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The link is also in the synopsis.
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Quinn stared at the letter in his hand with furrowed brows.
The paper used was high-grade stationery; even the ink used seemed to be of a specific shade of blue that he hadn't seen yet. But most importantly, the letter had come with a flash of fire while he was shopping for potion herbs— a severe fire hazard. Seeing a Phoenix arrive from the fire with the letter clutched in its beak while it stared at him with its molten red eyes, which he was sure were studying him, was the last thing he was expecting to happen.
"You're cordially invited to visit Hogwarts for an important discussion regarding the security of Hogwarts. . . should I call my lawyer. . . do I even have a lawyer?"
But jokes aside, Quinn wondered what this was about. The letter was signed by the Dumbledore himself— the fourth time he had seen this signature— the first time had been on his OWL certificate, then on his NEWT certificate, and then on his graduate degree. But this was the first time he had Dumbledore write personally to him.
"What does he want?" Quinn stared at the letter, thinking if he should go. The letter mentioned Hogwarts' security; what could that be about? Did Dumbledore want to consult him about all the hidden passageways in and out of Hogwarts? Quinn was under no delusion that Dumbledore had stopped thinking that he wasn't going out of the castle because he had been caught out of the castle. Or maybe this was just a ploy to bring him to Hogwarts, and the real reason was something entirely else, like wanting to convince him into joining the Order of Phoenix.
Quinn had no fear about going to Hogwarts. There was no benefit for Dumbledore to harm him, and the Headmaster wasn't going to pull a stupid abduction attempt. The only thing that he felt unsure about was the motive of the meeting.
As Quinn was thinking about it, a chime rang in his room. He raised his hand, and the two-way mirror flew into his hands. He accepted the connection and smiled as his girlfriend came into the frame.
"Hey, how are. . . what happened?"
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Quinn apparated outside the Hogwarts boundary. He rolled his shoulders and pulled on the hems of his tan suit jacket. He gazed up at the castle; after graduating, he had only been in the vicinity a couple of times, primarily visiting Scrivenshaft for the design of his new personal cards— after working with the shop that understood his tastes and preferences for so many years, he wasn't going to change his printing service and stationery provider.
He stepped through the castle ground boundary and took a sharp breath when he felt the magic wash over him. It felt different. Hogwarts didn't consider him a student anymore; now, he was but an outside visitor. Quinn stopped and felt around the wards— they had changed— the ward scheme was more coherent and cohesive now than on his last day at Hogwarts.
'Is it because of Bill Weasley. . . or did Dumbledore decide to sort the clutter?'
The ward scheme around Hogwarts was a curious case study in the field of warding. Every time Hogwarts changed Headmasters, the new one would add their own wards to the warding scheme, which was good from an updation point of view, but the problem with Hogwarts was that none of the Headmasters ever coordinated with their predecessor. Every time a new Headmaster took their seat, they would simply dump new wards on the Hogwarts ward stone, and because the site was the marvel of magic, Hogwarts castle, the wards would be accepted without any problems on the compatibility and load side of things. No matter how many wards were thrown on the castle, it would supply them with ample power. And because Hogwarts could accommodate, no one bothered to sort the mess.
It was natural that as the number of wards increased, the overall integrity of the defense would increase as well. But at the same time, there were too many redundant wards. Quinn himself had once found four anti-apparition wards overlayed upon each other in the same place. While that made it nigh-impossible to apparate inside Hogwarts, it also created friction between individual wards. . . which in theory could be exploited.
Exploited by someone knowledgeable as Voldemort.
But now, Quinn could feel that the wards were much more sorted. 'This still needs work, but it is a start,' he thought. It wasn't possible to solve centuries' worth of mess in such a short time.
He walked on the path that connected Hogsmeade and the Entrance Hall's gate. The course was the same as always, and it felt like he hadn't ever left. As he arrived near the castle, he saw the gate open a crack, and two professors walked out.
"Professor Flitwick and McGonagall," Quinn smiled. "How nice of you to receive me, but you didn't have to do this— I believe I know my way around the castle."
"If we didn't come, Mr. West, the castle wouldn't have allowed you entry."
Quinn's smile widened in response.
McGonagall sighed, and Flitwick chuckled at his expression.
"You were our Headboy last year, Mr. West," said McGonagall.
"And I have to thank you for that honor."
Flitwick again laughed with McGonagall sighing the second time in under a minute.
"Let's go, Mr. West; the Headmaster is waiting for you," said McGonagall, a strange peering expression on her face.
Quinn's smile withdrew a fraction as he nodded. He turned to Flitwick and asked, "Will you also be joining us, Professor Flitwick?"
"No, I won't be. I came to tell you that come to my office after you're done with your meeting. Let's sit down and catch up over some tea," said Flitwick.
"Of course, of course, I'll be there, so open that secret jar of jam. Today, I'll be lathering my scones with that sweet goodness," said Quinn grinning.
"I should've never revealed it to you."
"Too late to regret, professor," Quinn laughed.
Flitwick left, and Quinn followed McGonagall through the hallways, passing by students who would look curiously at Quinn, who would wave back at the one he recognized. Everyone recognized him beside the new first years, so he had pass-by one-line conversations with multiple people.
But as they approached the Headmaster's Office, the people thinned out. It was then that Quinn initiated a conversation with McGonagall.
"Something interesting happened recently, Professor. Would you like to know?"
McGonagall quirked her thin brow before humming positively.
"I had an interesting talk with a gentleman named Saul Croaker."
McGonagall's impeccable gait and stride faltered as she heard the name.
Quinn continued, "He was friendly enough, which I would say half-surprised me, but then, I had an elitist image of Unspeakables— but Croaker seemed like a pleasant fellow." He eyed McGonagall with a fun and mischief in his eyes, "Never expected you to have a connection with the Department of Mysteries, Professor. By any chance did they approach for the position of an Unspeakable?"
McGonagall came to a slow stop, making Quinn stop as well and turn back to look at her.
"He told you," she asked.
"Of course not. He would never do that. He neither confirmed nor denied— essentially, refused to comment. Had a perfectly calm expression and everything. I was sure it was you, and now you confirmed it."
"You can't tell anyone."
"I don't want to tell anyone. It does me no good to displease the Unspeakables by taking away their Hogwarts recruiter. Why ruin a perfectly good secret, a useful secret."
"Then don't bring it up. . . we have reached the office."
Quinn turned to the front to look at the gargoyle-guarded gates. McGonagall walked to the stone gargoyles, and they stepped away when she uttered the password. Quinn fixed his clothes one last time before entering the Headmaster's Office.
The office hadn't changed much since Quinn had last visited years ago. It was still a disorganized clutter, a neat mess, but still a mess— that could only make sense to one who had made the clutter.
"Mr. West, you're finally here," said Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk with a subtle smile on his face.
Quinn didn't greet the Headmaster immediately, instead looked at the other people who were present in the room. First, there were the people who belonged at Hogwarts— McGonagall, who had come with him; Lily Potter, who sat alongside her twins and Hermione Granger. But then some didn't belong at Hogwarts— Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody and James Potter.
"Hmm. . . I know the letter said this was about Hogwarts security; I wasn't expecting Aurors to be present," Quinn stepped towards Dumbledore's table. "You don't usually like outsiders interfering with Hogwarts matters."
"It's a pleasure to see you again as well, Mr. West," smiled Dumbledore. "As for Alastor and James— they have my complete trust."
Quinn unbuttoned the front button of his suit as a comfy chair materialized behind him. He sat down, made himself comfortable, and said, "Yes, but I don't. . . no offense, gentlemen. . . and I don't feel comfortable with them being here when I don't know what this meeting is about."
"This meeting is about why you have lied to everyone, boy," said Moody.
Quinn didn't reply to Moody; he didn't even look at the battered man.
Dumbledore spoke, "It as Alastor says. This meeting is because of your lie."
"I've lied a lot, Headmaster. You'll have to be more specific about which one we are talking about."
"You admit to lying?" Moody spoke up again.
But Quinn remained silent.
". . . Are you not going to answer Alastor's questions, Mr. West?" asked Dumbledore.
"This is not a formal investigation. I don't have to answer any of the questions I don't want to."
Dumbledore exchanged glances with Alastor, who didn't look happy but calmed down at Dumbledore's quiet nudging. "We are here to talk about the Chamber of Secrets, Mr. West. It's come to our attention that you know about Chamber of Secrets, about the Slytherin's monster. . . and more importantly, you went inside the Chamber of Secrets."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Quinn.
"You just said that you lie."
"So what?" said Quinn. "Even if I lie, I'm not going to accept when I lie. As for this situation," he turned to Hermione, "I didn't go inside the Chamber of Secrets."
"You didn't refuse to know about the Chamber of Secrets or about the Slytherin's monster."
"I know about them now. The Basilisk was pretty much known to everyone who was paying attention."
". . . We have proof that you were inside, Mr. West," said Dumbledore, cutting all the chatter.
"Oh, and what proof that might be?" asked Quinn, but he already knew the proof, and it stung that he had missed it.
It was as if everyone had rehearsed for this moment. All eyes in the room turned to one of the shelves upon which a hat. It was battered and ancient; it was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. In order to speak and sing, a tear along the brim opened like a mouth.
As if it could feel all the eyes, the hat spoke up,
"Ah, Quinn West. . . I remember your sorting. It was truly what is known as a hat stall. . . in the end, you went where you wanted to go. But I think you would have done better in Slytherin."
Quinn stared at the Sorting hat, his expression turning from clueless to a blank face. He opened his mouth and said to the hat, "A true Slytherin would never join Slytherin and declare themselves to be cunning and ambitious. . . wouldn't it be better for others to bear the eyes while the one outside roamed free without the attached stigma?"
He turned towards Dumbledore.
"Alright, I admit, I was there. What's next?"
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Quinn West - MC - It's tedious to pretend not to know when you know.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Recognized the attempt to derail the conversation.
Alastor Moody - Mad-Eye - Ignored.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED to go read CHAPTER 63: Into The Chamber Of Secrets. Read it carefully to truly understand what happened down there.
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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!
Just like always,
Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.
Thx
If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]
The link is also in the synopsis.
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"Alright, I admit, I was there. What's next?"
Quinn heavily leaned into his chair and crossed his legs with his hands firmly resting on the armrest. If not for his clothes, it'd look like he was in his home, getting comfortable for a night of relaxation in front of a fireplace.
"Why did you hide it?" asked James.
Quinn looked at James, contemplating if he should put him in the answerable bucket or dump him with Moody and ignore the Auror. After a second of thought, he decided to answer the man,
"I hid it because I thought no one knew about it." He gazed at the Sorting hat, which again had gone to looking like a dilapidated hat. "But it seems I was wrong. . . . I feel ashamed I forgot about the hat which brought in the Gryffindor's sword used to stab and end the Basilisk. . . . I was particularly distracted that day," that day he was just at the edge of the first bout of Sin curse taking over.
He remembered how he had met with Lockhart shortly after, and the greedy, pompous bastard had triggered his emotions enough to let the Sin curse take over. Soon after, he had almost tortured two girls, and things had come this close to going down terribly wrong.
Every pair of eyes— even the one with the artificial eye— stared at Quinn. Their eyes were full of shocked curiosity and various other varying emotions.
". . . Why did you stab the diary with the Basilisk fang, Mr. West? How did you know that the spirit was attached to the diary?"
Quinn shrugged, "I observed, listened, and applied my brain to deduce that the suspicious leather diary laying on the ground of the previously deserted Chamber of Secrets would probably have something to do with spirit spouting maniacal ambitions would be connected."
He stared directly at Dumbledore as he said those words. Not for a second did he break away from eye contact with the blue eyes.
When Quinn got a call from Ivy about the situation, he had scoured the memory of the day with a fine-toothed comb. He had increased the immersion on the memory book to the max— and could live in the memory as if he was experiencing it firsthand. He noticed all the little things he had not thought about in-depth— the actions he had taken, the magic he had cast, and, more importantly, the words he had spoken.
According to Ivy, the Sorting hat provided them a gist of the situation and his(Quinn) involvement, but the hat hadn't provided the specifics; at least, not to everyone in the room. . . but the same couldn't be said about Dumbledore. The hat had been in Dumbledore's company ever since; who knew how much in detail the hat might have retold the incident.
'Expect and prepare for the worst,' Quinn thought. 'And it's not like it matters, does it.'
"The Sorting hat tells me that you took away the Basilisk's fangs and its venom. May I know what you did with them, Mr. West?" asked Dumbledore.
Quinn could feel the eyes on him. Basilisk fang and venom— two priceless commodities that couldn't be procured by usual means, only available through highly illegal means in exotic black markets, but here he was in possession of invaluable materials.
"It's ironic," said Quinn instead of answering the question, "a man produced a feat of magic, created to protect his life at all costs, but then he created a second one, something amazing, fascinating. . . he had created a new life— but that new life somehow threatened his own— I'm not sure if the man knew. . . but I do. . . I have seen it in action after all."
Quinn turned his eye to the Sword of Gryffindor encased inside a glass showcase, enhancing the aesthetic of the office by displaying the glory of Gryffindor. It was goblin-made metal which had been dipped inside the Basilisk venom and magically took on the properties, henceforth becoming a more valuable asset.
"Ironic isn't it, Headmaster," said Quinn.
He had spent seven years walking around on eggshells because Dumbledore had substantial authority over and it didn't seem wise to be at loggerheads with the person who ran the place where he had to spend seven years of his life. But now, he had graduated, and he was out of Dumbledore's umbrella, free to do things he couldn't do before. . . and it felt great to act out so boldly.
Dumbledore showed no reaction. He stared at Quinn in silence while others seemed confused about what Quinn was talking about.
Quinn enjoyed seeing Dumbledore so restrained. It was clear that he hadn't told anyone about the existence of Horcruxes. He was still trying to keep the cards so close to his chest.
". . . Everyone, please give Mr. West and me some time alone; it'd be much be appreciated," said Dumbledore.
Before anyone from Dumbledore's said could even raise a single word of objection, Quinn spoke up,
"It's okay; they can stay. I'm not going to say that I'd want to hide."
"So you wouldn't be saying things to you want to hide," Dumbledore sighed before saying. "Nevertheless, I would prefer if we could have a talk privately."
"I would like for everyone to stay."
"Mr. West—"
"I insist, Headmaster," Quinn said flat-out.
If he was asked to choose a side between Voldemort and Dumbledore— not the Light and Dark side, but who he would follow between the two leaders— he would go with Voldemort. From what Quinn perceived, the violent megalomaniac seemed easier to work with than the smiling manipulator. At least with Voldemort, he would know when the man was angry and happy, but with Dumbledore, Quinn wasn't sure what the man was thinking at any point. That wasn't to say that Voldemort didn't use manipulation— the Dark Lord had fooled a society of high-class pureblood supremacists into following him, and one young Tom Riddle was particularly charming and persuasive— but to Quinn, that couldn't be compared with Dumbledore who had built a reputation in an entire country's heart's, which only seemed to grow stronger after every adversary and obstacle.
Quinn looked to the people around the country. Especially to the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived. Lily and James Potter had no idea what Dumbledore was hiding from them. Quinn had tried to put himself in their positions and had imagined what it would feel like if something so big would be hidden from him. . . that imagination didn't feel pleasant at all.
So he decided. If nothing else, he was going to break Dumbledore's grasp on information that the Potter family and even those who fought for Dumbledore deserved to know.
"I was shocked when I realized what the Dark Lord had done," said Quinn spinning a small narrative for himself. "No, shocked wouldn't be the right word. . . I was repulsed when I found out. To soil the sanctity of something so pure. A dirty stain on the name of magic. It was fortunate that I did what I did, or who knows what would've happened. It wasn't after some years that I realized what I had destroyed that say when I stabbed the diary. I felt elated— I had destroyed the Dark Lord's twisted safeguard. . . but then"— Quinn stared at Dumbledore with a face without warmth— "after several years, when I had progressed further in my studies of magic. . . I found myself staring at another one of those twisted things, and never in my life I expected it to see in such a form."
Quinn kept his eye on the Dumbledore, but he could that Dumbledore knew precisely what he was talking about.
"What are you talking about?" asked Lily.
"Dumbledore will tell you afterward," said Quinn, not looking at her. "If he doesn't come to me and I will tell you. . . you know what, even if he does tell, come to me, in case he forgets to tell you something. I'll fill those gaps in."
". . . Mr. West, why you're doing this?"
"Because I want the Dark Lord gone, and unfortunately, you're the best chance anyone has of doing that," said Quinn. "And if you keep things as I'm assuming you are, so hidden, it will come back to bite you and everyone in the ass."
"There's a reason why I have kept things as they are, Mr. West."
"Headmaster, believe me when I say that I'm an avid believer of the following: A secret is the strongest when only one person knows about it— but this is not one of those things— this is not something you have the right to keep to yourself."
Dumbledore's eyebrows crinkled, "You say such things, then why haven't you told them. After all, it seems you've known about it for a considerable amount of time."
Quinn laughed inside; Dumbledore was cunning. He had flipped the question away from him towards Quinn. And it wasn't like it was unsightly— Quinn has indeed kept it hidden. . . but Quinn wasn't born yesterday.
"Tell me, Headmaster. How long would it take you to destroy the entirety of London?" asked Quinn abruptly.
". . . Pardon?" Dumbledore seemed stumped.
"What kind of question is this, boy!" Moody grunted.
"In 1927, the recently dead Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald unleashed a terrible towards the city of Paris after a rally. . . and according to those present there, the spell held enough power to raze the entire capital city to the ground. . . so my question is to the man who defeated Gellert Grindelwald— How long would it take you to destroy London?"
Dumbledore remained silent, his eyes studying Quinn and his intention.
Quinn turned to Hermione and asked her the same question.
"Err. . . I-I couldn't," Hermione fumbled. "He couldn't?"
"Oh no, he could definitely; there's no doubt about it," Quinn shook his head.
He turned to James and yet again asked him the same question. The Auror didn't fumble like Hermione and actually looked like he thought it through before answering: "A month?"
Gasps sounded across the room. A month. One month to destroy an entire city. A shocking value when put into the context they talked about.
However. . .
"Wrong, that isn't close to the real value," he turned to Dumbledore. "Come one, Headmaster. Hazard a guess; there's no harm in it."
After some silent deliberation, Dumbledore sighed and gave his answer, "Less than a week."
It was as if someone had dropped a silencing spell on everyone in the room as all went silent with surprise and shock overflowing on their faces. Even Moody's both eyes stared at Dumbledore with rare utter shock.
"London is 6.6 percent larger than Paris. Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore stand on the same level of destructive power," said Quinn with a bitter smile.
But it wasn't over yet.
"You know the best part?" continued Quinn. "All it would take for him," he pointed at Dumbledore, "is three meals a day, a good night of sleep after every day of destruction and great health. . . that's all it would take to bring a great city to the ground."
Unknowingly, Quinn had started tapping his foot on the floor as he stared at Dumbledore. It wasn't a face of triumph or even satisfaction. It was a bitter face of unwillingness through and through.
"How am I supposed to oppose that?"
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Quinn West - MC - I love derailing conversations.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Any tips to increase focus and concentration. And those who are currently working corporate jobs, I want to write more while in the office so I don't have to stay late in the night, any tips regarding that will be appreciated.
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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!
Just like always,
Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.
Thx
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