HP: A Magical Journey

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It was a fine Sunday morning.

Quinn sat on the breakfast table with a Quibbler issue in one hand that detailed the ‘research trip’ that the Lovegood family had taken to the lovely country of Sweden and a glass of apple juice in the other.

“Oh, this is a fun one,” said Quinn, reading a column by Luna. “Did you know that more than half of Sweden is covered in forest, which equates to around the same size area-wise to the entirety of Britain? That’s a lot of forest.”

There was a light popping sound inches over the table, and a stack of letters fell onto an empty spot (courtesy of Polly.) Elliot, who sat closest to the pile, reached over and picked it up. He looked at the name on every envelope and passed them onto their intended recipients seated around the table.

“Oh, it’s a letter from Hogwarts,” said Elliot, looking at the last letter from Elliot.

Quinn, Ms. Rosey, and George all looked away from their reading material up at Elliot, who held a large square envelope. “It must be your results,” said George for a sharp interest to appear in Ms. Rosey’s eyes.

Elliot passed the letter above to the table to Quinn.

“Hmm? There’s something hard inside here,” said Quinn, as he pressed the letter with his fingers. He made a swiping line with a finger, and the top crease of the letter tore away as if cut open with a letter-opener. Quinn titled the envelope for a badge to fall into his other palm.

“Oh, it’s a Headboy badge,” said Quinn, holding the circular badge by the edges.

“Congratulations, young master,” Elliot said with a proud smile. Ms. Rosey and George’s congratulations followed.

“Thank you. You know what this means, right?” Quinn showed them the badge. “Any guesses? No? Okay, I’ll tell you. This means I’m going to get my own suite with my own bedroom. . . ah, I’m going to get my own bedroom. . .”

“What happened?” asked George as Quinn trailed off.

“I will have to move out of the dorm,” said Quinn, “which means I won’t be living with Eddie and Marcus. . . ugh, now I’m not sure if I want to move out.” He slept in the same room with his best friend for the majority of the year ‘” in the six years Eddie, Marcus, and he had been roommates, Quinn had come to his room at home to be less ‘his room’ than their dorm room in Hogwarts.

“You can tell them that you won’t be needing the Headboy suite,” said George, a former resident of said suite.

“Hmm? No, no, I still want the Headboy suite, but I also want to have a spot in the dorm ‘” I fear that if I exit the dorm, they’ll assign another roommate to Eddie and Marcus.” Quinn held his chin in thought before shrugging, “I’ll write a letter and see what happens.

“Now, let’s see how I did this year.” He pulled out the parchment inside and unfolded it.

–

Hogwarts End-Of-Term Results Sixth Year

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– Pass Grades –

OUTSTANDING (O)

EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS (E)

ACCEPTABLE (A)

– Fail Grades –

POOR (P)

DREADFUL (D)

TROLL (T)

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Quinn West has achieved:

Arithmancy ‘” O*

Astronomy ‘” O*

Ancient Runes ‘” O*

Care of Magical Creatures ‘” O*

Charms ‘” O*

Defense Against the Dark Arts ‘” O*

Herbology ‘” O*

History of Magic ‘” O*

Potions ‘” O*

Transfiguration ‘” O*

* – Highest Score In The Year.

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Quinn read the last line on the parchment before once again over his grades. He nodded in satisfaction. “Another year with all big-Os with stars on top,” he said, announcing his grades to his family.

Ms. Rosey all but snatched the result parchment when Quinn handed it over and looked squinted her eyes to look if he had left smudges on the parchments ‘” dirty spots would need to be fixed before she added it to Quinn’s academic folder of report cards.

“Are you going to change any of your classes this year?” asked George. “You said that you have been wondering about dropping Care. . . and that for a couple years now.”

“True. I have been on the fence for that a couple years now, but there’s only one year left, so I’ll just take the class, and with Rebeus Hagrid teaching Care, something interesting is sure to pop here and there.” Quinn stood up from his chair. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have an appointment that I have to attend. Ms. Rosey, I won’t return until evening, so no need to prepare lunch for me.”

“Where are you going?” asked Ms. Rosey.

“I was invited to see how my very first investment turned out,” said Quinn smiling.

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– (Scene Break) –

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Quinn stepped out of a dark corner of Diagon Alley that he had just apparated into and stepped into the main street. He looked up and sighed at how the sunny morning had turned overcast in the span of mere minutes. If there was one thing he didn’t enjoy about his home was how much it rained.

He looked away from the murky clouds and took in the market area.

Diagon Alley had changed. The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Lestrange was sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary. A few windows were boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, which Quinn had heard had been dragged off by Death Eaters, making him wonder what Death Eaters wanted from the ice cream vendor.

On the other hand, several shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

AMULETS: Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi.

A seedy-looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.

“One for you, lad?” he called at Quinn as he passed by, leering at him up and down.

Quinn raised his hand and revealed a sneakily transfigured copy of the seedy amulet vendors’ product sitting in his palm. He pointed further down the street. “There’s a lady there selling the same stuff, but much cheaper than here. You might want to fix your prices, slash them in half, mister, and maybe then someone will buy something.”

Of course, everything he said was complete hippogriff shit ‘” Quinn either wanted the man to look at the supposed competition and leave his stall alone, which Quinn was sure (from a little wide-area Legelimency) would be upturned by the similarly seedy neighborhood stalls. Even if the man didn’t leave his cart, there was a chance he would take his word and slash his price by half and make a lesser profit from his fraudulent deals.

Quinn didn’t wait to see what the seedy man did. He was satisfied that he had been able to plant a seed of doubt in the man’s mind.

He passed by another shop and stopped to gaze at the closed Ollivander’s. There were no signs of struggle, which was a positive sign. ‘I hope he took my advice,’ he thought, thinking about the wandmaker, who loved his job a bit too much. ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

“Well, I’ll find about it when the school starts,” he sighed. A fleeting can on a couple of first years would reveal the status of the wandmaker.

He moved along the street, looking at the increasing number of wanted and warning posters on every single shop until he came across a fork in the road.

“Whoa- hohoho,” said Quinn, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, the shop’s windows in front of his eyes hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Quinn’s eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO?

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO ‘”

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT’S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Quinn burst into a chortle. “Oh boy, these two are going to be murdered in their beds,” he said with a smile as he walked towards the shop, which he had brought last year so that he could rent it to the Weasley’s.

He entered the shop, and it was packed with customers; Quinn could not get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during last year; Quinn noticed that the Nosebleed Nougatwas most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf ‘” he had worked on those with the twins. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties.

Quinn clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forwards. The crowed unknowingly parted, making a path straight to the front counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to an actual set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: REUSABLE HANGMAN ‘” SPELL IT OR HE’LL SWING!

He looked above the kids, and a large display near the counter caught his eyes. He read the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

“Daydream Potion. . . one swig and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.

“Oh my, isn’t this a crafty little one,” he reached into the display and picked out a clear vial with the pinkish-purple liquid inside. He effortlessly undid the anti-theft charm on the vial, uncorked it, and tipped a tablespoon’s worth onto his tongue. “Hmm. . . ah, so that’s what they used, huh. That’s nice.”

He smiled when he heard the voice of one of the brothers.

“No, kid, we don’t have a telescope that tells you the answer, but we have one that would punch you in the eye if you use it.” A smiling Fred stood in front of him, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.

“Now, wouldn’t you look at that, Mr. Big-shot business owner,” said Quinn.

Fred turned Quinn, and his eyes widened to see Quinn. “Quinn, you’re here! When did you arrive?” he asked as he pushed his way to the counter.

“Just now,” said Quinn and tossed the Daydream vial to Fred. “Switch the rugweed with possumhaw, and that would fix the drooling. Also, get a better anti-theft spell, this one’s embarrassingly easy to break.”

Fred blinked at the potion vial in his palm before looking at Quinn. “Come one, leave something for others, would you,” he sighed before perking back up. “Come on, let me take you to George, and show you the thing we wrote to you about.”

Quinn followed Fred toward the shop’s back, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

“Oh, are these non-magical tricks?” asked Quinn, picking up a deck of cards. “Let me guess, this one’s a marked deck?”

“Muggle magic tricks!” said Fred happily, pointing them out. “For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff ‘” and well, people like you. It’s not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business; they’re great novelties.”

“Hey. . . I’m not a freak,” said Quinn, “I’m just your average card geek.”

Suddenly, a curtain was pushed to the side, and George peaked out. “Oh, Quinn, you’re here. Welcome-welcome.” he shook Quinn’s hand. “Come in, come in. Let me show you the real money maker.”

They went into a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

“We’ve just developed this more serious line,” said Fred. “Funny how it happened . . .”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. Of course, they didn’t have someone like you teaching them.”

“That’s right. . . . Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!”

“So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves . . .”

“. . . I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor hexes or jinxes . . .”

“And then we thought we’d get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s such a money-spinner,” continued George enthusiastically. “This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we’re importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape.”

“And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look,” said Fred, pointing at several weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. “You just drop one surreptitiously, and it’ll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.”

“Handy,” said Quinn, satisfied with their business sense.

“Here,” said Fred, catching a couple and throwing them to Fred.

“At this rate, you’re going to become defense contracts first and joke shop later,” said Quinn, pocketing the items.

“No,” smiled George as he dusted a Shield Glove, “these were fun to make, but as expected, the stuff that’s outside was a hundred times more fun to make.”

Fred nodded, “The joke items might not make as much money as these things, but they’re what we opened this shop for.”

Quinn raised his hands, “Hey, I’m the silent W in the triple W coalition. You guys do whatever you want, and if you want some help, and I’m here to provide that.” He looked at Instant Darkness Powder and Decoy Detonators, “You know, we can sort of combine those two ‘” sort of ‘” well turn them into a flashbang.”

“Flashbang?”

“Uh-huh, instead of darkness, you use a strong and sudden burst of light that would momentarily blind a target which would be launched in succession with a loud burst of sound, disrupting the hearing ‘” causing pain, buzzing, and maybe even an inner-ear imbalance.”

A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain;

Quinn saw that she, too, was wearing magenta staff robes. “Uhm, there’s ‘””

She stopped when the curtain was pushed aside, and a couple more heads poked inside.

“There you are,” said Ron Weasley, “I have been looking all over for you ‘” it’s blimey crowded outside.” The redhead, younger Weasley, then noticed that his brother had company, “What are you doing here?”

“To be fair,” said Fred and George finished, “this is his building.”

“Hello, Ronald,” said Quinn turned to the spectacled boy beside him, “Harry,” the curly-haired girl peeking over Ron’s shoulder, “Hermione,” then he saw the freckled Weaslette pushing her to the front, “Ginny,” and finally his eye went to the girl with red hair and green eyes, “. . . Ivy.”

“There’s a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and

Mr. Weasley,” said the store employee.

“Right you are, Verity, I’m coming,” said George promptly. “Quinn, you

help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge.” He turned to his younger brother, “You’re going to pay double, Ron.”

“Why?!”

Fred followed after his brother and patted Ron’s shoulder as the twin went out, “We’re a business, dear young brother. If we’re going to make a profit, we would need to charge more ‘” and who else to charge but family.” He turned to the girls, “Ladies, would you like to see our WonderWitch product line ‘” they’re very potent and very popular.”

Ron followed after George to find if the family markup was a joke or serious; Harry tagged along with him. Hermione and Ginny followed after Fred to see the WonderWitch products; however. . .

“I’ll be there in a bit,” said Ivy.

Hermione looked between Quinn and Ivy. She nodded before leaving the two behind.

“Quinn,” said Ivy.

“Ivy,” Quinn greeted her back again.

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Quinn West – MC – Headboi! Building Owner! Investor! Silent W!

Fred & George – Entrepreneurs – Mr. Weasley & Mr. Weasley.

Ms. Rosey – Scrapbooker – Has all of Quinn’s reports card preserved.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – Next chapter, we’re going to see something very exciting. . . and no, it’s not going to do anything a certain redhead. It’s time for the return.

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