HP: A Magical Journey
chapter-314

At the tail end of June, a rare cool afternoon greeted the highlands of Scotland, with Hogwarts welcoming a softer sun and gentle breeze to its grounds and hallways, and enjoying that pleasant weather was Quinn, laying on the grass outside the castle, looking up at the floating clouds, thinking how appealing the fluffy white listlessness was looking to him.

He sighed in contentment. Ever since he had let the curse in, he felt that he had attained the listlessness of the clouds. All the stress had vanished, his body felt light, his magic springy, and even the short nap he had just woken up from was heavenly enough that he wanted to return to sleep and not wake up until it was strictly necessary.

"Don't worry, don't hurry," he muttered and closed his eyes to get back to his nap.

?You should be worried and most definitely have a sense of hurry.?

Quinn frowned at the voice in his head. He opened his eyes, and instead of the blue dotted sky, he found himself staring at a wall of black murkiness with hints of multi-colored tints. He raised his hand, and his brows slanted at the blue hue that was spreading out from his body. He grunted as he lifted himself up from the cold ground to sit down, his back slumped.

"There's a lot on the line, and sitting there doing nothing is just not the correct thing to do, no matter how I look at it," a voice sounded out.

Blue-Quinn looked to the side and saw a figure identical to him without the blue glow sitting beside a floating mass of black that gave out a hollow light. He stared at his 'parent' and said, "Even if I don't do anything, it's not like it's going to affect me negatively."

"Come on now, we both know that's not true," said Quinn. He had his fingers intertwined and was tapping his thumbs against each other, and in the room, the dull taps sounded like clicks of a clock. "I have been preparing for this for a year. . . not that was when things were pushed into an active gear— I have been preparing for this for several years. We can't have that all to waste, now can we."

Blue-Quinn stared at Quinn for a moment before his head slumped down along with his shoulders before he laid back down and rolled over to his side, and propped his head on the palm of his folded arm. His half-lidded eyes gazed at Quinn, who was looking back at him.

"All that work you did was unnecessary—"

"I won't say that."

Blue-Quinn sighed, "Don't interrupt, please. It breaks the flow, and that's annoying and troublesome to start again. Just let me finish speaking; I don't speak much anyway."

"Sorry about that, go ahead, please. I shall listen with patience."

"Thank you," said Blue-Quinn. "Now, I agree taking care of Horcruxes does help, even though it was so much work. . . so much work," he trailed, "but your plans for the coming break-in just sounds unnecessary and you could. . . I could do without it, yeah, not going to do that," he finished with a lazy smile.

"You really are slothful; even with the amplification, I never thought my sloth would reach this level," commented Quinn, his thumbs still tapping against each other. "Do you know, when I was researching the sins, I didn't do much on sloth. In fact, sloth might be something I never even considered a serious sin, even though it was potentially the reason I never went into the vault a second time during the first tenure of the curse. But it did make me ask the question, 'What does it mean to commit the sin of sloth?'

First, I thought it was physical laziness. While laziness is undoubtedly an element of sloth, there's more to this sin than just laziness. After some thinking, I narrowed it down to four factors— carelessness, unwillingness to act, half-hearted effort, and becoming easily discouraged by any possible difficulty. So let's ask some questions," said Quinn.

"Am I careless? All of us need rest, but has my rest turned into negligence? Have I begun to not care and not give my best effort in whatever life circumstance comes my way? Not really; I haven't been careless, at least, not because of sloth.

Am I unwilling to act? Ha! Have I begun to procrastinate? Ha! I'm not the grasshopper who doesn't prepare for winters; I'm the might ant. If I was unwilling to act, Amelia Bones would've been buried in her family cemetery and the Ministry on its way into the Dark Lord's hands. While I think things thoroughly, I never procrastinate. As I have done nothing of those, I have yet to commit that sin.

Do I do everything with a half-hearted effort? Ever since I have come to this world, I have made sure to make the most out of it, and doing things half-heartedly is wasting time and against my priorities. I do too many things simultaneously, and doing those half-heartedly would end up in failure across all boards, and I just can't allow that.

Am I discouraged in the face of every difficulty? I have risked my life in five different Cursed Vaults; they have been difficult, time-consuming, dominated my life more than I like to admit— I could've been doing much safer things all that time, but I went ahead with the Curse Vaults because of the perceived potential, difficulties can go drown itself."

Quinn got onto his feet and skipped to Blue-Quinn, and squatted down to bring his face close to Blue-Quinn's. "And you know all about it, don't you."

". . . What?"

"You know, I wasn't sure how to approach you at the start, but then you talked about my plans, which was what I would've expected. . . but then you made a mistake— you only talked about it," said Quinn, in an aggressive whisper. "Sloth doesn't have the strongest hold on me, I know it, you know it, and you just should it by not even once mentioning magic. . ."

Blue-Quinn stayed silent. However, the bored and lazed look was nowhere to be seen.

". . . If you were truly a sloth with concrete control, then you'd mentioned my magic. How that I have grown beyond my age and how it would be fine if I take a rest, probably for a decade or two and nothing would change— but you didn't, and that made me realize," a savage grin split his face, "you represent sloth, but you're still an amplified personification of MY sloth. . . and if there isn't much to begin with even with amplification, it won't rise to an assertive level. You can feel also feel it, too, don't you? You don't mind the physical laziness, but I'm sure you're doing the usual thing— even though I can't feel the magic in my body, I bet you have been spending it like usual. Come on, tell me I'm wrong."

". . . Tch," Blue-Quinn clicked his tongue. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I did what I was asked. . . ."

Quinn stood up with a smug smirk before his eyes turned grave. "I accepted pride because I was guilty of committing the sin. But I won't accept a sin that I haven't committed— SO," he cocked his foot back and let it rip forward, driving a kick straight into Blue-Quinn's stomach, "GET OUT OF MY SOULSCAPE!"

Blue-Quinn couldn't get in a word(not like he looked like he wanted to say anything) as his body turned into luminescent blue solid, dispersed into pieces on the kick's impact just like the personification of pride had done before.

"Alright, that's two," Quinn muttered, turning his eye to his soul. The soul which had been the darkest shade of black had now lightened. "Good, it's working— I just need to keep this going."

From the two sins, he could tell that this time around, a single sin would be in charge, dominating the 'created' personality while the other sins would hang out in the minority. Pride had taken the driver seat first, with the Sloth going second(which he did think was strange— he would've expected Sloth to go last).

"I wonder what's going to be the next."

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- (Scene Break) -

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Night descended upon Hogwarts, the dinner feast was done, and the day had entered into the curfew period with students in their dorms. Dark clouds hovered over Hogwarts with streaks of lights flashing in the darkness, announcing the possibility of a downpour.

However, not all students were in their rooms; one Draco Malfoy was out of the dungeons, far away on the top, the seventh floor. He sat on a chair inside the Room of Requirements that he had fixed from its broken state. He had skipped the dinner feast and had been in the Room of Lost Things for a couple hours, jittery with worries, roaming back and forth in front of the repaired Vanishing Cabinet until his legs demanded rest, making him sit, and since then, he had been staring at the Vanishing Cabinet.

Even though his prancing had been quelled, his worries still bubbled in his gut, threatening to come pouring out, only being held back by his foot tapping on the floor.

'A-Are they not coming?' Draco thought, leaning away from the backrest. 'Should I go to the other side to see what the delay is? Or is the mission canceled?' his thoughts filled with hope.

Draco decided against leaving Hogwarts and leaned back into his chair again. However, now his agitation had been ignited, and he needed an outlet. He looked around, and he was covered with junk of all sorts. But then he felt something on his side, and his hand went into his robes to take out his wand.

He stared at his wand. Today. . . he would have to use it against something he had no idea how to even approach, much less defeat. How was he supposed to raise his wand against the great Albus Dumbledore, the defeater of the Dark Lord of a previous era?

How was he supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore?

'You have to do it, or else he will kill everyone,' a voice spoke in his mind. 'He won't spare your father nor your mother,' the image of the snake-like man made Draco shiver. 'If you fail, everything's over.'

Suddenly, Draco's breathing became short, and he found himself short of breath. He grabbed his chest as his lungs heaved, and the world was turning for Draco— he couldn't do anything but try to get air into his lungs and watch as his mind started to shake and shiver. When everything came to a lul, his ears were ringing, and his inner clothes were drenched in sweat.

Draco felt like bursting into tears.

He didn't want to do this.

He couldn't do this.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard creaking of wood and immediately sat straight, looking at the Vanishing Cabinet with wide eyes. He stood up when he saw the door swing open, and there stood a man inside.

"Ah, dear Draco, you look ready," said the man dressed in Death Eater garb. "It's good that you're ready— you have a lot to accomplish today; you're going to be the star of this spectacular night."

Corban Yaxley smiled as he greeted the young Malfoy. He stepped out of the cabinet and closed it behind him before stepping aside.

The cabinet vibrated, and once again, the door opened for another man to step out. "That didn't feel like much," said Amycus Carrow, he too, dressed in Death Eater robes.

Then came Alecto Carrow, Thorfinn Rowle, along with Gellert Gibbon. All three inner circle Death Eater.

The Vanishing Cabinet shivered one final time, and the door opened again, but this time, the man that stepped seemed to look like he was crouching inside the cabinet and had to duck to not bang his head.

"Whoever made this should be gutted," said the large, vicious-looking man with matted grey hair and whiskers. He had pointed teeth and long yellowish nails, adding to his bestial appearance. He wore Death Eater robes that looked like they were uncomfortably tight. His hairy arms were exposed, and they weren't branded by the Death Mark.

The man was the most violent werewolf in the country.

Fenrir Greyback.

The infiltration squad was ready, and it was time to bring Hogwarts to its knees and announce the return of the Dark Lord to the world.

Draco Malfoy looked at the adults around him, and his grip around his wand tightened. . . so they wouldn't notice the tremble that wouldn't stop.

In the Headboy Suite three floors below, Quinn opened his eyes, and a savage grin crept onto his face as magic flared inside his body intensely.

It was time. . . .

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Arrogant I might be, lazy I am not.

Draco Malfoy - Junior Death Eater - Mission Impossible.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Did you notice the switcheroo at the start? Heh, they have been doing it to him since the start; it's only fair he got to do it to them.