HP: A Magical Journey

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Lia West sat on a sofa in West manor’s lounge, legs crossed, with a smile on her face. She stared ahead with amusement evident on her face.

“Why do you dislike functions and balls so much?” she asked, chuckling.

In front of her sat her baby brother, all dressed up in a suit, ready to go to the ball, but his mood wasn’t what one would expect from a person ready to a party. Crossed arms, grumpy face, and an overall displeased body language weren’t the telltale signs of looking forward to an evening enjoyment.

“Why would I enjoy working on Christmas?” said Quinn huffing, “and it’s not even the work that I enjoy ‘” a ball with me trying to avoid those bootlicking people trying to get handsy like we are close, isn’t how I ever imagine how my Christmas would go.”

“It’s not that bad, you know?” said Lia smiling.

“Weren’t you the one who complained about getting hit on by old fatties?”

“That I did, and that’s exactly why you should go. Why should I have all the fun.”

“Again, this isn’t my definition of fun,” said Quinn, “ugh, it’s too late to pick up Eddie; he has a very good ‘don’t-you-dare-come-near-me’ face. . . I would just stand beside him, and he will do the scarecrow work for me.”

“I’ll just spread a spray of a mild Confudus around myself, confuse people into leaving me alone,” said Quinn, “hmm. . . that actually isn’t that bad of an idea, maybe I’ll just do that.”

“Don’t do that,” said Lia, sighing, “properly show you face to the people that matter, and if you want to leave after that, you’re free to do so, but no magic shenanigans at the ball.”

“Alright, I’ll try. . . but no guarantees,” said Quinn, “if anyone gets extra annoying, I’m coming home; I might even go for a movie.”

“In a suit?” asked Lia.

“A little illusion magic won’t hurt anyone. You know what, I’ll go see a movie like this, fully decked out in this classy thread.”

“Don’t talk like you’re definitely going to see a movie today,” said Lia.

The clock struck six and thirty, and Quinn got up to leave. He and Lia walked to the floo-fireplace room.

“I could apparate there,” said Quinn, “I know a place three minutes away from there. I could walk the rest way.”

“How would you deal when someone tries to escort you after the party, and you don’t have anything prepared for you. It would be better if you take the floo, or you could’ve listened to Ms. Rosey when she tried to book you a carriage,” said Lia.

Quinn sighed. He hadn’t been the most cooperative when it came to the Christmas Ball. He wanted to keep things as simple as possible without fanfare, which meant no winged-horse pulled carriages.

“It’s Windford Hall,” said Lia.

“Yes,” said Quinn, “alright, I’ll see you around ten.”

“Have fun,” said Lia in a sing-a-song voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Quinn casting a spell on himself to keep the floo-dust off him. “Windford Hall,” Quinn threw the floo-powder in and disappeared in the gulf of green.

Lia waited for the fire to disappear before turning back. It was time to get drunk with Ms. Rosey and Polly ‘” a girl’s night was the theme of Christmas.

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– (Scene Break) –

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Quinn came out of the green fire onto a polished marble floor on which he could see his reflections between the patterns. He looked around and saw that the wall behind him had five fireplaces, all burning in weak green fires only to flare up when someone traveled out from the floo-network.

Quinn looked to the right side of the hall; he spotted the entrance to the building and could see carriages pulling outside with guests. On the left of the hall, he could see a smaller entry, and based on the people coming in and out, Quinn assumed it was a hallway that probably led to the restroom area.

To his front of him was the grand entrance to the shiny, all sparkly ballroom, the place he needed to spend around four hours mingling with people.

‘People can sometimes be dull,’ he thought.

A wave of magic swept over him, and his clothes and appearance were fixed to look the best. He proceeded inside and saw a small line starting from the top of a staircase that led down to the main hall area.

“Mister and Missus Ogden of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

Quinn realized what was happening. The man in front of the line was the Master of Ceremonies, and he was announcing the arrival to the ball.

To Quinn, this was an open invitation for people to come and talk to him, so he reached into his coat (his extended pockets) and took out a big handful of galleons, and conjured a royal-velvet pouch/purse around them, and tied the top with a similarly conjured string.

When he reached the front of the line, the Master of Ceremonies extended his hands and asked, “The Invitation, please.”

Quinn placed the invitation letter in the hand of the man who opened it to check the authenticity. He nodded as it was the genuine article and was about to announce the name ‘” Quinn’s name as it was written on the invite ‘” but Quinn cleared his throat to catch the Master of Ceremonies’ attention.

“Yes?” asked the announcer.

Quinn placed the pouch/purse in the hands of the man and smiled, “An appreciative gesture for your hard work and something for your silence.”

The Master of Ceremonies felt the weight of the pouch in his palm and saw the glint of gold peaking from inside. He bowed his head with a small smile.

“I wish you’d have a Merry Yuletide, Master West,” said the man in a low voice as he gestured for Quinn to proceed down the stairs.

“And you as well,” said Quinn before he stepped down with a smile on his face. At least one thing well, and he felt it was a good start to the evening.

At the end of the stairs, Quinn picked up a goblet with a random drink from the waiter’s tray and gently started to sway as he looked around the ballroom to take in the vibe ‘” luxurious, grandiose, extravagant.

Quinn headed straight to a corner of the room and looked down into his glass. The red liquid under Quinn’s sway and a bit of magic had turned into a tornado inside the goblet.

“I picked wine, huh,” said Quinn in a mutter, “they should be careful what they serve to who. . . well, whatever.”

He snapped his fingers, and the red wine vanished into a fizzle of bubbles, leaving behind a wine-free goblet in his hands. He reached into his pockets with his hand and took out a silver hip flask with a grin on his face.

He had been to plenty of these parties, and while there was always a great selection of alcoholic drinks, they only served butterbeer in the name of non-alcoholic beverages, which Quinn didn’t like to drink (too sweet), so this time around, he had brought from home.

“Alright, let’s get the good stuff out,” he opened the flask and started to pour into the goblet.

“What’re you doing?”

Quinn immediately turned the flask and goblet still in hand to see Daphne Greengrass standing behind him dressed in a stunning red dress that did delay his words a bit as his eyes roamed a bit.

“You look stunning,” said Quinn bluntly.

“Thank you,” said Daphne in reply, “you look good in that.”

Quinn looked at his midnight blue checkered suit and nodded. “Suits suit me, it seems,” he said.

“I didn’t hear your name called out,” she said, “or your surname, in fact.”

“Oh, I came alone today; rest our bloody busy on Christmas; no work-life balance if you ask me,” said Quinn getting a look from Daphne, which he ignored, “as for the absence of announcement, the Master of Ceremonies didn’t seem to like me very much, so he refused to announce my name.”

Daphne refused to believe that even for a second. The Master of Ceremonies didn’t make announcements on the basis of his likes or dislikes. Her best guess was that Quinn asked his name not to be announced.

“You didn’t ask my question,” she said and looked at his hands, “what’re you doing?”

“Ah, this huh,” said Quinn smiling and extended the goblet to Daphne, “would you like some Pineapple Cobbler? It’s fresh and cold. . . which means it’s very, very good.”

Quinn thought she would refuse, but Daphne took the goblet for him, leaving him surprised and out of a glass.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” said Quinn, shrugging as he conjured a cup for himself and poured himself a drink, “ah, that hits the spot,” he said after taking a sip.

“Where’s Astoria? Did she come?” asked Quinn.

“No, she went to another party at her friend’s house,” said Daphne.

“Lucky duck,” said Quinn, “I should’ve thrown a party myself. That would’ve been a pretty good excuse.”

“You really don’t like parties,” said Daphne.

“Nope,” he said after taking a sip, “but now that you’re here, I can enjoy this travesty,” he looked around the ballroom, “why do they have to make things so tacky. . . whoever organized and did the interior design has some strange taste.”

“I thought you would like this,” said Daphne, “given how flashy you become when you organize big events. Especially after last year. . . you really did go all out from the moment Durmstrang and Beauxbatons stepped into Hogwarts.”

The FOUR(houses, founders, mascots) demonstration; the seven rings in the first task; and the magical projection in the second and third round; the scale of the Quidditch Tournament. Everything that Quinn had organized last year were the biggest event in Hogwarts’ recent history. ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

“My dear Daphne, there’s a difference between tacky and what I did. I might be a fan of the flair, but I do things with a certain class. My events don’t go overboard with all the glitter and gaudiness ‘” everything in moderation is the key.”

It was then that Quinn noticed someone behind Daphne and raised his hand.

“Zabini!” he called.

Blaise Zabini, who was walking by, turned at the sound of his name being called out and saw Quinn West and Daphne Greengrass standing by a corner with Quinn motioning him to come to them.

“Ah, another one to keep me company,” said Quinn smiling, “I was dreading this for no reason; I should’ve known that you guys were coming.”

“Hello,” said Blaise.

“Good evening,” replied Daphne.

“Ah, look at me forgetting something so important,” said Quinn, “Merry Christmas, and I hope you’re having a great Yuletide, both of you,” he was feeling chipper now.

The trio wished each other Christmas and Yuletide greetings.

“Zabini, you want something to drink?” asked Quinn. “I have Pineapple Cobbler, Citrus Fuzz, Shirley Ginger, Lavender Lemonade, Rose Fizz, Lemongrass Jasmine Iced Tea, Virgin Paloma,” he said, taking out a handful of shrunken down hip flasks, “damn, I brought too many. . . all of them hold more volume than the regular flask. . .so, you guys would have to help me finish these.”

“. . . I guess I’ll have the Citrus Fizz,” said Blaise, and before he knew it, there he had a goblet full of fizzy golden in his hand.

“Hey, West, I was wondering if I could ask you something?” asked Blaise.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Listen, I heard that thing you talked about with Theo. . . Theodore Nott. I was wondering it was open to others.”

“Ah, so he told you about that, huh. Well, I suppose it’s natural. . . you both are friends,” said Quinn, and he didn’t mind.

Daphne looked at both boys in confusion. She didn’t understand the topic of the talk.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I offered Theodore Nott a job opportunity after Hogwarts. The job he gets depends on his interests, how well he does in Hogwarts, and the skill he builds in the next two years,” said Quinn before turning back to Blaise.

“Sure, it’s open to you as well. You get the same deal as I gave to Nott; do well in the next two years, and you’ll have a better starting point. Want to learn more? We can provide you with further training ‘” it’s all up to you want to do; of course, there will be some caveats, but they will come with rewards as well.”

In the amount of time Quinn had spent with George, Elliot, and Lia, he had learned a few things about company culture ‘” if an organization could provide the best job environment, the people working in that environment would like to stick because it was good for them and then that would benefit the organization. And Quinn was all for getting the cream of the crop from Hogwarts and making them part of the West business.

It could be said that Hogwarts was in possession of a golden goose in the form of Quinn West. Every student that had some connection to Quinn could get a golden opportunity from just asking, and if they did well, their immediate future would be secure with further possibilities in the later future.

“Really, you’re not joking, are you?” asked Blaise.

“I have no reason to joke, Zabini. If you do good, it would be better for me,” said Quinn, “but I do have a question that I’d like to ask.”

“Sure, whatever you would like to ask.”

“Is the reason you’re asking me about this because of your mother?”

Irene Zabini was a witch and the mother of Blaise Zabini. She was famously beautiful and married seven wizards who each died in mysterious circumstances, leaving her with a large amount of gold from each. It was unknown if she was the reason behind her deaths or if they truly were a string of unfortunate deaths, but it was a mystery talked much in many circles.

To some level, even Quinn was curious if the woman was a killer or just really unfortunate, and he was also curious if Blaise was her son or stepson and who was the father. He, of course, couldn’t ask either the mother or son about the birth status of Blaise. Quinn was even skeptical that if Blaise himself knew of his origins.

“Yes. . . I would like to get some distance between mother and me till I can figure things out,” said Blaise.

If others were curious about the seven deaths, then there was none who wanted to know more about the truth than Blaise. He was at an age that he had got curious about the question, and currently, Blaise’s mind was in turmoil about if the answer he would get be the one he was fearing.

Moreover, Blaise never knew when his mother would get herself a brand new husband. He wanted to get out his mother’s roof as soon as possible, and getting a well-paying job that could support his independence was essential to him.

“I see. . . I can’t say I know to be in your position; I can only imagine,” said Quinn, “well, you can come to me when you’re ready, and you know where to find me if you have any other problems.”

“Thank you, that means a lot, West,” said Blaise sighing in relief. Even though he still had more than two years before he could actually take the next step, this promise was represented a great deal to Blaise.

“Work hard, Blaise. Only you can direct how your life goes,” said Quinn, raising his goblet, which Blaise followed.

“Uhm, you two should change the topic immediately,” said Daphne suddenly, “Blaise, your mother is walking towards us.”

Blaise straightened up and immediately looked back to see that his mother was indeed walking towards them with a glass of champagne in her hand.

“Oh my, well, I can definitely see why she’s so popular,” said Quinn.

Blaise turned to give a Quinn incredulous look.

“Sorry, really,” said Quinn, zipping his lips.

Irene Zabini was a blonde bombshell, a seductress-type beauty that gathered a lot of eyes around her. Even now, as she was walking here in her black velvet floor-length gown, many men were enamored by her, following her with their eyes.

“Blaise. . . so this is there you were dear. I have been looking for you everywhere,” said Irene Zabini

‘Oh my god, even her voice is. . .’ thought Quinn. It was so smooth, velvety. . . sexy was the word that popped into the mind when hearing Irene Zabini’s voice.

“Yes, mum,” said Blaise.

“Why don’t you introduce your friends to me.”

“Ah,” Blaise turned and did the introductions, “this is Daphne Greengrass and Quinn West. . . and this my mother,” he added at the end.

“Greengrass. . . so, you’re Sophie and Jacob’s daughter,” said Irene looking at Daphne before turning to Quinn, her every move as erotically charged. “Quinn West, you say. . . aren’t a handsome one. . .”

“. . . Thank you, ma’am. You too are gorgeous,” said Quinn.

He was feeling conflicted about whether he should use Occlumency or not. It was very confusing.

“Oh please, dear; don’t call me ma’am. It makes it sound like I’m old. . . you can call me Irene~.”

‘Oh my god!’ Quinn screamed in his head as he nodded with a smile on the outside.

“Good, did your grandfather come today?” asked Irene, brushing a hand through her hair, “I should go say hello. . .”

“. . . Unfortunately, my grandfather was busy today, so I came alone,” said Quinn with a polite smile, but he was screaming inside.

“What a pity. . . I would have loved to talk to him.”

Daphne looked between Quinn and Irene, and she didn’t like what was happening, so she did what seemed logical. She grabbed Quinn’s arms pulled him.

“Quinn, let’s go dance. I like this song very much,” she said.

“Eh, huh, sure,” said Quinn letting him get pulled along.

Irene watched as the pair walked away, and a smile appeared on her face.

“Oh my, so innocent~,” she said with her hand on her cheek.

She then turned to Blaise and asked, “Would you also like to dance, Blaise. You can always dance with me.”

“Thank you, mother, but I would like to pass,” said Blaise.

“Are you embarrassed?” said Irene looping her arms around Blaise, “My son grew up before I knew it.”

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Quinn West – MC – Oh my god!

Daphne Greengrass – Feeling threatened – I want to dance.

Blaise Zabini – Another promised one – Mother. . . please everyone’s looking.

Irene Zabini – Married seven times – Don’t care about them, come one, let’s dance.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – Mid-terms starts tomorrow. . . sigh. . .

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