HP: A Magical Journey

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The winters spread its cold blanket over the country.

While Hogwarts students preferred to stay indoors to beat the cold, there was one day they couldn't miss going out on. . . that day was the Saturday of a Hogsmeade weekend. No matter if it snowed, rained, or hailed, the teenagers of Hogwarts would descend into the all-magical village of Hogsmeade.

Marcus stepped off the Grand Staircase, running, and slowed down to power walk to get the huff in his breath in control. He arrived at the Entrance Hall next to the Great Hall and was greeted with a windchill coming through the open gats that broke goosebumps under his thick, warm, padded clothes. He looked around the hall, sorting through the flux out people entering the Entrance Hall from the Great Hall and others exiting the castle through the gates.

He found who he was looking for a distance away from the gates standing at a corner, staring at the walls.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm late," said Marcus, rubbing his arms with his hands.

Quinn glanced away from the wall and quirked a brow. He waved his hand, and Marcus felt a warmth spread through his body, loosening his tense body.

"Everyone needs to get into the habit of using Warmth Charms liberally," said Quinn. "Is it fun to shiver in the cold?"

Marcus removed the glove off his hand and touched Quinn's cheek with the back of his hand. "You're colder than me!" he said, pulling his hand back.

"I'm used to the cold, my insulated friend," said Quinn, pulling his overcoat wide open.

?Like hell I would need something as weak as a Warmth Charm.?

"What are you looking at?" Marcus asked, putting the glove back on and turning his eyes to the wall covered with framed portraits. "Talking to a portrait, huh, find anyone interesting?"

"I was just looking at something interesting that I found a couple years back," said Quinn. He pointed at the portrait hanging just above their heads. "It's the only non-magical portrait in Hogwarts."

Marcus craned his neck at an angle and looked at the portrait in question. It was the photo-realistic painting of a man in his late years with a flowing white beard, long white hair, dressed in a dark maroon-burgundy gown-styled robe, and sat atop on his head was a round cap that had a black veil flowing from the top and flowing down to shoulders and the to the entire body, at least what was visible in the portrait.

"Isn't he just. . . Headmaster Dumbledore?" said Marcus.

Quinn laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, they both have the long white beard and hair looking going. But no, that's not Dumbledore. This fine gentleman is Myrddin Wyllt."

"Who?"

"Merlin."

Marcus' eyes blew open at Quinn's words, and he said, "Merlin, wow!"

Merlin was a legendary British wizard who lived during the Middle Ages. It was during his lifetime that magic had entered its golden age, and he had spearheaded the rise and growth of human magic. He was part of the legendary King Author's Court, and without doubt, the most famous wizard of all time. He only had one peer at his age — the Dark Lady Morgana, King Author's half-sister, but even she couldn't gain the upper hand on him.

"Uh-huh, did you know," said Quinn, "that before Merlin was the famous sorcerer of King's Court, he was a student right here at Hogwarts."

"Seriously? I didn't know that," said Marcus.

"He was one of the first Slytherins, studied right from Salazar Slytherin himself," said Quinn. "It's said that his wand was made from English Oak, though it can't be proven as Merlin's grave was never found. However, the theory could be credible as Merlin was good at Charms."

"Why do you think he didn't make a magical portrait?" asked Marcus.

Quinn shrugged, "Who knows what went through the mind of someone like Merlin. Maybe he did paint himself a magical portrait, but he didn't put one in Hogwarts — maybe it's out there somewhere in the ancient remains of Camelot, still intact, waiting to be activated, or maybe activated. It could be even in some rich person's collection, who knows. . . if it exists, the possibilities are endless."

Marcus glanced at his best mate and saw the intent look on Quinn's face as he gazed at Merlin's portrait. He nudged Quinn with his shoulder, "I look forward to the day when I hear someone use Quinn's beard in place of Merlin's beard."

A smile appeared on Quinn's face. "Now, that's a thought, isn't it," he said. "Though I don't know if I will grow a beard, I don't think I'm the beard type of guy, you know."

?Merlin, huh. . . now that's an appropriate stepping stone for someone like me.?

Quinn exhaled before his lips pressed into a thin white line. He shook his head, put on a smile, and threw his arm over Marcus' shoulder. "Come one, let's get going. Time waits for no man, except those who have mastered the mysterious magic of time, which we're not."

"If you're not going to grow a beard, then what do you think people would refer to?" asked Marcus as they walked towards the gates.

"Hmm. . . Quinn's glorious suits because I would be only seen in suits!" Quinn nodded with satisfaction. "Now, that's a nice thing for everyone to say."

"Glorious suits, you say. . . isn't that a little long? I don't think that's going to work," said Marcus.

"Do you know what Eddie would say?" asked Quinn, grinning.

Marcus sighed with a smile, "Saggy balls or something like that. . ."

"Right on the money," Quinn grinned.

"So that would make it. . . . Quinn's sag—"

"Don't complete that sentence!"

The two friends made their way through the snow-covered paths and roads to Hogsmeade village, with Quinn working as a snow sweeper while doing the scenery a favor by making snow and ice sculptures along the way — snowmen, swans, goblins, house-elves, dwarves, you name it, and Quinn had created it.

"Do you know there's a world ice sculpture competition, I wonder if I could win the competition and become the youngest champion or something," said Quinn, fondling his chin. "I think a scaled-down model of Hogwarts would do the trick, don't you think?"

Quinn turned to Marcus when he got no reply and saw Marcus staring at the ground ahead as they walked, seemingly lost in thought.

"Marcus?" called Quinn and poked him.

Marcus jolted and hastily looked at Quinn. "Would you repeat that? I didn't catch that.

Quinn studied his friend and saw that Marcus had once again wandered off to his own world. "You're worried, aren't you?" he asked.

Marcus shrugged as he kicked some snow to the side. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and raised his shoulders to push the coat collars to cover more of his face.

"There's no need to be worried," said Quinn, "you'll be fine, I taught you everything I knew that would help you, and I seriously don't think you're going to need anything else — just be yourself, and you'll be just fine."

"What if I end up making a fool of myself?" asked Marcus. "I'm not like Eddie, who's just phenomenal at Quidditch. Even Luna is really passionate about becoming a Magizoologist. Daphne is set on becoming a Healer. Tracey knows she wants to return to her family business. Astoria is doing AID. And there's no need to talk about you."

'And here I thought he had gotten over it,' thought Quinn. It had been a while since he had seen Marcus doubt himself. Marcus had cruised through with high confidence built by high competence and working on an objective the entire last year. While everyone had gone through magical growth in their time with DA, Marcus had gone through additional character growth.

"Oh, Marcus, you know you have got it all wrong," Quinn said, waving his hand once for meters of the path in front of them to clear, making some of the people who walked in front of them jump. "Half of the people in the group mentioned are brats from rich families," he pointed at himself, "look at me, I'm a complete brat — a loveable one, but still a brat. . . .

Daphne didn't arrive at her decision to become a healer because it interested her; no, she's becoming a healer because of another reason. Sure she finds the subject matter interesting, but her motivation is not loving the field of healing. Tracey doesn't have a bottom-of-the-heart 'passion' towards her family business; she's doing it because it's the best option for her. AID is a short-term thing for Astoria — that girl has no idea what she wants to do in the future; she might bounce around from thing to thing after Hogwarts without a worry because of her parents. If I wasn't a magic maniac, I would have simply followed Tracey's example and went into my family business, and who knows, things might have not worked out, and I might have ended up becoming a wastrel.

My point is that half of us don't have the same worry as you because we aren't thinking about the problem. In a way, you're better than all of us because you're actually giving it serious thought. You want to know what you want to become in the future — not because of some fear, or because it's easy, or because. . . it's all you have."

Quinn cocked his hand and slapped Marcus tight on the back, sending the latter stumbling a few steps.

"W-What was that?!" Marcus asked with wide eyes and a hand on his back.

"In the name of my saggy balls'," said Quinn confidently, "Marcus, you're seventeen, get over it; you have the rest of your life in front of you to figure it out — right now, just do whatever feels like fun, and the thing will find you before you find it."

Marcus blinked. The slap on his back sizzled, but it wasn't bad. He straightened his back and took a deep breath of the cold air.

"You better hire me if I don't end up failing to get a job," said Marcus.

"Deal! But be ready because I'm going to dump all the annoying on you while I chill in the back," said Quinn, grinning. But he knew it wasn't going to come to that. His friend had much less trust in himself than he should have.

Both of them reached the one shop in Hogsmeade that Quinn knew well. The door chime rang when Quinn entered the door. The place smelt like ink, paint, and paper.

"Bob," Quinn said to the man sitting behind the counter, looking as if life had been sucked out of him.

The Manager of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop looked up. For a moment, Bob's blurry eyes stared at Quinn before they sharpened in half-panic and half-hurry, and he stood up straight.

"Q-Quinn, you're here," said Bob, looking as if he was about to cry.

Quinn chuckled as he walked to the counter, "You were asked for the shop's books, weren't you? And then questioned on them?"

Bob nodded pitifully.

"It's okay, you'll be fine," said Quinn, patting Bob's back.

?Ugh. . . grow a spine, will you?! Pathetic!?

"Now, you sit back and relax," said Quinn, "leave it to me." He turned to Marcus, who was fixing his clothes. "Let's go."

Quinn and Marcus climbed to the store's second floor and arrived at a single corridor in front of the furthest door.

"Ready?" asked Quinn.

Marcus nodded.

Quinn opened the door, and a smile appeared as he watched the man in front of him flipping through account books.

George looked up from the table, and a hint of a smile made its way to his face. "You're here," he said, and then his eyes went behind Quinn. "You must be Marcus Belby."

Marcus stiffly nodded. "Yes, sir, it's finally nice to meet you. Quinn has told me a lot about you."

"And he similarly had told me about you and the boy named Eddie Carmichael," said George. He glanced at Quinn, "Is the Luna girl here? I would like to meet her as well."

"Maybe some other day," said Quinn, "today, it's just Marcus."

"I see, that's fine. I would like to know more about you, Marcus," said George and gestured to the chair opposite to him.

Quinn placed his hand on Marcus' shoulder and whispered to him, "Alright, now it's all up to you. I have buttered you up in his eyes, so answer anything he asked, and ask him all the questions you want. You can keep him here as long as you want, so ask him what HE can give YOU." Then he gently pushed him forward.

"You're not staying?!" Marcus asked in a rushed whisper.

"No way, mate. It's Hogsmeade weekend, and I have a girlfriend," said Quinn, winking as he walked backward and closed the door behind him, leaving Marcus and George behind.

Marcus turned to George and found the older gentleman who looked much like Quinn starting at him. He walked to the table and sat down on the chair.

"So, Marcus," said George, "Quinn says you'd like to work for our family."

Marcus clenched his hands in nervousness, but then Quinn's words flashed through his brain, and he loosened his grip. He stayed silent for a moment before sitting straight up and looking George in the eye.

"No, sir, that's not the case."

George's hand, which was flipping through the account book, stopped. He studied Marcus for a moment and then closed the book and pushed it to the side.

"Is that so? And why's that, Marcus."

Outside Scrivenshaft, Quinn looked up towards the second floor. Marcus didn't know what he wanted to do, which meant he wasn't averse to trying things out . . . so he set up a meeting with a man, who owned a lot of things in a lot of areas. And Quinn knew that while Marcus didn't see it, he knew that Marcus had an aptitude for leading.

"I wonder if Marcus would end up becoming to Lia what Uncle Elliot is to grandfather," Quinn muttered, revealing how much of a high opinion he had of Marcus to compare him to Elliot, who he thought was the best man he had ever met. ". . . . I would like to keep Marcus to myself. . . I wonder how this would turn out."

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Quinn West - MC - Alright, both of my friends are set.

Marcus Belby - Traits of Leader - Talked with George for 4 hours, more than anyone outside family had done in years.

George West - Grandfather - Overqualified Interviewer*.

Bob - Manager of Scrivenshaft - Drained, but it's the manager's fate.

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