Kapitel 280: «Ah. . . I should—»
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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Under The Seal, The Antechamber Of Sin Would Be Revealed.
Quinn stared down the pitch dark opening. . . the entrance to the Sin Vault, the greatest tragedy of the life was under the room called the Room of Rewards. He didn't know if it was ironic or not — his magic reserves had received a boost but at what cost. . . he had lived under the influence of a curse for months and lost control of everything for what were the excruciatingly hard months of his life.
He placed his hands on the floor and let his feet dangle in the narrow tunnel. He wasn't one to be scared of the dark, especially not after Tohem's Delight — but something about this particular darkness settled a weight in the base of his heart.
"Fortune favors the bold. . . . I should have asked the Felix Felicis from Ivy."
Quinn pushed himself off the floor and let himself drop into the tunnel. He breathed out, and a gust of wind flew in an updraft pushing Quinn's already flying hair straight up. There was a second and half of the wind-resisted fall before the tunnel opened up to the antechamber, and Quinn came to a hovering stop in mid-air.
The dim light from the Room of Rewards shone upon him, casting a halo of light around where he flew while the rest of the antechamber remained drowned in darkness. The snap of fingers reverberated in the room as two dozen white sparks lit up in the room, bright like magnesium set on fire before turning into orbs of soft lights illuminating the room.
Like the seven sins, the antechamber had seven shapes making it heptagonal in form with polished smooth walls, floor, and ceiling, lending it an out-of-the-ordinary feel, eliciting a frown of deep discomfort from him. It was bare as the last time he had seen without any visual clue of the horrors that it held.
Quinn gently flew to one of the walls, and as he did the last time, he touched one of the walls with both of his hands and closed his hands while his magic flooded into the walls, floor, and ceiling.
His brows furrowed, and his facial muscles twitched, and a snarl tugged on the corner of his mouth. Even after five years, he couldn't sense iota magic in the antechamber. He, who had undone Dark Lord's Voldemort protections charms that guarded his precious as life Horcrux, couldn't sense any magic even when he knew there was a magic hidden in here waiting to reveal its predatory nature.
He slammed his rage-fueled body magic-infused fist on the wall, and not a single speck of dust got displaced. It only further angered as he knew it was because of magic. . . . which he once again couldn't detect.
Quinn turned back to look at the center of the antechamber. He stared at the slick floor and knew the moment he stepped on it, the pandemonium would start, whatever it was — he didn't even know what it was, for he had been rendered unconscious before knowing what had happened.
He was grossly unaware of what had happened, with no way to find out without triggering the events again.
The chain around his neck and the pendant piece against his chest felt cold. The cold felt reassuring when the rest of his body burned in slight heat. Winds blew Quinn to the center of the room with his eyes fixed on the floor below. The more he waited and dawdled in his thought, the more he felt he was not reading.
"I'm ready," the words flowed out of his mouth. "I'm going to win this time."
The supply to wind magic was cut, and Quinn's feet to the ground. His senses turned up to eleven as his magic flowed to every inch of the room, flooding the Hogwarts classroom-sized room into a magically charged environment.
His magical bid paid off as Quinn felt a foreign magic manifest into the room, and it instantly zoned in on him. Quinn flexed his magical muscles and turned his magic to combat the attack that came barreling towards him from all the sides. The continuous assault of magic was like a beast trying to sink its claws into him — they were the heaviest hands of magic he had felt launched upon himself. And they didn't seem to stop.
"What?"
Quinn, who was staring ahead, suddenly stiffened as the smooth walls in front of him took on a liquid sheen and rippled before runes emerged on it. He hastily turned to look at the other walls, and complex runes had overtaken the previously glossy walls.
He squinted his eyes at the runes on the walls, and his heart dropped just at the first few observation that caught his eyes. In a glance, he had caught seven interconnected layers of runes, pointing to the complexity of the magic. . . but that was just the first strike of the hammer as Quinn noticed upward of seven different runic languages flashing in multicolored light.
The Aegis wards were Quinn's most complex runic invention, and he only used three different runic languages as he couldn't achieve harmony and synchronicity for more than that. The last hammer strike. . . out of the various symbols, alphabets, and hieroglyphics, he could only recognize three sets — two types of Futhark and an ancient strain of proto-hieroglyphical Egyptian, the latter he only had seen rough records of and knew the translations were lost with time. He couldn't even tell which languages the other runes stemmed from.
The magical imbalance and chaos snuffed out Quinn's light orbs, and the room was dominated by seven different lights — Violet, Green, Orange, Blue, Yellow, Pink, and Red.
'What's going to happen?' Quinn's eyes bounced from rune to rune, glowing brighter and brighter as he fought off the other magic in the room.
A sudden yet eerie silence fell upon the antechamber as the other magic vanished without a trace, and in its place, a heavy, viscous, suffocating weight started to leak out from the runes.
Quinn's heart palpitated out of rhythm as his base instincts, the core of his being, shouted at him to run! Body magic jolted throughout his body as wind magic ran rampant as he shot towards the only exit/entrance.
However, only a magic-aided wide step after the magics from the rune struck. Beams of seven different colors shot towards their intended target at laser speeds, screaming as the room grew brighter.
"Gah!"
The beams hit Quinn, and he stumbled onto the ground, kneeling. He could feel the shearing hot and cold magic break through his skin and drill its ways through being.
"No!"
Quinn's squeezed shut eyes snapped open and defiant purple glared, not willing to submit. His magic roared and the reserves built through the years that had long past the level of obscene for a human to hold were put to work. Quinn knew that he didn't have the magical focus or experience to fully utilize his reserves, and he doubted that he would be able to reach the levels desired any time soon; it would take at least a few couple more decades to reach a point where he would have complete control of his magic.
He didn't like pumping eleven units of magic into a spell that could only correctly utilize ten units of magic. If he wanted to utilize eleven units of magic, he would find another magic that could do so. But there was no spell that could utilize the hundred of thousands of units of magic inside Quinn. . . so he had no choice but to push magic past the efficient limit.
Quinn's entire body glowed in seven different colors as brighter streaks covered his body. The magics from the beams had long broken through the physical barrier of the body and had reached the residence of the ethereal soul.
The bright soul floated in a pure white place, but suddenly streaks of seven different colors invaded the pristine whiteness and raced towards the bright soul in the center. The streaks bared their sharp spear-like edge and stabbed towards the soul.
However the soul wasn't helpless. It was one of the rare souls who had dared to wander into the realm of soul magic — a magic part of the trinity.
A shield appeared around the soul that the streaks stabbed into. Screeches pierced throughout the pristine white space. They tried to drill a hole into the shield, but it stood solid like an unshakable mountain.
The streaks switched their gears in a split-second, and the streaks stopped drilling instead, seven-colored veins sprouted on the surface of the shield and stuck to it like a parasite. Immediately after, the entire pure white space was covered into blotches and streaks of seven different colors.
However, the soul was safe.
Quinn heaved with both his knees on the floor. The beams had stopped. His mouth was chalk dry, and he gulped, which felt like he was swallowing a ball of bile. His shirt was thoroughly drenched, and his head felt like it was on fire. His heart was beating so fast that it hurt, and his fingers shook like a starved addict.
"Ugh. . . . shit, shit, shit. . . . ! I'm in control. I'm in control. I'm in control!"
He could feel it, the curse; he could feel it. It was — inside of him. If for one second he stopped the very rudimentary shield around his soul that was keeping the curse on the bay.
«I should just let the curse take over. . . it felt so good the last time.»
Quinn's eyes widened when he heard his voice, lazy and uncaring, echo inside his mind. He could tell what it was. He had thought about the Sin curse for long through the year, so he knew that this was his Sloth speaking.
«It would only do good. . . it'll feel good and the power boost it would give would be so nice!»
Quinn shook his head at the thoughts of Greed.
«I recovered from the focus loss once, I can do it once again, I know the formula. . . I am me, after all.»
Pride reared its ugly violet head.
«Whatever, I am hungry! I used too much magic; I should go to the kitchen!»
He felt his body growl under Gluttony.
«Ugh, this is such a pain! I should take Daphne to Room of Requirements. . . yeah.»
He clenched his hands to keep the tremor under control. He looked around the antechamber to see if there was something. . . anything.
«I mean, who made this?! Why can't I detect any magic! Maybe I will get the answer if I let the curse take over!»
He could feel the Envy rise up his throat.
«Why won't the voices in my head shut up! The last time was so less annoying!!!»
He bit the inside of his mouth and taut his neck to calm his Wrath.
Quinn got up from the floor, stretched his back straight, and felt the dull ache that spread through his body. He took slow steps towards the tunnel. He turned his tired eyes towards the ceiling and peered through the hole.
He didn't want to move. He just wanted to go to sleep on the spot and just. . . get away for a while. Everything was going to start all over again, and this time he was 'conscious' instead of being blissfully unaware of the grave situation he was in.
This time, he wasn't going to enjoy the cloud nine feeling for months.
«Only if I struggle against the curse. . . .»
Quinn blankly stared at the dim light coming from the tunnel.
"This. . . This is going to be a problem, isn't it?"
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Quinn West - MC - «Ah. . . this is such a pain.»
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Na, peeps. It wasn't going to be so easy. Also, check out Chapter 53 if you desire a recap.
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Kapitel 281: BFF
If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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The winters spread its cold blanket over the country.
While Hogwarts students preferred to stay indoors to beat the cold, there was one day they couldn't miss going out on. . . that day was the Saturday of a Hogsmeade weekend. No matter if it snowed, rained, or hailed, the teenagers of Hogwarts would descend into the all-magical village of Hogsmeade.
Marcus stepped off the Grand Staircase, running, and slowed down to power walk to get the huff in his breath in control. He arrived at the Entrance Hall next to the Great Hall and was greeted with a windchill coming through the open gats that broke goosebumps under his thick, warm, padded clothes. He looked around the hall, sorting through the flux out people entering the Entrance Hall from the Great Hall and others exiting the castle through the gates.
He found who he was looking for a distance away from the gates standing at a corner, staring at the walls.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm late," said Marcus, rubbing his arms with his hands.
Quinn glanced away from the wall and quirked a brow. He waved his hand, and Marcus felt a warmth spread through his body, loosening his tense body.
"Everyone needs to get into the habit of using Warmth Charms liberally," said Quinn. "Is it fun to shiver in the cold?"
Marcus removed the glove off his hand and touched Quinn's cheek with the back of his hand. "You're colder than me!" he said, pulling his hand back.
"I'm used to the cold, my insulated friend," said Quinn, pulling his overcoat wide open.
«Like hell I would need something as weak as a Warmth Charm.»
"What are you looking at?" Marcus asked, putting the glove back on and turning his eyes to the wall covered with framed portraits. "Talking to a portrait, huh, find anyone interesting?"
"I was just looking at something interesting that I found a couple years back," said Quinn. He pointed at the portrait hanging just above their heads. "It's the only non-magical portrait in Hogwarts."
Marcus craned his neck at an angle and looked at the portrait in question. It was the photo-realistic painting of a man in his late years with a flowing white beard, long white hair, dressed in a dark maroon-burgundy gown-styled robe, and sat atop on his head was a round cap that had a black veil flowing from the top and flowing down to shoulders and the to the entire body, at least what was visible in the portrait.
"Isn't he just. . . Headmaster Dumbledore?" said Marcus.
Quinn laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, they both have the long white beard and hair looking going. But no, that's not Dumbledore. This fine gentleman is Myrddin Wyllt."
"Who?"
"Merlin."
Marcus' eyes blew open at Quinn's words, and he said, "Merlin, wow!"
Merlin was a legendary British wizard who lived during the Middle Ages. It was during his lifetime that magic had entered its golden age, and he had spearheaded the rise and growth of human magic. He was part of the legendary King Author's Court, and without doubt, the most famous wizard of all time. He only had one peer at his age — the Dark Lady Morgana, King Author's half-sister, but even she couldn't gain the upper hand on him.
"Uh-huh, did you know," said Quinn, "that before Merlin was the famous sorcerer of King's Court, he was a student right here at Hogwarts."
"Seriously? I didn't know that," said Marcus.
"He was one of the first Slytherins, studied right from Salazar Slytherin himself," said Quinn. "It's said that his wand was made from English Oak, though it can't be proven as Merlin's grave was never found. However, the theory could be credible as Merlin was good at Charms."
"Why do you think he didn't make a magical portrait?" asked Marcus.
Quinn shrugged, "Who knows what went through the mind of someone like Merlin. Maybe he did paint himself a magical portrait, but he didn't put one in Hogwarts — maybe it's out there somewhere in the ancient remains of Camelot, still intact, waiting to be activated, or maybe activated. It could be even in some rich person's collection, who knows. . . if it exists, the possibilities are endless."
Marcus glanced at his best mate and saw the intent look on Quinn's face as he gazed at Merlin's portrait. He nudged Quinn with his shoulder, "I look forward to the day when I hear someone use Quinn's beard in place of Merlin's beard."
A smile appeared on Quinn's face. "Now, that's a thought, isn't it," he said. "Though I don't know if I will grow a beard, I don't think I'm the beard type of guy, you know."
«Merlin, huh. . . now that's an appropriate stepping stone for someone like me.»
Quinn exhaled before his lips pressed into a thin white line. He shook his head, put on a smile, and threw his arm over Marcus' shoulder. "Come one, let's get going. Time waits for no man, except those who have mastered the mysterious magic of time, which we're not."
"If you're not going to grow a beard, then what do you think people would refer to?" asked Marcus as they walked towards the gates.
"Hmm. . . Quinn's glorious suits because I would be only seen in suits!" Quinn nodded with satisfaction. "Now, that's a nice thing for everyone to say."
"Glorious suits, you say. . . isn't that a little long? I don't think that's going to work," said Marcus.
"Do you know what Eddie would say?" asked Quinn, grinning.
Marcus sighed with a smile, "Saggy balls or something like that. . ."
"Right on the money," Quinn grinned.
"So that would make it. . . . Quinn's sag—"
"Don't complete that sentence!"
The two friends made their way through the snow-covered paths and roads to Hogsmeade village, with Quinn working as a snow sweeper while doing the scenery a favor by making snow and ice sculptures along the way — snowmen, swans, goblins, house-elves, dwarves, you name it, and Quinn had created it.
"Do you know there's a world ice sculpture competition, I wonder if I could win the competition and become the youngest champion or something," said Quinn, fondling his chin. "I think a scaled-down model of Hogwarts would do the trick, don't you think?"
Quinn turned to Marcus when he got no reply and saw Marcus staring at the ground ahead as they walked, seemingly lost in thought.
"Marcus?" called Quinn and poked him.
Marcus jolted and hastily looked at Quinn. "Would you repeat that? I didn't catch that.
Quinn studied his friend and saw that Marcus had once again wandered off to his own world. "You're worried, aren't you?" he asked.
Marcus shrugged as he kicked some snow to the side. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and raised his shoulders to push the coat collars to cover more of his face.
"There's no need to be worried," said Quinn, "you'll be fine, I taught you everything I knew that would help you, and I seriously don't think you're going to need anything else — just be yourself, and you'll be just fine."
"What if I end up making a fool of myself?" asked Marcus. "I'm not like Eddie, who's just phenomenal at Quidditch. Even Luna is really passionate about becoming a Magizoologist. Daphne is set on becoming a Healer. Tracey knows she wants to return to her family business. Astoria is doing AID. And there's no need to talk about you."
'And here I thought he had gotten over it,' thought Quinn. It had been a while since he had seen Marcus doubt himself. Marcus had cruised through with high confidence built by high competence and working on an objective the entire last year. While everyone had gone through magical growth in their time with DA, Marcus had gone through additional character growth.
"Oh, Marcus, you know you have got it all wrong," Quinn said, waving his hand once for meters of the path in front of them to clear, making some of the people who walked in front of them jump. "Half of the people in the group mentioned are brats from rich families," he pointed at himself, "look at me, I'm a complete brat — a loveable one, but still a brat. . . .
Daphne didn't arrive at her decision to become a healer because it interested her; no, she's becoming a healer because of another reason. Sure she finds the subject matter interesting, but her motivation is not loving the field of healing. Tracey doesn't have a bottom-of-the-heart 'passion' towards her family business; she's doing it because it's the best option for her. AID is a short-term thing for Astoria — that girl has no idea what she wants to do in the future; she might bounce around from thing to thing after Hogwarts without a worry because of her parents. If I wasn't a magic maniac, I would have simply followed Tracey's example and went into my family business, and who knows, things might have not worked out, and I might have ended up becoming a wastrel.
My point is that half of us don't have the same worry as you because we aren't thinking about the problem. In a way, you're better than all of us because you're actually giving it serious thought. You want to know what you want to become in the future — not because of some fear, or because it's easy, or because. . . it's all you have."
Quinn cocked his hand and slapped Marcus tight on the back, sending the latter stumbling a few steps.
"W-What was that?!" Marcus asked with wide eyes and a hand on his back.
"In the name of my saggy balls'," said Quinn confidently, "Marcus, you're seventeen, get over it; you have the rest of your life in front of you to figure it out — right now, just do whatever feels like fun, and the thing will find you before you find it."
Marcus blinked. The slap on his back sizzled, but it wasn't bad. He straightened his back and took a deep breath of the cold air.
"You better hire me if I don't end up failing to get a job," said Marcus.
"Deal! But be ready because I'm going to dump all the annoying on you while I chill in the back," said Quinn, grinning. But he knew it wasn't going to come to that. His friend had much less trust in himself than he should have.
Both of them reached the one shop in Hogsmeade that Quinn knew well. The door chime rang when Quinn entered the door. The place smelt like ink, paint, and paper.
"Bob," Quinn said to the man sitting behind the counter, looking as if life had been sucked out of him.
The Manager of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop looked up. For a moment, Bob's blurry eyes stared at Quinn before they sharpened in half-panic and half-hurry, and he stood up straight.
"Q-Quinn, you're here," said Bob, looking as if he was about to cry.
Quinn chuckled as he walked to the counter, "You were asked for the shop's books, weren't you? And then questioned on them?"
Bob nodded pitifully.
"It's okay, you'll be fine," said Quinn, patting Bob's back.
«Ugh. . . grow a spine, will you?! Pathetic!»
"Now, you sit back and relax," said Quinn, "leave it to me." He turned to Marcus, who was fixing his clothes. "Let's go."
Quinn and Marcus climbed to the store's second floor and arrived at a single corridor in front of the furthest door.
"Ready?" asked Quinn.
Marcus nodded.
Quinn opened the door, and a smile appeared as he watched the man in front of him flipping through account books.
George looked up from the table, and a hint of a smile made its way to his face. "You're here," he said, and then his eyes went behind Quinn. "You must be Marcus Belby."
Marcus stiffly nodded. "Yes, sir, it's finally nice to meet you. Quinn has told me a lot about you."
"And he similarly had told me about you and the boy named Eddie Carmichael," said George. He glanced at Quinn, "Is the Luna girl here? I would like to meet her as well."
"Maybe some other day," said Quinn, "today, it's just Marcus."
"I see, that's fine. I would like to know more about you, Marcus," said George and gestured to the chair opposite to him.
Quinn placed his hand on Marcus' shoulder and whispered to him, "Alright, now it's all up to you. I have buttered you up in his eyes, so answer anything he asked, and ask him all the questions you want. You can keep him here as long as you want, so ask him what HE can give YOU." Then he gently pushed him forward.
"You're not staying?!" Marcus asked in a rushed whisper.
"No way, mate. It's Hogsmeade weekend, and I have a girlfriend," said Quinn, winking as he walked backward and closed the door behind him, leaving Marcus and George behind.
Marcus turned to George and found the older gentleman who looked much like Quinn starting at him. He walked to the table and sat down on the chair.
"So, Marcus," said George, "Quinn says you'd like to work for our family."
Marcus clenched his hands in nervousness, but then Quinn's words flashed through his brain, and he loosened his grip. He stayed silent for a moment before sitting straight up and looking George in the eye.
"No, sir, that's not the case."
George's hand, which was flipping through the account book, stopped. He studied Marcus for a moment and then closed the book and pushed it to the side.
"Is that so? And why's that, Marcus."
Outside Scrivenshaft, Quinn looked up towards the second floor. Marcus didn't know what he wanted to do, which meant he wasn't averse to trying things out . . . so he set up a meeting with a man, who owned a lot of things in a lot of areas. And Quinn knew that while Marcus didn't see it, he knew that Marcus had an aptitude for leading.
"I wonder if Marcus would end up becoming to Lia what Uncle Elliot is to grandfather," Quinn muttered, revealing how much of a high opinion he had of Marcus to compare him to Elliot, who he thought was the best man he had ever met. ". . . . I would like to keep Marcus to myself. . . I wonder how this would turn out."
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Quinn West - MC - Alright, both of my friends are set.
Marcus Belby - Traits of Leader - Talked with George for 4 hours, more than anyone outside family had done in years.
George West - Grandfather - Overqualified Interviewer*.
Bob - Manager of Scrivenshaft - Drained, but it's the manager's fate.
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