HP: A Magical Journey-Novel

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James Potter looked outside the glass pane, looking at multiple teams of Junior Aurors working at their desk like it was the busiest part of the day. He saw food deliveries come in through the door every few minutes for the people who should’ve already left for home and passed their duties to the night shift but couldn’t because of what had happened today. He could see many who were dressed like they were about to go out for a night of fun but now had to work in the office, and that too in their party wear.

He turned away from the busy and noisy scenery and turned to face a calmer but much heavy sight inside the meeting room.

“. . . we have sent all of them back with security posted around their residences,” finished Kingsley with a sigh. He stood in front of a near hundred photos posted on a board as he explained the situation and updates to the people in the room.

“We have eighty-five Death Eaters in our custody,” Rufus Scrimgeour sighed, looking at the board, which was mostly populated by Death Eater photos. “How many of them do you think can we keep?” he asked.

James pursed his lips. Usually, detaining eight-five Death Eaters would’ve been a cause of celebration around the country, but right now, it was stressing everyone in the DMLE. The eighty-five Death Eaters weren’t caught by them; they were delivered by the Invisible Vigilante, an outlaw for whom the DMLE had issued an arrest mandate. There was no evidence of any wrongdoing against these people. Yes, they had Dark Marks on their arms, and yes, the missing department heads were returned around the same time— something unquestionably planned out by the Invisible Vigilante— but that was in no way any form of evidence. While the two events were obviously connected, in the eyes of the law, they were two independent events that had happened simultaneously. Even having a Dark Mark wasn’t a criminal offense as the Dark Mark could be forced upon anyone against their will.

They could prosecute, but it was not enough to convict.

Robards Gawain, Head Auror, replied, “We haven’t been able to question any of them. All of them are in an off-site holding facility being tended by medi-healers as we speak.” Having experience with the Invisible Vigilante’s victims had taught them that whatever he did to them was taxing— they would be knocked for hours, and even after that, they’d be in bad shape because of the dark magic coursing through their bodies. It took treatment to get them to a talking state. “Even after that, if we can somehow make them confess, we can’t simply use that without evidence.”

“Evidence. . . what did we get from the scene of crimes?” asked Scrimgeour.

The scenes of crimes were the last place the department heads remembered themselves at. They had sent teams to the sites to get some evidence of the crime, so they could have something concrete and tangible.

“Nothing great. We couldn’t even find a single eyewitness on the scenes who could tell us anything. If we’re to ignore the Death Eaters and the victims’ words, it’s like nothing happened at all,” Gawain sighed.

Sitting on the table with his feet up, Sirius grumbled, “The man went through all the trouble to get us the Death Eaters; why couldn’t he have left some evidence behind? It’s like he doesn’t care if we don’t go home.”

“I would prefer if you can keep your jokes to yourself right now, Sirius,” said Scrimgeour. “We can’t detain them; we don’t have enough. So this is what we’re going to do, keep an eye on the eighty-five people, and the moment they get well-enough to speak, go and question them, get as much information as possible from them. There were those smart enough not to speak, push them, but don’t go overboard— we will be calling everyone in as part of a formal interrogation in the abduction case for a thorough grilling— and those who are still difficult, we will again call them in for another round of questioning in the investigation against the Invisible Vigilante. I want to look as aggressive as we can on this case, make every one of those eighty-five bastards feel that they’re living under our eye every moment of their day. . . pressure them enough, and they’ll make a mistake.”

James liked it. He could feel how the people in the meeting room felt the same, and he was sure he would get the same reaction when told outside. The case wasn’t looking like a promising one in an orthodox way, but it presented great opportunities. “We can map the entire organization out,” he said. “I’m sure a few out of eighty-five will squeak and spill everything out for us. We could know the hierarchy, what they’re planning. . . and even the locations of Azkaban escapees like Lestranges and Rookwood,” the more he spoke, the more excited he felt. “Maybe we will be able to get some evidence. . . and launch an investigation— cripple the Death Eaters.”

It was the chance to go after the most affluent in the Death Eater organization whom they hadn’t been able to touch after the mass trials at the end of the first war. And this time, no one was going to buy the Imperius ‘bullshit’ defense anymore.

“There’s a possibility I like very much,” said Scrimgeour. He looked to Gawain and spoke, “Form a task force for the case and add this as one of their agendas.”

Gawain nodded.

Sirius looked outside at the Junior Aurors working away, “We’re not going home today, are we?”

Scrimgeour stood up and buttoned the front of his suit. “You’re not; I, though, am leaving for the night. I wish you a productive night, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning sharp, gentlemen,” Saying that the Head of DMLE walked out of the meeting room for his home.

Gawain turned to his Captain and Senior Aurors and addressed them, “Let’s get working. I want all of this processed before we leave today. And I want an update before lunch. Now—”

“You’re also leaving, too?” asked Sirius.

“Yes, Black, I’m leaving.”

“I also want to leave.”

“Become the Head Auror, and then you’re free to leave anytime you wish.”

“. . . That sounds like a chore. Do you have something quick?”

Gawain shook his head and put on his hat before leaving the room, but before he did, he called James to follow him.

“Yes, sir?” asked James.

“I would like you to be in charge of this task force. This can be a big step for your career, one step closer to your way to Captain. It’s safe to assume you’re going to take it?”

“Yes, sir, of course. I would love to lead this task force.”

“Good, you’re free to choose your deputy. Don’t forget to take recommendations for the members from the other Seniors and Captains.” Gawain stopped and turned to James, “This is big, James. This can be a big step forward, but if you aren’t able to produce expected results, it can bring a lot of pressure on your head— all eyes will be on this. I’m sure right about now, the papers are editing tomorrow’s editions, and the day after that, your name will be up there, plastered on the front page.” He patted James’ shoulder and wished him good luck before leaving.

When James returned, Sirius asked, “What did he say?”

“He put me in charge of the task force.”

“Congratulation, James!”

“You’re going to be my deputy.”

“No, James!”

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Quinn put down his foldable patio chair on a roof of a building in the non-magical part of the city and sat down with all the magical newspapers he could get his hands on. He had already glanced at the front headlines on all, so he knew what the main breaking news was going to be, making him eager to see what had actually happened.

“Oh. . . ah. . . really. . . that’s- interesting, okay.”

As usual, some of the media houses had really put their spin on the events and had spun some creative narratives— some were interesting, even amusing, but some were quite absurd. One even said that the Invisible Vigilante was a Dark Lord trying to hunt down Voldemort to take his place as the biggest and only Dark Lord in the country.

“At least they found everyone,” he read an article listing the magically moving list eighty-five people handed in.

Eighty-five people, Quinn’s heart beat a bit as he savored the number. It was a number that he felt pride about. In the months during his Snatcher-hunting, he had only been able to get his hands on Death Eaters less than half of that number, but now he had a made a dent so big that things feel real.

He leaned into his chair, thinking about how different things were now from the cannon timeline. What should’ve been a country with a Ministry run by political puppets with fear-mongering against Muggleborns who were forced to hide in the dread of being caught and put into harsh camps, and a Dumbledore-less Hogwarts being run by Death Eaters as professors— that world was now had a strong Ministry and the Hogwarts serving as a haven for parents to send their children under the protection of Dumbledore.

‘The Death Eaters can be opposed,’ thought Quinn as a positive. There was no need for students and civilians to raise their wands against the Dark Lord’s forces. Even if Voldemort had a horde of Dementors, tribes of Vampires, an army of Trolls, percussion of Giants, and packs of Werewolves— there was enough defending power to not let things fall into the hands of brave yet ordinary people.

Quinn thought about how things had changed so much, and three points in history stood out to him.

First was something that he had nothing to do with, and that was the Potters not dying on the fateful day the Boy-Who-Lived was ‘born’— the Potter family image had been strong, and that had propelled the birth of a stronger political faction that was supposed to be in shambles after so many lives lost in the war— a stronger Light Faction had created a proper three-way balance which originally supposed to be lopsided in favor of the Dark Faction.

The second point in history was when he had whisked away Amelia Bones away from her breached house just before Voldemort could kill her and thus saved the strongest and frankly the only option as the Minister candidate to take the chair in times against a vicious and ruthless Dark Lord (no offense against Rufus Scrimgeour). He saw Amelia Bones becoming the Minister as a turning point— without her, the core of the defense didn’t exist.

The third was when he dropped the Gaunt’s Ring into the container of Basilisk Venom vapors. The moment the Horcrux had shrieked and fumed was the moment the fate of the country had been changed. Dumbledore never found the cursed ring; he never put it on and never sealed his fate. And Quinn couldn’t think of a reason where a healthy Dumbledore would sacrifice his life before putting Voldemort into the ground.

‘I did that,’ he declared to himself. He was the reason why things were as they were. ‘I. Did. That.’ Quinn looked up at the sky— he was continuing to do so until the Snake came out of his nest to face the Phoenix, and when that happened. . . he was going to be there to sign off on his doom.

‘I will do it.’

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Quinn West – MC – Till then, let’s keep bagging ’em.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – Daj Boze

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The link is in the synopsis!