An Offer To Help

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Under the dictatorship of Madam Irma Pince, silence reigned supreme in the Hogwarts library.

In one of those silent corners, three seventh-year Ravenclaws sat together on a table with books, parchment, paper, ink, quills, and fountain pen on the table.

Eddie's quill scribbled on the parchment rapidly, transferring the words from his brain to the parchment. At the end of a sentence, he placed a period and pressed the nip hard into the parchment; he watched as the point of ink grew into a blot before taking the nip off and pumping his left hand beside himself.

He breathed out as he stared at the lengthy roll of parchment unrolled on the table with the other end flowing off the other end. He looked around before withdrawing his wand. The tip of the blackthorn wand was placed on the parchment, and the next second, the parchment roll split into multiple page-sized sections. He summoned the pages to himself, straightened them out with another swish, marked them with page numbers, and bound them from the top breadth-side to make a flippable thin assignment notebook.

He looked at the assignment, nodded in satisfaction, and flicked it on the table. He leaned(half-slumped) into the chair and gazed at his friends. Marcus was busying himself with an assignment— Eddie squinted and saw numbers and recognized Arithmancy formulas. He turned to his other friend, and his brows quirked up when he saw empty hands, twiddling thumbs, and a closed book sitting inches away from the hands.

Eddie observed Quinn and watched as his eyes followed people walking past their table, the flickering flames of the candles, and for some reason, a lot of squinting at the spines of the books on the shelves at a distance opposite Quinn. Eddie glanced down at Quinn's hands, and the fingers had joined the thumbs in their nervous activity.

Eddie raised his wand and spun out a magic. That got Quinn's attention, and his eyes shifted from the books to Eddie with a question in his eyes.

"I'm done with my assignment," said Eddie.

"Oh, well done," said Quinn.

Eddie once again looked at Quinn's hand, and now they were flat, palm-side down on the table with the fingers silently drumming against the wood.

"I'm done," Eddie said again, "so I will listen to you— what's bothering you?"

"What do you mean?" Quinn furrowed his brows, wondering where did that come from. "There's nothing bothering me."

"I don't buy it," said Eddie, pointing at Quinn's hands. "You don't play with your hands if not for doing the muggle magic tricks, and I can see no cards, coins, or any other weird shit— ergo, something's bothering you. Clearly, something's bothering you. So, be a dear and tell big daddy what's wrong."

"Like I said, nothing's bothering me," said Quinn, waving Eddie off. "I am just relaxing . . . it's one of the things I want to do more this year, you know, a new years resolution . . . I am starting strong."

"He doesn't know what to do," said Marcus without looking up from his parchment. "Usually this time, he's in his office, doing stuff, but now that's out of his routine, this guy doesn't know what to do at this part of the day."

Quinn turned to Marcus. "What are you, my psychiatrist?"

"What's a psychiatrist?" asked Marcus. He scrunched his nose as he stared at his parchment, "Ah crap, I wrote down psychiatrist."

Quinn sighed. His exit from AID was turning out to be more difficult than he thought. He had no idea what to do during the 1-2 hours of the evening as they were usually scheduled for AID, and the sudden absence had thrown a temporary hole in his day, and it was a bit restless for him.

"Then what do you do at this time when you're at home," said Eddie, "just do that while you get used to it."

"By this time, I'm either sitting with Ms. Rosey or down at the muggle world wandering around; can't do any of those here," said Quinn. He could sneak out of Hogwarts and then apparate home, but that would get him a scolding.

"Wanna go play Quidditch?" asked Eddie. "I can put you with the little ones, and you can mess with them. Or you can go round the castle and dish out detentions . . . yeah I would do that if I was you."

"Maybe I should go around the castle," said Quinn making Marcus finally look up from his assignment.

"You're going to give out detentions?" Marcus asked.

"Huh? No, not that," said Quinn, getting up from his chair. "A little walk would be good for me to clear my mind."

January, the peak of winter, was cold, making the hallways lonely. Quinn walked through the hallways, wondering what he should do— there were apparent options like reading about magic, practicing magic in RoR, workout in RoR.

Then there was the most obvious option of working out a solution for the Sin curse trying to infect his soul. He could feel the pendant's metal against his skin— ever since fashioning it, he had yet to remove it from his around his neck. But he was already putting a big chunk of his time into solving the curse and thought putting in more would be more detrimental.

«Why not just let it slip? Maybe the lack of ego will reveal something. I did accomplish a whole lot the last time around— ah, all of this such a bother, *sigh* . . . . Even though there's such an easy way to end it.»

Quinn groaned, with Sloth drawling in his mind.

He had raised his hands to cover his face and rubbed his eyes when Quinn felt someone crash into his body, followed by a thump. Before he could open his eyes, he heard an "Oof!" and the sound of someone falling to the floor.

"Hey, you worthless piece—"

Quinn opened his eyes and saw Draco on the floor, looking up at him. The Slytherin's expression went from hot anger to a screeching silence.

"Malfoy," Quinn said in greeting.

Draco hurriedly got up from the floor his floor and dusted his clothes without looking at Quinn. Immediately after, he turned and started walking the other way.

"Malfoy," called Quinn, "are you going to ignore my greeting, especially when you walked into me so rudely."

«Little shit! He fucking dares to ignore ME! I should curse him off his magic; that would teach him. I want to see how he would react when I turn him into a non-magical he despises. I can see the headline— Malfoy Heir, SQUIB?!»

Draco stopped, and Quinn could see his fists clenching before facing him.

". . . Sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was walking," said Draco, his face twitching. "I again apologize, but I am in a hurry . . . I will see you around."

At once, Draco turned away and took steps faster than before.

"Malfoy," Quinn called out again, "did I say you could leave."

Draco came to a halt and turned to him with an irritated face. Quinn noticed that his face was paler than usual, and there were even faint bags beneath his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked, seemingly trying to keep his voice in check.

"Take a walk with me," said Quinn.

Draco's frown deepened as he looked at Quinn, "Huh, why? Didn't I say I was busy—."

"Because I am saying so," said Quinn, cutting off Draco. "You will give me company, Malfoy; now be sensible, and do as I am asking you."

Draco was about to shout in protest, but his jaw set when he saw Quinn's expression. He couldn't see a smile on his face or even a relaxed expression— the expression screamed that Quinn wasn't going to take no for an answer.

It wasn't a request . . . . It was an order.

Draco stared at Quinn, who had already turned and started walking. He gritted his teeth and followed after, falling in step with him.

The two walked in the hallways among the portraits, who were still coming off their holiday spirit. Draco kept his head down to hide his expression and walked with Quinn in silence. He waited for Quinn to start the conversation. He waited, but Quinn stayed silent.

"What do you want—" Draco asked, his speech fast and irritated.

"You don't look good, Malfoy," said Quinn, again cutting Draco off. "You have done a decent job of hiding it, but I can see it," he looked at Draco, "you're not getting much sleep. . . .

. . . . or maybe you're not able to sleep."

Draco's eyes widened as he stopped himself from breathing faster.

"I-I have been busy," he said. "Assignments and all . . . . All Professors, out nowhere, are suddenly assigning them— telling us that we're NEWT students now. I have been staying up late to complete them, that's all."

"I see," Quinn hummed.

Draco suddenly felt his mouth dry up, and he could feel a sweat trickle down his temple. His hand closed is on his side, and his finger twitched, slowly going inside his robe to his side where his holster sat.

But when Draco looked at Quinn, he saw Quinn staring at him. He immediately pulled his hand away.

"So, Malfoy, how are things going at home?" asked Quinn. "Your father must be happy with the Dark Lord back, up and running."

"My father was Imperiused; he was cleared by Wizengamot," said Draco the very next second.

"I never said anything about your father being a Death Eater, though," said Quinn with a smile when he saw Draco jolt. He had been hasty in his answer. "Even without that, I'm sure he's happy that the Dark Lord is back— I'm sure the Dark Lord is going to pick up where he left."

"I wouldn't know about that," Draco reached to his collar and loosened his tie slightly as his eyes darted around the hallway.

"It sounds like you don't keep in touch with what's going on with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters," asked Quinn.

"No, I don't," said Draco. "I have on opinion on Dark Lord's return."

"Oh, really?" said Quinn. "From what I saw and heard in the Prefects compartment back at the start of the new session, you sounded mighty happy with the Dark Lord coming back— laughing about how the Dark Lord's going to kill Potter."

"Tha-that . . ."

"It sure sounded like you were in support of the Dark Lord, Malfoy," said Quinn, pressing. "Am I right, Malfoy?"

". . . N-No, as I said, I don't care about the Dark Lord."

"Well, you should— it's sort of a big deal. A megalomaniac mass murder with devoted followers who will follow his every command is out in the open, so I think you should be somewhat concerned . . . what if he comes after your family?"

Quinn stopped walking when he saw that Draco was no longer beside him and turned to see him standing a few steps away, his head down.

Quinn clenched his hands tight. He closed his eyes for a moment before walking to Draco. He took out a royal blue card with gold lettering.

"Here have this," he said to Draco, handing him the card when he looked up.

". . . What is this?" Draco asked weakly.

The card wasn't an AID card that Quinn handed out to everyone.

"This is my personal card, Malfoy. It has my personal WMF-id on it," said Quinn, staring at Draco. "If you ever need my help, reach out to me."

He patted Draco's shoulder and ignored the flinch.

"Now, I'm sure you were busy before I asked for this walk, so I will let you return to whatever you were doing."

Draco looked at Quinn for a second before immediately turning away to walk away with the card in hand.

"Malfoy," Quinn called out.

Draco once again came to a halting stop. He choppily turned to face Quinn.

"I can help you so much, Malfoy," said Quinn, "so, whatever you do, don't screw it up too much."

There were no words exchanged, and the two men parted for their own ways.

Quinn turned the corner, raised his hand, and slammed it sideways hard into the wall.

"Shit!"

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Quinn West - MC - That was close. That was close. That was close.

Eddie Carmichael - Seventh-Year - In another world, he's the Headboy with the highest detention rate in the history of Hogwarts.

Marcus Belby - Seventh-Year - Multi-tasking is bad.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Can you guess the reason why Quinn is so angry.

Oh yeah, MID-TERMS!!!

Also, CHAPTER 300 is now up on Patréon!!!

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The link is in the synopsis!