HP: A Magical Journey

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“Oh, look! He’s waking up,” was the first thing Quinn heard when he opened his eyes — but something felt wrong — it was as if something was missing.

“Where?” he asked. Quinn tried to groggily sit up, but his attempts brought a sharp pain in his head, causing him to hiss in pain..

“Don’t get up,” he heard his favorite faculty’s voice.

“Madam Pomfrey. . . . where am I? What happened to me. . . .” Quinn looked around with his out of focus vision, and he could recognize hospital wings’ curtains and Poppy sitting on a barstool by his bedside.

“You suddenly collapsed in the middle of the third task and wouldn’t get up.”

“I collapsed?” said Quinn in slight disbelief, “that doesn’t sound right—”

“Are you sure?” Poppy cut him off, “you have been pretty busy this year. Even with all the things you had to do for the quidditch tournament this year, you didn’t skip our lessons, neither did you skip your classes; furthermore, you took on the hosting — which would have been fine if you didn’t decide to go overboard with it.”

“. . . . but the quidditch tournament was over a couple weeks back, I had time to rest,” argued Quinn while sitting up despite the protest from Poppy. His vision was still a little off — it was irritating him.

Moreover, Poppy didn’t know his true magical capabilities — in no way would the magic used while hosting put so much stress on him that he would collapse and that too in front of him.

“Clearly, it wasn’t enough, or you didn’t actually rest in those past weeks,” chided Poppy, “furthermore, you were using faulty magic,” she sighed, “Quinn, you should take more care while using self-created, untested magic — it could be dangerous — no it was dangerous.”

“What?” Quinn tilted his head. His head was finally clearing up, and his mind was getting back on track, “my magic. . . . faulty? That’s not possible, Madam Pomfrey. My self-created magics aren’t faulty; they never were and won’t be in the future.”

“Then how do you explain that?” Poppy pointed towards Quinn’s hand.

“Huh? What?” Quinn raised his hand to touch his face, and his eye widened when his fingers found the rough texture, “why is my head bandaged,” he felt around to find that the upper right side of his face was covered, “did I hit my head when I collapsed?”

Then it hit Quinn. Why his vision felt wrong. It wasn’t his head that was covered in gauze bandages — it was his right eye that was covered. He looked at Poppy and asked,

“Madam Pomfrey. . . . what did you mean when you said how do I explain that? What’s wrong with me?”

Poppy sighed at the confusion on Quinn’s covered face, “Quinn, whatever magic you used, it faulted, and it burned through your eye. . . . completely.”

Quinn stared at the matron as if she was joking, but she wasn’t.

“By the time I got to you, your eyeball was nothing more than goopy sludge, resulting in severe damage to your optic nerves, which caused you to pass out from the trauma.”

“. . . . I lost my eye!” exclaimed Quinn, almost clawing out his bandages. “M-Madam Pomfrey, is—”

“You’ll be fine. Fortunately, there wasn’t any permanent damage — your faulty magic didn’t turn into a dark curse. You’ll have your eye back in a week, and by the end of the second, your vision will mature to normal.”

“Two weeks, huh,” sighed Quinn, “two weeks with one eye. Damn it! But, Madam Pomfrey, I’m quite sure that I didn’t make a mistake while designing the magic. It took months to—”

“Quinn, I’m not aware of the details of the magic you used, but I do know your eye melted due to a magic overload. From what I learned from my time in the spell damage ward at St. Mungos is that spells mostly fail due to the imbalance in the internal magic structure — your case is a classic example of that.”

Quinn wanted to continue his progress but held his tongue. He knew that there was no use to continue. Quinn still believed that his magic was airtight solid — the second task wasn’t the first time he had used the artificial eye; he had been using it for tests for much longer; not only that, but Quinn had spent many hours using the eye to make himself used to the dual vision and not once had the spell gone bad on him — he seriously doubted that it was the magic’s fault.

“Your family has been made aware of your condition this morning. They’ve sent back that they will be here sometime after noon. You’ll be going with them instead of the Hogwarts Express,” said Poppy as she stood up.

“Noon, huh,” groaned Quinn; he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, “wait a minute, noon?! How long was I out? What time is it?”

“It’s nine. You slept through the night,” said Poppy, “now, excuse me, Quinn. I have some important appointments that I need to deal with.” She had to make sure that the Hogwart female students understood what they needed to take (potion-wise) for regulation of their monthly cycle — for the next couple of months, she wasn’t going to be with them, and Poppy preferred that they continued with the potion regime as it made her job much more manageable when they returned.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” nodded Quinn; while he wanted to ask her what happened last night, he knew the matron was busy this time of the year.

After she left, Quinn silently sat on his bed — he was at least sure that Harry Potter was alive because if he was dead, Poppy would’ve said something — the death of the Boy-Who-Lived would’ve been hard to ignore.

“Let’s just hope Voldemort is revived,” whispered Quinn; his decision to send Harry off was a success only if Voldemort was back in power. “I need to find out what happened. But before that. . . .”

Quinn conjured in front of him and looked at his reflection — he looked like a certain evil head of a super-secret organization of elemental-controlling ninjas who kept one of his eyes hidden under bandages.

“This isn’t my style,” said Quinn and snapped his finger for the gauze to come undone and fall into his lap. His nose scrunched up when he saw the black-blue-red around his eye and the loose eyelid, “I hope two weeks would pass soon enough.”

Quinn glanced down at the white roll of gauze and concentrated his magic for the bandage to shift and distort before it turned into a black-triangular eyepatch (without string.) He picked it up and gently placed it over his eye such that it would cover all the colored parts of his eye.

“Much, much better,” smiled Quinn into the mirror. This way, not only did he look good, but it also dulled the impact of the injury — something he critically needed when his family came to take him home.

“Now, let’s go and find out what happened.”

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Quinn wasn’t the only one in the hospital wing at the moment. In another corner sat the Potter family with Dumbledore and Moody — once again going over Harry’s account of what had happened last night.

Cornelius Fudge had denied any of their pleas to declare that Voldemort had come back to life. The minister had grabbed onto the Peter Pettigrew part of the story and had ignored every aspect, declaring Harry a victim of dark magic that had caused him to become confused. The official ministry-approved news in the papers was that Peter Pettigrew had abducted Harry Potter with intentions to kill him(100% true), but Harry Potter was able to fight his captor off and return to Hogwarts.

Seeing that the first and most impactful release of information had told an incorrect story, Dumbledore once again wanted to hear the details now that Harry was calm and settled so that he could have a better grasp of the situation.

“Voldemort’s back, Harry, I believe you,” said Dumbledore; he was never really gone, “but how did he do it?”

Harry glanced at his feet on the bed and recalled what he had seen, “He took bones from his father’s grave and from Wormtail, and then from me,” he rubbed his forehead, “Wormtail recited it — bone of father, unknowingly given, the flesh of servant willingly sacrificed, and blood enemy taken forcibly — yeah, that’s what he had said,” Harry looked at Dumbledore and gravely spoke, “he was able to touch me, professor.”

Harry could only weakly smiled at his mother when he felt her squeeze in hand in support. It meant that the protection granted by his grandmother’s sacrifice couldn’t protect him anymore.

“How did he look, Harry?” asked Dumbledore.

“Flat and snakelike face, with gleaming red eyes,” answered Harry; he couldn’t forget that face even if he wanted to, “tall and skeletally thin with a grey pallor — he was barely human.”

Ivy, who was also present, thought back to the photo of Tom Riddle she had seen in an old record stored in the library. The Hogwarts Voldemort was a charming person. If she didn’t know the name of that face, she would’ve never pegged him to be a Dark Lord. ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

“It seems that Voldemort has deviated further from the norm,” sighed Dumbledore, “anything else you can tell us, Harry.”

“. . . . there was a giant snake,” told Harry, “it was really thick and long. It didn’t hiss, so I wasn’t able to hear anything.”

“That’s good, Harry. Anything new information would help,” smiled Dumbledore before turning a bit serious, “can you tell me about the golden phenomenon that you mentioned last night.”

“I-I don’t know what it was,” started Harry, “but when I shot a Reducto and Voldemort a Killing Curse. . . . I felt a vibration going through my wand as though an electric charge were surging through it; my hand seized up around it; I couldn’t release my wand if I wanted to — and then a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither blue nor green, but bright, deep gold.”

“Voldemort didn’t know what it was because he and I were both raised into the air — he was as shocked by it as I was — a thousand more beams arced high over us, crisscrossing all around us until we were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light,” Harry gulped, “then I heard the song of a phoenix — it was telling me to not break the connection, and I didn’t. The beams of light changed as large beads of light slid up and down the thread connecting our wands. Then a bead touched my wand, my wand grew hotter, and almost vibrated my hand, suddenly, I was somehow overpowering Voldemort before,” he sucked a deep breath, “then I saw grandpa and grandma.”

James Potter’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, “W-What do you mean, Harry?”

“They came out of Voldemort’s wand — they were like ghosts and helped me — they said to hold on. Slowly more and more ghosts appeared by my side, and the more ghosts appeared, the easier it got for me to fight Voldemort. . . . But they couldn’t hold. . . . and said that I needed to run for the Cup when the connection ended. . . . when the connection stopped, they surrounded Voldemort — and I did as they asked. . . . then I was at Hogwarts.”

James Potter had his head in his hands with Ivy rubbing his back. Just hearing that his parents had once again helped his son had brought up too much emotion — he felt useless; he was supposed to protect his family and not his dead parents from beyond the grave.

“I’m not familiar with that magic,” said Dumbledore, “but whatever it was made you able to stand against Voldemort — I’ll try to find what the magic was.”

“And the Death Eaters? They returned?” asked Moody.

Harry shook his head, “No, there was only Wormtail and no one else.” Harry glanced to his left to see a dark expression on his father’s face at the mention of Peter Pettigrew.

Moody seemed to be dissatisfied with the answer.

“Did you find Karkaroff?” asked Harry. Karkaroff was the Death Eater that everyone suspected to be the one to put Harry’s name into the goblet, but the man had been missing since last night.

“Karkaroff?” said Moody with an odd laugh. “Karkaroff fled when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He must’ve returned to the Dark Lord when his job was done, but we’ll find him,” he stood up from his chair, “I’ll go to Little Hangleton to see if I can find anything at Tom Riddle Senior’s grave.”

Harry momentarily nodded, but then a thought struck him. He looked up at Moody, “. . . . I never told that Voldemort’s father’s name was Tom Riddle Senior.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened as he immediately picked up at the discrepancy, “Alastor. . . . I as well never told you this information. How did you know about it?”

Moody’s magical eye rotated in its socket as a disturbing smile appeared on his scarred face. Before anyone could do anything, Moody had whipped out his wand and pointed it at Ivy, who suddenly felt a force grab hold over her before she was lifted and flew into Moody’s clutches with her back to him.

Moody wrapped his arm around Ivy’s neck and pointed his wand at her, “Anyone makes any sudden moves, and I blow the girl’s head.”

Dumbledore slowly got up and asked in a sorrowful voice, “Alastor, why are you doing this?”

Moody’s magical eye was now fixed at the door. He uncharacteristically cackled, “You old fool! I’m not Moody!”

“Then who’re you?”

“Hmm. . . . I wonder if I should tell you,” said not-Moody, “well, since Master is alive, so there’s no harm. . . . my name is Barty. Crouch. Junior.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said James Potter, his eyes fixed upon his daughter.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m also supposed to be Madeye. Things aren’t as they seem,” said now-revealed-Barty before glancing at Harry, “tell me, Harry, did Master mention me? Did he talk about his most faithful servant — did he say that I, I alone remained faithful. . . . prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all . . . you.”

“So, you’re the one who entered Harry’s name into the Cup,” said Dumbledore calmly.

“Yes, I put Harry’s name into the Cup. I also nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons. I was also the one who told Cedric to open the egg underwater; I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate. . . . I even went ahead by planting the herbology books in various places in the Gryffindor dorms so that you could find everything in your dorm itself. . . . I also Imperius-ed Victor Krum to take out the Veela and Diggory first before knocking you out and bring you to the Cup. Still, you ended up defeating him. . . . nevertheless, everything turned out well.”

Barty(Moody) looked at them with a mocking grin, “Now, I would love to tell you more about my work here, but I need to join my Master, so I would like to take my leave,” he shook Ivy, “I want safe passage out of Hogwarts — if I see any obstruction, say goodbye to your lovely princess here. . . . I’m sure the Dark Lord would be happy to hear that the last thing I did was take out a Potter with me, but I’m sure you don’t want that.”

“I will allow you to leave,” said Dumbledore, “only keep the end of your bargain and tell me what you did with the real Alastor.”

Barty snickered, “I’m in a good mood, so I’ll tell you. He’s locked in my office inside my suitcase. You’ll find him there, relaxing.”

But then Barty saw everyone stop moving; it was as if they were even careful about breathing. When he looked closer, Barty noticed they were looking behind him.

‘What?’ he thought as his magical eye moved behind. His magic eye turned just in time to see a wand fly into a hand; his focus shifted to see black hair, one stone-grey eye, and one black triangle, and before his brain could process his vision, a blinding bright red overwhelmed his vision.

Ivy felt the arm around her neck loosen up, and before she knew it, there was a thump behind her. She carefully looked behind to see her captor’s body crumpled on the floor. When Ivy looked up, her eyes widened.

“Sorry, but I sort of eavesdropped,” said the boy with the eyepatch, “but you guys weren’t really trying to be quiet. . . . you know this place being the hospital wing and all.”

Quinn West walked forward and kicked the fallen body once, twice, and then thrice, “Alright, he’s out cold, I have confirmed it,” he then looked up, “are you alright, Ivy? Did he hurt you?”

Ivy shook her head with a stunned expression. Her green eyes remained fixed on his face, “. . . . What happened to your eye?” She saw Quinn reach up to the cheek beneath the black eyepatch.

“It sort of melted away. Faulty magic, they saw, but the jury is still out on that.” Quinn noticed that Ivy was still staring at him. He waved his hand in front of her, “Ivy, are you sure everything is alright?”

Ivy finally snapped out of her trance, bowed her head down away from Quinn’s gaze, and lightly nodded. Quinn stared at her for a few more seconds before looking up at the others and said,

“So, can anyone catch me up with what happened? I sort of missed the main part.”

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Quinn West – MC – One-eyed with a cool eyepatch.

Harry Potter – Boy-Who-Lived – Went through a duel of a lifetime.

James Potter – Senior Auror – Feeling useless.

Ivy Potter – Hostage once again – She kept staring. . . .

Albus Dumbledore – Headmaster – Politics is complicated.

Alastar Moody – Barty Crouch Junior – Stunned and then kicked.

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