HP: A Magical Journey

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"I would like to have my son released."

Quinn, with his eyes blown wide open, stared at the man; it was all he could do when his body was under the influence of binding magic, something that, no matter how much Quinn resisted with no amounts of magic or spells, didn't budge one bit.

The man looked to be in his late twenties, which in magical human lifespan meant the man was at least inching towards sixty. But that fact only lingered in the back of Quinn's chain of thoughts as his mind was dominated by the man's stone-grey eyes and jet black hair. He had only seen those features on three people — himself, George, and Lia.

"Are you Adam West?" Quinn asked. He had seen photographs of his later father, and he could definitely see similarities.

The man glanced at him before turning back to Damon. The ice that bound Damon poofed into a white mist that was blown away with a gust of wind, all under the command of the man with stone-grey eyes.

"D-Dad," said Damon with his head bowed, not daring to look at his father.

"Damon," said the man, "you are a massive imbecile."

Damon flinched at the choice of words, and his head lowered even further, his eyes not fixed on his feet.

"I won't usually say this to you, but when you ignore basic common sense and mess with something that you're not aware of or even remotely knowledgable about, I have no choice but to wonder if my image of you as a bright young man needs to be re-evaluated," said Damon's father. "I'm actively contemplating if I should punish you here and now, and the only reason I am of two minds about it is that this is not the time and place to do so . . . .

Damon cowered in the face of the cutting words from his father as the man spoke in a grave, no-nonsense tone without a speck of humor or light-heartedness in them. Damon could only imagine what expression was there on his father's face, only that it wasn't going to be the one he usually sported— and that frightened him enough to not look at him while he was talking.

". . . . So before we return home and we have a serious discussion about your actions today and the chain of dire consequences that it could've set forth— I suggest that you take the time and think long and hard about what you have done today because even if I was, hypothetically, not to reprimand you, which believe me I'm definitely going to do— your mother would have no such mercy."

Damon quivered as his father finished speaking and could no longer look more pitiful.

Damon's father's eyes went to his son's clenched hands. "Where are your rings, Damon?"

". . . He took them," said Damon in a feeble voice.

The man turned his eyes to Quinn, who felt his pockets open up, and soon two metallic rings flew out and into the man's hands. He raised one ring to his eye level and observed them before repeating the process with the other one.

After he was done, the father turned to his son and showed him the magical rings. "I'm keeping them with me until we return home, and I will let your mother decide when you'll get them back."

"You can't do that; that's not fair!"

"You're in no position to say or tell me what is fair and what is not."

His father's stern voice made Damon back down to only show his frustration through gritted teeth, blazing eyes, and clenched fists.

Quinn, who had been listening to the father and son conversation, finally took the chance to speak up when the conversation fell into a strained lull. "Hey, I'm not one to interfere in family time, but can you unbind me? It is getting uncomfortable here."

The man stared at Quinn for a while before he slightly bent his elbow up and flicked his wrist up.

"Woah!" Quinn exclaimed when his feet left the floor, and he was raised into the air, without even given a choice to awkwardly flail around with his body bound tight. "Hey, let me down! I can walk and am willing to cooperate."

The man ignored Quinn and glanced at Damon, "Follow me," before turning away to walk with Damon following on foot with Quinn gliding in the air.

Damon snickered as he walked past Quinn to just behind his father, making Quinn glare at him.

"Hey, hey, you're not allowed in there," said Quinn when he realized where the man was leading them.

The man once again ignored Quinn and opened the door of the AID office with a look, and walked inside. After taking a step in, the man stopped and looked around the office for a good while in silence— his eye moved from the office desk in the front to the glass wall on the side and moved over all the decor and knick-knacks that adorned the room.

"Damon, go and wait in the workshop while I clean this mess up," said the man and waved his hand for the workshop door's locking mechanism to click open.

Damon stared at his father and Quinn for a second before slipping into the workshop, leaving Quinn and his father alone.

The man snapped his finger, and Quinn dropped down on the floor with his bindings also coming off.

Quinn got control of himself just in time to remain standing, albeit with a slight stumble. If it was another situation, Quinn would've resorted to magic to fight or flight, but in the current situation, where the man had fully incapacitated him without breaking a sweat— the better strategy here was to see what the man wanted.

'He hasn't harmed me till now . . . .'

The man walked to the chair behind the office table. He stopped and stared at the comfy chair with cushions and actual back support that Astoria had brought in to replace Quinn's barebones barstool. As the man stared at the chair, it warped and creaked to turn into a barstool for the man to take a seat.

"Sit down," said the man, motioning with his hand for a customer chair to place it opposite to him.

Quinn sat down in the customer seat, something he felt a bit uncomfortable doing. In his tenure, he had been on the opposite side of the table where the unknown was sitting.

"Sorry for all this mess," said the man, "I didn't believe my son would make such a mess out of things."

Quinn observed the man for a moment. His tone seemed to be genuinely apologetic even though his facials weren't reflecting the said tone. He shrugged, "Other than breaking and entering, your son didn't do much damage, though, in these times, those petty crimes can be serious, especially in Hogwarts."

"Ah yes, breaking into Hogwarts is supposedly a big deal."

"Yes, that is what everyone says," Quinn chuckled, recalling the fact there had been notable break-ins into the castle.

"And to think Death Eaters would invade the castle soon," said the man.

"Yeah . . . . . . what?" Quinn's eyes got locked onto the man, who sat nonchalantly as if he hadn't said anything of importance. "What did you say?"

"Hmm? I said Death Eater in Hogwarts."

". . . How do you know that? Do you have an in with the Death Eater?" asked Quinn, emotion draining from his face. "Wait a minute, you still haven't told me who you are. Are you grandfather's illegitimate child or something?"

The man chuckled, "It's quite amusing to me that you can't recognize me. Sure it has been ages, but I don't think I have changed in looks that much."

Quinn frowned. He couldn't comprehend what the man was talking about. "What do you mean— . . . . ."

The realization was sudden, heavy, and cut through the confusion like a sharp blade.

Quinn leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a sombre voice, "Prove it."

"Proof, huh. Well, how about you let the voice in your head take over; I am interested in talking to that version."

"Don't even joke about it!" Quinn glared, his magic flaring as things rattled in the office. "And that's not enough proof— that secret is not strong enough," after all, the strongest secret was one where only a single person knew about it. "If you're who you say you're, then you know what qualifies as proof."

"Well, how about that fact that you moonlight as a brutal invisible vigilante."

"Don't skirt around it!"

"I don't like to bring that up. It's not part of my life anymore. Unlike you, I have moved on," the older man sighed and massaged his temple.

Quinn showed no reaction and kept his gaze trained on

"But if you do insist, then I shall bring it up once," said the man. He looked at Quinn and spoke softly, "This world is supposedly one from a piece of fiction, and you're an outsider. We overtook at age four, and well, I think that's enough.

Happy now?"

"Not one bit," said Quinn snapping back immediately. This time he was the one to rub his temple, but unlike his relaxed companion, he was feeling a headache coming up. "I can believe I would be meeting my older self. How am I supposed to react to this?"

"How about with a greeting," said future-Quinn with a relaxed grin. "Hello, Quinn. I am Quinn."

"You!" Quinn stared at the man incredulously. "How can you be so nonchalant about this?!"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, 'What do you mean?' You are NOT supposed to be here!!!"

"You don't think I know that," said future-Quinn. "Why do you think I'm here? To have a leisure trip? No. I'm here to clean the mess up."

"You speak like this is not your problem," scoffed Quinn. "You're the main reason behind this whole problem."

"Excuse me? I haven't done anything wrong here."

"Yeah, right," Quinn scoffed again. He pointed at the closed workshop door. "There's no way that guy capable of creating a device like time-turner that could allow the user to travel back decades— much less, cast temporal magic with similar effects."

"Hey. That's my son you're talking about," said future-Quinn. "My son is the most talented of his age. If I was to compare, Damon is on the same level as Dumbledore and Riddle when they were his age."

"Good for him. But that doesn't change the fact that when even I haven't made a fraction of progress, that would be required for this TYPE and LEVEL of time travel. If I can't do it, forget about Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, or even Grindelwald— and so I doubt Damon would be able to accomplish that.

And honestly, the only other way I see this is happening is that YOU were careless and YOU messed up, making this all YOUR fault."

"I don't like the tone you're taking, kid," said future-Quinn. "You might want to reign that in."

"I am just pointing fault where it lies, old man," said Quinn. "Has your skin thinned with old age? What a tragedy; I hope I don't turn up like you."

"Was I always this annoying?" said future-Quinn. "Nope, don't think so. You've got that annoying quality of being irritating."

The present and future (past and present) stared at each other with upturned noses, looking down on each other.

"Alright, enough of this," said Quinn, "I hope you have a way to fix this mess because both you and I know how things can turn out when temporal laws are messed with."

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Quinn West - MC(Present) - I hope I don't turn like him.

Quinn West - MC(Future) - Man, this kid sure is annoying.

Damon West - Future West - Has his ear on the wall, trying to listen.

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