Quinn flew in the late-evening winter sky with a bed of clouds listlessly floating above him.
He kept his eyes on the streets below, teeming with non-magicals, all oblivious of the fact that there was someone flying over their head.
He narrowed his eyes and suddenly took a nose-dive towards the ground. He was headed towards the large collection of lights he had seen in his aerial journey yet, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deep blacks. Lower and lower, he flew until Quinn could make out individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials.
A few seconds later, he had landed.
His feet touched down on the patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Looking around, he found the grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.
The place checked all the boxes for a locality to place a magical home without attracting too much attention.
Quinn looked around and spotted a sign with a range of house numbers with an arrow below them. He turned and walked towards where the arrow commanded him to go. A muffled pounding of a stereo came from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.
He stopped and looked at the houses again. He looked to the left and saw number eleven; he looked to the right and saw number thirteen; to his front was number twelve.
Quinn walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the door in front of him. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The door had no keyhole or letterbox. The bronze door knocker was in the form of a roaring lion. He raised his hand and knocked on the door using the knocker and felt a faint wave of magic behind the door.
Taking a step away from the door, Quinn placed his hands behind his back in wait. Moments later, he heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain.
The door swung open.
"? Who—"
Quinn faintly smiled at the man behind the door. He had shoulder-length, glossy black hair framing his aristocratic face and a pair of black eyes with a roguish charm.
"Good evening, Auror Black," said Quinn. "I hope I'm not late."
Sirius opened the door fully and revealed the brightly lit hallway with beautiful interiors, mirroring the owner's personality.
"Quinn! So you came from the Wests, excellent-excellent, we needed some youthful energy here with so many hags and old farts," Sirius laughed as he placed his hand on Quinn's shoulder and pulled him into the house. "Though I have to say I wasn't expecting anyone to come through the main door. . . I mean, I haven't used the door for so long I fear that I noticed some rust on the hinges. How did you come? Did you take a car or a carriage?"
Quinn removed his coat and followed the sign next to what looked like a door to a closet: Throw Your Coats Inside! He threw his coat in, and instead of falling on the floor, it flew into the room, disappearing in the racks of other coats, robes, and jackets.
"I flew," said Quinn in answer.
"Oh, a broom. Not my choice in this cold, but young'uns have a different vigor," Sirius led him inside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The house was filled with festive energy as Quinn could hear the voices and laughter of guests from further inside. The Ebony floor beneath was sturdy and luxurious, and the bright MLEs were casting their white glow with a tinge of yellow on the vibrant wallpapers and moving paintings of various scenic captures, all speaking a thousand words and then some with their magic.
The inside of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was wildly different from the outside. It was a narrow building from the outside, but inside, it was a wide and spacious place of the size of a large bungalow.
"Now that you're here, enjoy yourself, have fun, and hopefully, this will be an evening to remember," said Sirius as they reached the end of the hall. "Now, let's go in and get a drink in your hand."
They entered through the door and stepped into another much wider lounging hall with a thriving party of people sitting, standing, moving. There were trays with Hors-d'œuvres floating through the lounging hall, continuously feeding the people.
Sirius picked up a shot glass from a passing-by tray and handed it to Quinn, who shook his head. "I don't drink."
"What, really, come on, kid, you're off-age now. Indulge in some of the more fun aspects of life," Sirius down the glass of the blue liquid, and his hair rose with electric sparks. "Yeah, now that hits," he said and shook his head; the currents crackled for a few seconds before Sirius' hair were back on his shoulders, obeying the laws of gravity.
"There's an open bar straight and left," said Sirius, pointing. "You can get the drinks of your choice from there. For now, let's have you introduced to the party."
"That won't be necessary," said Quinn. He looked at Sirius, who was flashing a part surprised part confused expression. "I don't do parties, so it would be better for me to mingle around at my own pace.
I would prefer that."
If Sirius announced that Quinn was here, those who knew about the Wests would surround and hound him, and that would take up his entire evening, ruining the last day of the year.
"Well, if you prefer it like that," Sirius shrugged. "If you need something, come looking for me, and I will sort you out."
Quinn politely nodded and waited until Sirius walked away to put a shroud of magic on himself. It was subtle magic that would keep attention away from him— it wasn't as strong as to make him invisible from others' attention, but enough that if someone wasn't gazing their eyes around, they would glaze over Quinn as if he was part of the background. It was a must-have in Quinn's magical arsenal for gatherings and parties.
He walked around the hall, taking in the people present at the gathering. Quinn had to say his grandfather was right; the party was Light Faction fest. He could spot people from the higher end of the Faction like Sirius Black and his best mate James Potter to the middle-end like Arthur and Molly Weasley to the lower-end like Hestia Jones and Sturgis Podmore. Quinn took the opportunity to compile a list of people in the Light Faction, and thus a tentative list of people in Order of Pheonix— the members of the Dumbledore's Order, no matter what their standing in the Faction, held special standing as Order members.
His secondary motive for coming here was to complete George's task of seeing if there were faction-less people or from the Grey Faction (or a rare Dark Faction) who were invited to the party. And while Quinn held no interest in knowing those things, his grandfather could use that information. Those people were the variables that George wanted to know as their addition would strengthen the Light Faction's position.
"Quinn. . . I didn't know you were coming."
Quinn turned towards the voice and saw Remus Lupin, the Werewolf, standing with a beer glass in his hand. He looked comfortable in his skin and clothing, just like the last time he had seen him.
"Ah, Mr. Lupin, I was expecting to see you here today," he said. "It has been a while; how have you been doing for the past years? How has your health been?"
Remus smiled softly, "Fortunately, I have been healthy with only a single hiccup a month. The medicine has been a miracle for my life," he said, deliberately keeping the words out of his speech to not make his condition obvious.
"That's good," Quinn said. "Still working with wood?"
Remus nodded, "Work has been treating me well."
Quinn nodded. Remus' work needed to be good for him to cover Wolfbane's expenses. The revolutionary symptom reliever was an expensive potion and had to be taken in multiple times to work; the accumulated costs weren't something that an unemployed person with no source of income could sustain. Which was why, in the canon timelines, Remus has agreed to join the Hogwarts faculty because Dumbledore had promised him Wolfbane potion during his tenure. The poor Remus, who would suffer every month from the Lycanthropy, had jumped on the offer.
"You have been busy as well," said Remus. "Headboy, top of your class, and the last time I heard that AID of yours was still working.
Not to mention, you really did something incredible last year, that thing with Umbridge; Sirius couldn't stop talking about it for weeks."
Quinn chuckled; the last year had indeed been hectic. Remus didn't mention it, but he also had to teach dozens of students every week as part of DA.
"I have decided to take it easy this year," he said, chuckling. "I am not doing anything grand this year; moreover, I have retired from AID. . . right now, I just want to enjoy my last without any worry."
«Let's kick back, accept the curse, and relax~. I had so much fun when the curse was in full effect. Top of the world. Floating on the clouds. All-powerful. The best version of myself. . . . Ah, I want to feel that again~.»
Quinn chose to put on a relaxed smile.
"Don't say that to others at Hogwarts, okay? They throw their book at you," said Remus.
"Eh, why?" Quinn asked.
"If they heard that someone was planning to take it easy during their NEWT year, especially a Ravenclaw, they would throw their books at you in frustration," Remus laughed loudly.
"I. . . can see that," Quinn chuckled.
After talking to Remus for a while, they parted, and Quinn once again returned to his partial anonymity.
Quinn was looking at the people in the crowd, making notes, when he noticed something on the edge of the hall. His eyes widened for a split second before they went to normal. While keeping an eye on the crowd, he slowly inched towards the tiny shadow in the corner and followed after it through a hall's exit.
When he stepped into the hallway, he was greeted by tennis-ball-sized eyes.
"Why you stare at me?" said the 'creature' in his squeaky, hostile, and slight crazed voice.
It was completely naked except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle. It looked ancient. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it, and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.
The elf stared at Quinn, slowly shuffling on his feet with his hand hanging limply, hunchbacked, muttering under its breath, all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's,
". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do . . ."
"Are you Kreacher?" Quinn asked.
The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then again stared at Quinn intently.
"Who is asking?" said the house-elf.
Quinn elegantly placed on his chest and introduced himself, "I am Quinn from the House of West, the son of Adam West, and grandson of George West."
Kreacher's big eyes narrowed, and the house-elf looked like it was concentrating. "West. . . . Wests are pure of blood. You. . . are you pure of blood?"
"I am. I, my parents, their parents, all of them are purest of blood," said Quinn.
The house-elf studied Quinn with a good hard eye. He then bowed, his long floppy nose touching the floor. "Kreacher did not recognize the esteemed Young Master West. Kreacher punishes himself for his mistake."
"It's okay, house-elf," Quinn said, pulling his best Malfoy. "Now that you have identified my blood, I ask for your help."
"Kreacher's Mistress has taught Kreacher to serve the pure wizards. Kreacher shall serve Young Master West," said the Black house-elf.
Quinn smiled regally.
It was time to take care of the primary objective of his visit to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
.
-*-*-*-*-*-
.
Quinn West - MC - I who despise parties shall persevere.
Sirius Black - Host - Having fun is paramount! Drink!
Remus Lupin - Werewolf - Financially stable and intelligent.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - *Wink* *Wink* Cliff's winking at you.
Quinn flew in the late-evening winter sky with a bed of clouds listlessly floating above him.
He kept his eyes on the streets below, teeming with non-magicals, all oblivious of the fact that there was someone flying over their head.
He narrowed his eyes and suddenly took a nose-dive towards the ground. He was headed towards the large collection of lights he had seen in his aerial journey yet, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deep blacks. Lower and lower, he flew until Quinn could make out individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials.
A few seconds later, he had landed.
His feet touched down on the patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Looking around, he found the grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.
The place checked all the boxes for a locality to place a magical home without attracting too much attention.
Quinn looked around and spotted a sign with a range of house numbers with an arrow below them. He turned and walked towards where the arrow commanded him to go. A muffled pounding of a stereo came from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.
He stopped and looked at the houses again. He looked to the left and saw number eleven; he looked to the right and saw number thirteen; to his front was number twelve.
Quinn walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the door in front of him. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The door had no keyhole or letterbox. The bronze door knocker was in the form of a roaring lion. He raised his hand and knocked on the door using the knocker and felt a faint wave of magic behind the door.
Taking a step away from the door, Quinn placed his hands behind his back in wait. Moments later, he heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain.
The door swung open.
"? Who—"
Quinn faintly smiled at the man behind the door. He had shoulder-length, glossy black hair framing his aristocratic face and a pair of black eyes with a roguish charm.
"Good evening, Auror Black," said Quinn. "I hope I'm not late."
Sirius opened the door fully and revealed the brightly lit hallway with beautiful interiors, mirroring the owner's personality.
"Quinn! So you came from the Wests, excellent-excellent, we needed some youthful energy here with so many hags and old farts," Sirius laughed as he placed his hand on Quinn's shoulder and pulled him into the house. "Though I have to say I wasn't expecting anyone to come through the main door. . . I mean, I haven't used the door for so long I fear that I noticed some rust on the hinges. How did you come? Did you take a car or a carriage?"
Quinn removed his coat and followed the sign next to what looked like a door to a closet: Throw Your Coats Inside! He threw his coat in, and instead of falling on the floor, it flew into the room, disappearing in the racks of other coats, robes, and jackets.
"I flew," said Quinn in answer.
"Oh, a broom. Not my choice in this cold, but young'uns have a different vigor," Sirius led him inside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The house was filled with festive energy as Quinn could hear the voices and laughter of guests from further inside. The Ebony floor beneath was sturdy and luxurious, and the bright MLEs were casting their white glow with a tinge of yellow on the vibrant wallpapers and moving paintings of various scenic captures, all speaking a thousand words and then some with their magic.
The inside of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was wildly different from the outside. It was a narrow building from the outside, but inside, it was a wide and spacious place of the size of a large bungalow.
"Now that you're here, enjoy yourself, have fun, and hopefully, this will be an evening to remember," said Sirius as they reached the end of the hall. "Now, let's go in and get a drink in your hand."
They entered through the door and stepped into another much wider lounging hall with a thriving party of people sitting, standing, moving. There were trays with Hors-d'œuvres floating through the lounging hall, continuously feeding the people.
Sirius picked up a shot glass from a passing-by tray and handed it to Quinn, who shook his head. "I don't drink."
"What, really, come on, kid, you're off-age now. Indulge in some of the more fun aspects of life," Sirius down the glass of the blue liquid, and his hair rose with electric sparks. "Yeah, now that hits," he said and shook his head; the currents crackled for a few seconds before Sirius' hair were back on his shoulders, obeying the laws of gravity.
"There's an open bar straight and left," said Sirius, pointing. "You can get the drinks of your choice from there. For now, let's have you introduced to the party."
"That won't be necessary," said Quinn. He looked at Sirius, who was flashing a part surprised part confused expression. "I don't do parties, so it would be better for me to mingle around at my own pace.
I would prefer that."
If Sirius announced that Quinn was here, those who knew about the Wests would surround and hound him, and that would take up his entire evening, ruining the last day of the year.
"Well, if you prefer it like that," Sirius shrugged. "If you need something, come looking for me, and I will sort you out."
Quinn politely nodded and waited until Sirius walked away to put a shroud of magic on himself. It was subtle magic that would keep attention away from him— it wasn't as strong as to make him invisible from others' attention, but enough that if someone wasn't gazing their eyes around, they would glaze over Quinn as if he was part of the background. It was a must-have in Quinn's magical arsenal for gatherings and parties.
He walked around the hall, taking in the people present at the gathering. Quinn had to say his grandfather was right; the party was Light Faction fest. He could spot people from the higher end of the Faction like Sirius Black and his best mate James Potter to the middle-end like Arthur and Molly Weasley to the lower-end like Hestia Jones and Sturgis Podmore. Quinn took the opportunity to compile a list of people in the Light Faction, and thus a tentative list of people in Order of Pheonix— the members of the Dumbledore's Order, no matter what their standing in the Faction, held special standing as Order members.
His secondary motive for coming here was to complete George's task of seeing if there were faction-less people or from the Grey Faction (or a rare Dark Faction) who were invited to the party. And while Quinn held no interest in knowing those things, his grandfather could use that information. Those people were the variables that George wanted to know as their addition would strengthen the Light Faction's position.
"Quinn. . . I didn't know you were coming."
Quinn turned towards the voice and saw Remus Lupin, the Werewolf, standing with a beer glass in his hand. He looked comfortable in his skin and clothing, just like the last time he had seen him.
"Ah, Mr. Lupin, I was expecting to see you here today," he said. "It has been a while; how have you been doing for the past years? How has your health been?"
Remus smiled softly, "Fortunately, I have been healthy with only a single hiccup a month. The medicine has been a miracle for my life," he said, deliberately keeping the words out of his speech to not make his condition obvious.
"That's good," Quinn said. "Still working with wood?"
Remus nodded, "Work has been treating me well."
Quinn nodded. Remus' work needed to be good for him to cover Wolfbane's expenses. The revolutionary symptom reliever was an expensive potion and had to be taken in multiple times to work; the accumulated costs weren't something that an unemployed person with no source of income could sustain. Which was why, in the canon timelines, Remus has agreed to join the Hogwarts faculty because Dumbledore had promised him Wolfbane potion during his tenure. The poor Remus, who would suffer every month from the Lycanthropy, had jumped on the offer.
"You have been busy as well," said Remus. "Headboy, top of your class, and the last time I heard that AID of yours was still working.
Not to mention, you really did something incredible last year, that thing with Umbridge; Sirius couldn't stop talking about it for weeks."
Quinn chuckled; the last year had indeed been hectic. Remus didn't mention it, but he also had to teach dozens of students every week as part of DA.
"I have decided to take it easy this year," he said, chuckling. "I am not doing anything grand this year; moreover, I have retired from AID. . . right now, I just want to enjoy my last without any worry."
«Let's kick back, accept the curse, and relax~. I had so much fun when the curse was in full effect. Top of the world. Floating on the clouds. All-powerful. The best version of myself. . . . Ah, I want to feel that again~.»
Quinn chose to put on a relaxed smile.
"Don't say that to others at Hogwarts, okay? They throw their book at you," said Remus.
"Eh, why?" Quinn asked.
"If they heard that someone was planning to take it easy during their NEWT year, especially a Ravenclaw, they would throw their books at you in frustration," Remus laughed loudly.
"I. . . can see that," Quinn chuckled.
After talking to Remus for a while, they parted, and Quinn once again returned to his partial anonymity.
Quinn was looking at the people in the crowd, making notes, when he noticed something on the edge of the hall. His eyes widened for a split second before they went to normal. While keeping an eye on the crowd, he slowly inched towards the tiny shadow in the corner and followed after it through a hall's exit.
When he stepped into the hallway, he was greeted by tennis-ball-sized eyes.
"Why you stare at me?" said the 'creature' in his squeaky, hostile, and slight crazed voice.
It was completely naked except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle. It looked ancient. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it, and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.
The elf stared at Quinn, slowly shuffling on his feet with his hand hanging limply, hunchbacked, muttering under its breath, all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's,
". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do . . ."
"Are you Kreacher?" Quinn asked.
The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then again stared at Quinn intently.
"Who is asking?" said the house-elf.
Quinn elegantly placed on his chest and introduced himself, "I am Quinn from the House of West, the son of Adam West, and grandson of George West."
Kreacher's big eyes narrowed, and the house-elf looked like it was concentrating. "West. . . . Wests are pure of blood. You. . . are you pure of blood?"
"I am. I, my parents, their parents, all of them are purest of blood," said Quinn.
The house-elf studied Quinn with a good hard eye. He then bowed, his long floppy nose touching the floor. "Kreacher did not recognize the esteemed Young Master West. Kreacher punishes himself for his mistake."
"It's okay, house-elf," Quinn said, pulling his best Malfoy. "Now that you have identified my blood, I ask for your help."
"Kreacher's Mistress has taught Kreacher to serve the pure wizards. Kreacher shall serve Young Master West," said the Black house-elf.
Quinn smiled regally.
It was time to take care of the primary objective of his visit to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
.
-*-*-*-*-*-
.
Quinn West - MC - I who despise parties shall persevere.
Sirius Black - Host - Having fun is paramount! Drink!
Remus Lupin - Werewolf - Financially stable and intelligent.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - *Wink* *Wink* Cliff's winking at you.
