HP: A Magical Journey

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[The chapter is edited by my Editor: Alan_Loo/AlanL]

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In a clearing between a circling of trees, a pop rang, breaking the silence of the night, and a Quinn West dressed in shades of green apparated into an environment suited to his camouflage. Soft steps pressed against the ground, moving the boy forward. The green clothes turned the original white.

Audible breathing could be heard in the silence as Quinn’s back slid down against the trunk of a tree. He sat down with his legs stretched straight. His arms rested between his thighs. His head hung low with the eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed in tension, distress, and confusion.

While emotion was a powerful source of magic, it had its own demerits. Emotion could do wonders and elevate the user’s magic to the next level when used correctly, but at the same time it would be hard to reign when they exceeded a limit. This would cause some repercussions. The general consensus about some of the vilest dark magic being harmful to the user came actually from the effects emotion gave, as most of those spells required strong emotions to function. Usually, emotions of the negative kind.

Quinn focused on his erratic heartbeat inside his chest in an attempt to calm down and wind down the rage he felt. Seeing the Death Eater’s behaviour towards the muggle family had riled up Quinn more than he had imagined.

This wasn’t saying that Quinn was a saint; he would use magic too on non-magicals every time he went out to the muggle society. Legilimency on a crowd of unsuspecting non-magicals was one of Quinn’s favourite uses of mind magic. He would peek into their minds but he would never use anything he saw against them. He simply used them for practice and research purposes. Quinn never harmed them, and with the time he spent in the non-magical society, it seemed he wouldn’t be meeting people who needed to be stopped soon.

Quinn felt the rage attach itself to his magic and go through his body, the residual influence of the rage-filled magic when anger had been out of control. His fists clenched hard to stop from lashing out physically or magically.

‘Calm down, calm down, calm down…’

The words repeated inside his mind as Quinn tried to calm himself down. When he channeled his rage, he didn’t feel the effect, but after the outlet closed, the anger would bubble inside. Using emotion-based occlumency to keep the emotions in check wouldn’t help as the protection magic didn’t erase emotions. It simply blocked them.

He had to manually calm himself down to get out of his current predicament. Emotion-based occlumency wouldn’t work, but memory-based occlumency could undoubtedly help.

Quinn opened his eyes to find himself standing face-to-face with a grand mansion that elicited comfort and ease. He entered the structure through the rich, brown elegant doors. Walking on the marbled floor, which reflected him in their shiny, smooth allurement, Quinn gazed around to study the numerous doors lining the corridors.

He stopped in front of one of the doors and twisted the golden doorknob to enter the room. Inside, rows of bookshelves greeted him with books filled neatly, ready for him to pick one and dive in. He strolled through the rows of shelves, browsing through the shelves. Some had books on the left, some on the right, others had space in the middle, but all had one thing in common: brown books with golden linings.

The touch of the cool leather against his finger as he pulled a book out seemed natural. Quinn’s eyes studied the book as his hands felt the weight; there was no title on the book, but Quinn already knew what it was. He raised his free hand, placed it on the cover, and closed his eyes for an entirely new scene to unfold in front of him.

A party of laughter greeted Quinn’s ears, and when he opened his eyes, he beheld Lia, George, Elliot, and Ms. Rosey sitting around a table with him there alongside them. ‘His’ hands moved on their own and threw a pair of cards on the table. Lia stretched her arms and retained the pile of galleons that were on the table while Elliot collected the cards that everybody put on the table.

‘The poker party from three years ago,’ recalled Quinn, recognising the family activity that the West family had played once a while. A smile bloomed on Quinn’s face as he looked at the scene through his eyes. He was a passenger inside his own body, re-living the memory through the wonders of mind magic.

The mental replica of the West manor held all of his cherished and happy memories. Whenever Quinn experienced something peaceful, happy or positive; something that was close to his heart, he would take the memory out of his mind-Hogwarts and put it inside the manor. It was a haven that Quinn had made so he could walk in and enjoy everything good that he had in his life.

And it seemed to be working as Quinn outside felt his heart gradually calm down. The burning feeling of lashing out slowly subsided, and a serene smile made its way to Quinn’s face. After a couple of minutes, Quinn opened his eyes. They had lost the irritation he had and were back to his usual cool, collected rested state.

“Always remember… add something to maintain balance,” said Quinn, groaning as he stood up from beneath the tree.

Quinn’s personal rule for using intense emotions was to attach another feeling that would ensure that he wasn’t solely running on a single emotion. Most of the time, the complementary emotion that granted Quinn control wasn’t as strong as the primary fueling emotion, but it was enough for Quinn to escape the after-effects.

“I should’ve used something similar from the beginning,” sighed Quinn, cracking his back. Controlling his emotions while using rage would’ve reduced the power by a margin, but Quinn wouldn’t have suffered later like he just did.

“As expected, Tetani Nervum for more than a dozen people at the same time isn’t a mere trifle.”

The haze and smoke-styled spell was different from the usual light-shot spell or the invisible spell. It had been designed in Africa to cast compatible spells in an area instead of targeting something at a time. The downside of this mode of delivery was that it took increased focus and magic volume requirements. Luckily for Quinn, he had plenty of both.

Quinn had accomplished what he wanted despite the problems and difficulties he had had while participating in a possible life-threatening situation.

‘Tetani Nervum… Test subject count: fifteen. Initial results: excellent, severe nerve damage with residual magic that won’t allow recovery,” whispered Quinn to himself in an analytical tone. “Human test phase, stage one, complete. Stage two: short term observation of the acquired subjects will commence tomorrow.’

Quinn had wanted test subjects for his newest curse and, because of the magic’s nature, he wanted human test subjects. The timing had heen perfect as the Word Cup would be the ideal place to get those subjects. Human subjects that Quinn could use without guilt and morals plaguing his consciousness. Fifteen Death Eater who enjoyed dealing torment and torture. This was all the justification Quinn needed to convince himself.

He looked up at the bright crescent moon peeking from behind the night clouds, and…

“Ah, shit! I’m late! Damn, damn, damn, grandfather is going to bite my head off.”

For him, the Quidditch World Cup was now over, and just like Ireland, he had come out on top.

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– (Scene Break) –

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James Potter and Sirius Black watched from a side as the St. Mungo’s hospital staff carefully lifted the battered and broken bodies onto their stretchers.

“That’s dark magic, all right,” said James Potter. “I didn’t think I would see something like this during the World Cup.”

“Sickening, isn’t it?” agreed Sirius Black. And that was saying something, with their career as Aurors for the Ministry. As Aurors, they had seen some extreme stuff, and this was definitely in the upper levels of the most horrifying things they had seen with magic.

James Potter looked at the unconscious people, clad in Death Eater garbs. Some still twitched and spasmed, while a few had broken bones throughout their bodies. Some of them had some part of their legs cut-off.

“Do you recognise the magic?” he asked.

The new family head of the infamous Black family shook his head. “At first glance, no…” Meaning that he would’ve to go to the library and browse through some questionable magic. Something he wasn’t looking forward to. “Do you think that smoke was from a potion or something?”

“I don’t know,” replied James, remembering the reddish-black smoke that resembled burning soot and haze. “Maybe we should consult Dumbledore for this.”

“… How about we first take this to the Unspeakables first, before bringing an outsider to the investigation.”

James wanted to reply that Dumbledore wasn’t an outsider, but he refrained from voicing his thoughts as he knew Sirius was right. “Do you think Robards will allow that? You know he doesn’t like to get help from the Unspeakables.”

“With this happening at the World Cup and so close to the Tournament… Robards will have to get this over quickly, even if it means involving the Unspeakables.”

The Quidditch World Cup and the upcoming Tournament were both international affairs. That would pressure the Ministry, who would then pressure the Auror Office to solve and close the matter as quickly as possible. The pressure chain would start on the top and move its way to the bottom till everybody was yelling. In that scenario, any help was acceptable.

“Let’s forget about that for a second,” said Sirius, and he moved towards the ground where the bodies were lying. He squatted on the ground as saw what was left behind. “Who do you think did this?”

James stood by Sirius and studied the scene. “There was ice closing every wound.. and then the ice dome at the end…” He pointed at the heap of broken ice on the ground. “This makes me remember last years’ attack in Hogsmeade.”

“You mean, the invisible vigilante?” The ‘invisible vigilante’, the one hailed by the newspapers as the savior of the students of Hogwarts and the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. For an entire week, the wizarding community had read theories on the unknown hero, and for a month, the Auror Office had tried to find the person to no avail.

“Yes, the invisible vigilante used ice magic, and well…. he was invisible as well.”

“Now that you say it… The injuries were brutal, weren’t they? Wounds pierced with ice, detaching body parts, sealing everything with ice… They were more brutal this time, but I can see a pattern.”

James nodded and then pointed his finger at the small pile of wood. “Unlike the last attack, the wands are broken now. Last time, they were stuck to their bodies, but this time every single one of them is broken.”

“Who do you think it is?” asked Sirius.

“My guess would be a Voldemort hater… He only struck twice and only on Voldemort supporters. Other than that, there isn’t a single sign of them.”

“Age?” ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

“Older… look at the magic. They could take out fifteen people, use unknown magic… Those shields aren’t a simple Protego. It also looked like neither your or my attack didn’t phase them much.”

“Gender?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, mate.”

“How do we narrow it down? We don’t have a visual clue.”

“From the top of my head, we should look at people who have lost family members to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”

Sirius looked up at James with a ‘really?’ expression. “That doesn’t narrow it down. You know how those days were, right?”

“Of course, I know that,” said James. “But if we add someone good with magic, we can narrow it down by a lot. It’s just a matter of choosing how good with magic they are.”

“Hmm… if we are going with that… we can record the spell residue here to get matches against wands,” added Sirius. Spell residues against wands was a technique used by Aurors to check if a specific spell came from wands. The caveat of the method was a low accuracy rate and wasn’t taken as evidence in court hearings. But Aurors still employed it to narrow down their suspect list.

“Ugh, I wanted to go to a bar and discuss the game… being an Auror can suck sometimes,” sighed James.

Sirius laughed at his ex-partner during their Trainee Auror and Junior Auror days and patted his shoulder, “Come on, let’s get this logged in quick. The quicker we move, the earlier we will be able to go home.”

The following day, the Auror Office would get the shocking information about the condition of the admitted people and would realise what the spell had done to them.

The ‘invisible vigilante’s’ infamy would travel far and wide.

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– (Scene Break) –

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The door creaked open as Barty Jr. carefully stepped inside a large room, trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb the room resident. Barty’s eyes were drawn to what lay ahead as, standing on a nightstand adjacent to a king-sized opposite the door was a candle, illuminating a small portion of the large bed.

As he gently closed the door behind him, Barty heard a man’s voice, but it was strangely high-pitched, rough, and cold, as a sudden blast of icy wind. “You’ve returned, Barty.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Barty, standing still in his spot.

“Did you do as I asked?” asked the voice.

Barty gulped before answering honestly, “… No, my Lord. I didn’t.”

There was a straining silence of seconds before the voice returned, and Barty could hear the much colder response he feared. “Tell me why, Barty. All I asked was to brand my symbol in the sky.”

“T-There were complications, my Lord.”

“What complications, Bartemius…”

“Some of your servants decided to play with the muggles and muggleborns after the game, my Lord,” replied Barty Jr.

“And how is that a complication? Wouldn’t that have been the perfect time to launch my mark. It would have shown my servants that I have returned, and, as planned, the marked ones would have confirmed it at the sight of the mark growing stronger,” said the voice, and by the end, the shrill voice had turned into a hiss.

A cold touch on his leg made Barty Jr. flinch into a still stop. He looked down with bated breath to see a thigh-sized green snake slither by as it surrounded him with its long body. He could hear a whispered hiss around him as the snake circled him.

“My Lord, someone annihilated the Death Eaters who were causing the ruckus,” spoke Barty quickly as he felt his Lord’s familiar slowly reduce the radius of the circle. “I-I couldn’t see all of it… but when I arrived… all your servants were lying on the ground under the effects of some kind of magic. I couldn’t see the wizard who cast the magic, but there was someone there.”

There was a hissing sound from the bed, and the snake around Barty Jr.’s feet slithered away from him without a hiss. Seeing the giant snake leave made Barty Jr. feel safe. He had seen the snake’s fangs, and the venom would keep injury wounds open.

“Come near me, Bartemius.”

Barty Jr. followed the commands and quickly walked towards the bedside, not wanting to keep the Dark Lord waiting even a single second. His legs bent as naturally as he breathed. He showed his respect by getting on his knees and staring down at the floor.

“Look at me, Bartemius,” ordered the Dark Lord. Barty didn’t hesitate. It was an ugly sight: the shape of a crouched human child, hairless and scaly-looking white pale skin. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble. Its face had a flat nose and overall a snakelike appearance. Its eyes shone blood red.

When Barty Jr.’s eyes met the gleaming red eyes, a sharp pain assaulted his head. It felt like his brain was being poked with multiple hot needles: heat, pain, burn, cold… Barty Jr.’s screams filled the room, but the next second, his screams abruptly went silent. Voldemort had used a silencing spell to quiet down the screaming Barty Jr. He was in no mood to enjoy the screams and wanted to see what his servant had seen.

The Dark Lord dove into the mind without any care, and soon he found the fresh memory of the World Cup. Through the eyes of Barty Jr., Voldemort watched the scene in front of him. A dozen or so of his Death Eater servants were laying in the middle of the campsite while Barty Jr. stood behind the remains of a burned tent, observing the scene.

Voldemort’s expert and experienced reptilian red eye slits stared at the magic of soot, haze, and smoke emanating from the middle of the circle up from his servants. The reddish-black mist flowed down like gas and yet, the magic remained within a boundary, all over his minions.

‘African… how rare, I have never seen this magic in Britain.’ His eyes shone with interest. Voldmert continued to look in interest, and curiosity flashed his eyes as the memory continued. He couldn’t stop but look at the magic, but even he failed to get any useful clue. He only could confirm that there was someone there, and the caster had used magic that wasn’t British.

Barty Jr.’s memory ended when James Potter and Sirius Black blasted the ice doom into smithereens, but the person who cast orange shields had already apparated out of the campsite. Voldemort released Barty from the Legilimency, and the servant collapsed on the ground, curling up and shivering.

‘I shall take care of this when I get my body back,’ thought Voldemort. ‘For now, I need to announce…’

“Give me your arm, Bartemius… the left arm,” said Voldemort, ignoring the terrible state Barty was in.

Barty stood up. His head buzzed and he had shivers. He groggily and painfully raised his left arm. The shirt sleeve was violently ripped, leaving the faded Death Eater mark in all its glory.

A thin, boney hand with an ash bone wand appeared from the shadows of the bed. The Dark Lord tapped his wand against the mark and it grew deeper in colour. The faded ink slowly regained some of its deep black glory.

Some wizards and witches around their houses, pubs, shops, clutched their arms as they had a short, yet intense, burst of burning pain on their arms. All of them curled up their sleeves to see the dormant mark which had faded thirteen years ago had regained a shade of black. Every marked servant shivered. Some out of fear, others out of joy, while many felt both.

Down in the Crouch home, Peter Pettigrew had put down his fork and knife, while he, too, looked at the darkening mark. “So it begins.”

A solemn and bleak fortress stood on an island in the middle of the North Sea surrounded by turbulent water. A place where the scums of society were sent as punishment and spent time with the vilest creatures known to man. A place where hope and joy were lost, and all that remained was misery and grim, making it hell on Earth.

But on this day, with heavy rain pouring down the fortress and seas raging in the distance, the loud laughter of a woman rang out, filling the void and breaking the silence. It was a burst of maniacal laughter that somehow suited the fortress; if there was a type of laughter that existed in the place, then this was to be it. But her laughter wasn’t shallow, for there was pure joy, unprecedented delight, and unadulterated elation. Emotions that weren’t supposed to exist in the fortress known as Azkaban, but yet there they were.

A message had been sent.

The Dark Lord had returned.

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Quinn West – MC – Hypocrite of a high order…

Voldemort – Dark Lord – Let the servants know… their master is back.

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