Chapitre 232: Date Time, Surprise Visit
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The Architect's vault second room, Cuboidal Creation, had exceeded Quinn's expectations of the amount he thought it would take to go through all the material cubes. Before he knew it was already, February had walked to the end of its second week, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather. Quinn's gut told him that he was already behind schedule despite not knowing the vault's contents.
Quinn gazed at his Friday pocket watch; it was already half past six in the evening. He had just completed all his work and delivered on his scheduled commitments so that he could free up the weekend and spend time in the Arhictect's vault for two days and grind the last leg of the second room and proceed to the next stage of the vault.
He snapped the cover close on the watch. "Another half-hour, then I close up."
With nothing to do, Quinn decided to do some work on AID's accounting. Making a profit was never Quinn's motive when he had set up, but in the few years of operations, AID had been able to very narrow margin (almost negligible) of profit from serving the needful students of Hogwarts with their problems. Quinn would've seen more gains if not for his 'favor exchange policy, but that policy had given returns other than monetary ones. The other reason behind AID just only breakeven most months was the operating expenses required to run AID. In particular, the coin that was needed to keep the AID workshop fully equipped with herbs, other potion ingredients, rune supplies, among the various other things that Quinn and Luna (mostly the former) went through regularly.
It was because of Quinn's meticulous accounting skills and financial sense that he hadn't needed to borrow from his personal funds. Occasions such as paying Ludo Bagman's debt to goblins were a few exceptions when Quinn had used his own funds.
'At this rate, February's going to end up in red,' noted Quinn. But he wasn't worried; AID would make for all its losses from March onwards with the AID-notes series — they were bestsellers since the first release years.
Time ticked away, and after another time check, only ten minutes remained to seven, so Quinn got up to pack things up for the day, but just as he was about to enter the workshop to do the end of the day Scouring spell, the detection ward outside his door triggered a bell in his mind.
Three people. Quinn stared at the front door with his hand at the handle of the red workshop door. He waited, waited, and waited — for two minutes, the people outside didn't enter the office.
Quinn shrugged. If they didn't want to come in, then he wasn't going to wait. However, the second he pushed the workshop door open, the door chime rang like a mosquito buzzing near the ear. Quinn heaved a sigh and turned to be surprised by the sight of Daphne standing at the threshold; behind her, Tracey pumped her brows with a grin in greeting when their eyes met, with Astoria standing on her tip-toes, trying to peek over Daphne's shoulder.
"Hey, you three—"
Daphne closed the door leaving Tracey and Astoria outside. The brief gaze Daphne shared with them before closing the door told that the other two had no intention to accompany Daphne inside.
"Why did they stay outside? Aren't they coming in?"
Daphne took a deep breath, then turned away from the towards Quinn. "I've something talk about. . . alone."
"What is it?" said Quinn, swiftly moving back to his barstool. It must be something serious, he thought.
Daphne gracefully sat herself down on the chair opposite Quinn. She straightened the pleats on her skirt. The Slytherin hadn't matched eyes with Quinn once since entering the room.
She mustered the courage and spoke up. "The outing to Hogsmeade is on Sunday."
Quinn nodded. The second Hogsmeade weekend was scheduled to fall on this Sunday. He wasn't going this time — this weekend, he was to spend his time alone with a room full of burdensome stones.
"I was wondering if you would visit the village with me."
"Is there something wrong, Daphne?" said Quinn; it was so unlike her to be fidgeting with her hands while speaking. "Is there something bothering you? Please don't be hesitant and share what seems to be the trouble. Is there a problem? Is that why you're asking me to accompany you to the village?"
Daphne finally looked up towards Quinn. He was usually sharp as a tack, so why couldn't he understand something so simple. Would she need to be blunt as Tracey had asked her to be?
"Daphne?"
"I am asking if you would go on a date with me this Sunday on Fourteenth of February," she said as direct as her heart would allow — mother magic, she did it!
Quinn froze up in his chair. His mind seemed to kick up like a sputtering motor. Hogsmeade weekend. Outing. Fourteenth of February. . . a date on Valentine's Day.
"O-Oh." The moment that slipped out of his mouth, Quinn's mental status took a tight mental slap from itself.
Daphne didn't take that surprised slip as discouragement and recognized for it was. She decided to push forward. "Would you?" she asked.
But Quinn wasn't one to be pushed into an answer. He relaxed his tensed hands on the table and joined his hands, intercrossing his fingers. Daphne also seemed to be riding the wave of her mustered courage and hadn't removed her eye from Quinn.
Both stared at each other for a few seconds to realize that it was a bit bashful to stare into each other's eyes after the exchange they just had and turned away from the other's gaze at the same time.
The ticking of the wall clock behind Quinn filled the room, stewing in a spell of awkward silence. Daphne's question had pushed the ball was in Quinn's hand; he was to break this silence.
He looked at her, and a flurry of thoughts flashed through his head. It was as if someone had opened every memory book in his mind with even the slightest mention of the girl sitting opposite him.
He had known her for several years. From the very first day on the Hogwarts Express, she had been so quiet and cold that day. He recalled the day he had seen her smile for the first time, recalled the occasional giggle he had stolen from her. Her worried expression shining in the moonlight when she grilled him about Astoria's cure. The many conversations he had with her. The times he had danced with her. The many hours he had spent with her discussing and teaching her magic. His thoughts went back to the last year and how she had looked in the black dressing-gown on the Yuletide ball; she catching his eye as she danced with the Bulgarian meathead, and one different decision would have him escorting her.
It seemed that his weekend plans needed to be changed.
"I'll be delighted," his soft voice made her blue eyes look at him, "to visit the village with you this Sunday," he smiled softly, "it's a date."
Daphne stared with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. She had come here hoping the worst — that Quinn would reject her and maybe ruin her friendship with him, but after last year, Daphne had to try — she couldn't give up because of her fear without giving it a chance.
Now Daphne was glad that she asked. She had wanted something, and she got it.
She nodded as if Quinn's answer was expected. "I'll meet you in the Entrance hall on Sunday."
"I'll be waiting for it patiently," Quinn smiled.
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Outside, Tracey and Astoria waited for Daphne to come out, hopefully with good news. Both were feeling a worry for Daphne — Tracey tapped her foot against the floor as she kept her eye trained on the office door, while Astoria couldn't stay still and was pacing the corridor.
"What if he refuses?" said Astoria, coming to a screeching halt in front of Tracey. "What if he already has a date? We didn't know until very late that he was going with Delacour last year. What if he's going with someone else, and we don't know about it; what would happen then?"
"I asked Eddie," said Tracey, "he said that Quinn hadn't said anything."
"Didn't he also not know last year? It could be the same this year."
Tracey had no answers to that. Even though she had asked Eddie if Quinn had plans, she had stressed that he was not to poke or chance an answer out of Quinn — Eddie Carmichael wasn't the subtlest of people.
"Let's just trust Daphne. She'll come out with good news, I know it."
Astoria bit her thumbnail and resumed her nervous pacing. All this talking had just amped her worries more — she didn't want her sister to be heartbroken — neither did she want to pin the blame on Quinn if it did happen.
The door jingled open, and out came Daphne, looking the same she did every day. Tracey and Astoria all but rushed towards her but pressed the breaks when they saw Quinn step out as well.
"Right, well, that's settled then," Quinn said, and Daphne nodded. He turned to Tracey and Astoria and waved once before gently closing the door, leaving the three girls behind.
Tracey and Astoria stared at Daphne, who began walking wordlessly, not giving them an answer.
"Dear sister, why are you just walking away? Please use that mouth of yours to speak something; it's not for decoration!"
"Daph? Daphne? Greengrass! You answer me, what happened in there? Did you chicken and not tell him; don't you dare tell me that is what happened."
Daphne stopped and twirled on the balls of her feet, her hair, robes, and skirt lifting just a bit. Tracey and Astoria halted — Daphne Greengrass never twirled.
The two girls got their answer in the form of the brightest smile capable of melting from the Ice Queen.
. . .
Eddie was gazing at his bed with furrowed brows when he heard climbing steps. He could tell from the sound that it was Quinn.
"Quinn, help your mate out, will ya?" he said without looking back.
As he expected, it was indeed Quinn: "With what?'
Eddie lifted the two jumpers from his bed and turned towards Quinn, who was placing his book bag at his study table. "Which one should I wear on Sunday? I have a Valentine's day date with Tracey, we are going to the village. This one, on the right, or the one on the left. I like them both, they are my favorites, but I can't seem to decide between one — what do you think?"
Quinn looked at the two options: The one on the right was black with a white-collar. The left one was also black — instead of a white collar, it had a white stripe on the side pockets. He looked at Eddie; he had changed into his casuals after Quidditch practice; lo and behold, he was covered in all black from head to toe.
"The white and yellow one you got on your birthday, the one that your mum sent."
Eddie's shoulders slumped. He looked at the jumpers in his hands — what was wrong with them? He looked excellent in both of them.
"What are you and Marcus going to do on Sunday?" said Eddie as he stuffed the jumpers into his cupboard. "I won't be with you guys," he added smugly.
"I have a date. I don't know what Marcus will be doing."
"Is that so—"
The white-and-yellow jumper slipped out of Eddie's hands. He turned towards Quinn — 'No fucking way,' he muttered his breath.
"Say that again," said Eddie, "what do you have on Sunday?"
"I have a date," Quinn leaned back against the study table. Relaxed. His hands rested on the tabletop at his sides.
Eddie closed the distance between them briskly and gripped Quinn's arm. "With who?" his gaze incredulous.
"Daphne"
"Greengrass?"
"I don't think there's another one."
"You asked?"
"No, she did."
"You accepted?"
"Yes, thus the date."
"On Valentine's day."
"Yes."
Another series of steps climbing sounded as Marcus entered the room with a small huff. He shuffled to his study table and hung his book bag on a hook attached to the table's side.
"This week was a bit hectic, don't you think?" said Marcus. "Too many submissions; we even got a new set of assignments. I really want a relaxed weekend. What's wrong with you?" He asked looking at Eddie, looking strangely serene.
"On Sunday, many will cry, and then they will mourn," said Eddie, prophesizing.
"Don't exaggerate," said Quinn.
"I'm confused. What are we talking about?" asked Marcus. He sat down on his bed.
"He's got a date."
"What?!" Marcus all but flew off his bed. "Who? When? Why?" he asked.
"Daphne. Valentine's day. She asked he accepted."
Marcus gripped the hair on the top of his head and smacked his lips. "A calm weekend, yeah right, that's not going to happen."
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Seeing that a chunk of Quinn's time was to be subverted to spend time on a date, Quinn entered the Architect's vault early in the morning, before breakfast was served. He packed three meals and other supplies for the entire day so that he wouldn't need to emerge until he was satisfied with his work done, and if he was required, Luna was there as the point of contact. He had even made sure that those with detention with Umbridge had their doses of potions packed in unbreakable vials and just to be needlessly sure he had changed the tapes in her office.
It just turned out that when Quinn was in the flow of things, cut from the outside world, some guests decided to visit Hogwarts on an impromptu visit.
Dumbledore sat in his office, working on various school-related tasks that needed to be taken care of. He sighed as he picked up another report; there were so many of them. He had been too busy with outside matters — work had piled up in his absence.
He lightly raised his hand, and a lemon drop from a nearby glass ornated dish rose up and flew between his index finger and thumb. Dumbledore popped the lemon drop into his mouth as his aged eyes read from behind his half-moon glasses.
"As expected, nothing beats a lemon drop," smiled Dumbledore from behind his long beard.
"Someone's at your door."
Dumbledore glanced at the portrait of a past headmistress before gazing at the entrance to his office. They wouldn't speak if it was someone from within the school, so it was someone from outside.
To enter the headmaster's office, one had to speak the password to the stone gargoyle that would remove its wings from the way. After that, a wall behind the gargoyle would split open to reveal a stone staircase that led to a door with a griffin knocker that would finally open to his office.
He could hear the gritting stone noise of the wall splitting and the faint steps from the staircase. Dumbledore expected a knock on his door (which was there for his privacy), but contrary to his expectations, the door flew open.
The guests were people he wasn't expecting today.
"Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore looked at her companion, "Cornelius, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, dressed in his parent green suit with a bowler hat on top, entered the Hogwart's headmaster's office with his eyes narrowed, squinting, and frowning as he gazed around the office furtively.
The last one to enter the office were two Aurors — both part of the Minister's detail. They stationed themselves on either side of the door like guards.
"Dumbledore," said Fudge, his lips pressing into a white slash. "How have you been?"
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. "I have been well, Cornelius." He watched Fudge pace his office. "What seems to be the matter, Cornelius. You seem to be stressed."
"You know exactly why!" said Fudge pointedly.
"I am not sure, I understand."
Fudge slammed his hands on Dumbledore's desk. "I'm talking about the mass breakout in Azkaban! You're using it to spread lies about the Dark Lord's return! I want you to stop it immediately!"
"I assure you, Cornelius, but I haven't said a word of lie."
"Stop pretending, Dumbledore!" said Fudge, his pasty white skin turning red. "I know you're behind all the articles! I want them to stop, so make them stop!"
Ever since the Azkaban breakout, the public's view had changed. It would've been fine if the Ministry would've provided a legitimate theory behind the escape, but their official statement was full of holes, and the public could see those holes as clear as the sun in the clear noon sky. So, they turned to the next reasonable explanation, which was Dumbledore and Harry's version of the story.
The Ministry had suffered a massive dip in approval ratings, and in direct-correlation, it showed in Wizengamot. The support he had from independent seats, parts of Grey faction, estranged parts of Light faction, all who had been supporting him, suddenly went crawling back to their holes. All he had left was his own personal supporters and the Dark faction, but that wasn't enough.
"My apologies if you are facing difficulties, Cornelius, but I haven't been partaking in any of these activities that you're talking about," said Dumbledore, inclining his head.
The portraits of old headmasters and mistresses were not shamming sleep today. All of them were watching what was happening below, severe and alert. But Dumbledore's behaviour made many light-hearted ones chuckle.
"Dumbledore, I'm warning you to make your Light faction step down," said Fudge, "or you are going to regret it," Fudge leaned over Dumbledore's desk, "you have already lost so many positions, who knows, you might just lose the position of Headmaster. I do have an able replacement lined up and a draft for a fresh Educational Decree."
Umbridge giggled behind her hand. Standing tall behind Fudge. She knew who Fudge was talking about. Even the Aurors at the door chuckled.
"So, what's it going to be Dumbledore," said Fudge. He was sure that this threat would work; after all, he would've taken it if it was him.
But who was going to tell Fudge that not everyone thought like him.
Dumbledore sighed. He finally had some free time after a busy past few months. He wanted to stay in Hogwarts and spend some time among the children. But, now he had to face this. There was a limit to every man, and he was very close to his.
Suddenly, the temperature in the room started to rise. The cold February office began to heat up like a tropical summer. Fudge, Umbridge looked around the office, confused about what was happening.
"Cornelius, why are we doing this," said Dumbledore getting up. "When did you get this childish?"
The room's temperature kicked up another notch. The office suddenly became smoldering hot.
"D-Dumbledore, what're you doing?" Fudge spluttered. "Aurors! Arrest this man!"
When no answer came from the Aurors, Fudge turned back. "What are you —"
There was no one behind him. Not the Aurors and not Umbridge. Instead, he saw three pairs of socks, two black, one pink, lying on the ground. He turned back to the front, and his heart almost leaped out of his throat when he saw Dumbledore standing close to him, peering down at him.
At that moment, Fudge finally realized who he was facing. This wasn't the eccentric, mild-mannered Headmaster. No, he was facing the man who defeated Gellert Grindlewald. The man only man who the Dark Lord feared.
"D-Dumbledore."
"Cornelius, even I have a limit to my patience. You coming here isn't doing it any good."
"I-I'm the Mi-Minister—"
"Do you have anything else remaining you wanted to tell me other than that you want me to stop the articles?"
"N-No."
Dumbledore waved his hand, and three pairs of socks came flying into his hands.
"Then, I think it's time for you to leave," said Dumbledore as he slipped socks into Fudge's front coat pocket. "You know your way out, Cornelius. I won't be seeing you out."
That day, the Minister of Magic could be seen running through the halls of Hogwarts with sweat dripping all over his body.
That day, Umbridge and the two Aurors woke up to find themselves lying on the ground just outside Hogwarts' boundary, with no idea how they got there. One second they were in Dumbledore's office, but the next, they were outside Hogwarts with the Fudge heaving while crouching on the ground.
Not a peep about the incident was heard from Fudge or from his faction.
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Quinn West - MC - It seems I have a date.
Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Take your socks, and get out.
Cornelius Fudge - Minister of Magic - Came in and then went out.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I'm a monster
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