HP: A Magical Journey

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“. . . May I ask why I have the pleasure of your visit?”

Quinn stared at Gellert Grindelwald. He was different from what Quinn had imagined what a former Dark Lord would be like.

Grindelwald seemed almost desperate, but at the same time, Quinn believed he understood where that desperation came from— human was a social being and needed some amount of human interaction— Grindelwald, from what Quinn could glean, had been deprived of that human connection for decades.

‘It is surprising that he has even retained his sanity. . . some of his sanity,’ thought Quinn. He found himself staring into Grindelwald’s eyes— those bright blue eyes— they were a clear tell-tale sign of the terrifying Occlumency that had kept Grindelwald from descending into complete madness.

“Well?”

“. . . I would like to know about the flux period. . . specifically about how to increase magic after it ends.”

Grindelwald leaned away from the bars and hummed as a pensive expression appeared on his face.

Quinn’s eyes shined. Maybe Grindelwald knew something— the Dark Lord had performed feats of magic that required a respectable reserve of magic.

“Flux period. . . there are multitudes of ways to boost magic after the sweet period parts. Would you like to know?”

Quinn nodded.

Grindelwald smiled, but when he spoke, the words that came out weren’t that Quinn was expecting, “I will require something in return,” a clever smile appeared in Grindelwald’s eyes.

Quinn froze up for a second.

His eyes became cautious. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Show me your face.”

“I refuse.”

“Then we don’t have an agreement, Mr. Noir.”

“You’re trapped in here, without any means to escape— what value does knowing my face bring to you?”

“You’re my sole visitor in decades, Mr. Noir. As you said, I have no means to escape here and don’t know when the next visitor will come, if they ever will. So, if I’m going to help you, I demand that I know the face of someone who might as very well be the last person I ever see.”

“. . . You’re so desperate.”

“Be that as may, you have my offer. Accept it, and I’ll share my knowledge, refuse it, and we may have a lovely chat where I’ll withhold the information you may or may not need.”

Quinn pursed his lips. He should’ve known that getting information out of Grindelwald wasn’t going to be so straightforward. As much as Quinn knew, if Voldemort reveled in violence, Grindelwald thrived with information. Various streams of thoughts passed through his mind until he decided that it was ‘safe’ to show Grindelwald his face.

‘He hasn’t met anyone for years and isn’t going anywhere,’ he thought.

“I’ll comply,” said Quinn, “I’ll show you my face.”

Grindelwald’s face once again came close to the bars, just a finger’s breadth away.

Quinn raised his gloved hand to his mask, and with a click, the mask came off. He lowered his hand and showed his face to Grindelwald.

“Now remove the magic over your face. . . I have to say, you must be really confident in your magic to try that for a second time,”

Quinn held back a groan. He was confident in his magic and thought that he’d be able to get past the somewhat magically-talented frail old man if he made some adjustments. He sighed and pulled down the illusion over his face.

“I knew it!” Grindelwald clapped happily.

“. . . What?”

“I knew you were young,” said Grindelwald, his eyes shining as bright as stars, and the old man’s entire being looked younger, more energized. “The question about flux age was clearly indicative of your age, especially when you came to Numengard with such a question.”

Quinn’s heart chilled. In his curiosity(and greed), all other thoughts, even ones about his privacy, hadn’t even come up. It was okay now that Grindelwald knew of his face, but that didn’t change the thought of a ‘what-if’ plaguing his mind?

“But I couldn’t have guessed that you were so young. I had thought you of being 20 years ago. . . or older. It is fascinating that somehow you were able to able to break into Numengauard. . . you must be amazing at magic.”

“Tell me how to continue the growth of magic after the flux period,” said Quinn, cutting the chatter.

“Oh my, look at you— so much hurry,” chuckled Grindelwald. “Well, to answer your question. . . there’s no organic method to keep up that level of growth”— Quinn’s pupils shrunk— “but what you can do is perform some rituals that’ll be able to stimulate your already matured core— and make it balloon up in size. . .”

Grindelwald went on to explain in great detail the use of rituals and magical modifications to increase the size of the magic core, and with each other method, Quinn’s eyes darkened. Every method was viler than before, and while they seemed legit answers to Quinn’s question, most of them sounded like something that someone like Voldemort would use— or maybe had already used. He didn’t utter a single syllable until Grindelwald was done speaking, and even after that, he kept quiet.

He had revealed his secret identity to a manipulative Dark Lord in vain.

“. . . and that’s about what I know,” said Grindelwald. “Would you like to know something else? In return, I’d like to know your name.”

“No, thank you,” said Quinn and put his mask back on. He wasn’t going to give any information more of his personal information to the man.

Grindelwald’s smile remained the same, “Then how about we chat. That wouldn’t cost you much.”

“No, thank you,” said Quinn promptly.

Grindelwald’s smile dimmed. He sighed and straightened his back as much as he could. “I expected more from when someone could come to meet me, but I suppose not all can go as per expectation. . . but how about you stay here for a little while. . .”

Quinn had turned away when his pupil’s shrunk. He felt as if chains had slithered over his body, individual links clenching over his body as if trying to suffocate him. Quinn couldn’t even move away from his spot. He cranked his neck back and glared at Grindelwald.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Let. Me. Go. Grindelwald.”

“You should stay here, and we can have a civil conversation.”

Quinn gritted his teeth, burst his magic out, and felt the chain loosen, but the chains immediately snatched back onto his body, clenching again. He tried again. Once again, Quinn felt the magic wash over him, and yet again, his magic failed to break the spell around him.

“What are you doing, old man?” Quinn demanded, his magic lashing out. “I’m warning you, let me go, or don’t blame me for a backlash!”

“Are you quite done?” Grindelwald asked. “My desire to keep you here far surpasses your desire to take it. Therefore, you’re extremely unlikely to be able to overpower me for it.” Grindelwald laughed for the first time in years. “Regardless of my body’s appearance, my magic remains quite strong. You’re deluded if you think you can overpower me with such brute force magic.”

Grindelwald raised his hand, and Quinn was pulled near the cell, inches away from the bars. For the first time since coming here, Quinn had the sudden awareness of just who this prisoner used to be— and still was— it hit him faster than the old dark lord’s hideous breath. “Don’t be like this, Noir. Am I asking something outrageous? All I want to have is a talk.”

“But I don’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I always have a choice!”

Quinn’s magic flared again, and his eyes turned purple, making Grindelwald jerk back. Quinn’s magic started to balloon outwards, making Grindelwald’s binding push outwards.

“I can’t overpower you with brute magic? Your magic is the same? I am delusional?” Quinn scoffed with a grunt. “You’re the one who’s delusional to think that your magic is the same. Magic is mind, body, and soul— your mind has cracked, your body has deteriorated to this patheticness” — Quinn’s eyes switched to golden for a split second, and this time Grindelwald’s eyes were blown wide— “your soul, while still intact, is already withered.

You are already a thing of the past, you skeleton. Don’t push it.”

Quinn’s magic screamed and bit back. With all his strength, Quinn pushed Grindelwald away, sending the old man tumbling backward and falling into the stone floor.

Ignoring the pain in his back from the fall, Grindelwald pushed himself as far back into the cell as he could.

“Don’t try to hide that smile of yours. I’m not going to attack the cell— I expect it to behead me or some other gorey thing.”

Grindelwald cackled, “Oh well, it was a try—” Grindelwald’s pupils dilated as he turned towards the small barred window in his cell, and all of a sudden, the old man had gone eerily silent.

“. . . The snake’s coming.”

“What?”

Grindelwald turned to Quinn, “The snake’s coming here, Quinn.”

“How did you?!”

“It doesn’t matter. . . while our talk has not ended well, I still appreciate the small conversation we did have. If you leave here now, you’ll escape his presence.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Dark Lord, the latest one.”

Quinn’s brows went above. Voldemort was coming here? Right now?!

“I’m leaving,” said Quinn immediately. He turned to walk away. He had heard about Grindelwald having seer blood inside him.

“. . . Thank you for the talk, Quinn. I’m glad that you were the last one.”

Quinn paused his step. Had Grindelwald foreseen his death? He turned to face Grindelwald and seeing that the old Dark Lord spoke once again.

“If you could. . . tell Albus— I’m sorry for Ariana.”

“. . . Did you really?”

“So you know that. I don’t know if I killed Ariana. I don’t care who killed the girl. If it helps, I don’t mind bearing another death. It doesn’t change much for me. I guess I owe Albus that much.”

Quinn didn’t give any affirmation as he turned away from Grindelwald with the rotten tooth smile the last image he had. Quinn had no sympathy for Grindelwald— he was still a Dark Lord responsible for countless lives lost— and as far as Quinn was concerned, the request was just a ploy for sympathy to move Quinn enough that he would get Grindelwald out of the prisoner cage to escape death.

He walked down the stairs and sprinted through the ground floor— he needed to exit the prison grounds to apparate away from him. But as he reached the main gate, Quinn came to a skidding stop. There was a slight tremor coursing through the castle. It seemed Voldemort had arrived. It seems ICW had done enough corruption to Grindelwald’s spellcraft to allow Voldemort to exploit a weakness in the plan.

Then he recalled Grindelwald telling him about Dumbledore casting spells on Grindelwald’s prison cage. And just when that line of thought ended, the entirety of Numengard shook as if it was breaking down.

“Did he trap him inside?” thought Quinn. He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter—”

“NOOOOO!!!!”

Quinn’s soul shivered when he heard a baleful scream.

“That was Voldemort. . . . Grindelwald did do something.”

The prison castle began shaking, and cracks appeared in the walls. Quinn took that as a signal to leave and bolted out of the building and flew outside the prison grounds just as the castle’s top blew up. Quinn kept an eye on the building from afar. A few seconds passed in silence until there was an explosion, and the faraway figure of Voldemort came flying out at a turtle’s pace before apparating away.

“He’s injured,” Quinn muttered. “The old man must’ve used his magic to escape and set up a trap for Voldemort.”

Quinn glanced at the prison. There were guards inside that he had knocked out. He sighed and headed inside to bring them to safety and dig a Dark Lord’s grave.

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Quinn West – MC – Met one Dark Lord, missed another one.

Gellert Grindelwald – Dark Lord – Ploy or apologetic?

FictionOnlyReader – Author – Wrote a chapter between Voldemort and Grindelwald.

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