Chapter 242: Tough Temptation Turmoil (1/2)
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A small kindling of green flames burned on a dark stone floor.
Strangely there was no wood feeding the fire, nor was there any sort of propellant spilled on the floor that could be lit to burn a fire with a dim green.
All of a sudden, the green fire roared, its flame reaching above and beyond, turning the dim kindling bloomed into a voluminous blaze of illuminating green. Out of the wisps came the figure of Quinn, the tongue of green licking his body as he walked out of the fireplace. He looked back as the blazing fire soothed back to a calm kindling, but the next second, anger overtook the flames, and this time, it was the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore in all his bearded glory that walked out.
Dumbledore took out the death stick from his pocket as he asked, ”I suppose you have been here before, Mr. West.” He waved the wand, and all the soot and dust cleared from his clothes, beard, and glasses.
”On the contrary, headmaster. I haven't been here before.”
”That's surprising to hear. May I?” Dumbledore asked, gesturing at his wand. Quinn nodded, and with a twirl from Dumbledore, Quinn was rid of all the floo-soot.
”It's surprising to me as well, but this is indeed my first time here,” said Quinn taking in the new surroundings.
They stood at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a man or woman would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues of people were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.
Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. The tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful human woman, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the man and woman (both dressed in robes). Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode toward a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.
”Let me guide you then,” said Dumbledore.
They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases; still others reading the Daily Prophet as they walked. As they passed the fountain, Quinn saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small, smudged sign beside it read:
All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Quinn retrieved a gold galleon and flicked it into the fountain. The coin arched in the air before splashing into the water, after which it slowly sunk down, soon joining its lower-valued brethren waiting to be collected for their eventual noble purpose.
Dumbledore led him out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates, toward a desk on the left, over which hung a sign saying SECURITY. A poorly shaven man in peacock-blue robes sat behind the desk, reading his Daily Prophet.
Quinn and Dumbledore stood before the desk for the man to notice them, but he was too engrossed in whatever he was reading in the newspaper.
Quinn looked at Dumbledore and then gestured with his chin back towards the stream of people going in and out of the golden gates; Dumbledore chuckled but shook his head. Dumbledore reached his hand and ringed the table-bell, which succeeded in getting the man's attention.
He looked up from his newspaper to see them standing there, and his eye bulged out so much that Quinn worried that they might pop out.
”D-Dumbledore!” The man hastily stood up, knocking his chair to the ground.
”We are here to attend a hearing,” said Dumbledore. ”Albus Dumbledore, escorting and Quinn West, a prosecutor witness.”
”Y-Yes,” said the security guard and tapped his wand on the top of a metal box on a table behind him for the box to shoot two silver badges out of its metal chute. The guard handed them the badges and asked them to put them on.
Quinn looked at his badge: Quinn West, Criminal Trial Witness. He pinned it on the lapel of his suit. Dumbledore did the same, pinning his badge on his less-than-usual colorful robes.
”Please step over here,” said the security guard.
Dumbledore walked closer to him, and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a short whip, and passed it up and down Dumbledore's front and back.
”Wand please,” said the guard at Dumbledore, gulping at having to ask THE Albus Dumbledore for his wand. If it was before this year, the guard wouldn't have even dreamt of asking the Chief Warlock Dumbledore for his wand, but today Dumbledore was a mere visitor with no part in Ministry, and visitors were required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk.
Quinn watched as Dumbledore handed over the death stick to the random guard, who put it onto a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The guard tore this off and read the writing upon it.
”Fifteen inches, elder wood, threstal tail-hair core — er, age in use.. . unknown.”
Dumbledore simply smiled and asked for his wand back. The guard hastily placed the death stick onto Dumbledore's palm and then turned to Quinn to put Dumbledore's wand's nerve-racking check behind him.
Quinn took a silent breath as his hand pushed aside his suit-jacked aside to reveal a wand shoulder-holster with his real wand hanging by his side at the mid-point of his torso.
While this was indeed Quinn's first time at the Ministry of Magic, he wasn't clueless about the check-in procedure for visitors. If he was coming here alone, Quinn simply would have brought his fake wand along and confuded the guard to get past the registration, but that wasn't an option with Dumbledore looking over his shoulder. So after years of confinement in his briefcase, Quinn undid the layers of wards and seals placed outside and inside the storage of his wand to retrieve it for this occasion.
He gripped the wand and the charmed holster loosened around the wand's length, allowing Quinn to pull it out.
It was instantaneous.
The prickling feeling of his wand being just under his arm was tempting enough for Quinn, but to have his fingers wrapped around it was another level of torture that Quinn was not a fan of.
Occlumency didn't help. By no fault of his own, his magic being reached out to the call whispered by the wand was almost seductive. Quinn could practically taste the power, see the realm of possibilities that would open up for him, and once again was reminded of why he stayed away — his will wasn't strong enough to keep him from succumbing to the tantalizing enticements.
He breathed a silent, shuddering breath as the wand left his hand.
”Fourteen inches, acacia wood, phoenix-feather core, been in use for five years. That correct?”
”Yes,” said Quinn, barely able to raise his wand above a whisper, his eyes stuck to the wand.
”I keep this,” said the guard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. ”You get this back,” he added, thrusting the wand at Quinn.
”Thank you,” Quinn stiffly nodded and put the wand back in the holster with great difficulty.
”Thank you,” said Dumbledore, he looked at the employee name tag, ”Eric.”
Off they were again into the stream of people passing through the golden doors. Jostled slightly by the crowd, Quinn followed Dumbledore through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts (elevators) stood behind wrought golden grilles. Dumbledore and Quinn stood behind wrought golden grills.
With a great jangling and clattering, a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back, and both moved inside it with the rest of the crowd. Quinn found himself jammed against the back wall of the lift. The grilles slid shut with a crash, and the lift (elevator) ascended slowly, chains rattling all the while, while a cool female voice rang out on every floor they stopped.
After several levels of stops, only Quinn and Dumbledore remained in the lift. When the door once again opened, the lift (elevator) voice spoke again,
”Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”
”This is us, Mr. West,” said Dumbledore, and both stepped out into a corridor lined with doors.
Dumbledore led him through a couple of corridors before stopping in front of a heavy oak door. He turned to Quinn and said, ”This is the waiting room arranged for you. Make yourself comfortable in there as I go and inform the Auror Office of your arrival. When it's time, I'll come to fetch you.”
Quinn nodded and turned to the door as Dumbledore walked away. He looked down on his clothes — with a look, his suit straightened, the tie-clip momentarily loosened for the tie to adjust itself — but the very moment he did it, Quinn winced, using magic with his real wand so close to him, literally below his arm, wasn't a good idea.
He pushed open the door and entered the room to see a man sitting on a side of a large U-shaped sofa (couch) set, reading a magazine that he must have picked up from the stack present on the table square low-table present in the center-well of the sofa set.
The man looked up from his magazine and stared at Quinn with his stone-grey eyes, ”So you have arrived, good morning.”
Quinn closed the door behind and nodded, ”Dumbledore dropped me off.” He walked to the sofa set and sat himself down beside the man.
”How have you been,” said Quinn, ”grandfather.”