HP: A Magical Journey

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“My Lord . . . my Lord . . .”

It was Bellatrix, and she spoke as if to a lover. Quinn watched the scene from above using the artificial eye. Voldemort stood in the middle a few steps from Harry’s body, with the Death Eaters standing on the edge of the clearing. Quinn’s vision solely concentrated on the body that lay prone on the ground. His heart beat so vehemently that he feared the sound of it would give his position out to Voldemort.

It was done, he thought. The most problematic Horcrux of all— the most problematic Horcrux that was ever created— was taken care of. Harry Potter, the accidental Horcrux of Dark Lord Voldemort, was taken care of, and that too by the hands of the creator and owner himself. The irony provided Quinn a moment of delight and a sense of hope that the next part of the problem— the one on which HIS personal life depended, would also go as smoothly as things had been.

He clutched his hand around the cold black stone in one hand as he raised the other to touch the target. His magic responded to his summons, following his heartfelt desire, obeying his Will, and flowed in two different directions through his arms into his hands. A broken breath escaped him as he felt the Resurrection Stone come alive in his palm, the masterfully crafted artifact, the only object he had seen that could interact with the mystical entity called soul.

‘You better have not given up,’ he thought, ‘because I have not.’ He gagged as an otherworldly discomfort clutched his body. The Resurrection Stone was contacting his soul, something that wasn’t to be touched by anything or anyone but himself. It felt like someone was clutching his heart in their palm. Push on, Quinn told himself, pushing his magic forth through his other hand to touch the other soul that was still tethered to the body, but only bearly. The magic made contact, and his vision flooded with a stark white light, and at the same time, he lost his connection with the artificial eye looking over at the scene of a teenager’s murder.

It was overwhelming. His eyes saw nothing but blinding white. . . no sound reached his ear, not even from inside of his head. . . he couldn’t inhale or exhale. . . he felt nothing yet everything at the same time. The moment when the overwhelming nothingness passed, Quinn found himself screaming his throat out._.

He stopped immediately. His legs suddenly gave up, and he stumbled backward until his back met a wall. Quinn looked around, his eyes swarming at the sudden change of scenery, and saw that he was standing in some sort of a tunnel. The moment that realization set, loud cheers entered his ears, and he looked to his left to see a bright exit from where the loud noise of people, horns, and drums came from.

He knew the place. The entrance tunnel in the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium opened up to the field. It was from where the teams entered the field with all the fanfare. He had been there a few times to recognize— yet it was different. . . . He stood in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather, the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into the surroundings. The floor on which he stood seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.

Quinn knew he was in the right place. It wasn’t King’s Crossing, but it was just as it had been portrayed in the original—

“Quinn. . . is that you?” called a voice. Quinn looked away from the well-maintained ground outside and turned back to see Harry Potter standing a couple foot from him. Harry looked around the place as confused as he was moments before, taking everything that the surroundings gave him so that he could make sense of it.

“The tunnel? Where is this, Quinn? Why does the tunnel look like this? Was it you who was screaming just now?” Harry looked down at himself and gasped when he found that he was naked. His hands had just gone to his crotch when a robe appeared in front of him. He took them and pulled them on. “What is happening?” Harry asked Quinn, looking bewildered. “Is this the Room of Requirement? What are those noises; can you hear them?”

Quinn, too, heard the noises. Odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist. Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. The other side of the tunnel formed into the way to the dressing room— however, unlike the bright exit, the path to the dressing room was dark, yet at the same time, it was a comforting dark with an aura of peace emanating from it.

“W-What is that?” Harry’s voice brought Quinn out of staring at the darkness. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering on the side of the tunnel where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.

Harry looked to be afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, it was clear he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless, he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet his hand didn’t move any forward.

“You should probably not touch it,” said Quinn when he saw the self-deprecating expression on Harry’s face. Harry backed off, but his eyes remained on the ugly baby-like creature.

“What happened?” asked Harry. “Where is this place? I. . . I should be dead. I’m. . . dead?”

“Straight to the main course, huh,” Quinn smiled. “That is the question, isn’t it? If you want my opinion, I would say I think not.”

They looked at each other, Quinn still smiling.

“Not?” repeated Harry.

“Definitely not.”

“But . . .” Harry raised his hand instinctively toward the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. “But I should have died— I didn’t defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!”

“Thank you for that. It would’ve been a problem if he used something other than the Killing curse. You know why, don’t you?”

“I let him kill me, didn’t I?”

“You did. Go on.”

“So the part of his soul that was in me. . .”

Quinn nodded.

“. . . has it gone?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. He fired that Killing curse and burned the Horcrux right off. Pretty great for all parties concerned. . . excluding Voldemort, of course— it’s pretty bad for him. And your soul is intact, complete, and in great health.”

“But then. . . but if Voldemort used the Killing curse and nobody died for me this time— how can I be alive?”

“Oh, he took your blood and doomed himself. He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it. Your blood’s in his veins, Harry. Your grandmother’s protection inside both of you. He tethered you to life while he lives.”

“I live . . . while he lives? But I thought . . . I thought it was the other way round! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?” Harry had clearly been made aware of the prophecy.

Quinn then began to explain the entire spiel about Harry’s grandmother’s protection, the accidental Horcrux that was Harry, their double connection, and everything that had made it possible for Harry not to die at the hands of Voldemort.

“You knew all that?” asked Harry.

“Uh-huh, you can say that. I researched the matter extensively, and my instincts always pointed to the fact that you’ll be alright,” Quinn looked him up and down. “Well, it turns out I was right. It feels good to be right.”

“What is this place?” asked Harry.

“This place. . . is the Limbo,” said Quinn. “It’s the place between life and death. You’re not dead, but the Killing curse is still a magic that causes the soul to be ejected from the body— your soul’s tie to your body has been loosened— bringing it here.”

“If this is the place between life and death, how are you here?”

At that moment, Quinn felt the Resurrection Stone materialize in his hand. He raised his hand and showed Harry the darkest black in the misty white place. “The Resurrection Stone, one of the great Deathly Hallows,” said Quinn. “It allowed my soul to come here,” he sighed.

“You mean the story about the three brothers and Death.”

“It’s a story based in reality. Your Cloak of Invisibility, Dumbledore’s Elder Wand, and my Resurrection Stone. All of them are masterfully crafted artifacts, second to none.” Quinn smiled, “Let’s go back home, Harry. Everyone must be sick waiting for you.”

And that’s when the problem arrived. Harry didn’t look excited at the prospect of returning. “What if. . . what if I didn’t want to return?” he said.

“Why would you want that?”

“Even if it’s gone from inside me, it won’t matter to Voldemort. He’s going to continue to come after me. I don’t want to live in fear of an unkillable monster coming for me. I don’t want to be scared of that every second of my life.”

“He’s not unkillable. You and I both know how he can be defeated. With the Horcrux in you gone, we are one step closer to killing him for good.”

“It doesn’t matter. Dumbledore says there are seven Horcruxes. We have destroyed the Diary and Ring— three if you include me. You have another one, but that still leaves three more that we don’t know anything about. I don’t think I’ll survive until then— so why delay the inevitable.” Harry looked at both sides of the tunnel. “I can feel that if I go out,” he pointed to the exit, I’ll return, but if I go back,” he pointed towards the dressing room, “all of this will be over for good.”

Quinn had feared that. He had sensed from how easily Harry had come with him that it might be a problem to bring him back from the Limbo, that Harry might not choose to return home. In the fight to defeat Voldemort, Harry’s return wasn’t essential— but for Quinn, Harry’s return meant everything; if he lost him, everything Quinn worked for would go to waste.

“And what about everyone who loves you, who cares about you. What about them?” asked Quinn. “You’re just going to abandon them? What about your parents and Ivy, who care for you? What about Hermione; If you thought you were never going to escape Voldemort, why did you continue going out with her— you should’ve broken up with her.” If Quinn could have forced him to be alive, he could’ve done it— he had been researching for it, but he hadn’t had enough time to figure it out. If he couldn’t force him, he was going to go the other way. “Like it or not, you’re the Boy-Who-Lived. If you die, Voldemort’s going to win at everything people all around the country are working hard to not let him.”

“So, I’m never going to be free? I will always be Boy-Who-Lived.”

“You’re going to be free when Voldemort’s dead. If there’s no Dark Lord, there will not be a Boy-Who-Lived.”

“We come full circle again. Voldemort won’t die, and I’ll always be trapped,” Harry sighed and began to walk backward towards the dressing room. “Say my goodbye to everyone. . . and I’m sorry for what this will do to you and Ivy. . . . Please take care of everyone.”

Quinn pursed his lips. He would lie if he understood where Harry was coming from. His situation was much too different from anything he had experienced. He didn’t know what was going on in Harry’s head— but it was clear that the boy had no hope.

So he was going to give him some.

“Voldemort can die today. I can kill him today.”

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Quinn West – MC – I can. . . it depends. Also, guess where I am now.

Harry Potter – Boy-Who-Lived – I’m really tired. . .

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