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The link is also in the synopsis.
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"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
Quinn walked towards the entry/exit wall to the vault — the teal portal, which was ever-present no matter what he did inside the vault, had shrunk down on itself like someone had pulled the water plug in a sink, and all the glowing teal-colored water got sucked in till there was no more, leaving behind the gray-colored darb, rough wall.
"No, no, no, this isn't good," Quinn's palm went over to his forehead, "this isn't good at all. . . what's the time?"
He fetched his pocket watch out of his pocket and glanced at the watch face and hands that showed the time half past midnight.
"Three o'clock, how much is that. . . fifteen. . . fourteen and a half. . . I've got fourteen and half hours," said Quinn after calculation as he started paced around the vault.
Today was a Tuesday(day changed to Wednesday at midnight), and because sixth-year Ravenclaws didn't have Astronomy lessons at midnight today, Quinn was able to start his nightly vault escapades well before midnight. There was a reason why Quinn preferred to do his vault work in the night as no one would come looking if he went occupied for hours. This was also the reason why Quinn had to carefully manage his time during both his expeditions of both the Aquatic Vault and Underground Vault, as he preferred to go in the Great Lake and Forbidden Forest in the evenings while there was still light.
"Umbridge's class is at three," he muttered quietly, "I have to get out of here and go back before that."
Quinn's class timetable tomorrow had him attending Arithmancy, Charms, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, and Defense Against The Dark Arts — in that order. Fortunately for him, there was no Potions class and
Defense Against The Dark Arts was his last lesson at three o'clock. He was a Prefect and an outstanding student; as such, he could skip one class in every subject, and no Professor would mind except Potions with Snape and Defense Against The Dark Arts with Umbridge as neither of the two gave rats ass who Quinn was and what his track record was. He would get detentions from both if he missed class without valid justification — which he didn't have in this case.
Quinn was a hundred percent fine with scrubbing potion cauldrons in detentions with Snape, but no way in hell was he going to offer himself up to Umbridge, so she could waste his time for hours on end every day for months (the vindictive woman would definitely go that far.) So he needed to get out of the vault in time to get to Umbridge's class to retain his freedom.
Even if he ate one of the Weasley twins' purposely sickness-inducing products as an excuse, everything would be for naught if he couldn't get to Madam Pomfrey, who was needed to sign off on sick notes for which he needed to get out of this vault.
"Luna, I've to contact Luna," Quinn reached into his pocket and took out a leather bracelet with a silver plate — the same kind that Luna wore on her wrist all the time and was connected to this one through the Protean charm.
[I'm bzy. Not attend class. Tell E&M 2 say not well, sleep in dorm.] — he wrote on the silver and then made it so that it stayed till Luna replied back in the morning.
"Hopefully, that will do the job," Quinn said, putting back the bracelet into his pocket. "Trust the Bro Code. . . Trust the Bro Code. . ."
He turned back towards the inside the vault and took in the room. The now shorter pedestal column and the visible archway inside the wall. His magic surged out from his core, flowed out from his legs, and rippled into every corner of the vault. Illusion magic laid its charm over his own eyes, and now he could see the entire layout of the hidden lock mechanism in yellow.
"Let's get started," he said somberly — time was of the essence.
Quinn glanced towards the right, and a part of the lock mechanism lost its yellow color and dulled into a muddy and barely visible brown — it was the part of the mechanism responsible for the first disc.
"Eight more to go. . ." Quinn took out the block of rock used for miniature, and with a wave of magic, it turned into yet another series of intricately connected pieces of the mechanism.
He sat down on the ground with his feet crossed and stared at the miniature floating in his hands. "Disc two, Combination #194, Simulation start."
The moment the sentence left his mouth, the miniature stone gears started to move rapidly for the first ten seconds, but after that, with each passing second, the movement got slower, more deliberate, more careful, and seemed to demand more Quinn's mind real estate than before.
Clack. . . the sound of stone colliding with stone stopped all the movements in the miniature.
"Combination #194 failed," said Quinn without a hint of frustration; he had already gone through this enough times.
The stone miniature turned to dust which floated around his hand for a second before it rushed back to solid — it was reset into the initial position before Quinn had moved it around.
"Disc two, Combination #195," he said once again and the trial-and-error with the knowledge of hundred ninety-four failures behind.
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"Disc two, Combination #238," said Quinn, and for a whole fifteen seconds, the mechanism moved at high speed before once again slowing down and finally getting stuck at a point equating to failure.
But this time, Quinn didn't immediately start with the following combination in mind and closed his eyes to think about the two-hundred thirty-eight failures. Every combination he had spun flashed in his mind as his eyes raced behind his eyes. He didn't open his eyes, but the miniature turned to dust and reset back to state-zero, and started to parts spun slowly, irregularly, some even rolling back a couple steps back before going a different way, and after three full minutes, the chains connected to the two sides of disc were pulled, and the disc was pulled apart into two clean hemispheres.
"Disc Two, Combination #239, success," said Quinn before slamming his fist into the ground sending a flooding surge of magic into stone.
The room once again began shaking with tremors as the real-life pieces of mechanisms began moving under the commands of Quinn's magic — eventually, after a minute of tremors, the pedestal sank in a level deeper, and the archway shifted deeper inside the wall.
Quinn got up and ran to the archway site, and as he expected, a slight gap in the floor had revealed itself; it was just big enough for Quinn to shoot light inside and find it was.
"A staircase," he muttered as he looked at what seemed to be the first step of a staircase that went down. '"If I keep solving the mechanism, the archway will continue to shift inside. . . I need to solve this; the key to the exit must be down the stairs." He extended his sense into the stair, and it was just a solid block of stone, but there was a magical interference that restricted his sense from going past the first step.
He turned away from the hidden stairs and looked at the portion of the mechanism responsible for the second disc plate, and his illusion turned it to the murky brown for his eyes.
"On to the third disc," sighed Quinn as he looked at the miniature that was already in the third form, "this is going to take a while. . . "
Quinn had already solved the first portion before coming into the vault today and had good progress with the second portion that allowed him to completely solve it in around thirty-five minutes, but the third was a brand new territory; he had to start from scratch.
"No time to waste."
He sat down and got back to work.
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- (Scene Break) -
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The sun slowly rose from the horizon, gently shedding its light over everything and anything that stood below it; the birds chirped at the advent of the morning, and even the plants seemed to bloom up in the presence of glorious sun that provided them with life.
In Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie's dorm room, a ray of sunlight sifted through a crack in the curtains and slowly crept over Eddie's bed, gradually making its way towards his closed eyes as he sprawled on his bed in slumber. Soon, the lone ray of sunlight did its solemn duty to hit the eyes of everyone who dared to have their curtains open even by mistake.
Eddie's brow furrowed as the light disturbed his lidded eyes, so he shifted in bed just to face directly towards the curtain allowing the light's job to get easier. The furrow deepened by the second until Eddie was full-on frowning, and his eyes couldn't take it anymore, so they set off the internal alarm of discomfort and sent the signal.
He sat upon his bed with a rushed jerk as the mumble — "Burn the toad!" — escaped his mouth. For a whole minute, Eddie's entire upper body leaned forward as he sat on the bed before he groggily moved his feet off the bed and got up like a stringless puppet. He stumbled his way into the bathroom with a change of clothes clutched messily in his left hand and his right ruffling his messy bed hair into more of a mess.
After the sound of a flush, running tap water, and ruffling of clothes, Eddie Carmichael exited the bathroom with exercise clothes, open eyes, clean teeth, and a washed face. He threw his bedtime clothes into a hamper, wore his shoes, and was grabbing his wand from his bedside when he noticed,
"Where did Quinn go?"
Eddie looked at the clock that hung in their room to see if he was late, but that wasn't the case.
"He must be down at the common room," said Eddie guessing, and after making sure everything was ready, he climbed down the dorm stairs and entered out into the common room. "I'm ready, let's go. . ."
But Quinn wasn't in the common room either.
Thinking that Quinn must've left early, Eddie exited the common room and jogged down to their usual spot, but even after waiting ten minutes, Quinn didn't come. Eddie ran their usual route with a frown on his face to see if he could find Quinn somewhere along the route, but the result was the same — Quinn wasn't to be found.
"Where did he go?"
. . .
Around the same time, Quinn was sitting in Architect's room holding one of the pillars as the room shook as if it was being hit by a severe magnitude earthquake. When it finally stopped, Quinn got up and walked a couple steps to reach the archway, and the archway had moved almost a foot.
He silently stared at the slowly revealing staircase as the illusion he cast on himself one again turned a part of the mechanism to murky brown.
'Now, I've to find which part of the remaining is for the fourth disc plate and then figure out how to open it,' he thought, not choosing to speak at all and then walked to the middle of the room so that he could get a good look of every part of the room.
[6: 30 AM]
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- (Scene Break) -
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"Hey, do you know where Quinn is?" asked Eddie to Marcus as the latter walked out of the bathroom, ready to go to the Great Hall for breakfast.
"Hmm, no, I don't. Why?" asked Marcus.
"He wasn't there when I woke up today, and neither was he down in the grounds," said Eddie as he fixed his hair in the mirror.
"Did you go to the office?"
"Yeah, but it was locked."
"Room of Requirement?"
"No, I didn't go there."
"Well, he'll turn up," said Marcus, shrugging, "let's go; breakfast is about to start."
Both boys walked down to the common and saw Luna sitting in an armchair with a pencil and parchment in her hand, scribbling on it.
"Let's go, Luna," said Marcus.
Luna looked up from her parchment and handed her leather and silver bracelet to Marcus.
"Isn't this. . ." said Marcus recognizing the bracelet. He looked at the silver and read, "I'm busy. Will not attend classes. Tell Eddie and Marcus to say that I'm not feeling well and sleeping. . ."
"Where did he got busy this early in the morning," said Eddie.
"I don't know," said Marus, "but well, he's asking us to tell the Professors that he won't be attending; we'll do that. . ."
"Even to Umbitch?" asked Eddie.
"Never said we have to say it first if she forgets that Quinn is absent. . ."
"Yeah, not going to happen, that. . . No way Umbitch forgets Quinn."
"He must've something in mind," said Marcus, figuring that Quinn must've some rule in the code of conduct that allowed him to get away from Umbridge without punishment.
"Let's hope that's true. . . we can't have him doing detentions."
If they only knew the truth.
. . .
"Ha-hah-hah-aha, I-I s-solved it-t!" laughed Quinn as he watched the pedestal sink deeper as the room shook harder than ever.
It took some time to isolate what part belonged to the fourth disc, but he figured that it would be easier to solve when he found the portion as Quinn had three portions under his belt, and he had begun to see patterns that the Architect liked to use. Stigweard Gragg might have planned this intricate lock, but he was still human, and human loved patterns. Quinn even went as far as to isolate the fifth and sixth portions so that he could leave the solving instead of identification for later.
But it turned out that the mechanism portion for the fourth was twice as large as the previous three, marking the complexity of the fourth portion higher than the first three. In the end, Quinn was still able to charge ahead and really apply himself to solve the fourth.
"Now, onto the fifth!"
He was about to change the color of the fourth portion, but Quinn noticed something strange in the placement of the mechanism portions.
". . . The fourth and fifth. . . are connected. . . together. . ." said Quinn, his voice trailer longer and slower as thoughts clicked in his mind together.
The fourth and fifth had now fused together to become the part of the new, bigger, more complex mechanism portion — it was four times as big as any of the first three ones.
". . ."
[8:00 AM]
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"Quinn West. . ." said Septima Vector calling out for her Arithmancy classes' role call and was about to automatically put a tick in front of the attendance parchment when her hand stopped as she didn't hear a response.
Septima Vector looked up from the attendance with bewilderment. It was for the first time in four years that she hadn't heard a call back when she had said that name.
"Quinn West?" she said again, looking around the class, but Septima couldn't find the face she was looking for; what she did find was Marcus Belbly's raised hand as he sat beside Eddie Carmichael.
While Quinn took every class besides Muggle Studies and Divination. Eddie left behind Muggle Studies, Divination, and Astronomy as part of his NEWT level curriculum. On the other hand, Marcus left out Divination and Astronomy from his (both had Outstanding in their Potions OWLs to pass Snape's ridiculous NEWT standards.) Though they were contemplating if they should drop Care with Hagrid back and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank out as the substitute Professor.
"Yes, Mr. Belby?" asked Septima Vector, expecting an answer about Quinn's whereabout given the common knowledge about the Ravenclaw trio of best friends.
"Quinn isn't feeling well today, so he's resting in the dorm, Professor," said Marcus.
"Oh my, is he alright?" asked Septima.
"Yes, Professor. He just needs a little rest, that's all," said Marcus.
"I see, then I hope he'll feel well soon," said Septima, and even though Quinn was absent from the class, she ticked him present to not let the perfect attendance get broken.
. . .
"Disc 5, Combination #58 failed!" said Quinn, grunting with frustration.
"Disc 5, Combination #59. Simulation start," he said as he looked at the ticking pocket watch sitting on the ground in front of him.
[9:10 AM]
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- (Scene Break) -
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"What did you say?!" squeaked Flitwick as he almost fell off his stack of books. "Can you please repeat that?"
"Quinn ain't coming. He's not feeling well," said Eddie, repeating his words.
"I should go see him," said Flitwick, worried about his star student. It was the first time since Quinn dunked himself in a freezing potion cauldron that Quinn West had even missed a class.
"Please don't do that, Professor," said Eddie keeping his voice plain as Marcus shook his head repeatedly by his side in support. "Quinn is sleeping; going to our room would wake him up from sleep; he's a very light sleeper, even someone entering the room would wake him up, so let's leave him be."
"I see. . ." said Flitwick as he ticked Quinn as present on his attendance sheet, "I'll drop by before curfew to see if he's awake and find how he is feeling."
. . .
"Take that, you dumb Architect, I did it! It only took me two hours! Just two hours!" yelled Quinn celebrating what seemed to be a needlessly complex lock mechanism.
But then he turned to the walls, and his smile dropped as he watched the newly converted fourth and fifth mechanism potion merge with the sixth to create a humongously annoying mechanism series.
He silently screamed as he raised his hand to replicate the new sixth portion into a miniature.
[10:10 AM]
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- (Scene Break) -
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By lunchtime, everyone knew that Quinn was sick and resting, and somehow it had turned into this big thing that everyone had talked about at least once. And somehow, it had turned a colossal snowball that Quinn West was fighting for his life against some dark curse.
"How do you think he's doing?" asked Astoria, worried.
"Astoria, the rumors are exaggerated. Given that he's in his dorm room and not with Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure he'll be fine," said Daphne comfortingly, but she was a little bit concerned for Quinn's health. A little part of her mind was thinking if she could get into the Ravenclaw dorms without anyone knowing.
"I'm back."
The Greengrass sisters turned to see Tracey sit down beside them.
"What did Eddie say?" asked Astoria.
"It's nothing serious, he says," said Tracey, "he said that Quinn is just tired and needs to rest to get rid of the fatigue. . . so he isn't cursed by a dark curse," she said, eyeing Astoria teasingly.
"It could've happened! You don't know!" said Astoria definitely.
"Wait till I tell Quinn," said Tracey, grinning, "I'm sure he'll be very interested in this entire thing."
"That is true," said Daphne softly, smiling. She could imagine him talking about the mystery of the Hogwarts Rumor Mill.
. . .
Quinn stared at the partially revealed staircase under the archway. He had just solved the sixth portion, and the archway was pushed deeper inside.
"This is big enough," he muttered, "uh-huh, big enough for a Raven. . ."
He immediately transformed into his animagus form and walked on his two talons into the staircase and then fly-jumped down the stairs just to come across a dead-end.
"Of course, no shortcut here," said Quinn after getting out, "I guess I would need to use that to solve portions 7 to 9."
He sat down and closed his eyes and brought up his Occlumency to the limit. The efficiency aspect allowed Quinn to think faster and even do multitasking at an absurd level, but that was only for simple tasks and a certain level of casting. He hadn't tried to efficiency aspect for anything this complicated and didn't know if it would work or he would just ending up getting confused.
"But, it's now or never. . ."
[1:40 PM]
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- (Scene Break) -
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Umbridge was feeling very happy today. She had just heard that Quinn West was sick and wasn't attending classes today. According to the rules, if the student was to miss a class, they needed to have a clear reason for being absent.
She had asked around and had found that Quinn West hadn't been to the hospital wing today, meaning that even if he was sick, he didn't have the sick note from Poppy Pomfrey, and she could give him detention for missing class without proper reason.
'Finally, I can teach him about manners,' Umbridge thought as she walked towards her classroom.
Her eyes shined, and her smile sweetened when she saw Eddie Carmichael and Marcus Bebly walk into the classroom without Quinn.
'Today is going to be a good day,' she thought as she reached the threshold of the classroom. Umbridge stopped and raised her wrist with her watch to look at the time. She was about to turn her wrist when she heard the voice.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. What a lovely day we are having."
Her smile froze as she looked up just to see Quinn West walk past into the classroom without giving her a single look.
[2:50 PM]
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Quinn West - MC - I did it, biatches!
FictionOnlyReader - Author -
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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"Where were you?" asked Eddie in a rushed whisper as soon as Quinn sat down beside him in the Defense Against The Dart Art classroom. "I spent half an hour in the morning running around in the grounds looking for you."
"I got busy last night and didn't return to the dorm," said Quinn back in a whisper. Quinn grabbed his shoulder and stretched his neck, "Ugh, my neck hurts. . . all-nighters are seriously not my scene," he grimaced a bit, "should've conjured a chair or something."
"What were you doing exactly?" asked Marcus.
Quinn sighed tiredly, "Solving a puzzle. . . a massive troublesome puzzle with a clock on it."
Umbridge, who had finally calmed herself down from broken expectations and fantastical dreams, entered the classroom, and the class went mum-silent as she preferred in her classroom. Eddie and Marcus also left Quinn alone, took out their books, and started reading the book without Umbridge's prompt.
Quinn, also for once, took out his book and began pretending to read it. He needed some quiet and peace to nurse his throbbing head — it was killing him. He used thought acceleration to cut down on time to solve the needlessly long mechanism for the last three mechanisms.
'That damned Stigweard Gragg! The sheer nerve to lock me inside there,' thought Quinn while cursing the Architect, but he stopped and squeezed his eyes shut because his head hurt harder.
While he was able to barely get out on time, and the thought acceleration gambit had worked, it wasn't a complete success.
. . .
- [Back inside to Architect's Vault] -
Quinn stared at the seventh portion of the mechanism, then shifted his eyes to the eighth portion before moving to the last and final ninth portion.
'Bastard!' he cursed, 'how does this even classify as a lock mechanism?!'
In traditional vault locks, one needed to work a dial(or a multiple) as the interface to the entire hidden mechanism. But here in the Architect's Vault, there was no such single interface that Quinn could work off — every portion of the mechanism needed to be worked on from multitudes of angles and every different than the previous one — the complexity rose beyond traditional locks just with that.
'And now, you're asking me to solve three portions at the same time?'
In front of him, he could see three final portions of the mechanism, and the 'catch' was there clear to see. Three portions were connected to each other, and they weren't connected like the previous three (4th, 5th, and 6th.)
'. . . A part of seventh, then shift to the ninth to unlock the part of eight, which then will unlock the next part of the seventh. . . what kind of requirement is that?'
Quinn realized that he would need at least three hours to get past this if he got working the very second, but he didn't have that time. Quinn only had an hour to figure this out and hope that after solving all nine portions, the teal portal back to Hogwarts would reappear so he could make it in time for Umbridge's class.
'Alright, then it's time to bring out the big guns.'
He closed his eyes, and his magic began gently flowing into his brain and mindscape. The efficiency aspect of Occlumency was the part of Quinn's Occlumency that he worked on every day without fail. But there was a catch in the form that he devoted that daily time to increase the immersion on his everyday memories(in the form of memory books) to increase his retention.
The part of the efficiency aspect he needed today was thought acceleration and parallel thought processing. Quinn was good at thought acceleration as he used it passively in addition to some classic techniques to extract knowledge from books. But when it came to parallel thought processing, Quinn didn't train this part as much as he did other things — he could control around control pens in the upper tens and make them write simultaneously, use it in some more complex than normal spell casting, but this was a much more complex task than any of them.
Quinn wasn't sure if this would work.
If he split his mind to think parallelly on multiple parts of the interconnected mechanism, then if one of those thoughts ended up going wrong, every thought process would suffer because of the wrong input. That problem then would snowball into a big mess in no time as he would have to roll back to the error that he didn't know because, in Quinn's mind, every process was going correctly.
'Then there's the stress this will put on me,' he thought while pursing his lips.
He hadn't used parallel thought processing on a task with this level of complexity. As such, there was going to be a considerable amount of stress on his mind with a clock on how long he could keep it without injuring himself.
"Okay, let's do this and hope the Architects isn't happy in the afterlife," and then Quinn got to work.
. . .
Quinn breathed deeply once and settled his back into the backrest of the chair, something he wouldn't be seen doing even if he wasn't dead tired. The last three discs that stopped the pedestal from going inside came out unlocking simultaneously, and the pedestal went entirely into the floor, with the top coming down just to the floor level.
The archway completely sunk deep into the wall, revealing a complete set of stairs with an empty(unguarded) doorway leading to somewhere Quinn didn't bother to check because the second the pedestal went entirely into the ground, the teal portal reappeared, and he rushed out without giving it a single second of thought.
Quinn rose out of his thoughts and looked up when he heard Umbridge speak up his name.
"Mr. West, I heard you've not been feeling today; how're you feeling today?" asked Umbridge sounding extremely pleasant.
Quinn purposely smiled a bit weakly as he responded, "I was feeling a bit faint in the morning, Professor, but I felt well enough, so I came to attend your class — it's one of my favorite classes after all. . ."
Umbridge's smile cramped for a split-second, but she recovered it quick enough before anyone could notice it and smiled widely than before.
"That's good to hear, dear. Health is paramount and should always come first," she said. "If you're not feeling that your NEWT classes are too stressful, how about giving that silly little club of your a rest and focus that time in resting. . .'
Everyone in the classroom ducked their heads a little. If there was one thing clear in everyone's mind about Quinn West, then it was that he would drop classes in his curriculum before he would stop AID. At this point, AID and Quinn West were synonymous.
"Thank you for your. . . concern. . . Professor, but I think I'll be just fine with what I'm doing now. . . but I do have something in mind," said Quinn, smiling.
"Would you like to share it with the class, Mr. West?" asked Umbridge.
"Of course. If the Ministry doesn't think we would have the need to cast spells because we are perfectly safe without them, then how about we exclude Defense Against The Dark Arts from the Hogwarts curriculum altogether," said Quinn, sending murmurs through the room.
"I know why you're here, Professor," he said.
Umbridge narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean, Mr. West?"
"I mean you're here because Hogwarts couldn't find an adequate teacher for the Defense Against The Dark Arts post, so the Ministry sent you here, said Quin, "but before coming here, you were the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister—"
"I am still the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Umbridge cutting.
"— as I was saying, your position in the Ministry seems to be very important, so if we do away with the Defense Against The Dark Arts subject, you would be free from Hogwarts and return to your much important position back at Ministry, where I'm sure you're needed more than you're needed here."
There was pin-drop silence in the room as everyone forgot to breathe as they waited for Umbridge's answer.
"Mr. West, Defense Against The Dark Arts has been a part of Hogwarts since its inception by the founders. . ." She saw Quinn raise his hand up, "Yes, Mr. West?"
"Some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited," said Quinn, reciting verbatim from his memory.
"Professor, didn't you say this during your first address to the student body. . . isn't this the perfect example of what must be abandoned and pruned?" he asked.
Umbridge went silent, and her smile too dimmed a level. It was indeed what she had said after the Sorting Ceremony. How was she supposed to reply to Quinn — that she wasn't here to teach but to keep an eye on Dumbledore, and if this position was done away with, she wouldn't have a reason to be here. High Inquisitor would turn into an auditing role, and she would have to return to the Ministry after giving her recommendation.
". . . I will give it a thought, Mr. West," said Umbridge quietly.
"Please do so," said Quinn smiling.
No one in the class raised a peep with regards to the topic because, in their heads, no Defense Against The Dark was much better than having it but with Umbridge. And the majority in the school were just worried about their OWL and NEWT; if you took away a subject from the grading, then there was no reason for them to study as they simply weren't interested.
After that conversation, no one spoke a single word in the class. It was only after the class did people started to chatter.
"What was that all about?" asked Eddie.
Quinn yawned before answered, "She gave me a suggestion about AID; I simply returned the favor by suggesting something about her job." He stretched his arms up and spoke, "I'm going to visit the Professors to show my face and apologize for missing the classes, then head to the kitchen to grab something to eat. After that, I'm retiring for the day and go to sleep."
"It's only three," said Marcus.
"I don't care; I want to be in bed by five and then sleep at least twelve hours. . . I deserve it."
He had broken through the first room of the Architect's Vault.
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- (Scene Break) -
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That day after Quinn went to sleep in his bed, away from the worries of the world, Harry Potter bade his friend goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor.
When he knocked on the door, she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice.
He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here, it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. When Lupin had occupied it, one would likely meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days, it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts to detect concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a sizeable Technicolored kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed until Umbridge spoke again.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter."
Harry started and looked around. At first, he had not noticed her because she was wearing a flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
"Evening," he said stiffly, keeping down the anger about the Quidditch ban that arose from seeing Umbridge.
"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for Harry.
"Er," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge? Er — before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a . . . a favor."
Her bulging eyes narrowed. "Oh yes?"
"Well, I'm. . . I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Harry had to try once, "I was wondering if you'd lift the ban after my detention is over."
He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.
"Oh no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it is rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."
Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did he? She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair, and sat down.
Umbridge watched him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. She hoped Harry would shout again so she could deal a harsher punishment on him. . . she herself was feeling quite angry today because of a spoiled rich brat and needed to relieve her stress; after all, stress wasn't good for health, and health was paramount.
"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down t open his bag.
"You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.
"I want you to write, 'I must respect my betters,'" she told him softly.
"How many times?" Harry asked with a creditable imitation of politeness.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go." She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.
"You haven't given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you won't need ink," said Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must respect my betters. He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel.
Yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but relatively smooth.
Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," said Harry quietly.
He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must respect my betters, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into his skin, once again they healed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again, Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon realized was not ink but his own blood. And again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness, and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit here all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill. . . .
"Come here," said Umbridge, after what seemed hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it, he saw that the cut had healed, and his skin was a rosy red color.
"Hand," asked Umbridge.
Harry extended his hand.
Umbridge took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. She would've made Harry write more and really etch the words on his hand, but this was going to be the limit with his mother here in Hogwarts and James Potter being an Auror and a member of Wizengamot.
"Hmm, this will do. . . please return tomorrow, and we will do something fun again," said Umbridge smiling.
Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor then, when he had turned the corner and was sure that she would not hear him, broke into a run.
His hand wasn't injured, but he could still remember the pain and could even imagine as if his hand was cut right now. He remembered the look of joy she had on her face every time he winced.
He absolutely hated it.
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Quinn West - MC - Status: Sleep mode.
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Writes - Stubborn.
Dolores Umbridge - Umbitch - Feeling good after stress relief.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Let's see how many of you're able to find it. . . (^v^)
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The previous last line of the chapter:
'I can't let her win,' he thought through gritted teeth, 'I won't let her win and feel the satisfaction.'
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