HP: A Magical Journey-Chapter 432: First Cut

The golden line that connected Quinn and Voldemort blazed bright enough to be substituted as a flashlight in the dark, illuminating its surrounding with a sharp golden glow. The line was taut without a hint of slack, even as Quinn got up and jumped out of the wreckage.

Voldemort stared at the golden line from his chest, where his heart was. “What is this?” he asked, his hands hovering around the line but not touching it. “WHAT IS THIS!”

Quinn cracked his neck and tugged— not physically— at the line, and Voldemort’s pale, grey face went to almost white. He placed himself relatively closer to Dumbledore and spoke to him using magic, “This is it, big guy. He’s going to swing hard now. If I die or even lose control of this magic, I don’t think Voldemort is going to let me succeed again so easily. If we want to move ahead, you must keep the very pissed Dark Lord away from me.”

Even with the talk of killing each other, neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort were actually trying to kill each other— at least not seriously— they were just testing each other out. Seeing what they could use to really hurt the other when they actually got serious. And there was no way Voldemort was going to stay non-serious when there was an unknown magic sticking out from his chest with the other end in the hand of an enemy who had vehemently threatened to kill him.

‘It would be a problem if he doesn’t rage,’ thought Quinn— it would mean that Voldemort could get out any time he wanted. ‘He doesn’t look he’s feeling good, so that’s good,’ he confirmed that by tugging on the golden line, making Voldemort shake.

“S-Soul magic,” Voldemort said, stuttering. He muttered something under his breath before glaring at Quinn. “What magic is this?! How are you doing this!”

Quinn didn’t say anything and took a few steps back until he was behind Dumbledore. He wasn’t going to wave the Horcrux in Voldemort’s face as long as he could keep it hidden. He kept Voldemort’s gaze and began to proceed with the magic. Establishing the connection between the Horcrux and Voldemort’s soul was merely the first step— the most challenging step, but the first step nevertheless.

“If you refuse to tell me, then I’ll just have to kill you,” Voldemort said, growling.

Quinn shrugged. “You will, unfortunately, find that if you kill me, you die as well.” He was bluffing. Quinn was the only one to die if he was going to die.

“I doubt that,” Voldemort said, sneering. He raised his voice, and the ground shook. It shook so hard that a crevice opened under Quinn’s fee, a crevice so opened that it could swallow two of him. But Quinn kept his altitude by keeping himself in the air.

Dumbledore waved his wand. The shaking stopped with the cracked ground closed its gap and became whole again. Quinn had to give a small piece of his mind a moment to admire the mass transfiguration so large that it fixed the ground, leaving behind not a single split— it looked like a flat ground fit for rollerblading.

“You’re not going to get to him,” Dumbledore declared. “You’re going to die today, and I will do everything to make that happen.”

Voldemort swung his wand, and the air took on the stench of burning sulfur. “Saying it again and again that I’m going to do again is going to make it come true suddenly, Dumbledore— but maybe that’s what you want since you can’t do it alone and apparently need a child’s help to do it.”

“This child can dismantle your Death Eaters with less effort than shattering glass by dropping a hammer onto it. And that same child has got you rattled, Tom. I can feel it,” Dumbledore smiled. “The slight trembled in your magic every time you cast— it’s getting to you, and no amount of denying is going to change that.”

Voldemort clenched his jaw. The putrid smell of burning sulfur went beyond that of rotten eggs. Quinn, who was silently working on the magic, looked to his sleeve and saw the fabric melting against his skin.

“Dumbledore,” Quinn called, “I thought you said you would protect me!” He could fly while performing the soul link, but he couldn’t fend off the Dark Lord’s very dangerous dark curse. It was what he had said to Dumbledore— he was a complete liability.

Dumbledore stabbed his wand into the air, and a gentle pulse of magic cleared away the sulfur smell. The melting of clothes immediately stopped, though already corroding fabric didn’t return to normal.

A black mist pooled around Voldemort’s feet and rose to cover his lower body. Voldemort took to air just a couple feet off the ground. He shot toward Quinn, leaving behind rising dust in his wake. Dumbledore stepped directly in front of Quinn and thrust his wand forward, sending out a spiral of power that collided with Voldemort, sending him back like a cannonball. Dumbledore didn’t wait and apparated in Voldemort’s direction.

Explosions ensued as the two juggernauts collided in a battle of magic. However, Quinn stayed away from that and maintained his position in the middle of the street, focusing on the golden line hopping as if attached to a ball bounced in the pinball machine.

He concentrated on the golden line and felt the soothing feeling exuding out in loads. However, on both ends of that gentle presence were two menacing presences that seemed to suck in all into the void of darkness. The two dark presences were Horcrux and Voldemort’s broken soul.

‘Let’s form some hard,’ Quinn thought seriously, though the part of his mind chuckled at the irony of the situation.

The gold line connecting the two of Voldemort’s souls was actually Emperyean wielding properties that Quinn had bestowed upon it using his soul magic. He had been surprised that Emperyean, which had always been red no matter what he did with it, but the second it touched soul magic, the red Emperyean changed to gold as King Midas had touched it.

The gold soul-based Empyrean had two characteristics. The tethering property that connected the two souls came from the Resurrection Stone— without it, Quinn had no way to connect the two pieces of souls; it was way beyond-beyond his skill level. That was why Resurrection Stone was crucial, for, without it, the current plan wouldn’t even be born.

But it was the second property that made Quinn chuckle inside— even though he was the one who had made the property. Horcrux was a piece of soul split from the main soul and stored into an object to tether the main soul to the mortal plane.

‘Which means there’s a connection between Horcrux and the main soul,’ thought Quinn. Even though Voldemort couldn’t tell when his Horcrux was destroyed, the fact that there was a faint connection meant that Quinn could exploit it. And so he did. Using the Resurrection Stone, he exploited the connection and strengthened it.

The next step was using that connection to take the two pieces of souls. . . and attach them together. It made him laugh because the attaching process was strikingly similar to healing two souls. Even the thought of healing Voldemort’s corrupted soul was so absurd that it made him laugh till he was wheezing.

Quinn opened his eyes and stared at an explosion of fire heading toward him. He didn’t move and faced the fire with all his concentration on the golden line. He closed his eyes again and felt the heat on his face, but suddenly the heat went away. When he opened his eyes, he saw a vacuum sucking away the flames. They tried to creep out of the sucking force, but the vacuum became stronger and gobbled up the flames.

He grinned. Nothing felt more dependable than having Dumbledore protect him. ‘The thing that hurts a lot is when you injure something being healed,’ Quinn thought.

He pumped magic into the Resurrection Stone and felt a surge of power in return that he channeled into the golden line. And then pulled— pulled on Voldemort’s main soul.

There was a scream— Voldemort’s scream.

‘It worked,’ Quinn smiled, so he pulled more until the pull reached its limit. He took out a second Basilisk venom dagger, activated the runes, and with a swing, he cut the golden line.

The scream this time made Banshee’s screams pale in comparison.

Quinn never felt prouder to inflict pain on someone.

“Dumbledore! Don’t let him get away. We are going to end this today,” he yelled as he dropped the Hufflepuff’s Cup, pointed his palm at the falling Horcrux— “Avada Kedava”— and magicked it to death. What died this time was the soul fragment in the Horcrux and some of the soul he had pulled from Voldemort’s main soul.

He knew he was successful because Voldemort’s magic was rampaging, and he was still screaming.

The next second, Dumbledore apparated right next to him. “That worked,” Dumbledore said.

“I think so too.”

“He’s mad.”

“I can see that as well.”

“I don’t like that,” Dumbledore pointed the Elder Wand at the rampaging magic that was sending wreckage and large pieces of the ground spiraling in the air.

“He’s weaker than before; it will be easier than before.”

“I don’t think so,” Dumbledore had a grave-grave expression. “Until now, he was fighting to kill us. But now, he’s fighting to protect himself from dying. Even if he doesn’t know that we have got his Horcruxes, losing his current body is not an experience he will want to go through— the last time that happened, it took him longer than a decade to get another one— that sort of experience stays with you. He can’t escape, not in his current condition, so he will fight to the death to get even a small chance of not losing this body.”

Quinn swallowed the saliva building in his mouth. “I damaged his main soul right now,” that was how he was planning to weaken Voldemort. “I don’t think he will be a fan of losing his body— which will weaken his soul more— and roam around as a specter. The recovery might be worse than the last time.” That was an assumption. It could be the same as the last time, Voldemort had unknowingly lost a part of his soul that turned Harry Potter into a Horcrux. And even though he didn’t make a Horcrux this time, he did lose an extra part of his soul.

“I will make sure he doesn’t escape,” Dumbledore said. He looked at Quinn. “Are you fine? You seem pale. . .”

Quinn spat another build of saliva and breathed out heavily. “It’s a difficult magic—”

“It’s soul magic.”

“I know. . . soul magic is difficult magic. It takes its toll. It’s fine; I’m fine. I can do this,” Quinn stood up straighter and glared at Dumbledore in case the old Headmaster had some other thoughts. “We proceed as planned.”

Dumbledore stared for a while before nodding.

Quinn reached into his pocket and took out a glass case. He could feel Dumbledore’s eyes stuck on it— or on the thing inside the glass case. Sitting inside the glass was an ornate diadem studded with beautiful diamonds.

It could have been any well-made random diadem. But Quinn and Dumbledore knew precisely what it was.

It was Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem. . . another one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

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Quinn West – MC – Connect, Pull, Cut, Kill.

Albus Dumbledore – Bodyguard – Not usually on bodyguard duty.

Voldemort – Dark Lord – In agonizing pain.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – I have been posting slowly. I have a reason/theory for it. I will tell you guys about it when the story ends.

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