HP: A Magical Journey

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The sound of his labored breath was all he could hear.

Quinn watched as the bodies of the spikes with splotches and trails of blood retreated back into the floor, leaving behind the tips lodged in his body, stabbing his legs. A pained moan escaped him as the stone sliced around in his open wound. It was clear to him in his Occlumency-churning mind that he needed to do something about the lodged into his mind before he could do anything else.

'I have time,' he thought. His eyes went to the second floor tile a distance away from him. 'It shot two projectiles at me,' the finger-sized pencil projectiles that he still had in his pocket. And just like every other tile in the room, it was on a loop.

But that was it.

'It's on a loop that starts after both projectiles are replenished. It didn't work with only one. For the projectiles to be reshot, both projectiles needed to be sunk inside the floor.'

In his initial experiment, Quinn had dropped the projectiles into the floor one-by-one, and the fact that the tile didn't shoot after the first Quinn dropped drew his attention.

'All parts of the tile need to go back inside for it to loop,' he had observed, 'even if a single piece stays outside, the tile won't enter the next reiteration.'

Quinn stared at his shaking legs. There was more than a single piece outside the tile. And that's why he had time. As long as he didn't trigger another tile and kept the current tile from resetting, Quinn had all the time in the world.

'At least I hope so,' he thought, staring around the room. Remaining cautious in case there was a penalty for staying still for too long.

The next order of business, as Quinn stared at, it was regaining his mobility. 'Okay, okay, okay, let's go on about it one at a time.' Quinn waved his hand over a piece lodged in his thigh to shrink so that he could smoothly dislodge it, but nothing happened.

Quinn wet his lips and breathed out deeply. 'It's okay, don't get angry, just check it,' he thought to himself. He closed his eyes, and magic flowed into every stone lodged into his body.

'Achemically modified substance.' Quinn groaned. Like the second room, it seemed that this one was also constructed from stone altered to resist magical change. He couldn't shrink it.

His entire face scrunched up, even taking deep breathes wasn't working, and Quinn could feel acid bubble up inside him. Maybe because he had a face and name for the person behind all of this, Quinn felt his emotions spike more than any other vault. He hadn't felt like this since he had almost frozen to death in the Icy vault.

Quinn exhaled once and closed his eyes. His tensed-up face eased, and he got back to the task at hand. Fortunately, Quinn had slogged and slaved diligently in the second room and remembered coming across the same substance. So while he couldn't shrink it, he could transmute it into another shape.

The spike-edge stuck in the middle of his thigh began to wiggle from the center as if someone had melted a block of metal and turned it into liquid. That just without all the incinerating molten heat. Slowly, the stone turned into sludge and began oozing out of his wound, trailing down his leg, taking a route around the other injuries. After a few seconds, the stone had left, leaving an open wound, but that wasn't a problem for a pursuer of healing magic with deep knowledge of blood magic. A green glow covered the wound, and the blood stopped leaking out and instead was diverted into other intact capillaries.

After several minutes, green glows dotted Quinn's leg. His legs trembled, but with a little help of body magic, he remained standing. Quinn stared at a triangular cone covered with dried-up blood. He breathed on it for the red to evaporate in a hazy mist, after which he pocketed to not ever meet the spikes any time soon.

"Okay, that's that," he said as he stood straight, his face twitching in grimace as he did so. He pushed more juice into body magic, and his expression loosened.

Quinn stared at the room's entrance, and the roamed his gaze everywhere in between. He had no clue of what sort of traps waited for his path. Quinn glanced up and weighed his choices — the room was big enough that even if he mounted his hoverboard and made a run for it, he wouldn't reach in time — 'Twelve or thirteen seconds. . . . eight seconds was that. What would be two more levels be like?' he thought.

A cinder block of tungsten weighing the same weight as him suddenly dropped from the sky at a distance, sending booming shocks across the room. Quinn kept his eyes peeled on the cinder block but, no projectiles came shooting, no spikes pierced, or any other torturous carriers of death made any appearances.

"The sick bastard built it for living targets," Quinn spat when he saw that the floor beneath the heavy tungsten cinder block was as flat as they came. Quinn sighed. The option of using a decoy so he could make a run for it was out as a viable strategy.

"Alright," he said, taking out a shrunk-down hoverboard, "let's try out my chances." He dropped it on the ground, put one leg on the board, and the very next second used his other leg to push off forward while pumping magic to start the lift off the ground.

One.

Quinn stared at the ceiling as the board sped straight towards the hoverboard.

Two.

Here it comes, he thought. A ceiling tile depressed into the ceiling, but his body went stiff when it wasn't the same tile that had depressed the last time. Quinn jerked his head down as his eyes darted around frantically and what the room presented to him was a barrage of fist-sized cones. Dozens of cones covered Quinn's vision as they collided with his shield, sending ripples all across.

A bitter grin surfaced on his face. His assumption had been incorrect.

"Architect—"

The words never graced the world, but the sound of another tile depressing did. Instinctually Quinn looked down and saw the still hovering, and it was only a beat later he registered what had happened and immediately cut magic, thus landing on the ground.

The punishment for his error was a rotating disc coming for his legs. Fortunately for Quinn, all he needed to do was jump as it went below him, but he was again punished with the reminder that he wasn't in perfect health.

Quinn let out an agonizing yell as he landed on his feet.

But alas, he couldn't stop to rest or lament as even though he was discounted from eh ceiling trap, he was once again on the ground. His eyes once again got busy, looking for the next source of distress. However, it wasn't his eyes but his ears that alerted him of the danger this time.

He looked up, and there was the danger in the form of a square column of whose length he couldn't judge falling right over his head. Quinn raised both hands, and magic soared into the air, wrapping around the stone column. A tremendous weight settled on his magic, and in that moment, Quinn felt like the Greek Titan Atlas with the weight of the sky on his back in the eternal journey to keep it collapsing on the ground to prevent the union of Uranus and Gaia.

Quinn had lost the will to voice his thoughts. Today was supposed to be a good day for him, with him completing the second room and scouting the third room, which he did, but then everything went south.

He shook his head of the stray thoughts to get back on track. He stared at a step in front of him. There's no telling what it would trigger, and he didn't have the courage to try flyover once again today — that would be for another day for future-Quinn, who he hoped would return with a renewed vigor and motivation — right now, he just wanted to get home.

No use of contemplating this, he thought and took a swift first step to the next tile and moved ahead with minimal movement, leaving the overhead column fall. He would have loved to see the column disappear into the floor, but alas, he didn't have the time.

Thud!

Without skipping a beat, an object banged against his shield. Quinn furrowed his brow, switched off his shield, and reached out his hand, and grabbed the thing. Sat in his open palm was a small cube with razor-sharp edges. He felt underwhelmed. He thought it would be yet another pain-inducing ordeal, but it was a nugget. Quinn looked ahead at his path, and there was roughly ten more steps worth of distance left.

". . . Alright then, let's see if it works," he said and took a step forward while pocketing the cube. Once again, another object was shot at him, again he caught it, and once more, it was a cube. The only difference was that it was shot slightly slower; the force wasn't as great as before.

"A pattern?" he asked.

He pocketed another cube and took another step. This time the cube came from just a few feet away from the ground. It was yet again a level slower than before.

"A pattern," he concluded.

Another pocketing and step later, Quinn was holding three spheres, smaller than the cube. Another step got him two spheres. A third consecutive step got him a solitary sphere.

'I'm not in danger,' he thought, daring not to say it aloud, afraid of jinxing it. He didn't jinx it as after five more steps, Quinn stood with three pyramids and four cylinders atop his palm.

Quinn turned back and looked at the room, his gaze weightless. "I'm out," he said.

What felt like days for a weary traveler in a harsh desert were finally over.

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Eddie climbed the stairs, skipping steps along the way, and entered his dorm with a cloud in his step. He walked to his study desk, humming a peppy tune, and shrugged his shoulder to drop his book bag near the desk. He threw his outer robe onto his bed and was shuffling towards the bathroom when he stopped as he came across Quinn laying full starfish on his bed.

"When did you get here?" he asked.

There was a silence before a subdued voice said, "An hour."

"Tough day?"

Quinn grunted in affirmation and then asked, "You sound happy. What happened?"

"Hagrid got canned. The bitch did it in front of fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins."

"You happy about that?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, why I'd be happy with Umbitch getting her way. I'm happy because tomorrow Gryffindor and Hufflepuff play to see who's going to play us for the cup."

"Ah, that," his voice trailed.

Eddie walked to Quinn's bed and plopped himself on it. He heard Quinn groan and saw him turn over to face side down on the bed.

"I'm not going tomorrow. Ask Luna," said Quinn, his voice muffled against the bed.

"What's up with you?"

After another spell of silence, Quinn spoke again. "Curse for me, please."

"Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just spout some profanities. I'm too tired. Curse in my proxy."

"Why?" Eddie asked, and again there was no reply, so he shrugged and started to showcase his exceptional talent in the creative artistry of obscenities.

During what Quinn and Eddie felt was a beautiful string of words, Marcus entered the room and was stumbled mid-stride when the terror of words entered his ears. He watched with incredulous regard as one of his best friends spoke a number of vulgarities ridiculous even for him while he could also see his other best friend lying prone with his face smushed into the bed, raising a limp thumbs up.

"What in the name of everything good are you two doing?" he said.

Eddie stopped and waved his hand. "Did you hear? Hagrid got canned."

Marcus thought he heard a muffle that vaguely sounded like "Got canned" from Quinn.

'Yes, I heard that," Marcus said, walking towards them. "Umbridge dropped by the Muggle Studies classroom." And he had just come back from said class.

Quinn slowly turned his head sideways out of bed. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes half-closed.

Marcus sighed. "She gave Professor Potter an ultimatum. Umbridge said that if Professor Potter continued to teach outside of the formal Ministry-approved curriculum, then she'd be let go. To remain at Hogwarts, she'd have to teach the decades-old books that the Ministry deems as the latest Muggle culture." He could still picture the expressionless features of Lily's face as Umbridge 'sweetly' explained the rules and how that brave appearance had crumbled into a worrisome after.

"That's sad," said Quinn before closing his eyes.

"What's up with him?" Marcus asked Eddie.

Eddie shrugged. "I don't know. He's tired, I guess. I found him like this."

"I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible," said Marcus darkly.

"I wouldn't say that," said Eddie, draping a sheet over Quinn, "she's already plenty horrible. She banned Potter from Quidditch. I don't like the bloke, but I won't wish that for even my worst enemies if you know what I mean. However, the bitch got much more horrid bile in her body, so I won't let it past her to pull off something more repulsive."

"You mark my words; she will do something worse. She got her revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her," said Marcus. "Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze . . . she shot back by canning Hagrid and the thing with Professor Potter."

"Bah!" said Eddie. "As long as she leaves Quidditch alone. She can do no worse, and after what Quinn did at the start of the year, she won't be touching it."

"Is Quidditch the only thing in your head?"

"Of course not. I'm a Raven, my fat friend. I have multitudes of thoughts in my mind. Didn't you hear me back then spitting out those lines? That wasn't Quidditch."

Marcus sighed as he switched off the MLEs in the room on his way out of the dorm.

"I'm not fat."

Eddie wrapped his arm over Marcus' shoulders as they stepped down the stair. "You will make the best pillow." And then put his hand on Marcus' belly and made it jiggle repeatedly.

"Oh yeah, that's the good stuff. Let me do it more."

"Stop it!"

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- (Omake: Worries of collector) -

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Turning back the sands of time to the point in history when the First Educational Decree Wave descended onto the publics of Hogwarts.

Ivy Potter dragged her feet above the stairs to her dorm room after a long day of classes and assignments. She entered her room with the thoughts of skipping dinner and going directly to bed, but the drawer of those thoughts was shut closed when she saw Hermione pace up and down in the room.

"What happened?" she asked, dropping the book bag on her desk and lifting a ton of her shoulders. "Why are you pacing around like a trapped ostrich?"

"Did you see the notice board?" said Hermione, still trying to burn foot tracks on the rug.

"Everyone in school saw the notice board, Hermione."

"Educational Decree No. Forty."

"What about it?"

"It says that all items that are not of educational value are banned from Hogwarts!" Hermione said, panicked. "What should I do?!"

"Hermione. . . I don't think you have items that are not of educational value. You don't even own a Chocolate-Frog card."

"But I own this!"

Ivy looked at the thing Hemione slapped onto her hand. "This is an AID card. What about it?"

"AID cards aren't educational items. Knowing Umbridge, she'll definitely get rid of them," said Hermione, her hand on her forehead. "Turn the card around and read what it says."

Ivy turned the card, and to her surprise, a short prose sat on the back instead of a sign that showed if the office was open or close. "The recently passed Educational Decree No. Forty have banned non-educational items. AID cards fall under that category. To protect yourself from possible detentions, it's advised to hide or dispose of the AID cards on your person at your convenience and desire. AID Consultations will not be responsible for any possible harm that may come upon you because of the possession of our non-educational products. May you have a good day. . . so it says" Ivy looked up and shrugged. "It's pretty clear to me. Burn the cards and be done with it."

"No."

"Hermione, Umbridge will —"

"No!"

Ivy stared at her adamant friend, who had finally picked a stationary spot where she stood with her arms crossed.

"I can't let my precious collection turn into worthless dead ash pile. They're beautifully crafted works of magics that should be preserved, admired, and studied rather than burned!" Ivy stepped back at the cat's hissing shriek that Hermione's voice sounded like by the end.

"Th. . .Then what do you want to do?"

"We have to get the collection to safety." Hermione's eyes turned fiery as she declared, "Hogwarts is no longer safe." Immediately after, she headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To secure the safety of my collection."

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- (Scene Break) -

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"Hermione and Ivy— " "—What can we do for you two today?"

Ivy glanced between the Weasley twins and Hermione, trying to figure why Hermione had come to the two people she usually would absolutely not go to for help.

"I need your help to smuggle something out of Hogwarts. Can you do it?"

The Weasley twins' brows disappeared into their hairlines. They turned to each other, and their faces made expressions as colors on a rainbow.

"Did I hear it correctly, brother mine?"

"I think you did, brother, or we might be dreaming."

Both brothers reached forward and pinched the other.

" "Ouch! It's not a dream!" "

They turned back to Hermione and shifted in their chairs to sit straighter.

"What do you want to be smuggled out?" asked Fred.

"An item of the great importance of me," said Hermione severely. "I'm willing to pay any price for its safe exit and transport to my home."

George leaned forward. "Any price, you say? Like what?"

"I'm willing to turn my eyes away from your activities for an entire month," said the strictest Prefect in Hogwarts.

" "Three months!" " It became clear to the twins that if Hermione Granger was willing to go such limits, then the item must really be of great importance. So they decided to milk it.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Two months," she said, raising two fingers.

" "Deal!" "

Ivy sighed. She couldn't see sense in whatever was going on here. But maybe it was because she was too tired, she thought.

The next day, two figures exited Hogwarts through uncharted routes and delivered three identical packages to a private owl mailing service. Later that day, three non-descript native brown barn owls took flight, with one of them going to Hampstead Garden Suburbs, northwest London.

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Quinn West - MC - Now in sleep mode to recuperate.

Eddie Carmichael - Master of finer arts - Spitting fire.

Marcus Belby - Has a gut - Worried for Professor Potter.

Hermione Granger - Collector - My precious!

Ivy Potter - Confused Friend - Tagging along an operation she doesn't understand.

Weasley Twins - Fred & George | Gred & Forge - Smuggles or goods.

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