Chapter 293: The Room Of Hidden Things

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His talk with Dumbledore made Quinn feel a sense of urgency.

The Dark Lord was spreading his web of lies and deception through the countries, and it made Quinn think that it would be wise to "secure" another "piece" of the Dark Lord.

He finished dinner, hung out with his friends, returned to his room, and after loading his pockets with the necessary equipment, he threw himself out of the Headboy Suite's portrait door and walked to the seventh-floor under the careful guise of an invisibility spell.

His feet came to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his eyes, and began to walk.

'I need a room full of hidden things . . . . I need a room full of hidden things . . . . I need a room full of hidden things . . . .'

Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of the blank wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement— though these doos were different from the usual ones. Quinn wrenched the heavy doors, walked himself inside, and shut the doors behind him shut, leaving the blank wall to stare at the silent hallway.

He sighed. It had been a while since he had arrived in the room; he had only come into this room a handful number of times— mostly for salvaging broken / out-of-order things and using them inside his office and workshop after refurbishing or transforming them, and even then, he could not help but be overawed by what he was looking at.

He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Quinn knew were objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle- proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned, graffitied, or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained ax.

Quinn calmly walked forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, and came to a stop at the broken Vanishing Cabinet . . . . and he could see that it was being worked at— the signs of repair were evident.

He stared at the Vanishing Cabinet for a few moments before he stepped near it while removing the glove off his hand . . . .

After a minute, Quinn had the glove back on his hand. He took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet and started his search inside the Room of Hidden Things.

The room, as he knew and experienced, was spelled with an Anti-Accio spell. If one wanted to find things in the Room of Hidden Things, they have to do it the old-fashioned way, by traversing the mounds of abandoned stuff and hoping to have the eye catch the sight of the item or items in question.

He paused beside a large cupboard that seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard's creaking doors: It had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long since died; its skeleton had five legs. It intrigued him for a while before he shut it close and let the bones rest in their resting place.

He walked again for a while before he found himself in a place with alleyways on all four sides and the mounds looking quite similar to each other.

"How embarrassing . . . I got lost," he said to himself, turning his body to look in all directions.

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his previous trips into the room. The room was quiet enough for him to hear his own breathing and his footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats . . . .

Quinn joined his hands behind his back, and soon, the heel of his shoes left the ground, followed by the balls of his feet and then his toes. A gentle yet powerful gust of wind raised him into the air as he raised to the ceiling above the mounds, overlooking the garbage "skyline."

"Now, that's more like it," he smiled and continued his traversal search; just instead of foot, he was now on air.

"Damn, isn't this tougher?" he muttered, shuffling through the stuff on the top of the mound. Previously he was just digging through the lower pile, but now being in the air, he had ended up increasing the area of search by an entire dimension.

He paused for a moment, hovering in the air, gazing around at all the clutter . . . . Would he be able to find it amidst all this junk? Was finding it based on luck? Or was there a way to find it using something else?

"Wait a minute . . . I can try to use my soul to find it," Quinn folded his feet high in the air, he assumed a lotus position. "Now, let's see if this bargain pays off."

Beneath the shield pulsing with multi-colored veins, sometimes sizzling, the shimmering gold Soul thrummed, expanded, and contracted. Upon Quinn's command, a bright light burst out from the Soul and reached every corner of the previous pristine white space marred with muddled seven-colored blotches.

Outside, Quinn closed his eyes and felt his senses expand like a ripple in the water. He couldn't feel a single thing even though his senses seemed to grow— everything was dense and dull, seemingly melding into the floor and into each other. But then suddenly, in the dull world, a bright light appeared.

'Found it!'

Quinn stared at the bright light, but it wasn't a pleasant brightness. It was muddled in its light, emanating a "scent" of death— it was completely opposite to his own Soul. Suddenly, the corrupt light jumped and attacked Quinn's expanded senses, and in real-time, Quinn could see the corruption trying to infect his Soul through the expanded senses achieved through the Soul.

He immediately cut off his senses and the Soul in the soul space.

"Well, it's a Horcrux, after all," Quinn said after opening his eyes.

He flew down to the floor and landed in front of a mound that looked exactly like the dozens of others of its kind. Sticking out the pile was a bust. Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby crate, he stood it on top of a wooden crate.

Quinn took a deep breath, "There is it . . . damn, I knew it would be like that," a wrinkle and scrunched up nose marred his face.

On the chipped bust perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue's head, making it look more distinctive.

The tiara, or to be more precisely, it was a diadem . . . it was Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. The Founder's Artifact was chosen by the Dark Lord to make it the vessel for his soul fragment.

"The soul fragment tarnished it," Quinn raised his hand with a painful frown but stopped himself from touching it.

The shines of the blue sapphire jewels seemed to be dull and seemed like they had been burned at the base; the shimmer of precious platinum that was charmed not to rust looked was muddled with black rust.

"Ah, why couldn't he take care of the artifacts better or maybe choose something else." He sighed, "Well, it doesn't matter, does it?"

Quinn produced a cuboidal container purely made from cloudy panes of glass. He raised his hand, and the Ravenclaw's Diadem gently dislodged from the bust, taking the wig with it. Quinn blew on it, and the dust wig fell off, and the Diadem was gently placed into the box.

«Wearing it for a minute won't hurt, right? Let's try it— . . . . . .»

Quinn immediately placed the glass lid on the box, and the edges melded with other edges, sealing the glass box shut.

"Oh, boy, that was close," Quinn breathed a sigh.

He didn't know what curse did the Dark Lord had placed on the Diadem, but whatever it was, Quinn was sure, it would make him wear it, and who knew if it was anything like the Diary, it would take over him, or maybe it would melt his brain, or who knows what kind of horrifying things.

And currently, even with him being able to snuff out the Sin-voices, Quinn wasn't completely free of their control. Every time his own thoughts would flow in the same line as the Sin-voice, those moments would allow the voices to come out louder and longer than before.

"Well, that the last I can get my hands on without trouble," Quinn ruffled his hair, his eyes fixed on the floating box. "But, I guess, now that this is over, I can focus on myself."

His progress with the Soul and the Sin curse had dwindled down to a halt, and he hadn't made any progress on how to actually expel the curse from his body.

"I guess I have no other choice . . . . I will need to go home this Easter."

Hogwarts students saw three breaks in one year. After the school year ended, the students would see a summer break of two months, the longest break of the year. Then when people returned to school, the next vacation was during the Christmas season and lasted till after the New Year. And then the third break was the Easter break of two weeks, and the dates differed every year.

He never returned home on Easter.

But there was nothing more he was able to do in Hogwarts. He needed external stimulus to kick his brain cells into action and made some progress.

"I would need to make some calls," said Quinn. He looked at the box with Diadem and sighed, "I need to take care of this before that," he knocked on the glass, "come on, buddy, let's get you settled in."

The third hunt had come to an end.

- (Scene Break) -

Time passed, and the Easter break arrived. Quinn was back at home. He knocked on the door and waited for the response.

"Come in," the voice came, and Quinn entered the study room.

"Grandfather."

George looked up from his book. "Yes, Quinn?" he asked.

Quinn sat down in front of him and started without delay, "I'm going to the US of A in a couple days."

"Why do you want to go to America, child?" asked George, flipping a page.

"I have some work that I want to take care of in New York," said Quinn.

"What work?" George asked, quirking a brow.

"There's this bookstore there with a book that I really want."

"We can have it delivered to our home; there's no need to travel."

"I know that, grandfather, but I came home this time, so I could go there," reasoned Quinn. "The book's a great deal . . . and I want to do some sightseeing."

George looked up and stared at Quinn intently, "Is that all the reason?"

"Well~," Quinn chuckled and shrugged, "I guess I am going to see how my investment in New York is turning out. I mean, I have to make sure that my tenant is capable of paying rent."

'Twas the time to go to the USA.

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Quinn West - MC - Yeah. . . . really need that book.

George West - Grandfather - Hmm . . . that's a valid reason.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - It's going to pick up a pace a bit. The chapters have been a bit too chill and bland these days.

The Discord Link in the synopsis has been updated.

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