the chain instead of hanging from it. He gently picked up the necklace from the box.

"May I?"

"Yes, you may," said Fleur turning her back to Quinn — showing to him that her dress was a backless one.

Quinn unclipped the thin chain and elegantly draped it around her neck.

"What is this gem? It's glowing faintly."

"That Fleur. . . is an alchemic crystalline material — or a crystal to be simple."

It was a similar type of alchemic crystal found in the Aquatic vault — Quinn had modified it to be clearer and have less glow, making it suitable for it to be molded into a jewel.

Fleur didn't know the rarity of the crystal around her neck, but she did know that it was beautiful.

"Thank you, Quinn, it's beautiful."

"I think it's you who makes it look even more beautiful," he said, speaking a line he had suggested to his shy friend.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. West."

"But, I'm already there, Ms. Delacour."

Then Professor McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"

Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down.

Fleur and Quinn were stationed at the front of the line with other champions behind them. With some time still left, Quinn decided to break the tension hanging between the eight people (champions and their dates).

"How're you guys doing? I must say all of you're looking remarkable today," he looked at all of them and shrugged, "but I'd have to say, I can see a lot of stiffness and nervousness."

Everyone shifted on their feet, shifting their eyes off of Quinn for a moment, looking at each other.

"There's no need to be nervous. The Yule Ball, in essence, is a party — a party held so that we can enjoy ourselves and have the time of our lives."

"But we've to open the dance," said Hermione, her features painted with a tinge of worry. "What if we screw up?"

"I'll not, that's for sure," said Fleur looking confident.

"Me neither," added Daphne; she looked as calm as she always did, as if today was just another day at school.

Quinn stared between the two girls and nodded before focusing back on Hermione, "You're looking at it all wrong, you know?"

"How so?" she asked.

"A good amount people in there can't dance formally at Balls — over that, there's are good chances those can dance aren't going with those who can't. . . pretty sure that a lot of the people inside will only come to the dance floor only when the Weird Sisters play something funky."

Out of the eight people here, everyone knew how to dance — enough to not embarrass them in front of everyone. But the prospect of dancing in front of everyone with all eyes fixed on them was a prospect not many were excited about.

"So, in conclusion, relax and calm down," concluded Quinn, "some say potato head and birthday suits help, but if that isn't your deal, I can always help with a bit of magic — it'll take just a little, but it'll get you through the dance. . . Any takers?"

There were none.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and follow her.

"It's showtime." Quinn looked at Fleur. "Ready to impress?"

"Always," she said, taking his arm.

The champions entered, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they walked in and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression of deep dissatisfaction as he watched Krum and Daphne draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Mr. Crouch, Quinn noticed, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.

When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry took the hint and sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that Quinn thought it ought to be fined.

Quinn asked Fleur to walk ahead and stopped behind Percy. "Mr. Weasley, I have to say, you're looking good. How come Mr. Crouch isn't in attendance today?"

"I'm afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn't well, not well at all. Hasn't been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising — overwork. He's not as young as he was — though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the sudden death of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called — well, as I say, he's getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he's found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with — that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around — no, poor man, he's having a well-earned, quiet Christmas."

"Then why are you here?" asked Harry.

"I've been promoted," from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

"I see; I hope he gets well soon," said Quinn, "it was night talking to you, Mr. Weasley, now I have to return to my date." He shook hands with Percy, who really looked like he was enjoying himself.

Quinn walked towards his seat; it was only a few steps away, but he froze just as he saw where Fleur had seated herself.

Of the pairs, Harry Hermione and Cedric Cho were sitting on the edges with Krum Daphne and Quinn Fleur in between the two pairs. The thing that made Quinn uncomfortable was that all the girls sat on the right, with the boys sitting on their left.

"Hey," he said, sitting down beside Fleur.

Then looked to his side and greeted, "Hey, Daphne."

The Yule Ball had started.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Thinking if he should spike the punch.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yeah, right! That's what he is thinking, sure, buddy.

Marcus Belby - Calm boi - Preparation is the key to success.

Luna Lovegood - Dreamy girl - Hoping to see lots of Fairies today.

Eddie Carmichael - Suited-up - Animal magnetism! . . . A-Ah yes, Uhm, s-sure. Whatever you say.

Tracey Davis - Dressed-up - She has the legendary move, Upturned eyes in her arsenal.

Fleur Delacour - Beauxbatons Champion - Dressed-up Veela, 'nuff said.'''

Daphne Greengrass- Trained heiress - Perfect.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Sitting in between Fleur and Daphne was a bit awkward for Quinn, but he also had skin thick as an elephant — he soon got used to it.

As it was already eight o'clock, the ball started with a feast. Quinn looked at the plates and cutlery set in front of him. There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them.

Quinn picked up his menu, read it carefully, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too. Quinn glanced up at Hermione to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining — surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? But it seemed that his talk had made a change as Hermione didn't seem to be bothered by it. She was deep in talks with Harry and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating.

He looked to the other side and saw Daphne conversing with Krum. It surprised him immensely — all the times he had seen Krum, he had never seen the man talk so much, very enthusiastically at that.

"Well, we have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking," he was telling Hermione. "We have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But we have grounds larger even than these — though, in winter, we have very little daylight, so we are not enjoying them. But in summer we are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —"

"Now, now, Viktor!" said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn't reach his cold eyes, "don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Igor, all this secrecy . . . one would almost think you didn't want visitors."

"Well, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, "we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school's secrets and right to protect them?"

"Oh, I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor," said Dumbledore amicably. "Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."

Quinn smiled into his bite of pork chop — he was really relieved he could smile at the mysterious bathroom. It wasn't the Room of Requirements, but it had similarities; it would appear when one really wanted to go to a bathroom, but there wasn't one nearby. He had stumbled upon it so many times that it wasn't even funny.

Given that Krum had shared something about Durmstrang, Fleur decided to continue the topic.

"This is nothing," she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. "At the Palace of Beauxbatons, we have ice sculptures all around the dining chamber at Christmas. They don't melt, of course . . . they are like huge statues of diamond, glittering around the place. And the food is simply superb. And we have choirs of wood nymphs, too serenade us as we eat. We have none of this ugly armor in the halls, and if a poltergeist ever entered into Beauxbatons, he would be expelled like that." She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

'I can create ice that doesn't melt,' thought Quinn.

Seeing that Fleur crapped on Hogwarts and praised Beauxbatons, the Hogwarts students on the table started to defend Hogwarts. A heated battle of words began on the table.

'Well, Hogwarts has me, isn't that enough,' mused Quinn in silence, 'hmm, since when did I become so narcissistic? But it's the truth, isn't it? Hmm, isn't that again narcissism. Wait a minute, which comes first? Truth or narcissism. . . did I fall upon something profound.'

"What about you, Quinn? What do you think," said Daphne from his left with a slight glare in her eyes — glare directed toward not at him, but his date towards his right.

Quinn felt an arm snake around his right arm. He looked and saw Fleur oh so close to him. "Yes, Quinn. What do you think?"

". . . Uhm," Quinn gulped for a few different reasons; he could feel something very soft pressed against his arm and a pleasant scent tickle his nose.

He tightly smiled before taking a deep breath to steady himself and started to think — indeed, what was about Hogwarts that interested him the most. He had been here more than four years — in those four years, what had called out to him the most.

"Just as Headmaster Dumbledore said — even he doesn't know all of Hogwarts — meaning there are so many places to explore so many things to discover. People say that the 'unknown' is scary, but I find the 'unknown' inviting. . . . Hogwarts is filled with so many of those unknowns. To me, the castle, these grounds are a treasure trove waiting for someone to dive in and find all of its jewels and gems."

He rested his chin on the back of his hand and smiled, "That. . . . gives me goosebumps just thinking about it."

Daphne, Harry, Hermione, Cedric, and Cho all looked at Quinn — this peer of theirs was famous for many things, but, before being the best of his best, before AID, before everything else, Quinn West was recognized for his penchant for being out after curfew at night and that he couldn't be found for hours at a time during the day.

"That sounds like you, Mr. West. You've certainly have been an avid explorer," chuckled Dumbledore from his behind his half-moon glasses, "do you know, Mr. West even found a secret passageway leading to outside the school grounds?"

"Please, Headmaster, I would like if you don't bring my dark past to light — to be caught sneaking out of the school, how embarrassing."

His reply made Dumbledore laugh. The old Headmaster understood what Quinn actually meant.

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a flute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn.

"Let's go. It's time for us to open the dance," Quinn heard Fleur's word whispered into his ear.

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Quinn walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, and the next moment, he had Fleur's hands in his with the other on her back.

Everything in the world ceased to exist as Quinn directed all of his attention to his very beautiful partner, who also seemed to be looking just at him. Then they started to dance to the tune of the music, and the thoughts about a crowd watching them escaped their minds.

"You dance well," praised Fleur.

"You're an easy partner to lead," replied Quinn in counter-praise.

"I like that you're giving me credit, but Quinn, you don't have to do it every time; sometimes it's better to simply accept the praise."

"Then thank you for the praise, Fleur. I'm a good dancer."

"Much better."

The pair continued to talk, and other people had also entered the dance floor — they, along with other champion pairs, were no longer the centre of attention, but Quinn and Fleur didn't care about them and simply continued dancing, enjoying each other's proximity.

. . .

While Quinn and Fleur weren't paying much attention to others, they were definitely paying attention to them.

Fleur's hold on her Allure had subconsciously weakened a level. Gentle waves of Veela Allure drifted from her, spreading towards the surroundings. In certain circumstances, a Veela's Allure just didn't make herself attractive — right now, as everybody watched, Fleur Delacour and Quinn West looked like a pair chosen by heaven. The pair looked so attractive that the people outside the dance floor only had eyes for them.

.

"They look so good together."

.

"Are they together?"

"Wouldn't that be fitting? They seem like the perfect couple."

.

"Only if I could get someone like Quinn."

"If I would've asked Fleur out, it would've been there."

"Dream on, pal."

"I could say the same to you."

. . .

Quinn heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with a sense of satisfaction. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall once more, and Quinn smiled at Fleur.

"The song is over, Fleur."

"Yes, and?"

"Your grips still on, you know?"

Fleur didn't let Quinn go from their dance stance, standing close to him, gazing up at him with a smile. "Do you not like it?"

"There is nothing to not like here, Fleur, but as I told you before, I've some prior commitments to fulfil."

"Dancing with other girls even though you have me — that isn't flattering, my dear date."

"Oh, please. We both know you, too, have to go and mingle around."

"That's true," she sighed, "let's hope some of them could handle me."

The two separated and looked around the dance floor and the hall to find their respective objectives.

"I think we should start with the other champions?" suggested Quinn.

Fleur gazed around as she lightly hummed, "I see Harry Potter and his date. Should we go to them? Yes, Harry Potter would do; he can withstand a good amount."

"Alright, let's start with them; I did ask Hermione for a dance."

. . .

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger danced together, revolving slowly with gently steering around the floor; the two looked at peace with a tinge of embarrassment flushing their cheeks. The two had been facing many waves and sniggers while dancing alone with other champions.

"You weren't lying when you said you know how to dance," said Hermione.

"Glad you finally believe me," grinned Harry, "Dad had always been insistent that Ivy and I should know how to dance; mum was all for it. Though I've only danced with Ivy for the most."

Then the pair heard a cheerful voice call out, "Harry, my boy."

Both looked to see Quinn walking towards them with a jolly look on his face. "You two look utterly dashing."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "Thank you. You too as well," said Harry.

"Thank you, Harry. Now I would like to ask your very lovely date to a dance,' said Quinn, then turning to Hermione, "May I have a dance, my fair lady."

"Huh, what?" said Harry, confused.

Quinn glanced back at Harry and reached out his hand. "Here, take this."

Harry instinctively raised his hand to receive and found a familiar wrapped chocolate cube in his palm. "Chocolate?"

"You know what? Give that back," smiled Quinn and took back the cube, then pointed with chin towards Harry's back, "you're about to get something much sweeter."

Harry turned and saw Fleur Delacour standing behind with a charming smile on her face, "Good evening Harry, you clean up well."

The boy turned back just to see Quinn leading his equally surprised date away with his hand on her back.

"Don't worry, you'll get her back after a dance," he heard Fleur say, "until then, let's have some fun."

"Huh?"

. . .

"Ms. Granger, I must admit, even though I think Fleur is unquestionably eye-catching, but you're the one who made the most impact today," said Quinn dancing with a still reeling Hermione, "I mean look at you — you look spectacular tonight."

Hermione looked the taller Quinn; he wasn't as tall as Ron, but taller than Harry. Both Ron and Harry had lean physiques, but with Quinn's much wider arms holding her, she couldn't help but compare — Quinn West definitely worked out.

'What am I thinking?!' Hermione lowered her face to hide the blush on her cheeks; her face was betraying her embarrassing thoughts.

"T-Thank you."

"Any progress on the golden egg?"

Hermione sighed, hearing the question, "He's taking it slow. I don't think he has even been to the library to research on the golden egg. . . . What about Fleur Delacour, how much progress has she made?"

"Ms. Granger, why do you assume that I know how's Fleur doing on her egg?"

"Are you not her date?"

"While that might be true, I only get to talk to Fleur during meals. Other time, I'm busy with the tournament and my usual commitments."

"About that. . . . I have to ask, what are those commitments? I believe it's just not me who's curious about it. Everyone in the school wants to know."

"Oh, you know, this and that. But mostly, it's learning magic."

"How are you so good at magic? You're only one year above me," asked the girl who had fallen in love with magic.

Quinn observed the girl in his arms and thought about his answer. "It's not a fair comparison, Mr. Granger. I'm from a magical household, who have been surrounded by magic ever since I can remember. . . . Tell me, do you have a computer at home, Ms. Granger."

Hermione tilted her head in confusion, "Yes, we do. My mum uses it for work. Why do you ask?"

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Yes, mum taught me how to use it since I was five. I like it; it's fun."

"Then between you, who had been using it since childhood, and me, who uses it a couple times during summer break, who do you think can work a computer better?"

"I suppose me. I'd be better than you."

"And I've no doubt about it," agreed Quinn; he knew how to use a computer from his memories, but he was grossly out of touch with the machine, "just like that, it's natural for me to be better at magic that you're. I've been in contact with it for a time much longer than you have been."

"But so have Ivy, Harry, and Ron."

"Not many children learn magic before schooling. It's a hassle for parents to manage magic-enabled children. Only a few learn things like potions and. . . . has Ivy started you on occlumency?"

"Eh? Ah, yes, she did. It's a fascinating form of magic."

"It is," he could feel her in-progress occlumency shields, "my family allowed to me study magic without restraints. I could study magic as much I wanted, and unlike many children, I liked to read. . . you can understand that, don't you?"

". . . .yes, I can," nodded Hermione, she knew precisely what Quinn meant, "you mean, you had a wand?"

"Oh no, my family wasn't that permitting. I just studied."

Hermione nodded and shook her mind of the thought about how children could be very mean and changed the subject, "What did you use a computer for?"

". . . .for games."

"Of course, you're a boy."

"That I am, and don't pretend you didn't play as well," beamed Quinn, "speaking of games, did you have the chance to open my Christmas present?"

"Ah, yes! I saw it, the wooden box?" she talked excitedly, "what is it? I wasn't able to open it. I know it can be opened — is it a trick box? It's a trick box, isn't it? Is there something in the box, or is the box itself a gift? No! — Don't tell me! I want to see it on my own."

Quinn chuckled as he twirled Hermione, "Alright then, I'll leave it to you. A sense of reward is a strong motivator."

". . . .It's not a jump scare, right?"

A peal of free laughter escaped Quinn without restraint.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Ivy Potter had been watching her friends the entire time she had been at the Yule Ball. Sitting near the side, watching them dance and having fun, while she sat without a date.

'I know I rejected a lot, but that doesn't mean I don't want to dance,' she thought while sighing.

She took a sip of the punch she had fetched herself and watched the people without a thought in her mind. As she did that, she saw a Quinn walk towards her in a grey suit and a smile on her face.

"Ivy Potter. . . . I'm here for my promised dance."

The Potter twin stared up at Quinn, and she to admit, he looked quite fetching.

"I don't know if I should be flattered or worried about your appraising gaze, Ivy," smiled Quinn, "well, I'm trying to look good, so I will take that glint of approval in your eyes as a compliment."

Ivy sighed and placed a hand into Quinn's as she got up. "You're lucky you're looking good right now."

"Thank you," smiled Quinn as he led the redhead to the dance floor, "you look gorgeous as well."

"Of course, I do."

". . . .hmm, she was right; people should accept compliments."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hmm, oh nothing, just something I learned."

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Dance baby, dance~.

Fleur Delacour - Veela - Allue is a mysterious magic.

Hermione Granger - Transformed Beauty - Got a puzzle box from Quinn.

Ivy Potter - Wants To Dance - Sees what she sees, can't be helped.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - To be continued. . .

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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.

The song was a slow one, where the pair would slowly sway — the couples would usually stare into each other's eyes, hold each close, feeling as intimate as one could while dancing in silence.

Many pairs on the dance were doing just that, but not Quinn West and Ivy Potter; they were looking into each other's eyes, but unlike others, they weren't silent.

"I heard from Hermione that you weren't able to get yourself a date," said Quinn, "not a surprise, given that I was your first choice — your requirements were too high."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," she sniggered amusingly, "and since when did you start calling Hermione by her given name?"

"Just before when I was dancing with her. . . . she's a fascinating one, that girl — did you know that she has a terrific natural memory, better than mine. Thank magic for occlumency." 'And a history of bullying before coming to Hogwarts,' but that went unsaid.

"She's sharp as a tack, alright," there was a layer of pride in her voice. "So, Daphne with Krum, huh," continued Ivy.

Quinn looked across the dance floor to see Daphne and Krum sitting on a sidelined table. The pair seemed to be conversing with Krum speaking while Daphne listened with occasional nods and inserts of her own.

"Yes, it was a surprise," replied Quinn, "I wonder how those two got started talking — from what I know, those two aren't the talking types."

"I heard that they met in the library, and their friendship began from there."

"Ah, the library. Yes, now I recall — Krum uses Madam Pince's authoritarian rule over the library to escape from his developing fan club of fantasizing fangirls and obsessed fanboys. I've to say, Krum might not be the smartest tool in the shed, but he makes it up with street smarts — he picked up the situation in the library pretty quickly."

"Then, you made Daphne the coordinator of the teams; that probably got them talking."

"You know about that?"

"I talk to every member of the Gryffindor quidditch team on a regular basis; I know Daphne's in contact with every single one of them."

"That makes sense," he nodded before studying the girl in his arms.

Ivy noticed Quinn's gaze. She waited for him to say something or look away, but he didn't. "What is it? Why're you looking at me like that?"

"I've known Daphne for three years going four and you for two years and some — of course, our relationship has been an on-and-off one, but I can say I know you pretty well. . . . but in all that time, I still don't know both of your stories, what's the deal between you and Daphne."

Ivy's eyes flashed with multiple emotions, with her face falling into a smileless one. Quinn felt the slight tension in her body and immediately knew that she had become uncomfortable.

"You don't have to answer that," he said, "sorry if I brought up uncomfortable memories."

"No, it's fine, it's not uncomfortable per se," she sighed, "we used to be friends, you know — best friends."

"Best friends. . . . it doesn't look like that, at least currently, it doesn't."

"Daphne and I have known each other since before I can remember. Our mothers are good friends. . . ."

Quinn nodded as he recollected the interactions between Lily Potter and Sophie Greengrass last year at King's Crossing. They looked and acted like close friends.

". . . . so ever since we were kids, our mothers visited each other; as such, Daphne, Harry, and I have spent countless days playing with each other at each other's houses — she was my first friend outside of Harry." Ivy chuckled reminiscently before continuing.

"What changed?"

Quinn glanced at his right arm as he felt Ivy's grip tighten. He looked back at Ivy, but she didn't seem to notice her actions and continued her tightened grip.

'Hmm, it's nice; it's like a massage,' he thought. "Hey, little lady, if you want to play the squeeze game, please pick it up with someone on your level."

"Huh, what?" Ivy's subconscious grip loosened.

Quinn gazed back at his hand before sighing. "You were about to say something about how you and Daphne fell out."

"She is a jealous stone-faced prick who can't handle if attention is taken off from her," and the rant started, "our mothers enjoyed playing teachers — well, my mum is a professor now, but that's not the point. We used to learn everything together — my mum used to teach things that didn't require magic while Aunty Sophie used to teach us about the traditions and cultural tidbits of the wizarding world."

That made sense. Sophie Greengrass would be a much better person to teach the subjects like etiquette.

"Did you learn how to dance from Mrs. Greengrass?"

"Hmm? Yeah, she was the one to teach Harry, Daphne, Tracey, and me to dance. We took lessons together."

". . . . lucky ducks," muttered Quinn.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing, please carry on."

"She would always try to show me up. Whatever I tried, she would pick it up and try to be better than me. I once tried to take up baking because I wanted to eat cookies and asked Daphne if she wanted to do it together, but she declined — then when I started to bake and when I finally got a good batch out, the very next week, Aunty Sophie told that Daphne was 'suddenly' very interested in backing and after that, she came home with cookies."

Ivy peered right into Quinn's eyes and stated, "and you might not believe this, but she smiled that day — that smug and arrogant smile. Then it started; every time I did anything new, she would do it too, and even after she became statue-face, her eyes would always have that same look."

Ivy glanced up from Ivy towards Daphne, and if he was being honest, he couldn't see it. The Daphne he knew was a straight arrow — this sounded more like Astoria to him.

"Sounds tough," he said. It might not have been a big deal — a children's squabble rarely was.

"You don't believe me, do you?" asked Ivy.

"It's not that — but for me to truly understand a story, I need to know the full story."

". . . . You want to know her side?"

"Yes, but not just Daphne. I want to see what Harry and Astoria think, though I doubt Astoria would remember any of it. Plus, I would like to see what your mother—," and then he sighed in bliss, "—and Mrs. Greengrass, I think."

Ivy looked at Quinn as if he was being weird. If only she could listen to his thoughts, she would know how accurate her thoughts were.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"Believe it or not, but this is the dance I was looking to most this evening," said Quinn with a broad smile on his face.

"Oh please, you've already danced with half a dozen girls already," the girl smiled, "to how many of them have you said the same line — I always thought you were somewhat of a playboy."

"No, my dear, Tracey," smiled Quinn, earnestness flashing, "dancing with girls was pleasant and enjoyable, but I know dancing with you will be mighty fun; I just know it"

Tracey glanced towards the Weird Sisters, and they had taken a pause from traditional ball music and had switched to the much more comfortable and contemporary ball music.

"See, even the music agrees with me; they just put their best track of the night," grinned Quinn.

Tracey giggled as she scooted near Quinn as more and more people joined the dance floor. With time becoming comfortable about joining the dance floor — to dance with their dates.

"So, how is your evening going with Eddie?" asked Quinn, "Also, where is he?"

"His feet got tired from dancing, so we took a break. Last I saw him, Luna was pulling him and Marcus into a strange three-people dance," she smiled, "Eddie is doing just fine. He's much more mellow than I thought he would be when we first met."

Quinn laughed, recalling Daphne and Tracey's first official meeting with Eddie and Marcus. "He was going through the 'I-don't-care' phase and acted like he wasn't interested in talking to you girls, and Marcus was so shy that he didn't speak more than a handful of words. . . . yeah, that's a fun day to remember."

"Yes, do you remember Daphne and Marcus sitting side-by-side, not saying a word to each other — both for different reasons, of course. Daphne said that she almost forgot that Marcus was sitting beside her."

"Really? Marcus remembers it quite differently. He quite liked sitting in silence beside Daphne — said he enjoyed the company."

"What were we doing at that time?"

"If I remember correctly, you and Eddie were challenging me at a game of concentration each, two games at simultaneously — and I was solidly beating both of you."

"Huh, is that so? I can't seem to remember," said Tracey, smiling coyly.

"Of course, you don't," chuckled Quinn.

The two fell into silence as the song went through a calm and slow yet deep buildup. Tracey watched Quinn as he seemed to enjoy the music, slowly leading her with him. He was cute, charming, funny and always knew what to say — a very attractive boy. . . .

'Don't go there, Tracey,' she thought, 'Daphne likes him, so you can't.'

She always had a little crush on Quinn — maybe ever since she met him. He was always fun, always upbeat, perpetually doing something new and exciting. It would always make her and the people close to him wonder about what he would do next.

'Oh, Daphne, why did you have to choose such a cute one,' thought Tracey, 'well, I'll let this one go, so you better not let him go.'

"Well, it's time for us to part, my dear Tracey," she heard Quinn speak.

"Hmm, why?"

"Your date has returned."

Tracey separated from Quinn and turned back to see Eddie standing a little distance with two goblets in his hand. She turned back to see Quinn walking while waving his hand.

"Hey," Eddie said, walking near her before presenting a goblet to her, "this is for you."

Tracey took the goblet and felt the cold metal snug comfortably around her palm. "Thank you, but why?"

"I saw you dancing with Quinn, and you haven't sat down once since the feast; I assumed that you would be parched — please drink. You should stay hydrated. . . . you don't want to faint from dehydration, believe me, not fun."

Tracey gazed down at the pinkish liquid in her cup before looking back up at Eddie, who watched her, waiting for her to drink. 'Alright, Tracey, this one is cute as well.'

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"I'm back."

Fleur was talking with one of the Durmstrang girls when she heard the voice of her date and turned to face him. "So, you finally remember me."

"Oh, don't be like that. I returned after every dance; it's not my fault that you weren't available," said Quinn smiling with his hands behind his back, "but it seems you're available now; may I have a dance, my lovely lady?"

"Don't you get tired? You have been dancing for a long while now," she said, getting a shrug from Quinn, "I don't want to dance anymore, but I do want to do something?"

"Sure, we can do that if you don't want to dance. What do you want to do?"

Fleur nudged towards the Great hall entrance pointing across the entrance hall at the oak main doors. "Let's go outside. Let's go for a walk."

Pretending they wanted more drinks, Quinn and Fleur left the Great hall, edged around the dance floor, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes, winding, ornamental paths, and giant stone statues.

They could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. He and Fleur set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes, and except the soft chirps, not a sound disturbed the pair.

They had reached a giant stone reindeer, over which they could see the sparkling jets of a tall fountain and near it a stone bench. They decided to sit down and watch the water in the moonlight.

Both of them didn't speak a word to each other for a while before Fleur broke the silence. "This is not a good place to sit, is it?"

"Not, it is not," he replied.

They could hear sounds of giggling, ruffling from the rosebushes around them. A lot of couples were getting busy on the lovely night of Christmas. Quinn pulled out his fake wand and cast a silencing ward along with another one.

"What did you cast?" asked Fleur.

Quinn placed his fake wand back into his suit. "I cast two wards. One is a sound isolation ward — it keeps dulls sounds; it works both ways, inside and out. The second one is a static invisibility ward." There was a smile in his voice as he finished.

Fleur gave him a look asking to explain why he sounded so happy.

"The static invisibility ward is one of the first wards I ever learned," he explained, "the day I first used it, I sneaked into my grandfather's cellar and sat down, waiting for him. I wasn't familiar with the usage of this ward back then, so I didn't account for the change in lighting — my grandfather thought I was an intruder and shot me with a charged stunning spell, which, as I now recall, hit me right in the chest."

"You lie," she said, interest filling her voice.

"No, it happened seriously. I was knocked out for a few minutes and woke up to see my grandfather with a drink in his hand — not going to lie, he was very cool at that moment."

Quinn noticed a gaze on him and saw Fleur gazing at him intently with her blue eyes. The dulled night sounds set the perfect atmosphere, and both knew what was coming.

It wasn't clear who closed the distance, but a few moments later, they were kissing. They shared a short and chaste kiss before Quinn ended it.

"What is it?" asked Fleur, though she did have an inkling.

Quinn didn't divert her eyes from Fleur and held it. "I like you a lot Fleur. You're stunning and attractive; believe me, even without your Allure, you're truly a very captivating girl. But I don't think I like you that way."

Fleur slowly pulled back and spoke, "Quinn, it doesn't have to mean anything. It could be just two people fooling around, just having some fun. I find you attractive as well, but don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to start something here — it won't be sensible to start something here, I'll be leaving Hogwarts by the end of this year, but you would still have two years of schooling at Hogwarts left. That. . . . doesn't work for me."

"Yeah, that's logical and a smart decision on your part," said Quinn turning his eyes to the moon hanging above, "but you see, I can't fool around, maybe in the future, but not right now." He glanced back at her and continued, "That was my first kiss, you know."

Fleur blinked in surprise. "W-What? You're joking, right?" She couldn't believe that someone like Quinn hadn't had his first kiss till now — she had hers way before Quinn's age.

"Nope, all true," he said, leaning into the bench, "that's the reason why I don't want to fool around even though you're the one who's proposing it. . . . I have no problems with people fooling around, it's their choice, and as long it's consensual I'm a hundred percent fine with it."

"But, I don't want my first ever 'relationship', if we can this that, to be a casual fling, not even if it's for a couple of minutes here alone at a bench. Maybe I'm overreacting to this, but these are my current thoughts and feelings," Quinn smiled as he finished, "and I can't do anything about them."

Fleur also leaned back into the stone bench and sighed, "That's not how I thought today was going to end."

"Thank you, I strive to surprise people," smiled Quinn and loosened his tie a little.

"Really, that was your first kiss?" Fleur couldn't help but ask.

"A hundred percent true."

"But how?"

"Well, I've been a little too busy to explore that part of my life yet."

"Are you sure you just didn't get chances?"

"Oh, please," snorted Quinn, "look at me. I'm a prime piece that everyone wants to get their hands on, and now I can say that my first kiss was with a Veela. . . . so, how was it?"

"What?"

"You know. . . the kiss. How did I do?"

"Hmm. . . . it was okay," she said and got up.

"Okay? It was okay?" he watched as Fleur stepped outside of the ward line, "Ms. Delacour, I have a long record of being exemplary at my first attempts at anything I do."

He got up as Fleur started to walk away.

"Fleur? Fleur! Ms. Delacour! Please clarify what you mean by okay."

The Veela's melodious laughs sounded as Quinn's calls sounded in the night.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Yeah, this isn't going to work. . . I'm not OK with that "okay."

Ivy Potter - Potter Princess - Troubled friendship.

Tracey Davis - Bubbly beauty - On the look out for cute boys.

Fleur Delacour - Veela - What can I say, it was "okay."

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Yeah. . . so that's how it went.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn walked to the Great hall alone without Fleur. The Veela was tired from the hectic party and decided to retire for the night. Quinn wanted to escort her back to the Beauxbatons carriages, but they came across Headmistress Maxime — a very angry Olympe Maxime.

She swept through corridors like an angry hippogriff, and when she saw them, Maxime sent Quinn away, stating that she'd take Fleur from there onwards. Neither Quinn nor Fleur wanted to argue with the angry half-giantess, so they obliged and separated, with Quinn returning to Great hall.

"Why am I returning," he sighed, "I should've retired for the night. Today's sleep is going to be a good and deep one." He was a right type of tired — the type where he would slip into sleep the second he hit the bed top.

He entered the snow-white Christmas-decorated hall. The vibe of the ball had changed since he exited; in the middle of the hall, on the dance floor, a few couples slow danced to the relaxed and romantic music of the Weird Sisters while others sat in groups, chatting with each other, laughing and mingling with each other — making cherished memories of a wonderful night.

He saw Eddie Tracey and Marcus Luna still dancing, so he sat down at the table waiting for them to end so that he could return with them to the Ravenclaw common room.

Quinn stared down at the floor, saw sparkling confetti spread across the floor, and decided to pass some time. His learning from the Nordic Viking book he got from Denmark popped into his mind, and he called upon a bit of his magic. He blew softly towards the floor, and with magic wind magic backing up his breath, the confetti on an entire section of floor in front of him floated away, gliding across the floor.

"Quinn." The call of his name broke him out of his little pass-time. Quinn turned to come to face with a pair of striking crystal blue eyes. "Daphne, I didn't see you there. How are you? Enjoying yourself at the ball?"

Daphne stared at Quinn while giving a glance towards the now confetti-free floor. ". . . .I am," she said before looking around, "where is Delacour?"

"Fleur was tired, so she decided to retire for the night," said Quinn, "what about you? What're you doing alone here? Where is Krum?"

Daphne ran an errant hand through her silky straight blonde looks. "His friends came and took him away. I think they had firewhiskey with them." Which meant that they probably went to a secluded area to sneak some drinks.

"You didn't join them?"

"I don't drink, and it was only boys."

"There's always a first time for everything, though I would suggest that you go with something lighter than firewhiskey — I saw a label once, and oh boy, the spirit content scared me a little."

"No, thank you," denied Daphne firmly, "I don't want to go drinking right now. . . . you sound like you've got experience with drinking."

Quinn ruffled the back of his head and sighed with a chuckle mixed in. "No, I haven't drunk any liquor — technically, I haven't." He had ingested quite a lot of questionable stuff that he brewed while experimenting with potions; some of them had alcoholic content. "I don't like the feeling of being drunk — everything is a little too loose, a bit too light — that's a little uncomfortable to me."

He gazed at Daphne and asked, "Is Krum returning?"

"I don't know, he didn't have to reply. . . . with his friends, pulling — dragging him along."

"I see, well then," he got up and offered his hand to Daphne, "may I have one last dance?"

Daphne quite readily took the offered hand and let Quinn lead her to the dance floor, where the song was still slow, and the ambiance was soothingly romantic.

"I'm glad that Krum went away, you know," said Quinn as they started to dance.

Daphne's heart skipped a beat. ". . . .What do you mean?"

"Well, you and he were together all evening, so I didn't have the chance to ask you to dance; it would've been a pity if I didn't get a chance to dance with you. Not to mention how pretty you look today; it reminds me of the time we first danced together."

Daphne reminisced about Quinn and her first dance at the Christmas ball a few years back — at that time, the boy dancing with her was just an annoying yet interesting boy.

She looked up and gazed at the smiling face of Quinn. "That was a rememberable ball and dance."

"Of course, it was," she saw him grin, "I was there with you, and I'm highly entertaining to hang around, ask anyone."

"Yes, you are," she agreed with a smile of her own.

Quinn's eyes widened a fraction at the smile on Daphne's face. He had made her plenty of times; small smiles were what he was used to seeing on Daphne's face — not broad, unrestrained smiles on the neutral-faced Daphne. For a moment, it took his breath away — he couldn't take his eyes off her and even slowed down a bit just to admire the sight in front of him.

Daphne didn't notice Quinn's change and continued to gaze at him.

To anyone who was seeing them, the pair were looking into each other's eyes with no care of what was happening around them.

And someone was indeed watching them. Victor Krum had finally been able to evade his schoolmates and friends' attempts to get him to drink with them and leave them behind to return to the hall back to his date.

Upon searching for Daphne, he found him dancing with another guy, which he was okay with — a girl like Daphne was bound to have many friends (his opinion). And the guy she was dancing with was also familiar to him — Quinn West, the organizer of the quidditch tournament and the person who had made his time at Hogwarts much more enjoyable; as such, his impression of Quinn was a great one despite some unusual things like having an office at school.

If that was it, he would have walked onto the dance floor and informed Daphne that he was back and asked her one last dance before escorting her back (it was getting late).

Krum liked Daphne a lot — she wasn't like others and didn't act differently towards him because of his popularity and treated him like he was just another guy. It was a desirable quality that a lot of people in Krum's position sought after in their friends and close ones. That's why he asked her out to be his date at the ball.

But as he now watched them, he noticed the smile on Daphne's face — he had been acquainted with Daphne for a few months now but not once in that time had she showed him such a beautiful smile. It made him not go and watch them from the side.

He then saw Quinn lean down towards Daphne. 'Is he going to kiss her,' he thought. But it didn't happen, and instead, Krum watched Quinn whisper something into Daphne's ears. Daphne turned and saw him (Krum) before glancing back at Quinn, who was walking backward while giving her an exaggerated bow as he wished Daphne a Merry Yuletide.

Krum saw Daphne fix her dress before walking towards.

"Ah," escaped him.

The smile on her face was gone.

. . .

When the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight, everyone gave them a last, loud round of applause and started to wend their way into the entrance hall. Many people were expressing the wish that the ball could have gone on longer, but Quinn was perfectly happy to be going to bed; he had overdone it, and now the soles of his feet were hurting.

Out in the entrance hall, Quinn, Marcus, and Luna saw Eddie saying good night to Tracey before she went back to the dungeons. She gave him a sweet smile before walking away with Daphne in tow.

Eddie joined Quinn and others with a silly smile on his face. "Sorry for the wait. Let's go."

"You should've walked her back to the Slytherin common room," said Quinn.

Marcus nodded, "Yeah, you missed a chance."

Luna looked at Quinn and Marcus before giving repeated nods to Eddie.

"Eh?" Eddie looked back, but Tracey was already out of the entrance hall, "should I go now? But Daphne's with her."

"It's too late; forget it," said Marcus, "look, Quinn just yawned in public; that doesn't happen a lot. Come on, let's go; everybody is tired."

"Damn, you saw that, huh," said Quinn stretching his hands up before wrapping his arm around Luna's shoulder, "how was your day today, Luna?"

A tired Luna leaned against Quinn. "It was fun. Dancing is fun — especially with more people."

"Yes, it is," smiled Quinn.

Christmas was over, and with it, the Yule Ball.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair were back to somewhere between bushy and wavy again; she confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, "but it's way too much bother to do every day," she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.

It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling relatively flat now that Christmas was over — everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.

The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg.

Therefore, he started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opened it, and listened intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room — though he hadn't really expected that to help.

And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too.

"Hey — Harry!" It was Cedric Diggory. Harry could see Cho waiting for him in the entrance hall below.

"Yeah?" said Harry, internally comparing Cho to Hermione and concluding that Hermione was better.

Cedric looked as though he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of Ron, who shrugged, looking bad-tempered, and continued to climb the stairs.

"Listen . . ." Cedric lowered his voice as Ron disappeared. "I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?"

As much as Harry's competitiveness wanted to beat Cedric, he couldn't keep the news about dragons to himself and relayed it to the Hufflepuff seeker as he didn't wish Cedric to die. Harry was sure if Hagrid hadn't told him about the dragons, he would've died on the day of the first task.

"Yeah," said Harry; all his egg did was wail.

"Well . . . take a bath, okay?"

"What?"

"Take a bath, and — er — take the egg with you, and — er — just mull

things over in hot water. It'll help you think. . . . Trust me."

Harry stared at him.

"Tell you what," Cedric said, "use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'ripe red apples.' Gotta go . . . see you around —"

He grinned at Harry again and hurried back down the stairs to Cho.

Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone. That had been bizarre advice. Why would a bath help him to work out what the wailing egg meant? Was Cedric pulling his leg? Was he trying to make Harry look like a fool?

After thinking for a while, he decided to first take this strange advice to Hermione and Ivy — his "think tank" would know what to do.

. . .

As Harry had no idea how long a bath he would need to work out the secret of the golden egg, he decided to do it at night, when Harry would be able to take as much time as he wanted. Seeing that Cedric had suggested using the Prefects' bathroom, he took him on the offer.

"Um, I can do this on my own; you don't have to come with me," he said, looking at his two companions.

"You've been too lax for so long," said his twin sister, Ivy, "we can't risk you wasting more time."

"Uh-huh, we will find the egg's secret tonight," said Hermione in agreement.

Ron had been deemed too loud for him to accompany to this late-night excursion (and he was sleepy). They had been caught out of bed and out of bounds by Filch, the caretaker in the middle of the night once before, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

"B-But, it's the Boy-Prefect's bathroom," he sent a weak rebuke, "you two are girls."

"Not a problem, it's after curfew," Ivy shot down him and raised an old parchment, the fabled Marauder's Map, "and we already checked, there's no one in the bath."

When they reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, Harry located the right door, leaned close to it, and muttered the password, "red ripe apples," just as Cedric had told him.

The door creaked open. The trio slipped inside and bolted the door behind them.

His immediate reaction was that it would be worth becoming a prefect just to be able to use this bathroom. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor.

About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool's edges, each with a differently colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and a single golden-framed painting was on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a rock, her lengthy hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

"Who's there?!"

The sudden voice followed by a loud splash of water — it was as if someone had dumped a lot of water from a height.

The trio turned to stone and stiffly turned towards the source of the voice. But the trio couldn't see the person as it was January — the peak of winter; due to that, the pool was filled with hot water; as a result, the bathroom was filled with dense white mist, limiting their vision.

Then abruptly, the mist parted from over the pool, revealing the person.

Ivy's instantly recognized the person despite his hair went and down with most of his torso covered in colorful foam and multi-colored bubbles of varying sizes — some were even as big as footballs.

"Quinn!" she exclaimed.

In front of them, sitting near an edge of the pool, sat Quinn West, submerged, staring at them as if they had just done something punishable by law.

"What are you three doing here?" he asked, hiding a sigh behind his words.

"What are *you* doing here?" asked Harry, calming his beating heart down.

"We're on the fifth floor — the floor with the Ravenclaw common room entrance and my office. This is the Prefects Bathroom," said Quinn before pointing at himself, "I'm a Prefect—" he pointed at them, "—you three aren't."

"But, it's after curfew," supplied Hermione.

"Yeah, so?"

The three realized who they were talking to — this guy didn't understand the concept of curfew.

"Again, why are you here," asked Quinn, pushing them for an answer. Quinn was surprised when he heard the echoing footsteps as, at that time, he had around half the pool water suspended into the air.

"We're here to solve the egg," said Harry.

"Ah, so you finally found how the egg works, huh. Aren't you guys a little too late, though?"

The three Gryffindors saw Quinn get up, and instantly, Hermione and Ivy flushed a deep red. Quinn was topless with only a towel around his waist. Harry didn't show any change as he had seen similar sights after every intense quidditch game or practice.

"We don't know how it works," said Ivy, pushing the blush down. "we just know that it has something to do with water."

"That's good enough, I guess," said Quinn, walking behind a changing screen to get some clothes; his relaxation time was over, "what do you think you need to do for the egg to start working?"

Harry, Ivy, and Hermione looked at each other and nodded. They stripped out of their clothing down to their bathing suits. They stepped into the pool. It was so deep that their feet barely touched the bottom.

Harry stretched out his arms, lifted the egg in his wet hands, and opened it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom, echoing and reverberating off the marble walls, but it sounded just as incomprehensible as ever, if not more so with all the echoes. He snapped it shut again, worried that the sound would attract Filch, wondering whether that hadn't been Cedric's plan.

"Try put it into the water," suggested Hermione while swimming in the pool.

"Oh!" The three heard Quinn's voice from behind the screen, and when he didn't continue, they knew that Hermione had struck gold.

"Go on, then . . . open it under the water!" nudged Ivy.

Harry put the egg inside water and opened it with a wince in his eyes. . . . this time, it didn't wail. They could hear gurgling sounds coming out of the water with popping bubbles on the surface.

It took Harry a moment to realize, but the answer struck like a lightning strike. "I need to put my head as well."

Harry took a great breath and slid under the surface — and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, he heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to him from the open egg in his hands:

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching, ponder this:

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour-long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour — the prospect's black,

Too late, it's gone; it won't come back."

Harry let himself float back upward and broke the bubbly surface, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

"So?" asked Ivy.

"Yeah . . . 'Come seek us where our voices sound . . .' and if I need persuading . . . hang on, I need to listen again. . . ."

He sank back beneath the water, and this time, Hermione and Ivy joined them. It took three more underwater renditions of the egg's song before Harry had it memorized (Ivy and Hermione were done in two dips).

"I've got to go and look for people who can't use their voices above the ground. . . ." he said slowly. "Er . . . who could that be."

"Slow, aren't you?" They looked up and saw Quinn — he had dressed up and was now smiling down at them from outside the pool. "But well, you're on the right path — a pity that you didn't come to me — a lost opportunity for me, but oh well, I look forward to seeing you at the second task."

Harry and Ivy furrowed his brows as, in the end, before he left, Quinn gave a fleeting glance to Hermione — a glance that didn't seem a normal glance.

"What was that?" asked Harry.

Ivy shook her head. "I don't know."

. . .

Outside the bath, Quinn stopped for a second as a thought struck his mind. He stood on the spot for a while as his mind churned with a single view.

"Wait, does it mean. . . that I could become a hostage? . . . No, right? . . ."

That thought plagued him all night.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Is he clueless, or does he understand?

Daphne Greengrass - Hostage candidate - From what people say, her smile is gorgeous.

Victor Krum - Champion - Ah, he understands that he was working towards a dead end.

Golden Sub-Trio - A diverse group - Out on the night expedition.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Standing near the edge of an opening in the wall, staring down at the floor below, Quinn cracked his neck and stretched his body. He was back into the fourth vault — The Underground Vault. Ready to give the Beelzebub's Crawler field down below him yet another chance.

"For the brave and the bold, huh," he muttered, "yeah, not this time." Saying that, Quinn mounted his broom and flew out of the tunnel. "This isn't the Aquatic vault — I can fly all I want."

He had done his research on Beelzebub's Crawlers; they lived underground, due to that, they could only detect prey through tectonic vibrations in the ground; as such, if Quinn didn't touch the ground, he would go undetected by the vines that could secrete flesh dissolving liquids from their thorns.

Quinn flew straight to the wall opposite to him with the tunnel dug into it. At Quinn's command, the broom flew close and hovered away from the walls and the floor as he studied the tunnel. A ball of sharp white light manifested in the air before it rushed across the tunnel, dividing itself into more and more orbs of light that lined up near the top of the tunnel, turning the dim pathway into a brightly lit one.

He gently lowered himself enough to see straight into the tunnel while making absolutely sure that not a single part of his body touched the ground — Beelzebub's Crawler had a peculiar trait which pushed the vine species to merge, or connect, with every other vine in the vicinity, thus creating a vast network of them.

This meant that if even a single vine came out of the ground to entrap prey, the entire hive network would be aware of its actions. And if that singular vine didn't return with "meal," then the more vines would emerge to capture their "meal."

After peering into the now-lit tunnel, Quinn observed — nothing was sticking out to him as unusual or, to be specific, there was nothing that looked it would harm or hinder harm him his current task at hand. After making decisions, Quinn flew into the tunnel with the magical orbs shining much-needed light for him to see.

"How long does this tunnel go?" asked Quinn, looking around as he cautiously made his way through the tunnel while memorizing every scratch and cut on the rugged and dense stone walls — never knew what could come in use afterward.

His question was promptly answered as he saw the light at the path's end, making Quinn pick up some speed. He flew out of the tunnel, and with him, the light inside also left, once again leaving the tunnel dark.

The tunnel had opened up to another wide area. Quinn flew up to get a good look at the site, and the first thing that caught his eye was that a gigantic portion of the "ceiling" had broken off and had collapsed down below.

"Is that marble?" Quinn noticed white marble below all the collapsed rubble. He could see it was a truly wide circular platform of marble beneath all the pileup. He could also see some markings on the marble.

"Wait a minute. . ." He looked around and saw that there were no more exits other than the one he had entered.

". . . Is this it?" he uttered, "this isn't the end, is it? It can't be, right? That was too short. . . . only one obstacle."

Quinn realized that the vault could've been made before brooms became popular and mainstream — the now a common household item the flying brooms that allowed anyone to fly were not so commonplace as once brooms were nothing but causes of "splinter-filled buttocks and bulging piles."

If his assumption was correct, then Quinn's use of the broom might not have been covered by the original creator.

Quinn stared at the ground and conjured a big boulder before dropping it down to the ground. The boulder hit the ground with a large boom and shook the vault room. He waited. . . but Beelzebub's Crawler didn't come out — the vines couldn't differentiate between living and non-living.

"Is this really it? What was so difficult about this?" he exclaimed in confusion. Somehow, he couldn't get closure with such a simple vault, "but well, if I think it like that, then it makes sense. . . . it didn't need to be tough."

His thinking had been isolated — he was thinking with just the Underground Vault and in mind — he had missed the bigger picture.

"The Forbidden Forest was all the security one needed to hide something. Dangerous, cut-off from the outside world, and filled with beings who don't want anything to do with people outside of the forest."

There was no need to elaborate vault when the natural surroundings already provided the reliable security one could ask. Bow-slinging Centaurs, flesh-hungry Acromantulas, brutish Trolls, and many more species that had the forest held in its vast biodiverse embrace.

Quinn descended down to the ground and dismounted off the broom, and sighed as he stared at the rubble in front of him." I guess I'll work with this now. . . . but, this is a lot of it."

He could see enough pileup that he could climb it and reach a good height — a height high enough to be considered dangerous to jump down from (without magic).

Magic thrummed inside his body as Quin closed his eyes and concentrated on the rubble in front of him. He reached out to debris in front of him and exerted a lift.

"O-Oh. . . this is heavy!" he groaned, his magic groaned, the wreck groaned. Quinn had to raise his hands towards the collapse just so that his mind could better concentrate the magic into lifting.

He opened the tap to his magic entirely and let it flow. His eyes opened, and purple orbs glowed at the wreck. The rubble started to shake as everything started to lift and began to fall to the sides.

"Just a little more!"

There was no need to struggle like this — Quinn could shave off all debris bit-by-bit. But he didn't want to waste time — many hours spread across multiple visits would be spent just to clean the mess from the marble below. Every visit to the Forbidden Forest was essential and vital to Quinn — he had to slot visits to the forest between quidditch tournament preparation, Project Babel, other development projects, visits to the library, practicing magic to keep his skill up-to-date, among other things.

He was a bit too busy this year.

By the end, Quinn was sweat, heaving, and grabbing his knees as his chest heaved up and down.

"This was clearly not the job for one person," said Quinn, standing up straight.

But the result was worth it as Quinn could see the circular block of marble sitting in the middle of the cave. Quinn walked towards it before climbing up with a hop.

"Oh, these are runes, aren't they." Quinn could tell at one glance that the deep engravings on the marble were a cluster and network of large-scale runes.

There were many classes/groups on which runes could be classified — language, the number of layers, materials, effects, and among those categories, "size" classification was among the myriads of classifications.

The size classification was a scale-based category — it went from small-scale runes to large-scale in front of Quinn, laid into the marble. To give an example of the importance and use of size classification — a rune inscribed on a small wooden chip would be significantly weaker than one carved into a big piece of wood.

Quinn, himself, specialized in small-scaled runes as he liked to create articles that were potable in nature and could be carried with him — Recon was such an example.

Ironically, Quinn's most notable achievement — MagiFax, which, even though employed small-scale rube inscription in its receivers, worked primarily through large-scale runes.

MagiFax devices need a network to work, and that network was built through transmitting hubs spread throughout the globe — those transmitting hubs were large-scaled rune applications. On West-owned properties throughout the world, unique buildings were constructed, and inside those buildings, every (majority) usable surface was etched with giant runes that connected every registered MagiFax device on the planet.

Quinn walked on the marble, studying the runes, and after a while, he declared, "Yeah, no idea what this does."

Right from the start, there were a few problems. First, the runes were complex and needed to be mapped out before Quinn could even start studying. Second, Quinn had to check if there were runes beneath the surface as not all runes were required to be out on the surface. And, third. . . .

"The ceiling collapse broke the marble," said Quinn clicking his tongue. There were several cracks and crevices throughout the marble, essentially making the runes structure useless.

"I need to get it fixed," said Quinn and touched one of those cracks, "I can't use the Mending charm (Reparo) here, can I."

If it was an ordinary platform of marble, Quinn could've fixed all the cracks and crevices with a single snap of his magic. But the marble held so many runes that if he carelessly used the Mending charm to fix things, it would break the subtle and meticulously placed connections.

Quinn sat down on the marble and sighed, "This is going to require a lot of work, ugh. I don't even know what I'll get in the end."

He looked up at the ceiling blamingly. "Why did you have to fall down? If you didn't, I would be having fun right now."

He sighed at his lousy luck before a thought struck his mind. "The Sunken Crypt. . . . the wolves names the vault as such, didn't they? Does that mean their territory is just above here? Huh, maybe I'm right. Nice. I will check it out later."

Finally, after sitting in the dust, Quinn got up, dusted himself, took out a small notepad and pen from his pockets, and got ready to note the runes day.

"Hmm. . . . I predict that this is a way to communicate to the aliens, I call it!" and with that, he got to work.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them in Herbology.

Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Marcus said, the fire-beetles would probably warm them up nicely, either by chasing them or flamethrowing so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire. However, when the Ravenclaw trio arrived at Hagrid's cabin, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a prominent chin standing before his front door.

"Hurry up, now; the bell is about to ring," she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow.

"Who're you?" said Eddie, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?"

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Where's Hagrid?" repeated someone loudly.

"He is indisposed," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached the students' ears. They turned, and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid's cabin.

All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?

"What's wrong with Hagrid?" Marcus said, hurrying to catch up with

Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"What do you reckon is wrong with him? You don't think one of those skrewt that the fourth years are studying— ?" speculated Eddie.

Quinn glanced at his two friends and injected, "You two should get into the habit of reading the newspaper. It's on the front page of the Daily Prophet." He put a hand into his attached pockets, pulled out a newspaper, and handed it to Marcus.

"You keep newspapers in your pocket?" said Eddie.

"I read a couple of them and can't read them all during the breakfast. Daily Prophet always gets left out, so it tends to end up in my market."

Marcus unfolded the paper and read it, with Eddie looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.

.

DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, the eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

"I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. Last month, in conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. Of course, the creation of new breeds of magical creatures is an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

"I was just having some fun," he says before hastily changing

the subject.

As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not — as he has always pretended — a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power — thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend — but Albus Dumbledore indeed has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

.

Marcus finished reading and looked up at Eddie, whose mouth was hanging open. When Quinn saw that he asked, "You. . . didn't think he was just a big guy, did you?"

"E-Eh, said Eddie, "ahem, of course not. I knew that yeah."

"Don't worry, people really think he just has big bones," said Quinn as he got the paperback, "but you got to admit, Skeeter sure has excellent writing skills. She expertly painted the specific picture that she wanted."

"That's what you get from this?" said Marcus, raising his brow.

"The article doesn't matter," shrugged Quinn, "Hagrid has been here since he got expelled. Hagrid is around fifty, you know. He was here as the gamekeeper when your parent studied at Hogwarts. They know Hagrid personally; a lot of them know what Hagrid is really like, so this article might be tough for a while, but support will shine through."

"But, how did she know?" asked Eddie.

Quinn shrugged, but he knew the answer. 'She probably was here on the Yule Ball.' He hadn't checked Recon on that day, and even if he did, Quinn wouldn't have checked for Skeeter — she wouldn't write about him.

But he did have some circumstantial proof about Skeeters' presence.

'She might've listened to Hagrid and Olympe Maxime's conversation,' thought Quinn, thinking about the angry headmistress on that day, pulling Fleur with her. 'Skeeter must've listened to their conversation.'

'Though I did warn her about being careful about fluttering at Hogwarts, it seems she didn't get the point,' thought Quinn and hummed as the new professor proceeded to lead them towards today's subject.

"Oh! Unicorns! Nice," he exclaimed happily, and the somewhat threatening thoughts were thrown at the back of his head.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - I have a need. . . need for_ ? Fill in the blank.

Hagrid - Half-giant - Suddenly, a topic of discussion.

Rita Skeeter - Reporter - She knows her craft.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

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The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January, and as most Hogwarts students, Quinn was going out of the castle to the all-magical village of Hogsmeade.

Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very well-built indeed and as tough as he looked because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived right into the lake.

"He's mad!" said Eddie, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into

the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing; it's January!"

"It's a lot colder where he comes from," said Marcus. "But still, going swimming in mid-January is a bit too much."

"Eh, it's not that cold," shrugged Quinn. "It's quite pleasant, actually. If you're sleepy, it'll wake you up — a dip in the winter is great for when you're feeling lethargic."

The two looked at Quinn as if he had grown a third head, collectively ignore his asinine advice.

Eddie turned to Marcus and replied to his last statement, "Yeah, but there's still the giant squid," he didn't sound anxious — if anything, he sounded hopeful. His team, Trolling Boogeys, after their first loss to Krum's Treacherous Barons, hadn't lost a single game — in fact, they had blown the competition away — going as far as to win by double score margins.

Quinn roamed his eyes around the snowy Hogsmeade, and peculiarly he caught a glance of a few goblins before they turned a corner. It wasn't that goblins weren't allowed in Hogsmeade — just they were rare to be seen in the village and preferred staying in the underground city that they had built under and around Gringotts.

Marcus suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks to start off the weekend, and that's what they did. The pub was as crowded as ever — adults, students, residents, passerbys, everyone was enjoying the lively ambiance of the merry bar.

At the bar, the lovely Madam Rosmerta turned away from her various suitors to take orders from the three, "Welcome, boys. What can I get for you today?"

"One large butterbeer," replied Eddie, placing the coins on the table.

"Same for me, please," said Marcus, getting the money from his pouch wallet.

Madam Rosmerta counted the coins and nodded, "Alright, two large butterbeers coming up," she turned to Quinn and asked, "what about you?"

"One vanilla milkshake with a large scoop of butterscotch and shaved chocolate on the top, please," said Quinn, reciting his order, "how much would that be? I want a large serving as well."

Eddie, Marcus, and Rosmerta didn't show any reaction to Quinn's order — his two friends were used to the variety of drinks that Quinn ordered every time they came to Hogsmeade, and Quinn had left an impression on Rosmerta because he had ever only ordered a butterbeer once and after that time, Quinn's orders were always like his current one.

"Three sickles," she asked, which Quinn paid. As Madam Rosmerta remembered Quinn, she also knew his habits, "Your mug." Quinn always handed her a conjured mug to carry his drinks around with him.

Quinn smiled, and instead of conjuring a mug as she was expecting, he took out a wooden tankard from his robes. "Please, make the drink in this."

Rosmerta surprised hands received the tankard as her eyes switched between Quinn and the tankard in her hands before she finally went to fix up the drinks.

On the side, Eddie was grinning — the tankard was his Christmas gift to Quinn, after all.

"Hey? Why didn't Luna come with us?" asked Eddie.

Quinn s stared around the bar and the people as he answered, "She is spending time with her other friend."

"Eh? Who?"

Marcus answered as he arrived with his and Eddie's butterbeers. "You don't know? She has been spending time with Astoria.'

"Astoria? Astoria Greengrass as in Daphne's sister?" said Eddie taking his large butterbeer.

"Yeah, somehow, both of them are friends now."

As Marcus and Eddie were talking, Quinn was looking into the mirror behind the bar and saw Ludo Bagman, reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and looked rather menacing.

It was indeed odd, Quinn thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking as if he was trying to convince the goblin of something.

'Ah, I get it now,' thought Quinn. He received his shake from Madam Rosmerta before telling Eddie and Marcus, "I'll be back in a bit."

Then he walked towards the shady corners, towards Bagman.

"Gentlemen," greeted Quinn as he sat down with them like they were all friends, and he was totally supposed to be there, "what a lovely day we have today. The snow is particularly lovely and glowing today. Having a cold drink like the one I'm having has a unique charm — you should try it out."

"Q-Quinn," stuttered Bagman, and even in the cold, he started to sweat as his heart began to beat faster, "w-what are you doing here?"

Quinn didn't reply immediately; instead, he stared into Bagman's eyes and reached out inside. 'Ah, as I feared. He's an addict. No, he's worse; he's an idiot.'

"Mr. Bagman, before you say anything else, I know what you're trying to do here," sighed Quinn, "we talked about this when I generously decided to provide you with some much-needed help. I warned you what would happen if you tried to do exactly this."

"N-No, you've got all this wrong," sputtered Bagman, "I wasn't —"

A goblin cut Bagman off, "Who are you?"

Quinn glanced at the goblin, scooped up a spoonful of ice cream, and ate it. "Quinn West."

The four goblins, dressed in heavy robes, twitched at the mention of his names.

"West," one goblin replied with a guttural voice, "I remember, you're the one who has a student vault with us. The only West coin we have in Gringotts."

"Yes," smiled Quinn, continuing to drink and eat, "I'm also the one who paid Mr. Bagman's debt, and I would suggest that you don't lend him more money."

"That's between us and Ludo Bagman. You're not to interfere in our business."

Quinn watched the toothy goblin, showing their sharp teeth, and shrugged. "Okay. . . I will take a guess about what is happening here. Mr. Bagman here is trying to convince you to lend him some money, which you're hesitant to do because his past record with Gringotts isn't particularly spotless. But Mr. Bagman assures you that he'll pay you back on time."

Bagman wasn't even looking up right now. He had his eyes squeezed close, his head bowed down.

"You see, the reason behind Mr. Bagman's confidence is that he plans to put his money. . . once again into gambling. . . just like last time. This time around, he was going to put his money into the very lucrative quidditch tournament happening around right now."

Quinn's initial plan had been to keep the betting system inside Hogwarts and for the Hogwarts student. The Weasley twins had other ideas — around the third week, they started expanded to the people in the stands, and when the fifth week rolled around, they came to Quinn and suggested that they open up the betting to anyone who wanted to bet.

Their problem was that they didn't have the capital for the expansion. It took a lot of cash and liquidity to match the bets and keep a betting operational. Moreover, they didn't have the knowledge on how to work something of that level.

Fortunately for them, Quinn was ambitious and liked the idea. Furthermore, he had his head crammed with business knowledge from George West, Elliot Dalton, and Lia West — liquified gems of wisdom and had the money to back everything up.

"And I'm sure you fine gentlemen must know who run the Hogwarts quidditch betting scene," he pointed at himself, "I do; as such, I decide who gets to bet, and I have placed strict orders that Mr. Bagman is not to be allowed to place any bets."

Quinn stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes." But it seems that he has employed another to do his bidding — I thought of this happening, in fact, expected it, but sincerely hoped that he won't go down that path."

"I-I. . . ."

Around that time, Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Then she noticed Ludo Bagman, a bunch of goblins, and Quinn West sitting in a shady corner.

"Bozo? What's Bagman. . . what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow? Showing them the sights . . . what nonsense . . . he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? And why is Quinn West sitting with them? . . . Come on, let's go talk to them — a friendly chat, you know?"

She, with her trusty photography, marched towards the corner and, with a brilliant smile and shrill voice, spoke, "Bagman! What a surprise to see you here."

"Go away, Ms. Skeeter, you're not required here," said Quinn without looking at the reporter.

Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick- Quotes Quill, "Ah, Quinn, I didn't see you there—"

"Ms. Skeeter, why are you still here?" asked Quinn, finally glancing at the woman.

Rita's eyes hardening as they fell on Quinn, "Quinn, seeing you with Ludo Bagman is a surprise. . . . I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl. . . ." She tried to garner some favor.

If Ludo Bagman was scared before, he was more scared now. Rita Skeeter was like a blood-smelling hound who wouldn't let go of a scoop if she could smell one. And right now, she was trying to garner favor with Quinn.

Quinn sighed once again, "Ms. Skeeter, can I talk to you for a second."

Rita made Bozo stay behind as she followed Quinn to another corner. "Yes, Quinn? What is it? Do you want to know about Bagman because I have a lot of things I can—"

"Ms. Skeeter," Quinn stopped her, "I knew about your little secret before I even met you. Don't you think I would know Mr. Bagman's dirty little secrets? I know what he did during the war, what he's doing now, and what he's going to do in the future."

He took a pause before finally stating, "Ms. Skeeter, you don't have to do this. All I desire from you is to not cross paths with me. If you can do that, I'll not come in your path if you do that, and we both will go out merry ways."

Quinn understood that if he wanted, he could use Rita Skeeter as a very useful asset. But Quinn didn't want to deal with Rita Skeeter as he had too much on his plate to keep tabs on what she was doing, and Rita Skeeter was like a viper, and if he gave her a chance, she would bite him. He was a hundred percent sure that if he asked Rita Skeeter to do something, she would try to find something that would put Quinn at a disadvantage.

"Do you understand me?"

Rita's quill hand went down, and she nodded silently.

"Good, then. I wish you a pleasant day."

He walked back to the goblin table, and as he sat down, he addressed Bozo, the photographer, "You can go now. Ms. Skeeter is calling for you."

Bozo seemed confused as this wasn't how things usually went. His partner(boss) would usually be smiling with the other party sweating. He walked away feeling very perplexed.

"Now, where were we?" asked Quinn. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, if you want to make a loss, then go ahead, be my guest, lend him money because Mr. Bagman isn't going to be doing any quidditch betting — but maybe this better; maybe he will use that money somewhere useful."

The goblins had heard enough. They looked at each other before getting up and walking out of the bar. They didn't even look at Bagman before leaving.

"Mr. Bagman, I don't care what you do after the tournament, but before it, I don't want any problems from you. Even now, it won't cause me any harm if I let you do whatever you want, but tell me, what was our deal?"

". . . .If I give you the hosting job and stay out of trouble till the tournament, you'll pay off my debts," replied Bagman.

"Exactly," said Quinn, finally finishing his milkshake, "I'll let it go this time, but next time around, I won't be so lenient. You may take this any way you want to or can. . . ."

Quinn got up gave Bagman one last look before leaving. His job as the host of the Tri-wizard tournament was directly tied to Ludo Bagman being on the judging panel. If somehow, Bagman managed to get himself booted, then Quinn's host duties might come into jeopardy, and he would've to do extra work to keep that job.

As he walked back towards the bar, he saw the Weasley twins enter the pub. "Fred, George, here!"

" "Yeah, what is it?" "

Quinn pointed at Bagman, sulking in the corner, and muttered, "Mr. Bagman there was trying to place some bets. I've talked to them, but if he does come to you, don't let him come to place some bets — not even if he agrees to pay both of you back for the galleons he took from at the Worl Cup."

"How did you. . . —" "—Never mind," the twins sighed, "Okay, we will make sure that—" "—he doesn't place any bets with us."

"Good," nodded Quinn, satisfied, "also Bagman is using a couple students to place his bets; I'll be sending those names, so make sure they are banned for a couple of games." He had gleaned off the information right from the source.

" "Roger." "

When Quinn joined his friends back, Marcus asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, you know. Business as usual," Quinn replied before calling out to the hostess, "Madam Rosmerta, one hot chocolate, please."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"So, will you do it?"

Quinn stared at the five adults in front of him and pretended to ponder the question he just asked. "You're asking me if I would be fine being put into an enchanted sleep and then spend a couple of hours inside the freezing waters of the Great Lake in February."

Albus nodded as if it was a commonplace request, "Yes, that's about right."

"Hmm, I see," nodded Quinn, "While I would love to volunteer for this exciting opportunity, I've hosting responsibilities that I need to attend, so I'm unfortunately not available."

In the headmaster's office, Quinn sat with the three heads of schools, Flitwick and Barty Crouch Sr.

"Mr. West," started Crouch, "I assure you that you'll be absolutely safe. Professor Dumbledore has communicated with the merpeople, and they will make sure that you'll not be harmed down while you're sleeping."

Quinn, of course, wasn't worried about being harmed — certainly not underwater. That was probably the safest place for him.

"I understand that Mr. Crouch, and I've full trust in the measures taken, but I've things planned for the second task. Mr. Bagman and I've been in regular contact, preparing just for this task."

"And what might those preparations be?" asked Maxime.

"That you'll see on the day itself," smiled Quinn before asking back, "is there no else you can ask to be Fleur's hostage? Like one of your students, someone close to her, maybe."

"Well. . . Fleur's younger sister just arrived as the second batch of students from Beauxbatons. We can have her go under the lake. . . but I'm a little hesitant about putting someone as young as her in the lake so soon after she gets here."

Quinn groaned internally, not audibly, of course. It was true that Gabrielle Delacour was dangerously young to be put under the lake, and looking at it, he should volunteer for it. Fleur was his friend, and she would definitely not like it when she found that her sister was put inside the lake.

Especially not when the egg riddle states that they would lose those hostages after an hour. Not a thing to be happy about.

'Ah, whatever. I should just do it. There's no harm done to me anyway,' thought Quinn, 'I could probably break from the enchanted sleep if I try hard enough. . . . it'll be a good opportunity to see how well I can do against Dumbledore's magic. But, what would I do while tied up down there, not that I can talk merespeak. . . . ah, I should speak up first.'

But before he could, Olympe spoke up, "Quinn, are you dating Fleur?"

Quinn, who was about to speak, closed his mouth at the sudden question before opening it again, ". . . No, I'm not. . . why?"

"Alright, it's decided then. Little Gabrielle will go inside. I think having her sister down there will be a greater motivation for Fleur, increasing her chances to win."

"That's one way to think about, I guess," said Quinn. He was a little taken aback by the reasoning, but he could see it working. If someone put Lia under the lake, Quinn would literally tear the lake apart to get to her.

"This is over then?" said Karakoff, sounding bored mixed with a bit of irritation, "everyone's hostages are decided. Three of them are already put into sleep for tomorrow; we just need to get that little girl down there."

"Oh? Who're the other three," asked Quinn.

Dumbledore answered Quinn, "Ms. Ivy Potter for her brother Harry Potter; Ms. Cho Chang for Cedric Diggory; and finally, Ms. Daphne Greengrass for Victor Krum."

Quinn's brow twitched at the mention of Daphne going into the lake. He knew that she would be going inside, but still hearing it now bothered him a little.

'Krum better come first in this round,' thought Quinn, 'and Ivy instead of Hermione looks like I was wrong. Well, sister trumps date, I guess. And Lily Potter must know about the real situation.'

"Great to know," he said, "I'll use that info while hosting."

He was going to put on a show tomorrow morning.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Investor, Consultant, hostage candidate.

Ludo Bagman - Gambling Addict - Working under strict terms.

Rita Skeeter - Journalist - Sometimes being bold pays off, sometimes it doesn't.

Goblins - Profit-seeking - The West name subconsciously makes them snarl.

Weasley Twins - Betting Kings - Learning the ways to run an operation.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Day 1 of 4 of end-terms is over. 2 out of 8 subjects are done. Three days and six subjects more to go.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

Report chapter Comments

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https//fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

The entrance hall contained a few last-minute stragglers, all leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin and Dennis Creevey flying as he leaped down the stone steps and out onto the bright, chilly grounds.

As he pounded down the lawn, Harry saw the seats from the first task dragon stadium in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands built over the water of the Great lake that was packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat-out around the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another gold-draped table at the water's edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were beside the judges' table, watching Harry sprint toward them.

"I'm . . . here . . ." Harry panted, skidding to a halt in the mud and accidentally splattering Fleur's robes.

"Where have you been, Mr. Potter?" said an authoritative, disapproving voice. "The task's about to start!"

Harry looked around. McGonagall was looking at him disappointedly and a little angrily.

"Now, now, Professor McGonagall," said Ludo Bagman, who was looking intensely jolly to see Harry. "Let him catch his breath!"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime didn't look at all pleased to see him. . . . It was evident from the looks on their faces that they had thought he wasn't going to turn up.

Harry bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath; he had a stitch in his side that felt as though he had a knife between his ribs, but there was no time to get rid of it; Ludo Bagman was now moving among the champions, spacing them along the bank at intervals of ten feet. Harry was on the very end of the line, next to Krum, who was wearing swimming trunks and was holding his wand ready.

"All right, Harry?" Bagman whispered as he moved Harry a few feet farther away from Krum. "Know what you're going to do?"

"Yeah," Harry panted, massaging his ribs. The preparations for the task had caused him to be a little late — a little too late.

Bagman gave Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the judges' table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, "Sonorus!" and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task. I won't waste any more of your time and pass it on to Quinn West for him to continue the task."

The stands were built above the lake, supported by vertical beams holding them above the surface; as such, there was a good amount of space between the seating area and the lake. From that gap below, the students saw Quinn coming out, and it set them lit in murmurs and discussion.

Hermione and Ron were sitting with Lily Potter to support their friend's mother because they knew that Ivy was under the lake and Harry was about to go inside.

As Hermione watched Quinn enter their sight, she elbowed Ron in the sides, hitting him in the ribs. ". . . Is he walking on water?"

Ron was so engrossed to see Quinn walk on water that he could only nod his head. But Lily Potter did confirm Hermione's question. "Yes, dear. Quinn is walking on water. . ."

Quinn walked a little distance on the water to the point where he didn't have to feel uncomfortable craning his neck to look at everyone in the stands.

"Be honest," he started looking at everyone with a smile, "you're thinking how I'm doing this, aren't you?"

There were many "yeses" from the crowd, and Quinn could see a lot of necks craning and students standing up to get a better look at him.

"Being honest myself, I'm pretty cool right now," he hopped on the water a couple times, showing that there was no trick here and he was indeed solidly standing on water.

It wasn't that difficult to walk on water — an intermediatory water spell and anyone could replicate what Quinn was doing right now. The wow factor was because no one did it and because "walking-on-water" was an action tied closely to Jesus Christ, and religion was popular everywhere — be it magical or non-magical. Look at Friar; he was a cleric monk when he was alive, and even after his death, he was a devout practitioner of his religion.

Quinn smiled at the nods he received from the crowd and was about to continue when he felt a tremor beneath his feet. His smile cramped for a second. He raised his right foot and tapped it on the water, sending tremors back into the lake — hidden from everyone looking at him.

"Ahem, I'm sure since November, all of you must have heard at least one or a couple theories about the second task — all kind of speculations and conjectures in our beloved Hogwarts rumor mill, tingling curiosities up and down the castles."

Another water tremor came back to him, and the Kraken, who was looking to play (fight), replied back sulkily at Quinn's refusal water tremors.

'Alright, not that's over with. . . .' He spread his arms wide and continued.

"Now, as we stand here, on the Great lake, all of you must have some inkling about the task — at least that it's water-related," he glanced at the champions standing at a separate platform, "the champions know what they have to do and what is at stake here. The first task was all about them, but this time around, it's not just themselves they have to worry about — this time around, there are more things on the line."

All four champions displayed a different level of nervousness as they stood staring at the lake — all four knew what Quinn was talking about.

"Before I move on, I would start the task and get our champions working," said Quinn taking out a small white sphere with red veins all around. He dropped the sphere into the water. "I'm sure they're eager to get inside there and start their task. Before they actually go in, I can only share a couple of things — they have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them."

"But before they go, I would like you to introduce all of you and them to what we're going to for the hour they're inside."

He closed his right eye and raised his fake wand to the sky. Once again, like the first task, the light bent in the sky and a vast illusion of an underwater scene.

"This is the live feed of what's happening inside the Great lake. There won't be much to do for the hour the champions are underwater, so we will be watching them from here."

Quinn still had his right eye closed, and that was because his right eye was currently connected to the sphere he had dropped underwater — an artificial eye that he had planned and researched since his second year (Chapter 61) and had been actively building since this year (Chapter 140).

In 「 Project: Drone-Vision 」,

Quinn's right eye's vision was cut, and his optic nerves that connected his eyes to the brain were magically getting optical signals from the artificial eye. The artificial eye was covered with a protective coating of an air bubble that kept it separated from the water.

He could literally see what the artificial eye was catching — it was a little disorienting to see two completely different scenes. But he had gotten used to it.

"Now, champions, on the count of three, the countdown starts, then. One . . . two . . . three! Start!"

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause; without looking to see what the other champions were doing, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled a vial of moss green potion out of his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth, and waded out into the lake. He had drunk a gillyweed potion that he and Hermione had brewed together. Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits just below his ears, flapping in the cold air. . . . Quinn had gills. Without pausing to think, he did the only thing that made sense — he dove deep inside the lake — to get his twin out.

Victor Krum cracked his neck as he pulled out his wand and pointed it towards his head. The action made Quinn furrow his brow a little; he knew what was about to come — partial transfiguration around the head area was a tricky thing, and Quinn wasn't sure if the pro-seeker was adept enough to safely pull it off. Victor's head twisted into a shark head with jagged teeth and beady eyes.

And just like the originals, Cedric and Fleur used bubblehead charms to filter the air out of the water to provide them oxygen underwater before they dove inside to rescue her girlfriend and little sister. It was a charm that Quinn didn't use underwater, but when he had to deal with potions that released toxic fumes during brewing.

'Ah, these guys have it so easy,' thought Quinn and exhaled a big sigh as plenty of memories of being pushed around in the water, being lost in darkness, being cut, among other things like being smacked around by giant tentacles, flashed inside his mind.

Quinn shook his head and pulled himself out of the flashbacks, 'Yeah, so easy. . . .'

"Now that the champions are inside let's see how they're doing." The illusion overhead changed as the eye moved. They could only see ten feet ahead so that as the eye sped through the water, new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the oncoming darkness: forests of rippling, tangled black weed, vast plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones.

First, they saw Cedric swimming freely, but the very next second, his ankles were grabbed a grindylow, a tiny, horned water demon, poking out of the weed, its long fingers clutched tightly around Cedric's leg, its pointed fangs bared — Cedric stuck his hand quickly inside his robes and fumbled for his wand. By the time he had grasped it, two more grindylows had risen out of the weed, had seized handfuls of Cedric's clothes, and were attempting to drag him down.

Sparkles shot from his wand, and the grindylows were pelted with what seemed to be jets of hot water, for where it struck them, angry red patches appeared on their green skin. Cedric pulled his ankle out of the grindylow's grip and swam as fast as he could, occasionally sending more jets of hot water over his shoulder at random; every now and then, he felt one of the grindylows snatch at his foot again, and he kicked out, hard; finally, he felt his foot connect with a horned skull, and looking back, saw the dazed grindylow floating away, cross-eyed, while its fellows shook their fists at Cedric and sank back into the weed.

"Grindlyows were a little blip, but it seems that Cedric is doing well — let's move on to another champion." His commentary wasn't needed as people were a little too engrossed in the visuals.

The eye moved, and soon they saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they carried spears and chased what looked like the giant squid. A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, everyone saw faces . . . faces that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom. . . .

The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry Potter as he swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silverfish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

Harry sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and he even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, pointing at his webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry sped around a corner, and an extraordinary sight met his eyes.

A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue, a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

Ivy was tied between Daphne and Cho. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made everyone feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour's sister, Gabrielle Delacour. All four of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.

"Ah, Victor Krum is here," said Quinn as he, a half-shark half-man, entered the illusion above.

Victor Krum sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and charge at him, but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong. He looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were carrying spears. He swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear.

The merman laughed and shook his head.

Victor roared fiercely (but only bubbles issued from his mouth), and he tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it back, still shaking his head and laughing.

Harry was watching the entire thing from the side while keeping an eye on Ivy. He swirled around, staring about. Something sharp . . . anything . . . Rocks were littering the lake bottom. He dived and snatched up a particularly jagged one and returned to the statue. He began to hack at the ropes binding Ivy, and after several minutes' hard work, they broke apart. Ivy floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom, drifting a little in the ebb of the water.

Harry looked around and saw that the shark-man swam straight to Daphne and began snapping and biting at her ropes; the trouble was that Krum's new teeth were positioned very awkwardly for grinding anything smaller than a dolphin, and Harry was quite sure that if Krum wasn't careful, he was going to rip Daphne in half.

He looked at Ivy before turning to Daphne — he knew that while his sister and Daphne fought a lot, but once they had been very close — close enough that if Ivy was awake right now, she would help Daphne right now.

Darting forward, Harry struck Krum on the shoulder and held up the jagged stone. Krum seized it and began to cut Daphne free. Within seconds, he had done it; he grabbed Daphne around the waist, and without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with her toward the surface.

'Now what?' Harry thought. Fleur's Delacour sister looked a little too young to be here, and she was looking a little green. But after thinking for a while, he decided to leave — Fleur had done better than everyone else in the first task, better than him, and she had used pure magic and not other skills like flying like he had.

'She would be here soon,' he thought and took off.

And as Harry swam away, he saw Cedric swim past him towards the merperson stone statue.

Cedric reached the statue, and now the merpeople were standing close to Cho and Gabrielle. Cedric pulled his wand out. "Get out of my way!"

Only bubbles flew out of his bubblehead cover, but he had a distinct impression that the mermen had understood him because they suddenly stopped laughing. Their yellowish eyes were fixed upon Harry's wand, and they looked cautious. They moved away, giving Cedric space, who immediately shot a slicing hex at the thick bindings, freeing Cho.

"Alright, three hostages have been freed, with only one remaining. Let's see how the fourth missing champion is doing. . . . now, we just have to find where she is."

Quinn felt sonar tremors into the lake, and eventually, he got the feedback. He had found her. The artificial eye immediately trod water, and the scene everyone saw what was Fleur Delacour up to.

"Ah. . . so this is where she was."

Fleur Delacour was wrapped up in black weeds. They were tightly wound around her arms, legs, and torso. The black weeds weren't attached to the soil but were broken, and their other ends were held by multiple toothy grindylows, who were pulling the weedy-ropes while Fleur struggled, but the little demons' gang work was a little too strong for Fleur.

"It seems that Fleur has lost her wand," commented Quinn, and the illusion zoomed into the wand sitting down at the lakebed.

Suddenly, Fleur directly looked at the "camera," and she mouthed out words frantically. While others weren't able to understand the words, Quinn could as he read her lips. She was begging for Quinn — specifically, to rescue her sister and that there wasn't much time left.

Quinn, of course, knew that Gabrielle wasn't in any danger; she would be pulled out at the end of the hour. But then he saw something that concerned him a lot. Fleur's figure and face were slightly shifting.

'She is shifting into her Avian form.' Fleur was panicking.

From his talks with Fleur and his reading, Quinn knew that in their Avian form, Veelas weren't able to control magic properly. . . if she fully transformed, then there were solid chances that her bubblehead charms would pop and then. . . .

"Ah, damn it."

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Quinn West - MC - Human(Wizard/Magical) Projector/Drone.

Champions - 4 people - Doing their thing.

Hostages - 4 people - Doing nothing.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Inspired by Gaara's sandeye.

FictionOnlyReader - Author Update - Day 2 of 4 of end-terms is over. 4 out of 8 subjects are done. Half-way through. There won't be chapter tomorrow as I need to prep. Actually, this was supposed to drop tomorrow, but I completed the latest chapter early, so here you go.

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The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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Quinn closed both of his eyes, and now all he could see was the scene transmitted by the artificial eye from Project: Drone Vision. In the originals, Fleur had somewhat gone through the same thing, and in that time, she had come out without any major mishaps.

While the situation had changed this time around — the three champions had gotten to their hostages without much hassle or problems, but that didn't mean Fleur would come out unharmed as well. He contemplated his next move, and with the loud discussions from stands made him think that he needed to make a discussion very soon.

He opened his left "unconnected" eye to see the judges' reactions and saw that Dumbledore, Bagman, Karkaroff, and Crouch all were looking at his overhead illusion, but other than the low varying level of worries, all men looked otherwise unbothered — it was only Olympe Maxime who looked genuinely anxious about her champion's condition.

Fleur's unheard words were still sounding loud in his years.

Then there were sudden gasps all across the stands as everyone saw Fleur's bubblehead charm shrunk dangerously close to her face — receding from below the neck level to just below the chin.

'Okay, I need to do something — or she's going to drown,' he thought, feeling a little panicked himself, 'and it's going to happen in front of everyone else — yup, yup, yup, I should do it right now.'

Immediately, the water beneath his feet, which was keeping him afloat above, gave way, and he sank below without making a splash, leaving behind just a hint of a circular wave from where he was standing.

On the judges' platform, Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore, "Where did he go, Dumbledore? What are your students doing now?"

Dumbledore glanced at Karkaroff and shrugged with a hint of a smile on his face, "I have no idea what he's doing. Mr. West. . . for the most part. . . . likes to do things on his own, at his own pace, at his own discretion."

"You lie. First, you enter two champions, and now this!"

"He hasn't done anything yet, Igor," Dumbledore pointed up at the illusion still running, "let's see what he does; I'm sure it will be entertaining and isn't that what we are going here for?"

Dumbledore merrily laughed while Karkaroff frowned deeply.

Sitting by their side, Olympe's eyes were fixed with the illusion; she tapped away at the armrest of her chair, with a pit sitting in the base of her stomach. She had complete confidence in Fleur to handle herself, but that was when Fleur had a wand in her hand — right now, she didn't have one, which in itself was the worst nightmare for a witch.

"I see him. . . I can see Mr. West," said Barty Crouch Sr, as stern as ever. He hadn't shown up at the Yule Ball or for work at the ministry because of bad health, but he was back now — healthy as a bull.

Everyone saw Quinn in the illusion, swimming towards Fleur from her backside as the artificial eye was positioned at Fleur's front.

Tracey sitting in the stands, nudged Astoria and whispered, "It's just like the time when he came outside the common room windows."

Astoria nodded as she and everyone could see that Quinn's hands and feet had gained webbing, and he had gill flaps on his neck and chest.

"Where did he ditch his clothes?" Tracey turned towards the speaker and gazed at Eddie, who was sitting beside her watching the illusion with a thoughtful look. In the illusion, Quinn was in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

Dumbledore studied the illusion — specifically Quinn, and assessed the gills and webbed feet and hands. "Those aren't from gillyweed like Mr. Potters. . . . then, they are transfigurations, hmm. But why does he have gills on his chest — wait a minute, are they directly connected? Oh my, if that's the case, then that's some impressive work." Even from seeing just an image fabricated from Quinn's memory, Dumbledore could tell precisely what magic Quinn was using.

. . .

Quinn shot every grindylow, trapping Fleur with jets of stunning spell directed through his fake wand. Not a single little snickering water midget was able to escape or even had a chance to escape. He came to the front and was immediately stunned. . .

'She's unconscious,' he saw that her bubblehead charm was still intact, 'but she isn't getting enough air through it.' he poked his fake wand into her bubble and cast a much sturdier bubblehead charm, once again resuming an ample supply of oxygen for Fleur.

Quinn grabbed her by the waist and looked up; he could send her back to the shore right from here, but that would attract attention and with it suspicion. His power stint last year, which led him to split the lake, garnered a lot of attention. Students and professors alike had visited and staked the lake for weeks to figure what had happened.

Dumbledore himself, at that time and when planning for the second task, had extensively investigated the abnormality. Both times, he had examined the lake for a month and talked with the merpeople. All he got from his efforts was that the giant squid (Kraken) had been active a lot, moving around, causing underwater waves, but other than that, even they didn't know the cause of the bizarre incident.

Quinn knew all of this because he had chanced upon Dumbledore talking to a merperson. That very day Quinn had gone and made sure that the entrance to the Aquatic vault was hidden from sight so that if Dumbledore ever did go close to the entrance, he would miss it.

Standing on the water was fine, but if he sent Fleur up from here, that would be a massive giveaway and might turn him into a prime suspect.

Quinn swam up, pulling Fleur with him; he had to shoot a couple more grindylows on the way, but otherwise, Quinn got Fleur out as soon as possible.

Outside on the surface, everyone saw Quinn and Fleur pop out of the water. They watched as Quinn set Fleur flat on the water surface as if it was solid and himself used the lake surface to climb up before picking up Fleur in his arms and walked towards the stands.

Poppy came running out on the platform from where the champions had jumped as he got close to the stands. "Quinn, how's she, status?"

"She's fine, just fainted. Her bubblehead charm shrunk and couldn't provide enough air to her," replied Quinn, "she'll be fine — just need to get up on her own."

"Okay, pass her up," she needed to check for herself just to be safe and sure.

Quinn clutched his fake wand and was about to wave it in the motion for a body levitation charm but felt Fleur's arms tighten around her neck.

". . . .Quinn," he heard a soft and faint whisper. He glanced down and saw Fleur looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Yes? I'm here."

". . . .Gabrielle."

"She's fine," he said, as unlike her, he knew that the hostages weren't in any danger.

"Where. . . is she?"

". . . She's fine and safe."

Her eyes once again began closing, but before they fully closed, she spoke on last time, "Bring her up, please."

Quinn sighed as his lie failed the deception check, ". . . . Yeah, I will get her up."

"Hmm. . . ."

He sent her up to Poppy to get checked up and brought up back to health. Now it was time to get Gabrielle back up. He turned around, and before the judges could say anything, Quinn sunk back in, not giving them a chance to stop them.

Quinn knew that Dumbledore would call up a merperson who would then go back to get Gabrielle back up. . . . while that was fine, it would take too much time — Fleur might be up and running, and if she saw her sister still missing, she would panic; as such, he wanted to get Gabrielle before Fleur woke up. . . . Because Quinn was sure that Fleur was barely half-conscious in their conscious.

Quinn cut the connection to the artificial eye and, with it, erased the illusion. He finally opened his right eye, and immediately, water around started to move, and he zapped towards the merpeople village to retrieve Gabrielle. He cut the water magic just before he was within sight and swam normally towards the statue to which Gabrielle was tied.

He stepped on the lake bed and finally saw an asleep, floating Gabrielle. He walked normally as if he wasn't in the water, and when a merperson swam in his path, Quinn waved a hand, gesturing to move aside. But the merperson didn't move and stared at Quinn sternly.

Maybe it was because Quinn was in a hurry or because he had so much water around him, and it felt terrific as if power was filling him that he waved his hand once again, and the merperson was swept away by an underwater wave, leaving the path free which Quinn briskly walked to reach Gabrielle.

He simply looked at the five merfolk standing nearby, and they didn't dare approach him. He untied the little Veela, and just like his sister, he took off with her, this time just faster, courtesy of water magic. The merpeople could only stand and watch as Quinn left with the hostage that they had to protect.

When he finally emerged, everyone screamed, cheered, and applauded as if he was a champion. Quinn stared at them with a partially surprised expression. Then his face changed from surprise to a bit of furrow in his brow because he saw a wide awake Fleur wrapped in towels, staring at him — no, staring at Gabrielle, who had woken up from her enchanted sleep (coming out of the water was the trigger.)

He walked to the champion's platform and waved his fake wand, which made the water under his rise up, pushing him up — he kept it pretty wobbly just to be safe.

"Oh, Gabrielle." French flew out of Fleur's mouth as she received Gabrielle from Quinn and hugged her confused sister.

"Come here, you," said Madam Pomfrey. She took Gabrielle from Fleur and, under the watchful eye of Fleur, warmed up Gabrielle and checked if the young girl was up.

A third-year Hufflepuff called out softly to Quinn and shyly handed him a towel. Quinn smiled and received it with a smile — he didn't actually need the towel, but he pretended to wipe his face as magic stipped water of from his body. He handed the towel back with a thank you, making the girl blush.

He looked down, and he was still in his swim shorts and then at the lake where he had stripped himself of his cloth in the heat of the moment. He shrugged and conjured a simple shirt around his body.

"Well done, Mr. West!" Dumbledore cried. "you brought Ms. Delacour just in time, though going after Ms. Gabrielle was a little hasty — but, I understand."

"Thank you, headmaster," smiled Quinn, "I was the closest; it was just natural for me to help out."

He also noticed Karkaroff watching him. He was the only judge who had not left the table, the sole judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief that Fleur and Gabrielle had got back safely. Quinn smiled and nodded towards Karkaroff with a short head bow.

Quinn looked back at Dumbledore just to find that the old headmaster was missing. Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally, he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

The judges went into a huddle. Poppy had gone to rescue Ivy and Harry from Lily's clutches; she led him over to Daphne and the others, gave them a blanket and some Pepper up Potion. Quinn had been a little too fast in his rescue.

As Poppy dealt with the champions and hostages, Quinn squatted at the platform's edge and looked deeply at the lake while pointing his fake wand. A dozen seconds later, his clothes came flying out, sloshing in water, thoroughly soaking.

"He-eh," he smiled and insta-dried his clothes. Quinn stood up and turned to see Fleur standing just behind him. "Woah! . . . . Hey, how're you feeling?" he asked.

The Veela threw her arms around Quinn's neck and kissed him deeply right on the lips. Quinn was so surprised that he froze for a second before he remembered that. . . . kissing felt really good. So he leaned into it, and subconsciously his hands went to her waist.

Everyone. . . . everyone who could see Fleur and Quinn stared at the couple — which was a lot of people, including all on the platform (judges, champions, hostages, Poppy, and Lily.)

Harry, Cedric, and Krum stared at the pair with their mouths open a little (Cedric got a jab which closed his mouth). The judges held varying expressions with Dumbledore smiling, "young people. . ." Poppy and Lily looked a bit scandalized to see blatant kissing happening in front of them.

Finally, Ivy and Daphne, who were soaking wet with towels around them, stared at Quinn and Fleur. Almost immediately, Daphne's dislike of Fleur deepened a few levels; she wanted to get up and separate the two but knew she couldn't do it. Ivy stared at them, and her mind started to play her interaction with Quinn after he saved Harry — his visit to their house, her visits to the AID office, him training them, him rejecting her and how that felt, and finally the dance she shared with him at the Yule Ball. . . . Ivy decided that she didn't like what was happening in front of her.

After a long and deep kiss, they separated, out of breath. Fleur's arms now rested on Quinn's chest as he gazed down at her, his arms still on her waist.

"Not going to lie, but this might be the best thing that happened to me this week — maybe even this month," and he had found the main, innermost chamber of the fourth vault this month.

Fleur nodded in total agreement, "It was at the top for me as well."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"So, I'm definitely much better than okay, aren't I?"

Fleur chuckled melodiously and nodded, "Yes, you're better than okay," she looked up and licked her lips, "much better than okay."

Quinn beamed, feeling really happy right now, and gazed at the girls in his arms. He knew what he said about not wanting his first relationship to not be a fling, but right now, Fleur looked a little too appealing — he really wanted to kiss her again.

"Ahem." That fake cough broke Quinn out of his thoughts. He looked and saw Ludo Bagman looking at them. Fleur and Quinn removed their hands from each other, realizing that they had a lot of company.

"Mr. Bagman," said Quinn, "you can continue for today; please conclude the second task."

Ludo nodded, knowing it was a request even if there was a please in there.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake and we also saw everything from here, so we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. . . ."

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble- Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," said Fleur, throatily, shaking her magnificent head.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was third to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Quinn saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We, therefore, award him forty-one points."

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty-four points."

Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

"Harry Potter used a gillyweed potion to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned first and well inside the time limit of an hour. He was the fastest and worked with the most efficiency; as such, we award him a total of forty-eight points."

Harry looked proud, and Lily was clapping very hard.

Quinn gave a glance to Bagman before stepping forward to take the last announcement for himself, "The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

'It's over,' Quinn thought, sighing, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes. . . . but then he felt arms wrap around his waist, and he looked down to see tiny silver-blonde staring at him with her big blue eyes.

"Gabrielle, right?" asked Quinn, pulling a smile.

The girl nodded and spoke in a voice that Quinn thought was very lovely and cute, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The little girl continued to stare at Quinn for a few seconds before running away. She had said her thank you, but she feared that Quinn would get all yucky-icky-kissy face with her if she stayed. If Quinn knew her thoughts, he would've experienced a very happy blow.

He looked at the lake and smiled. It was a good day. He didn't notice a few sets of eyes observing him with varying looks.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Kissing feels really good.

Fleur Delacour - Veela - She failed the task, but the kiss balanced it out.

Daphne Greengrass - Slytherin, Hostage - Doesn't like Fleur at all.

Ivy Potter - Gryffindor, Hostage - Things are in. . . flux.

Gabrielle Delacour - Little Veela - Kisses are yucky-icky.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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As the year entered March, the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned peoples' hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course, which was beneficial for MagiFax sales as they were finally picking up speed in the domestic household market after dominating the professional office market.

It was a Friday morning in the great hall during breakfast with the Hogwarts population was abuzz with the morning energy, and for once, a lot of students were surprisingly reading newspapers. The second task had been an exciting event with the host walking on water, the flashy overhead live footage of underwater, and the very visible public display affection, which marked the end of the second task.

Every student in Hogwarts wanted to see what the papers wrote about the unique experience; as such, the students who didn't even touch newspapers if it didn't have a juicy story were gathered in groups, sharing the newspapers arriving at the great hall by the waves of daily owl raids.

At the Gryffindor table, the golden squad sat together, leaning over a copy of today's Daily Prophet, reading the very first page that detailed the second task through very thorough, in-depth articles and. . . . photographs.

"It's not here," commented Ron, putting a spoonful of his breakfast in his mouth, "how come of everything mentioned that's the only thing not photographed — hell, this doesn't even mention the kiss in writing."

Parvati Patil sitting right next to them with her bosom buddy Lavendar Brow. The chatty girls were hunched over an edition of Witch Weekly, scouring through the magazine pages with hungry eyes.

"It's not here; it's not possible — how is it possible for Witch Weekly not write about the kiss,' said Parvati passing the magazine to Lavendar, who insisted on going through it again.

Ivy repeatedly stabbed her fork into her food, restraining herself from breaking the plate as she heard everyone — everyone talking about the second task — specifically, the end. . . .

"It's not that big of a deal," she said, her tone held a hidden whiplash, "they wrote about the second task; that's what they're supposed to write. I don't see a problem."

"You just don't get it," said Lavendar, resting her chin on her hand with a misty look in her eyes, "it was so romantic, Quinn rescuing Fleur like that, with everyone seeing. . ." she sighed a dreamy sigh.

"I agree with Ivy that the article should be about the tournament," said Hermione, finishing reading the page.

Ivy nodded. She knew she could depend on her best friend.

"But, with how the Daily Prophet reports, it does seem strange that they didn't mention the kiss," continued Hermoine, stunning Ivy. Hermione pointed at the byline, "Look — it's written by Rita Skeeter; it seems almost impossible for that vile woman to write something as sensible and unembellished as this."

Even Ivy had to concede to the point about Rita Skeeter writing a good article sounded like someone was trying to pull her leg. . . . strong enough to pull her into the ground. The truth was that despite the "Veela" champion kissing someone in public was a story worth for every writer in this country to have a parade day, and for it not to be published. . . . seemed odd.

Harry and Ivy exchanged looks; both knew that his/her twins were thinking about the reason behind this and knew that they were thinking the same thing. Not just them, all across the great hall, there were people who had the same thought as them.

The children of prominent people; the likes of politicians, high-ranking ministry officials, wealthy business owners, noble families — the Hogwarts students who knew that they shared classrooms with a West. They had guessed the reason; furthermore, they were convinced that their reason was correct.

Ivy looked over to the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle together with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls — they too were looking over a newspaper. Beside them, though, Daphne was rubbing her temple.

The newspapers might have not written about Quinn and Fleur, but they did go ham on Daphne and Krum. The person who Victor Krum missed the most — that was tabloid-worthy.

Ron ran his eyes over the great hall, stopping at the Ravenclaw table. "Fleur is here. . . . but, I can't see Quinn," he turned to Harry and asked with a grin, "Harry, mate. go ask your mate friend Eddie where is Quinn."

Harry's brow twitched as his eyes subconsciously found Eddie Carmichael at the Ravenclaw. "Ron. . . . that little shi—," Harry held his tongue, ". . . . Carmichael isn't my friend; WHY! would you even say that?"

"You looked pretty chummy with him at the last game."

"I was not!" snapped Harry before groaning. Harry considered Draco Malfoy to be his nemesis, but he had to admit that Eddie Carmichael came in a very close second.

Harry was part of Alicia Spinett's Sonic Brooms, and last to last week, before the second task, they had a game against Trolling Boogeys. Sonic Brooms went into the game undefeated with comfortable winning margins in their every win — but they knew that despite the one loss, Trolling Boogeys were a dangerous team, and if they didn't play well, they (Sonic Brooms) could lose the game. . . . and they did lose the game.

Trolling Boogeys was an offensive team; they had Cedric Diggory as their seeker who had been having a fantastic season — he was the number three seeker after number one, Victor Krum, and number two, Harry Potter — this already put Trolling Boogey's offense in the top fifty percent of the ten teams.

Next came the beaters: the defensive position of the team. But in Trolling Boogeys, the beaters weren't more focused on keeping the bludger away from their seeker and chaser; instead, they primarily followed an aggressive strategy of actively trying to knock the opposition players by redirecting (hurling) the bludgers towards them. They were the prime example of "Offense is the Best Defense."

Finally, there was the core offensive position — the chasers. And Trolling Boogey's chaser squad was electrifying, to say the least — well, one chaser was electrifying enough for three people.

Eddie Carmichael.

The most entertaining player to see in the entire tournament. Eddie Carmichael was by far the best chaser in the thirty chasers playing in the tournament, and he was beating them on leaderboard stats by such margins that it wasn't even funny — be it be assists or points, Eddie outclassed everyone.

Eddie Carmichael merchandise sales came third in the entire league — only being beat by the pro who played for his country, Victor Krum, and the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest seeker to ever play in a Hogwarts game, Harry Potter — and both of them had the "champion" advantage.

Eddie was a silent player who didn't speak much during the game, a tunnel focus vision towards victory as some of his teammates described it.

But that was it.

He was only silent during the game — not so quiet before and especially after the game.

After Trolling Boogerys' win against Sonic Brooms, Eddie had gone off. It was like he was saving it up during the game that after the game, he had trashed talk so much that Cedric had to transfigure Eddie's lips together to prevent him from speaking. But before he could do that, Eddie had talked in length, especially to Harry, that the seeker was sure that his ears were bleeding.

"Hey, Quinn's here," said Ron, jutting his chin towards the door.

Quinn entered the great hall like it was another day; strolled towards the Ravenclaw table, catching eyes as he passed through.

'What?' thought Quinn and looked around as his daily morning Legilimency picked up surface thoughts from the few students around him. 'Ah, good to see, I'm not in the news.' He had MagiFax-ed first thing after the second task — it was a little (a lot) embarrassing to ask them to scrub the potential news about him kissing in public. It was more embarrassing to get just an "okay" in reply.

Quinn sat down at his desk, smiling at his friends.

"You're late," said Marcus, "where were you?"

"I dropped by the office; there is a potion slow-brewing around the clock for two weeks now."

"You weren't having, maybe, a meeting, a tryst, a rendezvous, with the very lovely Fleur Delacour," asked Eddie, a grin plastered over his face, "and decided to send her first and come later by yourself to avoid suspicion."

Quinn shook his head with a bit of his smile. "That's an interesting theory, mate. Also, did you look those synonyms up?"

"Oh ho," chuckled Eddie, wiggling his brows, "he didn't refuse people."

"No, Eddie. . . . I didn't meet with Fleur."

Marcus leaned with a sparkle in his eyes and asked, "Are you dating?"

"Didn't we talk about this before," sighed Quinn, "no, I'm not dating her. That was just you know. . . . a thank you." He had time to calm himself down, and with it, the impulse to get handy with Fleur as well.

"Uh-huh, sure it was," smirked Eddie.

Quinn put down his knife and fork and looked at his dear friend. "How are things going with a very charming Ms. Tracey Davis."

Eddie's ears turned red.

"Because from what I'm hearing, there had been some long walks by the lake. . . . something you want to tell us, E.d.d.i.e."

"N-No, nothing. There's nothing. . . ."

Quinn picked his knife and fork back up with a smile, "I see. I see. If you say so, then I'll believe you."

"Y-Yeah."

"Good," grinned Quinn, "oh man, this is good bacon."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a relatively poor ventriloquist. Quinn kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me.

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he'd poured out enough armadillo bile, Quinn sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Quinn wanted to see what they wanted to talk about, so he put his hand into his pocket and took out his chip-listening device, and stuck it near the two adults while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door.

"What's so urgent?" Quinn heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

"This," said Karkaroff, and Quinn stood outside the dungeon classroom, leaning against a wall so he could stay within range.

'Hmm, is he talking about the dark mark?' thought Quinn. It was clear that Voldemort was back because Harry Potter was inside the Tri-wizard tournament, and Barty Crouch Jr was still roaming in the Hogwarts halls.

"Well?" said Karkaroff. "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since —"

"Put it away!" snarled Snape.

"But you must have noticed —" Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" spat Snape.

"No, we have to talk now! This is important!"

". . . don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it —"

"Then flee," said Snape's voice curtly. "Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

There was a pregnant pause before Quinn heard a swivel of heels. He knew that the talk was over, so he cast an illusion over himself and stood still.

Karkaroff came out of the classroom and then strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry.

Quinn remained still until Snape left, and even after that, he stayed there. Karkaroff's worries were reasonable as he was the one who snitched after Voldemort's fall in return for immunity for his various crimes. If and when Voldemort returned, there were fair chances that the Durmstrang headmaster would be one of the first to go.

Quinn began thinking about what to do with Babymort, who would turn back into Voldemort by the end of this school. A turning point in the series of events that would change many things and a mark for even more things to change.

"Harry Potter and Voldemort. . . . either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives," he whispered part of the prophecy that he recalled. "If that's still the prophecy."

The truth was that he couldn't stop the conflict between the Dark faction and the Light faction. Voldemort would never let go of the Potter or anyone who had opposed him during his fall, and the Light faction would never let Voldemort roam around even if the dark lord suddenly changed his mind and became a saint — there was too much history in this country for things to go any other way.

"The Light faction is stronger this time around; that will hopefully have some changes in the situation."

He had no idea about the political situation in the original timeline, but in this timeline where the Potters were alive, the Light faction was united with Dumbledore and Potters as leading figures.

"Plus, they have Sirius Black, meaning that figuratively they have the Blacks behind them," even though the once prestigious Black family now amounted to just one Senior Auror, "but I guess Sirius Black can dip into those family vaults of his when the times comes." The Black family might have folded upon themselves, but that didn't the money disappeared into nothingness — if Sirius Black didn't splurge and lose it all, then the vast amount of coin still laid in the Gringotts vaults.

But that went the other way around as well — Dark faction had to pull themselves together to fight the much stronger faction, and even though they were at a disadvantage to this day, they were united enough to stand against the opposing threat.

"I hope they will get ready with time," muttered Quinn as they were going to need a lot of resources if they wanted to come out of this with minimal damages.

"Third task, huh."

June 24 was going to be an important day. With that thought, Quinn walked away. . . . before turning around and returning, "Yeah, I should probably take the transmitter chip back; need to erase that evidence."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

There was a knock on the door, and with the affirmation from inside, the door opened, and a figure entered the room.

"Ah, Wormtail, you have returned," said the shrill and squeaky voice.

Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, the most wanted man in the British Isles, bowed his head in greeting, "Yes, my lord."

"You're a day late, Wormtail," said Babymort with his menacing deep voidful eyes, "the second task ended yesterday. . . . so tell me, where were you?"

Peter didn't feel anxious or scared in the face of the homunculus who could still cast a Killing curse and various other powerful, painful, malignant curses even in this diminished form, "I had to make sure that I wasn't suspected, my lord. The disguise I chose required me to stay a day outside to make sure no one felt that something was off."

"Hmm," the dull eyes observed Peter for a few moments before letting go. "And? How was it? Has Barty being doing a good job guiding the Potter boy? We need that child to do good."

"Harry Potter is doing just fine — he came first in this task; it puts him first overall. He will start first in the last task."

"Good, good. How are the preparations at the preparations going at the graveyard?"

"They're coming along — it's taking a while to gather the ingredients for the ritual. . . . but there is no need to worry, we'll have all by the end of April."

"Hmm. . . ."

"My lord. . . . there's one thing that might be problematic."

"What is it?"

"There was something during the second task that might become a real problem."

"Out with it, Wormtail!"

"It might be better if you take a look at it on your own."

Babymort shifted in his bed and beckoned Wormtail closer. There was a wand in his hand. "Show it to me, Wormtail. Show me the problem." Two pairs of eyes met, and magic flowed; there was a sharp pain inside Peter's head, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

"Hmm, I see. . . . I see. Illusion magic, fascinating, truly fascinating," commented Babymort, "who's this child? The child who cast this magic."

"Q-Quinn West. Fifth Y-Year."

Babymort stopped the strong legilimency and stared at Wormtail. "From the West family? George West's family."

"Yes," groaned Peter rubbing his temple, "George West's grandson."

"Quinn. . . . West," hummed Babymort, replaying the scoured memory in his mind, "interesting, get me more information about this Quinn West."

There was a toothless grin on his face.

.

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Quinn West - MC - My name is West. . . Quinn West.

Voldemort - Babymort - One ugly baby. . . . one powerful ugly baby.

Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail - Information gathering.

FictionOnlyReader - Writing Addict - I know I shouldn't have posted another one, but I just couldn't stop. . . .

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

One of the best things about being in the innermost part of the Underground vault was the peace — in fact, the entire Underground vault was a delight to work in. Quinn didn't have to travel through potentially life-threatening dangerous trials like those inside the Aquatic vault to get to the innermost region. He didn't have to work with something capable of wiping his life in less than a fraction of a second like Absolute Zero (which Quinn still didn't know so much about). Finally, nothing messed with his mind and emotions, and because of that, he could work while being 100% of himself.

Here there was just him and one big-ass stratum of marble waiting for Quinn to work on to repair it to its former glory — whatever it was. Quinn still had to figure out what the runes etched into the marbles did, but he was making progress.

Right now, Quinn sat above the marble platform with a plethora of papers laid in front of him, spreading out and away from him as his eyes roamed on every single page visible to him.

"Nine layers," commented Quinn to himself, "nine layers worth of runes — every layer not just connected to its adjacent layer, but to all other eight layers. What was the creator thinking while building this. . . . why did he even need these many layers."

To put it to comparison, Quinn's Recon was a three-layer construct, MagiFax was a five-layer construct, the containment and defensive mechanism that kept Absolute Zero in check was a seven-layer construction, and that was already a complicated structure. Plus, the addition of layers wasn't linear; the addition of every subsequent layer was a more significant addition than the preceding one. — to see a nine-layered runic construct was something Quinn couldn't even begin thinking what it would result in — the usage when it would complete.

"Well, at least, I have the complete plans with me," said Quinn while looking at the papers — he had successfully figured out what the original construct was before the roof collapsed and damaged the runes — right now, Quinn was sure that he knew all of the runes and the connection map to get the construct working.

"Time to get to work," he said, getting up as the papers formed a stack and floated near him. "Now, where to start," he hummed. He turned around on the spot to isolate a starting point, and as he did, the paper stack shuffled — bringing the relevant page to the top of the stack.

"Alright, I will start there," he stared west, choosing to begin with his favorite direction, "but first. . . ." Quinn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, his vision had changed. Now, to Quinn, everything on the marble was divided into squares of one foot marked by red lines.

"Casting illusion on myself," he muttered, blinking his eyes, but the red grid remained, "I'm not sure if I should like this or not."

"Whatever, let's get to work."

Quinn sat down on the ground with his legs crossed. His focus was on just one box in the massive grid. Quinn placed his right hand in the middle on the marble stone with palm flat resting against the cold surface.

"Let's see, what do I have to do here." Quinn read the page on the top of the stack and read the detailed blueprints written on it.

The magic trickled from his core through his hands into the marble, seeping into the stone.

"Transmutation."

There were runes engraved on the marble, but they had been worn down with the passage of time and damaged from the fallen debris. Quinn's magic fixed that — the rune engraving which looked like they had been etched with a hammer and chisel, crafted by a grandmaster, renewed their original charm and straightened out, smoothed down every surface while the cracks filled up by shifting and merging the stone together.

Within a minute, the marble top had gone from ancient to something that looked it had been freshly carved.

But Quinn didn't smile in admiration or stopped funneling his magic; instead, he made his magic drip down deeper — as previously mentioned, there were nine layers of runes, and the carving on the surface was only layer-one — eight other layers etched inside the stone remained to be fixed and cleaned up.

Ten minutes later, Quinn removed his hand and breathed out, "Alright, one block done," he looked around and smacked his lips together, "over a hundred more to go."

.

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.

.

From then onwards, Quinn spent two hours every day for an entire fortnight to complete the renovation of the carvings and another three days to prime the marble by imbibing it in potions and solutions to get the stone ready for conducting magic.

"To the worms below and birds above, thank all that this is finally ready," clapped Quinn, clenching his fist. He stood in the middle of an intricately carved, beautiful, and, more importantly, clean rune structure.

"I should probably do one last check," he said, pushing his magic into the magic while flipping through the paper stack, which was now a file, "uh-huh — north, done. . . . south. . . . east. . . . west. . . . hmm, alright checked and done."

"Now, let's what this actually does," smiled Quinn while humming.

He looked down, watching the spot he was standing — the middle of the marble platform was rune free, at least on the surface. This was the spot where he needed to input magic to start the magic.

"This one will need a lot to get this beauty up and running," he squatted down and grinned, "let's see if I can fill its appetite."

While large-scale runes were more powerful, they needed a lot more juice to get working. While Quinn had time-to-time reached the limit of the magic, he could push out at once; he never had, not once, ever encountered a single task that would exhaust his capacity — or even come close to it.

It took dynamic plans that were constantly developed and updated throughout the years of daily magic usage every single day so that Quinn could exhaust his magic by the end of his day — by doing that, Quinn's magic was abundant than ever, much larger than what ordinary magicals could even imagine — Quinn had no doubt had more enormous reserves than anyone in Hogwarts and the British Isles. . . . that included the white-bearded, half-moon glasses old man with sparkling eyes and maybe even the prime Dark Lord, who was currently stuck in a homunculus body.

It was already a surprise that with his reserves, Quinn could exhaust his magic every single day — if someone saw how and how much magic Quinn used every day, they would classify him as a. . . . monster.

Quinn started to discharge in waves and waves of magic. Magic comparable to rivers started ours into the marble and the runes. The white marble patterned with black splash patterns began to glow in rainbow lights.

"Oh, oh, it's working," smiled Quinn, but then the glow started to weaken, "huh, it's not enough — need more?" It brought a deeper grin to Quinn's face as he started to push more and more magic into the stone.

"It's getting stronger!" and with it, the light in Quinn's eyes flickered, and soon, they were showing their purple glory.

Hroom. . . . a thrum spread from the marble into the ground reaching every corner of the Underground vault.

Quinn stopped, stood up before running and jumping out from the marble stratum, and then he watched the show. Rainbow lights grew so strong that the orbs of light that Quinn cast for light disappeared within the presence of the stronger light — he had to shield his eyes from the light that was still bright even though his eyes were closed.

When the light finally subsided, Quinn opened his eyes and peeked around to observe what had happened, but nothing stood out.

"Did something happened?"

He walked to the marble stratum and touched the stone to see if he could diagnose the problem. "Ouch! Hot, tssss!" he pulled back his hand because the stone was skin-searing hot.

Quinn looked at his hand, and he swore he could literally feel the heat from his wound travel through his body. "Man, that was hot, shit!" he cursed and healed his hand of the severe burn.

"What's the temperature on this?" when Quinn checked, the stone was at room temperature, "huh, it cooled off so quickly? Hmm. . . . well there were some runes in there that could be interpreted for cooling purposes."

"But what the hell, man," complained Quinn, "did I make a mistake somewhere? That doesn't seem likely." He went over his notes, plans, and memories, but nothing stood out to him.

"Does it mean that my plans are completely wrong?" he questioned his entire research as he couldn't find anything that stood out.

Quinn couldn't believe that he had made an error, so he started to look around and finally decided to collect samples — he collected a piece of marble, the surrounding soil, and the underground plants that had grown around the stratum.

"There must be some change; the tests will surely reveal something."

It was getting late, and Quinn decided to end for today. He pulled on his Noir gear and exited the Forbidden Forest with the samples in tow. He hid in an isolated and changed back into his Hogwarts uniform robes before stepping into the castle.

"That was a good magical workout," if there was one thing that he was satisfied with, then it was the magic exertion.

Flutter* *Flutter*

Quinn turned around when he heard the flutter of a bird's wings, which was strange as he hadn't seen a bird when he passed by.

"Hmm?" And as he had thought, there was no flying bird or even a stray bird in sight. "Must've flown away. . . . Oh boy, I'm feeling famished — I wonder what's for dinner."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

It was quidditch Saturday, and another tournament game had gone by successfully. Right now, Quinn stood by the stadium exit, seeing the guests off.

"Mr. Zangba, the tenth time in the row; look forward to seeing you once again, next week."

"Mrs. Van Pelt, how's your cat doing? Is she feeling any better?"

"Ah, Mr. Straus! I wasn't expecting you today; St. Mungos has been keeping you busy these days, hasn't it?"

Tracey stood by Quinn's side and watched as he talked to anyone who made eye contact with him — be it new or someone he already had contact with; Quinn spoke with everyone as if they were his friends.

This was vital. Let's say while seeing a play, one enjoyed the beginning and the middle parts immensely, but if that end — that climax doesn't follow up after the amazing buildup, then people tend to be disappointed; it taints their view of the other fabulous experience. . . . his tournament games were exciting, full of ups-and-downs, there was sufficient buildup and with riveting endings, no need to worry about the experience — but if he did this, then everyone will remember this moment as the last memory of their visit here and who doesn't like to be remembered.

'Then they will come the next week and week after that until the tournament ends.'

Quinn had to do this because he had started the tournament with zero cash. He had used all of the sponsorship resources in the setup. As such, to keep the tournament running week-after-week, Quinn needed a high attendance to keep bringing in the cash.

"Ah, Quinn! It has been a while. How have you been?"

Quinn turned to the voice and saw the entire Potter family with James Potter in the lead. The Senior Auror looked satisfied and happy as he greeted Quinn.

"I'm doing just fine, Mr. Potter. How about you? Did you enjoy the game?"

"It was a delight," beamed James Potter. The few tournament games he could attend were one of the few things he got to enjoy in his busy Auror life — there were perks of being a Senior Auror; James could sneak out once in a while, and as Quinn's format had a limited duration, it ensured that he could return soon.

Quinn nodded with a smile before greeting the rest of the family, "Professor, twins, good to see that all of you're still supporting the tournament. . . . well, one of you plays in the tournament while the other two actively participate in betting."

Lily blushed at the mention of her partaking in the school betting while Ivy shrugged, she was turning her allowance into more spending money, and she liked it.

Suddenly a face peeked from between James and Lily and spoke, "Ah, so you're Quinn West, huh. You're the guy who kissed the Veela in front of everybody. . . . nice!"

"Sirius!" rebuked Lily.

"Actually, she. . . . never mind, yes I'm Quinn West, and you're Sirius Black, Senior Auror."

"In the flesh," smiled Sirius as he stepped forward to shake hands with Quinn.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Black," said Quinn and shook hands with Sirius.

Sirius looked Quinn up and down and nodded. "I like you, kid."

Quinn released Sirius' hand and nodded back. ". . . .Okay."

"So, tell me, kid. How did you bag the Veela? Do you have any tips?" Sirius Black dressed like an aristocratic man, but his personality was so roguish that it felt contradictory, but he could pull it together with overflowing self-confidence.

"Sirius! Would you stop with that?!" exclaimed Lily; one would think that after so many years, she would get used to it, but she wasn't.

But Sirius ignored her and continued to gaze at Quinn with a smile.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not dating Fleur," replied Quinn. No one believed when he said that sentence.

". . . .Really?" said Sirius. He reached towards his back in a grabbing before he found and shoulder and pulled Ivy to the front, "how about this one right here? I think one is prettier than her mum, and her mum is beautiful, you know," he pointed at Lily standing behind him, "you can see it for yourself, see?"

The two redheads of the group started to shake. Without context, it seemed they were embarrassed, but Quinn knew the context and stepped back.

Ivy whipped out her wand and straight out attacked Sirius with a stunning spell. But Sirius swatted away the spell with his suddenly out wand with flowing effortlessness. Sirius stared at Ivy and shrugged, "Not my first time, little lady. Not my first time."

A spell came from his back, but Sirius raised his wand, and it struck an instantly conjured protego shield. He turned back while twirling his wand and once again shrugged, this time at Lily.

"You're really predictable, you know. You will have to do much better if you want to hit me. You should really know that I don't go making fun of people without having the confidence to defend myself — and I'm an Auror, so it comes with the craft."

Ivy made a face at Sirius with a slight blush on her face.

Sirius raised his hand and poked Ivy in her nose with a smile, "Boop," and grinned happily.

Quinn watched Sirius Black and his first impression? He liked him.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Black. But now I'll take my leave."

"Oh, sure," smiled Sirius, "let's catch up the next time I come to see a game."

"Of course."

Quinn saw of the Potter family and the Black tag-along, and as he turned around to also leave, he saw a black crow perched just above the stadium gate.

"Hmm, is that a crow or raven. . . . it's massive, so I guess a raven."

Then he walked away with the raven caw-ing in the background.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - I can't be wrong.

Sirius Black - Senior Auror - I like having fun.

Ivy Potter - Making money - Is still trying to attack a dog.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Day-4 of 4 of end-terms is over. . . . but, at the end, during the last exam (subject 8) was cancelled mid-exam. . . . 1 hour into the paper (90 minute paper). The college goofed up by giving us the exact same paper as last year (which we had from our seniors.) I had a five-day break from college. . . . but now? Now, I'll have to wait in tension about the reschedule.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

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The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

The AID office, while a calm environment, was a usually happening place. Especially this year, with the room being the central hub for the quidditch tournament — teams, stadium tickets, merchandise sales, betting, and so many other things were being coordinated through the AID office.

"I'm just the host," said Quinn to the four people in front of him, "I'm not in charge of the management of organizing the Tri-wizard tournament.. . . . I've repeated this so many times throughout the year."

The four Tri-wizard champions — Fleur Delacour, Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and Victor Krum, looked at each other before looking back at Quinn, who was flipping through a very thick ledger.

"So why do they time and time again delegate other tasks to me," he continued, "the final game is the next week, and I'm neck-deep in work," he looked up at them, "Cedric and Mr. Krum, congratulations on getting to the finals."

Trolling Boogeys and Treacherous Barons had beat out the rest of the teams and came out on top to compete in the finals. From the opening game between these very same team to the finals — it was a complete circle.

The numbers from the credit and debit sides matched up in Quinn's mind, and with a signature as a seal of authentication, Quinn closed the accounts book — the Weasley twins might be great at the betting operations, but they didn't have the level of accounting and math skills to make sure all the money was accounted for.

"Good, let's get started," he said and finally gave the four champions his complete attention, "now, with the third task being less than a month from now on, it's time for you guys to know about the details."

The four champions perked up and intently listened as this was going to be the last task.

"The last task is going to be a maze crawl where you'll have to face many different magical beasts and get to the other end where the first one will find the Tri-wizard cup waiting for them. . . . the first to grab it, that is."

Quinn's eyes skirted towards Harry and Cedric for a split second before he was back at looking at all four.

"What kind of magical beasts?" asked Fleur.

"That will not be revealed; you'll only find that out when you actually encounter them," answered Quinn.

"Where will it be?" said Harry.

"The quidditch stadium is going to be replaced with the maze."

Cedric and Harry jerked back at the answer. "They are going to uproot the stadium?" asked Cedric.

"Yes," affirmed Quinn, "that's why I made you guys play that one game during the snowfall. . . . I have to conclude the quidditch tournament the coming week as it takes time to dismantle the stadium and then. . . . build the maze." He had to take a pause as he almost gave out the maze was made from plants.

"Moving on, in the first two tasks, all of you were given points," he continued, "those points came in play right now. The earned points will be summed up and used to decide the order in which you four go inside the maze; of course, there will be intervals between each entry."

The four champions glanced at each other — all four knew their own point total and knew what the other three got, and from that, they were able to calculate the order.

"Harry Potter goes first as his sum total comfortably puts him at the top. The second entry is for Victor Krum," said Quinn and gazed at Fleur, "your performance in the second task really hurt your sum total; as such, you get the third place. Finally, Cedric Diggory goes last in the line."

"But don't feel disheartened," continued Quinn, "it's a maze with beasts randomly placed across it. You never know what might one encounter — Harry might encounter one beast after another while Diggory might have smooth sailing to the end. While this task grants advantages and disadvantages, with a little luck, it can be the equalizer that might level the field."

Krum leaned back into his chair and opened his mouth for the first time, "Is. . . . fighting allowed between champions?"

Quinn smiled in response, "Yes, it's allowed. As long as the spells aren't lethal, you all will be allowed to engage each other in combat. Stunning your competition will be the best outcome you can ask for."

"They made us face dragons, but now they keep our spells non-lethal?" scoffed Fleur.

"What can I say," shrugged Quinn, "champion killing champion isn't good for the radio program and next-day articles. That's why please make sure all of you have a level of kiddy gloves on. Other than that, you can get as creative and colorful as you can and want to be."

" " " "Is flying allowed?" " " "

At once, the four champions asked the same question.

"First of all, don't give your potential strategy away," said Quinn shaking his head, "now, to answer your question, no, flying isn't allowed — the maze becomes redundant otherwise."

The four seemed disappointed, and as much as three quidditch players on brooms and a Veela in her avian form sounded fun, it wasn't going to happen.

"Very well, if you haven't got any questions, please leave. . . . I have a lot of work to do," said Quinn, waving them away — there was another ledger open on his table.

The champions stood up; they didn't want to intrude as Quinn did really look busy — all champions except one.

"Yes, Mr. Krum?"

"Could I have a word?"

"Of course, what is it?"

"Alone. . . . I don't want to be overheard."

Quinn looked at the three standing champions who were curious, but under Quinn's gaze, they shuffled out, leaving Quinn and Krum alone.

"Now then, do say."

"I want to know," said Krum, glowering, "what is there between you and Daphne."

Quinn, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.

"Nothing," he replied. But Krum was still glowering. "We're friends — close friends. I have known Daphne for a while. . . . what makes you think there's something going on between Daphne and me?"

"Daphne talks about you very often."

"Yeah, as I said, we're friends."

"You have never . . . you have not . . ."

"It's none of your business," said Quinn firmly, "if you want to know more, then go ask Daphne instead of coming to me."

Krum didn't look satisfied with the answer and got up, giving Quinn a lingering stare before leaving without saying another word. Quinn stared at the door through which Krum exited for a while and sighed before getting back to work.

"Yeah, right, he isn't good enough for her."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Hermione looked at her best friend with healthy energy in her body as the clock struck six and a half in the morning. "Don't be like that. It's good to wake up early in the morning once in a while."

Ivy turned her half-lidded eyes with a sleepy-irritated gaze towards Hermoine. "There's nothing good about this. . . . not a single thing. There is still time, you know? We're still relatively near the common room — how about we go back and return to sleep. . . . Second sleeps are supposed to be very good."

"Studies say that waking up early in the morning is good for your health," said Hermione, stating a fact, "even magic is affected by waking up in the morning. If one wakes up early in the morning, the rate of magic regeneration increases; though it takes a couple months to get that benefit. . . . so how about it; should we make this a daily thing."

"Over my sleeping body, we will." The redhead wasn't a morning person.

The girls exited the castle and arrived in the green meadows of Hogwarts. A cool morning breeze caressed their faces, paired with the not so bright sun overhead and the lush greens below. . . .

"Hmm, it's not half bad," said Ivy.

"So, every day?"

"Still a no on that front."

The girls had no specific plans, so they started to walk in the green, chatting about the upcoming day and the trivial things that came to their minds.

". . . . so I had to charm Ron's things with a stinging spell so that if he got up before doing his homework to play, he would be stung if he touched any of his belongings." Hermione narrated the latest entry in the list of methods to make Ron do his homework when she noticed Ivy had stopped walking.

"What happened?" she asked.

When Ivy didn't reply, Hermione followed Ivy's line of sight.

"Is that Quinn?" asked Hermione, seeing the familiar figure, "what is he doing?"

The fifth-year Ravenclaw boy was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and black shorts with running shoes on his feet. And instead of exercising as his attire portrayed, Quinn was standing still.

"He is," Hermione followed Quinn's line of sight and saw, "staring at a crow?"

The girls watched as Quinn continued to stare unblinkingly at the crow, which was resting on the ground, looking for food in the trimmed grass. He didn't even notice them as they walked towards him.

"Quinn?" called out Ivy.

Quinn jolted out his staring trance, almost jumped out of his shoes when he heard his name being called so close to him.

"Ivy, Hermione," he started, seeing the two Gryffindors, "what are you two doing here," he put a hand in his pocket and took out a pocket watch as he continued, "what's the time? Hmm? It's only fifteen to seven. Thank god, I thought I was late."

"What were you doing staring at that crow?" asked Ivy.

Quinn glanced at the bird for a second before returning, "It's not a crow. It's a raven. As for the reason — she's really black."

". . . .What?"

"The raven," he repeated, "it's really black, and I guess I kind of got lost staring at her."

"Her?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Quinn tilting his head, "can't you tell? That bird is clearly a girl."

Ivy and Hermione studied the black raven, and they couldn't tell that the bird was a female from any angle.

"Anyway, forget about the raven," said Quinn with his hands on his waist, "what brings you two hear this early in the morning?"

"Oh, we decided to enjoy early mornings today, take a walk, and start the day earlier than usual," said Hermione.

"Did you know that waking up early in the morning does wonder to the rate of magic regeneration?" said Quinn sharing one of the reasons he got up early every day.

Hermione turned to Ivy and gave her best friend a smug look. Ivy's face twitched once before she decided to pretend to ignore the topic.

"What about you," asked Ivy, "why are you here so early in the morning?"

"This is a part of my daily routine. I wake up at six every day and start my day with some exercise. It helps me shed the sleepiness and gets me ready for the day."

Hermione nodded, "I see —"

Hermione watched as a figure came running out of the corner, sprinting at full speed with long strides and arm swinging wildly at his sides. He came blitzing towards them as he passed by; the three heard, "$#*@%! —QUINN! $#*@%!"

"That was Eddie Carmichael. What's he doing?"

Quinn chuckled and peered at the sprinting Eddie, "You missed it, huh. Wait about a minute, he will come back, and you will see."

"Missed what?" asked Ivy.

As Quinn said, after a minute, Eddie came back, but this time was lightly jogging instead of running like a madman. Strangely, he didn't stop and started to jog circles around them.

"The good Potter and Granger," he said calmly as if he hadn't run past them hurling profanities, "what are you two doing here?"

Ivy nodded appreciatively at being called the good Potter even though she knew it was because Eddie didn't get along with her brother.

"What are YOU doing?" asked Hermione as Eddie continued jogging around them, but then she saw a golden glint following behind him. "Is that a snitch?"

"Yeah, it's the shitty snitch," spat Eddie, sending a glare towards Quinn.

"What?" said Quinn, "you were the one who asked to help you gain the edge against Krum. I'm just helping you."

Eddie clicked his tongue but didn't retort — he did ask for this.

"Why is the snitch following him?" asked Ivy.

"Ah, that's actually part of his new training," answered Quinn, feeling like a new-age coach, "that's a standard snitch which I've modified to follow instead of running away. As you can see, I've also cut most of its speed, so Eddie can actually run away from it — you don't want to get caught by that snitch."

"What happens if you get caught?"

"You get a very creepy zap which carries throughout your body," said Eddie interjecting, "it doesn't hurt, but it's really unpleasant. . . . believe me, it feels really irksome." His body shivered, feeling the phantom feeling.

"As he said," continued Quinn, "it's just a basic carrot and stick policy—"

"There's no carrot!" yelled Eddie.

"— It gives him the motivation to keep running," said Quinn, "of course, as he can't keep running, it slows down at specific intervals."

"I can do it without this behind my back!"

"Don't kid yourself. You don't like to run; this is the only way to get your lazy arse running. Sometimes I'm worried if you'll be able to keep up without me pushing you."

"Don't act like—" started Eddie, but then he heard a beeping sound and immediately sprinted off to the distance with the snitch picking up speed.

Quinn turned to them and smiled as he offered, "Do you want to exercise with me? I can guarantee it will be a productive experience."

Ivy and Hermione shared glances.

"No, thank you."

The raven behind them spread her wings and silently took flight, rising above the blue sky and joining two other ravens in their flight as the three flew in circles in the sky around the boy below on the ground.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn removed his outer Hogwarts robes, folding it before setting it to the side on a barstool. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, "to be honest, it's not a fair competition."

"Yes, I'm sure," answered Cedric, stretching his body, "about it being a fair competition, we will see about that."

Quinn laughed and took out his fake wand, holding it in hand with a lazy grip.

Given that the third task was so close, Cedric had booked a thirty-minute slot in Quinn's schedule to have a mock duel with him to practice for the third task.

"Alright then," smiled Quinn at the confidence, "tell me when you're ready."

"I'm ready," replied Cedric, folding his sleeves with his wand in hand.

Both duelers took their stance, with Cedric holding his wand in front of him with a severe expression while Quinn sported a relaxed expression with his wand hanging by his side.

Quinn raised his left hand and showed a silver sickle pinched between his finger. "I will toss this sickle, and the moment we hear the sound of it hitting the ground will be the signal to start."

Cedric nodded, and the coin was tossed up. While it was in the air, the two matched eyes, and Cedric saw a smile in Quinn's eyes. His peripheral vision caught the silver glint of the sickle, and his eyes subconsciously followed the coin. Clink, clink, clink. . . . the coin hit the ground, and Cedric immediately charged magic while his eyes moved towards Quinn.

"Huh?" uttered Cedric. He saw a glowing wand tip pointed at him — in the moment he had removed his eyes from Quinn, he(Quinn) had raised his wand to him(Cedric.)

A spell zapped towards Cedric, and he had just enough time to pull up a shield, "Shit!" The attack hit the protection and fizzled away. But Cedric's worries weren't alone, as Quinn was already on the verge of casting his second spell.

"You need to be quick," Quinn's voice hit Cedric's ears as he saw another red zapping towards him, which slammed hard against his shield, thoroughly damaging it, breaking its structural integrity.

Cedric pushed more magic into the shield, trying to make it stronger, but then two spells once again assaulted the shield.

"You can't hide behind a shield," Cedric heard Quinn, "you have to go on attack sometime; train to strike first."

Cedric step-shifted to his left and immediately shot a spell towards Quinn, who swatted the spell away with a smile.

"Most of the time, it's a game of speed," said Quinn and started to walk while continuing to swat and block Cedric's spell. "striking first always helps. Hit them before they get a chance to hit you."

Cedric, who had been offense and was in the midst of casting for a knockback hex on Quinn, abruptly had to cancel the spell when he saw a knockback hex jolting towards him.

"Oof!" despite his best efforts, Cedric wasn't completely able to deflect the spell and had to take a partial knockback hex to the arm, making it numb immediately.

Just when Cedric thought that the current volley was over, he saw another knockback hex appear, and this time, he felt a huge lung emptying grunt as he felt a chain of glint in his eye.

"One spell isn't enough. To make sure your target is hit, cast two spells and get ready for anything required for the solutions."

Cedric laid fat on the ground and saw Quinn walk into the edge of his vision.

"How are you," asked Quinn.

"I got a bad start," said Cedric, "next time, I won't lose."

Quinn pulled Cedric up and laughed, "We will see about that."

And they did see. Till the end of the allotted time, Quinn disarmed, knocked, stunned in twenty duels. And not once did Quinn come into contact with any spell from Cedric.

As Quinn had said, the exchange wasn't fair.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - I'm busy!

Victor Krum - Champion - Or maybe he hasn't given up.

Eddie Carmichael - Ravenclaw Chaser - Being put through unorthodox training.

Ivy Potter - Potter Twin - Not a morning person.

Hermione Granger - Knows facts about anything she does - She knows her stuff.

Cedric Diggory - Champion - Got his ass-whooped. . . a lot.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Sleepy, yawn.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . ..

Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . .

The quidditch stadium was filled to the brim, and then some with Hogwarts students and outsiders — the entire crowd was dressed in the colors of red--pewter and black--green; the two groups of colors dominated the stands, diving the stadium right into two associations.

Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . . the sounds of drums from the red--pewter side as the supporters of Treacherous Barons roused up the stands with huge drums strategically placed around their side with students sounding them in perfect, rhythmic coordination.

Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . . countering the drums were loud boom from large, shiny-black, smoking cannons, firing blanks at regular intervals for the rilled-up, rowdy crowd sporting Trolling Boogey's black--green who were waving black flags with neon-green trolls dancing on them.

Quinn watched the ambiance of the stands from the sky above and outside of the stadium while sitting on a broom. Taking in things for one last time before he had to go in and host his quidditch tournament one last time. It had been a long few months since the start of the tournament. Week after week, Quinn had come across a new problem that he solved and, in doing so, enjoyed/hated the process of organizing something of this scale.

"One last time," he sighed with a slight smile on his face, "ah, this time went by too quickly — should've enjoyed it a bit more." Quinn shook his head before breathing out — he was ready.

He steered his broom and entered the stadium, flying into the center of everything. Quinn raised a hand, and the cannons stopped shooting blanks, also the drums stopped beating.

"Welcome all," he said, his voice sounding far and wide, "welcome to the finals of the best quidditch tournament the world had ever seen. Through the journey past seventeen weeks, we have seen everything — blowouts, last-minute stands, amazing goals, ever-amazing saves, crazy snitch races, and so many exciting things that made me get up from my seat and constantly be on edge. . . . I swear some of the games weren't good for my health — I definitely lost a few years of my life since the start of the tournament."

As he spoke, Quinn had a genuine smile on his face as he recalled all the times he had gone beyond enjoying hosting and got swept by excitement while watching amazing plays — sports tend to have that effect on people, and Quinn was no different.

"Today is the last day I'll have the pleasure of hosting all of you people," he smiled, "the last day that we will get to experience a format of quidditch which inspires excitement and thrill — focusing on providing the maximum entertainment possible per every second of the game."

Slowly he descended down on the ground and took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the limit.

"So! Let's make this one more special than ever! Raise those voices! Let everyone hear that this is the place to be! Let them hear what they're missing! Let's make some noise and get this party started!"

And oh boy, they did make some noise! They made a lot of noise.

Quinn raised his hands wide, and fireworks shot from the edges of the stadium, and the student volunteers flew above the stadium in intricate formations shooting smoke trails behind them.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

The inside the Trolling Boogeys locker room was quiet, which was strange for them.

The keeper looked to the center of the room before nudging Cedric, who was checking doing a final check on his equipment. "Do you know what's wrong with him? He's never this quiet — ever, especially before a game."

Cedric glanced to the room's center, where Eddie sat with his head down and shook his head, "I don't know — we can always ask him, but it looks like he's concentrating, so let him be."

Suddenly, Eddie stood up, and everyone twitched, thinking that he would finally return start and return to give speeches aimed to inspire them, but Eddie didn't speak up and started to perform the last check on his equipment.

"There's definitely something different about him today."

Cedric studied the silent Eddie and smiled, "Yes, there's something different about him today. . ." 'He's already in his game mode,' he thought.

. . .

The ambiance in Treacherous Barons's locker was militant — matching the leading style of the captain, Victor Krum.

"Our playstyle is opposite to that of Boogeys'," said Krum, addressing his team, "unlike them, we're a defensive team with me trying to get the snitches for our team for scores and the chaser squad working on counters and interceptions."

It was a playstyle from the Bulgarian team that Krum had adjusted for the current team. It heavily depended on the beaters hindering the chasers and chasers constantly on the lookout for pass steals. More importantly, Krum had to get multiple snitches for the team to win because, unlike the pro-format, format-Quinn only gave fifty points per snitch.

Krum looked at the beaters and instructed, "Focus on Eddie Carmichael. You have to make sure he doesn't fly comfortably around the pitch; don't give him any space to move. Allowing Eddie Carmichael freedom can and will make things a little too tight to my liking."

The beaters nodded and glanced at each other. If Krum had said the same thing to them at the start of the tournament, they would have raised their hand in thumbs up and given a guarantee that Eddie wouldn't get the chance to get in the rhythm, but right now, things had changed — Eddie Carmichael was THE threat on Trolling Boogeys — he was a super scorer who consistently matched what team seekers snitched together.

"I will take care of Cedric Diggory, so make sure everyone does their job. If everyone does their job, we will definitely win."

"Yes!"

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn sat down in his commentator chair and beamed, feeling the similar metal railing in front of him and the scoreboard that hung on the opposite side of the stadium.

He glanced back and greeted his constant companions, accompanying him every week during the games. "Oh, my, professors — all of you look sharp today."

For the last day, the professors had decided to put on their freshest robes. The tournament had grown so big that it had long since surpassed in popularity of the Tri-wizard tournament. Outsiders could come to the games on a weekly basis, which granted it greater visibility, and with a well-established betting system in place, the popularity only increased more.

"Well, I hope all of you have placed your bets; the money in play today surpasses every other game by great margins," continued Quinn, "it's a pity that I can't bet — it would've been fun to take part in the festivity."

The professors stared at Quinn as if he was joking. All the profit that the "house" made went directly to Quinn as he was the "house." It was his money that started the betting system, and every knut of the profit went into Quinn's pocket. They could only imagine how much money Quinn had made from the quidditch tournament.

If someone asked Quinn, he would pull on a fat smile and reply with, "A lot of money," while patting his stomach as if have eaten a sumptuous meal, "enough to fill so many bathtubs."

"Now, let's get started!" grinned Quinn with the sonorous took effect, "let the finals begin — hold on to your seats, people, because things are going to fly."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"Yeah! Go, Eddie!" yelled Tracey. She was wearing a black--green jersey with Eddie's name on the back and had put cute little greens strips on her cheeks.

She looked and her side and urged, "Come on, Daphne. Wave that flag with some enthusiasm. We have to support Eddie to the best of our ability."

Daphne stared at the flag in her hand, "It's really heavy."

"Choose better excuses," pouted Tracey, "lighten it up with a spell and get your hands moving," she then smirked, "or maybe it's because Krum is playing and he was your date. . . . ufufu."

The words irked Daphne — Tracey knew that she liked Quinn, and yet she was teasing her. But it worked as she lightened up her flag and started to wave it gently.

'Hehe, I knew that would work,' chuckled Tracey in her mind. Daphne had been very annoyed by people pairing her with Krum, and Tracey knew to employ that to her advantage. "Yeah, let's make some noise!"

. . .

"You don't look happy at all," commented Ron looking at his best friend.

Harry had crossed his hands and grumbled, "I want to play. Cedric and Krum are playing —"

"You missed Carmichael."

"Why would I care what he does," Harry clicked his tongue, "he can die in a ditch for all I care."

"Don't be a sore loser; it's unsightly," said Ivy, wearing green--black colors as Trolling Boogeys was a "Hogwarts" team.

"Like you get to talk," Harry quipped back, "I had seen enough of you being a sore loser when we were little."

Ivy glared at her twin. It wasn't her fault that Daphne tried to do whatever she did; her trying to one-up her was only normal. . . . Yeah, it wasn't her fault, she thought.

"Okay, stop it," the sane voice of the group raised her voice to stop the fighting. Hermione gave them all a look saying that she wasn't in the mood to deal with a squabble, "let's just enjoy the game — it's the last game of this year, we won't be able to see any more games after today."

Harry sighed and nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course, I am," said Hermione, "also enjoy the game because we're going back to the library after this to study for the third task."

"Ugh," groaned Harry. He had been spending a lot of time in the library ever since the task had been revealed.

Ivy nodded and added to Hermione, "Yes, after that, we'll be practicing the spells. So be ready to get started right after Hermione is done with you."

While Harry was okay with practicing spells, he was always mentally tired after sessions with Hermione. He knew that the task was close, but he really wanted some break.

He sighed and decided to follow their advice and relax with the game in front of him. "If Carmichael doesn't score any points, then it would be perfect."

"That's unlikely to happen."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

The game was a heated one. Both teams went against each other with a heated passion. And because one of the teams was a pro-defensive team, the numbers on the scoreboard were low. But despite all that, the game was a nail-bitter and throat-soaring affair as there was a constant back-and-forth between the two teams.

"I must say," Quinn's voice blared, "the game between these two teams might be perfect as the finals. . . . the tournament started with these two teams, and now we have come full circle and ending with these two teams. It's like a journey on display in front of us — I can see how the teams have changed from week one — the progress they have made through all the weeks, all the adjustments, improvements, and the built synergy is one display in front of us."

"Ah, how about what we hear from someone who knows much more about quidditch than me," said Quinn, before turning and pointing his fake wand as it was a microphone, "professor McGonagall, what do you think about the current game?"

McGonagall blinked for a couple of seconds before taking her own wand to cast a Sonorous on herself,

"Ahem, I completely agree with your words here, Quinn. Quidditch is indeed like a journey. I would even go as far as to say that it's akin to life itself. A team is formed — it's a birth. Teams go through their ups and downs just like a person in the form of wins and losses and learn from those lessons like any other person would from their life experience. Finally, today after this game, the teams would disband, which might be compared to death. . . . of course, to a well-prepared mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Quinn smiled at the quote at the end, and so did those who had heard it from the original speaker himself.

"But maybe it's not akin to death. They will be taking precious memories with them and carry them with them for a long-long time," she smiled, "to me, it's one of the most beautiful things in life."

Quinn smiled in return and nodded, "Those were some beautiful and insightful words, professor. Though as you said, comparing team disbandment with death—"

He stopped when he saw the widening of eyes on the professors' faces as an expression of shock and what he identified as horror spread on their faces. Then he heard a collective gasp from the stands and restless chatter.

Quinn turned back just in time to see a broom crash into the ground, and the rider skid across the green pitch violently. The force was so harsh that the green grass was pulled out on impact, with the brown dirt beneath showing.

It wasn't a usual crash that happened time from time during games. This was severe. . . . this was dangerous.

". . . . E-Eddie."

The professors all got up as this was a serious matter and were about to take action when they heard the metal railing of the booth groan loudly. As if it was being forced to bend.

"Quinn!" At the sound of his name, Quinn turned and saw Flitwick staring at him with serious eyes. "Please, control yourself!"

Quinn frowned and realized that his magic had gotten out of his control. He heard the groaning metal and turned to see the metal railing being brutally bent out of shape.

He took a deep breath and got his magic back under his control, and bowed his head to the professors, "My apologies. I lost my calm for a moment, and my emotions triggered accidental magic."

Quinn looked at McGonagall and addressed her, "Professor McGonagall, please take over the commentary. I have to go. . . ."

"Eh, Mr. West, I understand your worries, but you don't have to—"

"I can't do it right now, professor. . . . not right now. I will do a terrible job if I'm to return to commentary, so please take over."

McGonagall stared at Quinn, but the boy had already turned away from her and was staring at the field. "Alright, Mr. West," she said, "I will take care of you. . . . so, you can go."

"Thank you, professor."

Then Quinn left.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn didn't mind pushing his all into body magic, pushing his speed to the limit as he ran through Hogwarts and entered the hospital wing. Right now, he couldn't give a rat's ass if someone saw him running at speeds at the peak of human level.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled.

The response was prompt and stern, "Don't yell, this a hospital!"

"How is he?" asked Quinn as he made his way towards the sound.

". . . . Cracked skull, shattered shoulders, broken ribs, punctured organs. . . . his knee caps and ankles busted from impact, he's injured all over. . . and. . . he has lost a lot of blood."

He reached the bed and found that it was completely covered. "I want to help."

"You stay out there," sounded Poppy, "I don't need your help. You can sit there and wait. He'll be fine, I promise."

Quinn clenched his fists and obeyed — he stayed out but didn't move from his spot.

"Eddie!"

Quinn turned to see a haggard Marcus at the entrance of the hospital wing. He was wheezing and sweating all over. Even though his lungs hurt, Marcus hurried towards Quinn and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"How is he?!"

"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine. She's treating him."

"He—"

"He'll be fine," assured Quinn to Marcus and himself.

"O-Okay," said Marcus and left Quinn's shoulders. Just like Quinn, he also stood there.

Another set of footsteps sounded, and Luna ran into the hospital wing. The girl with a usually perpetual dreamy expression looked scared as she stared at Quinn and Marcus.

"E-Eddie," she spoke, her voice cracking, "E-Eddie."

Quinn patted Marcus and told him to sit down as he went to handle Luna. He hugged the little girl and helped her calm down by speaking words of assurance into her ears.

The next to arrive were Tracey and Daphne, and both looked extremely worried — especially Tracey, who looked the most stressed anyone here had seen the brunette.

The group waited silently waited with a thick tension and worry in the room. No one made a sound or talked to each other as they waited for Madam Pomfrey to come out.

And when the medi-witch did come out, all of them surrounded her.

"How is he?" asked Quinn, his voice bordering at shouting levels.

Poppy stared at the students in front of her and smiled, "He will be fine. It will take him some time to wake up, but he will be up by tomorrow."

Quinn let out a breath of worry and squinted his eye as he felt the distress leave his body.

"Thank you," he said and repeated, "thank you."

"Thank you," he said once again.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - "Thank you. . . ."

Eddie Carmichael - Injured - In a coma.

Poppy Pomfrey - Medi-witch - 'Having good friends is a blessing.'

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Uhmnngh."

Eddie slowly opened his eyes, letting the dim light enter his eyes. His heartbeat fastened when he couldn't see properly as everything was blurred, but before the panic could set in, his vision cleared, and he could see the white ceiling in his sight..

"Nmuhmnghumn," his throat was really parched, and he could feel it hurt if he even gulped a little too hard.

"You're finally awake, huh, you little—," he heard with a sigh at the end.

Eddie slowly turned his head to the side to see Quinn sitting there with a book in his hands. Eddie didn't say anything but took in the sight of his best friend.

". . . . You look terrible," said Eddie in a voice too quiet for him.

The Quinn West, he knew, was meticulous in most of the things he did, especially in the way he dressed. But right now, Eddie could see ever so little out-of-place hair, a shirt that wasn't ironed, tie out of place, and with half the shirt not tucked into the pants.

"You look like you lost control of a broom at high speed and crashed hard into the ground," said Quinn.

Eddie weakly smiled and laughed just to fall into a coughing fit. . . . "Ah, so that happened, huh. I do remember being clashing with the beaters and then taking a bludger into the back. . . ."

"You lost control," said Quinn, snapping his book close, "you were too aggressive — no, you were plain reckless. There's a reason why chasers work in a three-man squad."

"Hmm," said Eddie, avoiding commenting on the subject, "how long was I out?"

"It's been thirty hours since your crash."

"Did we win?"

Quinn silently stared at Eddie for a good few moments before sighing in answer, "Barons won. They say it was a blowout."

"They?"

". . . . I wasn't at the game."

"Ah — you were here, huh. . . . It must be serious."

"It was and wasn't — you could've died on the spot, but because you held on, Madam Pomfrey was able to patch you up. It was either all or nothing."

Eddie laughed into another coughing fit, "Ah, it hurts. . . . of course, I held on — my life is too precious for me to let go of it."

Quinn smiled just a bit, staring at Eddie. "You look like a mummy with the bandages all over you."

"Hmm, I'm sure rocking this look. . . . also, I've been coughing here for a while, why are you just sitting here, can you call Madam Pomfrey? My throat is really hurting."

"You will be fine," said Quinn, "you slept with your mouth open." He took waved his hand, and Eddie felt a soothing feeling in his throat. "I'll give you a potion later; that will fix you up completely."

Eddie stared at Quinn's empty hand and smiled before going back to staring at the ceiling. "When do I get out of here?"

"You'll be back to normal in three to four days. Madam Pomfrey will discharge you out of here in a week."

Eddie groaned at the thought of staying in the hospital wing for a week under the vigilant eye of prison warden Pomfrey.

"You should rest; you really look like shit," said Eddie, "I'll be fine and go back to the dorm to get some sleep."

"I'll be fine—"

"You're too ugly for me to look at, so you should go."

Quinn faulted for a second at the blatant disrespect even though he had just spent an entire day by the bedside.

"I will inform Madam Pomfrey; she'll perform a check-up," said Quinn getting up with a sigh, "Marcus will be coming next to keep you company."

"He doesn't have to do that."

"He doesn't have to, but he wants to, so don't complain and just lay there. If we leave you alone, you'll get bored out of your mind and try to do something stupid."

"Even I can behave, you know?!"

"Sure, you can."

With that, Quinn left, leaving Eddie alone for the first time since his accident. Eddie sighed and stared intently at the ceiling, glared at the ceiling, trying to hold it back, but he couldn't.

"Fuck, we lost. . . . and I wasn't even there. . . . fuck. . . lost."

Poppy entered the curtained-off bed and saw that her patient had red eyes, trembling lower lip and chin as if holding something back.

"Are you crying?" she asked.

"No! You're crying!"

"What?" she uttered before moving closer while thinking if Eddie had hit his head a little too hard.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"Sorry to keep all of you waiting," said Quinn sitting down behind his desk in the AID office. It was a few hours after he had left the hospital wing, and he had freshened up and was back to his usual self.

He looked up at the six people in front of him and smiled, "To start this off, I would like to thank all of you for all the hard work that you did for the past few months. It was because of your constant efforts that our quidditch tournament became as big of a thing as it did and proceeded as smoothly it did."

Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Fred, and Geroge Weasley sat in front of Quinn, the students Quinn had hired to help him with the tournament.

"Ms. Bones and Ms. Abbot," said Quinn to the Hufflepuff group in the room, "your efforts in maintaining the sales of merchandise were a great help to the tournament. The sales were more than enough to cover all the day-to-day costs needed to run the tournament. Your performance was outstanding, and the fact that you handled everything on your own for most of the time showed how capable you were. . . . please extend my gratitude to the students working under you."

The two Hufflepuff girls smiled and nodded in appreciation. While the work had been tough, they had a lot of fun after getting used to it — over that, their popularity and status in Hogwarts had taken a jump.

"Now, Daphne and Tracey," said Quinn to the Slytherin group in the room, "how do I even start. . . . if you two weren't part of this — I'm pretty sure I would've been big, big trouble. The amount of work you guys put in was tremendous. Daphne, you were in contact with ten teams which were seventy people — the number of problems you solved for me was life-saving. And, Tracey, your job was even tougher — the number of unsavory letters you got really made me realize the number of shitty people out there; thank you for handling everything so well."

Daphne gracefully nodded while Tracey beamed with pride. Both of their jobs were pretty time-consuming, and now with hindsight, Quinn would've contracted more people for the job the two Slytherin did alone.

"To thank you for all that time you devoted week after week, I would like to thank you with a reward for your hard work," he said and levitated four rectangle coupons of parchment into the hands of the girls.

"What is this??" asked Hannah.

"In your hands are all-you-can-buy coupons for Madam Touswade's at Horizont Alley."

" " " "Madam Touswade!!" " " " All four girls in the room exclaimed at the same time. It was the premier store for woman's fashion in the country, and having an all-you-can-buy coupon was

"Uh-huh," smiled Quinn, "you can avail any service from there, and they will send the bill to me. You don't have to feel shy so go nuts if you feel like it. The coupon is good till you another three years; as such, you don't have to go right now and can use the coupon when you actually need it."

The girls stared at the ornately printed coupons in their hands with amazement.

"Well, I hope you like it. If you don't, I can always switch it with a hefty amount of coin for you to use."

"No, thank you," replied Susan while the other girls nodded.

Quinn looked at the Weasly twins and just smiled at the Gryffindor group in the room. He wordlessly took out one stack of parchment and one of paper before handing it to the twin brothers.

The brothers stared at Quinn, then at each other, before reading their respective stacks. For a couple of pages, the twins nodded and continued to read, and at a certain page, their eyes widened.

"A-Are you serious?" "I-Is this amount real?!"

"Oh, it's real," smiled Quinn, "I will invest that amount in your shop. From what you have pitched to and I've calculated, the amount I'm promising will keep your shot afloat for a year even if you don't sell a single thing — everything from store rent to research and production can and will be covered by the promised amount."

The twins dumbfoundedly stared at the paper. Not only was the amount immense, but Quinn was only asking a very reasonable volume of share of the shop in return.

"If you flip a few more pages. It also says that I will re-invest my part of profits back into the shop for the first three years to support the growth," said Quinn and leaned ahead with his arms crossed over the table, "so what do you two say? Is this enough of a reward for your services? Am I to look forward to working with you two as part-owner of the future Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Yeah—" "— Absolutely."

"Alright then, read the papers over a couple times and sign the one drafted in parchments and bring it back to me; I'll sign it, and then it will be one West and two Weasleys — three W-s with my W hidden behind you two W-s."

" "O-Okay." "

Quinn pulled back and gazed at the four people and found that all were a little too engrossed in their rewards, so he dismissed them so that they could take it in.

As they left, Quinn called out to Tracey.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Eddie is awake," said Quinn, "you can go see him if you want."

Tracey's eyes widened. She nodded and wordlessly left the room with a bit of hurry in her steps. Her destination had changed from the common room to the hospital wing.

With everyone gone and Quinn left alone in the office, the smile that had been present the entire time he talked to the six members drained away.

There was only one more thing left on the docket for today, it was the most important thing, and he was going to take care of it today itself.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"That was a great party yesterday," said one of the Treacherous Baron's beaters, "those Durmstrang sure know how to party."

"Uh-huh, the amount of firewhiskey they had was insane," said the other beater.

The two beaters were Hogwarts students who were backup beaters for Slytherin as the starting beaters from every Hogwarts house team went with their house captains. As such, the other six teams had to do with backup beaters and then some.

"It was worth it," said the first beater.

"It sure was," the other one agreed, "we sure made a lot of money."

They had a bet a lot of money that Treacherous Barons would win and that Eddie Carmichael would score less than a certain total, and the two had bet on a number that was not statistically probable given Eddie Carmichael's performance — but their bet had come true in the form of Eddie not playing for a large portion of the, and thus they had a made money from outstanding odds.

They reached the dungeon stair as they were going upwards, and when they looked up, they froze.

"I heard you made a lot of money."

The two Slytherin beaters immediately felt their throat dry up and body heat up with cold sweat drip down their backs. Quinn West was sitting on the steps, with his elbows resting on his knees, and was staring at them with half-lidded eyes.

"Money is a great temptation," he said, "it incites greed, and believe me when I say that I know what greed feels like," the hollow look in Quinn's eyes scared the Slytherin beaters, "and I know what you felt when you decided to give in to the greed. . . . it was so simple, wasn't it? One night after supper, you were enjoying that stashed away firewhiskey and how it's your last year and were talking about what to do after — how it would be great to travel for a bit and only if you guys had the money."

The two started to tremble in their shoes as Quinn spoke in a flat tone. Everyone knew that Quinn West and Eddie Carmichael were as close as brothers, and right now, they were face-to-face with Quinn West.

"Then it struck like the Eureka! You were sitting on coin multiplying well, so you decided to place bets on the final game — the game in which you were playing and could. . . . manipulate it," they saw Quinn stand up and climb down, "it's just that you went a little far in that manipulation — you gave a little too much into greed and let it take control over it."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, m-mate."

"West, look, we don't have this."

"Yeah, mate. It was just an accident."

"The crash had nothing to do with us."

Quinn reached the last step, and a deep voice came from him, "I never said that you did." His hands went up and grabbed their temples with a loud snap; he gripped so hard that veins popped out from his arms.

"W-What are you—"

"S-Stop — Stop!"

They tried to protest, but before they could do anything more, their eyes rolled up, and the two guys went soundless. Their bodies remained stiff, and they remained standing, but their minds had been made to disable a lot of its functionality — namely conscious thought.

Quinn stared at the two as his magic entered their bodies, "I'm going to exact some revenge, okay?"

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

Quinn sat near the edge of the great lake, looking over the calm surface of the water. Coincidentally, the spot he sat on was the same he had laid injured from the Aquatic vault, trying to heal himself while dementors descended above from above. He looked to the side at the trees where he had seen his past self heal himself and cast a Patronus for protection.

Quinn had exacted revenge on the two beaters, as he stated.

Now, whenever they would hear or spoke the word quidditch, they would violently hurl out their stomach contents and shit from behind without warning. Quinn cursed them such that while they would be fine till the end of this school year, but the second they graduated, the curse would take hold of them.

"Good luck traveling or going out at all or talking to anyone," he said with no regret. Of course, he had erased their memories of the incident, erasing any evidence from him.

Quinn sighed and rubbed his temple. He originally wanted to inflict the same injuries that Eddie suffered back on them by beating to an inch of their life, but his self-control decided against it and just went something that would haunt them for a very long time.

'Was my betting the reason. . . .' thought Quinn, before shaking that thought off. He didn't want to go into the direction.

Flutter, Flutter. . . . a raven landed right now in front of him.

"A raven," said Quinn, "what's the deal with these ravens? I've been seeing so many of them these days. Is there a season or something, I don't know about?"

Flutter. . . . Quinn heard another flutter of wings and saw another raven land to his side.

Then another one landed.

"Huh."

One after another, ravens started descending from the sky, landing on the ground and the trees to his side. He looked up and saw a murder of ravens flying above him.

Quinn hurriedly stood up, and even though he knew this was an abnormal situation and something was off, he couldn't remove his eyes from the sky. The murder of ravens that flew above his head was flying in a circle — a ring — and from through the center of that raven ring, Quinn could see the half-moon hanging in the sky.

A blood half-moon.

Beat, beat, beat. . . . Quinn's hand went over his chest, and he could feel his heartbeat faster with no fault of his own.

'What?'

Quinn looked down at his hands, and he could feel the magic inside his move. He wasn't doing anything, yet his magic moved on his.

'Something is coming.'

Quinn could feel it from within that something was changing in his body and that he couldn't stop it. What happening to him wasn't the start — it was already the end.

As Quinn was looking at his hands, his eyes caught the first raven that had landed right in front of him. The human's stone-grey eyes met with the raven's pitch black as the bird and human stared at each other.

Then it happened.

The ravens from all around him spread their wings and flew towards and formed a dome of flying black around him, layers upon layers of birds of death covered Quinn.

There was a sharp pulsating burst of white light from within the black dome before it died down. When the ravens flew away, what remained wasn't a human but a raven standing on the ground.

The raven was the biggest a raven could be, and if you looked closer, the pitch-black feathers had a purple sheen to them under a certain light. The last thing that made this raven different was the eyes — they weren't black, but a deep stone-grey color.

The raven spread its wings, raised its claws, cawed loudly, and pecked the ground before going still. Suddenly, the raven twisted and turned at wild, unnatural angles, and not long after, a human was standing in its place.

Quinn stared at his hands in shock, surprised, and a whole bunch of emotions flashed on his face.

"Holy shit! Holy Shit!! HOLY SHIT!!!"

Quinn West was an Animagus.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - Anger Investor - Caw! Caw! Caw!

Eddie Carmichael - Mummified - I'm not crying! *Sniff*

George and Fred - Weasley twins - Just secured funding.

Four Girls - Hufflepuff and Slytherin - There's shopping in the future.

Slytherin Beaters - Cursed - Future seems tough for them.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - It was an internal Hogwarts conspiracy.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"This isn't a runic circle!" yelled Quinn, pointing at the marble stratum, "this is a fuc—," his voice went high-pitched, "this is a ritual — a runic ritual!"

What was a ritual? Ritual magic was an esoteric form of magic that delved into the deep mysteries of arcana. The works included in ritual magic were characterized by ceremony and numerous requisite accessories to aid the practitioner. It can be seen as an extension of ceremonial magic and synonymous with it in most cases.. Popularized by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, it draws on such schools of philosophical and occult thought as Hermetic Qabalah, Enochian magic, Thelema, and the magic of various grimoires.

Ritual magic came in many forms — potions, alchemy, astrology, sacrificial, and in this case, runic.

The practice of ritual magic often required tools made or explicitly consecrated for that use, which were necessary for a particular ritual or series of rituals. They were a symbolic representation of psychological elements of the magical or of metaphysical concepts.

It just so happened the "tool" for this particular ritual was the entire marble platform and the nine layers of rune etched into the stone — the runes that Quinn had himself fixed with so much enthusiasm.

"Damn it!" he cursed. Quinn wanted to pound the marble into shatters but didn't — it had taken a lot of time to fix it.

"Calm down, calm down," he breathed, reigning his anger, "it's okay, it's fine. . . . it's just unlocked my animagus form. . . . it's all good."

But he groaned and squatted down, his head hanging down. If he knew that this was a ritual, he would've never activated it — at most, he would have fixed it and showed it to Friar, but other than that, Quinn would've left it alone.

Rituals were a branch of magic that Quinn stayed away from — to be specific, he hadn't studied ritual in any of its forms. . . . yet. Rituals were magic of a permanent kind, which meant once you performed a ritual to add a certain quality to the target, reversing the applied change became extremely difficult.

This was a problem as ritual magic was highly complicated and required a vast array of knowledge to perfect and gain practical competence — in some ways, ritual magic was even more difficult than traditional alchemy. Quinn knew better than anyone that he wasn't ready to perform rituals as he severely lacked esoteric magic knowledge.

And the fact that the animagus ritual that he had just undergone was targeted at himself — a living body, made it even worse as if a permanent change applied to his body went wrong, Quinn would be stuck with it until he found a way to reverse it. This was one thing that Quinn refused to happen to him as he didn't want to compromise the integrity of his body.

The trifecta — mind, body, and soul, were the essence of oneself, and only when they were in balance was a magical able to pull and utilize magic to its full extent. This applied even more to Quinn as he didn't use a wand; as such, he didn't have an external focus to help things along if his trifecta sprung out of balance.

"I can't have them go out of balance, not again."

Yes, Quinn had already experienced his trifecta going out of balance once, and the result was him losing the entirety of his ability to focus and mold magic. The Sin curse had struck through the soul and then thrown a wrench into his mind, making the trifecta deviate from its original balance.

"Ugh, alright, let's not think about it," he groaned before laying down and doing a kip-up to get up, "let's enjoy all the time and effort this saved me."

In the end, the truth was that being part of this ritual had saved quite a bit of effort from his part.

It took skill, practice, and patience for magicals to become Animagi. The process of becoming an animagus was long and arduous and had the potential to backfire and cause the transformation to go horribly wrong. Many magicals simply felt that their time might better be employed in other ways, as the skill was of limited practical use unless one had a great need of disguise or concealment.

Part of the process by which one became an animagus was holding a mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month — a whole month of having a leaf in his mouth while he spoke, drank, ate, and brushed his teeth sound torturous to Quinn — he had tasted a mandrake leaf before, it as far as from minty fresh as heaven was to hell.

The significance of that month was to prepare the leaf to be used in the animagus potion, which required the brewer to recite an incantation (Amato Animo Animato Animagus) daily at very precise times, which were the only time of the day during which the brewer was allowed to tend to the potion.

If done incorrectly, the process was extremely difficult and could result in disaster (such as permanent half-human, half-animal mutations). A magical had to keep a single mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month (from full moon to full moon). If the leaf was removed or swallowed, the witch or wizard would have to start over again.

If, at the time of removing the leaf, which was the next visible full moon, the sky was cloudy, then the progress was ruined, and the magical was required to start over. At the next visible full moon, the wizard had to spit the leaf in a vial within range of the moon's pure rays. To the moon-struck vial, the wizard or witch must add one of their own hairs, a silver teaspoon of dew that had not seen sunlight or been touched by human feet for seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth. The mixture had to then be put in a quiet, dark place and could not be in any way disturbed.

Just this enough was so complicated that even many of those who were determined to attain their animagus form gave up halfway through.

The next thing that had to happen was for the wizard to wait for a lightning storm, whenever that might be. During this waiting period, the magical would have to, at sunrise and sundown without fail, chant the incantation Amato Animo Animato Animagus with the tip of their wand placed over the heart. When, at last, there was a lightning storm, the wizard had to move immediately to a large and secure place, recite the incantation one final time before then drinking the potion.

"Rita Skeeter must really like her job to go through all that effort — total respect," thought Quinn out loud, "so did the Marauders — friendship goals right there."

Quinn, of course, had plans to become an animagus; he was going to start the process during the summer break at home, where he would have the freedom to portkey to a dessert to avoid clouds on the full moon night and similarly go to a rainforest for lightning storms. Outside of school, he could use magic to speak without having to attract eyes and repeated questions.

He rubbed his hand and looked all excited, "Now, let's get to the good part."

Quinn closed his eyes and felt the magic coursing through his body. He pulled on it, molded it, and finally triggered it — it was sudden — Quinn could feel his body change in real-time, being fashioned into another form as magic broke it down and reformed it into a much smaller and distinct shape.

He opened his eyes and saw the ground was really close to his eye level — it was a feeling that he wasn't used to, and if he was being honest, made him feel small — which he currently was. The feeling of not having fingers was another thing that felt odd — it wasn't uncomfortable, just odd.

'As I thought, the ritual did actually add things to the mix.' thought Raven-Quinn.

An Animagus would still think as a human did when they were in their animal form, seeing as Rita Skeeter could eavesdrop on others' conversations when she was in the form of a beetle. However, an Animagus' feelings were not as complex when they were in their animal form. A Dementor's influence on an Animagus in its animal form was weaker than on its human form. But right now, Quinn could feel the full spectrum of his emotions; there were no changes from his base human form.

'Nice,' he felt satisfied; Quinn didn't feel like dulling his emotions, "now, let's get to the main act."

Quinn spread his wings with what he thought was a charming caw and started to flap them.

"Caw, caw," what it meant was, 'Woah, this is uncanny.'

His heart pounded in his bird chest, but strangely he didn't feel scared — on the contrary, it was thrilling. Raven-Quinn sloppily flapped his wing and flew like a chick on his first flight.

'Oh, I'm getting it. I'm getting it.' Slowly but surely, Quinn got used to his wings, his very light body, and got a handle to fly.

For ten mins, he flew above the marble before deciding that he was good enough and flew out of the room towards the Beelzebub's Creepers mine, and with complete confidence, he flew out of the lower tunnel, traveled through the air, and flew into the upper tunnel without provoking any vines. Soon, Quinn was out of the Underground vault and was flying through the Forbidden Forest, doing the raven version of the obstacle course, weaving through canopies and tree vines.

It felt amazing.

Maybe this is what Eddie feels when he's on a broom, thought Quinn. Eddie always spoke of the freedom he felt while flying — it was as if he was in another world. At this moment, Quinn finally understood why humankind craved wings — why flying held such glamor in the minds of the countless individual.

Quinn caw-ed loudly in excitement.

Then suddenly, he sensed something from his left, and his stone-grey raven eyes saw a blob of white. He crookedly turned his bird body in the air and was able to dodge it just in time. He landed on a branch and vigilantly gazed around to see a small acromantula crawling down from a tree and towards his tree.

'Uh-huh, shouldn't have done that. . . . but—'

He opened his beak, spread his wings, and caw-ed for gusts and blades of wind to emit out to chop the acromantula's legs off.

Quinn could use magic in his animagus form.

It was how he could see in the Forbidden Forest.

While in animagus form, magicals couldn't use traditional magic, but the ritual had granted him the ability to continue cast magic.

'Though it's a little difficult. I just need a little practice.'

Quinn stared down at the legless acromantula and retook flight, leaving the Forbidden Forest and flying towards the castle.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would occur a week before the end of term.

Cedric looked as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night, "What do you reckon it's going to be? Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure."

"That wouldn't be too bad," said Harry, thinking that he would simply ask Hagrid for a niffler to do the job for him.

They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"They're hedges!" said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.

"Hello, there!" called a cheery voice.

Quinn was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges.

"Well, what do you think?" said Quinn happily as Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them one more week, and they'll be twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry's and Cedric's faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then —

"So this is the maze," grunted Krum.

"That's right!" said Bagman. "A maze. Just like I said before in our meeting. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will win. There will be obstacles; Hagrid is providing several creatures."

Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.

"No underground tunnels?" asked Fleur.

"No tunnels," replied Quinn. He looked at everyone waiting for questions. "Very well . . . if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly. . . ."

They had none.

Krum went away like a lone wolf without saying a single word while Cedric and Harry left after saying a good night.

Quinn glanced back and saw Fleur still standing there behind him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied.

After their kiss at the second task, things hadn't proceeded any further; instead of things getting heated, they had cooled down. While Quinn had let himself be taken over by the heat of the moment, but after that, he got himself back in control and went back to sticking to his initial decision to not start anything with Fleur.

"You're chipper today," said Fleur as she started to walk.

"Yes," smiled Quinn and fell into step with Fleur, "I closed the last bit of remaining work related to the tournament yesterday. Today was a free day for me after a very long time." Furthermore, he now knew what the marble runes did; as such, he wasn't in a hurry to study them. Moreover, he had repaired the runes, so he knew the designs by memory and could study them anytime he wanted.

"Ah, so that's why you didn't complain like you did last time."

Quinn chuckled and nodded, "Yes, unlike last time, I'm free now. So no problem to take out half an hour for this."

"I see."

The two fell into silence for a few seconds before Quinn asked, "What are your plans to do after this?"

"I'll probably go spend some time under the tutelage of grandmother," replied Fleur while gazing at the moon, "mother says that it's high time I fully got my Allure under control."

"That sounds smart. What after that?"

"I don't know, haven't thought about it yet."

"Have you thought about, you know, joining one of the West firms? I'm sure Lia would love to have a Tri-wizard champion join the ranks. Moreover, it's easier for Beauxbatons' students to get in — the hiring team wouldn't even blink if you apply."

"Maybe," said Fleur. West hired a lot of students from Beauxbatons — it was up to a students' skill what level of job they bagged. "Or maybe, I'll go work under my father — he spent the entire break last year trying to persuade me to join him."

"Joining politics, huh. That might be a suitable occupation for you — no offense, but a Veela has an edge with anything to with public communication."

"None taken," she shrugged — it was true, "actually, my father wants me to start from the Auror department like he did and then make my way up from there."

"Oh! Aurors — the best of the best. A good path if you want it."

"It is, but I'm not sure if I want to do that. Being an Auror doesn't sound appealing to me," said Fleur before turning the question to Quinn, "what about you? What do you wanna do after Hogwarts?"

"I'm going to travel after Hogwarts — learn magic from all over the world," replied Quinn.

"What about after that?"

"Absolutely no idea. I'll probably continue researching, but maybe I'll give being an Auror a try or a professor or maybe continue traveling and become a traveling author. . . . who knows what the future me would want to do," said Quinn. He truly didn't know what he was going to do except continue learning magic and keep inventing things.

"Travel, huh. That sounds fun."

"It is. You should give it a try. It really opens up the world view."

"Maybe I'll do that too."

The two eventually reached the Beuxbatons carriages and faced each other.

They both knew what the other was thinking — Fleur found Quinn attractive, and on some level, Quinn did too — he got along with Fleur, and she was undoubtedly pretty. There was potential.

But. . .

"Good night, Fleur."

"Good night, Quinn."

. . .It wasn't to be.

Fleur Delacour wasn't interested in a long-term relationship.

Quinn West didn't feel anything beyond finding her physically attractive. . . . and with the third task coming, the curtain was about to rise for a shift in the winds over the British Wizarding World.

And he was going to spend two more years right in the middle of it.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Should I transfigure another eye while in animagus form.

Fleur Delacour - Veela - She would do excellent in anything public speaking.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would occur a week before the end of term. The champions were practicing hexes at every available moment, and with every moving day, their confidence rose about the task. But as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, they started to get nervous — they were not as bad as those they had felt before the first and second tasks.. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or poorly they did, the tournament would, at last, be over, which would be an enormous relief.

Breakfast on the day of the third task was a boisterous affair at the house tables on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing the champions good-luck cards from well-wishers and screeching owls carrying Daily Prophets with another story from Rita Skeeter attacking Dumbledore and any decision he made.

Which made the Slytherin table chuckle and snicker while Gryffindor would glare at them — saying that it was only two particular groups fighting.

Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been sitting in the back of every exam class so far, looking up new hexes for the third task. Right now, he was crouched over his seat, looking up fresh charms for the third task.

Being the son of Auror had its perks, as in being master in the Impediment Curse, a spell to slow down and obstruct attackers; the Reductor Curse, which would enable him to blast solid objects out of his way; and the Four-Point Spell, a valuable discovery of his that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was especially good with the Shield Charm; a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses; Hermione, Ivy, and Ron had only been able to shatter it with their coordinated attacks.

"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," said McGonagall.

"But the task's not till tonight!" said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time.

"I'm aware of that, Potter," she said. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

She moved away. Harry gaped after her. "Oh my god. She almost snatched my heart out of my chest."

Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. He saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward. He got up and followed after them.

Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. Then he saw his mother and father, Lily and James Potter, standing there, smiling towards him.

"Surprise!" James Potter said as he smiled broadly and walked over to him. "Thought we'd come and watch you, Harry!" He enveloped Harry in a big ol' hug.

"It's great being back here," continued James, looking around the chamber (Violet, the Fat Lady's friend, winked at him from her frame). "Haven't seen this place for so many years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"

James had attended the quidditch tournament a couple of times, but he wasn't allowed to enter the castle just like everyone else. And unlike the other professors' Lily Potter didn't have a personal chamber as her accommodation as she went back to her house every evening to spend time with him. When he had come last year, James had gone straight to the hospital wing, then took the shortest path to the headmasters' office and back again to the hospital wing before returning to headmasters' office to floo out of Hogwarts.

"Oh yeah," said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year.

"And the Fat Lady?" asked James, "She was here in my time. She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning —"

"What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?"

"Your mother and I had been for a nighttime stroll," grinned James, sneakily winking to his wife, "I got caught by Apollyon Pringle — he was the caretaker in those days." He looked at Harry and asked, "Fancy giving us a tour, Harry?"

Before Harry could reply, Lily stepped forward, "Not me. I've classes to teach, so you boys go ahead and remember to behave."

"Yeah, okay," grinned Harry, and they made their way back toward the door into the Great Hall. As they passed Amos Diggory, the man looked around.

"There you are, are you?" he said, looking Harry up and down. "Bet you're feeling quite as full of yourself now, aren't you. But don't be so proud, Cedric's will you beat you soundly."

"What?" said Harry.

"Ignore him," said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the Triwizard Tournament — you know when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion."

"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?" said Amos Diggory, loudly, "you'll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven't you?" He was talking about the dueling club during the Lockhart year where Harry had gotten a little cocky and challenged Cedric just to be beaten soundly.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked behind to see his father smiling broadly, "Oh ho, Amos, never knew you had such a tongue on you."

Amos Diggory looked as though he would say something angry, but he stopped when he saw James Potter. He gulped — James Potter was a Senior Auror and a prominent member of the Wizengamot — not something he could afford to offend. He felt his wife lay a hand on his arm, and he took the chance to merely shrugged and turned away, pretending that it was because of her that he was stopping.

Harry had a delightful morning walking over the sunny grounds with his parents, showing his father the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship. They even went to the kitchens to grab a snack to eat while going around the castle.

They went back to Great Hall for lunch.

"Harry — Dad!" said Ivy looking stunned, as they joined the Gryffindor table. "What're you doing here?"

"Come to watch Harry in the last task!" said James brightly. "I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to eat the ministry food for lunch. How was your exam — no wait, don't tell me," he put on an inquisitive look before smiling, "it went great, didn't it."

"You bet!" beamed Ivy, hugging her father.

James looked to the side and asked, "How about you, Ron?"

"Uhm," said Ron, "Couldn't remember all the goblin rebels' names, so I invented a few. It's all right," he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty," they're all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn't hard."

James laughed loudly as he sat down on the table. He turned to the Weasley children, who had also sat down opposite to them asked, "So, twins, how are your plans for that business of yours going?"

"Good" "Very good." "Excellent." "Exceeding Expectation." "Outstanding."

"Really?" said James.

"Yeah, just very recently—" "— we got ourselves an investor."

"An investor, you say?" said James, "boys, are you sure this is legit? Money matters can be complicated. Be careful who you trust."

"Thank you, but—" "you don't need to worry about us." "Our investor is one reliable guy—" "— and we trust him with a lot, so no need to worry."

"Who is it?"

"Sorry, can't tell." "We're keeping this on the down-low." "Also, this conversation never happened."

They turned to Ron and spoke.

""You listen, Ron?" We never spoke about this." "

"Huh, wha'?" Ron looked up, the corner of his mouth stained with sauce.

" "Nothing." "

James looked around and saw a familiar face. "Hello Hermione," he greeted as the girl arrived with her head buried in a book.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," said Hermione, a little surprised to see James Potter sitting between Ivy and Harry. She turned to Harry and asked, "Are you ready for the task? Anything left you to want to learn or practice, we still have a little, we can go to the room and do some last-minute revision."

Tired of walking in on Harry, Ivy, Hermione, and Ron all over the school, Professor McGonagall had given them permission to use the empty Transfiguration classroom when they were free.

"Yeah, if you want to, we can go over some things — I can help you out," said James, shooting a couple of detection spells at his food — he didn't do this usually, but he could feel the eye of his mentor Alister "Constant Vigilance" Moody digging into his back.

"I-I would like that," said Harry, sighing out of relief.

After lunch, they went to the empty classroom and practiced for a few hours till they were satisfied, and after that, the group (Harry, Ivy, Hermione, Ron, and James) went back to roaming Hogwarts.

"Hey, isn't that Quinn West," said James, pointing at Quinn walking by while reading a thin stack of papers in his hands, "where's he going? That part of the castle never had any classes; did they start classes there?"

"No," answered Ivy, "I don't think so. . . ."

"We should follow him," smiled James, "I made some good bets in the tournament — I have to thank him." Without waiting for a response, he walked ahead. Ivy tried to stop him, but James continued to walk, and thus they had no choice but to follow him.

They turned the corner just to find that Quinn wasn't there anymore.

"Where did he go?" said James. He turned to Harry and asked, "Harry can you give me the map?"

"Hmm? Sure," said Harry and handed the map to James — it had initially been his after all.

Ivy and Hermione watched the map exchange hands, and it took them a beat to comprehend the situation — a beat too late; their eyes widened, but it was already too late as James had already activated it. All they could do was stomp on Harry's feet and pinch him hard.

"Let's see. . . . where's the hidden passage," said James, and indeed there was one in the corridor, "let's go, we'll use the same one." While a limited number of passages went out of Hogwarts, around a hundred internal passages connected different parts of Hogwarts.

They kicked a brick in the wall twice, which opened a hidden staircase into the wall.

"This goes to the west corridor on the fifth floor," said James with his wand tip lit, "what's there? I don't think there was anything in that part of the castle."

"He has an office there," said Ron.

"An office? Why does he have an office?"

"It's a long story," said Ivy, "one for another time." She didn't want James to know that the map had been tampered with.

"Wait a minute, I can't see Quinn's name on here."

And it was out.

James turned to the children. "Why can't I see Quinn's name on here?"

All dodged his eyes until they couldn't endure the gaze of the Senior Auror.

"He removed his name from the map," said Ivy, relenting.

"He. . . He removed his name from the Marauders' Map?!"

". . . . Yeah."

"When?!"

"Two years ago."

"Two years ago!" James stared at them, "how?"

Ivy and Hermione didn't want to answer that, and fortunately for them, they didn't have to.

"You guys should be quiet if you want to tail somebody," they heard and turned to saw Quinn a couple of steps above them, staring down at them, "especially in closed spaces like this — the sound really echos in here."

"You removed your name from the map?" asked James bluntly, raising the charmed parchments.

"Yeah, I did," answered Quinn.

". . . . how and why?"

"How? It was easy enough, but I can't tell you because that would put my name back on the map. Why? I don't want my name on there — I like my privacy," answered Quinn, "I know it's your map and all, but I hope you don't mind; if it's any consolation, it works the same — just think of it as if I never existed. Simple, right?"

James stared at Quinn and then at the map in his hand.

". . . . I can respect that," shrugged James, "and if you're able to erase your name in a way that Ivy and Hermione can't reverse it, you deserve to be off the map."

"That's good to hear," said Quinn, "now, why are you guys tailing me? There's no need to follow me; you can approach me directly."

"Ah, about that," said James, "I just wanted to congratulate you for the tournament. You did an excellent job and an even outstanding job on the betting."

"Oh, thank you," smiled Quinn.

"And you rejected to be my daughter's date."

Everyone in the staircase except James froze for a good second. Ivy sighed deeply, hiding her embarrassment.

"Uhm."

James climbed up the steps and patted Quinn on the shoulder, "It's not a bad thing. I would've been fine if you took her, but it was even better when she went alone," he turned to Ron, "no offense Ron."

"Eh, ah, huh?" muttered the Weasley.

"Now, as much as I would continue this conversation," said Quinn, "I have an event to prepare for, so I will take my leave," he looked at James, "let's talk sometime later, Mr. Potter. I'll love to hear some of your stories."

"Of course, don't let us keep you waiting."

When Quinn left, and the Gryffindor group got out of the staircase, James turned to the group and said, "Look, I like that guy a lot, but he needs to get pranked."

"I tried," said Harry, "but he's too sharp."

Ivy and Hermione nodded. Even though they didn't try to prank Quinn, they knew how sharp the guy was.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

The Gryffindor group whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Quinn thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along with the table at her.

There were more courses than usual, but the champions, who were really nervous now, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. West down to the stadium now."

The champions got up with the entire hall clapping for them. With Quinn in the lead, They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick walked into the stadium and approached Quinn and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," said Professor McGonagall to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

The champions nodded.

"Well, before we get started," said Quinn, "I wish all of you the best of luck. Face whatever challenges in there with bravery and intelligence, and I hope that you guys put on a terrific show tonight," as he talked, Quinn approached every champion, he shook their hands and patted them firmly on their shoulder.

The champions looked at Quinn with half-appreciative and half-confused looks, but Quinn now pointed his fake wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you that the scores from the previous tasks were tabulated, and this is how the current champions stand — In the first place, Harry Potter of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In the second place, Victor Krum from Durmstrang Institute," more applause, "followed by Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons Academy!" A lot of male cheers. "And in the last place — Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts School!"

"Now, the champions will go inside according to their ranks with a three-minute interval between each champion," he continued, "now, let's not waste any more time. So . . . on my whistle, Harry," Harry nodded, "three — two — one —"

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and hurried forward into the maze. One by one, all champions went into the tunnel, and when Cedric went into the labyrinth, Quinn looked at his hand and then at the maze.

The clock had started.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Tik-tok-tik-tok.

James Potter - Senior Auror - I'm a daddy. So, it's in my character.

Ron Weasley - Gryffindor - Feels like there's something wrong, but can't tell. . . .

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If the overhead projection that reflected the image of the artificial eye from Project: Drone Vision was a spectacular sight in the early blue evening sky, then its sight in the dark night sky was nothing less than stunning. The bright lights contrasted so well with the inky black background that every neck was craned up towards the sky.

"Dear viewers, the third task is a special one; unlike the first two tasks, the third task has the aspect of champion aggression — meaning that the champions have the opportunity to take each other out," said Quinn to all his viewers, "now, you might be thinking, the second task had the same opportunity; the champions could've attacked each other — but didn't because they were working under a time constraint and the pressure of losing their loved ones.. . . trying to mess with your competition doesn't really enter one's mind."

"But here, they don't have that proverbial sword hanging over their head; the champions can work as freely as they want," he grinned, "that is if they can find their way inside the maze. . . . because let me tell you, mazes could be a real pain-in-the-butt."

And Quinn was right; the four champions were totally lost, and that too in different directions of the maze.

The audience saw Harry Potter at a fork in the maze, trying to figure out which split to take. He waved his lit wand tip in either direction, and after what looked like a serious contemplation, he decided to go left.

The eye overhead turned into a different direction and zoomed in to show Fleur Delacour walking on a straight path, covered with towering hedges cast black shadows across the way; she was constantly looking towards her back as if worried about a tail.

The illusion shifted and focused on Cedric, who was running through a path full of odd silver mist floating above him. He was shooting spells left and right. But the fog remained intact, not being fazed at all.

"About that silver mist," laughed Quinn, "it's completely harmless — does nothing at all, absolutely nothing. But in a pressure situation like the current one, it does wonders — ah the charms of the human mind."

Quinn moved the artificial eye to the next champion, where they saw Krum walking slowly along a pathway with a golden mist overhead. He seemed to take every step after thinking thrice.

"The gold mist, on the other hand, is a completely different monstrosity," announced Quinn, "right now, with every step Victor Krum takes, his perception of direction changes — he could be feeling like the sky is below him, or the world has shifted to his side," Quinn had once subjected himself to the golden mist for fun — turned out, pretty not fun.

"The champions seem to be doing just fine right now, but I have to be honest, I'm looking forward to a confrontation."

.

- (Scene Break) -

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Two men sat in their chairs, looking up above at the illusion in the sky.

"Your speculation turned out to be correct," said one of the men.

"It was sort of obvious, don't you think?" replied the second.

The first man glanced at the second for a moment before speaking, "Are you prepared for it? You understand that if you fail your task, this entire thing is doomed."

"You don't have to be worried about me," said the second, "I'm prepared for this — among our little group, I'm the one most capable for this one."

"And why's that," scoffed the first, "I've been here for months, I'm better than you — I don't know why he chose you for this."

The second man rested his chin on the back of his hand and spoke with a bored expression on his face, "I know Hogwarts more than you can ever imagine — but you already know that, don't you? I'm the reason you're still here. If I wasn't here, you would've been found by the Potter children by now."

The first man grunted unpleasantly. "So, why are you still sitting here? Shouldn't you be doing what you're supposed to do?"

"I'm already done. I had the entire evening to do so."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Don't worry, I'm leaving. Just needed to give it a little time."

The second man got up and fixed his cloth before putting on a weak smile and turned to a person sitting a few seats from him, "Minister, unfortunately, I'll have to leave — I'm feeling under the weather."

Cornelius Fudge turned his eyes away from the sky, "Oh, Crouch, your sickness is acting up again? You've been like this for months. Have you gone to the hospital to see what is it?"

"Barty Crouch Senior" smiled weekly and shook his head, "I should do that, Minister. I've been putting it off because of the tournament."

"See that you do," said Fudge.

Barty Senior walked past the panel of judges when he was stopped by a voice, "Bartemious, if you're feeling unwell, how about letting Poppy take a look."

Barty turned towards Dumbledore and shook his head, "Thank you for the offer, Dumbledore, but I would prefer to go home and take a rest before going to the St. Mungos tomorrow morning."

"Ah, if that's what you would prefer," said Dumbledore, "I just hoped you'd stay till the end."

Barty looked up at the illusion. "I would also like that, but I'm feeling fragile. I think it would be better for me to just leave."

"I see, then I hope you feel better soon."

'Thank you."

Barty walked down from the judge's panel, and as he passed through the general seating area, he caught a glance of James and Lily Potter, and immediately he turned his face away.

He couldn't keep his expression from turning neutral or his eyes from turning bloodshot. He feared that if he kept looking at them, he would chop their heads off with severing charms, for he was Peter Pettigrew and the sole motive of his life was to kill the Potters.

'Keep calm, Peter, keep calm. Your time will come soon.'

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- (Scene Break) -

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In the maze, the champions made their way through the dark hedges — all were trying to move north, where they knew the Tri-wizard cup waited for them.

Cedric Diggory emerged at a point in the maze, where including the path he entered through, eight paths lay in front of him, all going through different directions. His first instinct was to head straight north and take the path pointing north, but his feet halted — Cedric kenned that there was no way the north-facing course headed north.

'Where should I go?' he thought; the only way to find out was to pick a route and work it till he reached the dead-end. 'Let's go with that one,' he decided on a path, but just as he stepped, Cedric heard a snap — his eyes widened and immediately ducked and rolled on the ground as a spell shot over his head, burning a hole into the maze hedge; the damage was instantly recovered.

He looked behind and saw the offender. "Fleur, it's nice to meet you as well," Cedric smiled as he got up with his wand pointed at her.

"If so, then you should've accepted my greeting," said Fleur.

"And let you have all the fun?"

The two stared at each other for a split second before their wands ripped out spells directly at each other, meeting in the middle momentarily — again and thrice, every time their spells met — canceling each other out.

"Looks like we're equally matched," said Cedric.

"I would disagree," smiled Fleur, "I haven't even started yet."

Just as they were about to go for another bout, they heard a rustle of the leaves. They looked to sound to see a barrage of small rocks rocketing towards them. The two champions pulled up shield charms for protection; the rocks bounced off harmlessly against the transparent barriers.

"Come out, Potter," yelled Cedric, pointing at one of the passageways, "I know you're there, come out, or I will open fire," his wand started to glow in a violent red.

Harry Potter walked out with a smile on his face, with his wand in front of him, "The rocks gave it away, didn't they?"

"They did," said Cedric, "you used that one a bit too much during the dueling club."

"How about we two Hogwarts boys team up and take out the enemy," suggested Harry nudging his wand towards Fleur, "I'm sure we can work something out, but for now, it would make more sense to increase the chances of Hogwarts winning."

Fleur became extra vigilant as she backed up a few steps and stared at Cedric; her chances weren't good if Cedric and Harry teamed up.

Cedric contemplated for a second before glancing up, "You know, Quinn is probably — definitely — watching us right now and with him, the entire school. It wouldn't be chivalrous for us to gang up against a lady."

Harry shrugged in response, "And if Quinn was standing here, he would scoff and laugh at you."

"That he would," laughed Cedric and then pointed his wand at Fleur, "sorry Fleur, but it's nothing personal."

"I'm offended, nevertheless," said Fleur as she cautiously gazed at the two wands pointed towards her, "you two boys really lack manners," she sighed, "but a lady needs to look out for herself, so don't blame me. . . . it's nothing personal."

She flicked her wand in a circular motion, and seven flaming orbs of blue-red fire appeared around her. She shifted her head to push her hair back and spoke, "Veelas can be vindictive when threatened."

Six out of the seven fireballs rapidly spin before splitting into two groups of three and canon-bolted towards Harry and Cedric. The two boys immediately pulled up their shields — the first fire orbs made their shield reach their limit, the second began degrading their structural integrity, and the third exploded, throwing them back into the ground.

She took a deep breath — the fire orbs were heavy magic for her. Every Veela had an affinity for fire, and so did Fleur — while the full potential was restricted when she wasn't in her avian-form, Fleur could still get access to the firepower that came with her heritage, and as it turned out, while she was dismal at controlling her Allure, she was exceptional at accessing the fire aspect.

The flame orbs replenished back to seven as Fleur exhaled out. "Sorry, boys, but it seems you will be retiring from the tournament," she said.

Cedric and Harry groaned while they stood up, but their eye widened as they saw four rapidly spinning orbs of fire (two for each of them.)

Fleur was about to launch the fire orbs, but just a second before she could do that, Fleur felt jolt travel through her body, like a raging wave — the fire orbs extinguished, then her eyes rolled up before she collapsed down onto the ground — behind her stood Victor Krum, staring down at Fleur's unconscious body.

A loud beep sounded from a distance. Cedric and Harry, who had taken the opportunity to get up along with Krum, looked in the direction; they knew the meaning of the sound — it was signaling the elimination of a champion from the tournament. They looked at the ground — it meant Fleur Delacour was now out of the running.

"And here I was worried about teaming up," commented Cedric. He glanced at Harry, "We're still a team, right?" Harry nodded, but his eyes didn't leave Krum, who was watching them with an unblinking gaze, and Harry couldn't say he enjoyed it.

Krum's dull eyes turned to Harry for a while before he went back to Cedric and raised his wand, and launched a juiced-up Reducto straight at the Hufflepuff champion. Cedric's eyes almost popped out at the intensity of the spell, and he pulled up yet another shield charm for protection, and on his side, Harry, as his temporary ally, transfigured the ground in front of Cedric, raising a chunk of it up to add yet another layer of obstruction.

"Uh-huh, buddy. Not so fast," said Harry, "you're not going to—." He couldn't continue as Krum ripped a lightning bolt towards him, which Harry barely dodged in time.

"Oh my god, that could've done a lot of damage!" yelled Harry.

"Alright, let's take this guy out," said Cedric, cracking his neck. The Reductor was a powerful one, powerful enough to rip him into pieces.

A very real-looking eye watched them from above.

. . .

Near the spectator area, Quinn sighed as he watched the three champions through the artificial eye.

'Krum is under the Imperius,' thought Quinn as he glanced at Moody/Bartry Jr.

His open eye twitched when the artificial eye picked up, Krum knocking out Cedric with a blow to the head — it was very violent. He sounded a loud beep to announce Cedric's elimination as part of his duty.

"Well, only two champions are remaining," announced Quinn, "Harry Potter and Victor Krum. Let's see who's going to come out on top. From the looks of it, Victor Krum has a strong possibility to win — that was one powerful Hammer hex."

'Now, let's change the result of this tournament,' thought Quinn as he stared at the illusion — the artificial eye and the illusion were two different entities — he could project anything he wanted — and that was what he was going to do.

The illusion seamlessly turned from the live footage to a fabricated version edited before being projected.

'Let's get the things going.'

And with that, he snapped his fingers.

. . .

Back with Krum and Harry, the two champions fought with spells being fired at each other.

Harry swung his wand in a bowling-ball throwing motion, and as he turned it in an arc, the ground beneath his wand bundled and bunched up into a spiked ball of metal — it was a transfiguration spell taught to him by his father, James Potter; a master in combat transfiguration.

Krum grunted and met the metal ball head-on with a charged dark spell. The two attacks met, and the metal ball melted into a ball of molten metal before turning into ash.

Harry growled, and silver spikes manifested around him. He was going to take Krum out and get this entire thing over with. But before he could do it, he saw Krum moving weirdly.

On Krum's side, he was looking at his clothes, which began to morph — his arms were forced to move behind his back as his sleeves merged together. He could barely keep his legs from staying still as his pant legs were being pulled wide apart.

Harry didn't know what was happening, but he saw the chance and directly shot a stunner to Krum's face, immediately knocking him out.

"Huh," he said and stared up at the sky just in time to hear the loud beep spread through the sky, "now, that's what we are talking about."

Harry ran stared at the three unconscious champions before running into one of the pathways.

"Holy shit! I'm going to win this one!"

He met nothing for ten minutes but kept running into dead ends. Twice he took the same wrong turning. Finally, he found a new route and started to jog along with it, his wand light waving, making his shadow flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ten feet long, it looked more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over its back. Its thick armor glinted in the light from Harry's wand, which he pointed at it. "Stupefy! Damn it! Why now?! I'm about to win."

The spell hit the skrewt's armor and rebounded; Harry ducked just in time

but could smell burning hair; it had singed the top of his head. The skrewt

issued a blast of fire from its end and flew forward toward him.

"Impedimenta!" Harry yelled. The spell hit the skrewt's armor again and ricocheted off; Harry staggered back a few paces and fell over. "IMPEDIMENTA!"

The skrewt was inches from him when it froze — he had managed to hit it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Panting, Harry pushed himself away from it and ran, hard, in the opposite direction — the Impediment Curse was not permanent; the skrewt would be regaining the use of its legs at any moment.

He took a left path and hit a dead end, a right, and hit another; forcing himself to stop, heart hammering, he performed the Four-Point Spell again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest.

Every so often, he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. He had to be close now, he had to be. . . .

. . .

Quinn's artificial eye followed after Harry, and he was back to projecting the live feed.

"Look at that! Harry Potter is on the final stretch! So exciting! People, watch closely! This is the end of the Tri-wizard tournament," his voice was full of excitement, but the expression was anything but.

He knew where Harry was heading. He glanced at Dumbledore; the headmaster was watching the scene with a smile under his long beard.

'Yes, keep it watching.'

In the original timeline, no one knew what was happening in the maze, so the judges had no idea about the progress, but Quinn had provided them with the live progress with him here. Everyone would see Harry being portkey-ed away, but when Harry doesn't arrive at the starting point, doubts will arise, and Quinn was sure that Dumbledore would pick on that.

'You better pull your weight, Dumbledore,' thought Quinn.

He didn't like the choice he had taken to let Harry go on to meet Babymort, which would most definitely result in the revival of Voldemort. . .

'But, it has to be done,' he thought, 'it's the only for sure way to make sure that there's a chance.'

"Ah, he's on the final long pathway," announced Quinn, "just a little bit more and Harry Potter would be cro—"

Everyone in the stands was watching the projection. The entire Hogwarts student body was already cheering, but then suddenly, the projection vanished into thin air. There was an immediate reaction of displeasure, and they heard that the commentary had also gone silent.

Every single person looked at Quinn, and he was standing still, staring up at the sky.

"Mr. West," called out Dumbledore, "what—"

His words were cut when Quinn leaned forward and collapsed on the ground.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC(Status: Unknown) - It was the only way to make sure. . . .

Peter Pettigrew - Barty Crouch Senior - Calm down. I'll make do with imagining the beheading.

Fleur Delacour - Spelled in the back - Fire-blessed Veela.

Cedric Diggory - Knocked out - Blunt force damage.

Victor Krum - Imperius-ed - But why was he Imperius-ed?

Harry Potter - Tri-wizard winner - Holy shit, I really won!

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Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.

"Where is this?" he said..

He had left the Hogwarts grounds entirely; they had obviously traveled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that the Cup was a Portkey?" he said, taking his wand out — his instincts were telling him that things weren't as quiet as they were. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, which made every inch of his skin rise in surprise. He glanced down at his shoulder to see a hand with a missing finger, then turned his head to find himself gazing at a new yet familiar face, and the words that followed almost made his heart jump out of his chest.

"Good evening, Harry," said the lean man, with strangely dead eyes, "we are introduced yet, but I knew from a long time ago, and I'm sure you have heard about me," the strange man flatly smiled, "my name is Peter Pettigrew, and I was a friend of your father's."

"You—" Harry tried to speak, but then he felt a wave travel through every fiber of his body, and everything hazed out of focus before all went black.

Peter looked down at the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived. It was easier to work when his captive was out, "He sure has grown up, and the resemblance is striking. . . . a real pity," he sighed. Peter glanced towards his back to stare into the darkness. It was time, and time was of the essence.

Harry groggily opened his eye to find himself tied up on a hard, cold stone with something stuffed into his mouth. He was tied up from neck to ankles to what seemed to be a headstone. He tried to struggle against the ropes but was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Peter Pettigrew had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.

Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground at the Cup's side. There was a bundle of robes some distance beyond that, at the foot of a grave, and when he looked closer, it seemed to be a baby or small-sized inside the bundle. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; if he could scream freely, he would've shattered glass; he could see nothing at all, and his head was about to split open. Harry suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes . . . he didn't want that bundle opened. . . .

He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Then he heard laborious breathing growing closer. It sounded as though someone was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then Peter came within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water — Harry could hear it slopping around — and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used, a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.

The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Peter was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The giant snake slithered away into the darkness. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble but to send out fiery sparks as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard the high, cold voice.

"Hurry!"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

"It is ready, Master."

"Now . . ." said the cold voice.

Peter pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside they and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.

It was as though Peter had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Peter had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Peter's neck, and Peter lifted it. Harry expected a look of revulsion on Peter's face, but as seen in the pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron, was a look of indifference. And then Peter lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit bottom with a soft thud.

'Yes, please let it drown!' Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, 'please . . . let it drown. . . .'

Peter was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a delicate trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Peter pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. He stared at the gleaming metal with the same dead eyes, but now there seemed to be a strange madness reflecting them. His voice became more assertive and filled with a mad passion.

"Flesh — of the servant — willingly given — you will — revive — your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand without the missing finger — the other hand with the missing finger was a reminder. He gripped the dagger firmly, and without hesitation, he swung it down.

Harry realized what Peter was about to do a second before it happened — he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but Harry could not block the screaming laugh that pierced the night that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too.

He heard something fall to the ground, heard Peter's frantic respiring, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look . . . but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids. . . .

When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Peter standing right in front of him with the same dagger in hand.

"I see you have woken up, Harry," there was a thick sheen of sweat on Peter's face, but he looked more alive than ever, "that's good — you'll get to witness something truly great now," Peter raised the dagger, "the revival of my master. The Dark Lord will walk the Earth once more."

Harry felt the knife-point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Peter, hissing in pain, reached into his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

"Blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe."

Peter walked back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Peter, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, staring at it with the fire and light reflecting in his dark eyes.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened. . . .

'Let it have drowned,' Harry thought, 'let it have gone wrong. . . .'

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry so that he couldn't see Peter or the Cup or anything but vapor hanging in the air.

'It's gone wrong,' he thought '. . . it's drowned . . . please . . . please let it be dead.'

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Peter, still cradling his mutilated arm, got on his feet up from the ground with a black robe, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron and lifted his chin up at the sky.

Harry watched as the clouds slowly drifted away, freeing the bright moon from their cover. He saw as the pale yet luminous moonlight fell upon the man's face and body, revealing the inhuman face which had its eyes closed.

'Oh no, oh no, oh no,' thought Harry, 'no, this can't be happening.'

The man slowly opened his eyes and started chuckling, which eventually barreled into full-blown maniacal laughter, shaking his thin frame.

"This is it!" he laughed, "I knew! This how is moonlight is supposed to feel! The flesh of the homunculus was too weak! The light, the wind, the heat, ah haha hahaha, this is how it's supposed to be! It's wonderful!"

The man turned his face, his eyes now gazing at Harry. . . . and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his dreams, no nightmares for the past three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils . . .

"Harry Potter," he said.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

The Dark Lord had returned.

Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too, and then he raised it and pointed it at Peter, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up, groaning and hissing. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Peter propped himself up with the support of the headstone and bowed his head, "My Lord."

"That was for all those times you talked back, Wormtail," said Voldemort while rotating his head to crack his neck.

"I apologies, master," said Peter; he wasn't bothered by it.

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

Peter extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

"I would suggest against it, master," said Peter, "we don't know for sure if the spell at Hogwarts worked. We might not have much time — with Dumbledore there. . . ."

'Spell at Hogwarts?' thought Harry, 'what're they talking about?'

"Ah, the magic to deal with the West child," hummed Voldemort, "did you cast it properly?"

"I did. I made sure it was in place and working."

"Then, there's no worry," replied Voldermort before looking at Harry. "You must be wondering what we're talking about, Harry."

Harry couldn't speak because of the gag stuffed in his mouth.

"You see, the audience wasn't supposed to watch the third task. What happened inside the maze was supposed to go unseen, and the only indicators were the red sparks from the champions, and the winner arriving with the Cup — other than that, the people at Hogwarts were supposed to be blind to the events inside. . . ."

Voldemort twirled his wand in his bony-long white digits.

"I was supposed to take advantage of that situation by whisking you away, and as no one knew what was happening, they would happily wait for the winning champion's arrival," said Voldemort, and he seemed to articulate his every word as if enjoying speaking, "but the West child, Quinn West, threw a Finite into that plan months before today," Voldemort didn't look he was upset by it, "he came up with a way to allow everybody to watch the second task and I was sure that Quinn West would do the same at the third task — he hid it well, that smart child — Wests have a tendency to be a pesky but smart bunch."

Voldemort's slitted eyes smiled in pleasure, "But I noticed how he did it. It was simple yet an ingenious way to accomplish what he was trying to do," the Dark Lord for once sounded impressed, "thank Wormtail for his sharp eyes that I was able to catch it — an artificial eye, I noticed. How creative! He connected that eye to himself and then simply projected what he saw — just from that, I can say that the child understands magic — a rare trait even among those of noble blood."

"I gave Wormtail a task that would get rid of that as we couldn't have people see you disappear to not appear at the start," Voldemort started to walk around the headstone, "it would have immediately alerted Dumbledore and his faction that something was wrong and we couldn't have them put a stop into my revival. . . . So, I taught Wormtail a spell—"

Voldemort noticed that Peter had become deadly pale — he had lost a lot of blood. "Give me your hand, Wormtail. I can't stand the sight of that disgusting stump of yours."

"Yes, Master," moaned Peter weakly.

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Peter's bleeding wrist. His breathing harsh and ragged, Peter raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Master . . . it is beautiful . . ." Voldemort noticed the absence of thankfulness in Peter's words, but he ignored it.

"So, where was I?" continued Voldemort to Harry, "ah yes, I gave Wormtail the spell that would solve our problem and take care of the eye in the sky," he laughed, "if the spell worked — which I'm sure it did — little eagle Quinn would be in for a little surprise when he wakes up."

The Dark Lord glanced at Peter, who was still admiring his new silver hand. "But Wormtail is right. An unconscious West might send Fudge and the ministry into chaos, but it won't keep Dumbledore for long — the pathetic old goat might notice something is wrong and as Wormtail said, you never know with Dumbledore — he might just find us here."

With his bare feet, Voldemort walked near Harry and grinned a smile which Harry could only describe as horrifying and sickening. "Seeing that you're the Boy-Who-Lived, my supposed end and you're here, with no better place to be, I will tell you my story before we return you to your parents. . . ."

Harry frowned as his scar began burning. He thought that the pain was messing with his hearing as he just heard something about Voldemort letting him go.

"Wormtail here requested that we send you beheaded head to your parents," smiled Voldermort, "from what I know, he has prepared a letter which he wants to write in your blood and stuff it in your mouth so they would know he was the one who did it," Harry started to felt disgust rise up in his stomach as he witnessed Voldemort's famed cruelty.

"But before that, I will tell you that story as you're sort of a guest of honor at my re-birth party, then I will duel with you to show just how fortunate you were to live that day. I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. You escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by dueling you, here and now, in front of Wormtail, when there is no Dumbledore to help you and no grandmother to die for you. I will give you your chance. You will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. And then after all that, finally, I will let Wormtail behead you — your corpse, of course."

Harry's ropes came undone within an instant, and he immediately fell down on the graveyard grass face first.

"So, let's begin, shall we?" laughed Voldemort, "You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. . . ."

. . .

It was ten minutes later that Harry Potter appeared back at Hogwarts with the Tri-wizard Cup. He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above.

He let go of the Cup but clutched his wand tighter.

Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.

"Harry! Harry!"

He opened his eyes. He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps.

He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.

"He's back," Harry all but shouted. "He's back. Voldemort is back!"

.

[

A/N: I wasn't sure if I should write this chapter, it's mostly the original scene. But I wanted to show the differences in Peter Pettigrew and give you a clue about what happened to Quinn in the last chapter.

Voldemort, also. I wanted to give him some new lines, given that in my version, Death Eaters didn't arrive because of Peter's suggestion. I always thought that his reaction to getting back his body was lackluster, so I added some of that and took inspiration from a character (not from HP) who went through similar circumstances — guess who.

I came to a decision that these changes were enough to devote a chapter to this.

]

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Quinn West- MC(Status: Unknown) - I don't like when I'm not in a chapter of book that revolves around my life. Did you hear it?! I don't like this!

Voldemort - Dark Lord - Babymort no more - Revived Re-birthed.

Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail - As you can see, he didn't get to write that letter.

Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived-Once-Again - Shit, he's back! Shit! Shit! Oh crap, things are turning black. . .

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Oh, look! He's waking up," was the first thing Quinn heard when he opened his eyes — but something felt wrong — it was as if something was missing.

"Where?" he asked. Quinn tried to groggily sit up, but his attempts brought a sharp pain in his head, causing him to hiss in pain..

"Don't get up," he heard his favorite faculty's voice.

"Madam Pomfrey. . . . where am I? What happened to me. . . ." Quinn looked around with his out of focus vision, and he could recognize hospital wings' curtains and Poppy sitting on a barstool by his bedside.

"You suddenly collapsed in the middle of the third task and wouldn't get up."

"I collapsed?" said Quinn in slight disbelief, "that doesn't sound right—"

"Are you sure?" Poppy cut him off, "you have been pretty busy this year. Even with all the things you had to do for the quidditch tournament this year, you didn't skip our lessons, neither did you skip your classes; furthermore, you took on the hosting — which would have been fine if you didn't decide to go overboard with it."

". . . . but the quidditch tournament was over a couple weeks back, I had time to rest," argued Quinn while sitting up despite the protest from Poppy. His vision was still a little off — it was irritating him.

Moreover, Poppy didn't know his true magical capabilities — in no way would the magic used while hosting put so much stress on him that he would collapse and that too in front of him.

"Clearly, it wasn't enough, or you didn't actually rest in those past weeks," chided Poppy, "furthermore, you were using faulty magic," she sighed, "Quinn, you should take more care while using self-created, untested magic — it could be dangerous — no it was dangerous."

"What?" Quinn tilted his head. His head was finally clearing up, and his mind was getting back on track, "my magic. . . . faulty? That's not possible, Madam Pomfrey. My self-created magics aren't faulty; they never were and won't be in the future."

"Then how do you explain that?" Poppy pointed towards Quinn's hand.

"Huh? What?" Quinn raised his hand to touch his face, and his eye widened when his fingers found the rough texture, "why is my head bandaged," he felt around to find that the upper right side of his face was covered, "did I hit my head when I collapsed?"

Then it hit Quinn. Why his vision felt wrong. It wasn't his head that was covered in gauze bandages — it was his right eye that was covered. He looked at Poppy and asked,

"Madam Pomfrey. . . . what did you mean when you said how do I explain that? What's wrong with me?"

Poppy sighed at the confusion on Quinn's covered face, "Quinn, whatever magic you used, it faulted, and it burned through your eye. . . . completely."

Quinn stared at the matron as if she was joking, but she wasn't.

"By the time I got to you, your eyeball was nothing more than goopy sludge, resulting in severe damage to your optic nerves, which caused you to pass out from the trauma."

". . . . I lost my eye!" exclaimed Quinn, almost clawing out his bandages. "M-Madam Pomfrey, is—"

"You'll be fine. Fortunately, there wasn't any permanent damage — your faulty magic didn't turn into a dark curse. You'll have your eye back in a week, and by the end of the second, your vision will mature to normal."

"Two weeks, huh," sighed Quinn, "two weeks with one eye. Damn it! But, Madam Pomfrey, I'm quite sure that I didn't make a mistake while designing the magic. It took months to—"

"Quinn, I'm not aware of the details of the magic you used, but I do know your eye melted due to a magic overload. From what I learned from my time in the spell damage ward at St. Mungos is that spells mostly fail due to the imbalance in the internal magic structure — your case is a classic example of that."

Quinn wanted to continue his progress but held his tongue. He knew that there was no use to continue. Quinn still believed that his magic was airtight solid — the second task wasn't the first time he had used the artificial eye; he had been using it for tests for much longer; not only that, but Quinn had spent many hours using the eye to make himself used to the dual vision and not once had the spell gone bad on him — he seriously doubted that it was the magic's fault.

"Your family has been made aware of your condition this morning. They've sent back that they will be here sometime after noon. You'll be going with them instead of the Hogwarts Express," said Poppy as she stood up.

"Noon, huh," groaned Quinn; he wasn't looking forward to that conversation, "wait a minute, noon?! How long was I out? What time is it?"

"It's nine. You slept through the night," said Poppy, "now, excuse me, Quinn. I have some important appointments that I need to deal with." She had to make sure that the Hogwart female students understood what they needed to take (potion-wise) for regulation of their monthly cycle — for the next couple of months, she wasn't going to be with them, and Poppy preferred that they continued with the potion regime as it made her job much more manageable when they returned.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Madam Pomfrey," nodded Quinn; while he wanted to ask her what happened last night, he knew the matron was busy this time of the year.

After she left, Quinn silently sat on his bed — he was at least sure that Harry Potter was alive because if he was dead, Poppy would've said something — the death of the Boy-Who-Lived would've been hard to ignore.

"Let's just hope Voldemort is revived," whispered Quinn; his decision to send Harry off was a success only if Voldemort was back in power. "I need to find out what happened. But before that. . . ."

Quinn conjured in front of him and looked at his reflection — he looked like a certain evil head of a super-secret organization of elemental-controlling ninjas who kept one of his eyes hidden under bandages.

"This isn't my style," said Quinn and snapped his finger for the gauze to come undone and fall into his lap. His nose scrunched up when he saw the black-blue-red around his eye and the loose eyelid, "I hope two weeks would pass soon enough."

Quinn glanced down at the white roll of gauze and concentrated his magic for the bandage to shift and distort before it turned into a black-triangular eyepatch (without string.) He picked it up and gently placed it over his eye such that it would cover all the colored parts of his eye.

"Much, much better," smiled Quinn into the mirror. This way, not only did he look good, but it also dulled the impact of the injury — something he critically needed when his family came to take him home.

"Now, let's go and find out what happened."

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- (Scene Break) -

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Quinn wasn't the only one in the hospital wing at the moment. In another corner sat the Potter family with Dumbledore and Moody — once again going over Harry's account of what had happened last night.

Cornelius Fudge had denied any of their pleas to declare that Voldemort had come back to life. The minister had grabbed onto the Peter Pettigrew part of the story and had ignored every aspect, declaring Harry a victim of dark magic that had caused him to become confused. The official ministry-approved news in the papers was that Peter Pettigrew had abducted Harry Potter with intentions to kill him(100% true), but Harry Potter was able to fight his captor off and return to Hogwarts.

Seeing that the first and most impactful release of information had told an incorrect story, Dumbledore once again wanted to hear the details now that Harry was calm and settled so that he could have a better grasp of the situation.

"Voldemort's back, Harry, I believe you," said Dumbledore; he was never really gone, "but how did he do it?"

Harry glanced at his feet on the bed and recalled what he had seen, "He took bones from his father's grave and from Wormtail, and then from me," he rubbed his forehead, "Wormtail recited it — bone of father, unknowingly given, the flesh of servant willingly sacrificed, and blood enemy taken forcibly — yeah, that's what he had said," Harry looked at Dumbledore and gravely spoke, "he was able to touch me, professor."

Harry could only weakly smiled at his mother when he felt her squeeze in hand in support. It meant that the protection granted by his grandmother's sacrifice couldn't protect him anymore.

"How did he look, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Flat and snakelike face, with gleaming red eyes," answered Harry; he couldn't forget that face even if he wanted to, "tall and skeletally thin with a grey pallor — he was barely human."

Ivy, who was also present, thought back to the photo of Tom Riddle she had seen in an old record stored in the library. The Hogwarts Voldemort was a charming person. If she didn't know the name of that face, she would've never pegged him to be a Dark Lord.

"It seems that Voldemort has deviated further from the norm," sighed Dumbledore, "anything else you can tell us, Harry."

". . . . there was a giant snake," told Harry, "it was really thick and long. It didn't hiss, so I wasn't able to hear anything."

"That's good, Harry. Anything new information would help," smiled Dumbledore before turning a bit serious, "can you tell me about the golden phenomenon that you mentioned last night."

"I-I don't know what it was," started Harry, "but when I shot a Reducto and Voldemort a Killing Curse. . . . I felt a vibration going through my wand as though an electric charge were surging through it; my hand seized up around it; I couldn't release my wand if I wanted to — and then a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither blue nor green, but bright, deep gold."

"Voldemort didn't know what it was because he and I were both raised into the air — he was as shocked by it as I was — a thousand more beams arced high over us, crisscrossing all around us until we were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light," Harry gulped, "then I heard the song of a phoenix — it was telling me to not break the connection, and I didn't. The beams of light changed as large beads of light slid up and down the thread connecting our wands. Then a bead touched my wand, my wand grew hotter, and almost vibrated my hand, suddenly, I was somehow overpowering Voldemort before," he sucked a deep breath, "then I saw grandpa and grandma."

James Potter's eyes widened as he leaned forward, "W-What do you mean, Harry?"

"They came out of Voldemort's wand — they were like ghosts and helped me — they said to hold on. Slowly more and more ghosts appeared by my side, and the more ghosts appeared, the easier it got for me to fight Voldemort. . . . But they couldn't hold. . . . and said that I needed to run for the Cup when the connection ended. . . . when the connection stopped, they surrounded Voldemort — and I did as they asked. . . . then I was at Hogwarts."

James Potter had his head in his hands with Ivy rubbing his back. Just hearing that his parents had once again helped his son had brought up too much emotion — he felt useless; he was supposed to protect his family and not his dead parents from beyond the grave.

"I'm not familiar with that magic," said Dumbledore, "but whatever it was made you able to stand against Voldemort — I'll try to find what the magic was."

"And the Death Eaters? They returned?" asked Moody.

Harry shook his head, "No, there was only Wormtail and no one else." Harry glanced to his left to see a dark expression on his father's face at the mention of Peter Pettigrew.

Moody seemed to be dissatisfied with the answer.

"Did you find Karkaroff?" asked Harry. Karkaroff was the Death Eater that everyone suspected to be the one to put Harry's name into the goblet, but the man had been missing since last night.

"Karkaroff?" said Moody with an odd laugh. "Karkaroff fled when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He must've returned to the Dark Lord when his job was done, but we'll find him," he stood up from his chair, "I'll go to Little Hangleton to see if I can find anything at Tom Riddle Senior's grave."

Harry momentarily nodded, but then a thought struck him. He looked up at Moody, ". . . . I never told that Voldemort's father's name was Tom Riddle Senior."

Dumbledore's eyes widened as he immediately picked up at the discrepancy, "Alastor. . . . I as well never told you this information. How did you know about it?"

Moody's magical eye rotated in its socket as a disturbing smile appeared on his scarred face. Before anyone could do anything, Moody had whipped out his wand and pointed it at Ivy, who suddenly felt a force grab hold over her before she was lifted and flew into Moody's clutches with her back to him.

Moody wrapped his arm around Ivy's neck and pointed his wand at her, "Anyone makes any sudden moves, and I blow the girl's head."

Dumbledore slowly got up and asked in a sorrowful voice, "Alastor, why are you doing this?"

Moody's magical eye was now fixed at the door. He uncharacteristically cackled, "You old fool! I'm not Moody!"

"Then who're you?"

"Hmm. . . . I wonder if I should tell you," said not-Moody, "well, since Master is alive, so there's no harm. . . . my name is Barty. Crouch. Junior."

"You're supposed to be dead," said James Potter, his eyes fixed upon his daughter.

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm also supposed to be Madeye. Things aren't as they seem," said now-revealed-Barty before glancing at Harry, "tell me, Harry, did Master mention me? Did he talk about his most faithful servant — did he say that I, I alone remained faithful. . . . prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all . . . you."

"So, you're the one who entered Harry's name into the Cup," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, I put Harry's name into the Cup. I also nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons. I was also the one who told Cedric to open the egg underwater; I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate. . . . I even went ahead by planting the herbology books in various places in the Gryffindor dorms so that you could find everything in your dorm itself. . . . I also Imperius-ed Victor Krum to take out the Veela and Diggory first before knocking you out and bring you to the Cup. Still, you ended up defeating him. . . . nevertheless, everything turned out well."

Barty(Moody) looked at them with a mocking grin, "Now, I would love to tell you more about my work here, but I need to join my Master, so I would like to take my leave," he shook Ivy, "I want safe passage out of Hogwarts — if I see any obstruction, say goodbye to your lovely princess here. . . . I'm sure the Dark Lord would be happy to hear that the last thing I did was take out a Potter with me, but I'm sure you don't want that."

"I will allow you to leave," said Dumbledore, "only keep the end of your bargain and tell me what you did with the real Alastor."

Barty snickered, "I'm in a good mood, so I'll tell you. He's locked in my office inside my suitcase. You'll find him there, relaxing."

But then Barty saw everyone stop moving; it was as if they were even careful about breathing. When he looked closer, Barty noticed they were looking behind him.

'What?' he thought as his magical eye moved behind. His magic eye turned just in time to see a wand fly into a hand; his focus shifted to see black hair, one stone-grey eye, and one black triangle, and before his brain could process his vision, a blinding bright red overwhelmed his vision.

Ivy felt the arm around her neck loosen up, and before she knew it, there was a thump behind her. She carefully looked behind to see her captor's body crumpled on the floor. When Ivy looked up, her eyes widened.

"Sorry, but I sort of eavesdropped," said the boy with the eyepatch, "but you guys weren't really trying to be quiet. . . . you know this place being the hospital wing and all."

Quinn West walked forward and kicked the fallen body once, twice, and then thrice, "Alright, he's out cold, I have confirmed it," he then looked up, "are you alright, Ivy? Did he hurt you?"

Ivy shook her head with a stunned expression. Her green eyes remained fixed on his face, ". . . . What happened to your eye?" She saw Quinn reach up to the cheek beneath the black eyepatch.

"It sort of melted away. Faulty magic, they saw, but the jury is still out on that." Quinn noticed that Ivy was still staring at him. He waved his hand in front of her, "Ivy, are you sure everything is alright?"

Ivy finally snapped out of her trance, bowed her head down away from Quinn's gaze, and lightly nodded. Quinn stared at her for a few more seconds before looking up at the others and said,

"So, can anyone catch me up with what happened? I sort of missed the main part."

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Quinn West - MC - One-eyed with a cool eyepatch.

Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - Went through a duel of a lifetime.

James Potter - Senior Auror - Feeling useless.

Ivy Potter - Hostage once again - She kept staring. . . .

Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Politics is complicated.

Alastar Moody - Barty Crouch Junior - Stunned and then kicked.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Mr. West, that was unnecessarily risky for you to attack like that," said Dumbledore as he conjured ropes around Barty Crouch Jr. (still in Moody-form)..

"I know, Headmaster," said Quinn, "even if I didn't do it, you would have taken care of Mr. Crouch here — you were only trying to get information out of him. . . . But I had that element of surprise and speed at my side, so I took it — no biggie."

Dumbledore nodded. It was easier to get information out of Barty Jr. when he was feeling confident than when he was in captivity. 'Though, I could have just used a little Legilimency to get what I want — well, I'll do it moving forward.'

Quinn turned to Harry, "Harry, even though it was a rough night, I have to say — congratulations on winning the Tri-wizard tournament."

". . . .Thank you," said Harry, and a smile made its way to his face; everybody had been worried sick since he had returned and acted like he was made out of fragile glass. It was nice to be congratulated and treated as usual.

"I actually had a very amazing ceremony planned to crown the winning champion — fireworks, music, the whole gig. It was going to be grand. . . . a pity that we ended up having to cancel it."

"I agree; it truly was a damper on the festivities," said Dumbledore in agreement.

The Potters stared at the two, a little confused by the calm disposition displayed by Quinn and Dumbledore — they were acting as if the canceled winner's celebration ceremony was the biggest displeasure of yesterday night — and between two of them, one of them had lost an eye, and other had to deal with consequences of a ruthless Dark Lord's return.

The Potter family(sans Harry) and Dumbledore were thrown out of the hospital wing by Poppy for making too much noise; she wanted to throw out Quinn too but couldn't because he was under her observation.

Quinn didn't have anything to do to pass his time, so he sat down on Harry's bed to make idle conversation with him. "So, Harry," he started, "what's in your plans for the summers? Anything special planned after the challenging months spent as a champion?"

"I honestly had no idea," said Harry, "I wasn't thinking about the future, you know. I was a little too occupied by what was going in the moment to think about the after," he took in a deep breath, "if I think about it now, probably play a lot of quidditch. . . . but Voldemort is back, so I don't think that's going to work."

"Is he really back?"

"Yeah, he is," told Harry, "saw him with my own eyes and felt it through my own magic," he stared at Quinn, "do you. . . . believe me?"

"I do. I mean, I can't think of a reason you would want to lie about it. If you wanted attention — you just won the Tri-wizard tournament; combine it with your status as the Boy-Who-Lived, and that's got you covered for a good while," said Quinn with a smile while thinking, 'plus, I was the one who allowed your abduction.'

The decision to let Voldemort resurrect himself through Harry's blood was one that Quinn had thought a lot about. It had taken him countless sessions of deep thinking, weighing pros and cons, making sense of his thoughts, and analyzing the risk involved.

Quinn's judgment hinged upon a single moment in the original timeline, the one weaved by the Duchess of Magic herself. It was the moment when Harry Potter surrendered himself to Voldemort and let himself be killed — after repeated encounters with the Dark Lord where Harry struggled with his life, he had decided to stop and let Voldemort kill him because of the deal proposed by the Dark Lord himself in return for the safety of all who rebelled and fought against him.

Voldemort had wasted no time and quickly cursed his prophesized doom dead with the eerie green Killing Curse. The result was instant death, as one would expect. But this great work of fiction was named Harry Potter, and things were far from over — Harry arrived at a kind-off Limbo — a strange between life and death.

The original Harry found himself in a pearly white, misty version of King's Cross Railway Station. He also finds a grotesque being struggling to survive nearby, and of course, all of this could be choked up to be some kind of magic; after all, he lived in a magical world.

But then Dumbledore, who was a hundred percent dead, approaches him, and Harry realizes that this was a place where he could interact with the dead without the power of an artifact like the Ressurection Stone and that he was truly dead — but. . . . this was Harry's perception of the situation, his assumption based on things he experienced.

However, Quinn believed that it was the Ressurection Stone that Harry had with him at his moment of death responsible for his presence at the Limbo and his meeting with the dead Dumbledore.

After all, Harry Potter wasn't dead.

Voldemort, in his greed, his cruelty, had taken Harry's blood to resurrect himself. The Dark Lord could have anyone who fits the description of his enemy to supply the blood for the ritual, but he chose Harry Potter.

Why?

It was because of the blood protection cast by the original Lily Potter through her sacrifice (which in Quinn's timeline was cast by Harry's grandmother: Euphemia Potter). He believed that by taking in the blood of the blessed Harry, he would also receive the protection, thus making the protection redundant.

His thinking, according to Quinn, was correct. . . . but incomplete.

It wasn't Voldemort's fault — he didn't have the complete information. Because the host soul couldn't detect the presence of the cut-off Horcruxes, Voldemort didn't know that his actions of cutting his soul several times had caused it to become unstable. What he didn't know was the day that he went to kill baby Harry, but ended had failed, and when Voldemort escaped, he left with much less than Voldemort thought he had.

He, in the obvious trauma of losing his body, hadn't noticed that he had left a portion of his soul behind — in the form of an unintended Horcrux — the Horcrux in the form of the infamous scar defined the Boy-Who-Lived.

Voldemort had tethered his life to Harry's life.

That was the sole reason why Quinn decided to let the event took place.

If Voldemort was to be taken down, Quinn either had to find a way to get rid of the Horcrux in Harry's scar or kill Harry Potter. The latter was something Quinn didn't want to do, and there was no information on how to diffuse a living-Horcrux; at least, Quinn hadn't found one yet.

So, the problem had presented itself, and Quinn needed to do the logical thing — which was to find a solution. So he began from the start and chained all of his knowledge about the original timeline — it turned out that the answer was on the most significant turning point of the magical saga.

It was the day Voldemort regained his body and re-attained his full power.

When Voldemort had taken Harry's blood, he had indeed found a way to bypass the sacrifice's protection. . . . but, it turned out that "he" was the only one who got that advantage.

If someone with perfect knowledge (or even incomplete knowledge like Quinn) was to look back on the fateful day that the Dark Lord met the soon-to-be Boy-Who-Lived, they would find that in the series of events, Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse, followed by Euphemia Potter countering it by the sacrificial protection, which then shielded Harry from the Killing Curse by bouncing it back at Voldemort and maybe it was because that the Killing Curse had reacted with sacrificial protection, its nature had been slightly altered causing Voldemort to lose his body.

. . . . It was only after all that Voldemort's unstable soul fragment had attached itself to Harry.

'Meaning that small soul fragment didn't get the protection of Euphemia's sacrifice,' that was the conclusion that Quinn came to. Voldemort's main soul, the host soul, had gotten protection because of Harry's blood, but the Horcrux inside Harry was still as unprotected as it was from day one.

'Maybe that was why Voldemort's stronger soul, even if it was only a fragment wasn't able to take over Harry's weaker soul — because the protection prevented it from doing so — and because Voldemort's ritual didn't affect the Horcrux, it still couldn't take over Harry.' And even though Quinn classified this chain of thought as a 'maybe,' he was sure that this was the case. . . . because wasn't his case a similar one and his target didn't have any sort of protection.

The Horcrux might have been a part of Harry Potter since that day, but in the end, it was still Voldemort. 'So, when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest, the protection certainly worked and protected Harry's soul, leaving the Killing Curse to strike the unprotected Horcrux.'

That was the theory that Quinn came up with — Voldemort's action that was supposed to eliminate his weakness was the reason that doomed.

As for the reason why Harry's soul reached the Limbo even though he wasn't dead? Quinn thought that the answer was a mix of Killing Curse's soul-ejecting effect and the thing in Harry's pocket when he died.

Quinn stared at Harry thinking, 'Sorry, man, but it seems you will once again have to get hit by the Killing Curse from Voldemort — but don't worry, Voldemort and I got you covered.'

"So, what have you planned for the summer?" asked Harry in return.

"Hmm, first, I'll have to go to a few people's houses to pacify their worries," said Quinn with a wry smile — his friends were already on the Hogwarts Express to their homes. "I'm not sure what I would do for the rest of the summer; I don't have concrete plans. Like you, I too got a bit too involved in what happened this year."

"Then how about you come to my and Ivy's birthday. We would love to have you there," smiled Harry. Quinn had helped him this year, and he had technically just saved Ivy from danger.

"Your and Ivy's birthday, huh," Quinn brows and nose scrunched up slightly, "it's on the 31st of July, you know. . . . that's right in the middle of the summer break. . . . I am usually very busy at that time," he sighed, "Alright, you have so generously invited so I will come to the Potter Twins' birthday bash."

"Nice," smiled Harry.

"What do you want for your gift?"

". . . . A quidditch team."

". . . . I like you, Potter, but not that much."

"Well, I tried. Get me anything man, I like a surprise."

"Alright, I'll see that you like my gift," said Quinn, "what about Ivy? What would she like?"

"Hmm, maybe a book. Ivy might not be Hermione, but she likes her books."

"That's my specialty. I'll get a good one," said Quinn in complete confidence; when it came to books, he was the boss, plus — 'Project Babel was a success,' he thought.

"Uhm, Quinn. . . ." called Harry.

"Yeah?" returned Quinn, then noticed the expression on Harry's face, "what's wrong."

"It sort of slipped my mind but," Harry pointed at Quinn's eyepatch, "that was caused by Voldemort — by Wormtail. . . . Peter Pettigrew, who got the spell from Voldemort."

". . . . You're saying that the Dark Lord costed me my eye?"

Harry nodded.

"Are you sure, Harry? Are you absolutely sure?"

Harry was a little taken back by the serious tone from Quinn, "Y-Yeah, I'm sure. He said so himself. Voldemort couldn't have me seen disappear, so he had to stop your magic."

Then Harry saw Quinn's hand clench, which worried him, but just before Harry could say something, Quinn raised his fist and shook it. . . . in celebration.

"Yeah! I knew it!" exclaimed Quinn loudly, "I knew my magic wasn't faulty! My magic can never be faulty," he then laughed, "take that, Madam Pomfrey," the matron was, of course, not present.

"Huh?" uttered Harry, "What—"

But before he could continue, Quinn brought down his hands onto his shoulders and gripped them tightly, "You can't tell this to anyone, Harry. Not your family, not your friends, and especially to Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Eh, why?"

"If my grandfather gets a whiff of this. Not only will he take me out of Hogwarts and move me to another school out of the British Isles, but he might also move against Voldemort as retaliation, and I don't want that to happen," Quinn pulled his most severe tone.

"I-I get the first part, but why the second. . . ."

"I've read about the First British Wizarding War," sighed Quinn, "a lot of people died, Harry. The Dark Lord's reign was full of blood and death for those who opposed him. During that time, the Wests remained neutral — my grandfather neither supported nor opposed the Dark Lord and even went as far as to flee the country during the high point of the way," he looked straight into Harry's eyes to get his point across, "my family is powerful Quinn. They could hire ample security to ensure their safety, but my grandfather or anyone in my family won't do that; they'll flee the country if the Dark Lord gains control and establish his reign. . . . but if they know that my injury was caused by the Dark Lord, my grandfather will get involved. . . . he'll invest our family resource to enact revenge. I don't want that. . . . I don't want my family to be involved in the war. . . . you know what I'm talking about, don't you, Harry?"

Harry nodded. He would hate it if something happened to his family. Ivy getting dragged into the Chamber of Secrets was one of the worst experiences of his life; he wouldn't have that kind of experience for anyone.

"I understand, mate," he assured Quinn, "I'll keep this a secret. I promise."

"Thank you, Harry," smiled Quinn — as Barty Crouch Junior had said, it was easy to manipulate decent people.

The West family might not get involved, but he had every intention to get involved.

. . .

After talking to Harry for a while, the Boy-Who-Lived expressed his desire to get some sleep, he hadn't slept last night because of the stressful experience, and it seemed that the talk with Quinn had somewhat helped him calm his nerves.

Quinn excused himself before going into Poppy's personal library to see if something interested him. He found a book related to his current eye injury and started reading it to upskill his knowledge. He walked back and forth across the hospital wings' floor with the healing book in hand.

"Quinn."

The call of his name made him turn around to see a well-suited man standing with Poppy, who seemed to be acting strange.

'Is she blushing?' thought Quinn, but threw that thought out as it seemed absurd. Instead, he focused on the man and smiled, "Uncle Elliot."

The perfect example of a gentleman removed his fedora as he gazed at Quinn with his eyepatched eye. He had already got the gist of Quinn's situation from the matron who had guided him in, but seeing Quinn with his own eyes did put him to ease.

"Young master. . . .You should be careful about experimenting with magic. You were lucky this time, getting out with only losing an eye, and that already is too much in my book," sighed Elliot Dalton, walking near Quinn to get a good look at him.

"Sorry to worry you," said Quinn, looking at the taller Elliot, "I'll be careful moving forward."

"See that you do," Elliot moved Quinn's head by the chin, "how're you feeling? Any discomfort?"

"Nothing except for the missing eye messing with spatial perception and that I have a huge blind spot on one side," replied Quinn; he could only imagine who this would affect his daily Muay Thai training.

"Hmm, I already have a medi-healer waiting for you at the manor."

"There's no need for a healer," said Quinn, "I can grow it back on my own. It's—"

" "No!" "

Quinn backed up a step from the in-sync response from Poppy and Elliot.

"You'll get treated by a proper, trained, certified healer — not buts and ifs," said Poppy in a no-nonsense tone, and Elliot nodded in support.

". . . . Okay," said Quinn, sounding defeated.

Quinn had already packed all of his things into his suitcase the day before yesterday; thus, after picking up luggage, Elliot and Quinn immediately left.

"So. . . . did you talk to grandfather?" asked Quinn as they walked through the Hogwarts ground, heading out so that they could apparate back to the West estate.

"He was in a meeting when I gave him the news," replied Elliot, "he'll meet you tonight," he turned to Quinn, "we all realize that magic can sometimes be dangerous, and injuries like this will come in future — but do try to be more careful."

Quinn could nod in response. He couldn't tell that Voldemort was the reason and not his magic. 'One day, I'll show the world. Mwahaha, ahem, yeah,' he thought.

"What about Lia?" he asked.

"Get ready to get yelled at a lot."

"Ugh, shouldn't have done this entire thing — not worth it."

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Summer, huh. Well, need to book the 31st of July on my calendar.

Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived - I'll keep a secret.

Albus Dumbledore - About to get real busy - I don't get paid enough for this.

Poppy Pomfrey - First time meeting Elliot - Oh my, what a gentleman. . . .

Elliot Dalton - Perfect Gentleman - Can absolutely rock a fedora.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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"The medi-healer's diagnoses said that if you follow his potion regime, you'll have your eye back in ten days," said George West, staring at his grandson's black eyepatch, "he also suggests that you rest for a couple of weeks to help the recovery; which I completely agree with."

Quinn nodded while tapping his finger on the armrest of his chair. Ever since he had returned from Hogwarts (which was yesterday), he had been treated like he had come close to losing his life..

"I've no strenuous plans in the recent future," he replied, "though I'll need to leave to go visit my friends — I already got anxious letters from them; it looks like they won't be satisfied if I don't visit them."

"Hmm," paused George, contemplating, "you'll have strict time curfew imposed on you. Cross them even once, and I'll have you grounded here for the entire summer break."

Quinn held back a sigh and nodded, "I understand. I will abide by your rules."

"Good," said George, "now tell me, what do you think about Dumbledore's sudden announcement of the Dark Lord's return."

"What do you think?" answered Quinn with a question.

"I don't want to believe it, alas Dumbledore is anything but a daft fool who would propagate such a severe thing if it was not a lie," said George, "though I can't say the same about the boy. What do you think of the Boy-Who-Lived — are his words trustworthy?"

"Harry Potter might not shy away from attention and fame, but I'm don't think he will lie about something of this magnitude. Also, from the time I spent with him in the hospital wing, I don't think he was lying."

"Did you. . . peek?"

"Ah, I could've done that, couldn't I?. . . but the missing eye had me off my game there."

"And yet, you engaged a Death Eater," said George.

Quinn's one eye twitched, "I ambushed the Death Eater. He had his wand aimed at Ivy Potter; if he didn't want to get taken out by Headmaster Dumbledore or Auror Potter or both, he wouldn't have pointed his wand at me — I was completely safe in that scenario."

George didn't look satisfied with Quinn's explanation, no matter how much sense it made. ". . . . So it's safe to say that the Dark Lord has returned?"

"It seems so."

George sighed. This news wasn't faring well — plus, it was terrible for business. "I'll send out for definitive news of the Dark Lord's return. I'm sure someone from the Dark Faction would be more than happy to pass along the information."

Quinn nodded. There was always someone waiting to brag.

"Alright then, let's move on. How did your OWLs go?" asked George.

"Ah, the OWLs," said Quinn, "I almost forgot about them — they were exhaustingly easy. . . . I was tempted to go sleep after an hour of writing. Fortunately, practicals are a quick affair — it was quite simple to impress the external examiners with some basic nonverbal casting. . . . All-in-all, I'll pass with rainbow-colored Os with beyond hundred points."

"That's great to hear," nodded George, "what about Ms. Fleur Delacour, are you two. . . ."

"You don't beat around the bush, do you," sighed Quinn, expecting a little tact from his grandfather, but it seemed that a parent's curiosity was strong with George West, "I'm not involved with Fleur. That was just a one-time, brief. . . . thing."

"You can be honest with me, son. There's no need to be shy."

The grandson and grandfather stared at each other for a good few seconds before Quinn graced George with an answer,

". . . . I am being honest with you, grandfather," Quinn enunciated every syllable that rolled of his tongue, "I do not have any sort of intimate relationship with Ms. Fleaur Delacour."

"I see. . . . if you say so."

". . ."

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

"35. . . 36. . . 37. . . 38. . ."

The sudden loss of vision in one caused multitudes of problems for Quinn. Besides being blind on one side and having terrible spatial perception, Quinn had to suffer through balance disorders, decreased visual clarity, eyestrain, headaches because his other good eye was stressing itself by compensating for its missing partner.

After just one Muay Thai training session, Quinn had come near to throwing up because of nausea. By the end of that session, Quinn had decided to suspend Muay Thai till he got his eye back and elected to only do physical conditioning.

The lack of daily hitting, punching, and kicking the crap out of the heavy bag bummed Quinn out, so he chose to take on a new challenge and thus altered the way he performed conditioning — he started to do every exercise much slower than his usual speed.

If it was a pushup, Quinn would do every single one very slowly, making his muscles hold the weight for much longer — the same went for pullups, squats, and any exercise he could introduce it into. Furthermore, he tried out isometrics into his new routine because it didn't stress his vision.

"O-Oh-ho, I have to make Eddie do this," panted Quinn mid a slow pushup, "this feels exhilarating." The base physique of a body-magic user mattered when it came to the elevation provided by magic, albeit only in the basic versions of body magic — a fit body was required even at the advanced levels, but it no longer affected the productivity of the magic.

Even without that initial reasoning, now Quinn had fallen in love with martial arts and physical fitness. It made him feel good, and working towards his ideal physique was a rewarding feeling.

And as Quinn got some work in, the door to the training hall busted open with a bang.

"Quinn, I heard you lost an eye!" Lia West, freshly home from yet another trip outside the country, announced herself with full vigor.

The older sister glanced down to see her shirtless baby brother doing a pushup over a puddle of sweat beneath him with sweat dripping off his body. She could see him from the side — the side which was blinded.

"Huh, Wah! Lia is that you?!" she heard, "damn it, that scared me! Ugh, I can't see you properly."

Quinn got up and turned his entire body to the door to finally get a complete look at his sister, who, for some reason, had her wand pointed at him. "Why do—" before Quinn could ask her, Lia waved her wand, and he found all the sweat vanished into a puff of vapor.

"Ah, thanks," he said before smiling, "hey, Lia. Welcome back, sis. How're you doing? Brought me any gifts? Any exotic and exciting books. . . ." He tried to talk his way out of getting scolded, only to trail off when he couldn't pick a scolding on Lia's face.

"That eyepatch looks needlessly cool," said Lia.

"Thank you?" he said, judging the vibe, "you also look good. New haircut?"

"No."

"It doesn't matter; you're glowing."

Lia stepped ahead, walked towards Quinn, and grabbed his face by the cheeks. "How is the treatment going?"

"I've only been back one day, so nothing major," said Quinn with his cheeks being kneaded, "the potion tastes bad, and the eye drop burns when I put them in. . . . the empty eye socket."

"You've been busy — organizing quidditch tournaments, commentating, hosting. . . . playing knight in shining armor and kissing Veelas."

Quinn fought down the intense cough that overcame him and settled to loudly cleared his throat, "Why are all of you so interested in it? It was only a one-time thing."

"Because it's interesting," replied Lia, now pinching Quinn's hurting cheeks wide, "there's only so much that goes on here."

Quinn finally couldn't take it anymore and released his now red, hot cheeks out from the torturous pincers. "You're not going to scold me?" he asked directly.

"Not really," shrugged Lia, "people make mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes, mostly small — I don't do big mistakes — during my starting years, it took me a lot of time to get in the groove of things."

Quinn, for the umpteenth time, suppressed a groan. It bugged him a lot that everyone thought that it was his mistake in magic that cost him his eye.

". . . . I will take more care moving forward."

"Good, that's the correct attitude," smiled Lia, "now get some clothes; we're going out to the non-magical world to have some fun."

Quinn grinned, "Wicked."

Not only he got to go out because George would let him go out if Lia was accompanying him, but he also didn't have to listen to a long lecture.

"You're paying," she said.

"Glady," he was feeling generous today.

.

- (Scene Break) -

.

It was the night of the 26th of June, 1995, just two days after the night of the third and final task of the Tri-wizard tournament. The night was clear, with the valley of stars shining in the inky black.

And beneath that sky, standing in a wide clearing with no civilization in sight, just the embrace of nature, stood Dark Lord Voldemort, staring up at the sky with his dull, black, bottomless eyes.

"Wormtail, it's time to bring them all together," he said, removing his eye from the sky and turned to the man who looked like a humanized version of a thin-rat, "it's time for my friends to gather to greet me, congratulate me. . . . and finally face me."

"Yes, My Lord," said Peter, stepping forward while pulling his robes' sleeve past his elbow, revealing the vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth: the Dark Mark — the symbol that struck fear into the hearts of all British magical society.

"It's clearly back," said Peter softly, "they will all have noticed it . . . and now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . ."

"Yes, let's see how many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his black eyes suddenly turning orbs of gleaming red, fixed upon the mark. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Peter's arm, and Peter let out a fresh hiss; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark — the mark went from red to black.

With a look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around the clearing — it was peaceful and beautiful. Voldemort laughed again. Up and down, he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between trees, behind the shades, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them.

Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes. "Master. . . . Master. . . ." he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same, each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle. Yet they left gaps in the ring, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years . . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. . . . We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.

"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air."

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt appearances! — and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their Master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who left Voldemort's side and joined the others in the ring.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken; they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . ."

"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore and his merry band — what are they called, ah yes, Order of The Phoenix. . . . but I've heard that they're called by a new name. . . . what was it? Wormtail, do you know?"

"The Light Faction," replied Peter promptly.

At the mention of Albus Dumbledore and the Light Faction, the circle members stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

"It is a disappointment to me . . . I confess myself disappointed. . . ."

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. "Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand — "Crucio!"

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; the sound spread throughout the surroundings. Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years . . . I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

"I could only hope, Master," said Peter; his voice was stable and steady.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but because you wanted to seek your personal revenge. . . . I should punish you, but as you already spent all those years in Azkaban, you were already punished enough and as traitorous as you are, you helped me . . . and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers. . . . Wormtail, I will help you seek your revenge — you would drown in as much revenge as your greedy heart could ever desire."

Peter strode forward, knelt on his knees, and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.

"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ."

Peter stood up and returned to his place; the other Death Eaters looked at him envy and regret — only if they had. . . .

Voldemort now approached the man on Peter's right.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though, to the world, you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius. . . . Your exploits at the Wizengamot were fun, I daresay . . . but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your Master?

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately; nothing could have prevented me —"

"Oh Lucius, you and your silver tongue," said Voldemort lazily, and Lucius stopped talking abruptly, "if your tongue wasn't so useful to me, I would've cut and made you eat it. . . . You have disappointed me. . . . I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course. . . . You are merciful, thank you. . . ."

Voldemort moved on and stopped, staring at the space — large enough for two people — that separated Malfoy and the next man.

"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us . . . they are our natural allies . . . we will recall the banished giants . . . I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. . . ."

He walked on. He passed some of the Death Eaters in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

"Macnair . . . destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide. . . ."

"Thank you, Master . . . thank you," murmured Macnair.

"And here" — Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures — "we have Crabbe . . . you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master . . ."

"We will, Master. . . ."

"The same goes for you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Mr. Goyle's shadow.

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —"

"That will do," said Voldemort.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return . . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever . . . he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service — the one that Dumbledore just sent to Azkaban."

There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask.

"Master, we crave to know . . . we beg you to tell us . . . how you have achieved this . . . this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. . . ."

Voldemort laughed and started to narrate his journey from the day he fell to two days before. And during his narration, the Death Eaters shivered when their Master, again and again, showed them all the opportunities they could've taken to save him and how close he had been to them for the past few years.

He then looked back at the sky and spoke in but a whisper, "Harry Potter. . . . that child, he once again escaped me through some strange magic. . . . magic that I'm not aware of. That won't do, that won't do."

Voldemort turned in a circle to see all those gathered and declared, "Gather my forces, Death Eaters. It's time for us to build towards our previous glory. . . . no, this time we are going to surpass it and finally rule this wretched country."

He raised his bone-like wand like a conductor of an opera and closed his eyes. The beautiful and serene scenery reflected in his mind and then with a smile. . . .

The Death Eaters, who were all smiling at their Master's promise, felt a tremor beneath their feet. All looked down just in time to see cracks begin appearing on the ground near them. They started to shake in their boots as the cracks grew bigger and deeper, closing towards them.

"M-Master. . . ." said one of the Death Eater.

Voldemort didn't reply and raised his wand higher. The trees around them began collapsing with the hundreds of meters of land all around them began to overturn, crack, rise, sink — the scenic place within a few seconds had turned into a different place.

The Death Eaters looked at the ground, which was the only location that was unchanged.

All realized all recalled. . . . who their Master was.

Voldemort opened his eye to show glowing red orbs and cruelly grinned, "Gentlemen. . . . let there be chaos."

He waved his wand down, and suddenly there were explosions. When the explosions stopped, the Death Eaters looked around — gone was the greenery and the beautiful nature — all there was left was destruction. . . . unbridled devastation. . . . and as he had said. . . . Chaos.

The entire landscape had been changed.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - The only upside of the eyepatch is its coolness.

George West - Grandfather - Wants to know if his grandson is dating.

Lia West - Sister - She didn't scold. . . . what a unique situation.

Voldemort - Dark Lord - Powerhouse has returned.

Death Eaters - Dark Mark Bearers - It's time to return.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn stared to his front with one eye with a charming smile on his face. He was dressed sharply and sat with his best posture — he was trying to be the best he could be, and except the eyepatch, he was. . .. . perfect.

"Quinn, dear, do you want more," said the lady sitting in front of him. She had short brunette hair, wearing an apron over a long light blue midi dress, and Quinn could see the resemblance she bore with her son.

"Yes, Mrs. Carmichael, I would love to have more," said Quinn, setting his glass on the table for a jug to float over it, refilling it for another serving of reddish-pink punch. "Thank you, it's delightful, Mrs. Carmichael," smiled Quinn, "especially this shortbread. . . . it's so good! No wonder Eddie is always ranting about the food at school."

"He does, doesn't he," said Eleanor Carmichael, glancing at her son who was sporting messy bed hair and sleep clothes, staring at the scene with discomfort, "what would I do with you, Ed? You knew Quinn was visiting today, and look at you — you didn't have the decency to wake up early in the morning even when I woke you up," she gestured towards Quinn, "Look at your friend; he's so well mannered and even brought gifts for us. Grow up a little and learn from Quinn."

Eddie could only nod at his lovely mother's rant in fear of being hit with her mighty ladle. But when he glanced at Quinn, he saw his best friend grinning deeply into his glass. Eddie fought the urge to throw the platter on the table at Quinn — the bastard was acting like he was the best-behaved person in the world.

"How's your eye feeling dear," asked Mrs. Carmichael.

"It's growing properly, ma'am," said Quinn, "though it's a little itchy."

"This year wasn't good at all," she sighed, "first Ed got into that accident playing quidditch, and then you lost your eye — and now, all the news about You-Know-Who and how Dumbledore has been saying that he has returned."

"Things had been quite chaotic these few days," said Quinn smiling while picking himself a slice of cake, "I'm sure it will all settle down quite soon. I'm just hoping that it doesn't get too hot this summer. You know how it gets. . . ."

"Yes, it gets quite bothersome," Mrs. Carmichael agreed, "now dear, I hope you're hungry and staying for lunch."

"Yes, of course, ma'am," smiled Quinn; he was always ready for food, "I ate a lot of the food you sent to Hogwarts. I'm pretty sure that Marcus and I ate half of anything you sent."

Mrs. Carmichael stood up and smiled, "It's good that you did. I sent it for all you three boys. Now, let me set up the table, and we will be eating soon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael," said Quinn as the woman exited the room. He turned to Eddie and smiled, "Your mum is nice. . . . and I have to say, a great cook."

". . . . You know what's going to happen when you leave," said Eddie, "she'll hound me for the entire day about Quinn this, Quinn that and then bring you up time and time again to win arguments. . . . couldn't you have reeled it in a little."

Quinn raised his hand and wiggled his index finger a little — Eddie shivered a little when he felt his hair stand up before settling down; his sleepwear got ironed, his shirt got tucked in, and the top button tied up. He touched his head to see his bed hair was now combed.

"See, much better," said Quinn, "you could've done this before coming down; you would've been fine."

"Unlike you, you wandless dipshit, I can't use magic without a wand and can't unless I want a letter from ministry up my arse."

"Oh, I forgot about that," smiled Quinn, "it's not like you'll get a letter, you know? The letter won't come if you do magic inside your house. . . . the tracker will classify it as your parents doing the magic."

"Even so, I can't. My wand is in my luggage, and mum stashed it in the attic."

"Always keep your wand with yourself with you, mate — you never know when you need that zap of magic," said Quinn before switching to something of more importance, "how's it looking? Does it look like your parents will allow you to come to Hogwarts?"

"Hmm? Ah, that, huh. . . . well, as you saw mum, she doesn't think much of it, but dad has been worried a little, but not to the level that they won't allow me to go back to Hogwarts."

"That's good to hear," smiled Quinn, "Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without you there cursing at me daily."

"You bet it won't, you little bitch."

"Hey, Woah, Hey. . . ."

"It's already out, can't take it back," said Eddie quickly, "what about you?"

"I'm definitely coming. No opposition from my side."

"Great."

Mrs. Carmichael entered back into the living room. "Come, you boys, the table is set," she asked when she saw them smiling, "what are you talking about?"

Quinn leaped onto his feet, "We were talking about the OWLs. . . . Eddie was telling me—"

"Oh, OWLs! How did you do on your OWLs, Quinn," asked Mrs. Carmichael.

"I think I did great," smiled Quinn, "though I'm a little worried that I didn't get enough time to study with the quidditch tournament. . . "

Eddie watched as Quinn walked with his mother while giving him a wink. Quinn had just made the aftermath that much worse.

"Motherfuc—"

"EDDIE CARMICHAEL!" yelled Mrs. Carmichael.

"Quinn kissed the French Veela champion in front of everyone!" blurted Eddie for no reason.

Quinn turned to Eddie and threw his hands up with a 'what' expression before turning to Mrs. Carmichael. "Eddie has gotten very close to his Yule Ball date, Tracey Davis," he turned to Eddie and maliciously grinned, "I have pictures."

The expression of pure curiosity that bloomed on his mother's face caused Eddie to let out a soundless scream.

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- (Scene Break) -

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The British summer was at its peak with the sun throwing its death beams of heat at the habitants, making their life quite miserable. The non-magical media declared the summer of 1995 as the hottest summer, breaking all records and setting new ones.

"Marcus. . . ." hummed Quinn, his voice flowing with pleasurable delight.

"Hmm?" came the reply.

"Why didn't you say that your house had a pool?" asked Quinn.

Currently, he was floating weightlessly on his back inside the pool in Marcus's home's backyard. He had sunglasses with a blue tint on and was dressed only in a conjured pair of swim trunks.

'I should ask Ms. Rosey to build a pool at home,' he thought, 'or maybe I should do it on my own.'

"You never asked," replied Marcus in a similar state as Quinn.

"This is the life, my friend," said Quinn.

". . . . don't pee, okay," said Marcus, but where he didn't hear a reply, "don't pee in the pool!"

"I won't, I won't, don't worry~."

"Quinn, which NEWT level classes are you going to take? Didn't you give OWLs for all twelve subjects?"

"Yeah, I did," even though Quinn didn't study Muggle Studies and Divination, he gave the OWLs for both of them — he wanted twelve Os on his diploma, "I'm going to take all NEWT-level classes except Divination, Muggle Studies, and maybe Care of Magical Creatures. . . . I will study Care after Hogwarts as that will be more extensive, but I'm not sure if I want to learn it in Hogwarts."

"But you're going to give NEWTS for all, correct?"

"Yeah, that goes without saying."

"What should I take?"

"Just take whatever subjects that interest you."

"Subjects that interest me. . . . I'm not big on Care, Divination, and Herbology. . . , but brewing potions can be fun, so I can't discard Herbology."

"Then take whatever you think you want to study, and then you can decide in the seventh year if you can keep it up or not," said Quinn, "and as long as you don't want to become something like an Auror or Healer, you don't have to score Outstanding across the board, as long as you have Exceeding Expectations, you'll be fine. . . . marks on your degree becomes redundant after a few years."

Of course, as Marcus was Quinn's friend, Marcus would get admission to any apprenticeship programs funded by the Wests or a job in the business. Quinn left that unsaid as he didn't want Marcus to become lax — he would tell Marcus this near the end of their seventh year, during the career counselling period.

"Okay," said Marcus, "do you have any plans for next year. Anything grand like the quidditch tournament?"

"No, oh no," replied Quinn, "the quidditch tournament was too much work to be done in a year. I don't want to do that amount of work for a while."

Then Quinn groaned. He put his hands on the surface of the water and pushed himself up, pulling his body out of the water, and soon he was standing on water. It was okay because Marcus and Quinn were alone at Marcus's home as his parents were out shopping for the Belby family's trip to Turkey.

"That won't get old no matter how many times I see it," commented Marcus.

"You want to do it?"

Marcus stirred in the water, "I can do that?"

"Well, you can't do it on your own, but I can make it so you can stand on water."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Quinn pointed at a place of water near Marcus for it to glow in an aqua-blue color, "that lit-up spot is essentially solid, so use it to pull yourself up."

Marcus was doubtful, but when he touched the aqua-blue, it really seemed solid, and even when he put some weight, it didn't collapse or let his arms slip into the water. He gingerly used the glowing platform to pull himself out of the water.

"W-Woah," chuckled Marcus amid balancing himself on the water. But his eyes widened in shock when the glow vanished, and he instinctively closed his eye, but he didn't enter the water like he expected.

"That glow was just for marking purposes," snickered Quinn, "you can walk anywhere inside the pool."

Marcus took hesitant and careful steps on the pool, checking twice for the structural integrity. It took him a couple of minutes before he started walking normally, but that was the extent Marcus was ready to test the limits.

Quinn, on the other hand, was doing cartwheels, summersaults, backflips on the pool. Which did nothing but provoke his balance disorder, and he came close to puking all over the pool.

Pool time ended with Marcus rubbing Quinn's back as the two friends kneeled on the pool's surface.

When it came time for Quinn to leave, Marcus asked him to wait for a moment before he went running up to his room.

"What is it?" asked Quinn when Marcus came back.

"Here, this is for you," said Marcus, placing a small ring box in Quinn's hand.

"Yes, yes, yes — a hundred times yes," grinned Quinn, "when's the wedding?"

"Oh shut up," said Marcus, "open it; you'll be surprised with what's inside."

Quinn followed Marcus' words and opened the velvet-covered box with a smile — the smile which drained when he saw what was inside.

"This is. . . ."

Inside the box was a burnt, pitch-black sphere that was missing a lot of its parts.

"After you collapsed, and the maze was cleared out the obstacles, I went into the labyrinth to see if I could find the eye," shrugged Marcus, "I thought you would like to have a look to see what went wrong with your magic — luckily, I was able to find it."

Quinn stared at the charred artificial eye before gazing up at Marcus. "You went out looking for this because of me?"

"Yeah," nodded Marcus, "I know how important magic is for you. So, I went out. . . . it's not a big deal."

"No, no, no," said Quinn, "what do you mean, it's not a big deal? This is a big deal, Marcus," he stepped close to Marcus and engulfed him into a tight hug, "this is a huge deal for me that you did this."

Marcus couldn't do anything but hug Quinn back, and he had to admit it, the hug felt good — it was nice to be thanked. . . .

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- (Scene Break) -

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"What are you doing here?" asked Ron Weasley, seeing Quinn West sitting in the middle of Burrow's dining room while the family was busy packing up for a move.

"I don't know," said Quinn being honest, "I was going home after visiting Luna when your two older twin brothers cornered me and dragged me here."

The Weasley twins were like a typhoon and had crazy persuasion skills that Quinn didn't know, but before he knew it, he was sitting in the Burrow with a bowl of Raspberries in front of him. And

"I let my guard down," said Quinn, and he didn't mind it at all because all he could think was that his investment was going to give him great returns in the future.

". . . . and why is there paint on your face?" asked Ron because, with the eyepatch, the drawn up beard, and scar lines, Quinn looked like a pirate, and all he needed was a hat.

"I was visiting Luna," said Quinn as if it explained everything. He didn't have time to remove it — he was going to remove it when he was a little distance from Luna's house, but just when he got far enough, the twins ambushed him.

"Are you guys doing a summer cleaning?" asked Quinn, looking at the boxes everywhere.

"Y-Yeah, something like that," said Ron. He couldn't tell Quinn that they were going to move a secret headquarter. . . . the thing was the Ron didn't need to say anything; Quinn already knew his thoughts.

"Where are my brothers?" asked Ron.

"They went up to their rooms to get some stuff."

And on cue, the Weasley twins came down to the dining room with two big boxes.

"Quinn, here take a look at this—" "—this is what we have come up with for next year—" "—some of them are complete—" "while others are still under development."

The twins dumped the boxes on the table for Quinn to see. Pirate-Quinn stood up and, with his one eye, started to shuffle through the things inside the box.

"Boxing telescope, Comb-a-Chameleon, Demon Box, Lucky Dip, Otters Fizzy Orange Juice, Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow, Self-propelling Custard Pies, Unlucky Dip, Wonderous Wands, Dragon Roasted Nuts, Tiny Twister, Sticky Trainers, Mysterious Midnight Moon Madness, Exploding Whizz Poppers, Silver Sparkling Snakes, Thor's Thunder Cracker, Voodoo Fountain, Diabolic Dare Devils, Bang Bang Boggart Banger, Saunders' Invisible Silk, Miraphorus Magic Set, Eduardo's Unbreakable Eggs, Crush Blush, Flirting Fancies, Pygmy Puffs, Twilight Moonbeams, Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher. . . . "

One by one, Quinn took out the items, saw what they did, got descriptions from the twins, critiqued them, suggested improvements, and asked them questions on the future of the incomplete products.

"I'm assuming your mother isn't home," asked Quinn seeing all this stuff out in the open.

"Yeah, mum is out—" "—she went out just before you came—" "— that's why we invited you in—" "— we have a little time before she comes back."

The twins pointed at the family clock — the clock hand with Molly written on it was pointing at the "Shopping" tab.

"Eh? What's happening?" asked Ron. All the different products didn't faze him, but all the complex money and business talk that accompanied confused the hell out of him.

" "Nothing; don't worry your little head about it." "It will hurt if you do so."

"Huh?"

Quinn packed everything back and gave his final words, "The products have value and will do well with a younger crowd — Hogwarts and younger, which is fine for now as it's better to target a smaller niche at the start, but I will suggest that you start thinking and planning for things that cover an older demographic — it's good if you start thinking about these things early."

Twins nodded. They weren't amateurs when it came to sales. They had been doing it at an informal level for years; they just needed to convert that knowledge earned through experience to a formal level — Quinn's consultation provided them with a bridge to help them transition.

"We can't wait—" "—in just one more year."

" "We will have our own shop!" "

'And with it, a new stream of income for me,' thought Quinn, 'my first step on a journey as an investor,' he glanced at the twins, 'hell, these two even manage to bag defense contract in the future. . . . they just might become the crown jewel in my portfolio.'

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- (Scene Break) -

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George West came down to the dining hall for supper in the evening to see that other than Ms. Rosey and Elliot, his two grandchildren were absent.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Lia took a Portkey to France for a night out with her Beauxbatons friends," informed Ms. Rosey. Because of the volume of Lia's travels, she had learned to cast the Portkey spell for her travel needs. The young woman had more experience creating Portkeys than those her own age, who worked at Portkey departments in various Ministries.

"And what about Quinn? I made myself clear that he wasn't to remain outside after supper time."

"Quinn's having dinner at the Greengrass household."

"The Greengrass, you say," hummed George, his hand went into his pocket and came out an envelope, "I wanted to discuss something with him. . . ."

"What is it?" asked Ms. Rosey, noticing the unusual expression on George's face.

George slightly raised the letter and commented, "A letter came from the Abate-s."

Elliot and Ms. Rosey went silent with surprise. It had been a while since they had heard of that name.

". . . .What do they want?" asked Elliot.

"They want to meet him and are inviting him to visit," said George.

"And?" asked Ms. Rosey, asking for George's decision.

"You know I can't decide for Quinn, at least not for this. He'll decide if he wants to go and meet them."

That day, the dinner at the West manor went in silence as the three people ate in silence and thought.

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Quinn West - MC - On a tour of friends' homes.

Eddie Carmichael - Profanity machine - That went down the other way quick.

Eleanor Carmichael - Mother - Her ladle is mighty.

Marcus Belby - An Angel - Just what can one say about him.

George West - Grandfather - The Abate(s). . . .

FictionOnlyReader- Author - Next chapter we visit Greengrass and another one (Guess who, Quinn said he would visit this person.)

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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"Now, tell me. . . .. which of my hands hold the galleon."

Astoria Greengrass intently stared at the two closed fists in front of her, her eyes moving back and forth between the two trying to figure out the location of the hidden galleon.

"Your right is slightly raised, so I will say that it's in the left," she said.

Quinn smiled and opened his right hand, "Too bad, you're wrong," there sat a golden galleon sitting in his right palm.

"Again?! I've lost ten times in a row," said Astoria, huffing, "how are you doing this? You're using magic, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm using magic, my dear Astoria," said Quinn with a smile, "but not the magic that you and I know how to use — this is a different type, and in the hands, just as charming.

"You just have to look closely and ask yourself the right questions," said Quinn, gazing at the black-haired Greengrass, "when you eliminate all other possibilities, the remaining answer, no matter how improbable, will be the correct one."

Astoria narrowed her eyes, trying to deduce how Quinn did it, but — "I can't tell. You're definitely using magic — the first kind."

"Do you want to how I did it?"

"Yes!"

Quinn opened his left hand, and there sat another galleon. Astoria gasped while he laughed.

"Whichever hand you chose, I opened the other to show you the coin — and with a little flair, I made sure your attention was off the hand you chose."

"That's not fair! You cheated," said Astoria, complaining.

"I didn't, young one. We never set any rules — nowhere did we decide that I couldn't use two coins."

"If you can use two coins, then I should get two chances to guess."

"Fair enough."

"See you denied. . . . wait, really?"

"Yeah, sure," shrugged Quinn, "you get two guesses every chance the next time we play this."

"Next time?" then Astoria saw Quinn smirking and realized that the next time wasn't going to come anytime soon. She exclaimed in frustration at getting her hopes up and threw a sofa cushion at Quinn, who caught it while laughing.

"You two are making too much of a ruckus."

The two turned to see Daphne enter the lounge, dressed in a white high-collared sleeved blouse and below the knee-length black skirt. She sat down beside Astoria and greeted Quinn,

"Apologies for keeping you wait," she said while pushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, "I was preoccupied with some lessons."

"It's fine. Astoria is an excellent company," said Quinn, and as he couldn't wink, he settled for a smile.

Daphne stared at Quinn's face for a good few seconds before asking, "How's your eye faring?" her eyes still fixed on the red eyepatch, which matched with his shirt and complimented well with his black pants.

"It's coming along just fine. It'll be back in a week," said Quinn before picking up his glass of elderflower cordial, "this is delightful; where can I buy this? I would love to have some of this at home."

"We grow them at home," said Astoria, jumping into the conversation, "it's Daphne's favorite, so mum makes sure to grow it whenever it's the season."

"Oh? Is it now. That's good to know," Quinn looked at Daphne, "as expected, Daphne, you have excellent taste."

". . . .Thank you," said Daphne giving her beaming sister a brief glance.

"So, are you guys also going to the Potter twins' birthday party?" asked Quinn.

"I'm going!" said Astoria, raising her hand high.

Daphne nodded with a sigh. It was a given with how close their mothers were to each other. Every year, at least, Daphne and Astoria would go to the Potters on the 31st of August, and vice-versa, the Potter twins would attend Daphne's birthday.

'Wait,' thought Daphne and asked, "what do you mean by 'also'?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm invited this year."

". . . . Which one of the twins invited you?" asked Daphne.

"Harry did; why?" asked Quinn.

"I know~! I know~!" said Astoria, before Daphne could, "every year, invitations to birthday celebration go out, but things get interesting as the invitations aren't addressed by Ivy and Harry Potter together — any invitation can only have one name — either Harry or Ivy."

Daphne sneakily sighed in relief. It wasn't the reason why she had asked.

"Oh, why is that?" asked Quinn, sounding interested.

"It's because of the competition."

"Competition?"

Daphne took over from there and continued, "Every year at the Potters' birthday, they hold a competition between the twins — the invitations are a way to gather teams for said competition. . . . taking your case, as Harry invited you, your invitation will have Harry's name on it, and during the evening, you'll be on team Harry."

"That. . . . sounds really interesting," said Quinn, "what kind of competition are we talking about here?"

"It changes every year," said the blonde, "we have put on plays, done fishing competition, trivia contests, and so many other things."

It turned out that the Potter twin didn't celebrate their birthday at home, but at different destinations, because their house was in a mixed neighborhood and there wasn't enough place to host all the guests. Moreover, unlike the usual parties, it was a whole day event.

"Oh ho. Now, I'm looking forward to attending the birthday," said Quinn, "then, what about you guys? Whose team are you two on?"

"I'm on Harry's," said Astoria.

"Ivy's," said Daphne.

"Then it looks like Astoria, and I will be winning this time," said Quinn, high-fiving Astoria.

Then there was a pop, and a spotty green house-elf wearing a tan pillowcase appeared in the lounge. The house-elf stared at the three with his big, watery eyes,

"Food is ready. Master be calling," he said.

"We will be there, Barley," said Daphne in acknowledgment, and the house-elf popped away. She turned to Quinn, "let's go; mother and father must be waiting."

Quinn nodded and stood up at once, "Let's. We can't keep Mrs.," he caught a glare forming and quickly improvised, "and Mr. Greengrass waiting."

"Let's hurry. I'm hungry!" said Astoria and ran ahead.

"Don't run!" Daphne called out as she stood up, "she's going to get herself hurt," she sighed.

"Well, we can't do anything about that," said Quinn, falling into step beside Daphne, "her energy levels will remain high for the rest of the day," he had just treated Astoria, "she'll be back to being her usual relatively-manageable self tomorrow."

. . .

"So, Quinn. . . . bad luck, eh?" said Jacob Greengrass, "an excellent year throughout, but it ended up with a hiccup — quite a serious hiccup."

"I wouldn't say a big hiccup," smiled Quinn, "temporarily losing an eye isn't that serious. I have been through worse."

"Oh, like what?"

"Like dunking himself into freeze potion," said Daphne, "freezing his entire body to the point that he had to stay inside in the hospital wing for ten days."

"What she said," said Quinn.

"Tracey told me that Quinn was bald during that time," said Astoria, chiming in.

"That I was."

"But as dear said, it was quite an eventful year for you, wasn't it, Quinn," spoke Sophie Greengrass, "whenever I was with my friends, I think I heard your name more than I heard the champions'. When we heard that a student organized the tournament, everyone was impressed, and the result just deepened the amazement."

"True," said Jacob, "I think I even heard that because the tournament was so successful, many in the quidditch world are talking about adopting the Quinn-format as a new format."

"Thank you, but I would like to correct you on one thing," said Quinn, "it wasn't me alone who made the tournament as successful as it was," he gazed at Daphne, "Daphne and my helpers aided me every step of the way to make things possible; as such, I can't take all the credit."

"How humble," smiled Sophie.

"I would actually like to thank you for including Daphne in the tournament," said Jacob, "it was a good experience to have, which I'm glad that Daphne and Tracey both got to be a part of."

"I only chose those I thought were capable — Daphne is one of the most capable people I know, so selecting her was a no-brainer."

The girl in question felt her cheeks flush, which she tried to push down. But not before her mother caught a glance of it and a knowing smile made onto her face.

That evening, Quinn went on to say many things that made Daphne flush a lot while Sophie almost had a permanent knowing smile on her face as she observed her daughter from the side.

"So, Quinn, what do you think about the Dark Lord?" asked Jacob suddenly out of nowhere when they were having dessert.

"Jacob!" exclaimed Sophie at her husband's abrupt inquiry. Daphne and Astoria, too, looked a little uncomfortable.

"It's fine, Mrs. Greengrass," said Quinn, putting down his ice cream bowl and spoon. "The Dark Lord, hmm. . . ."

The Greengrass family all turned to Quinn with varying levels of surprise.

"Magically talented," said Quinn, "the dark lord is a generational talent when it comes to magic," he noticed the looks his hosts were giving him and shrugged, "just because he went down the path he took doesn't mean he isn't great — and you of all should know my views on magic.

"I would say the Dark Lord was charismatic with a great talent for manipulation," he continued, "otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to gather so many followers." Tom Riddle had been as charming as Quinn when he was Hogwarts — the only one to suspect him was Dumbledore.

"To be able to manage egotistical people from noble houses, even the infamously stubborn Blacks, and bring them under one banner; that takes some effective leadership." Even now, Tom's style of leadership had changed from the original charismatic rule of the Hogwarts gang to the tyrannical and completely ruthless - though no less highly effective - command of his Death Eaters demonstrated throughout both the First Wizarding War.

"He must be an excellent teacher, given how his inner circle Death Eaters were able to contend with highly trained Aurors," Quinn's attack on the Death Eaters at the World Cup hadn't been an accurate representation of Death Eater's skill as he had ambushed them and all of them were piss drunk and neither were they personally trained by the Voldemort himself.

Of course, there were things that Quinn left unsaid — like Salesman skills that Riddle demonstrated at Borgin and Burke's when he was in his late teens. The indomitable willpower that helped him survive more than a decade inside the Albanian forests as well as for several months on the back of Quirrell's head as well as in the old Riddle House for an equally lengthy-time period, showing that aside from his determination, he had remarkable endurance and tolerance.

"The Dark Lord is terrible, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he's great," said Quinn shrugging, "his fault was that he took down the wrong path — if he had just been more like me, then he would have been terrific and great."

The Greengrass family just stared at Quinn as he finished his thoughts. At most, they were expecting to be a slightly different version of the oh so terrible Dark Lord.

"I must say, Mrs. Greengrass, this ice cream — better than Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor."

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- (Scene Break) -

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Garrick Ollivander worked in the back workshop of his narrow and shabby shop when he heard his shop's tinkling bell, which rang when someone entered the shop. He stood up and walked outside to greet the new customer — it was near the time when he got eleven years old getting their first wands.

But when he arrived at the front, he saw the back of a person who looked older than an eleven-year-old. Ollivander silently opened the partition in the counter to step outside for his standard surprise greeting, but just when he had taken a single step, the customer spoke,

"I appreciate you keeping things fun, Mr. Ollivander. But, I think you should just do it with the eleven-year-olds. . . . doing that with everyone will wear the novelty off. Leave a one-time solid impression that will stay with the kids for the rest of their lives."

The customer turned, and Ollivander recognized the person at once.

"Quinn West," he said and then addressed the most obvious detail, "you have lost your eye?"

"Just for a short time."

"I see. . . . if I remember correctly, you did say you'll visit me in the summer. Are you here for some maintenance on your wand?"

"I don't think my wand will need maintenance, Mr. Ollivander. . . . mine is as good as the day I received it from you," his wand was still encased in a block of wood, inside a heavily warded room inside his suitcase.

"Then, what do I owe this pleasure to?"

"Do you follow the news, Mr. Ollivander?"

"I try to, but my works keeps me busy."

"Then have you heard about what Dumbledore has been saying?" asked Quinn.

"About You-Know-Who's return? Yes, I have read about it."

"Has Dumbledore visited you?"

"No, he hasn't," said Ollivander, sounding confused, "what's going on, Mr. West?"

'It seems either Dumbledore either hasn't figured it out yet, or he has been too busy,' thought Quinn.

In the original timeline, Ollivander had shared this piece of information about Harry's wand being a brother wand to Voldemort's with Dumbledore as Harry didn't have a guardian, but because this time around, Harry did have guardians, and because Potter parents didn't the information want the information out, Dumbledore wasn't privy to it.

"Priori Incantatem," said Quinn.

Ollivander's eyes gazed into Quinn's, and it was almost as though an invisible beam of understanding shot between them.

"The Reverse Spell effect?" said Ollivander, his mind turning in thought.

"Exactly," said Quinn. "Harry Potter's and the Dark Lord's wand share cores, don't they? Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix."

"How do you know that?" said the wandmaker, and as he asked this, his thoughts clicked, "wait. . . . are you saying that Dumbledore's telling the truth. . . . and Harry Potter met with You-Know-Who?"

"They met; they dueled; their wands connected. . . . you know what happens when a wand meets its brother."

"They will not work properly against each other," said Ollivander. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle . . . a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first . . . and then those which preceded it. . . ."

He looked interrogatively at Quinn, and Quinn nodded.

"The wand to be overwhelmed was Voldemort's, and the spell he cast was Killing curse," he said.

The fact that Voldemort was overwhelmed by Harry Potter would have been unlikely, but given the circumstances — Voldemort had been just recently revived — it wasn't farfetched to think that his magic was in a period of instability.

". . . . An echo," said Ollivander, "I am guessing that apparitions appeared. . . . and retained known forms. . . . less recent victims of You-Know-Who's wand. . . ." he added, "The last murders the wand performed. In reverse order."

"The Dark Lord will want answers, Mr. Ollivander," said Quinn, "and who better to ask than the wandmaker who crafted his and Harry Potter's wands — the two wands in question."

"What are you saying?" asked Ollivander, a gulp preceding his words.

"The Dark Lord will come, Mr. Ollivander. And from what I had heard from about him, he isn't a person who will invite you for tea so that you could give him lessons about wandlore," Quinn moved a step closer to the old man, "no, he will torture you no matter how quick you give him the answer. He might even, you know. . . . if your answer displeases him."

Ollivander gulped harder. His eyes trembled a touch.

"I suggest that you make preparations for your safety, Mr. Ollivander. Or you might — you will be — in serious danger."

"B-But, I can't!" exclaimed the usually serene man, "so many new children will require wands. I can't just leave and take that away from them."

Quinn sighed. The man in front of him didn't have a personal life at all — a work-a-holic at its worst. But he understood — wand crafting was Ollivander's life. If you take that away, there was nothing left. To some, a life without meaning was as good as death.

"He won't come now," said Quinn, "the Dark Lord isn't in a position of power to show himself. He will brew chaos from the shadows, bidding in silence for the time when his arrangements are compounded into completion — you have until before the start of the next summer. For now, you can keep working. . . . but don't get comfortable, Mr. Ollivander."

"W-What do you suggest I do?"

"Get in contact with Dumbledore and others in the Light Faction — separately and together. Tell them what you know and, in return, ask for shelter. Dumbledore will want Hogwarts to be a point of normalcy, and for that to happen, new students must get their wands — he will provide you with protection."

If Quinn didn't want his family to get involved, he would have offered the West resources, but that was out of the picture. And Quinn, while he had his more than plenty personal riches, he didn't have much influence and resources outside of Hogwarts.

"Yes, yes, that sounds right. I will do that," nodded Ollivander, sitting down on a barstool.

"Of course, it goes without saying, but you must not talk about our little chat with anyone — anyone at all, not even Dumbledore himself."

"Eh, why so?"

"This was me being generous and a Good Samaritan," smiled Quinn, "but there's a limit to what I'm willing to do in the name of good deeds. If the Dark Lord comes to know that I'm the reason behind the setback, he will not be happy — and I would prefer if he's feeling jolly — it will do the world a lot of good."

The truth was that Quinn wanted to buy some time. If Ollivander was to remain hidden and away from Voldemort's reach, then Voldemort's discovery behind the twin cores would be delayed even if it's a little. That little time would extend Voldemort's passive 'waiting-in-the-shadows' stance.

The extra time that everyone could have some use of.

"I s-see. I'll keep this a secret."

"Excellent," said Quinn with a big smile, "then, I'll take my leave, Mr. Ollivander, "I can only be outside for so much with this ol' thing," he pointed at his deep yellow eyepatch.

Ollivander got up on his old knees and shook hands with Quinn, thanking him profusely for his warnings and advice. After Quinn stepped out of the shop, he looked back and snapped his fingers with a smile.

Inside, Ollinvader got up to return back to work when he heard a ton of footsteps to see dozens of people — big and small — enter the shop with more people waiting outside.

"Oh my," he smiled, "welcome all of you, please form a line. . . ."

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A/N:

Water magic doesn't mean that he gets an all-in-one healing magic. It would help, sure, if Quinn used it. *He still needs to learn all the healing knowledge, to actually use water magic for healing — Quinn knew blood magic, and that's why he was able to apply water magic in treating Astoria.

He wanted to use healing magic, but Quinn has a medi-healer (hired by his family) treating his eye. His family thinks that his eye injury was due to faulty magic, now how do you think they would feel if Quinn decides to put his own input when his eye was taken out by a faulty eye magic.

As for him taking potions and calling it *Archaic*? A majority of the healing magic is potion based — there is no way to eliminate potion. Even the Elixir of Life extracted from the Philosopher's Stone is a potion. There was a cauldron full of potion present in Voldemort's revival. Healing in Harry Potter isn't like Wolverine's and Deadpool's, please keep that in mind. This isn't a Retcon.

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Quinn West - MC - Pioneering eyepatch fashion.

Astoria Greengrass - Hyperactive - Primary subject for muggle-magic demonstration.

Daphne Greengrass - Likes Elderflower - Her cheeks match Quinn's eyepatch.

Jacob Greengrass - Papa Greengrass - Asked the question.

Sophie Greengrass - Mama Greengrass - Excellent Ice cream.

Garrick Ollivander - Wandmaker - Loves his job a little too much.

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!

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