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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Quinn walked down the stairs of his briefcase. Ever since Hogwarts, it had become a place where he spent substantial time. After all, the entirety of his research had shifted from the AID workshop and the Room of Requirement to the corridor of rooms present inside the expanded confines of the briefcase.
He stopped in front of a royal blue door with a pearl white owl with intelligent human-like eyes. The owl seemed angry and stared at Quinn with a piercing glare. Thinking of the inspiration behind the door art made a blissful smile bloom on Quinn's face. He opened the door and stepped into the pitch dark room with the open door as the only source of light.
It shined a light on the world on the sole object in the room.
"Wake up," he said.
The white-bearded man in the magical portrait roused from his sleep and cracked open his eyes, narrowing them to adjust to the light. When he looked at Quinn, the blank face turned into one of great anger, so much so that the man's pale skin flushed red.
"You!" thundered Merlin, as if wanting to break out of the photo frame. "Who do you think you are?! I am Merlin, the Grand Sorcerer of the King Author's Court! The premiere Enchanter of the free lands. How dare you imprison me in here? Release me at once or face the wrath of magic and nature's smite!"
Quinn's chuckled.
"What is so amusing," Merlin's voice seemed filled with poison.
"Oh, nothing much," Quinn clapped his hands for the MLEs in the room lit up. "This makes me cognizant of the fact that the development of magic didn't end with your death. The fact that there's so much more magic that you don't know, but I do— that brings me so much elation."
Portrait magic had much progress after Merlin's death. While he could travel to every portrait in Hogwarts, but if his image was taken out of Hogwarts, Merlin wasn't able to return to the castle. On the other hand, Phineas Black, a Hogwarts headmaster, could travel between his portrait in the headmaster's office and the one in the Grimmauld Palace.
When Quinn found that interesting fact, he exploited it to exact some revenge.
"How was it? Feeling panic, anxiety, and fear after so much time— all those emotions that must've become foreign to you after so much time. You had wide access in Hogwarts— the means to go anywhere, and everywhere you wanted. . . . But here you are, having all that taken away— locked in a room by a person who has a grudge against you, hates you even. . . not knowing if you'd ever see anything other than the blackness of the dark.
How does it feel? I hope it was jolly fun."
Quinn knew he was getting revenge against a portrait— an image of Merlin— and not the real man, but it sated his need for the sweet payback.
Merlin gritted his teeth. The ancient wizard's blue eyes seemed to be burning cold flame. He took a deep breath and retreated to a stoic appearance.
Quinn didn't mind that and conjured a chair in front of the floating portrait.
"I have some questions to ask," said Quinn nonchalantly, as if he couldn't see the anger.
"Why would I answer you?!"
"Do you want to spend the rest of eternity in darkness? If that's the case, I'm happy to give you some privacy."
Merlin seemed that he didn't want anything more than to cast Killing Curse from his eyes.
Seeing that Merlin didn't have anything to speak, Quinn continued, "What can you tell me about spatial magic."
"Spatial magic," Merlin's glare softened only a smidge. "What do you want to know?"
"I'm currently dwelling more into the intricacies of spatial magic. I thought, who better start than the Grand Sorcerer of the King Author's Court! The premiere Enchanter of the free lands. So how about it, Mr. Big Shot, what can your old wise magically created head teach the young naive me— I see thy guidance."
". . . I spent time researching the secrets of spatial magic. While I can't demonstrate them, I can guide you to the correct course— help you not stray from the wrong paths."
"That would be great," smiled Quinn, folding his legs and taking out a small notebook and pen.
"What would I get?" Merlin spoke the second Quinn stopped.
Quinn quirked a brow, "Do you want to spend another indefinite amount of time locked here in this room?"
"I want to be given some freedom. I want you to give me access to a place with many portraits and charm them so I can pass through them."
"You're in no condition to negotiate, portrait."
"But I'm no ordinary portrait, am I, Mr. Quinn West," said Merlin with his eyes full of confidence. "I have a horde of knowledge inside me that you can't extract. . . only I can give them to if I wish to do so."
"You don't know that. I have a way to turn you into something that would answer every question of mine."
"Oh, but you don't. You wouldn't be here talking to me if you had a way to do that. I won't pretend to know you inside out, but I have observed enough to know that if you had a way, you would have already used it. I would "
Quinn sighed and closed the notebook with the pen as a bookmark. "Why couldn't you be more gullible. . . . I'll give you access to one more frame— ask any more than that, and I'll leave you here. How about it."
Merlin nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"Good, then let's continue," said Quinn while thinking, 'I guess the portrait isn't the same as the real thing— he didn't make me specify the place.
"What do you want to learn?"
"Tell me about the Taboo curse. . ."
Then the lecture began.
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- (Scene Break) -
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Quinn was at the breakfast table eating his breakfast while reading the newspaper when George came into the room fully dressed and looking ready to leave.
"You're going somewhere?" asked Quinn.
"Germany," said George tersely.
"Oh, a nice business deal?"
"No, a problem."
Quinn quirked his brow but didn't look up from the papers. "What happened? Someone made a mistake?"
"No. But half our partner alliances in Germany suddenly pulled out doing business with us. . . all together yesterday morning."
That made Quinn's both brows shoot up. "What? Half! What happened?"
"The Dark Lord happened."
". . . The Dark Lord?" Quinn dropped everything and solely concentrated on the conversation.
"He went to Germany and swayed the pureblood supremacist to drop business with us; those he wasn't able to get, he threatened," George didn't sound happy.
Quinn knew that there were not many things that would make his grandfather angry— and business going bad was a thing that always made him furious.
"Why would the Dark Lord suddenly attack our business?"
"To get me off his back, of course. Do you know how much work and effort it is going to rebuild our business? I can't bring back our partners; I can't trust them. Finding new ones that could match them would take a great amount of vetting and due diligence, and even then, it is going to be a while before we reach the same revenue benchmarks.
I knew I shouldn't have gone the alliance route and built our own. Why did I expect competence and honor from those bigoted morons?"
"So the Dark Lord thought you'd be hurting his operations here, so decided to disrupt your in another country to occupy your time. . . . What are you going to do?"
"I am going to take care of Germany, of course. I'm not going that mad man ruin my business anymore; he has already done enough of that. When I'm done in Germany, I will pull his operation here Death Eater by Death Eater."
". . . Or, I take over the retaliation against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters."
George turned his stern eye to Quinn, his eyes narrowing. "Didn't I say we were going to stay away."
"I'll stay away. I'm just going to follow what you'd do and not the bone-breaking you think I'm going for. I will handle matters. . . peacefully— Mahatama Gandhi— non-violence. All that stuff that you love. How about it?"
"I'm not sure—"
"I am an adult, grandfather. I have plenty of experience using favors, I'm charming, and well, I know Legilimency, and as long it is for a just cause, I'm willing to offer my services as Legilimens. And what cause more just than to bring trouble to the Dark Lord. So what you say, shall we show the Dark Lord the might of the Wests."
If George's face was any indication, he wasn't impressed. ". . . I do not like it," he said.
"But you know I'll be good at it."
There was a long silence in which Quinn and George stared at each other, smiling other severe, until George sighed, "You can do it."
"Thank you!"
"But. . ."
"There's always a but," Quinn sighed.
"You'll do things the way I say you do. Meaning that you'll go to the people I send you to do what I want you to do. I'll leave it to you how you want to accomplish my given tasks, but other than that, you'll have no additional input. Agreed?"
"So, I'm going to your execution man."
". . . I wouldn't put it in those words, but yes."
"Alright. . . I agree. Your wish will be my command."
"My commands will be your commands."
"Oh, come on, we had a good thing going on."
George shook his head. He picked up the cup of juice that Polly had packed him and left without saying another word.
"Well, that was great. Now both of me can get involved."
Quinn West in meetings, behind the doors, cracking down on influential people's authority. Invisible Vigilante in the field, behind the mask, breaking down on Death Eater's bones.
"Here, I thought with AID over, I would be free. . . . Wait a minute, what am I, Batman?! No. . . I'm better— Bruce Wayne was a bum. Quinn West's a total badass. Yeah, I'm better. . ."
Polly popped up in the room and asked, "Would Little Master like some sweet cereal?"
"Yes, please."
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Quinn West - MC - Two lives on the same track. . . a good thing or bad.
Merlin - Portrait - Teaching for his freedom.
George West - Grandfather - Or Godfather.
FictinOnlyReader - Author - Sorry for the shorter chapter. This chapter just ended this way, and it seems it'll take me some time to adjust to my new living situation. [Written On April 5, 2022.]
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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.
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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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Elliot entered the gardens of the West property, stretching his shoulder to relieve some stiffness. It had been longer than usual since he had got to spend some time at home, away from all the strains of work. All the problems in Germany had sapped all of Elliot's energy and were taxing enough that he wished he could take a vacation.
He was about to move to the corner where he had planted herbs on his own when he chanced upon Quinn laying on the ground, spread eagle.
"Is something bothering you," asked Elliot.
Quinn groaned and kept groaning until he said, "I am old."
". . . You just turned eighteen, young master. You're in no way or form old."
". . . My magic stopped growing yesterday," said Quinn, his eyes staring at the sky.
"Your magic?"
"The flux period, I exited it yesterday," sighed Quinn.
The flux period of growth. When a magical human turned eleven, they'd enter a state of magical flux where their magic would grow even if they didn't use any— magic being a muscle would grow with use, and during the flux period, magic would grow at an incredible rate if regularly utilized. Quinn had been using as much magic as he could every day ever since he could remember— it wasn't an exaggeration that he had larger magic reserves than anyone his age. Quinn was even sure that he had larger reserves than Dumbledore and Voldemort.
However, the flux stage as it was appropriately named. . . a stage. It had to come to an end. It was observed that the flux stage would pass when a magical would pass at the end of the seventeenth year and around the eighteen birthday.
Quinn, who had just recently turned eighteen, had passed the age limit, and today, his magical core had finally matured to an adult's. The magic inside him was still capable of growth, albeit at a very slow rate.
He had thought his flux stage would continue for another four years because of his transmigration status, but it seemed that he was too optimistic in his thinking.
"This sucks!" There was a feeling of stagnation inside his body. If his magic had been free before, as if he was walking through the air, now it seemed like it had been forced to walk inside a vat of viscous liquid that pulled on his every movement to move forward.
Elliot laid down beside Quinn and faced up, also looking at the sky. "Doesn't it signify that you're ready?" he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Now that your magic core has matured, doesn't that signify that you're ready for a magical journey, your magical journey? That you're done with preparation and have all the tools you'll need to progress, and now you can fully give it all."
"I've been giving it all since a long ago," said Quinn before sighing. "I understand what you're saying, but it is hard to accept that the same amount of effort won't be paying the same level of dividends. "
"So you won't be doing it anymore?"
"I don't feel like it," said Quinn. He could somewhat understand why Voldemort had gone down the path of artificial modifications— and he had just been off of the growth just for one day.
"Then don't," said Elliot. "It must've been tiring to expend all of your magic every day. It won't be bad for you to take a break from it."
Quinn reached into his pocket and showed Elliot a golf-sized ball of shiny metal that reflected in many colors. "This is lead. . . I have had this ball since I started Hogwarts. Lead is a metal that's difficult to manipulate and meld through magic— it takes a lot of magic and requires a decent amount of focus to perform operations without exploding the metal. Since I got it, I have been doing it, and this ball has seen at least sixteen hours of contact with magic every day. . . . I just can believe that I'll be stopping.
How're you doing? You look tired," asked Quinn.
"The mess in Germany isn't sorting out as we expected it would. The fact remains that they're foreign and we indigenous, is creating unnecessary friction. The partnership break is creating much more problems for us than for them. It'll take some more time to sort the problems out so that problems.
"How's grandfather doing?"
"Busy. I don't think he's going to stop until he thinks he's done, which might take a while," saying that Elliot got up before saying his finishing words, "Don't let the tension pile up in your heart. No matter what choice you take— it should be the one that comes from your heart."
Quinn watched Elliot till he was gone before looking back at the sky. He floated the lead ball up so he could see it and wondered if he should continue with the exercise that, when compared to before, now seemed pointless.
The lead ball distorted into a liquid consistency that thrummed with spikes. It broke down into smaller pellets that then flattened into rings that began rotating in front of his face.
". . . I'm a sucker of magic."
The lead continued to change shapes as Quinn stared at it from below, wondering if there was someone he could go to. Merlin couldn't help him on this— the flux period wasn't discovered in his time, and Merlin himself hadn't done personal research on the subject. Quinn had written to Alan, and even though he knew about it, he had never tried to push his magic after his flux period, and even during it, Alan had been like any typical teen when it came to increasing his magic reserves.
Quinn suddenly sat up with a sparkling look in his eyes. A golden idea had struck him. It was genius, he thought.
"I know! I should go ask Grindelwald!"
It was time to take a trip.
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- (Scene Break) -
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Voldemort sat in a room with a poshness that oozed out from every corner of the room. There was a glass of wine in his hand that he rose up to his lipless mouth.
"You have been doing a fine job against George West," said Voldemort, pleased. "He's been so busy that he doesn't have the time to raise an eyes towards Britain."
"Dark Lord. . . we're already struggling with George West," said one of the German pureblood. "At this rate, he will steal our business rather than us his."
"Pulling out of the partnership has plunged us into the risk of future losses that seem inevitable," sighed another pureblood. "This doesn't seem to be looking to be a good deal."
A sudden chill descended into the room. There were a dozen or so people in the room, and every single one of them looked at the one who had spoken, their eyes practically screaming that he needed to stop.
"Handschuh. . . do you like your money more than your life?" asked Voldemort. "George West will take your money but won't kill you. I, on the other day, can take away your life and your money after that. . . which one do you think is better."
Handschuh felt his feet go cold. "N-No, my apologies, My Lord."
"Hmm. . ."
Handschuh wasn't over yet; he gathered up his courage and spoke, "M-My Lord, if-f I may."
Voldemort lazily waved his hand, so Handschuh continued, "I was a bar when I heard a name. . . ."
"What name might that be?"
". . . Gregorovitch."
The wine in Voldemort's hand trembled. He turned to Handschuh with his eyes being a mix of excitement and danger, "I hope you're not jesting, Handschuh, are you?"
"N-No, M-My Lord. I heard it clearly. They were talking about Gregorovitch. . . and you were looking for him. . . ."
"Tell me more about it, Handschuh, and I will forgive your previous unsightliness."
"T-Thank you, M-My Lord. . ."
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Voldemort glided along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of him had high, timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. He approached one of them, then saw the whiteness of his own long-fingered hand against the door. He knocked. He felt a mounting excitement. . . .
The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into Voldemort's face: humor gone, terror replacing it.
"Gregorovitch?" said a high, cold voice.
She shook her head: She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, preventing her from shutting him out.
"I want Gregorovitch."
She cried, shaking her head. "He doesn't live here! He doesn't live here! I don't know him!"
Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark hall, and Voldemort followed, gliding toward her, and his long-fingered hand had drawn his wand.
"Where is he?"
"He moved! I don't know, please, I don't know!"
He raised the wand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. His wand tip glowed green—
"No!" A man burst into the room
Voldemort lowered his wand as the green grow subsided, and a smile grew on his face, "It's good to see you, Gregorovitch."
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"Give it to me, Gregorovitch," Voldemort's voice was high, clear, and cold, his wand held in front of him by a long-fingered white hand.
He had just found out why his wand didn't work against Harry Potter's and found another piece of exciting information. If his wand didn't work, then he needed to get another— and if he was going to a new one, which better but the best wand ever made.
Gregorovitch, at whom he was pointing, was suspended upside down in midair, though no ropes were holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, his limbs wrapped about him, his terrified face ruddy due to the blood that had rushed to his head. He had pure-white hair and a thick, bushy beard: a trussed-up Father Christmas.
"I have it not. I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!" The hanging man's pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger.
"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?!"
"I do not know, I never knew, a young man— no— please— PLEASE!"
"One last chance, wandmaker!"
Gregorovitch's eyes widened in horror as a memory surfaced in his mind: Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage, and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern's light illuminated him, Gregorovitch saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter.
Voldemort's wand glowed in green again, and Gregorovitch's mouth screamed wide open:
"GRINDELWALD!"
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Quinn West - MC - Airtrip! Airtrip! Airtrip!
Elliot Dalton - "Sebastian" - Time to have a kickback.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - "Oh. . . ?"
Mykew Gregorovitch - Wandmaker - On a new adventure.
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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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