HP: A Magical Journey

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For the past week, the smell of leaves and forest had become a mainstay in Quinn’s life.

“I should’ve chosen a beach or something,” said Quinn looking around the trees. “Green is overrated anyway,” but then he remembered his girlfriend and shelved that thought in the recycle bin.

He canvased the surrounding area for a bit before tapping his chest for the casual clothing to change into the Noir gear, but it was in a forest camouflage shade rather than the usual black.

“Alright, let’s do it,” Quinn did some stretches, including some vocal warmups. He waved his hand in front of his face for a mask to appear, and then the distorted voice said in a smiling tone,

“Voldemort.”

There was a rustle in the leaves as Quinn pulled on his gloves and clenched his fists at the sound of some laughter. He turned as the footsteps halted abruptly, and when he saw the group of people with wands out, their smiles drained as they recognized him.

“Snatchers. . . you have done well to heed my call,” he said, “but it is regretful that you did so as this will not be pleasant.”

The Snatchers didn’t try to raise their wands to him; not a single spell was fired; instead, they immediately tried to apparate away— with the entire area twisting in spatial movement. But the next moment, the spatial fabric of the area froze up, and all the Snatchers were thrown to the ground.

“Please do not be in a rush to leave; you will be leaving, but not now.” He had plans for them. The Snatchers pushed themselves away from him, crawling on the ground with their shaking wands pointed at Quinn as he sedately walked towards them.

“S-Stay away-away, you monster!”

“Please-Please, let us leave.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll never do it a-again. I am sorry.”

Quinn stared down at the begging and hobbling Snatchers and said, “Too late, let us get started. . . all of us have a long day ahead of us.” He raised his hands, and smoke leaked out of his palms. “Time to say farewell to the gift that you never appreciated.”

After he was done, Quinn bound up the guys with real ropes boosted with Empyrean jacket covering every individual as a precaution. He dove into their minds and did a cursory read on their activity on what they had done in their time as Snatchers.

“I-I have a wife at home,” eeked out one of the Snatchers.

“You should have thought that before you joined hands with the Death Eater and raised your wands in the name of the Dark Lord,” said Quinn, eying the binds one last time.

He turned and apparated away, leaving behind a groaning and begging mess.

. . .

In another part of the forest, Quinn greeted another group of Snatchers and watched their excitement and joy drain from their bodies, only to be replaced with a growing sense of despair and panic.

“Welcome, Snatchers. Today is a glorious day in your lives, for you’re finally going to be part of something great and meaningful,” he said. He raised his arms, and smoke rushed out from beneath the bed of leaves around their feet. “Say your goodbyes; you’re going to experience what it feels to be like the Muggles you all hunted. . . for sport.”

Again, after he was done taking away the nerve activity in their hands, Quinn bound them up and again apparated to yet another part of the same forest.

. . .

“Speak to me, Snatchers, how much price do your Death Eater lords have put on my head,” asked Quinn to the group of prone Snatchers as the haze of soot of Tetani Nervum inched towards them.

He had already done this a few times, and repeating the same operation so many times while listening to the same please of begging had gone boring and irritating.

“W-W-What?”

“Snatchers are rewarded in gold for their captures. The Minister has a bounty, Dumbledore has a bounty, even the Boy-Who-Lived has gotten a bounty. . . . So I wonder, how much gold does the Dark Lord deem my life to be of?”

“I-I don’t. . . don’t know.”

“. . . Is that so,” Quinn looked at all the Snatchers. A thought formed in his mind. He asked, “Does anyone know the bounty on my head? The one who answers will get a reward.

A reward that every one of you will want,” as he spoke, the hazy smoke stopped just before the Snatchers’ feet. “Speak to me, Snatchers; who wants the reward. . . . But be cautious. . . tell a lie, and I shall take your legs as well.”

In any normal situation, someone would attempt to lie in the desperation situation, but this was out of the norm— none in the country hadn’t heard of his work with Death Eaters. But it also meant that the Snatchers were scared to even speak a single word, until. . . .

“I-I know.”

Quinn turned to the Snatcher at the very back. He instinctively put on a friendly face behind his mask and asked him to tell.

“T-The reward is y-your weight in gold.”

“. . . My weight in gold?” Quinn jerked back in surprise. The reason he had asked the question was only partly due to boredom and because his cursory glances had only given him the bounty of people the Snatchers had bothered to look up— Muggle-borns, blood traitors, Ministry officials, famous personalities. . . but no one he had met had bothered to look him up. He hadn’t checked this group yet.

“My weight in gold,” he made quick calculations in his head, “that will be more than you will get for either the Minister of Magic or Dumbledore. You had a chance to reap enough reward to have lasted all of you and several of your upcoming generations. . . . But that is a far-off hypothetical.”

He got up from the wood log and said, “You have done well, Snatcher. I will keep my promise and give you your reward,” as he said that, the Snatcher’s fearful face gave way to hope. . . which twisted in a showcase of betrayal as Quinn stunned him unconscious.

Quinn turned to the other Snatchers and said, “The reward was mercy. This magic,” the smoke of Tentani Nervum inched forward, “is quite painful; at least, now he isn’t going to go through it awake. . . . but for you, poor folk, get ready to familiarize yourself with pain. . .”

“N-No!”

“Please! Please!”

“God, help us!”

Quinn shook his head, “God won’t be coming today. . . only pain.”

He turned to gather rope as the haze overtook the Snatchers to finish the work that had been delayed due to boredom.

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– (Scene Break) –

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Amelia Bones, surrounded by full protection of Hit Wizards, looked at the group of battered men who looked as if they had been dangled at the edges of hell just to be pulled back just before hell-fire got to them from behind a window.

“What is he muttering about?” she asked Scrimgeour.

The Head of DMLE leaned in to say, “They’re repeating to stop it over and over again. . . . Some victims of his magic are known to show such behaviors.”

“Because of the pain?”

“That and the feeling of not being able to feel their arms and legs can be quite overwhelming.”

Amelia cleared her throat before asking, “Are we sure this is him?”

“Yes, it is him. Everything from the abnormal magic traces that don’t match with wands and the magic itself resembles the previous samples we got from his confirmed victims. It is, without a doubt, him.”

“Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know—”

The door behind them swung open and slammed into the wall, with a young Auror entering with a huff in his breath. He gulped and straightened when he felt the eyes of his superior’s superior’s many times superior on him.

“What is it?” asked Scrimgeour.

“S-Sir, more groups of Snatchers have appeared,” he said in a rushed panic.

“What?!”

“They’re at two of our sub-department back gates, two of the Hit Wizards’, general supply gates— they are popping up using Portkeys in key locations in front of people’s eyes.”

“Get them out of there!”

“We did, sir. . . all of them are being filed into the jails. . . but sir, I’m afraid we have already exceeded capacity.”

“How many of them are there?”

“F-Fifty and counting, sir.”

Amelia and Scrimgeour exchanged shocked glances. Scrimgeour furrowed his brow as a thought struck him, and he turned to the Junior Auror, “All of them are cursed? Their hands. . .”

The Junior Auror nodded.

Another person entered the room, but unlike the Junior Auror, she entered silently and moved to the corner of the room where Saul Croaker stood in the shadows. She leaned to his ear and whispered something under everyone’s eyes and then stood to the side.

Croaker spoke, “One of the Snatcher groups has been delivered to one of our entrances. . . it was our main entrance,” he sighed, “now we will have to change it.”

“. . . You don’t seem worried,” Amelia said. “The Invisible Vigilante found something about the Department of Mysteries. . . does that not bother you.”

“It bothers me,” Croaker nodded, “but there’s nothing I can do about what has already happened— we just will have to reaffirm our security. . . . Now, I would like to take my leave,” he said with the young female walked with him.

“I will have someone pick up the Snatchers,” said Scrimgeour.

“That won’t be needed,” Croaker smiled. “Those Snatchers are known under our jurisdiction. Don’t worry; we will pass them along to you after we are done with them.”

“That’s not acceptable. You can’t hold them for questioning.”

“Yes, we can. As per Section-44AO-DOM of the unspeakable code—”

“Rubbish!”

Amelia saw that the two men were about to go down, so she barked the order to stand down. “Behave like grown men. The Unspeakables will have their time with the Snatchers—”

“But, there’s no need for them to do so,” Scrimgeour protested. “We can interrogate them and pass along the information. It will be better if a single team interrogates every one of them.”

“The Department of Mysteries has our own methods of interrogation—”

Scrimgeour snorted at that.

Amelia sighed, “The Department of Mysteries will get their time, but the second that passes, they will return the Snatchers back to the Aurors Office.”

As she was about to leave, another Auror came running in.

“What now?” this time, Amelia herself exclaimed. “There are more?!”

“Err, yes, ma’am,” said the second Junior Auror, “but that isn’t why I’m here.” He turned to Scrimgeour, “Sir, there’s another group, but there’s another group, but this time it isn’t Snatchers. . . this time it is Death Eater.”

Scrimgeour’s eyes sharpened. “We are going now,” he said.

“But sir, there is more,” the Junior Auror gulped. “The Invisible Vigilante himself dropped of them. . . he left behind a message.”

Amelia gasped. Scrimgeour turned more severe than anyone thought possible. Saul Croaker, who was about to leave, stopped and looked entirely interested in the conversation.

“What are we waiting for?” said Croaker. “Let’s see what the man of the day has to say.”

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Quinn West – MC – I sometimes partake in hunting.

Saul Croaker – Unspeakable – Section-44AO-DOM of the unspeakable code. . . is pretty legit.

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