HP: A Magical Journey

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In the embrace of nature in the country, a solitary flattened dirt road led to the iron-wrought gates of the West Manor.

The peace and quiet on the road were abruptly broken by twenty large black boxes suddenly appearing in the air and dropping to the ground with dull thumps. Twenty boxes in a grid of five by four. There was a pop, and Quinn appeared in between the boxes and the gates. He had changed out of his charred, torn, and dusty suit into a simple and comfortable white shirt and black pants.

The second he arrived, his eyes were glued to the house standing in the distance. He looked at his childhood and only home through the iron gates, wondering how easy it would be to open them and simply walk inside to reunite his family— facing the collective anger of Ms. Rosey, Lia, and his grandfather didn’t seem so bad at the moment. . . and he couldn’t even imagine an angry Elliot— but he knew it would be more horrible than he could imagine.

Unfortunately, fighting temptation when it was at the door was never his strong point. He quickly turned away from the West Manor, but then he came to gaze upon the fall forest trees; they brought along the thoughts of the trees in the London park— they weren’t pretty. He had said that he wasn’t proficient in Protego Diabolica, but he wasn’t much better using his ACE flames— Absolute.Cold.Emperyean flames. As the name suggested, the magic was a mix of Emperyean and ice magic that tried to mimic Absolute Zero as much as Quinn could make it. Mimicking Absolute Zero, which was a legendary alchemic material, took a tremendous amounts of magic; it didn’t help that Quinn hadn’t only discovered the tip of the iceberg of Absolute Zero— the difficulty of magic was off the charts for the current Quinn. . . and trying to control the flames around Aksel, Neil, and Lucas made him lose control over some wisps that ended up expanding into a wall of fire that ended up freezing an entire section of the park. It made Quinn wonder if he had unconsciously ended up taking Fienfyre as the inspiration for the flame-like properties.

There was no a frozen park could be sold to the non-magical populace any other way than a supernatural occurrence. . . or a government conspiracy, both he couldn’t afford— so he set up a fire that engulfed everything that had been damaged and left no evidence behind of what had happened.

He sighed. The firefighters were going to have a hard time explaining the reason behind the problem.

Quinn knelt beside a box and tapped it. The box hissed as the lid rose up to reveal Aksel Thorne’s body submerged in a liquid that glowed with only the front of his face out of the water infused in his magic, mimicking the healing in the Aquatic water. The boxes were designed to keep the bodies in stable condition and provide some first-aid before they got to proper care.

“Sorry about this,” said Quinn, glancing at the Aksel’s neck with a wrinkled nose. The injury was a dull grey from the cold; it was black when he had put Aksel into the box. “Don’t worry; it is not cursed, so after they cut it out, it’s not going to grow nice and strong.”

Quinn kept the lid open on Aksel to make sure people knew what was inside the boxes, stood up, and again turned to the West Manor. A ball of yellow light wobbled over his palm. He squinted at the air around the West Manor and threw the yellow ball over the bricked boundaries. The ball of magic didn’t make it over; instead, it hit the invisible ward over the house and turned it into a shade of yellow. Every single ray of light that was going to pass through the ward was going to be colored yellow like a yellow light bulb. He raised his hand and then shot up a red flare that was going to look as much red as it was. The ward around the West Manor was an advanced version of Aegis half a decade ahead of the current version on the market; he could manipulate it to a certain degree from the outside.

He took a glance at the box before taking himself up to the air. The lenses in his eyes transfigured to far-seeing, and he could see the front door open up with George walking out with the rest of the family in tow. He gazed at them until he was sure they had spotted the boxes and then some before flying away slowly.

‘Ah. . . this sucks,’ he thought as he flew. The day had gone from a hundred to a negative hundred. He had started this day thinking it would be different than carefully and meticulously choosing spots to summon Snatchers and Death Eaters by triggering the Taboo, which was getting difficult by the day because he if didn’t choose the correct location, the Snatchers had stopped heeding the Taboo summons. The smooth acquisition of the Hufflepuff’s Cup was something he wasn’t expecting to happen as plan-A never worked, and he didn’t like his plan-B and he was sure Gringotts wouldn’t like it either.

However, the day couldn’t exit while still ahead. He had to fight with people who he liked enough and had injured enough to feel regret, and it didn’t get any better than they were trying to hold back so as not to injure him. He had to burn down a park, causing problems for so many strangers. Then he had to deliver the entire Limax team in coffin-like boxes to his family, who he preferred seeing because it made things that much worse. He hadn’t met with his friends in a while and instead was spending time with total strangers making meaningless talk just to not feel completely lonely. On top of that, he was going through a rocky relationship with his girlfriends, and he couldn’t even talk to them properly face-to-face to clear the air.

‘Everything sucks,’ he thought and then wondered if it was the Horcrux affecting his mood, making him say out loud, “Everything sucks. . . it sucks so much.”

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The robes, black as death, fluttered near the ground but never touched it as Voldemort walked on a village road with tall trees covering the sides. The deathly pale bald-headed Dark Lord, who seemed to be floating instead of walking, didn’t suit the picturesque scene. However, there was no one around to object, and Voldemort couldn’t care less.

Today was the first time after the Ministry fiasco he had stepped outside. The fresh air on his face felt good enough that it infuriated him immensely just thinking about that day. Voldemort’s hand crept up to his face, and he touched just below his now healed eye with his bony fingers. Just a few days back, he didn’t have anything in his eye socket with its previous resident needing to be evicted to curb the spread of the curse that plagued his stabbed eye.

He remembered the day as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. He was dueling Dumbledore in the Ministry Atrium, enjoying the thrill of magic while battling the frustrating urge to keep his magic at bay so as not to cause any commotion that would arouse suspicion in the Muggles above and risk breaking the Secrecy Laws. Unlike Grindelwald, he didn’t consider it time for the Wizarding world to reveal itself to the rest of the world. . . the day would come when the superior kind would rule with him at the throne. . . but that day was not now. As he kept his magic in check, Dumbledore did the same, trying to compete against him.

Dumbledore. . . Voldemort sneered at the thought of the old hindrance. The second coming of Merlin, the sheeple liked to call Dumbledore— what fools they were. The entire country was filled with foolish people whose brains would sell for top gold as they were brand new from not using them to think at all. But he knew. . . he was superior, and soon the entire Wizarding would know. The only reason Dumbledore could compete was because of the wand in his hand.

The wand. The Elder wand. Voldemort hated to think that the greatest wand made in the history of magic was in Dumbledore’s hands, but at the same time, he would love the feel of power that the wand would provide him. The greatest wand for the greatest wizard seemed fitting, and the Elder wand demanded someone like him instead of an old coot like Dumbledore.

‘I would have that wand with me,’ thought Voldemort as he arrived at the end of the tree-lined street.

He turned the corner and entered the small township of Rosensten, hosting two dozen families who lived their peaceful lives in their lovely town. Then there was the magical part of the town that sat within the same ground, just hidden underneath the veil that kept it hidden from the Muggle part. And today, he had come to visit that part of the town.

Voldemort walked through the town under the eyes of Muggles, unhidden with his presence. The eyes fell on him, then followed him. . . and then they dropped to the ground like lifeless dolls who had their strings cut. He didn’t give the Muggles a single glance; they were not worth it— what they were worth were getting diseases in their family history pop up in them sometime in their lifetime. The planet was teeming with Muggles as if they were cockroaches; some of them dying from injuries wasn’t going to change anything. Anyone that crossed paths with Voldemort watched him for a few seconds before dropping down to wherever they stood.

The trail of unconscious bodies continued until Voldemort arrived in front of the house of Randolf Westen, the Head of Floo Network Authority. He gazed at the home kept properly maintained for a moment before flicking his finger. A silverish sheen of magic shimmered in the air, outlining an invisible dome covering the property.

“Aegis. . . it has improved,” he noted. The last time he had faced Aegis was at Amelia Bones’ home when he had given her a ‘friendly’ visit and had ripped apart the Aegis ward over that house. But now, as he looked at the ward, which felt strikingly familiar to the one over the Bones’ home, yet it was different, and as he observed, he could see clear improvements— and he was happy about it. A human warding scheme that had stood against goblin warding and now had improved in such a short time meant that wizards were superior to goblins, who should know their place.

But that was it.

Voldemort brandished his wand as if handling a conductor’s baton and stepped to the front gate of the Westen property. He flicked it with a twitch of his digits, and the magic sang to the command. The ward over around the door turned a ghastly green, shifting into a cold blue, and finally settling into an acidic yellow that slowly crumbled away. Voldemort put his wand back and sauntered into the Westen property.

Like any normal person, who was visiting someone, Voldemort knocked on the door and then waited. The door opened for a lady to show her beautiful face that twisted with horror as she recognized who he was.

“Good day, Lady Westen. . . I wonder if your husband is at home.”

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Quinn West – MC – I hate my life.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – I reworked this. The last version was let’s just say. . . bad.

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