It was December, and the Christmas week was bringing joy to the people in the country. Every shop was decorated with strings of Christmas lights and decoration ornaments, dripping every corner in the joy of the season. Another year was about to end, and the celebration for the new, hopefully, year better had begun in full swing.
Quinn, wrapped in warm layers, walked among the streets of London, gazing at the stores and the people— everything seemed to be dyed in delight. His eyes fell upon a youthful family of three: parents and their young child— the father had his hands occupied with the shopping they had done while the mother bent down to pick up their child, who herself was holding a tiny plastic bag in her hands as if helping her parents in carrying the weight. His eyes followed them as they passed him by, and he winked at the child who followed him with her bright, curious, child-like big eyes.
Seeing the family shopping made him sigh. It wasn't like his family ever shopped together. He couldn't remember all of them had gone shopping together except for maybe a couple times, and that was for novelty goods. But the family's happy vibes made him recall how this time of the year went for him. He would start a month ago and began planning the gifts that he would send his family and friends, and during the days leading to Christmas, he would handcraft the presents for his personal touch on them to show that he cared. Every Christmas morning, his friends would find a gift at their house while he would watch his family's reaction to what he got them.
But it wasn't going to happen this year.
He wasn't going to be at home this time. Just like every year, he had sent everyone gifts to not let those who didn't know to feel something was wrong, and for those who knew what he was doing, they wouldn't worry. Christmas gifts were one of the very few communication he had with anyone in his life so that no one could find him— and he had gone through various steps to keep himself hidden while sending the gifts.
'Ah. . . I want to meet people,' he sighed.
It was as if the universe itself was reading his thought because as he was staring into a tailer boutique with thee gorgeous suit jackets worn by half-mannequins behind a pane of glass, he heard a startled voice.
"Quinn?!"
His eyes widened a fraction as he urgently turned his head to face the voice and, to his surprise, again came upon a different family of three. However, this time it was a family of three he knew and they him. Standing before him were two brunette women with part-curly and part-wavy standing alongside a tall, bespectacled man.
". . . Hermione," he slowly uttered in surprise. His eyes immediately darted around the block to scout if someone was accompanying her, but the alert instinct was quickly sedated when logic dictated that no Auror, even in the Order of Phoenix, knew about his other identity. Quinn went back to looking at the three, and he could see what genetic features had been passed to Hermione by her respective parents.
"What are you doing here?" asked Hermione, and Quinn could see her right arm taut a bit; she was thinking about her wand. It made him sigh inside. . . he felt saying that he only targetted the bad guys wasn't going help here.
"Hello, Hermione. . . Merry Christmas," he said with a smile. Albeit a little surprised, Hermione returned the greeting, sounding normal. He turned to the parents, Mary and Richard, and greeted them the same: "Merry Christmas, Dr. and Dr. Granger. I hope you two have been well."
"My apologies, but I don't seem to recall meeting you," said Richard, looking confused behind his glasses.
"He's Hermione's friend, dear. From Hogwarts," supplied Mary. "We met him when we visited the Weasley twins' shop. How can you forget him; the ward around our house, Aegis, it's Quinn's family business." She looked to Quinn, "Merry Christmas to you as well, Quinn."
"Oh, yes!" a flash of understanding shone over Richard's face. "I remember you now. You had to leave in a hurry. I would like to thank you for the ward, son. The entire process was straightforward, and the people who came were extremely polite."
"I'm happy that you're satisfied with our services," smiled Quinn. "We did our best to create respectable wards around the house without the magic interfering with the electric appliance in the building. Speaking of magic, Hermione had been off age for a while now; she must've shown you her magic— how did you like it?"
Mary beamed as she responded, "It was out of our expectations! Professor McGonagall had shown us a couple of spells when she visited us with Hermione's letter, and we saw magic here and there during our trips to Diagon Alley— but seeing Hermione perform magic. . . it was extraordinary!" Richards seemed to agree wholeheartedly, while Hermione seemed a mix of pride and embarrassment.
"Mum," she said, stretching the word to express her desire to stop this conversation.
"So what brings you to this part of the city," asked Richards after chuckling at his daughter.
"I. . . was window shopping," said Quinn. He could feel Hermione's curiosity peak on her face when her father posed the question and narrow in suspicion when he answered. But his answer wasn't a lie. He had been wandering around the city to get some fresh air and take a break. . . and looking at merchandise through the windows while doing that. "What about you three? If I remember correctly, you reside in Hampstead Gardens, that's a distance from the city."
Quinn ignored Hermione's eyes widening.
"There's this bakery down the street which makes just the best Christmas dessert you'll ever have. We take a lot home with us every year," said Mary.
"Oh, maybe I should try it too," smiled Quinn. He would never say no to good food.
It was then that Hermione barged in. She said, "Of course, you should try it," she turned to her parents. "You two go ahead; we'll catch up with you."
The Granger parents left, smiling as they told to hurry along as they were going to have lunch at the bakery. The moment they left, Hermione's smile left her face, and she opened questioned,
"Why are you really here?"
"As I told your parents, I am truly window shopping. Our meeting was a genuine coincidence. If you're worried about me following you and your parents, don't worry about it," he smiled, "I'm the type to visit houses— not much for intercepting people on the street. . . if you know what I mean." His words, while spoken with a pleasant smile, brought caution and fear to Hermione's face. He sighed, "No need to look at me like that. I won't even think about hurting you and your parents. I'm not a maniac, you know; still the bloke you know in Hogwarts."
"I'm sorry, but I can't help but feel fearful of the man who caught and crippled eight-five Death Eaters in a single day. And those words don't help if you think otherwise."
"By that logic, you should fear Dumbledore much more than me."
"How did you do it?"
"What?"
"Catch so many Death Eaters in a single day."
"It was not a day. . . That day was just the execution. It took weeks of preparation, research, scouting, and sitting down and talking to more people than I have done in years to obtain the information I needed. It was many sleepless nights and days at stretch spent in busy work. In a way, it was no different from preparing for an exam, just with footwork added," shrugged Quinn. There was no point in telling her exactly how he took every step of his plan. Underselling, as he just did, was best for Hermione, who would argue with him if he oversold it, and if he stuck to the cold facts, she would then again ask questions to work out a narrative in her mind. "How has Hogwarts been treating you?" he asked. "It must be exciting to have William Weasley, an actual Curse Break, teach the class. An actual, productive DADA class for a change, I reckon."
"It feels more like a proper call than it even did. The last time I remember feeling like this was Lupin's class. Even Headmaster's classes, as delightful as they were, were not regular classes. Bill has taught us well, and we have learned the same amount in practice as we did in DA. It's now the class that everyone looks forward to."
"It looks he's trying to put more practical usage in your head. . ." He said, and she understood the connotation.
"What if he is; there's nothing wrong with knowing more spells."
"No, there isn't. But it also means that you need to come straight with your parent and tell them what has been happening in the Wizarding world."
". . . What do you mean?"
"They are obviously oblivious to what's been happening, or I'm sure you wouldn't have been spending time with them so jovially," if she had told them, it would've been a Christmas spent with the Potter for Hermione. "You can't be there for them all the time; they need to be aware so that they can protect themselves."
"How would that help? It would only serve to give them a cause of stress that has nothing to do with them. The Wizarding World is not theirs; it's mine and yours."
"Be that be true, but they're connected to it through you. Do you have a Labyrinth door at your home, at their practices? Because even if the wards can stop them for a while, even if they're able to avail the Hit Wizard protection service— which is unlikely because of the politics of it all— and those things are external. They need to be in charge of their own safety; they should be able to run to Labyrinth doors and disappear somewhere safe away from the chaos they have nothing to do with. . . . A war is coming along, Hermione, you need to tell them about it— you've to tell them now before you leave— before you miss the chance and might end up regretting it."
He had long ago given the same talk to Eddie, Marcus, Luna, Daphne, Tracey— that they should secure their families and even themselves by taking simple steps. He had convinced them to convince their families to strengthen their wards, install Labyrinth doors, and then he had visited their houses and utilized the backdoors in Aegis wards to mark them— for when something wrong happened, he would know and be there.
"Do you think this is fun?" he asked.
". . . What?" Hermione blinked in confusion.
"Away from my family, my friends, those who love me. . . having to put my life on pause to become someone else entirely. I'm not doing this for fun— it's more painful than anything. I'm not doing this for glory— the mask is there to hide me. I shall be the shield, the dagger, the poison, for them. . ." Quinn shook his head; his thoughts were going to a place he had sworn not to let them swerve to. "I know you don't like me, Hermione. But put that opinion aside and take this advice of mine, for war is almost upon us—" and he had a big part in it being so.
He took out a Panama hat and placed it on his head. "Tell your parents I apologize for not being able to join them for lunch. Wish them New Year's wishes from me, and the same goes for you." He passed her by but had only taken two steps when he heard her say,
"Is. . . Is the war really close?"
Quinn turned and nodded, "I just crippled eighty-five Death Eaters and crushed an important plan that would've been their opening play. The power-hungry maniac won't take this slight sitting; he will do something much bigger, much horrifying— it might be tomorrow, next week, the following month. . . but it is definitely coming. . . . Merry Christmas, Hermoine, and I hope you have a Happy New Year."
Quinn turned away, and with his hands behind his back, he walked away, leaving behind the young man staring and thinking. She hadn't gone through the adversities she was supposed to; she was still mature, but she was very much her own age— and it was because of him.
'In that case, I will protect everyone.'
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Quinn West - MC - I have a dubious moral system at best.
Hermione Granger - The Golden Girl - In another time, she was why any and all of it was possible.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Alright, it's about to go down.
