HP: A Magical Journey

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As the year entered March, the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned peoples’ hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course, which was beneficial for MagiFax sales as they were finally picking up speed in the domestic household market after dominating the professional office market.

It was a Friday morning in the great hall during breakfast with the Hogwarts population was abuzz with the morning energy, and for once, a lot of students were surprisingly reading newspapers. The second task had been an exciting event with the host walking on water, the flashy overhead live footage of underwater, and the very visible public display affection, which marked the end of the second task.

Every student in Hogwarts wanted to see what the papers wrote about the unique experience; as such, the students who didn’t even touch newspapers if it didn’t have a juicy story were gathered in groups, sharing the newspapers arriving at the great hall by the waves of daily owl raids.

At the Gryffindor table, the golden squad sat together, leaning over a copy of today’s Daily Prophet, reading the very first page that detailed the second task through very thorough, in-depth articles and. . . . photographs.

“It’s not here,” commented Ron, putting a spoonful of his breakfast in his mouth, “how come of everything mentioned that’s the only thing not photographed — hell, this doesn’t even mention the kiss in writing.”

Parvati Patil sitting right next to them with her bosom buddy Lavendar Brow. The chatty girls were hunched over an edition of Witch Weekly, scouring through the magazine pages with hungry eyes.

“It’s not here; it’s not possible — how is it possible for Witch Weekly not write about the kiss,’ said Parvati passing the magazine to Lavendar, who insisted on going through it again.

Ivy repeatedly stabbed her fork into her food, restraining herself from breaking the plate as she heard everyone — everyone talking about the second task — specifically, the end. . . .

“It’s not that big of a deal,” she said, her tone held a hidden whiplash, “they wrote about the second task; that’s what they’re supposed to write. I don’t see a problem.”

“You just don’t get it,” said Lavendar, resting her chin on her hand with a misty look in her eyes, “it was so romantic, Quinn rescuing Fleur like that, with everyone seeing. . .” she sighed a dreamy sigh.

“I agree with Ivy that the article should be about the tournament,” said Hermione, finishing reading the page.

Ivy nodded. She knew she could depend on her best friend.

“But, with how the Daily Prophet reports, it does seem strange that they didn’t mention the kiss,” continued Hermoine, stunning Ivy. Hermione pointed at the byline, “Look — it’s written by Rita Skeeter; it seems almost impossible for that vile woman to write something as sensible and unembellished as this.”

Even Ivy had to concede to the point about Rita Skeeter writing a good article sounded like someone was trying to pull her leg. . . . strong enough to pull her into the ground. The truth was that despite the “Veela” champion kissing someone in public was a story worth for every writer in this country to have a parade day, and for it not to be published. . . . seemed odd.

Harry and Ivy exchanged looks; both knew that his/her twins were thinking about the reason behind this and knew that they were thinking the same thing. Not just them, all across the great hall, there were people who had the same thought as them.

The children of prominent people; the likes of politicians, high-ranking ministry officials, wealthy business owners, noble families — the Hogwarts students who knew that they shared classrooms with a West. They had guessed the reason; furthermore, they were convinced that their reason was correct.

Ivy looked over to the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle together with Pansy Parkinson’s gang of Slytherin girls — they too were looking over a newspaper. Beside them, though, Daphne was rubbing her temple.

The newspapers might have not written about Quinn and Fleur, but they did go ham on Daphne and Krum. The person who Victor Krum missed the most — that was tabloid-worthy.

Ron ran his eyes over the great hall, stopping at the Ravenclaw table. “Fleur is here. . . . but, I can’t see Quinn,” he turned to Harry and asked with a grin, “Harry, mate. go ask your mate friend Eddie where is Quinn.”

Harry’s brow twitched as his eyes subconsciously found Eddie Carmichael at the Ravenclaw. “Ron. . . . that little shi—,” Harry held his tongue, “. . . . Carmichael isn’t my friend; WHY! would you even say that?”

“You looked pretty chummy with him at the last game.”

“I was not!” snapped Harry before groaning. Harry considered Draco Malfoy to be his nemesis, but he had to admit that Eddie Carmichael came in a very close second.

Harry was part of Alicia Spinett’s Sonic Brooms, and last to last week, before the second task, they had a game against Trolling Boogeys. Sonic Brooms went into the game undefeated with comfortable winning margins in their every win — but they knew that despite the one loss, Trolling Boogeys were a dangerous team, and if they didn’t play well, they (Sonic Brooms) could lose the game. . . . and they did lose the game.

Trolling Boogeys was an offensive team; they had Cedric Diggory as their seeker who had been having a fantastic season — he was the number three seeker after number one, Victor Krum, and number two, Harry Potter — this already put Trolling Boogey’s offense in the top fifty percent of the ten teams.

Next came the beaters: the defensive position of the team. But in Trolling Boogeys, the beaters weren’t more focused on keeping the bludger away from their seeker and chaser; instead, they primarily followed an aggressive strategy of actively trying to knock the opposition players by redirecting (hurling) the bludgers towards them. They were the prime example of “Offense is the Best Defense.”

Finally, there was the core offensive position — the chasers. And Trolling Boogey’s chaser squad was electrifying, to say the least — well, one chaser was electrifying enough for three people.

Eddie Carmichael.

The most entertaining player to see in the entire tournament. Eddie Carmichael was by far the best chaser in the thirty chasers playing in the tournament, and he was beating them on leaderboard stats by such margins that it wasn’t even funny — be it be assists or points, Eddie outclassed everyone.

Eddie Carmichael merchandise sales came third in the entire league — only being beat by the pro who played for his country, Victor Krum, and the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest seeker to ever play in a Hogwarts game, Harry Potter — and both of them had the “champion” advantage.

Eddie was a silent player who didn’t speak much during the game, a tunnel focus vision towards victory as some of his teammates described it.

But that was it.

He was only silent during the game — not so quiet before and especially after the game.

After Trolling Boogerys’ win against Sonic Brooms, Eddie had gone off. It was like he was saving it up during the game that after the game, he had trashed talk so much that Cedric had to transfigure Eddie’s lips together to prevent him from speaking. But before he could do that, Eddie had talked in length, especially to Harry, that the seeker was sure that his ears were bleeding.

“Hey, Quinn’s here,” said Ron, jutting his chin towards the door.

Quinn entered the great hall like it was another day; strolled towards the Ravenclaw table, catching eyes as he passed through.

‘What?’ thought Quinn and looked around as his daily morning Legilimency picked up surface thoughts from the few students around him. ‘Ah, good to see, I’m not in the news.’ He had MagiFax-ed first thing after the second task — it was a little (a lot) embarrassing to ask them to scrub the potential news about him kissing in public. It was more embarrassing to get just an “okay” in reply.

Quinn sat down at his desk, smiling at his friends.

“You’re late,” said Marcus, “where were you?”

“I dropped by the office; there is a potion slow-brewing around the clock for two weeks now.”

“You weren’t having, maybe, a meeting, a tryst, a rendezvous, with the very lovely Fleur Delacour,” asked Eddie, a grin plastered over his face, “and decided to send her first and come later by yourself to avoid suspicion.”

Quinn shook his head with a bit of his smile. “That’s an interesting theory, mate. Also, did you look those synonyms up?”

“Oh ho,” chuckled Eddie, wiggling his brows, “he didn’t refuse people.”

“No, Eddie. . . . I didn’t meet with Fleur.”

Marcus leaned with a sparkle in his eyes and asked, “Are you dating?”

“Didn’t we talk about this before,” sighed Quinn, “no, I’m not dating her. That was just you know. . . . a thank you.” He had time to calm himself down, and with it, the impulse to get handy with Fleur as well.

“Uh-huh, sure it was,” smirked Eddie.

Quinn put down his knife and fork and looked at his dear friend. “How are things going with a very charming Ms. Tracey Davis.”

Eddie’s ears turned red.

“Because from what I’m hearing, there had been some long walks by the lake. . . . something you want to tell us, E.d.d.i.e.”

“N-No, nothing. There’s nothing. . . .”

Quinn picked his knife and fork back up with a smile, “I see. I see. If you say so, then I’ll believe you.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good,” grinned Quinn, “oh man, this is good bacon.”

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– (Scene Break) –

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There was a knock on the dungeon door.

“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a relatively poor ventriloquist. Quinn kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.

“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him. ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.

“After the lesson,” Snape snapped.

Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he’d poured out enough armadillo bile, Quinn sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape’s desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Quinn wanted to see what they wanted to talk about, so he put his hand into his pocket and took out his chip-listening device, and stuck it near the two adults while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door.

“What’s so urgent?” Quinn heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

“This,” said Karkaroff, and Quinn stood outside the dungeon classroom, leaning against a wall so he could stay within range.

‘Hmm, is he talking about the dark mark?’ thought Quinn. It was clear that Voldemort was back because Harry Potter was inside the Tri-wizard tournament, and Barty Crouch Jr was still roaming in the Hogwarts halls.

“Well?” said Karkaroff. “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never since —”

“Put it away!” snarled Snape.

“But you must have noticed —” Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

“We can talk later, Karkaroff!” spat Snape.

“No, we have to talk now! This is important!”

“. . . don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

There was a pregnant pause before Quinn heard a swivel of heels. He knew that the talk was over, so he cast an illusion over himself and stood still.

Karkaroff came out of the classroom and then strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry.

Quinn remained still until Snape left, and even after that, he stayed there. Karkaroff’s worries were reasonable as he was the one who snitched after Voldemort’s fall in return for immunity for his various crimes. If and when Voldemort returned, there were fair chances that the Durmstrang headmaster would be one of the first to go.

Quinn began thinking about what to do with Babymort, who would turn back into Voldemort by the end of this school. A turning point in the series of events that would change many things and a mark for even more things to change.

“Harry Potter and Voldemort. . . . either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,” he whispered part of the prophecy that he recalled. “If that’s still the prophecy.”

The truth was that he couldn’t stop the conflict between the Dark faction and the Light faction. Voldemort would never let go of the Potter or anyone who had opposed him during his fall, and the Light faction would never let Voldemort roam around even if the dark lord suddenly changed his mind and became a saint — there was too much history in this country for things to go any other way.

“The Light faction is stronger this time around; that will hopefully have some changes in the situation.”

He had no idea about the political situation in the original timeline, but in this timeline where the Potters were alive, the Light faction was united with Dumbledore and Potters as leading figures.

“Plus, they have Sirius Black, meaning that figuratively they have the Blacks behind them,” even though the once prestigious Black family now amounted to just one Senior Auror, “but I guess Sirius Black can dip into those family vaults of his when the times comes.” The Black family might have folded upon themselves, but that didn’t the money disappeared into nothingness — if Sirius Black didn’t splurge and lose it all, then the vast amount of coin still laid in the Gringotts vaults.

But that went the other way around as well — Dark faction had to pull themselves together to fight the much stronger faction, and even though they were at a disadvantage to this day, they were united enough to stand against the opposing threat.

“I hope they will get ready with time,” muttered Quinn as they were going to need a lot of resources if they wanted to come out of this with minimal damages.

“Third task, huh.”

June 24 was going to be an important day. With that thought, Quinn walked away. . . . before turning around and returning, “Yeah, I should probably take the transmitter chip back; need to erase that evidence.”

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There was a knock on the door, and with the affirmation from inside, the door opened, and a figure entered the room.

“Ah, Wormtail, you have returned,” said the shrill and squeaky voice.

Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, the most wanted man in the British Isles, bowed his head in greeting, “Yes, my lord.”

“You’re a day late, Wormtail,” said Babymort with his menacing deep voidful eyes, “the second task ended yesterday. . . . so tell me, where were you?”

Peter didn’t feel anxious or scared in the face of the homunculus who could still cast a Killing curse and various other powerful, painful, malignant curses even in this diminished form, “I had to make sure that I wasn’t suspected, my lord. The disguise I chose required me to stay a day outside to make sure no one felt that something was off.”

“Hmm,” the dull eyes observed Peter for a few moments before letting go. “And? How was it? Has Barty being doing a good job guiding the Potter boy? We need that child to do good.”

“Harry Potter is doing just fine — he came first in this task; it puts him first overall. He will start first in the last task.”

“Good, good. How are the preparations at the preparations going at the graveyard?”

“They’re coming along — it’s taking a while to gather the ingredients for the ritual. . . . but there is no need to worry, we’ll have all by the end of April.”

“Hmm. . . .”

“My lord. . . . there’s one thing that might be problematic.”

“What is it?”

“There was something during the second task that might become a real problem.”

“Out with it, Wormtail!”

“It might be better if you take a look at it on your own.”

Babymort shifted in his bed and beckoned Wormtail closer. There was a wand in his hand. “Show it to me, Wormtail. Show me the problem.” Two pairs of eyes met, and magic flowed; there was a sharp pain inside Peter’s head, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

“Hmm, I see. . . . I see. Illusion magic, fascinating, truly fascinating,” commented Babymort, “who’s this child? The child who cast this magic.”

“Q-Quinn West. Fifth Y-Year.”

Babymort stopped the strong legilimency and stared at Wormtail. “From the West family? George West’s family.”

“Yes,” groaned Peter rubbing his temple, “George West’s grandson.”

“Quinn. . . . West,” hummed Babymort, replaying the scoured memory in his mind, “interesting, get me more information about this Quinn West.”

There was a toothless grin on his face.

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Quinn West – MC – My name is West. . . Quinn West.

Voldemort – Babymort – One ugly baby. . . . one powerful ugly baby.

Peter Pettigrew – Wormtail – Information gathering.

FictionOnlyReader – Writing Addict – I know I shouldn’t have posted another one, but I just couldn’t stop. . . .

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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!